#I want to see moscow burning

[solbaby7]

Hii could I please get a neat Moscow mule with a salt rim ❤️

🧉here you go 💗💗

[ “i don’t like the way he / she looks at you” + smut + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

There had always been whispers about Illyrian males and the possessive streak that scorches its way through their veins. How it awakened with their first cry at birth and remains until their last breath.

You’d never thought you’d witness it firsthand.

Seeing that shift in Azriel’s features is unmistakable. The comfortable lines of his stoicism usually rests heavy along his brow bone, casting shadows along his eyes until the rich amber of his iris is stark in contrast. Even then, you’re used to seeing some semblance of warmth residing in there but the danger lingering within them now is staggering—forces the object of his surveillance to raise a hand to the back of their neck, eyes scanning the crowd for the culprit.

Az is too good to be caught though. Too skilled to be seen. A wolf that blends in seamlessly in a crowd full of sheep and he detects it immediately when another predator is present. “Who is that?”

You follow his line of sight, grumbling in distaste almost instantly when you notice that familiar tuft of curly blonde hair. “Tyson,” His brow raises at your tone, stance sturdy and arms crossed over his chest. You can feel the heat radiating off of him; briefly acknowledging the sentient shadows that nudge you in closer, partially hiding you behind his bulk. Protecting what they deemed as theirs. “—but all the Valkyrie’s call him tick.”

“Tick.”

“Yeah,” Your head nods along in confirmation, fingers hooking in the loops of your leathers to shimmy them up higher on your hips. “‘Cause he latches on like one—damn near impossible to shake.”

There’s a brief pause, a rumble of a noise vibrating through his chest like a lion in wait that rests on its haunches. Azriel’s prey drive is triggered, specially attuned to the way Tyson leans casually against a post, blue eyes trained on you while you warm up, taking time admiring the way your leathers fit like second skin. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

He’s skilled with a sword, Az notes, but that wandering eye is sure to get him killed. The shadowsinger can feel the way his fingers form into fists when Tyson’s gaze meanders down the slope of your back and settles around the generous curve of your ass. It wobbles temptingly as you practice, core tight and form stunning as all sorts of daggers are shot through the air at warp speed.

Every blade hits its respective bullseye.

You're one hell of a prize. One that Tyson so foolishly thinks he’s good enough to win.

Shoulders square, feet apart, knees ever so slightly bent. Even breaths as you line up the next blade, eying where you wish for it to land. "How does he look at me?"

"Like he wants to fuck you."

You pray he doesn't notice the way your body freezes in place, grip faltering on the hilt of your dagger. A thick swallow, throat clumsily clearing and lashes fluttering with nerves as you make a point to keep your face forward. "How would you know what that looks like?"

"Because, I want to fuck you." Thighs clench at the flippant way he says it—so casually. Like it's common knowledge. As if he hasn't just rendered you speechless and filled you full of want off one sentence alone. The smell of him engulfs you when he closes the distance, his chest to your back. Shadows teasing at the sides of your thighs like phantom palms that waste no time memorizing the new terrain. "You're holding that wrong."

"Am I?" More intelligent words are robbed right off of your tongue when he presses against you, the weight of his growing erection digging into your spine, teasing around the dimples that rest right above your ass. You can't help but lean into him, allowing him to adjust your fingers around the daggers hilt.

Never once had you thought such a simple touch could ignite this kind of spark within you. A fire that damn near burns you alive; it begins in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at organs and muscle, tearing through soft tendons and sinew in its desperation for release. "Like this, baby." His lips graze the curve of your ear, forcing goosebumps to assault your skin.

Azriel doesn't adjust a thing about your form. Instead, he openly gropes at the fat of your hips. Slides his palm possessively over the soft swell of your abdomen. Trails a hand up the crease of your breasts until a five finger grip is curling its way around your throat. "What are you doing?" You whisper, craning your neck to provide more access. Allowing the steady pressure squeezing at your jugular.

He's putting on one hell of a show.

Staring that blonde bastard right in the eye as he drags his nose along your temple, pressing his lips against your skin just because he can. "Pest control." A thick thigh nudges its way between your legs, the bulk of Azriel's body blocking you from all peering eyes but one.

Tyson vibrates with rage as Az guides your hips, dragging your clothed cunt along solid muscle until lids flutter and lips part. It's an agonizing kind of pleasure—one that's everything and nothing at the same time. Stimulating but not fully satisfying when you really crave the turgid length of his cock that strains against his leathers.

It takes a second too long to realize that he's not really doing this with your pleasure in mind.

He barely pays you any real attention as discreet shadows creep under your top to twist at taut nipples, squeezing and pulling until the heartbeat in your chest travels all the way down to your pussy.

No, he merely uses you as a pawn. Plucking and toying, licking and biting at the junction of your neck until all that can be scented on you is arousal and Illyrian. "Az, I'm gonna—"

"Not yet, sweet thing. Want him to look at you when you cum for me."

[rafecameronssl4t]

i remember at the start of the forced marriage that reader was smoking, so i wanted to ask, did she stop when her and rafe got married, or was it more like her still smoking, and/or hiding it from him and him finding out?

Cigarette daydreams || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Reader does end up quitting bc she’s expected to have children but I imagine Rafe to not be very expressive with his opinions about her smoking because he knows that it soothes her and understands that it’s what she needs in the moment.

Warnings: smoking, if there’s anything else, lmk!!

Word count: 1,882

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“So, how was it?” Aspyn, your long time friend, smiled warmly over the rim of her tea cup. The two of you sat outside in the garden of your coastal estate, the morning sun casting a gentle glow over the manicured lawns and flowering shrubs. You shrugged, adjusting yourself in the plush sofa, your gaze moving to the greenery of the garden.

“The meetings were tedious, honestly. And it was freezing,” you sighed, bringing the cigarette delicately cradled between your manicured fingers to your lips. You took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl from your lips, the familiar burn of the tobacco calming your nerves. “But Moscow itself? It’s beautiful,” you added, flicking the ash into the ashtray on the table next to your untouched breakfast without a second thought.

Aspyn hummed thoughtfully, the sunlight catching the highlights in her hair as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting over the garden. “I wish my husband would take me along on his business trips. He’s always so focused on his work,” she mused, her tone tinged with a soft sadness. She had married out of love, something you had never had the luxury to do.

You chuckled, a low sound that held little humour, taking another inhale and allowing the smoke to fill your lungs, the habit one of the few things that still brought you a sense of control. “That’s the difference between us, Aspyn,” you said, exhaling slowly. “You married for love. I didn’t.” You murmured, the smoke trailing from your lips like a sigh.

“Rafe doesn’t exactly ‘take’ me with him. I’m expected to go, whether I want to or not.” You remembered how your mother had insisted on this trip with Rafe—something about appearances and how a proper wife should always stand by her husband’s side. Even when you barely spoke to each other during the flights or shared nothing more than empty pleasantries in front of his business associates, you were there.

Always there, whether you liked it or not. It was part of the deal, after all. Aspyn’s smile faltered for a moment as she stirred her tea, the envy she tried to hide flickering across her face. Her marriage was built on love and warmth, but the wealth and status you held, the trips to exotic locations, the endless luxury—it was something she quietly envied, even if she knew your marriage was far from perfect.

“I just… I don’t know. It would be nice to see the world with him,” she admitted softly, casting a glance at the table spread before you—plates of pastries, fresh fruit, and coffee, all arranged meticulously by the house staff. You leaned back in your chair, eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the sky met the sea. “Be careful what you wish for,” you murmured, a bitter edge creeping into your voice.

You took another long drag, feeling the familiar burn in your throat as you looked out the window at the passing cars, your thoughts already drifting back to the strained silence that would greet you when you returned home. Lucky? Maybe from the outside. But inside, you weren’t sure if luck had anything to do with it anymore. The life you led was a gilded cage, beautiful from the outside but hollow within.

A comfortable silence settled between you and Aspyn as the morning sun bathed the garden in a soft, warm light. The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the peaceful atmosphere, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mixing with the faint scent of your cigarette. It was these quiet moments with Aspyn that you cherished, where the complexities of your life could fade, if only for a short while.

Aspyn finally spoke up, her voice cheerful, easily cutting through the stillness without shattering it. That was what you liked most about her—how she could shift the conversation so seamlessly, never making things awkward. It was comforting, like a reprieve from the complexities of your own life.

“Did you hear about the new boutique opening soon?” Aspyn’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she reached for a delicate slice of fruit. You turned your head to her, taking a slow drag from your cigarette before exhaling, the smoke lazily drifting upwards. “No,” you replied, shaking your head slightly, the embers glowing at the tip of your cigarette.

“Oh my god, we have to go! There are only five stores like this around the world—one in Paris, London—” She cut herself off mid-sentence, her gaze suddenly shifting past you, her excitement dimming into something more cautious. You frowned, leaning over slightly to flick the ash from your cigarette into the nearby tray. “What is it?” you asked, a bit confused by her change in demeanour. Then her words came, slower now. “Were you… expecting Rafe?”

Your head snapped around, your heart giving a slight jolt as you saw him approaching across the garden. He moved with a quiet intensity, his sharp features unreadable as the morning sun cast shadows across his face. His sharp eyes were trained on you, and the sight made your pulse quicken—out of habit more than fear.

“Shit!” you cursed under your breath, immediately stubbing out your cigarette and blowing the smoke away as discreetly as possible, hurriedly waving your hand in front of you to disperse the lingering smoke. It was a futile attempt to mask the scent, though, and you knew he had already seen. Rafe’s sharp eyes were already fixed on you, his expression unchanging as he walked closer.

Aspyn shifted awkwardly in her seat, “He doesn’t know you still smoke?” She questions as you snap your eyes to her, “Kinda, I haven’t in front of him for awhile and so he probably thought I quit,” You quickly say before focusing you attention on Rafe. His approach measured and deliberate. He wasn’t angry—you could tell that much from his calm stride—but that didn’t mean you were free from the quiet judgment he often wielded so easily.

You’d seen that look before, the one that said he didn’t have to say a word for you to understand. “Enjoying the morning?” His voice was smooth, casual, as he finally reached the table. When his eyes flickered down to the cigarette, then back to your face, it made your stomach twist. You forced a smile, trying to maintain the illusion of calm.

“Just catching up with Aspyn,” you replied, a slight edge creeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it light. You desperately hoped the tension in your tone would go unnoticed, though you knew better with Rafe. His gaze briefly flickered to Aspyn, offering her a polite nod in acknowledgement before settling back on you.

“Hope you’re not overdoing it,” he said quietly, his words casual on the surface, but laced with a subtle undercurrent only you could catch. It wasn’t a direct reprimand—it rarely was with him—but the way his eyes lingered on the cigarette and then on you made your stomach tighten. The familiar look of disapproval, though not overtly harsh, always made you feel small.

You swallowed the frustration rising in your throat, the taste of tobacco still bitter on your tongue. “I’m fine,” you said, your words clipped. You pushed the ashtray away, trying to shift the focus from the cigarette to something more neutral. His gaze lingered a moment longer, the silence thick with unspoken thoughts.

It was never loud or confrontational with Rafe. He understood that the cigarettes brought you a sense of control and calm, even though he was against them, particularly now when your body needed to be in its best shape for carrying a child. His silent judgment was often more oppressive than any spoken criticism could be.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, resisting the urge to light another cigarette just out of defiance. The habit had always been a small rebellion against the constraints of your life, but under Rafe’s watchful gaze, it felt like something you needed to hide.

Beside you, Aspyn sat quietly, her usual chatter replaced with a careful silence. You could feel her curiosity, the way her eyes darted between you and Rafe, though she made no effort to involve herself. She knew when the tension between you and Rafe hung too thick to cut through, and now was one of those times.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, resisting the urge to light another cigarette just out of defiance. The habit had always been one of your escapes, a quiet rebellion against the constraints of your life. But here, under Rafe’s watchful gaze, it felt more like something to be ashamed of. You had always hated that—the way he could make something that once brought you comfort feel like another thing you had to hide.

Rafe stood there, his hands tucked in his pants as he studied you, your eyes fixated on the table. “I hope you’re ready,” he said, his voice cool and measured. You blinked, confused as you looked up at him. “Ready for what?” Rafe’s gaze flickered to your untouched breakfast on your plate, and you could feel the silent judgment in his eyes, though he didn’t linger on it. “We have another trip tomorrow. New York this time.”

Your heart dropped. “Tomorrow?” You stared at him in disbelief, shaking your head. “But we just got back from Russia,” you protested, frustration creeping into your tone. Rafe shrugged, his expression indifferent. “Business doesn’t wait.” You glanced at Aspyn, whose eyes widened slightly. She stayed quiet, clearly sensing the growing tension.

You returned your focus to Rafe, trying to suppress the irritation bubbling inside you. “I haven’t even unpacked from the last trip,” you muttered, but you knew it wouldn’t change anything. He was already mentally packed and ready to go, as always. “Then you’ll need to get started,” he said simply, his voice clipped, before turning to head back inside without further explanation.

You sat there, stunned for a moment, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was always the same—your life dictated by his business, your time revolving around his schedule, and any attempt to protest met with cool indifference. Aspyn shifted beside you, clearing her throat delicately. “I guess New York is next, huh?” she said softly, her earlier excitement now dampened.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you regretfully glanced at the cigarette you’d just stubbed out. “Yeah. I guess it is.” Aspyn shifted beside you, her voice hesitant. “He doesn’t like you smoking, does he?” You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head. “No, he doesn’t. But that’s never stopped me before,” you said, though the bravado in your words felt hollow.

You could still feel the weight of Rafe’s judgment, the way his disapproval lingered even after he was gone. It wasn’t just about the cigarettes—it was about control, about the way every little decision you made somehow felt tied to him. Aspyn gave you a sympathetic look, her gaze softening. “Well, it’s not like he’s perfect either,” she offered, trying to bring some levity to the conversation, though the heaviness remained.

You smiled faintly, but your thoughts were still with Rafe and the quiet, unspoken expectations that always seemed to hang over you. Even in the smallest things, like the habit of lighting a cigarette, there was always something more. Always something unspoken between you and him.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Count Alexei Vronsky x wife!fem!reader

Summary: When you start feeling insecure, your husband reminds you just how much he loves you.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), kissing, praising, passionate/sensual sex, kinda cock-warming, breeding kink, they already have a daughter, porn basically no plot for this one <3

COUNT VRONSKY MASTERLIST

Under the Moscow snow, the shine of Count Alexei Vronksy's blue eyes matching his army uniform is always eagerly anticipated by the women, and men, in the station.

Of course, The Count's reputation is widely known around Russia. He is a player. A womanizer. A handsome gentleman who could have an lady he possibly desired.

You had believed those rumors once and sometimes, even as you lay in bed with him now, that dainty, sparkling, promise sitting pretty on your bedside table, you wonder if there's still some truth in them.    

It feels unfair to think that way now. Alexei is your husband. He'd married you, and not by force or by convenience, but because he's madly in love with you.

Since the moment you met him, he had never stopped showing you how much he loved you—so why couldn't you fully believe him?  

"Alexei?" you whisper into the darkness of the room, turning onto your stomach and gently running the ends of your fingers on his chest until he stirs. You smile when he nuzzles into you in his half-asleep state and mumbles incoherent words into your hair.

"Honey," you say a little louder and lean down to kiss him behind his ear, moving his blond hair to the side. Once he feels your lips on his skin, he opens his eyes and automatically tilts his head to capture your lips in his.

Alexei kisses you and then sits up, running a hand in his curls. "What is it, my dove?" he asks gently, his voice thick and hoarse from being asleep.

"Why did you marry me?" 

It sounds like an even stupider question said aloud than when you had said it in your head. Alexei must find it stupid too because he laughs, his eyes flittering. "Because I love you, принцесса (princess)."

"Yes, I understand, but why?"

"Why?" Alexei is fully awake now and his hand has found a way into your hair as he gently massages your scalp, trying desperately to soothe whatever worries you have out of your head. 

"Why do you love me? What do you love about me?” It feels selfish to ask this, very egotistical in some way, but you yearn to know the answer, "Why have me when you can have anyone you wish?"

Your husband grins, "Anyone? You think so highly of me."

"It is because it is true,"

"Well, I don't want just anyone," he hums and you feel his hand slide down to caress your cheek and pull your head up so that you can see him in the dim light of the moon from your bedroom window, "I want you." 

You open your mouth to ask why again but Alexei kisses you. He mumbles into your mouth once he catches his breath and says, "God, I adore your lips. I love how they're always so soft and eager for me.”

Your cheeks burn and you muffle a moan.

Alexei's hand slides down your neck and your body, his fingers trailing between your breasts and down your stomach. You're wearing his favorite silky nightgown—easy access—he likes to tease and when you remember this, you become flustered all over again.  

In one motion, your husband is on top of you, his weight resting on his forearm as he looks at you with sleepy eyes and kisses your forehead.

"I love this, and this," he kisses your cheekbone, and then your nose, followed by the corner of your eye, "and this and this," he continues as you giggle and squirm. 

Alexei lifts himself and smiles at you fondly, "May I?” he teases again, sliding his hand down the curves of your sides and thighs, until he plays with the hem of your nightgown. You look up at him, eyes wide and glassy—the portrait of femininity and innocence.

You nod and his hand slips under, finding what he's looking for. He smiles and nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your cheek. 

"I love all of you, my dove. Including this pretty pussy," Alexei smirks triumphantly as his fingers start exploring your folds. You're already aroused and you squeeze your legs around his hand as if to hide that admission of guilt. Your husband just smiles and opens your thighs again.

"No, my lovely, I want to see you," he murmurs and moves to hook his arm under your thighs as he shifts further down the bed and his breath is warm on your skin. You shiver, your breathing becoming harsh as you squeeze the sheets in your hands and try calming your harsh breathing. 

"Муж (husband)!" you gasp, arching as you feel his lips on your sensitive skin. 

Alexi smirks and kisses your pussy again, his hands tightening on your thigh. "Жена (wife)," he smirks and licks up your folds. "I want to worship you like you deserve," he smiles and continues to use his tongue.

He takes his time, making sure you're open and dripping for him as he licks your juices until his mustache is slick with your arousal. Alexi looks up, his hair falling in front of your eyes as he sends you a devilish smirk and licks his lips before he dives in again, eating you out like a starved man.  

You whimper and moan the entire time, feeling weak as you're so close to breaking. Your hands find your husband's hair, tugging gently as your back arches away from the mattress and you let out broken whimpers. The moonlight shines on Alexei's bare back as he continues to suck and licks with fervor. 

"I'm close," you whimper.

This causes Alexei to shake his head and he sits up. Your eyelids flutter and you whine at the loss of contact until you feel an all-too-familiar sensation and you gasp.

He's pressing himself into you and your eyes snap open to watch him as he does so. "I want you to finish when I'm inside you, my love. I want to fill you up with my seed. You're gonna give me more pretty children, aren't you, принцесса (princess)?" 

You nod, holding him close as you feel him inside you. You rock your body in time with his, fucking him passionately as he holds you and his lips press to your ear. "You feel delightful, my lovely. Such a good little wife for me. You're all I want," he mumbles, his breathing heavy and harsh as he snaps his hips into yours. 

  Alexei nips at your skin, smiling as he moans, "You look so pretty carrying my child. So claimed. Claimed as mine. My woman," he chuckles and thrusts into you harder, earning small whimpers of pleasure from you, "Gonna give Klara a sibling, hmm? Gonna make our little angel a big sister for me, won't you? Make me proud? Show everyone how well you carry my child?"  

"Yes," you whisper breathlessly and that's all it takes for Alexei to finish inside you with a growl, causing your own pleasure to crash over you in waves as you hold him closer. You're both panting as he collapses onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as his cock twitches inside you a little. 

"I love you," he kisses your cheek, his hair tickling your skin, "Please, never doubt how much I love you, my love. You understand me?" His hand caresses your cheek and you hum, too exhausted to even think of arguing with him. You feel like you're in heaven. Alexei takes your silence as an understanding and looks at you as he kisses your lips. 

"Go back to sleep now, lovely. It's still early," he says as it is still dark outside.

"Alexei," you murmur, squirming a little when he stays inside you but he holds your hips down so you're still. 

"Just a little longer, dove, I want to make sure it works," he chuckles and makes a few slow thrusts just to fuck his cum deeper inside you.

You whine at the feeling, your pussy already sore from his size and your previous orgasm. Still, you turn your head and nuzzle into the pillows as exhaustion takes over and your husband's warmth spreads across your skin. His sweet voice lulls you to sleep with praises and his lips kiss your neck.

"You're my happiness," he whispers with a smile.

[froggibus]

Pool Party - Obey Me

Includes: Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Beel & Belphie

Genre: fluff, crack

Summary: what better way to spend a hot summer day than at the pool with your favorite demons?

CW: swimming, sunburns, lots of sunscreen, kind of a crack fic ngl, alcohol and drinking, crocs, chicken fights, reader = mc

this is a part of my Summer Suntacular Event, come check it out!

guys i am SO BEYOND EXCITED TO FINALLY POST THIS!!! ive been waiting a WEEK...anyway sorry for starving my obey me followers for almost a year...my bad

Lucifer:

surprisingly not wearing his dorky scuba suit

hovers around the grill while Beel cooks 

brings extra water and sunscreen in case anyone forgets theirs 

pesters you about reapplying your sunscreen like every 20 minutes 

tries to beat Beel at chicken but almost instantly loses 

brings his extra paperwork and refuses to participate in anything until he finishes it

the only one who’s jaw doesn’t drop when he sees you in your bathing suit

he still thinks you’re hot—he just doesn’t show it like everyone else

insists on getting a group photo of everyone but it takes like ten tries before he gives up because everyone keeps squinting at the sun

wants to be the “responsible” one and not drink so he fills his thermos with sangria to be sneaky

literally everyone knows it's sangria cause who brings a thermos to the pool

Mammon:

asks for your help taking pictures of his brothers in their bathing suits so he can sell them

does not burn and refuses to put on sunscreen unless you beg him to

and then acts like he’s not doing it for you but just protecting himself

doesn’t bring his own beer or anything and just leeches off of everyone else’s

has another, secret mission of trying to push Lucifer in the water without getting caught

succeeds and blames it on you like the bastard (affectionate) that he is

thinks you look too hot in your bathing suit and tries to cover you the whole day. does not succeed.

will cause a fight if anyone compliments you 

“Mammon are you jealous or something”

“tch the Great Mammon doesn’t get jealous. you’re crazy.”

Levi:

a miracle that he even came outside i'm afraid

wears his dorky ass hawaiian button up and goggles around his neck

burns SO easily please slather him in sunscreen

hates that the other brothers get to see you in your bathing suit and pouts about it like the baby he is

lays on a lawn chair and plays on his switch + refuses to get in the water

however as soon as you ask Beel for a piggyback in the pool, he’s Michael Phelps

carries a water gun and pretends like he’s assassinating people

accidentally ruins Asmo’s makeup and starts a brawl

super blushy and flustered if you come near him in your bathing suit

and if you touch him his system does a hard reset

refers to the whole day as a ‘filler episode’ much to everyone’s confusion

eats about a thousand different popsicles with increasingly weird flavours

wears a pair of purple crocs with anime charms (he’s been begging you to get a pair for months so you guys can match croc charms)

Satan:

does not care much for swimming but he’ll lay on a lawn chair and read his book

talks to you at least three times about the dangers of UV rays and the importance of sunscreen

has a really dorky sun visor that he wears anytime he’s in the sun like an old man

brings an extra matching one for you 

needs to challenge Lucifer at absolutely everything

the second Luci steps in the water to play chicken, Satan is throwing you on his shoulders

has one of those lounge floats decorated with cats that he lays on while he reads and sunbathes

only drinks moscow mules and insists that you try them

has a meticulously maintained pair of Birkenstocks that he wears everywhere

tries to wear them into the pool and has a five minute argument with Lucifer about why he can’t

lays out your towel in the sun for you so it’s nice and warm when you get out of the pool

bonus points if he wraps you up in it

Asmo:

comes an hour later after everyone else because he had to shave everywhere and paint his nails to match his bathing suit

takes a thousand and one pictures of himself 

and about a million more of the two of you together (his favourite of which he sets as his lock screen)

has an incredible collection of cruelty free, reef friendly, non-comedogenic sunscreens that he applies liberally

goes in the water but refuses to get his hair wet and WILL cause a fight if anyone splashes him

weirdly good at chicken but only because he doesn’t want to fall in the water

loves aesthetic cocktails served in fruits and drinks them the whole day

probably the best at making cocktails too

has a timer set for when he has to reapply sunscreen and asks you (and only you) to help him apply it

also forces you to wear sunscreen 

Levi uses his expensive face sunscreen on his body and Asmo almost kills him

Beel:

the absolute grill master

he’s got 10 different things on the go, a beer in one hand and tongs in the other

challenges everyone to a game of chicken and refers to you as his ‘secret weapon’ to win

the Satan/Asmo duo get surprisingly close to winning but Asmo chips his nail and concedes

has one of those floaties that you can put drinks and snacks in and drags it along with him in the pool

lets you hang off his back while he swims

if you’re laying down on your towel he WILL come and shake the water off of himself on you like a dog

will only throw you in the pool if he 100% knows it won’t upset you

threatens the other brothers to do the same or face the consequences

forgets to put on sunscreen but somehow doesn’t burn???

comes out looking like a greek god

Belphie:

spends 90% of his time lounging on a pool float like the lazy mf he is

bats his eyes at you and asks you to bring him drinks everytime he finishes his

did not inherit Beel’s ability to tan and burns

five minutes in the sun and he becomes a lobster

only leaves his pool float to play one (1) round of chicken (that he loses) and if he gets too hot

also his pool floaty is definitely black and white like a cow

everytime he hears Satan lecture you about sunscreen he repeats it in a high pitched nerd voice 

belphie pls wear sunscreen

probably falls asleep on the floaty at least once until Beel comes and flips him into the water

if anyone splashes him he WILL retaliate to the fullest extent

compliments how you look in your bathing suit just to annoy Mammon 

steals everyone’s drinks if they leave them by the edge of the pool bcs he’s too lazy to grab his own

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[sonyaheaneyauthor]

Tulsi Gabbard’s history with Russia is even more concerning than you think

“What happened in Syria is what allowed the Russians to feel that they could do the very same in Ukraine,” he said.

“And what she is doing with Ukraine shows that it goes beyond her maybe misunderstanding one conflict. She is, hook, line and sinker, a Russian puppet.”

In the summer of 2015, three Syrian girls who had narrowly survived an airstrike some weeks earlier stood before Tulsi Gabbard with horrific burns all over their bodies.

Gabbard, then a US congresswoman on a visit to the Syria-Turkey border as part of her duties for the foreign affairs committee, had a question for them.

“How do you know it was Bashar al-Assad or Russia that bombed you, and not Isis?’” she asked, according to Mouaz Moustafa, a Syrian activist who was translating her conversation with the girls.

It was a revealing insight into Gabbard’s conspiratorial views of the conflict, and it shocked Moustafa to silence. He knew, as even the young children did, that Isis did not have jets to launch airstrikes. It was such an absurd question that he chose not to translate it because he didn’t want to upset the girls, the eldest of whom was 12.

“From that point on, I’m sorry to say I was inaccurate in my translations of anything she said,” Moustafa told The Independent. “It was more like: How do I get these girls away from this devil?”

Even before Gabbard left the Democratic Party, ingratiated herself with Donald Trump and secured his nomination to become director of National Intelligence, she was known as a prolific peddler of Russian propaganda.

In almost every foreign conflict in which Russia had a hand, Gabbard backed Moscow and railed against the US. Her past promotion of Kremlin propaganda has provoked significant opposition on both sides of the aisle to her nomination.

Her journey from anti-war Democrat to Moscow-friendly Maga warrior began in Syria. The devastating conflict was sparked by pro-democracy uprisings in 2011, which were brutally crushed by the Assad regime. It descended into a complex web of factions that drew extremist Islamists from around the world and global powers into the fray.

The Syrian Observatory for Human Rights (SOHR), a UK-based monitoring group with a network of sources on the ground, documented the deaths of 503,064 people by March 2023. It said at least 162,390 civilians had died in that same time, with the Syrian government and its allies responsible for 139,609 of those deaths.

But Gabbard, a veteran of the Iraq War, viewed it all as a “regime-change war” fueled by the West and aimed at removing the dictator from power. She saw Assad – and Russia, when it entered the conflict – as legitimate defenders of the state against an extremist uprising.

In 2015, when Russia entered the Syrian war on the side of the dictator Assad, Gabbard expressed support for the move, even as the civilian toll from Moscow’s devastating airstrikes grew into the thousands.

“Al-Qaeda attacked us on 9/11 and must be defeated. Obama won’t bomb them in Syria. Putin did. #neverforget911,” she wrote on Twitter.

It was precisely because of her support for Assad and Russia’s war that Moustafa was keen for her to attend the congressional delegation to southern Turkey to meet the victims of the conflict.

“From experience, everyone that we bring over to the border, and they see the victims, they always come back with a realistic view of what’s happening and who is behind the mass displacement and killing and atrocities and so on, and so that was the objective,” he said. “What was shocking was her lack of empathy. She’ll sacrifice the facts, even when it came to little girls in front of her telling her they got bombed by a plane – it didn’t matter.”

Charles Lister, a senior fellow at the Middle East Institute who testified twice on Syria to the House Foreign Affairs Committee when Gabbard was a member, spent years debunking her various conspiracy theories about the war.

“Her consistent denial of the Syrian regime’s crimes is so wildly fringe that her potential appointment as DNI is genuinely alarming,” he told The Independent.

Lister said her views “appear to be driven by a strange fusion of America First isolationism and a belief in the value of autocratic and secular leaders in confronting extremism.”

They included a suggestion that Syrian rebels staged a false-flag chemical weapons attack against their supporters to provoke Western intervention against Assad — something the US intelligence agencies she will soon lead had concluded was false. She declined to call Assad a war criminal when pressed, despite masses of evidence, and used a video of Syrian government bombings to criticize US involvement in the war.

“Her descriptions of the crisis in Syria read like they were composed in Assad’s personal office, or in Tehran or Moscow – not Washington,” Lister added.

Gabbard was not swayed by meeting the victims of Assad’s airstrikes in 2015. In fact, two years later, she went to Damascus to meet the Syrian president in person and came away even more convinced of her opinions.

The congresswoman said her visit to meet Assad – the first by a sitting US lawmaker since the conflict began – was aimed at bringing an end to the war.

“I felt it’s important that if we profess to truly care about the Syrian people, about their suffering, then we’ve got to be able to meet with anyone that we need to if there is a possibility that we could achieve peace,” she told CNN at the time.

Fire rises following a Syrian government airstrike in Aleppo in 2016 (AP)

Gabbard was forced to defend her embrace of Assad and other dictators during her 2020 run for the Democratic presidential nomination. During the Democratic primary debate, she clashed with Kamala Harris, who accused her of being “an apologist for an individual – Assad – who has murdered the people of his country like cockroaches.”

“She has embraced and been an apologist for him in a way that she refuses to call him a war criminal. I can only take what she says and her opinion so seriously and so I’m prepared to move on,” added Harris, who would subsequently drop out of the race and later be selected as Joe Biden’s running mate.

When Russia invaded Ukraine, Gabbard again defended Russian aggression.

“This war and suffering could have easily been avoided if Biden Admin/Nato had simply acknowledged Russia’s legitimate security concerns,” she posted on Twitter in 2022.

Gabbard appeared to fall for various conspiracy theories about the conflict that were promoted by Russia, as she had done in Syria. One of those conspiracy theories was a Russian claim about the existence of dozens of US-funded biolabs in Ukraine that were supposedly producing deadly pathogens.

She later walked back on those remarks, suggesting that there might have been some “miscommunication and misunderstanding.”

Gabbard’s frequent echoing of Kremlin talking points has earned her praise in Russian state media. Indeed, an article published on 15 November in the Russian-state controlled outlet RIA Novosti went so far as to call Gabbard a “superwoman.”

The possibility that Trump would tap someone with Gabbard’s history to be America’s top intelligence official shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who followed the president-elect’s first four years in the White House.

During his 2018 summit with President Vladimir Putin in Helsinki, the then-president was asked if he believed the US intelligence community’s assessment, which stated that Russia had interfered in the 2016 presidential election on his behalf.

That assessment was based on analysis of what was determined to have been state-sponsored campaigns of fake social media posts and ersatz news sites to spread false stories about his Democratic opponent, Hillary Clinton, as well as cyberattacks targeting the Democratic National Committee and prominent operatives associated with the Clinton campaign.

But Trump, who’d just spent several hours in a closed-door meeting with Putin, stunned the assembled press and the entire world by declaring that he trusted the Russian leader’s word over that of his own advisers.

​​"President Putin says it’s not Russia. I don’t see any reason why it would be," he replied.

Trump would go on to repeatedly clash with his own intelligence appointees during the remainder of his term. He sacked his first DNI, former Indiana senator Dan Coats, after Coats repeatedly declined to back away from the government’s assessment of what Russia had done during the 2016 presidential race.

Larry Pfeiffer, the director of George Mason University’s Hayden Center for Intelligence, Policy, and International Security, said Gabbard’s apparent susceptibility to foreign disinformation and her affinity for strongmen will give pause to American allies with whom the US routinely shares intelligence on common threats.

Intelligence services, he explained, are notoriously territorial and tight-lipped on sources and methods – particularly when it comes to so-called human intelligence, or Humint, which refers to information collected by and from spies and sources within hostile governments.

Pfeiffer said foreign allies are likely already concerned about how a second Trump administration will handle intelligence, given the president-elect’s record. He also predicted that Gabbard’s confirmation as DNI would cause even more problems among skittish partners.

“I think they wouldn’t feel like they’ve got an American confidant that they can deal with on a mature level,” he said. “I can guarantee you that the foreign intelligence services of Europe, including the Brits, are all having little side conversations right now about … what is this going to mean, and how are we going to operate, and what are we going to do now.”

Gabbard has taken the side of Syria’s Bashar al-Assad as well as the Russian president (AP)

The former US intelligence veteran also said Gabbard’s record of spreading foreign talking points calls into question whether she will be able to carry out the DNI’s important responsibility of briefing the president on threats to the nation.

He told The Independent: “Somebody like Tulsi Gabbard, you look at her long history of statements that seem to come out of the Kremlin’s notebook, her propensity to be influenced by their viewpoint – [it] raises questions as to whether she has the ability to present the intel community’s perspective as it is, or is she going to be one who’s going to want to discount it, influence it, color and change it, or ignore it and just present her own view?

“I think it also raises questions of judgement. You know, here’s an individual who seems very prone to misinformation, prone to conspiracy theory. That should worry anybody who’s worried about America’s national security,” he added.

Trump’s selection of the former Hawaii congresswoman could be a problem for the senators tasked with confirming her, on several different levels. For one, the position is unique among cabinet agencies in that there are strict requirements for who can serve in the director’s role.

The text of the 2004 law which established the Office of the Director of National Intelligence in the wake of the 9/11 terror attacks on New York and Washington and the intelligence community’s failures leading up to the US invasion of Iraq, specifically states that any person who serves in the DNI job “shall have extensive national security expertise.”

The first person to serve as DNI, John Negroponte, was a widely respected foreign service veteran who had served as US ambassador to Iraq, Mexico, Honduras and the Philippines, as the country’s ambassador to the United Nations, and as a deputy national security adviser during the Reagan administration. The next three people to hold the office were flag-rank military officers with significant intelligence experience.

Pfeiffer, a US intelligence veteran of three decades’ standing who once ran the White House Situation Room and served as chief of staff to then-CIA director General Michael Hayden, told The Independent that Gabbard’s experience in the House and her military service, while admirable, do not match the standards envisioned by the authors of the 2004 law which established the office.

“That’s national security experience … but she was a freaking military cop … operating at a largely tactical level, not that strategic, long-term national security perspective that one would expect,” he said.

Gabbard may have left the Syrian conflict behind, but Moustafa still works with its victims every day. And he believes the connection between her views on Syria and Ukraine is clear.

“What happened in Syria is what allowed the Russians to feel that they could do the very same in Ukraine,” he said.

“And what she is doing with Ukraine shows that it goes beyond her maybe misunderstanding one conflict. She is, hook, line and sinker, a Russian puppet.”

[hikarry]

Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Fever and Fainting

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.6K

Summary: being sick sucked a little less with your girlfriends.

TW: vomiting, fainting (i guess?), like one swear word

A/N this is my first fic so it might kinda suck sorry

You had spent the last five days looking after your old neighbours kid who was sick, so it was no surprise to you when you woke up feeling like your head was packed with sand. The headache you could deal with but the pit of nausea that seemed to only get worse had you throwing back the sheets and sprinting to the ensuite in a heartbeat. As your dinner from the night before made a reappearance you thanked whatever gods were out there Nat and Wanda had training early this morning and weren’t there to watch. As much as you loved them you had never once been sick whilst together. Sure Wanda had the flu a couple months back and Nat had been great but this was different. This wasn’t the flu, and frankly you didn’t know what it was yet. You flushed the toilet and wiped your mouth, wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed. Fixing your hair in the mirror you saw how pale you looked. Ghostly. Changing into Nat’s fluffy long pants and Wandas sweatshirt, and throwing on some makeup you walked down to the kitchen. Pulling your hands into the sleeves as a chill ran up your spine. Clint was sat in the kitchen as Wanda made breakfast Nat hovering nearby and stealing bacon.

The sound of your girls laughing made it an easy decision. You weren’t going to tell them. They looked so happy and they had just come back from a week long mission in Moscow and needed some time to relax. You’d taken a swig of anti-nausea meds that had tasted like dirt so you thought everything would be fine. Clearing your throat, the girls looked up. It had been a bad idea. Now along with the headache your throat hurt too. Smiling you gave them a hug dodging their kisses to your cheek, you missed they looks of surprise. You never avoided kisses. Once you sat down at the table your body seemed to suddenly gain mass. Your limbs now felt like dead weights and it was somehow getting colder. Suppressing a shiver, Wanda came over with a plate of bacon and toast, knowing your dislike for eggs. But after only a couple bites you went back into the kitchen to “get more”, but really you simply put back what you didn’t eat and left.

Wanda frowned at the slightly larger pile of food in the kitchen, her and Nat knew you were acting odd, but lying to them and not eating wasn’t something you did.

Your legs screamed at you as you walked back to the lift. When your eyes landed on your bed your legs seemed to not take no for an answer. Eyes rolling back in your head you didn’t hear the door open.

Walking into their shared room to find you halfway to the floor wasn’t something Nat had ever planned on. “Y/N!” She yelled, reaching you a second too late and having to watch you head connect with the floor. Nat rushed over pulling your unconscious body into her arms.

“Friday, alert Wanda that i need her now.”

“Right away Ms. Roman-off”

A second later Wanda appeared in the doorway.

“Nat you needed m- OMG what happened.” Wanda raced to Nat’s side who now had you clutched tightly to her.

“Im not sure she just passed out, I only got here in time to see her hit her head when she fell” Wanda tapped you cheek lightly in an attempt to brig you around.

“Y/n/n. Wake up sweetheart. Come on”

A muffled sound pulled you out of wherever you were. But as it came clearer so did the pain in your head which had increased ten fold. Groaning you made out the voice to be Wandas.

“Baby, are you ok” Wanda laid a hand on your cheek, only to sharply pull it back a moment later.

“Shit Nat she’s burning up.”

A moment later another hand placed on your cheek. Leaning into the cold touch you moaned slightly at the feeling. Too tired and sick to be embarrassed. Suddenly your eye flew open and you frantically tried to extract yourself from the assassins arms. Wandas eye went wide at your loud thoughts, quickly passing you a bin as what little breakfast you had tumbled into it. Nat’s hands drew back your hair as Wanda shushed you and traced patterns on your back. Tears slipped down you cheeks, you hated being sick. When you were done your head lolled, the girls quick to pull you back before you ended up in your own sick.

“Sweetheart can you hear me?” Wanda asked, you groaned in response, both girls too concerned to laugh, they exchanged looks of worry.

“I’ll take that as a yes” Nat smiled softly.

“Can you stand up baby we need to get your fever down.”

“Based off the pink medicine in the bin I’d say you knew you were sick already, didn’t you” Nat poked.

Wanda glared at her for a moment mouthing “not now” to her. You turned your face into Nat’s shoulder as she picked you up. Wanda already in the next room drawing a tepid bath. You were too tired to process what was happening and too sick to care, as they peeled off your clothes. Damp with your sweat. You half stood half leaned on the counter shaking violently as the girls watched the bath water fill up the tub. When Nat lowered you into the water, which felt freezing against you skin, you almost cried. Clinging to her they shushed you. Together they washed your skin free of the sweat, before wrapping you in a soft fluffy towel and dressing you in Nat and Wanda’s spare Pjs.

Nat carried you back to the bed as Wanda went off in search of a bucket.

“M’ s’rry” you mumbled, feeling slightly more lucid after the bath.

“Oh sweetheart” Wanda said walking back in. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“You cant help being sick” Nat agreed. The two girls joining you on the bed. Nat ran her hands through your hair whilst Wanda traced shapes on your leg. Slowly you drifted off to sleep.

Only to be awoken a couple hours later in violent need of the bucket Wanda had set down by the bed. Crawling over the top of your girls legs, you hung off the edge of the bed as you threw up again into the bucket. Waking both girls up in the process. You found your hair being pulled back again. Nothing came up but bile, your stomach having rejected all food earlier. More tears fell as you finished, strong hands pulling you back up onto the bed. You sniffled snuggling into their embrace as they whispered sweet nothings in you ear.

“Oh sweet girl. Do you feel better now?” Wanda asked, sighing in relief at you little nod.

“Not going to go again?” Nat asked, sweeping you hair back from your eyes. You shook you head slightly as more tears fell. With the pad of her thumb Wanda brushed them away, as Nat peppered your cheek with kisses.

As you fell asleep again, the two girls shared a look. Normally you were never so quiet and needy, but then again they had never seen you sick before. Pulling you closer to them they spoke in hushed tones. Agreeing if you didn’t get better soon, especially after giving you meds they would take you to Bruce. It seemed you fever had broke but the vomiting hadn’t stopped. Each time they fed you food, soup or other light things it simply came back up around a half hour later. After almost two days Nat and Wanda carried you to Bruce’s lab. Your half asleep form clutched to Wanda’s chest, as you watched through half lidded eyes.

After running some tests Bruce confirmed a bad case of the stomach flu. Giving the girls some stronger meds and a sick bag for the trip back to your room. He gave you some meds and small nibble of food. As the meds were ones you couldn’t take on an empty stomach. You made it all the way to the lift before your eyes snapped open and you threw up on Wanda and yourself. Bursting into tears, Nat and Wanda shared a surprised look before reassuring you and telling you it was alright.

“Its ok sweet girl i know you didn’t mean to.” Wanda cooed brushed back your hair.

“Come on we’ll go back and you can both shower.” Nat smiled pulling Wanda and you down the hall.

After a shower the three of you were back in bed. The two girls verbally wrestling with you and begging you to have more to eat.

“Come on baby we’ll even let you choose the movie.” Wandas hands held the awful syrup you’d come to despise. Sighing deeply you opened your mouth allowing them to give you the medicine. After twenty minutes, the girls watched you sleep ready to give you a sick bag, not wanting a repeat of the lift situation. Chicago PD playing on the tv in the background. When a half hour passed and so did an hour they relaxed some. Keeping the sick bag by the bed if you needed it later. Snuggling up to you they held you close as you all fell asleep. That night you only woke up twice to be sick, both times your girls held you and comforted you until you were asleep again.

Over the next few days you slowly came good again. Back to your usual self, life in the compound returned to normal. Or as normal as it can be for a witch, an assassin and their girlfriend.

Master list

[gofishygo]

[PRIDE MONTH- WEEK FOUR] : through green hydrangeas (my heart lies) price x ftm reader (part 2/2) - UNFINISHED

(i will complete this once i am unsuicidal and motivated)

[PART ONE] | notes: medical settings, description of injury, should have a good ending but like rn its not necessarily very bonita for either of them

The next time you and Johnathan price meet each other is indeed, in Burningham.

The doctors treating you had come with a prognosis- a puncture to the intestine. Through the whole eight hours of the surgery, the whole two weeks of an induced coma, he’d shadowed it behind a glass window. His now practically immune to the scent of disinfectants, the lemon-stained chemicals burning at his nose until the chemoreceptors in them saw nothing, felt nothing. He compares it to a black hole, how his sensory limbs have dulled since his career; his ears are now half drowned, all noose shallow and diasporic, left behind at a botched mission in 2002 Moscow. The keenness of his nose now snuffed by a recent disaster with chemicals. His body is trying and failing, pulling the weight of the world on its shoulders and inside the gaping voids of his chest, always consuming, killing, but never truly settled. Never truly sated.

And now his eyes have resulted in you being eaten, now his ears have resulted in you being ripped at your core. His body has chewed you and, and was left to spit out your body, just like Johnny-

He is scared of looking into closed eyes-they remind price too much about him. So, he leaves the living pearls alone, refuses to peel the skin back to see your colours. He never wants to chew again, not after this.

In every other world be should have stayed attentive, should have yelled at you to not mount the doorframe. But now you are here, bandage wrapped vice-tight below your own scars under your chest and blanketing part of your tattoo, and guilt and pity and some dark festering emotion he couldn’t pinpoint layer and boil like bile in his kidneys. Threatens to spill over into his throat and all over the bed when he is finally allowed to take the compression off. It reveals the shooting star of a wound, crusted tail stretching and expanding into arms that seem to try reach across your skin, to take more of the body it had infested. And he fears you will meet the fate of Johnny- that the wound had claimed your soul instead of your life. And it was an early death too, for the man he had met, for the private who’d body he thought he’d fully memorised a decade ago. The short-lived life of the man who smiled with his whole face for the woman who couldn’t. He knows you have changed, have grown up and out of your past life.

But he can only hope that now; you are strong enough to live through it.

On the nineteenth day of your bedrest, John seems to notice that the slow trickle of bouquets and cards of condolence had been wrung dry, petals brown and crusting on the small bundle of roses that Gaz had left on the bedside since the beginning of your stay in the hospital. The colour of the wilt now matched his increasingly darkening eyebags, crow’s feet near buried, shallow dents in the corner of his peripherals. Pads of his fingers rest atop your forehead- and he knows no matter how dysregulated your internal temperature was since the mission, the number of degrees in your body would always be more than the amount of “get well soon’s” you were given. Some stone of pity seems to snowball at the tip of his tongue and lodge in his throat at the lack of a similar last name on any of the unopened cards left to collect dust on the table. Perhaps, since you’d dropped your original name, the people who’d carried your last refused to see you. And maybe, the idea that the number of degrees your body temperature was also outmatched the number of times you’d seen your relatives since your transition. And maybe, you had been alone for that stretch of years, without familiar flesh to grip onto or a face to share your ashtray and lighter with.

(When long-abandoned lawns are left unattended, they seem to flourish. Rainwater fills the cracks of pavement, toadstool and wildflowers sprouting between the roots of household weeds. In miracle, you had thrived in your isolation.) With one of your eyes slightly peeled open and fixed towards him, and voice barely gathering into the creak of a tree deforested, you ask what is wrong. Price swallows: and he replies with silence.

But even in your quarter-dead state, the captain can’t seem to stomp out the embers of your stubbornness. You’d always cared for him, affection growing teeth and latching onto him with a grip near impossible to pry. In warmth, it held him, in cold, it smothered him. “Put a lid on it, private,” its some form of rumbled warning, a predecessor to earthquakes that would split continents open. “Laswell called. All six targets got taken down, thanks to the work of you and the ULF. Another mission cleared, another day of living.” The dynamics of your exhale sound oddly like a rendition of price’s puff of a cigar. He can faintly recognise the lethargy, energy seeped out of your injuries, clearly exasperated by the way he slams shut at your prying. “You don’t need to worry about me,” But you’re attentive, even in your indigence, and notice how his eyes are not focused on the explosion of scab across your torso, but on the scars that adorned the underside of your chest. “Or is there something else on your mind?”

Price- he truly does hope that you register his stifled grunt and the widening of his eyes as shock instead of horror. Your words catch him off guard, a bear trap that ensnares his tongue instead of his legs, and he is left thrashing in desperation for new words. “no, it’s not- its not that you’re transgender. I don’t care for that. Why didn’t you contact me? What made you think that I would despise you, just because you changed? Just because you were happier?” did you think I could ever hate you for that? “no, its not your fault kid. m’ mistake.”

Silence from the only person who’d dared to raise their words to match all his own, isolation from the man whose touch anchored you down to the ground of the earth and the heat of his skin- it’s smothering him still, a phantom weight that chained the both of you to the bones in your knees and the cuffs of your necks. (If love Is liberation, maybe you two could have been set free-)

[daisygirlwrites]

Car Rides

Summary: An old memory of Simon’s resurfaces during a car ride to Crash’s house.

Warnings: none

Pairing(s): Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1,025

Note: No uses of (Y/N), some angst but it’s barely there. 

a/n: hello hello! back with another fic :) ngl this one made me kind of sad but still enjoyable to write. I have a set of headcanons that I wrote along with this fic but i decided that I’ll put it into the next post instead :0c !! anyways, i hope y’all like it and would love to hear feedback!

“Keys.” He demanded.

Quickly, you pull your hand back, the other coming up to shield it. The man in front of you narrows his eyes but puts his hands back into his hoodie pocket. You open your hand, revealing a set of keys, along with a lego Darth Vader keychain. Flipping over the key fob, your black Jeep Wrangler makes the distinct sound of itself unlocking. “After you, LT.”

He opens the back passenger seat to set down his duffle bag before moving to the front. While he does that, you get yourself onto the driver's seat and start the vehicle. You check your surroundings before backing out of the parking spot and after a series of turns, you two are on the road, exiting the airport.

“Apologies about earlier, Simon,” you say, after a couple minutes of silence. “I know you want to drive but love this car way too much. Don’t want to crash it, ya know.” He glares at you as you let out an airy chuckle.

“And what do you mean by that, Sergeant?”

“Remember Las Almas? How you slammed on the breaks so fuckin’ hard that I almost went through the window, for the second time? Or that time in Moscow, where you proceeded to hit every curb you saw and we got pulled over?” You glance at him. He stares back at you, offended. And even with a facemask, it’s evident that he’s scowling at you.

Looking back at the road, you lightly elbow his arm. “Don’t worry, LT. You’re great at a lot of things.” You pause, weighing out the option of whether or not to push his buttons more before saying, “Just not driving. Or piloting. Like last month, with the helico-”

“That’ll do!” Simon raises his voice.

Palms on the steering wheel, you open your hands as a signal of surrender. “I’m just jesting, Simon.” You give him a half-hearted smile. He sinks down into his seat, with his arms crossed.

45 minutes passed and the only sound you hear are the cars on the road. Simon looks out of the window, taking sight of the buildings rushing by. In the distance, he can see the large mountain range.

The whole team was given a month of leave after the last mission went up in flames. Literally, burning helicopters and all. While the guys usually went back to the UK, you had invited them to your mountain home in Colorado. Ghost initially declined but after you and Soap begged on your knees, he reluctantly agreed. And now he regrets it after you made fun of his driving skills. But at least it was just you and not the rest of the team. Actually, he’s grateful that they’re flying in tomorrow. Didn’t want to handle three idiots in a car.

“I got a CD folder in the glove box,” You break the silence. “It’s your pick too. Long drives are better with music.”

Simon gives you a nod and begins flipping through the case. He recognizes most of the albums, and taking a closer look, some of the art on them are flaking off.

“Never thought you’d still have CDs this old,” he comments.

“Half of them are my grandpa’s. I’m just adding on to it.”

He hums in response. Spotting a maroon colored disk, he rotates it, reading ‘Queen: Greatest Hits’. Carefully pulling it out of its pocket, he hands it to you. Left hand on the wheel, you stick your finger in the middle and glance at it. Nodding, you slide it into the car player.

“Good choice.”

“Brits have good music.”

“I agree with that.”

Flicking your eyes down to the display screen, you skip the first eight tracks. Without looking, you can tell that Simon is giving you a disapproving look. “We’ll come back to it, promise. Just want to listen to this first.”

He turns his eyes back on the road before him, the first couple notes of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ playing out. They’re in the mountains now, the roads becoming more twisty. Slowly down a bit on the turns, you let the windows down a couple inches. He hears you quietly sing along with the song. Rolling his eyes, Simon leans back on his seat again. Again, looking out the window, enjoying the greenery. It reminds him of the long drives to his aunt's house. Green blurs of evergreen trees passing by. Turning his head to look at you, his heart picks up the pace.

He doesn’t see you. Instead, it was a woman in her early thirties. The driver window slightly opened, leaving her light brown hair flying behind her ears. Hands tapping on the steering wheel on beat with the music. Hazel eyes meeting his. There were bags under them, dark circles hidden by makeup. She smiles at him, little wrinkles appearing on the corner of her eyes, along with two dimples, one of each side of her smile. Just like his. Opening her mouth, she sings along with the song,

“Ooh, you make me live Whenever this world is cruel to me I got you to help me forgive Ooh, you make me live now, honey Ooh, you make me live.”

His mom stops singing. “Simon!” she calls out. “Come on, love. Sing with your ma!”

He’s too stunned to say anything, he just stares at her. “Simon?” Her smile drops, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Simon?” Her voice sounds muffled.

“Simon?!” It’s like echoes now.

“Lieutenant Riley?!” That one snapped him out. 

Heart beating like a drum, he opens his eyes, staring at the bottom of his hoodie before looking back up. It’s just you, Crash, his sergeant. Not his mother. But the worried look you give him is identical to hers.

You give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to wake you up LT.” His eyebrows go up with confusion, he didn’t know he was even sleeping. “We’re here.”

Simon steps out of the jeep, closing the door behind him. Taking a look of his surroundings, he glances up at the towering evergreen trees, just like the ones in his childhood. Just like the ones at home.

[ahrahrahraha]

Smut

IceCream and Bad Tv by @bloodorangesoup

Peanut Butter Passion by @sagechanoafterdark

Stay Quiet For Me by @mrsbarnesblog

Lets Hear It For Captain America by @trashmenofmarvel

Take The Edge Off by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Black Lace And Property Damage by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Memories and Music by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Another Kinky Wager by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Star Spangled Brushwork by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Brooklyn and Moscow by @wkemeup

Sleeping With A Friend by @wkemeup

Locked by @thenhewaswrongaboutme

Eye Contact by @thenhewaswrongaboutme

Gentle by @softlyspector

Two Pages by @softlyspector

Soft by @softlyspector

Rain by @softlyspector

Tangier & Redux by @softlyspector

Medicine by @gogolucky13

Sexual Healing by @gogolucky13

What We Are by @gogolucky13

Come Closer by @sagechanoafterdark

Virtue and Vice by @divine-mistake

It's Messy Inside, Let Me Take Your Coat by @divine-mistake

Even at Gunpoint, I'd Still Love You by @divine-mistake

Bitter Fruit by @divine-mistake

"The mission was already a success!" you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. "You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don't understand why you didn't just stay on the fucking jet" "Because you were going to die"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/(F)Reader

Greedy by @babyboibucky

"Bucky wants to try something new with you. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader"

Birthday Tiara by @babyboibucky

"You weren’t enjoying your birthday until Bucky comes along. Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader"

Rum & Coke by @babyboibucky

"You decide to pay your rival club a visit to see what the hype is all about. Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x Fem!Reader"

Like This by @babyboibucky

"Bucky shows you how he wants it done. Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader"

Like That by @babyboibucky

"Bucky finally engages in his favorite activity. Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

All That Glitters by @moonbeambucky

"Natasha found a sneaky way to get you to reveal your secret relationship"

Updated 31/10/2023

[josefavomjaaga]

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

[minhkhoas]

A lot of people seem to mistake Khoa’s anger at being called broken by Bruce as some sort of personal admission that there is something “wrong” with him but I, personally, view it more as Khoa feeling an inherent sense of betrayal at the fact that the one person he thought understood him suddenly shifted his perspective on him.

He’s fully aware that he’s set apart from his peers & seemed to be content with that until he met Bruce— Bruce, who seemed to be a kindred spirit even when he and Khoa fought, who had consistently targeted Khoa’s actions instead of the thought processes behind them even when they did fight, who never once insinuated he needed to be fixed until that moment.

The moment of them on a bridge in Moscow in B:TK #5 is a testament to the level he places Bruce at in itself; by acknowledging that Bruce changed his mind about being alone, he’s accepting Bruce as an equal. Even after they fought and parted ways for the last time after Lazarus, the fact that Khoa kept Bruce alive solely for fighting still implies he views him on equal footing as him/“worthy” enough to spar with.

The scene in Argentina irrevocably shifts the narrative of them being equals when Khoa realizes that it’s Bruce who doesn’t seem them as equals anymore. Bruce seems to be the one thing he can never leave behind to the point where he suggests they work together even after all of the arguments they’ve shared over the years. He implies Khoa’s inability to care about people in a way that’s expected of him is wrong, and even goes so far as to assume what Khoa’s feeling.

It’s not the lack of initiative on Bruce’s part that sets Khoa off, nor is it the fact that he declined Khoa’s invitation in the first place— it’s the fact that Bruce implies there’s something fundamentally wrong with him which, as a result, means Bruce never wants to see him again. Khoa’s angry because he’s always seemed to have the upper hand in their relationship, but he never expected this. It’s always been Khoa leaving Bruce in some capacity, whether it’s him leaving after their first fight in the wilderness or him leaving after saving Bruce at Lazarus. He’s always left on his own terms. Bruce is the one person in the world who made Khoa feel like he was understood in some capacity and despite burning the bridges between them on numerous occasions, he never seemed to plan for the fact that Bruce would get to it first.

There’s a significant level of vulnerability in Khoa’s actions in the context of the Argentina argument and the larger scope of his appearances.

Khoa specifically emphasizes the fact that Bruce doesn’t get to utter his name or see his face again because the fact that he’d done both in the first place was a sign of trust, and that trust was lost the moment Bruce spoke Those™ words.

To me, his reaction in this moment isn’t an admission of self-loathing or hatred towards himself at the fact that he’s incapable of experiencing certain things, and I honestly don’t think Khoa has ever experienced intense feelings of unworthiness/low self-esteem surrounding the negative views on his personality disorder. His relationship with Bruce borders on obsession at some points, and the disillusionment caused by the realization that their dynamic has shifted significantly without him being able to control it is what angers him.

Khoa has been shown to have moments of possible guilt/regret at his actions such as the fact that he couldn’t save Phantom-One, but that could be chalked up to him being disappointed at failing as a crime-fighter. He never once puts the blame on himself for anything, so I don’t view his hurt in this scenario being formed out of a place of self-doubt or self-hatred.

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 22. Christmas tree farm

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Hi friends, here's this... :P Chapter 23 is spicy - thats all <3

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Suggestive conversations, Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, tension, flirty flirty behavior, some angst (par for the course).

A chill sat heavy in the air of my bedroom when I woke up, dancing across my skin and causing me to shiver slightly. I sat up to see a blanket of white outside my window. I got up quickly, pulling a sweater over my head and slipping into some shoes before wandering down the long corridor that led to the compound's back entry. I pushed the door open, taking a deep breath of the brisk air that immediately bit at my flesh. The first snowfalls of winter almost settled me strangely enough. Even if they served as a bittersweet reminder of Russia. We never saw snow in the Red Room, it was only when we got to go outside that we’d feel the sting of the glacial air. The burn of the fresh snow on our skin was a reminder that we were still alive.

“You’re going to catch a cold, Prinţesă.” His warm breath against my ear had a small smile tugging at my lips. His warmth seeped into my bones as he wrapped his arms around me. I let my body melt ever so slightly against his solid chest.

“It must have snowed all night; I wish I’d been awake to see it.”

Pietro tucked some stray hair back behind my ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my head. “I am leaving in 3 days, and you’d rather look at the same snow that you see every year than my devastatingly handsome face?”

I sent him a glance over my shoulder, lips curving upward. “Can’t I look at both?”

“So, you admit it? You think I’m very handsome.” He spun me in his arms, hands falling to sit at my waist.

“I don’t recall saying that. In fact, it doesn’t really sound like something I would say.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t have to be shy; you can just say you are floored by my beauty.”  

“Or perhaps it is your self-assurance that has me astonished.” I slipped from his grasp, heading back towards my room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I heard a whir and suddenly Pietro stood before me with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m getting dressed, we have to go with the others to get a Christmas tree remember.”

Pietro closed the door behind him after entering my room and I tossed my jumper onto the bed. “I forgot that was today.” He sighed exasperatedly.

I snorted. “You were the one who wanted to get involved with the festivities.” I turned away from the silver-haired man, slipping my shirt over my head and promptly interrupting whatever he was about to say. His words cut off into a strange drawn consonant sound that barely resembled a word. “Are you short-circuiting?” I taunted, slipping a bra on.

“I…” His eyebrows were raised, and he looked a little light-headed when I turned around. “You just took your shirt off.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes well, I told you I was getting dressed, and you followed me in here I assumed you understood how the concept of getting dressed unfolded.”

“Very funny, Nadia. I think you know what I mean.”

“No not really, Pietro.”

“You are standing in front of me in your underwear right now!”

I looked down at my body, eyes then sliding up to meet his. “I have pants on. Besides you’ve seen me in my underwear before, Moscow, remember.”

“That was different, and you know it.”

“I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable, I’m sorry, it's just not really that big of a deal to me. You’re not exactly the first person to see me without clothes on.”

His eyes narrowed at me, and he tilted his head slightly to the side.

His expression made me giggle slightly. “I didn’t mean it like that… I just mean, where I grew up, there wasn’t exactly a lot of privacy, you get used to it.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Well, then why the freak out?” I watched him intently as his eyes shifted, venturing downwards for the first time since my shirt had come off. What I’d said was true, about him not being the first person to see me without clothes, yet the way his eyes looked as they traveled over each inch of exposed skin had goosebumps prickling across my flesh. My spine tingled as his pretty blue eyes became a little darker and suddenly, despite the bra and sleep shorts I felt completely exposed. Yet, I didn’t feel the need to cover up. Instead, I reached down to my waistband, slipping my thumbs beneath it. “You can always go if it’s bothering you.” His eyes flickered back up to mine, and a solitary eyebrow rose, jaw clenching. He looked irritated; it sent a flurry of amusement through me. I shrugged, tugging my shorts down and letting them fall to the floor, pooling around my ankles. My eyes fell on Pietro again who was almost eerily still, barely breathing. I bit back a grin as I approached him, stopping when there was barely an inch between us. His sharp intake of breath had me doubling down on my effort not to laugh. “You’re in my way,” I murmured.

His eyebrows furrowed. “What?” He managed to get out.

I nodded to the set of drawers that were behind him. “Unless you’d like to hand me some underwear.” The muscle in his jaw feathered as he watched me. “Well? What’s it going to be?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Nadia.”

My eyebrows rose and I leaned a little more toward him. “I don’t think it’s dangerous?” I wanted him to kiss me so desperately, I felt sure I’d burn to bits if he didn’t. It had been like this for days, the tension between us so thick it was choking me, yet he refused to act on it. He’d kissed me but it was always sweet, gentle, and short. It never eventuated into anything else. Ever since that night when he stayed in my room. “I mean it’s not like you’re actually going to do anything, Pietro.”

I felt his warm hand land on my hip, gripping it. My breath hitched at the contact, heart speeding up. His finger slipped beneath the waistband on my panties, fiddling with it for a moment before letting the elastic snap back against my skin. I narrowed my eyes at him, frustration intertwining with the desire that enveloped me. “Are you going to take them off, or should I?”

I swore my heart simply stopped beating for a second. My cheeks felt hot, and I had to suppress a shudder at his words. He was nonchalant about it, raising his eyebrows as though he was completely unsure of why a question of that nature would take me aback. “I- what?”

“That is how getting dressed generally unfolds is it not?”

I could no longer suppress the grin, as he so casually used my own words to taunt me. He was not winning this round, as much as he thought he was. “Since you’re so insistent on being helpful, maybe you should take them off.” Both of his hands were on my hips, pressing his fingertips into my flesh, grazing over the soft black fabric that covered me. My lips parted at the sensation.

“Nadia…”

“Pietro.” I brushed my lips over his, but he pulled away quickly, putting plenty of distance between us.

“I should let you get dressed; we don’t want to keep the other waiting.” With that he sped off, shutting the door firmly behind him.

I sighed heavily, snatching a skirt and tights from my closet. When I arrived in the foyer of the compound, Pietro was already there talking to his sister. Natasha was not far behind me, tailed by Steve and Sam. I could see Tony and Pepper through the open front door, speaking in hushed tones. “Alright everyone, we’ll have to take two cars to fit us all.” Steve began with his regular leading countenance. I snickered slightly.

“Aye aye, Captain.” He made a face at me as we walked out toward the two black SUVs. I opened the driver’s side door of one just as Tony did the same to the other car, Nat slipped into the passenger seat beside me immediately fiddling with the radio to find a station she liked. My eyes met Wanda’s as she glanced between the two cars. I offered her a smile which – by my standards – was warm. “Hop in.” I nodded toward the car I was entering, a bright smile emerging across her lips. A glance at Pietro had my mood soured slightly as I saw him quickly slip into the car with the other boys, not sparing me a glance. The action made my stomach twist up, why was he so damn confusing? I dropped into the driver’s seat exasperatedly. Natasha spared me a suspicious glance before rolling her window down and leaning slightly out.

“Hey Pepper, what do you say we make it a girl’s trip to the tree farm?” The woman agreed eagerly, slipping into the seat beside Wanda without hesitation. When we were all buckled up, I pulled our car up beside the boys, glancing over at Tony who revved the engine performatively.

He sent me a smart-ass look. “Now when we beat you girls there don’t take it personally.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen.” The boys were snickering, smugness exuding from their car causing me to grip the steering wheel tighter. I could see Natasha putting the address into the GPS from my peripheral prompting me to smile over at Tony.

He opened his mouth to respond but before the words were out of his mouth I floored it, taking off in front of him. The moment we hit the open road Natasha started the Christmas music. I shot her an unimpressed look before returning my gaze to the road. “Oh, don’t be such a grinch, it’s festive.”

“Whatever you say.” I sighed.

“You seem tense, Nadia. What’s on you’re mind?” Pepper asked with a kindness to her voice that had the corners of my lips quirking up.

Before I could respond Natasha was speaking one more. “Oh, don’t mind her she’s just sour because she misses her boyfriend.” She sing-songed the last word, nudging my shoulder teasingly. The glare I sent her would have been bone-chilling to anyone else, no doubt, yet she only laughed it off. I heard Wanda snickering from the back seat and sent her a look in the rear-view mirror.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I think it’s sweet that you like him so much.” Pepper gushed.

I scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh, deny it all you want we all know you’re completely smitten.” Natasha’s words had me flushing though I attempted to play it off. “And we all know he’s been obsessed with you since the beginning so really it was just a matter of you giving up the whole broody indifferent act and now, we get to watch you two be sickeningly cute.”

I rolled my eyes. “New topic please!”

Pepper laughed at that. “You sound just like Tony.”

“How is he doing? he’s seemed a little… off lately,” Nat said.

“You’re guess is as good as mine. Talking about his feelings isn’t exactly his forte, most of the time he either changes the subject or literally flees. I’ve barely seen him these last few weeks.”

Nat glanced in my direction. “Sounds like someone I know.” I pinched her in retaliation causing her to gasp and smack my hand away indignantly.

“Maybe he just needs some time.”

“I hope so… It’s just hard, he carries so much weight around on his shoulders and I’m standing there practically begging him to let me carry some of it but he won’t let me.”

…

“Are you mad at me?”

Pietro furrowed his eyebrows at me. I’d cornered him practically the second we arrived at the tree farm, having barely beaten the boys since Tony’s ego was seemingly more important than obeying road rules. The others were off perusing trees or warming up by the coffee stand. The smell of pine and hot chocolate enveloped my senses as we stood nestled in between a stack of trees. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know you tell me. You know I’m not good at the whole human emotion’s things, I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“You haven’t pissed me off at all, you never piss me off, Nadia.”

I smiled at him. “You can tell me the truth I won’t be offended if you say I pissed you off, you piss me off all the time.”

Pietro narrowed his eyes at me, visibly fighting back a smile. “Really? I’ve never gotten that from you before.” A slight laugh bubbled in my throat. The smile won out, spreading across his lips. He caressed my cheek pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I’m not mad at you, Nadia. I promise.”

“So why are you acting so strange?”

“Am I acting strange?”

It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He wasn’t nearly as good at the nonchalant thing as he thought he was, and even if he was, I’d spent most of my life playing this game, he wasn’t likely to fool me. Though his attempt frustrated and frankly slightly upset me.

My shoulders sagged slightly. “Fine,” I muttered; his eyes softened at my tone. I moved to turn away from him, but his hands grasped my upper arms, holding me in place.

“Wait. Please. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. “I’m not mad at you.”

I clenched my jaw. The feelings that swirled through me were not entirely clear. They were, however, abundantly unpleasant, that much was obvious. “Okay you’re not mad, so what’s going on?”

He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again with a heavy sigh. Instead of answering me he furrowed his eyebrows once more and began rubbing up and down on my arms over my sleeves creating friction warmth. “You’re cold.” He noted. I glanced down at the movement of his hands and just like that I was gone.

A soothing heat covered my upper arms as my hands moved over them.

“I told you to wear your jacket.” There were more words, but they were jumbled, I didn’t recognize the voice but then I couldn’t hear it anyway.

While I’m alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me.

Birds singin’ in the sycamore tree.

A ringing sound filled my ears and the man in the glasses was back, placing something over my eyes.

The ballerinas were on the stage again.

Sweet dreams ‘til sunbeams find you.

Sweet dreams… in the sycamore tree.

Birds singin’… in your dreams whatever they be.

Your dreams… your dreams… whatever they be…

I shut my eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the sounds.

“Tell me who you are.”

“Nadia, are you alright?”

The hands stopped and when my eyes opened again Pietro was before me again, a concerned look drenching his features as he scanned me for signs of distress. I shook my head, swallowing heavily and taking a shaky breath. “I’m fine…” I murmured.

“What happened?”

“Oh, so now you want to talk. You know, for someone so big on communicating you certainly have a knack for dodging the things you don’t want to talk about.”

He scoffed. “Well, I learned from the best.”

“Иди на хуй.” Go fuck yourself. I responded with a huff, turning to walk away.

“I don’t know what that means but I’m guessing it's probably not nice.” He called after me, but I ignored him. He caught up with me in a few long strides, blocking my path and offering me a tender smile. “I know you’re mad at me, but you look really pretty right now, and I would very much like to kiss you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring up at him. “Your audacity is unbelievable, truly.”

His smile turned from sweet to cheeky in an instant. “Is that a yes?” I turned away from him again, storming off, though I only made it about three feet before I turned back around and approached him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and kissing him hard before shoving him off and walking away.

…

It was Nat who picked the tree in the end, refusing to hear any argument. When it was loaded into the car, we found ourselves wandering down the main street perusing the shops and taking in the rare day of peace.

I fell back a few paces from the group, taking in the snow-spattered streets of upstate New York. Pepper’s strawberry blonde hair filled my line of sight as she joined my side.

“Hey, Nadia.” I offered her a very small smile of acknowledgment. “I’ve actually been meaning to thank you for whatever you said to Tony.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at her. “I didn’t say anything to him.”

“Well, you must have said something because, while he’s still cryptic, he’ll at least tell me why he doesn’t want to talk right now.”

When she spoke it was as though my mind went blank, unsure what to say in response. There was genuine gratitude in her eyes, I looked to the ground. “I’m glad you two are talking more, but I really didn’t do anything.”

She was quiet for a moment, only the whisper of a smile remained on her lips. “Okay.” She murmured.

“Speedy come on man, I’m freezing my ass off over here!” I heard Sam complain, causing me to look ahead. Pietro was looking at something in a shop window and it was evident from the expression on his face that he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

“Yeah, I’m getting pretty cold too, and the snows starting to get heavier we should probably head off soon.” Nat spoke up. I looked Pietro and the others, wringing my fingers together. The red-headed woman’s eyes lit up as she looked over at me. “I mean there are two cars, the rest of us could go together and I’m sure Nads wouldn’t mind sticking around and then driving the two of you back later.” I rolled my eyes at her not-so-subtle scheming. The corners of Pietro’s lips curved upward as he looked over at me.

“Okay fine, piss off all of you then,” I spoke cooly, switching keys with Tony as I��d driven the bigger car.

He sent me a side-long glance, amusement plain on his face. “Drive safe.”

When the others had left, I wandered into the gift shop after Pietro. Scanning the aisles of trinkets for any sign of the familiar silver hair. I found him in the back corner, lingering in front of a display that was obscured by his shoulders which had begun to sag slightly. Wordlessly, I joined his side, immediately understanding the shift in his demeanor. Before us stood a small but beautiful array of what I assumed were traditional Sokovian Christmas decorations as well as some other small knick-knacks. In center was an old, faded image of a small boy and his family, below that was a hand-written sign that read ‘Even when lost, we keep them alive in our hearts.’  Pietro was completely silent beside me. I let my fingers brush against his, he grabbed my hand before I could move it away, intertwining our fingers and holding on tightly. Without uttering a single word, I let him hold on to me. I didn’t know what to say to him, what could even begin to cover it; so, I just stayed beside him, holding onto him just as tightly.

We remained for quite some time after this, still allowing the comfortable silence to sit over us as we walked through the icy streets. My nose was numb and my cheeks red by the time we returned to the car, blasting the heating to defrost. The radio played softly as I drove, a gentle hum in the background blanketing the lack of conversation between us. I felt like we should talk about whatever was bothering Pietro, but this felt like the wrong time, maybe there wouldn’t be a right time. Either way, I chose to simply remain in the silence that was beginning to become a little tense.

“Just say it.” He murmured, looking out the window at the landscape that was now covered in powdery snow.

“Say what?” I spoke, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket. Without taking my eyes from the road I slipped it out, glancing over to see Natasha’s caller ID. I put my phone in the cupholder – whatever it was could likely wait until we got back and if it was important, she’d call again.

Pietro exhaled deeply, looking over at me with a smile so small it was almost imperceptible. “Whatever is on your mind.”

The snow was getting heavier and heavier the further we drove, and I was beginning to grip the wheel tighter, speed lowering to keep traction. “There is nothing on my mind, I am free of thoughts right now.” My phone began buzzing in the cupholder. “Can you check who that is?”

“Natasha.”

“Shit, answer it.” He did as I asked, her voice coming through the car speakers a moment later. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing major but we just got back to the compound, and they’re currently closing all the roads because of the weather. I doubt you guys will make it back without getting turned around and it’s not really safe to be driving right now anyway.”

I squinted, slowing down again as the visibility became even worse, cursing in Russian and checking my rearview mirror before pulling to the side of the road. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

“Your best bet is probably to grab a hotel there. Hang on Tony is tracking the car to see where the nearest accommodation is.” I laid my head back on the seat, frustration beginning to fray my nerves. Chatter sounded in the background of the call before Nat spoke again. “Okay the closest hotel to you guys is a 10-minute drive, sending you the location now.” My phone pinged and I thanked Natasha before hanging up and turning the car back on to begin driving to the hotel. The problem being when I accelerated, and the loud sound of skidding filled my ears whilst the car remained stationary. I hit the pedal again and the car did the same thing, not moving even slightly. The door slammed behind me as I walked to the back of the car to see we were in fact bogged down in the snow and sleet that had built up on the side of the road.

“That might be a problem.” Pietro mused, glancing at me from the other side of the car. Without responding, I squatted down and began digging at the sleet with my hands, kicking at the parts that were too tough to move. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to get us out of here, are you going to keep standing around asking stupid questions or help?” My tone was snappy as I continued digging around the tire.

He huffed a laugh, not moving, only fueling the fire in me. “Forget the car, let’s just walk and we’ll call someone to tow it when the roads are clear.

“No, we don’t need someone to tow it. It’s fine. I can do it.” I moved to my feet once more, flattening my hands on the back of the car and using all of my strength to push it, only for the car to barely budge. I gritted my teeth, going back to digging. My hands were stinging from the bite of ice against my flesh, but I ignored it, steadfast in my mission.

“Jesus, Nadia, stop it you’re going to give yourself frostbite.” Pietro yanked me away from the tire. “It’s freezing out here, let's just get to the hotel and we’ll deal with the car in the morning.” I pulled away from him, turning on my heel and beginning in the direction of the hotel Nat had sent me, not speaking a word to Pietro. “Nadia come on, just tell me what’s on your mind.”

I halted abruptly, turning to him with an accusing finger pointed in his direction. “I don’t want to talk to you Pietro! This is your fault if you hadn’t held us up, we could be back at the compound by now not walking through this fucking freezing bullshit.” I kicked at a large pile of snow, not thinking through my actions and feeling my balance crumble as my foot slid across a sheet of ice. Warm arms wrapped around me before I hit the ground, Pietro’s blue eyes gazing down into mine as he held me up. He pulled me back to my feet gently. My face burned and my face was beginning to hurt from the cold. I shook the snow from my shoulders, turning dramatically and continuing toward the hotel without uttering a single word to him.

[yourbravestpigeon]

Grandpa AU - 2018

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem”, Alberich said.

From the corner of his eye he could see Irene sinking deeper into the passenger seat, fiddling with the clasp of her weirdly adult leather bag. The only indicator it belonged to a 21-year-old girl and not a burn-out-approaching teacher was a heart-shaped sticker adorning the brown leather in stripes of blue and purple. Alberich had noticed the bag in his lecture hall before, only then he hadn’t known the calloused hands clasping it were his daughter's. Now he knew, and like surviving a car crash, everything was different. Bizarre, and fragile.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you if I knew anyone else with a car”, Irene explained sheepishly.

“I don’t mind driving you.”

“Thanks.”

The past months her and Alberich had met for wide-eyed coffees, short walks and an awkward steak dinner where he’d found out she was a vegetarian. He’d also learned that her adoptive parents lived in Oxford, that she’d gone to some fancy international school in Switzerland, and that she’d moved to London for her studies a few terms ago. He knew her major, of course, had always known it.

The big facts had blown his mind at first, but after the initial shock it started to be the smaller things that really uprooted him: the plethora of dictionaries on her shelf, her hurried handwriting, the slightly odd shape of her fingernails … He wanted to stare at her and be struck by divine lighting to find out how much of this was his, how much of her had been built using his DNA as blueprints. It was earth-shifting and tide-changing that she existed, and at the same time it was weird to realize that she was, in a way, just a normal person. Just a broke student, without a car to get to a date way out of town.  

“So who’s the guy?”, Alberich asked after a couple minutes of quiet driving.

“It’s, uh, more of a girl.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Well, uh… good.” That probably lowered the odds of her being murdered at this mystery lake he was driving her to.

“She was my tutor for a while, and… She’s kind of difficult, but really fascinating.”

“A tutor in our department? I might know her.”

“Her name’s Bradamant.”

“You’re going out with Bradamant?”

“We’re not going out, we’re… meeting.”

“Well, date her. She’s very bright.”

“Brightness is not the main criteria I’m looking for.”

“Then what is?”

Irene considered for a second, staring into space. She was wearing purple nail polish on her Alberich-shaped fingernails.

“I don’t know. A passionate mind, maybe? Someone who gets me.”

“She’s a skilled researcher.”

“Again, that’s not the selling point you seem to think it is. I like that she’s…fierce.”

Alberich thought of Margaret, and imagined for a few fun seconds what it’d be like to run her over with the car. Yet he had fifty percent of her genes sitting in the seat next to him, and no matter how much respect he’d lost for the provider of those fifty percent, he did kind of like what had come of them. Irene crossed her arms, forcing herself to stop with the nervous clasp-fiddling.

“We’ll just see how it goes. And it isn’t even a date.”

The engine hummed as Alberich shifted into the next gear, the countryside highway stretching out ahead of them.

“Well have fun.”

“Thank you.”

-

Then Alberich was in Moscow for two months, and when he got back they met for a wintery walk along the dull grey Thames. Irene had gotten a coffee and wasn’t wearing purple nail polish anymore.

“How’d it go with Bradamant?”, Alberich remembered to ask after a while. Irene all but flinched, then blushed slightly, looking equal parts embarrassed and enraged.

“Not good. Not good at all.”

“Oh?”

“She's… Let’s talk about something else, please.”

“Want me to get her kicked off the assistant staff?”

Irene snapped her head around, looking at him in disgust.

“God, no! I hope you’re not serious!”

Alberich gave an honest shrug.

“No”, Irene said, “She didn’t do anything wrong. It was probably my fault for being too… clingy, or… I just misunderstood the things she said.”

“You think?” Having met Irene and having read some of her papers, Alberich doubted she was able to severely misinterpret something.

“Yes. She was pretty clear about it. I was just dumb and naïve or a second, so it’s my fault.”

“Hm, okay. Happens.”

“Just promise me you won’t abuse your position because of it. That’d be the last thing I want.”

“Fine. I promise.”

Once again Alberich wondered about the upbringing that had instilled such sound morals in the woman, and what she’d be like if he had raised her. If vengefulness were hereditary, they’d be buying gasoline right now. Irene took a long sip from her coffee instead, cupping her hands around the paper cup.

“So how are you? How was Moscow?”

“Good. It was my first time teaching there; I’m usually in Petersburg.”

“Sounds great. I’ve never been to Russia.”

“Where have you been to?”

“When I was little my parents used to take me on all their business trips, so technically I’ve been all kinds of places. I just can’t remember any of it.”

“Why’d they stop?”

“Taking me? Eh, I was in boarding school. Plus, they wanted me to grow up normally, with friends and routine and all that. That’s hardly possible when you swap countries every couple weeks.”

“You should make use of your semester break, go someplace nice.”

“Yeah, maybe. But a student job at the university library doesn’t pay my bills and a trip someplace nice.”

“There’re student grants for that. That’s what I did when I was young and broke.”

“Tell me about that”, Irene requested. Alberich glanced at her and thought she looked distinctly sad, but he had no idea how to fix it if he wasn’t supposed to hurt Bradamant. So he pretended to not notice and did as Irene asked, taking her on a strongly censored stroll down memory lane.

---

Still inspired by @withlovebinnie 's comic!

[aphfanficwriters]

Monthly Members' Fics — Dec 2023

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Some Things Are Best Left Unforgotten — Chapter 1: An Object in Motion by DubiouslyKind (America/England) The son of a demon and a witch meets a fairy when he was a child. As an adult, they continue to meet throughout different lifetimes. Arthur cannot escape him or their complicated past, but he is unsure if he really wants to either.

[elenatria]

I just came back from my Stellanspotting trip at the Ischia Film Festival and as I'm going through my files I'm filled with the memories of all my crazy Chernobyl-related trips of the past. It all comes back to me, how Alan Williams was the first Chernobyl cast member I ever met, how it all felt, and still makes me feel; the heroes, the villains. The crazy pairings.

So in my Alan Williams folder I come across this sceenshot from the Chernobyl script. That line was included in the scene, however if Alan Williams had uttered it twice ("anything", as mentioned in the original script) it would have had a different meaning. I've never been a fan of Chalery (or dubcon for that matter) but I know someone who was. We've drifted apart over the years, I don't know what fandom she is into now, but I hope she sees this just because now I understand, and wish I could have shared this with her when it mattered.

So here it is.

Charkov showers Valery with all kinds of threats, and when it's time to "read him his sentence", to tell him that his fate is going to be slow death and oblivion, he gloats: "It would be embarrassing to kill you now. And for what? Your testimony never happened, you never happened." He leans over Valery's ear, his voice nothing more than a lewd whisper. "But I can take it all back," he breathes with a dark smile. "You know I can, don't you, Valery? When we're back in Moscow I want you to report to me Monday evening. In my office at the Lubyanka."

Valery's face goes white as as sheet. "Report... report what?"

"You're not the one asking questions, Legasov," Charkov cuts him off. He gives him one last look and strides out of the kitchen.

That Monday, when Valery crosses Myasnitskaya Street with his gaze fixed on the massive building, its hundred glass eyes staring back at him, its old yellow bricks reeking of paranoia and torture and death, the sun has already set and the soft evening breeze, albeit July, chills him to the bone. He fills his lungs with the smell of the metropolis around him, the last air he will ever breathe, and enters the foyer. The receptionist has already been notified about his arrival, the guard is too ready to lead him to a discreet door on the third floor that no one would ever suspect to belong to the head of the KGB.

"It's just a door," Valery mutters to himself, his nerves tight as violin strings.

He knocks, and a cold compelling voice invites him in. A young employee with a side part and a freshly pressed suit, his back turned on the door, gives him a startled look over his shoulder and hastily gathers the papers scattered all over the Chairman's desk.

"I'll sign those later, Lyosha," Charkov decides and gives the young man a little smile.

Lyosha doesn't return the smile: he clutches the papers to his chest and leaves, giving Valery a curious side glance, as if someone as important as the deputy director of the Kurchatov institute has no business being there, in that remote half-lit room of the ancient headquarters of the KGB.

Charkov gets on his feet, straightens his tie and nods Valery towards a seat. As Valery sinks down, his back squeaking against old leather, he hears Charkov's footsteps behind him, the key turning twice with a dry click. He chokes on nothing. He wishes he could light a cigarette but there are no ashtrays in the office - not that he'd dare. He could use a swig of vodka but he remembers alcohol gives him chest burns. He's dying for fresh air but the windows are shut, the curtains drawn.

He's alone with a man who could shoot a bullet through his scull and have dinner with his wife afterwards.

Charkov walks back in front of him, sitting lazily on the desk, both hands in his pockets.

"Professor Legasov," he fakes a sigh crossing his legs, "what are we to do with you..."

Valery's tongue stiffens, his eyes glued to the floor. "I did as you asked," he mutters, "I came."

"Oh no," Charkov's face lights up with devilish amusement, "not yet."

Valery looks up, not sure if there's some sort of hidden meaning behind the words of the Chairman of the KGB. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do n__"

"Close your eyes," Charkov says. His voice has an unexpected softness to it.

"What__"

"Close. Your. Eyes."

Valery slides his eyes shut, knowing that this desk, those chairs, those drawn curtains could be the last objects he'd ever see before the barrel of a Makarov empties out in his brain. He wants to stop his hands from shaking, he wants to be brave and scream to the man placing both hands on the arms of his chair to get this over with, and just as he clasps his knees, ready to spring from his seat and fight for his life, the touch of lips against his own shuts him up completely, the hardened tip of a tongue takes his breath away as it pushes between his teeth, seeking to reach deeper.