#It's set in like. WWII Romania or something

[un-monstre]

Like I know she's evil and perhaps one of history's most famous villains. But this Lady Macbeth is definitely a milf

[bobemajses]

my family is from three known places: targu neamt, schedrin and a place called taboschnik (?) somewhere in belarus that i can’t find when i look it up anywhere. id be very interested if you could find anything out about targu neamt or especially taboschnik!

my paternal zayda worked in a labor camp during the war but came home when he could, on sundays. it was on one of those rare days home that he married my bubbe. they fled from targu meant to a displaced persons camp in germany in 1947, fleeing the russians (either present or encroaching?) in the middle of the night. there’s a note on the back of an old photo, that they wrote to my eldest aunt (who was an infant at the time): ‘this picture was taken a few days before leaving romania for a long, hard and unknown trip. decision to leave: july 16 at 2pm. departure: july 17 2am. baggage: none, except our sweet daughter’. my zeida and bubbe made it to the camp, and he sold cigarettes illegally to make money. then they came to canada, and had three more children.

i don’t know much about my mom’s maternal family, from schedrin and taboschnik. they (my maternal great grandparents) likely came over in the 1920’s. the family myth is they met on the boat to america, where they would go on and settle down in chicago after encountering each other again years later. we do know that one of my grandma’s parents was VERY religious, though. that probably comes from the fact that schedrin was founded by the third chabad rebbe. it always had a strong lubavitcher presence.

i want to say i really love your account. it breathes so much life into our past, and makes my heart warm. i hope this ask isn’t too long, im on mobile so it’s hard to see. much love <3

Much love to you also <333 And thank you for your support!

I searched Taboshnik and Tabashnik in Russian and found the village Tabachniki (Tabačniki) in Belarus, 8km of the town Jeziaryšča in the Vitebsk region. I am not sure if this is really your village and I couldn't find anything about the Jews from there. The Vitebsk region in general was full of them.

But I can tell you surely something about Targu Neamt. Jews were a constant presence in the town’s life until the end of World War II. Following WWII (which did not affect them to a large extent) and the installation of the communist regime, most of them decided to leave, thereby leaving behind a wonderful heritage that is slowly disappearing.

Jews were first mentioned in Targu Neamt in a document from 1660s, and the oldest tombstones in the Jewish cemetery are dated 1677 and 1689. Under the Ottomans, Jews in Târgu Neamț were organized into an isnaf (guild) led by a staroste.

The first blood libel allegation in all of Romania occurred in Targu Neamt in 1710: Jews were accused of killing a Christian child and using his blood for ritual Passover use. Consequently, 5 Jews were killed and another 22 arrested, “denounced” by a monk and two Jewish converts. After an appeal to the prince of Moldavia, the case was investigated, its falsity demonstrated, and the arrested Jews freed.

In 1821 Greek rebells, in a violent uprising against the Turkish rule (Zavera), crossed Moldavia, set fire to the town, and murdered half the Jewish population. In 1899 the Jewish population reached 3,671 (42% of the total). After Jews achieved emancipation in 1919, they participated in municipal life, electing two members to the municipal council in 1930 through the Union of Romanian Jews. In July 1942, the Romanian forest engineer Gheorghe Cojoc arranged with authorities for Jews from the town to work in forests near Targu Neamt, saving them from deportation to Transnistria.

In 1947, some 2,900 Jews lived in Targu Neamt. Their numbers then diminished due to communist persecution and emigration, mainly to Israel. Until 1985 there were nine synagogues still standing in the town, but then eight of them were torn down in the urban renewal that transformed Targu Neamt into a carbon copy of almost every other town nearby. In 1992, just 34 Jews lived there; and in 2004 there were 30, with one beautiful functioning synagogue.

[typingtess]

On night after a few too many vodkas and far too little food, Callen ask his father about Clara.  Knowing exactly how drunk he was, Nikita said “tomorrow, I will speak of her tomorrow,” before resting back in the recliner he had in his room in Alex’s home.  He was asleep in minutes.

Callen tripped down the stairs and took an Uber home.  He honestly couldn’t find his car anyway.  Wherever his father got his vodka, he got the good stuff.

The pounding on his apartment door started around 10AM.  Callen thought for a few minutes the pounding was coming from inside his head.  It wasn’t.  His father was on the other side of his door with the spare key he kept in the car’s right front tire well, a box of Dunkin Donut coffee and a box of potato and cheese piroshkis.  “It will soak up the vodka,” Nikita told his son as he walked into his apartment.

Callen took a quick shower as his father set up breakfast.  The shower along with three Tylenols made having company bearable.  “You didn’t have to come here today,” Callen said as he sat across from his father.  

“I like piroshkis and Alex found a place called Babanin that made good ones.”

“And the coffee?”

“America’s love affair with coffee means I can buy it to go in a recyclable box.  Who thinks of such things?”

“So you dropped by to marvel at American ingenuity?”

“I have always marveled at American ingenuity.  American everything, if you must know.  Jake has a thing on his phone that makes him look like a mouse.”

“It’s a filter and Jake has a phone?”

“If you were a single mother with a reprobate ex-husband, wouldn’t you have a way to speak to your child instantaneously?”

“Didn’t think of it that way.”

“You will when you have children.”

Callen chuckled.  “I’m sure.  While I’m glad to see you, why did you come by?”

“You asked about your mother last night.”

“I did?”

“You did.  I told you I’d speak of her tomorrow.  It is tomorrow.”

“It is,” Callen poured himself a coffee.  Shaking his head, he admitted, “I don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“Fine then, I will tell you this.  She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.  She was the smartest woman I ever met.  Nobody was stronger, nobody was more fearless and nobody was kinder than your Mother.”

“How did you meet?”

“You know about her father?”

“George Callen was OSS then CIA.  I can’t find out much about him since it is all classified even after 70-years.”

“Everybody in my world knew about him.  Call Arkady, he probably has more files on former CIA Agents than the CIA itself.”

“Of course he does,” Callen took a bite of his piroshki.  This was going to soak up the alcohol.

“George Callen had a Romanian wife.  She and her family worked with King Michael and deposed the German’s strongholds in Romania during WWII.  I met him with your mother in Switzerland.”

“You met a King or George Callen?”

“I met both.  George Callen was a spy who likely wouldn’t have much use for any man dating his daughter let alone a Russian officer.  The King was a nice man who had a lovely home in Switzerland.”

“How did you meet my Mother?”

“The CIA thought an attractive female spy might catch the eye of an up and coming Russian soldier.  The KGB thought an up and coming soldier would catch the eye of an attractive young spy whose father was CIA royalty.”

“So the CIA assigned her to spy on you and the KGB assigned you to spy on her.”

“It was almost an arranged marriage.” Nikita smiled. “It was not supposed to be marriage.  It was supposed to be an affair when I could get something on her or from her.  She of course, was doing the same.  The problem was I found your Mother to be the most wonderful woman in the world.  And she thought well of me.”  Nikita was a mix of proud and embarrassed.  An older man remembering the first blush of true love.

“Do you have any photos of her?”

“No.  They were lost when I had my troubles with the government.”

“I did see a photo of her.  She was beautiful.”

“Inside and out.”

“What did the KGB think of your marriage?”

“I told them that we could feed disinformation to Clara.  Tell the Americans things we wants to know, try to learn things the Americans did not want to us to know.”

“Did it work?”

“I did tell you your mother was a smart woman,” Nikita’s smile went right to his eyes.  “And truly, after we were married, I realized the best life I could give her and our children was away from Russia.  I started working with a group that was getting dissidents, scientist, doctors, musicians and people in the arts out of Russia.  Your mother was an American citizen, she could come and go and she pleased.  You and your sister were American citizens too.  Me, I was a Russian soldier working against his country so I could travel.  These people we were helping were trapped.”

“Did my Mother approve of it.”

“When she would take you children to the mountains for a picnic, there were usually two or three people in the trunk of the car.  You three would have a day out in nature, others would empty the trunk of the car and move them closer to America.”

“So she helped.”

“She loved it.  Clara was not made to be a Russian officer’s wife.  She was as spy.  Raised by a spy, trained to be a spy.  The KGB watched her from time to time but they were old sexist men.  When I told them I had my house in order and my wife was cooking, cleaning and raising the children, I didn’t mention that she was also working on fake passports, arranging travel routes and transporting escapees.”

“Was she there when you were arrested for the first time?”

“No.  She would visit her parents every June.  They had a dacha in Delaware and that year, she learned both of her parents had cancer.  She brought you and your sister to stay for summer.  You were all in the US when I was arrested.  She was not allowed to return to Russia.  When I dropped you all off at the airport on June 2nd, that was the last time I saw her.”

“When did you hear she died?”

“A few years later.  I was in a camp in Pevek.  I mined uranium for 12-hours a day in a place where they sun stop shining in November and didn’t come back until February.  It fit my mood.”

“I don’t remember them killing her.  I was there but I have no real memory of it.  Just flash.”

“I am sorry you were there.  I would have protected her.  No child should see his mother die,” Nikita was quiet for a while.  “She had so much to give you children.  She was teaching you English, Russian, Romanian and French.  Your sister could count to one-hundred in French.  Your mother would always give her a treat when she finished.  She was teaching you all the animals in the zoo in Romanian.”

“I don’t remember any of this.”

“You were little.  And cranky.  Your sister slept the night through all the time but you would roll over and if your blanket moved the wrong way, you’d cry until Clara…your mother…rocked you back to sleep.”

“Please don’t tell anyone that that.”

“I won’t.  My mother told Clara I was a fussy baby too,” Nikita let out a good laugh.  “I am sorry you don’t remember her.  But I do know you two children were her world.  The work she did to help move people along was important to her but never at the cost of spending time with her children.  You were loved, Grisha.  You were always loved.”

[turdblossommm]

All I Am

Summary: Bucky never realized that he struggle with his identity until he was no one. It take a hundred years to break this identity crisis and who knew the solution to the whole mess would be you.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5,421

A/N: Hello lovlies! I’ve never wrote a one shot so I thought I’d give it a go. I hope you like it! Feed back is always welcome!

Masterlist

Bucky always thought he knew who he was. Growing up he always had charm that won it’s way in everyone’s heart. He always had the ladies hanging on his every word, it was always a silent battle between the women who would dance with him next. He was always protecting Steve when he’d get himself into some sort of trouble.

Then he was a sergeant, off to fight the Nazis and afraid of leaving Steve alone in Brooklyn. Somehow he knew he’d manage to find a way in the army and that scared him more than him going to war. Steve wasn’t meant to enter the war and Bucky was going to do his best to make sure that never happened.

Then he was a POW. Stuck in a nasty Nazi work camp full of soldiers forced to work long twelve hour days with minimal food and water. There were days Bucky though he wasn’t going to make it, face death like others before him. His family would never know what happened to him. Then came the day they dragged him to the room.

No one every came back from this room so when they pulled Bucky out of his cell in the middle of the night he knew his fate. Nothing comes close to describing the pain, every inch of his skin  was on fire. And that moment, the moment he knew he wouldn’t be the same.

He felt different, it was subtle but he knew he was different. He thought it was delusions in his head was he saw Steve in tights. Leaving that work camp was a blur for Bucky, he couldn’t remember the walk they made or who he walked next to except for Steve. But Steve wasn’t Steve anymore. He wasn’t that scrawny kid he knew, he was now a war hero.

And Bucky?

At that point Bucky didn’t know who he was or what was feeling. He was just simply existing, following Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos. Bucky knew he wasn’t the same since his time in that room. They did something to him and he doesn’t know what.

And that part kept him awake at night. What he still Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn? Or was he something else now? He didn’t feel like himself anymore, there was something building inside him and he didn’t know what.

It was the subtle things that scared him, he’d be randomly doing something and he’d be able to move things that he couldn’t before. The math for his sniper calculations came easier and he’d never seen clearer out of a scope before. Everything about his was enhanced, just like Steve but Bucky never made the connection.

When he fell off that train Bucky almost felt relief, to finally end the suffering and pain he’d been feeling inside. He thought all the pain would go away, but instead felt felt more. He felt his body hit the the side of the canyon and bounce to another side. He felt all of it. By the time he hit the ground Bucky couldn’t feel anything, the pain was gone.

Bucky was gone.

Becoming the Winter Soldier brought more pain and suffering, between the cryo and his mission the Soldier never knew another life. He was inhuman and felt nothing, nothing could stop the Winter Soldier except his handlers.

The Soldier always and only knew pain, sometimes he’d get flashes of some unknown life, a happier one. The Soldier saw this life and deep down, passed the instinct to kill and unwillingness to feel anything, he envies that life. He envies the happiness wishing he could escape this place and embody that happiness. But when the Soldier starts to feel, they feel the need to scramble his brain.

And they do when ever they deem necessary, and overtime he goes back in cryo. For 70 year the Winter Soldier didn’t feel anything, but Bucky felt everything. Deep in the Soldiers subconscious Bucky lived, he saw everything the monster they made did. 

Everything he did

Bucky saw what he did with peoples lives, the lives he took with his hands. He screamed and pounded on the walls of his mind. Hope, praying he break down the walls and someone, anyone would help him.

It was seventy years after his fall he heard his name again. Bucky felt his chest swell as he saw his best friend standing on that bridge talking to the Soldier. And when he saw Steve again on those carriers watching the Soldier beat him down.

Bucky tried to break through, he screamed louder than he had before, he knew in this moment was the only time he’d been able to break the Soldier, he’d been out of cryo for too long. Bucky closed his eyes as the Soldier brought down his fist, probably the one that will end Steve’s life

And when he opened them, he saw Steve not from the back of his mind, but from his own eyes. He’s falling, again. He watched Steve’s lifeless body fall into the water. When he fell into it was like he was pushed from his subconscious and into the mind of the Soldier. Bucky had control but he couldn’t remember a thing aside from what happened in the last 48 hours. The water washed away any aspect of Bucky’s old life, Bucky couldn’t remember Bucky.

He pulled the blond man body from the water and dragged him to the shore where he left him. He called him Bucky, he had to find out who he was. As he walked through whatever city he was in he saw a sign with the Captain America exhibit.

He pulled his ball cap down lower and enter the museum, he found the Captain America exhibit without any trouble. Surprisingly he found his face all over, he was-is Sargent James Buchanan (Bucky) Banes. He was the only Howling Commando to lose his life, but he didn’t obviously. There was name of the person who wrote the article about him and where they worked, if anyone was going to have answers it was you, Y/N Dugan.

He found you, and he was very surprised when he found out how young the head of the History department was. He watched you for a week, the first day of observation he actually thought you were a student until you went off on a tangent about the Paleolithic era.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in one of your lectures about WWII when you spoke about him and the whole team. He could tell by they way your voice changed that you held the subject close to your heart.

“We have the members of the Howling Commandos to thank for the everything they’ve done and gave to this country” A boy in the third row raised his hand

“Professor Dugan is there any relation between you and Dum Dum Dugan?” You smiled and nodded

“He’s my grandfather” You paused “He’s also the reason I’m standing before you, if not for him I would be leaning over an operating table. He taught me to chase my dreams so I’ll leave you with the same advice. 

“You make choice that will shape your future, don’t let someone make them for you because their life didn’t go the way they wanted. This is your one life to live, don’t mess it up with other people’s choice” The room was silent, Bucky could see that you had all these students eating out of your hand. You caught Bucky’s eyes and he looked away

“I’ll leave you with that and conclude the lecture 10 minutes early” Bucky watched as students smiled and packed up their books. Bucky got up and moved with them, get out of your sight before you recognized him

“Not so fast” Bucky stopped mid step, to this day Bucky never understood why he didn’t run at that moment. He watched as you closed the door to the lecture hall “I know who you are”

“A lot of people seem to” Bucky responded as he didn’t meet your eyes

“For being an ex-assassin your not very good at flying under the radar” You chuckled and walked down the stairs to your table with your computer and projector “Why are you watching me? I doubt it’s to thank me for the exhibit” You smiled

“I need help” Bucky still wouldn’t look at you

“Well I don’t have another lecture for another hour, so I’m all yours” You smiled and Bucky finally met your eyes and they weren’t Dugan’s like he expected, you didn’t look anything like him except for the orange hair and freckles.

Bucky asked you as many question as he could about who he was and what happened after the war. Any history that was altered because of him, how many people died at his hands. You were more than willing to help.

When your first noticed him following you, you were afraid that he might still be the Soldier, but after talking to him for that hour you found out that he was just a disoriented and broken man. He didn’t want to hurt people anymore, he just wanted to live the rest of his life in peace.

You gave him everything you could and Bucky was more than grateful because this was considered aiding and abetting. He didn’t want to bring you trouble, and as it seems trouble always seemed to following him. Before he left you sent him with your card and set him up a email with a protected server

“If you have questions or need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate” You passed off the card “Don’t call on a cell phone, they can trace it” He nodded

“Thank you” You smiled and drove him a train station that was going to take him to place where he could get on a boat and lave the US. Bucky was grateful, so grateful for you and your help. If he ever gets out of this he’s going find a way to repay you somehow.

As the weeks turned to months and somehow a year had passed in hiding. He’d found refuge in Romania, per your suggestion. He tries to email you or call you at least once a week, it tends to keep him sane. Just hearing your voice calmed him, he’s never found a way to calm himself until you.

Over that time he learned that you were a young genius with a gift of memory, some may say it was a genetic mutation. You finished high school at fourteen and double majored in college and came out in six years with a doctorate in both World Religions and World History.

He learned that you traveled the world with other historians in search of answers for the questions the world had. You’d been to burial grounds all over the world and studied the indigenous people in Africa.

You learned little secrets about the war that the history books left out, secrets about the Howling Commandos and even the early life of Steve Rogers, before he was Captain America. He told you about the thirties and forties, stories from his childhood.

Bucky savored your laughter and your voice, it brought a sort of light into his dark life. He always called you when his thoughts would get dark and you chased them away like his mom would chase the raccoons with a broom stick.

When times would get real hard Buck would sometimes wish that you went with him, just so he could hold you when the nightmares got bad. You always remind him to keep a dream journal and a regular journal for his memories but his journal is mostly filled with thoughts about you.

You watched in horror at the news in your living room, announcing that the Winter Soldier was behind the bombing in Vienna that killed Kind T’Chaka, you’d met him with you studied African tribes. You knew it was a lie, you spoke to Bucky an hour ago. He didn’t tell him but you weren’t teaching this summer and you were going to fly out to Romania to see him.

Bucky often occupied your mind when you weren’t working, sometimes even when your were working. Your heart always fluttered in your chest when you were able to discuss WWII with your students. It used to bring you joy because you loved your grandfather, but Bucky added to that in another way.

As the investigations droned on the less and less you heard from Bucky. One day you over heard your students talking about him, how he’d been caught with Captain America and some other Avengers.

You quickly whipped out your phone and google his name, looking for any information, looking for hope. He was being held in a foreign country before escaping with the rest of them, there was also a story on an explosion at an airport in Germany. You were so confused, but you mostly wanted Bucky to be okay.

Bucky stood in the lab without his left arm, he decided that it was for the best for everyone if he went back in cryo, he couldn’t hurt people in there. He wanted to call you and tell you everything, make sure you were okay. These weeks without hearing your voice was treacherous. You were the rock that held him down when he was flying away.

“Are you sure Buck?” He nodded and his childhood friend

“Can I make a phone call before I go under?” Bucky looked up to the king of Wakanda and he passed a phone to him. He dialed your number, he memorized it months ago

“Hi this is Y/N Dugan” Bucky felt tears fill his eyes as he heard your voice “Hello?” You called again and he couldn’t find the words to say to you “Bucky?” Your voice was shaky 

“Hey doll” Bucky sniffled and Steve quirked his brow, ‘of course Bucky found a girl’ he thought to himself

“Hey, hows it going?” You chuckled at the casual conversation, fighting back tears not wanting to have puffy eyes before a lecture

“As good as it can for a wanted ex-assassin” You wiped under eyes

“Are you safe?” You asked, the question was going to keep you up at night if it goes unanswered

“For now” He paused “I’m going to be gone for awhile, but I’ll call you as soon as I get better okay” The tears were streaming down your face now, you didn’t have the will to hold them back anymore

“Bucky” You sighed while bitting your lips to keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks

“You don’t have to say anything” A tear slide down his cheek “I’ll see you soon okay?” 

“Promise?” You asked while turning your back to the students that were starting to file in

“I promise, I’ll find you” You smiled

“I’ll be where you found me” 

“Talking about me?” He chuckled

“Always”

“I got to go doll” You sniffled and wiped the tears away

“Me too” You ended the call and tried to regain you composure before turning to class and began your lecture on the man you were hopelessly in love with. Bucky handed the phone back to Steve and laid back on the table.

“Her name is Y/N Dugan, she a professor at Columbia University” Bucky told Steve “Can you check on her every now and again” Steve nodded and placed his hand on Bucky shoulder 

“I promise” And thats when Bucky was frozen in time once again, waiting for Shuri to find a way to get the trigger words out of his head and then maybe he can find his way back to you. You were the light at the end of a very dark tunnel and he’s going to get you.

Steve checked on you every now and then, but like Bucky before, you caught him and insisted that he come in. You’d always ask about Bucky and how he was doing and Steve always had the same answer

“They’re doing all they can for him” And you’d nod every single time. You want to go out to this African country and find him and tell him everything is going to be okay, even if it isn’t going to be. You just want to see him

Steve always said no, it wasn’t safe for you. You’d fight him, and you fought him hard on it. It always reminded Steve of his old friend, your grandfather, when you’d argue with him. You’re just as hard headed as he was.

Bucky was better, Shuri took those words from his head and crushed them. Now Bucky was on the mend and he couldn’t be happier, he just wanted to see you. He had his own place in Wakanda, he’d look after so goats to pass the time. He had the hope of going home to you until the king walked to his little shack with his new arm

There was always going to be a fight and he was always going to be caught in the middle of it. As he stood in the middle of the battle field with a talking raccoon was when he question his sanity, was this his intent? Did God put him on this earth to fight battles for other people?

Bucky watched Steve catch that stupid purple tyrant’s hand, cursing him for being so reckless. Not even Thor’s battle axe could’ve stopped the snap. It was the snap felt around the world. At first Bucky didn’t feel a things until he looked down at his hands. They were starting to fall away, disintegrate into nothing

“Steve?” He called before everything went black. When his eyes opened again he was in a grey room, but it wasn’t a room, it was like a void. And endless realm of nothing. He tried to walk to the end of where ever he was, but it was like walking in place.

After what felt like forever he found a door and when he opened it he found his parents and two little sisters sitting around a shabby Christmas tree. His dad hadn’t gone off to war yet and his ma’s hair wasn’t grey yet. The twins couldn’t be more than ten.

“Bucky there you are, we’ve been waiting forever” Rachel dragged him into the living room and he watched his sisters tear into their few presents. He remembers this Christmas, this was the last Christmas before his dad went off to war and disappeared.

At the same time he felt the happiness all again he was shot out of the room and back in the grey void. He searched for another door, desperate to find his family again. He just wanted to see them one more time.

He ripped open another door and it reveal Steve bending over a garbage can at Coney Island. Bucky smiled as he remembered the tilt-a-whirl and the two hot dogs he ate right before. Bucky couldn’t stop from laughing

“Yeah keep laughing buddy” Steve grumbled and followed him down the board walk back the girls they came with. He saw Dot and her friend waving and Bucky hurried Steve along to catch up with them. Bucky smiled as he won the prize for Dot and Steve scolded him for using all their money on the stupid game. Bucky found a way to get some money and opened the door for Steve and he was back in the grey void.

Bucky sighed again and searched for another door. When he opened the third door he was sitting in the chair. He started to panic as they put the rubber mouth guard in his mouth. He fought the restraints until they turned the machine on and he felt the pain all over again. He closed his eyes and opened them to be back in the void.

Bucky opened three more doors, all showing all the people he killed. First was a man, probably some scientist working against Hydra at the time. The second door showed the first women he killed, she threatened to against Hydra and tell their secrets. The last showed the only other women he kill and Howard Stark, their death haunts him almost every night. He knew Howard before he became the soldier, they were friends.

Bucky found tears streaming down his face in the void, having to relieve the Soldiers memories was something he never wanted to do. One more door popped up and Bucky couldn’t do it, he couldn’t watch him brutally murder anymore people. But this door had a warm glow coming from under the door, so he hesitantly pushed the door open to reveal your face.

You were holding a baby on your hip with two twin toddlers running around the living room. Bucky analyzed the room and realized it was littered with party hats and streamers, the fire place had a banner reading ‘Happy 105th Birthday’. Bucky’s eyes landed back on you, the ring on your fourth finger on your left hand. He looked down to his metal hand and there was a thick band around it as well.

“Happy Birthday Sarge” You kissed his lips and Bucky felt his heart swell 

“Daddy” The baby boy reached for him and you passed the baby to him 

“Steve and Sam will be here soon” You yelled from the kitchen as there was knock on the door. He pulled it open and Steve stood with a women Bucky didn’t know. He side stepped when a little girl ran in the room and started playing with the twins.

“Sarah behave” The women called and kissed Bucky’s cheek after wishing him a happy birthday before she joined you in the kitchen. Steve clapped him on the shoulder and smiled

“Who would’ve thought?” Steve smiled at the children playing in the living room

“Yeah” Bucky agreed

“Winny, Becca tell your daddy happy birthday” You smiled at the toddlers as the handed him a present. Sam and his girl arrived at some point and everyone was gathered around the living room, you were sitting on Bucky’s lap. Bucky watched you as you observed everyone and everything around you. Your eyes found their way back to Bucky

“I love you” You kissed his forehead and Bucky closed his eyes

“I love you too” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on yours

You watched in shock as you students started to drift into nothing but dust. You waited for it to happen to you, or someone come and explain what the hell was going on. You hurried back to your apartment and tried Steve’s phone, maybe he had answers. And of course he didn’t answer.

You didn’t know what to do, was life still supposed to go on? You turned on the news, and people disappearing was all anyone could talk about. There were no answers for any questions asked, nobody knew what was happening.

So you continued your life, found research projects to fill the void. The void that was normally filled with Bucky, he hadn’t tried to contact you again so all you could think was that he too was gone. Nothing left of him but a little dust.

Thoughts like that caused you to cry yourself to sleep, what f you never saw him again? What if you never got to tell him how you felt? It was three o’clock in the morning when you flipped your covers off and packed a bag for Wakanda.

Steve tried to call you but it kept going voicemail, so he assumed you had the same fate as the others. So when you stepped into the African kingdom he almost lost it, how the hell you got here bewildered him.

You were going to stay and help figure this mess out, no matter what it takes. As you scanned the throne room for any sign of Bucky you found Steve. You could see the rage from across the room where he was surrounded by the remaining Avengers. You felt your eyes widen as Steve stomped over to you and dragged you out of the room.

“Why are you here? It’s not safe” You threw your arms up

“Because I had to know” You paused “I had to know if he was still alive”

“Y/N” Steve’s eye softened 

“I know, if he wasn’t by your side I assumed he didn’t make it” Steve heart broke for you as tears welled in your eyes. He pulled you into him

“We’ll get hime back okay” You nodded int his chest

“Tell me what you want me to do”

“Go home” You stepped back and glared at the larger man

“To what Steve? To sit and wait in my apartment for the inevitable?” You shook your head “I’m staying here until he comes back” You pushed passed him and Steve ran after you

“Y/N stop” You spun around and glared at him “There’s a lab on the fifth floor, find Shuri” You nodded and stepped into the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. You found the empty lab and stepped inside. There was a few files left open and you found Bucky’s face

You smiled and picked up the picture. It was from the forties when his hair was still short, he wore a ratty green shirt and had a gun on his back. You watch a drop of water pool on the picture, with out realizing it was your tears

“Can I help you?” You dropped the picture and wiped your eyes

“Steve sent me here to help” You told a girl who couldn’t be more than 16

“I’m Shuri” She stuck out her hand

“Y/N Dugan” He eyes lit up

“You’re her? Bucky wouldn’t shut up about you” You blushed “He said you were some kind of genius” You nodded 

“Kinda” You smiled and over the months you did everything you could do to help her. The remaining Avengers did what ever they were doing to restore the world from Thano’s destruction.

Some days in the lab were better than the others, on the bad days you’d cry yourself to sleep while clutching Bucky’s picture. It was the only thing you had left of him, you’d always wonder if you were destined to only see him once. Like it was some sick and cruel joke the universe was playing on you.

When the days got to be like this, you’d always go back to the emails. You read his words over and over again to the point you could recite them word for word. Sometimes you’d pretend he was in the bed next to you whispering the words.

On the good days you’d eat dinner with Shuri and go over plans for another good day in the lab. Sometimes the team would send information and you two would run wild for it. The two of you were playing for the same side, you wanted Bucky back, she wanted her brother back. 

Shuri’s heart broke at the loss of her brother for the second time, but her heart broke harder for you. Bucky always talked about you and how he knew you were the one the moment he spoke to you for the first time. Shuri could see how deeply Bucky loved you and she could see it was reciprocated from you.

You never realized how much you loved Bucky until he was gone. You two were never together, but you always knew he’d be on the receiving end of your phone call or email. Now he’s nothing but a pile of dust, crushed at the hands of a purple monster.

“Y/N” Shuri stood breathless in the door way of the lab “They did it” You shot from your stool and ran after her down the hallway and down to the main room of the palace. You watched the aircraft lower to the ground.

Bucky knew you were in Wakanda, Steve told him and he almost punched him for letting you stay. But Bucky knew you, Steve didn’t have a chance. When the craft touched down he thought back to the soul realm and the vision of you.

T’Challa was the first off the ship and Shuri was in his arms in the few seconds that followed. Slowly everyone exited the craft, Bucky was nervous to say the least. The sun was bright when he first step off and when his eyes adjusted he saw you and the world stopped.

You stood outside the group of reuniting Avengers and family. You had on a ratty shirt and black leggings and a traditional Wakandan blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You had your hair tied in a messy bun on top of your head and you glasses were low on your nose as you searched for him.

When you saw him standing in the doorway of the aircraft you stopped breathing. He was in blue tactical gear, his long hair flowing over his shoulders. You took a couple steps forward as his eyes found yours. He hurried off the craft and pushed through the group of people

“Hey” He breathed and you smiled and your hand came up to his cheek, making sure this was all real

“Hi” He leaned into your hand

“I missed you” He mumbled

“I missed you too” He pulled you into his chest and your breathed in his scent, you never realized how much you missed it until you smelt it again. The smell of his natural smell mixed with mint was an intoxicating scent.

Bucky brushed your hair behind your ear as he kept you close, he never wanted to be without you again. You pulled away from his chest and smiled up at him and he placed his hands on either sides of your face, searching for a sign from you

“You going to make me wait another couple years?” You joked and he pressed his lips to your. You were everything Bucky imagined, they way your lips molded with his perfectly. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you while he pulled back and rest his head on yours

“Y/N I-I” Bucky stuttered and he cursed himself

“I know” You smiled and Bucky’s heart rate rose “I love you too” Bucky smiled and push his lips back on yours

“Alight Ice Man I’m about to puke” Bucky flipped Sam the bird as you laughed and Steve had to break up their bickering. Bucky held your hand and he wasn’t ever going to let go.

Bucky always struggle to find himself, he was never able to attach a permeate label until he met you. You loved him and even when he went back to New York with you. You found a lawyer for him to prove his innocence in front of the court.

You held his hand when he cleared of all his crimes, you held his hand through all the times he thought he’d be sentence to prison. You held his hand after ever nightmare he had, Shuri could take the words form his head but not the memories.

He held your hand when you worked until the early mornings and on archeological sites. Sometimes he would be afraid that you’d fall in one of the hole and never see you again. He held your hand when your mother died from cancer.

You held his hand when the minister pronounced you man and wife, you never let go through the whole reception only for you to dance with your father and brothers. You had his hand through countless therapy sessions.

He held your hand after the second time you miscarried a child. He held you as you cried your nights away. He held your hand when you brought his two daughters into this world, he squeezed even harder when you named one after his mother and sister. He held your hand again when your brought his son in this world, he almost let go when you insisted naming him after Bucky.

After 105 years Bucky finally knew who he was and what he was meant to be. He was meant to be yours, your rock, your everything indefinitely. As were you to him, you may be a genius, historian, what ever title you held. But deep down both you and Bucky knew that you were always his, you were his everything.

[this-ginger-has-no-soul]

Plums

Request: Can I request a reader x Bucky where the reader meets Bucky in Romania, and offers her a plum after getting to know her and falling for her. She erupts into tears and tells him the story of how her grandfather had a plum tree when she was young, and that he passed recently. Fluff and comfort ensues.

Warnings: death 

 Bucky had met her at the market. She had been selling fruit and he had needed some food other than those shitty candy and protein bars he had been eating.

   He had approached her stand, smiling brightly at her. She looked kind, her smile seemed nice and her voice was soft when she spoke.

   "Hello there, what can I do for you sir?" Bucky smiled and responded with something along the lines of, 'Just browsing'. He had really been looking for plums, he had heard they were good for your memory and god only knew he needed that extra help. 

  He touched most of the fruit, testing its ripeness, trying to determine what he used to like and what he thought he would like now. He grabbed a plethora of fruit and some veggies too before snagging the plums he had originally came for. He gave the kind woman her money and left, never anticipating he'd see her after that. To Bucky's surprise he saw the kind woman again that day, unloading a bunch of boxes into the apartment next to his. It broke Bucky's heart a bit, his apartment was awful, he was literally sleeping on a broken mattress on the floor, he was dirt poor, the kind woman didn't deserve that kind of life. 

  "Here-" Bucky reached for some of the boxes before he knew what he was doing. "Let me help you with these," Bucky carried a bunch of the boxes into the apartment, he elected to ignore the way the ceiling was caving in or the way the wallpaper was peeling and yellowing. 

  Bucky set the boxes down and turned to the woman, smiling gently. 

  "Thank you so much Sir," she whispered, her kind smile shining just a bit brighter than before. 

  "Please," Bucky stuck his flesh hand out for the woman to shake. "Call me Bucky," The woman beamed at him as she took his hand, he noted the way her hands were calloused and tanned from work, probably labor of some sort in the sun for hours on end.

   "Bucky, I'm (Y/N),"

   "(Y/N), it's very nice to meet you,"

   "It's very nice to meet you too," 

  Bucky started going to (Y/N)'s stand every day after that, in fact he'd wake up early every morning just to go to her stand with her. It's not like he had anything better to do anyways, he was laying low, trying to remember who he was. Plus, he liked (Y/N), she was easy going, kind, and she always had this soft look in her eyes when she looked at Bucky. Bucky thought it was admiration, maybe infatuation, either way it made him feel warm and mushy inside. He also liked the stand, he liked people watching and he liked spending quality with (Y/N). 

   He learned a lot about her, about her family and her home life. He found out her father was born and raised in Romania but he had moved to New Jersey when he wad young, there he married a young woman and they had a few kids. While (Y/N)'s father migrated to New Jersey the rest of her family stayed in Romania, she had moved back recently because her grandfather was sick and she was taking care of him and his house while he was in the hospital. Bucky also learned that (Y/N) was a history major and she had been working two jobs before moving to Romania, she had made a living for herself and she gave it all up to come care for her grandfather.  Bucky respected her for her decisions, he knew it couldn't have been easy to transition from her previous life to the one she was living now. 

  And while Bucky learned a lot about (Y/N) she also learned a lot about him. He had grown up in Brooklyn, he had served in WWII alongside Captain America and the howling commandos, he had always loved science, and had he not died during the war he would have liked to come home and work for Stark Industries. 

  Bucky hadn't opened up to anybody like that in decades but for some reason it was so easy to talk to (Y/N), to tell her every aspect of his life. 

  They were close, they shared things with each other that they had never shared with other human beings, they spent most of their time together, and they slowly were becoming the best of friends. (Y/N) was always there for Bucky after he had a nightmare or when he was struggling with his trauma and he was always there for (Y/N) when she was feeling down about her grandfather. Whenever Bucky had a nightmare He'd come crawling to (Y/N) and whenever (Y/N) had a bad day with her grandfather she'd come to Bucky for comfort, it was nice...most of the time. Sometimes (Y/N) didn't open up to Bucky, sometimes when things were too much she'd just shut down and try to work the problems out by herself, it never worked and Bucky always found out somehow,sometimes by saying or doing something stupid that upset (Y/N). 

  That's exactly how Bucky found out about (Y/N)'s grandfather, he offered her a plum (only trying to be kind), but instead of taking it or saying no she stared at the plum in Bucky's outstretched hand and began to cry. Bucky had no idea what to do, did he hug her? Did he apologize? Did he ask what was wrong? "

  M-My grandfather had a p-plum tree growing up," (Y/N) gasps between sobs. "O-Oh God Bucky, h-he's gone!"

   "What?" Bucky sets the plum down, instead taking (Y/N)'s hands in his own amd squeezing them gently. "What do you mean?" 

   "H-He passed away two nights ago," 

   "Oh sweetheart," Bucky sighs as he pulls (Y/N) into a hug. "Why didn't you tell me?"

   "I-I didn't know how to! I-I didn't want to be a b-burden," 

   "(Y/N), you are not, have not, nor will you ever be a burden, okay? I'm your friend, I'm here for you no matter what the circumstance is,"

   "I-I know that..."

   "Good," Bucky whispers as he wipes away some of (Y/N)'s tears. "Can I do anything to help?"

   "I-I don't know...I've never dealt with anything like this before...will you- will you please just stay with me? No one's even offered to help...my father has essentially abandoned me and no one else cares...I-I just need some support,"  

  "Of course (Y/N)," Bucky whispers. "I just wish I could do more for you,"

   "You already do so much Bucky...so much more than anyone else has," "

  Can I help with the funeral? Maybe I could pay for something?"

   "You're too sweet," (Y/N) smiles sadly as she gets up on her tiptoes to kiss Bucky's cheek. "...maybe you could accompany me to the funeral, for support?" Bucky nods and smiles, although it didn't quite reach his eyes like his smiles usually did. 

   "I'd be more than glad to come along,"

[trashartandmovies]

Berlinale Film Festival 2021, Industry Event, Day 2

One of the great treats of going to a film festival is getting the chance to wake up and see some transgressive mindfuckery first thing in the morning. This can be either thrilling, like seeing ANTICHRIST at 10:00 AM in Toronto and then being excited to see if the rest of the day’s movies can top that; or it can knock you out for the rest of the day, like seeing IRRADIATED at last year’s Berlinale and needing to process my contempt and hope for humanity.

Of course, part of the thrill of these experiences has been sitting with an audience and going through the mindfuckery as a collective, feeling the energy, seeing people walk out, getting through it together. When things are moved online, and the timing and schedule of your streaming film festival is more or less up to you, many pleasures are lost. But I have to say, there was a thrill in getting up at sunrise to put on some headphones and sit with THE SCARY OF SIXTY-FIRST, an effectively wild and perverse shriek of a movie from first-time director Dasha Nekrasova, and part of this year’s Encounters section.

Shot in New York City, on beautiful 16mm film, THE SCARY is a steep plummet down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole, triggered by the death of Jeffrey Epstein and two roommates moving into a new apartment on 61st Street that may be linked to the man and the sex trafficking ring he was involved with. These details are merely the place setting for an aggressive and sometimes messy assault on good taste and mainstream cinematic conventions. The two roommates descend into different kinds of madness — Addie seems to be possessed by some sort of evil within the apartment, while Noelle is quickly consumed by the conspiracy theories circling Epstein, the royal family, pizzagate, etc. Wedged between the two is Nekrasova herself, playing an amateur sleuth who indoctrinates Noelle with lurid websites, pharmaceutical speed, and sex. From there, the rabbit hole just keeps getting wider and weirder, Addie becomes obsessed with Prince Andrew and creepy tarot cards keep popping up. There will be blood.

I found it all pretty damn intoxicating, but I can understand that others will be put off by its shrillness and lack of subtlety. While the movie is dedicated to Stanley Kubrick, and it gets some inspiration from EYES WIDE SHUT, it’s more along the lines of John Waters crossed with John Carpenter. If you hated FEMALE TROUBLE, you may want to stay away from THE SCARY OF SIXTY-FIRST. Otherwise, this movie sits comfortably next to the kind of outre indie horror movies that got passed from VCR to VCR in the late 80s and early 90s. But what really makes THE SCARY kick, is how directly it speaks to the age of QAnon, the equal parts seduction and repulsion of violence, and the horror that comes from being trapped in a system you have no control over. My only complaint is that the film leans a little too heavily on old horror tropes right at the end, but this couldn’t take away the thrills it provided up to that point. I’m already looking forward to how Nekrasova might follow-up this one.

This year’s Golden Bear for best film went, deservedly, to Radu Jude’s BAD LUCK BANGING, OR LOONEY PORN. Another extremely transgressive film, this one takes a flamethrower to contemporary values in Romania and any other place where racism, sexism and authoritarian fetishism have taken root — meaning, it’s both very specific to Romania and quite universal.

The movie begins with a very graphic and absurdly funny home porno, being shot on a phone. Soon enough, we find out the woman in the video is Emi, a respected history teacher at a private school in Bucharest. The first act of the movie is Emi walking through Bucharest. The city is littered with signs of capitalism run amok, juxtaposed against fervent religiosity. Gambling and wholesomeness. Tastelessness and righteousness. The camera makes these connections with some choice camera panning maneuvers. These movements bring to mind Robert Altman’s style of movement — casual yet smart and impactful.

As Emi makes her way to her destination, the film’s regard for realism begins to deteriorate. Bit by bit, drivers begin showing less regard for the safety of pedestrians. Everyone is foul-mouthed and inconsiderate of others, even while wearing pandemic masks. If you can’t afford a car, who cares about you? It’s not that far from reality, but the pointed exaggerations start piling up and lead us into the mid-section of the film, where we’re treated to an A-Z montage of our most pressing issues and what’s wrong with the world. It both serves as a rundown of the topics that are going to present themselves in the final act of the movie, as well as more visual evidence of our corrupted values and moral decay. It’s a bitter and bleak hoot.

It’s all leading to a confrontation between Emi and her school’s parent-teacher board. It’s one of the most absurd, insulting and cuttingly insightful trials put on film. What are a teacher’s responsibilities outside the classroom? What if the teacher in this situation were a man? What if the teacher is also including lessons about Romanian history that today’s citizens would rather not deal with? All of this and much more is on the table for riotous discussion. More than once, someone cackles the Woody Woodpecker laugh when the debate really goes off the rails. While the visual language in the final act settles into a more conventional groove, the sound editing is something of a tour de force. It’s punchy, freewheeling, obscenely hilarious and brings the movie to an unbelievable final moment.

BAD LUCK is a hard act to follow. If I’d known how ambitious it was, I would have saved it for day’s final screening. But for better or worse, the next film was a very quiet, understated Competition title — this one from Hungary (which was well-represented this year), entitled NATURAL LIGHT. Written and directed by Nagy Dénes, this is a gorgeously shot war-is-hell movie that follows a weathered unit of Hungarian soldiers as they try to round up Russian partisans during WWII. Yes, the title of the movie perfectly describes the golden, autumnal hue of the movie, as it is primarily set in barren forests, small, sooty villages and fields with plenty of mud.

The film is based on a massive book by novelist Pál Závada, but Dénes made the interesting decision to just focus his movie on a few days in the life of István Semetka, who is forced to step up and take charge of his unit early on in the film. Aside from capturing the unrelenting force of their natural surroundings, cinematographer Tamás Dobos also does an amazing job of capturing people’s faces — not unlike the films of fellow countryman, Bela Tarr. Ferenc Szabó, who plays the beleaguered Semetka, has two of the most soulful eyes I’ve seen on screen lately. This is of critical importance since the film has very little dialog until a couple of well-written monologues at the end. Semetka’s eyes say it all.

As mournfully beautiful as it is, NATURAL LIGHT isn’t an easy movie to sit through. It’s quiet and heartbreaking. But this level of sorrow and atrocities is also very familiar to cinema. In a way, it’s unfair because this story, in its way, is unique. But the message of how indifferent war is to soldiers with good intentions, has been told before. Few movies, however, have told it in such a wordless and poetic way.

Throughout the history of film, there’s always been a struggle to turn good theater into cinematic art. When talkies began and TV took off, we turned to the wealth of good theater scripts that already existed as readymade source material that could meet the demand for content. Sometimes it works, and the scripts can be well-adapted into the cinematic language. Other times, it’s like we’re just looking at a filmed documentation of a theater piece, which relies heavily on the strength of the words and performance, and not on any tools of the filmic trade. Denis Côté’s new film does a neat job of adding a new wrinkle to this long tradition of finding ways to turn monologues and long chunks of dialog between two people into an engaging work of film.

Côté has always had a strong experimental streak to his work, and even though he wrote this script and titled it “Social Hygiene” in 2015, it would seem that the current pandemic gave him the final push to turn the unusual idea of long, socially distant conversations in a field into a movie. Aside from a few shots that follow a young woman as she walks through nature, says hi to some livestock and offers an intermission dance sequence, SOCIAL HYGIENE is a series of static shots, framing different sections of rolling Canadian countryside, and containing a couple of people talking to each other across a certain distance. The framing, the sounds, the tone and rhythms of the conversation, are all very stylized. And in its way, perfectly cinematic. Côté pays attention to the ambient noises during these scenes. Birds turn into a cackling audience, construction noises go quiet and resume at just the right moments — it’s all very well-orchestrated.

The story and conversations of SOCIAL HYGIENE have nothing to do with the pandemic. It’s the fairly universal story of a charismatic, smooth-talking guy of unmet potential, who is consistently disappointing the women in his life. This man is Antonin, and we first meet him as he bickers with his sister. While Antonin is married, he’s currently living in a friend’s car, getting by through small-time theft and avoiding plans that might improve his lot in life, like working on that screenplay he’s been kicking around. Both his wife and his mistress try to prod him in the right direction, but he’s such a charmer that he enjoys spinning his destitution as the life of a lovable rogue, who’s morals and values can’t be met by traditional means.

More than any other film seen, so far, from this year’s Berlinale lineup, SOCIAL HYGIENE had me laughing-out-loud the most. And I’m very willing to admit that this is likely due to how much I related to Antonin’s faulty reasoning. But it’s also due to the fact that the script is supremely sharp and its deadpan delivery brought to mind Hal Hartley’s films. Like Hartley, Côté is anti-realist in his staging and delivery, meticulous in his timing, and yet uses humor to get at some very fundamental human dilemmas. I love Hartley and miss his sensibility dearly. So, yes, I loved every minute of SOCIAL HYGIENE.

Even with a press pass, it can be a challenge to sit for every Competition screening. There are simply too many other films that call for your attention. But in this streaming scenario, I was committed to seeing every last one. I felt like I didn’t have any good excuse not to when you can make your own daily schedule. So, Xavier Beauvois’s ALBATROS (or DRIFT AWAY, as it may end up being called in your neck of the woods) got a late Tuesday night home screening. It didn’t go down well.

The only one of Beauvois’s previous films that I’m familiar with is 2005’s THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT, which follows a homicide detective in La Havre. ALBATROS follows a police chief in the much more idyllic region of Normandy. Jérémie Renier plays the cop, Laurent, and just as the movie starts, he’s just proposed to his girlfriend of ten years, with whom he already has a young daughter. In the next scene he’s cleaning up after a suicide on the beach, and then there’s news of child abuse by local resident, and his friend is at the end of his rope dealing with farming regulations. Things are piling up quickly, and the chipper Laurent is soon getting edgy and taking his work home with him.

The beginning of the movie isn’t bad. It’s clearly building to something and it can hold your interest while it does that. But when that shoe drops, the film goes off the rails and descends into a completely ridiculous and phony final act. It doesn’t help matters that Beauvois never really finds an interesting visual language with which to tell this story. From the get-go, his camera is just there, shooting scenes and conversations in a way that makes everything seem slightly off and unnatural. It feels like things are being staged, much as the wedding photo on the beach that gets interrupted by a death at the very beginning. Unfortunately it never shakes this feeling, and two hours later, you can’t believe that you’re watching an ending so clichéd that Hollywood would probably think twice before giving it a greenlight. It’s the kind of denouement that is so cheesy and unearned that instead of choking back tears, you feel completely cheated.

Aside from ALBATROS, Day Two was a rich abundance. The punk stylings of THE SCARY OF SIXTY-FIRST, the anarchic Molotov cocktail of BAD LUCK BANGING OR LOONEY PORN, the austere meditation of NATURAL LIGHT, the playful theatrics of SOCIAL HYGIENE — these all had something special to offer. Tomorrow, we’ll visit China, France, Georgia and, once again, Hungary, for two more films with big rewards and two that struggled to transcend their formal trappings.

[escape-my-reality]

Film Review-BLOODRAYNE 2: DELIVERANCE (2007)

Directed by: Uwe Boll

Written by: Christopher Donaldson & Neil Every

Produced by: Daniel Clarke & Shawn Williamson

Summary: Rayne, the half-human/half-vampire warrior, ventures to America's 1880's Wild West to stop the vampired Billy the Kid and his posse of vampire cowboys. 

Cast:

Natassia Malthe as Rayne

Zack Ward as Billy "The Kid"

Michael Paré as Pat Garrett

Chris Coppola as Newton Pyles

Chris Spencer as Bob, The Bartender

Brendan Fletcher as Muller

Sarah-Jane Redmond as Martha

Michael Teigen as "Slime Bag" Franson

Michael Eklund as The Preacher

John Novak as Sheriff Cobden

Tyron Leitso as Fleetwood

Jodelle Ferland as Sally

Mike Dopud as Flintlock Hogan

Cole Heppell as William

BloodRayne 2: Deliverance is better than the first film but the somewhat new creative team hasn't done a complete 180° in terms of overall production. Rayne was granted immortality by her birth as a Dhampir, and I guess they decided that with all that room they would turn this into an extended film franchise. The first film takes place in 18th century Romania which leaves quite a bit of history to touch on up to the point where the plot and setting of the games actually take place in WWII. As I said in my review of the previous film, having a whole backstory to fill in is ideal on paper. The possibilities are practically endless, and what Uwe Boll decided to do was take this story to the Wild West. This has nothing to do with the games at this point, as this never came up in Rayne's history, which isn't so bad of an idea if executed properly. The problem is Boll is just terrible at making movies.

The main villain of this film is Billy the Kid as played by Zack Ward. In fantasy action films, the hero is only good as the villain and Ward is awful in this role. The acting has gotten slightly better amongst the supporting cast but it has slipped for the main characters as Kristinna Loken was replaced with Nastassia Malthe as Rayne. The storytelling and fight sequences are a little better here as well but still pretty boring in comparison to most action films of this era. The sad part is that you can tell from the trailer that this isn't going to be any good because even THAT depicts poorly shot scenes and uninteresting moments. You don’t even have to see this to know it’s nothing special.

By this point we know what Boll does. He takes a popular property and makes money off the name and isn't capable of putting the source material he's been given to work, to make something creative out of it because he apparently just isn't that imaginative. This level of movie is, who he is. I also notice that the more movies he made, the more the main character looked less like Rayne. Fewer and fewer defining details were applied. They chopped her down to her bare basics and kept that. The odd thing about this, is that these films should basically write themselves. The game was done well enough that if you could just pull off some action scenes, you could come up with something half decent but that's not what's here. I mean they couldn't even give me one decent gun fight in a film set in the Wild West..that's not so much to ask! THE GOOD

Slightly better action scenes that the first film in the series.

THE BAD

Uwe Boll managed to completely fail at two very simple film genres. He couldn’t make a decent vampire film the first time and doing it as a western didn’t help.

Natassia Malthe isn’t as good as Rayne as Kristanna Loken was, but Kristanna Loken wasn’t very good either so that really hurts the project.

I give this film a 2.0 out of 10 ONLY SLIGHTLY LESS DISAPPOINTING

[180abroad]

Day 169: Frankfurt

From a historical and economic perspective, Frankfurt is fascinating. It was one of the largest and most powerful cities in the Holy Roman Empire. It was where emperors were selected by an electoral college, and it was the home of the first trade fairs in Europe. In the 19th and 20th centuries, Frankfurt an epicenter of attempted democratic reform. Today, it remains one of the most important cities in Europe for trade and finance. It is home to the EU's central bank and one of Europe's largest stock exchanges. It's train station and airport are likewise among the busiest in all of Europe.

From a tourist perspective, Frankfurt is a bit odd. Despite being such an important city, the historical tourist quarter is quite small. Unlike Munich and Nuremberg, Frankfurt was rebuilt as a fully modern city after WWII, filled with gridded streets and steel skyscrapers. Just a few blocks around the medieval city hall and cathedral were preserved for posterity.  A few hours proved more than enough for us to feel that we had gotten a good taste.

Of course, it probably didn't help that we visited on a Monday, when most of the tourist shops and attractions were closed.

Yeah, we probably could have planned our visit better, but having planned every other part of the trip to the point of exhaustion, we tried to give ourselves the gift of going with the flow for once and just seeing what happened. I have to admit that it didn't come easily to me, and I constantly had to fight a rising frustration that we were missing out on things because we hadn't planned enough. We definitely did miss out on some cool things, but that's bound to happen no matter what.

After a calm hour-and-a-half train ride east from Oberwesel, we arrived at Frankfurt's central station. With plenty of time and very little planned, we decided to buy tickets for the City Sightseeing hop-on hop-off tour buses. It was a lot cheaper than it had been in London, but there was also a lot less to see.

The entire route took less than an hour, and the commentary track wasn't nearly as interesting--a lot of pointing out which banks owned which skyscrapers. More interestingly, we did get to appreciate the city's peculiar love of odd statuary.

Still, even if the bus tour was a little underwhelming, it was a nice way to get our bearings. Plus, it dropped us off right at the entrance to the city's historic core.

The first sight to greet us there was the red-brick Church of Saint Paul. Architecturally, it is interesting for being round rather than cross-shaped. Historically, it is interesting for being the site of Germany's first democratically elected parliament.

In 1848, a wave of democratic revolts surged across Europe from Ireland to Romania. Germany (then a confederation of largely independent states) was caught up as well, and Frankfurt became the epicenter of a movement to unite all of Germany into a single democratic nation. A provisional parliament was set up in the Church of St. Paul, and for a while its success seemed inevitable.

But as it so often happens, forming a government proved much harder than forming a revolution. The monarchs and aristocrats stood aside and bided their time while the provisional parliament endlessly bickered over the details of the proposed constitution. Eventually, the parliament collapsed under the weight of its own frustrations and disillusionment. Two decades later, Germany was instead unified under the autocratic rule of the King Wilhelm I of Prussia and his ruthless chief minister Otto von Bismarck.

The church was the first historic structure in the city to be repaired after WWII, and it was honored as a symbol of Germany's commitment to a democratic future.

Upstairs from the ground-floor museum is the church's main hall, a towering and impressively airy space that is now used for concerts instead of religious services. Along the circular wall hang the flags of Germany's 16 federal states.

Moving further into the old town, we soon reached Römerberg, the old town square. At one end stands the Römer building, which as served as the town hall since 1405. It was also where Holy Roman Emperors celebrated after being coronated at the nearby cathedral. Like everything else here, the Römer was almost entirely rebuilt after WWII. As far as we could tell, they did a great job.

At the center of the square stands a statue of Justice without a blindfold, keeping careful watch over the Römer. At least, it usually does. Today it seemed to have gone on vacation--whether voluntary or not, we couldn't say.

On the ground nearby, I found a bronze memorial for a Nazi book burning that took place in the square in 1933. Around the edges of the plaque reads a quote by the 19th-century German-Jewish poet Heinrich Heine. Roughly translated, it reads: "The burning of books is but foreplay to the burning of people."

I wanted to say something about how chillingly prophetic those words proved to be, but of course they weren't prophetic at all. As we've learned by this point, the Nazis didn't do anything new; they just did it bigger and on camera.

The square was fairly quiet since it was a Monday and most of the tourist shops and exhibitions were closed. After getting a last look around, we headed over the two small blocks to Frankfurt Cathedral.

The cathedral, officially known as the Imperial Cathedral of St. Bartholomew, is a hulking Gothic construction of red stone. Despite the high vaulted ceilings, the atmosphere felt dark and heavy to me. One small but fun design element involved the walls.

See how the walls are made of cleanly cut and squared red stone? Look again.

The walls are actually covered in red plaster and painted with thin red lines to give the illusion of mortared stone. Apparently this was all the rage in medieval German church design.

The church has some beautiful art and altarpieces on display, but the real reason I was so interested to visit was a small room tucked behind a small door in a side chapel, so inconspicuous that I searched up and down the transepts twice before noticing someone going through it.

It was in this small room that the most powerful lords and clergy of the Holy Roman Empire would gather to each time it came to choose a new emperor. Granted, for most of that time it was little more than a rubber stamp to continue the Habsburg dynasty, but still. Imagine if, once in a generation, the governors of all 50 US states gathered to elect a new president for life in a dark little room like this.

Turning south, we walked a couple blocks down the river Main. Walking out onto the 19th-century wrought-iron Eiserner Steg bridge, we were treated to a wonderful view of the city skyline.

The rest of our visit was mostly spent shopping. Jessica had hoped to find a scarf for a somewhat niche German soccer team, but we never did find it. I had better luck at a Samsung store, where I picked up a USB adapter to replace one I'd lost at some point during the previous week. I also made a small detour to look at some pens.

For some reason I was under the impression that Faber-Castell was headquartered in Frankfurt, when actually it is headquartered in a castle just outside of Nuremberg. Still, it was fun to visit this little shop and admire some nice pens. Upstairs, we got to play with a set of watercolor pencils.

Nearby, there was also a broad square dominated by a statue of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who was born in Frankfurt. I'd always just known of Goethe as the guy who wrote Faust, the iconic story of a scholar who sells his soul to the devil for knowledge and power.

In Germany, however, Goethe isn't any mere writer. Imagine Shakespeare and Leonardo da Vinci combined, but an even bigger deal--that's what Goethe is to Germany. Not only is Faust often credited as the greatest thing ever written in the German language, Goethe also dabbled extensively in science and philosophy in addition to writing an overwhelming volume of novels, plays, and poems.

Like Mozart, Goethe was a prodigy and recognized for his genius at a young age. Also like Mozart, Goethe spent pretty much all of his adult life far away from the home city that so proudly claims his legacy.

As we made our way back to the train station, we walked through a few blocks of clean, high-density skyscrapers, a lovely park, and then a grim half-mile of brothels and open-air drug use. There are three parallel streets leading from the train station into downtown Frankfurt, and apparently it makes a big difference which one you choose.

Back at the train station, we picked up a couple bottles of "apple wine," a local specialty for us to enjoy on the train ride back. It was basically a very dry, somewhat bitter cider, much like the cidre sec we had in Normandy.

One last bit of excitement for the day: For the most part, Deutsche Bahn--the German train service--was easily the most reliable of all the ones we used in Europe. Even the Swiss trains let us down by comparison. But as we waited for out train home to leave Frankfurt, the departure time came and went. There was some jolting and screeching, and some lights flickering on and off. And more time went by. Our glasses of apple wine were long finished. Then, a voice on the PA system announced something in German, and everyone bolted off the train. Naturally, we followed.

As it turned out, two cars of the train that needed to be separated had become locked together, and the engineers couldn't get them apart. So the speaker had told us to head over to the next train, which was leaving in just a few minutes--plenty of time for a prompt German traveler. Luckily, we had plenty of prompt German travelers to take our lead from.

Once on the new train, everything was back to clockwork, and we enjoyed a smooth hour and a half ride back to Oberwesel. We didn't get very good seats due to the last minute change. We spent the first twenty minutes or so on fold-down chairs in the bike storage area. The train emptied out quickly enough as we escaped the urban sprawl surrounding Frankfurt, however, and a quiet hour and a half later we were back home.

Overall, I probably wouldn't recommend visiting Frankfurt the way we did, but I'm still glad we went. For anyone interested in visiting Frankfurt, I would recommend either a well-planned day trip that connects its various sights or staying in the city and using it as a base to explore the nearby towns and villages along the Rhine.

[nikolaiborisov-blog]

WWII AU: Nikolai Borisov

History

Had a tendency to stick around the wrong crowds. At a young age, that meant children who liked to stay out late in Moscow, borrow things they never intended to return, and get kicked out of establishments for being too loud. At an older age, that meant men and women that forced him to think about a political environment he normally didn’t pay attention to.

Neutrality always was a hard thing to keep, something he learned about the same time Romania did. While his current home made friends with Germany, Nikolai packed his bags and left, leaving only a note for his parents, one he instructed them to burn after reading. The less they knew about where he went, the better. He hasn’t heard from them in years.

Hides his accent as best as he can, though it slips out when he really gets to talking, which is a lot. On a couple of occasions it’s gotten him into trouble, people mistaking him as an Axis ally. Nothing a small little car bomb couldn’t get him out of, allowing him to quickly be on his way.

It was when he showed someone how to make a fiery concoction one night to save their lives that they suggested he lend his knowledge of flames and fireballs to the war, to finally show where he stood. (Was surprised to find the Finns were not only using his concoction against Soviets, but that they had mockingly named it after fucking Vyacheslav Molotov because of his “bread baskets.” Still thinks it should be called the Borisov cocktail. Molotov didn’t do shit.)

He thought on the suggestion of joining the Allies and kept running until he reached Piombino, where he chose to be a civilian volunteer and help try to keep German forces out in September of 1943. It wasn’t long after they’d fled that he was noticed for some of his craftier methods in the fight, and soon he was tossing grenades and setting up land mines for unsuspecting soldiers.

Has been a nomad for so long that his social skills still aren’t always up to par.

He’s also beginning to feel like it’s time for him to move on again, to get out and see where else he can not have roots.

Connections

Theodora - rescued him from a fire of his gone wrong. He was unable to get away from the explosion in time, but thankfully, they were there to pull him out when he couldn’t run. He hasn’t forgotten the courageous deed, and knows he owes them a debt.

COME PLOT WITH ME, FIENDS

[ryanmeft]

The Nun Movie Review

This is a movie that, for a big fan of pulp horror, couldn’t start much better: we have a Dark Ages abbey in a remote location, divided from the rest of Romania by an eerie forest animals won’t go into. We have a mysterious, pitch-black room suggested to have something terrible in it. We have a character heroically sacrificing themselves to prevent the escape of an ancient evil. It might as well be a 1930’s magazine cover with the blurb “They wanted only to pray…now they can’t get away!” The rest of the movie, filled with lazy writing and extremely over-reliant on jump scares, is more like one of those haystack mazes at the local kid’s Halloween party.

This movie is apparently connected to The Conjuring series, but since I have a distaste for the extremely debunked antics of Ed and Lorraine Warren, I have avoided those films. The plot didn’t suffer for my gaps in knowledge. It is 1952 in Romania, and two nuns approach the afore-mentioned Very Scary Door, which has been boarded up and carved with the Latin words for “God ends here” (I really do love this stuff). Exactly why they are approaching the door instead of just leaving it be isn’t explained, nor is why they don’t just stand a safe distance back from the haunted abbey, hit the whole works with a rocket launcher, and put it for immediate reassignment. Both nuns end up dead, one by suicide, and the Catholic Church convenes a session of Extremely Serious Old Men to investigate (they hint at having secrets of their own, and while it is probably not meant that way, it’s impossible not to be reminded that this was the era of prime sexual abuse cover-ups). They send the always-serious former priest Andrew Burke (Demian Bichir), whose performance is balanced right on the edge of camp. He joins up with a yet-to-be-initiated nun played by Taissa Farmiga, younger sister of series star Vera, who is supposedly from Romania but denies it; nothing ever comes of this particular point. Once there, they are joined by the farmer (Jonas Bloquet) who found the dead nun.

Veteran Horror Cinematographer Maxime Alexandre and the film’s team of costume and set designers are the best things the movie has going for it. The abbey is a place that would be tranquil if it weren’t festooned everywhere with crosses to attempt to keep the evil spirit in; there’s a little babbling brook that would be a good spot for a picnic. The abbey itself suffered damage during WWII bombing raids, and apparently the Vatican was too strapped for cash to fix the holes in the roof. Inside, it’s just an absolute perfect fit for something Poe might have written: the ice box where the dead nun has been stored (she wasn’t sitting up when the farmer left her) has an ominous door leading to the convent, the burial room contains a throne that is the perfect size for an obviously undead Mother Superior, and the last row-de-dow takes place in an off-limits section that seems forgotten by everything good. It’s completely delicious, and writers James Wan and Gary Dauberman take advantage of it for a couple of inspired scenes. The best of these sees all of the convent’s nuns praying together to stave off a demonic attack, and ends in an effective twist.

Neither the writers nor director Corin Hardy, however, seem to be fully and truly committed to the movie. I have not seen Hardy’s other film, The Hallow, but whether by studio demand or apathy, here he seems content with having the demonic nun of the film’s title, as well as other spirits, resort to the gaudiest and least original tricks in the horror playbook. They’re just about all here: figures that are visible in mirrors but not in reality, creepy children leading characters into danger, sudden hands grabbing them out of dark places, bodies coming back to life at just the right moment, and what I believe is a Conjuring series staple, crosses that turn themselves upside down. Bichir, Farmiga and Bloquet are, to their credit, really trying. Farmiga in particular has some of her older sister’s presence, though she doesn’t get to show it off much here, and the many lovely twists her character’s story could have had are all passed up in favor of something completely conventional.

The Nun is, visually, a gorgeous assemblage of all the sights and settings that ought to make for a great horror romp. It is, sadly, neither well-done enough for how seriously it takes itself, not able to just let go and let the corniness that is begging for attention steal the show.

Verdict: Not Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts. I suppose you could consider each one as adding a star.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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