#actually fighting drinking and violence at some moments are more realistic than what i expected to see in such a series

[zhivchik]

[seijorhi]

Nothing Fucks with My Baby

The (not so) long awaited Hitman AU 👀

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

TW Blood, minor violence, referenced/implied murder, stalking, implied kidnapping

Iwaizumi has one rule. No kids.

They could be the damn antichrist for all he cares, if they’re underage, they’re off limits. Anyone else is fair game - kind old ladies, rich corrupt businessmen, housewives, politicians. He doesn’t give a shit so long as he gets paid, and paid well.

You were fair game.

He never cares why. Iwa has better things to do than listen to meaningless justifications and vendettas. They make no difference either way - he’s being paid to kill, so he’ll kill, ruthlessly and without prejudice. All he wants is a name, a picture and whether or not they want brains splattered on pavement or something a little more refined. An address doesn’t go astray, but he’ll work with what he’s got, it’s the reason he can charge a fucking premium.

But you… you weren’t what he expected. He’s used to filth. Liars, cheaters, bottom of the barrel trash. Every once in a while some poor idiot gets caught up in something they don’t understand and ultimately pay the price for it, but good people don’t often end up in files splayed across Iwaizumi’s desk. He’s not used to innocence, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re as close as they come.

He supposes that things might have been different if they’d wanted you dead quickly. 

Publicly. 

But they didn’t want that. They wanted you to disappear without a fucking trace. It wasn’t a kindness - it just meant more work for him. It meant that instead of staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle perched in the window of an empty apartment across the street from yours, he’d have to get his hands dirty.

If you want somebody to blame, sweetheart, why don’t you start with them?

In hindsight, he probably didn’t need to go inside the little coffee joint you worked at. He could lie to himself and say that it was an excuse to get closer to you, to see if you had friends at your work who might try and get in the way, but the simple truth was that he’d been up since four in the fucking morning, and he might just have shot somebody out of sheer irritation if he didn’t get a hit of caffeine and soon. 

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

And it wasn’t like you were going to recognise him. Three days in, and as far as Iwa can tell, you don’t have the slightest idea that you were being watched, much less that the pair of eyes watching belonged to a cold hearted killer. 

People tend to be a little more scared when they sense he’s coming - there’s a kind of innate fear that seeps from every pore as they scurry about trying to hide, trying to put off the inevitable - but you, you’re just blissfully oblivious, flitting around with those wide doe eyes like you haven’t got a damn care in the world. 

He honestly doesn’t know whether he wants to envy or pity you for that sweet naivety. 

Currently though, he’s more concerned with whether or not you can make a half decent cup of coffee. 

“I asked for an extra hot latte.”

Or he would be, if the asshole with slicked back hair and an expensive suit hadn’t cut him off just as he was about to step up to the counter to shove the coffee you’d just made him back in your face. He watches your eyes widen for a split second before you smile - apologetic and demure before you can even open your mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it not hot enough?” 

The moment the words leave your lips, you all but flinch. Both you and he know that despite the fact you mean them sincerely (which kind of surprises him, considering that if your situations were reversed he wouldn’t have been nearly so generous) they’re a mistake.

The asshole sneers down at you like you’re nothing more than scum on his shoes. “If it was fucking hot enough, I wouldn’t be wasting my time complaining, now would I?”

Even before he found himself dabbling in his current line of work, Iwaizumi never considered himself much of a knight in shining armour. The world’s a shitty place, it’s not his job to go around fixing things and softening blows. He’s not a cold, emotionless bastard, as most people assume, he just has better things to do than run around playing a damn bleeding heart and sticking his neck out for strangers. It’s not his problem and as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe anybody shit.

Impassive olive eyes watch as you try and backtrack, apologising again, offering to make him a new drink, explaining that the reason the coffee wasn’t as hot as he wanted was because you were trying not to scorch the milk- for naught.

You in your naive little world don’t seem to realise that the asshole doesn’t actually give a shit about the coffee. He wants a power trip, and you’ve given him the perfect excuse. He wants to yell and scream and stamp his feet and take all of his repressed anger and feelings of inadequacy out on you so that he can feel like a big man. He wants to see you whimper and cry and bow down before him.

It’s pathetic, but Iwa’s content to watch it play out, drumming his fingers against the wallet in his hand, more irritated with the delay in getting his own coffee than the outburst itself-

Until the asshole reaches for his latte. 

Iwa’s good at reading people, predicting their movements before they’re even made. It’s a necessary skill in his profession, one that’s saved his skin more times than he can count. He sees the little vein in the asshole’s temple throb, his jaw tighten, and the moment his hand twitches towards the still steaming cup of coffee, Iwa knows that he fully intends on throwing it at you.

He moves quicker than a man of his size has any right to, an iron grip wrapping around the asshole’s wrist, squeezing. He glares, sneering down at the man who all of a sudden doesn’t seem quite so angry, much less imposing. 

“Get out,” he hisses.

It’s not a request.

But the asshole either has a death wish or he’s trying to salvage what’s left of his fragile ego, because his beady eyes narrow and he opens his mouth - no doubt to spew more vitriolic bullshit.

Iwa twists.

Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that it sends the man to his knees, whimpering like a kicked puppy, desperate to relieve the pressure on his wrist. 

“I said,” he begins, his voice colder than ice, “get out.”

Yet he doesn’t spare the asshole another glance, not even as he releases his grip and the man skitters away like he’s been burned. The cafe is deathly silent, and without even glancing around, Iwa knows that they’ve managed to draw the attention of most if not all of its patrons.

And for once, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

Iwa’s eyes, his attention, all of it is focused entirely on you - on the wide eyed, stunned look on your pretty face. It’s a violent outburst, not nearly close to what he’s truly capable of, but in the quiet little cafe on a dreary Tuesday morning, glaringly out of place.

Will you burst into tears, he wonders. Ignore it, brush it aside and pretend it never happened? Stutter out more apologies for causing a fuss, for making a simple mistake? He somehow doubts you’ll be the type to scold him for it. No, you’re far too meek for that.

You surprise him, smiling slowly instead, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

It’s a far cry from the contrite air you’d graced the asshole with earlier. It’s hesitant, nervous, but it’s very much real, and Iwa finds it difficult to stop the corners of his own lips from twitching upwards in response.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He inclines his head a fraction. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t charge him for the coffee, even when he practically shoves the bills across the counter into your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shyly parrot back at him, and he almost fucking snorts when there’s a warmed chocolate chip muffin waiting with his coffee when it’s ready.

He’s being paid forty grand to make sure you’re dead by the end of the week, and you’re here giving him free muffins. Oikawa would see the humour in that. Of course, Oikawa would have absolutely no qualms in charming the absolute hell out of you seconds before he pulled the trigger. Realistically, he shouldn’t either. It’s his job, nothing personal.

To say he enjoys killing is probably a stretch, but he takes pride in it. Iwa’s good at what he does. It’s simple. Easy - so long as he follows his own rules.

This shouldn’t be any different. You’re cute, he supposes, in an odd sort of way. Innocent.

Endearing.

It shouldn’t have an effect on him. 

It doesn’t, but-

He could have killed you two days ago. He’d be willing to bet good money that he could’ve walked right to your apartment, knocked on your door, made up some bullshit excuse on the spot and you would have smiled and invited him right inside. 

And it’s not like you’d stand a chance of being able to fight him off.

Over the past few days there have been at least twelve different moments that Iwaizumi could have stepped in and snuffed that pretty little life of yours out without making a fuss and it would have been easy.

But he hadn’t.

There’s a difference between surveillance and stalking - it’s a fine line, a blurred one maybe, but it’s there all the same. After yet another night spent camped out watching you move about your apartment - cooking dinner for yourself, zoning out on the couch and fiddling with your phone while the tv plays in the background before finally curling up in bed in the early hours of the morning - Iwa comes to the realisation that he’s crossed it. 

He wonders why it doesn’t bother him like it should.

The next day, he goes back to your little coffee shop. There’s no muffin this time, but your face brightens when he walks through the door and when he goes to pick up his coffee there’s a tiny, bite sized cookie sitting atop the lid.

“Don’t tell my boss,” you whisper, darting a glance back over your shoulder even as another pretty little smile graces your features.

Something unexpectedly warm and pleasant sings through his blood, and this time Iwa allows his own lips to twitch into the faintest hint of a grin in response.

You really are a truly awful judge of character.

Maybe that’s your downfall, that beautiful, naive innocence you just bleed. It’s a wonder that nobody’s come along to take advantage of you, especially when you are so very ripe for the taking. 

Well, nobody until him, he supposes. 

Iwa doesn’t know for certain why the men who want you dead do, he doesn’t particularly care either, but he does know that whatever their reasons are, it’s not enough.

Neither is forty thousand dollars.

It takes time, more than he’d like, to find the root of it all. It’s messy and he has to call in a few favours from old friends, but Iwa is nothing if not thorough.

He’s never particularly enjoyed killing, but there’s a certain satisfaction he gets from watching the light leave their desperate, pleading eyes knowing that he’s finally done his job. When he comes home, his shirt flecked with blood, his hands still dripping with it and coaxes your stricken, tear stained face up into a lingering kiss, Iwa feels content.

They wanted you to disappear entirely, he made sure that you did. 

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 5

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate. A/N: Helu! So, this is super late butttttt I’ve been soooo busy with my classes and the translation I’m working on :) This is a filler part, but I find it extremely cute, plus Finan and Aoife are getting closer, my children :’) Have fun reading this. byeeee Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior. General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence Chapter’s warning: Fluff fluff fluff, probably bad English? idk Words: 3410 Chapter Four.

Chapter Five: Stories and Returns 

At some point she had passed out; it must have been just minutes because, when she woke up, her face was still wet of tears, and her hair too. She stood up and just yet noticed that she was starving. In the hall, the warriors and the Lady were already eating, and she slid next to Osferth, who shot her a smile and pushed a plate full of bread and cheese in her direction. “How are you feeling?” she asked, and he playfully rolled his eyes. “I’m doing well mum, stop worrying!” He was healing just fine, he could already walk on himself and laugh without pain, but he still had to be careful, wound like his took some time to heal. “Are you all right, Aoife?” Aethelflaed, who had followed their playful banter, asked cautiously. The Lady was sitting right in front of her and she could see how swollen and red Aoife’s eyes were. Anyone could, especially Finan, who was sitting next to Aethelflaed and in front of Osferth. “I’m fine, thank you my Lady. I’m just tired” No one seemed to believe her. Finan leant forward and filled her cup with ale. “Eat and drink. Then we go for a walk.” And so she ate abundantly and slowly, careful not to let anyone see how nervous and trepidant she was to spend some time alone with Finan. What did he want? Had she done something? Had he done something? He stared at her the entire supper with a questioning look, and it did not help the uncomfortable feeling of excitement and fear that was stirring her soul. When she chewed down the last bite, he stood up and, with a little bow to the Lady, left the hall. Aoife shot a questioning look to her friends, who just shrugged with an amazed smile on their faces; Aethelflaed gestured her to follow the warrior and she obeyed swiftly, her heart beating violently against her ribcage. Finan was waiting for her just outside the wooden door and, when the girl reached him, smiled sweetly. For a while, they walked down the streets of Saltwic in silence. It was a nice winter night without wind nor cloud and Aoife enjoyed the cold air on her cheeks and how bright the stars looked. The town was still alive, the torches still burning in the alehouse and the voices loud. People would pass them and bow respectfully, and Aoife would smile to each of them and greet them with a soft “G’night.”; it warmed Finan’s heart. They stopped right next to the town well, facing each other. The stars were reflected in her eyes, the blackest eyes Finan had ever seen. He was used to the clear eyes of Uthred and Sithric and Osferth, that painfully reminded him of his mother’s eyes, but he had never seen such dark eyes, so deep and welcoming. He had to restrain himself from running his thumb over her lashes, which looked as soft as they were long and thick. Aoife was looking back at him, bolder that she would have days before. He hadn’t even noticed that he was chewing on the cross hanging around his neck, something that Aoife had seen him doing before, when he was lost in his thoughts. She found it precious, somehow vulnerable, a very childlike action, so at odds with his mature stance. And he had pretty hands too, with long thin fingers, different from the stubby hands of the Mercians. She was curious to learn where he came from, where his family lived. Had he always been a swordsman? He had the delicate hands of a musician, corrupted by the scars and dirty of his warrior life. There was a specific reason to why he had asked her to walk with him, but now that she was watching him in such a direct, open way, like no one else had ever done before, he could not find the right words to address it. “I never thanked you” he finally croaked, his voice just above a whisper. And she smiled , calmly yet questioning, still watching him boldly. “What for?” “For saving my life” “You don’t have to.” She assured him “It was the right thing to do.” He took her hand in his, succumbing to his own desires. Her skin was not as soft as he remembered, chapped and irritated by the wind and callous were the hilt of the sword would press during her training; on the opposite, her touch was delicate and prudent. He grazed his thumb on her knuckles and smiled, looking at her through his lashes. “Still, you acted like a true warrior and if I’m here today is just because of you. I shall never forget it, Aoife.” Under the dim light of the torches, she blushed and her bottom lip drop slightly, but she didn’t reply. “Also…” he kept going “I apologise if I’ve been too hard on you today.” “What made you think that?” He shrugged “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but you look…” he looked her head to toe “distressed.” She averted her gaze, eyes filling with tears. He was pitying her, then. She was too embarrassed to watch him, now, she didn’t have problems with being emotional, but she did not like compassion. “It’s not you, Finan.” She mumbled, her voice shaking “It’s just…” she couldn’t find the words to explain how she was feeling, torn between excitement and guilty, happiness and grieving. She gasped for air and tried to wipe the tears from her face, trying to push herself away from the warrior. But he did not let her step back, fearing that if she left, she would never be so confidently herself with him. He reached her and embraced her without hesitation and, despite her surprise, her body reacted naturally and she hid her face in the crook of his neck. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she noticed that he smelled of leather and metal, the scent she expected from a warrior, and just behind it she could detect the natural fragrance of his skin, and she loved how intimate that new experience was. The warmth of his body was comforting and welcoming and she couldn’t understand if it was her heart of his beating fast against her skin. He held her tightly, her fingers dipping in his back, and he was not sure where to put his hands, afraid to cross any line, but she smelled so good and her body was so warm that he could not help but melt against her and run his fingers through her hair until her tears stopped. They were ready to let go. The night had fallen long before Osferth decided to retire to his room in the alehouse. He walked slowly, in the cold air of winter. He was enjoying every second of his stay in Saltwic, knowing well how rare moments of peace were for a warrior. His wound was itching, and he picked up his pace, dreaming of his warm bed and the ointment Aoife had prepare precisely for when the healing wound would become too uncomfortable. She was an amazing healer, and he had wondered many times if he would be alive without her help. The well was fairly close, which meant that in less than a minute he would be at the alehouse. And right in front of the well, he witnessed the blossom of a love. Aoife and Finan embraced in the dark. Since that night, Finan had spent most of his time with Aoife. Honestly, he hadn’t had much to do, while she seemed to be always busy; so, he had followed her around for days, helping and amusing her. He had noticed that she was growing bolder every day, quick to answer his remarks. She still blushed, though, and he was proud of how much his words and actions could affect her. He had found himself spending with her every day and thinking about her every night; he knew he was slowly falling in love with the woman and he was trying to fight it. She was young, innocent and inexpert of everything that the world had to offer; she deserved someone just as fresh as her. Even with this knowledge, he could not stop himself from spending all his spare time with her, from thinking about her constantly, from looking for her in every room. Besides, when he tried to stay away from her, she would find him everywhere, with a little pout on her full red lips. “Were you hiding from me, Finan?” she would ask, mocking pain with a hand on her chest and he would smile and bow dramatically in her direction “I was not, milady. I was looking for you.” To assay her, Finan started telling her the most vile stories of his past; he talked about blood and swindles and heartbreaks; and one day, while he was sitting on the fence of the stable and telling her one of his cruellest stories, she ceased grooming her horse and, with a sharp smile, commented “I know what you’re doing, Finan.” “What am I doing, then?” “You’re trying to scare me away. But you’re actually doing the opposite.” she run her hand up and down her mount’s face “Because I know you now, and I know you’re not the man you’re telling me about. Not anymore, at least. I think every one of those stories made you the man you are today, a much better person than you think. I’m no fool, and surely, I’m not as innocent as you think I am. If I’d had the faintest impression that you were not a good person, I would not be here now.” “Are you making a pass at me, dear?” She looked back at him with a gaze so deep he felt naked and, unexpectedly, something that hadn’t done since he was a child happened: he blushed. It infuriated him how much power she had on him, how his body melted right against hers when she snuck between his knees and pressed her hands against his tights. He lowered his face to meet her eyes and she stood on her tiptoes. Was she about to kiss him? Did he want her to? Of course he wanted to kiss her, but was he ready for the consequences? He was aware of how his heart worked, how hardly and quickly he fell in and out of love with a woman; he did not want to hurt her in that way. Yet again, his worrying alone was an indicator of how different what he felt for her was from his previous women; he had never worried for the consequences of his actions before, but here he was now hesitating to kiss the prettiest woman watching him from under her black eyelashes. And he hesitated a moment too long, because when he finally leant towards her, she shot him a feral smile and pushed him down the fence. The last thing Finan heard, before the splashing of his body on horse shit, was Aoife’s crystal laugh. And he was happy. Winter was giving the way to spring slowly but relentlessly, the sun now a little warmer and the days a little longer. That afternoon Finan had joined Aoife at the stream and little white flowers were already sprouting from the snow along the banks, where the temperature was higher, and the first birds were chirping on the branches moved by a delicate wind. All day long, Aoife had been busy with Aethelflaed, Finan had seen them walked down the streets of Saltwic, arm in arm. Now, finally, they were together and he was watching her washing clothes. He didn’t understand how she could dip her hands in the cold water without freezing, but she had assured him that the shock was only temporary and after that, it was almost as if the water was warm. “Tell me something, Finan.” She then requested, while he was adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear. With time they had become physically very closed, always touching each other in some way. “About what?” She stopped to look him in the eyes “I don’t know, something… how did you and Uthred met?” That was a story that many knew, but he still did not feel comfortable in telling it. Yet, Aoife was the one person who made him feel safe, calm, unjudged. If there was someone that could cast away the ghosts of his past, that would be her. He dipped the tip of his finger in the cold water, rippling the surface. “I have done things I am not proud of, Aoife. And some of them had led me to slavery. I have spent winters and summers at the bottom of a ship, rowing and rowing, with the sun and the wind and the snow. I reached a point where I could barely remember who I was, where I came from, why I was there. Then one day Uthred came. He was dressed as a slave, and was rowing as a slave, but there was something behind his eyes that told a whole other story. And somehow, in that hell, we bounded. And when his brother came to the rescue, he did not abandon me, he gave me a reason to live. He still do every day, and I owe him my life. He not only saved me from that ship, but he also brought me back to the man I was, and he gave me a chance to be someone better than that man. And we are bound in ways that no one could ever understand; we have suffered and seen things that no one else could ever understand. That’s why my sword is his, until the day I die. I would give my life for him, my soul for him. He is my brother. My family.” Aoife was holding his hands, he hadn’t even noticed, up until that moment, that she had stopped washing and had knelt in front of him. She caressed his face gently, brushing her cold fingertips against his scars. She had many questions, about his past, his regrets, his fears. She felt as if she knew nothing of him while knowing him deeper than many could say. He was a mystery, with a very dark past, yet he was the person she trusted the most. “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Finan” she whispered softly, and he smiled, leaning in her cold palm and kissing it softly “Thank you for listening, Aoife.” She smiled, returning at her duties. “Your name is Irish too, did you know that?” Finan watched her stiffen, suddenly uncomfortable “I do know that , yes.” Here it was, the thing he couldn’t bear about her: it was easy for him to open with her, he had trusted her entirely in a short period of time, while her, as much as she seemed to enjoy his company, had yet to trust him with her past; and perhaps it was wrong, but he wanted answers to his curiosity, about her family, and the mysterious man who had gifted her with weapons and a horse, and her past; so he kept pushing her. “Was your mother Irish?” She paused “No, Finan.” He was walking down a dangerous path “What’s with that name then?” She looked up at him, with a pained and somehow angry face “You won’t rest until I’ll give you answers, right?” “Indeed, lady.” She sat down with a huff “My mom was in love with an Irish man and wanted to honour him with my name.” “Was he your father?” “Not quite.” Here she was again, reticent woman. Finan had even talked about it with Osferth, with whom Aoife seemed to have bounded and she felt freer talking – Finan at times could not stand how close they were – but the monk too had admitted that he had tried but failed in that same situation. Even Aethelflaed knew nothing, and where a Lady can’t succeed, what are the chances for a warrior to? Therefore, he took what she had offered him, which was a lot considering the previous attempts, and held her hand to his lips, kissing her cold knuckles. “Let’s go back, you’re freezing.” They had walked back in silence, hand in hand. The sun was setting one they entered the hall, where the warriors were enjoying some spare time playing dice and drinking ale. Finan left Aoife with one of his sweetest smiles and joined his companions, while she sat down next to Osferth, who was warming up in front of the fire. “You’re getting closer by the day, aren’t you? By Sunday you’ll be married.” The monk joked, gaining a light kick on the shin; the training had helped her quite a lot with her fighting skills, but, as a result, she had become more violent.“Hey, you should not hit your patients!”“I brought you back to life, I can end it just as easily.” Osferth laughed, wrapping her shoulder with his long, thin arm. He had found himself growing less shy every day and he had now reached a point of ease with Aoife that he had become physical affectionate, a part of him he had hidden successfully during his monk life. Growing up in a monastery, he hadn’t spent much time with people his age, and even now, travelling with Uthred’s warrior, he felt that there was a certain aspect of him that they could not understand. Aoife, on the other hand, had experienced a similar youth and with her he could be himself. By the day, she was becoming more and more a warrior, as was he, but they would always remain children of the church and the type of education they had been raised through was different – if not opposite – to those of the others and for that reason they were bounded as siblings. Finan watched them for long, curious – and somehow jealous – of why they were laughing. He had noticed that everyone adored Aoife, she had the singular power of making people at ease. As far as he knew her, and it wasn’t much, she seemed without flaws. However, based on his experience, he knew it could not be possible and he feared the day he would discover her darkest side. For now, though, he decided to join them and hope that their contagious laughs would heal his restless soul. Enjoying some peace after years of battles and death was a gift, he was aware of it, but he would never stop being a warrior and he missed the clanking of swords and the stench of blood, sweat and fear. He missed the shivers of excitement running down his spine on the battlefield, and the surreal, still silence that followed a bloodshed. Yet, he was torn between the past he knew, living day by day without the certainty of a tomorrow, and this new routine of enjoy sweet talks and long walks with Aoife. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that he did not care for the fresh air, nor for the starry night, he just cared for the lady standing next to him under that dark sky. For now, however, he did not have to choose, and he grabbed three cups and joined his friends. “Why are we laughing?” he asked, dropping heavily next to Aoife, who shot him a bright smile. “Just threating Osferth, here.” she answered cheerfully, accepting the ale he was offering. “Oh, I do like this game.” “No you do not!” Osferth huffed, sipping his ale “Just let me be, I’m still recovering.” Finan had a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue but he was interrupted by hooves drumming outside; with the heart beating in his throat he jumped up, running to the window. “What is it?” Osferth asked. “You mean, who is it” Finan smiled, looking outside “Osferth.” He then called urgently, in his tone a happiness and thrill Aoife had never heard. He was not quick enough to reach the door and it opened from the outside, bringing in the room cold wind and smell of horses. And then here he was, wrapped in furs and covered in snow, his sword standing proudly against his back, the widest, proudest smile on his gorgeous face. Uthred of Bebbanburg was back. Chapter Six.

[it-is-bugs]

I Love Lucien Week: Soldier’s Heart

Anyone who follows me may have noticed I'm not one for revealing my great inner pain or anything of the sort on tumblr. But it's actually relevant to my post, so I'll make an exception this time.  

@aussiegirl41 recommended TDBM to me, and as we tend to like the same things, I started watching 1.1.  And found myself turning it off at the first Box of Pain scene, to not come back for another two years.  I told Aussie that the lighting was too dark and I couldn't understand their accents, but now I have to wonder if something else made me switch it off.  My father suffered from PTSD triggered by his WW2 experiences until his death at 59 from alcoholism. So....yeah.  

What I've come to appreciate about TDBM is that the creators and writers went beyond just slapping "PTSD" on Lucien as a sort of tragic aura; they took the time to build the backstory and make his behaviors a result of his mental illness.  

The risk factors for PTSD start in childhood trauma, which Lucien has in spades. It's not just his mother's death, but I feel that Genevieve was an alcoholic with possibly some mental illness tossed in, and his father was emotionally unavailable well before her death. I also wonder about the little details like there's so much about his childhood which he either didn't know about, or was given a different version, from the reason for Rosie the dog going away, to Genevieve's actual cause of death, to the loss of a pregnancy, to her diabetes.  A sense of not knowing your reality is not a good foundation for a strong life.   

My own father's childhood was quite different from Lucien's economically, but they share similarities which resulted in entering adulthood without the strength to face trauma. He was raised in great poverty in Appalachia coal mining country during the Depression.  His traumas included his mother's mental illness, siblings dying as babies due to that poverty, and violence from union busting forces who would do things like rake the house with gunfire at night.  Like Lucien, he was the sensitive, intelligent sort, not quite fitting into his world.      

One of the most chilling moments for me was Nell's line, about what a sweet boy Lucien had been. It echoes nearly exactly my aunt telling me, "We gave them our sweet boy, and we didn't know the man they sent back to us."  

My father was significantly younger than Lucien when he joined the Army at age 18 the day after Pearl Harbor Day, but their paths rejoined after the war.  My father was recruited to join military intelligence, when the Army doctors rightly diagnosed him as now mentally ill, but they reassured him that this would now make him suited for the sort of things that they needed him to do.  Although there's not been that scene with Lucien, I would think he would have been similarly evaluated and routed into intelligence.

It does seem counter-intuitive that you'd put yourself back into dangerous situations when you're already deeply traumatized, but there can be a need to recreate the trauma, to fix it, to control it, as much as to avoid heightened emotional situations. One of the fascinating things that the writers do with Lucien is weave this need to control the pain into recreating the crimes.  Instead of his own horrible flashbacks and recreations, he puts himself in this other situation, where he can focus those heightened emotions while in the shoes of the victim or killer.  If Lucien's in the events, he can control it to an extent, and not be overwhelmed by it.  At the same time, he often put himself in deadly situations with this technique, showing several times no regard for his own survival, facing down knives, guns, hands around his throat with such relish that you sense he wouldn't mind dying. A real emotional turning point is 5.5, when he truly fights to live.  After all, Jean's got dinner waiting and she'll be cross if he's late.    

I've felt a certain frustration at fan reactions to Lucien's actions, as though it's something he could control. His emotional paralysis is a result of horrible awful things happening when he’s made decisions in the past. His drinking is about more than addiction. He needs it to sleep and to stop the terrible images. PTSD sufferers are still drinking themselves to death, even with many more medications available.  It works. And in 1961, with so few options available, I can't see how he'll be able to stop. His brain itself has been changed by the trauma.  He will suffer from nightmares, have hyper response to stimulation, mood disturbances, etc, for the rest of his life.  I'd love to say that marriage to Jean will change things, but if the story were to be told realistically, not so much.

Which brings me to another similarity with my family and the show.  I see a lot of my mother in Jean.  Strong women, with a great capacity for caregiving, but who expect others to be as strong as they are.  One of the little touches that I like is how Jean treated Christopher Sr with the same toughness as she treats Lucien--she has her own patterns to replicate. Although she understands that Lucien has been through a lot, I don't think she understands the true effect. I don't blame the character for this at all--it's completely realistic for the timeframe.  He should put the pictures away, he should stop drinking so much, he should stop doing crazy things.  When she says that everyone in the Colonists' Club had lost something/someone and thus Lucien had no right to have his meltdown, it really showed that she doesn't grasp the full extent of his trauma. Does she by the end of S5?  

But there has been progress for Lucien in five seasons. Initially, I found the resolution to Genevieve's death to be frustrating because it just opened up more questions to me than it answered.  But in showing Lucien finding peace in that, I have to interpret that as he's ready to move on, and accept there are no neat answers for anything.  He's never going to have a satisfactory answer as to why his own family had to suffer so much either.  And that's fine.  He chases the bus for a happy future, rather than staying behind at his mother's graveside.  That seems like such a no-brainer, but we can see that Lucien's been told time and time again in life, you don't deserve happiness.  Everyone goes away.  Look, there's Jean going away too. Chasing that bus is as difficult as opening the studio door.  It means leaving certainty behind to accept a new uncertainty. There’s so much certainty in unhappiness; it never lets you down. 

I was equally 'huh?' at his peacemaking with the spirit of Thomas in the telemovie at first.  But I remembered how I had to make peace with my own dead father, and a lot of that came from simply aging, reaching his age when this or that happened and realizing your parents were just people making mistakes, having no great knowledge and skills to cope and all you can do is try for a better outcome.  I find it as an example of Lucien's incredible capacity for grace, truly his most attractive feature.  

I cannot guess what the writers had planned for S6 which makes me want to see it so much. Love won't cure Lucien. Though we've seen improvement, a sense of comfort and security for him, his PTSD won't go away.  Having Jean beside him in bed shouldn't make the nightmares cease.  But you know what?  If the writers were to decide to make it all just go away with a POOF, I won't have a problem with that at all.  Lucien and Jean deserve that happiness my family never had.   

So to start off I Love Lucien Week, this is why I love Lucien, and have so much respect for George Adams, the writers and Craig Mclachlan for creating this character and honoring his difficult journey.  

[lilnasxvevo]

KINGSMAN 2 SPOILERS

Okay I have a lot of thoughts about Kingsman and I am going to share them with you. They are silly and disjointed thoughts. This post is extremely long. 

Uh the fight scenes in this movie were fucking top notch. No single scene beat the true majesty of The Church Scene in the first Kingsman, but overall the quality of fight scenes was higher.

This movie was also a lot grosser than the first one tho? I did not need ANY of that meat grinder shit. Literally did not enjoy a single second of it. Kingsman has gone from campy violence to Coen brothers violence, and while I absolutely love the Coen brothers, I didn’t like that level of violence in Kingsman.

Listen. Roxy isn’t dead. Brandon isn’t dead. JB isn’t dead. Whiskey isn’t dead. Merlin isn’t dead. Nobody is dead. No one has ever died. Those deaths were so bullshit and I hated all of them and I haven’t emotionally processed any of them but I am probably going to cry my heart out the next time I watch this movie. (Here’s my rationale: Mark Strong has already teased that Merlin might still be alive so obviously he’s alive--plus  I covered my eyes when he died because I was afraid it would be super gross. We didn’t see the bodies of Roxy, Brandon, or JB, so obviously they’re still alive. Finally, that wasn’t Whiskey at the end of the movie, it was...his evil twin. That’s all I got on that one.)

I LOVE AGENT WHISKEY and I literally refuse to believe he was a bad guy. That was so sloppily done. At the very least they should have explained how Harry knew that Whiskey was a bad guy--that might have gone a little ways towards convincing me. But in general, Kingsman’s shit-ass treatment of people of color has got to stop. Whiskey could have just been a good guy but apparently Kingsman as a franchise has devoted itself to taking men of color down a notch. It sucks. There have been, what, four named men of color in two movies? And out of all four, Jamal is the only one who’s still alive. Fuck that shit a lot. (I believe half of the named women of color have died--I can only think of two across both movies.) 

I was suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuper disappointed that there wasn’t more Agent Tequila. The trailers and the whole premise of the movie made it seem like he would be an actual character and not a guy who gets three appearances and ends up in a damn cryo pod for most of the movie. 

I wish this whole movie had just been about Ginger Ale. Okay, here’s a more realistic wish: I wish Ginger Ale had gone with the Kingsman guys instead of Whiskey. When she told Merlin that she really wanted to be a field agent, he should have stood up for her when the time came to decide who went on literally either or both of the field missions in the movie. (Honestly, she probably would have been more help in Italy than Harry--no offense, Harry, but you almost killed Eggsy twice and Whiskey three times.) 

Elton John was fucking stellar in this movie. Totally divine. I love him. I ship him with Harry now.

I’m literally going to cry for the rest of my life about the fact that Harry wanted to be a butterfly scientist. Regressed amnesiac Harry was the cutest thing I have ever seen. Scratch that, it’s the second cutest thing--the cutest thing was Harry in the flashback in the plaid Kingsman trainee jumpsuit that they’ve apparently been using since time immemorial. 

I was unclear on this, but surely if Harry remembered everything else about being 20-something, he would remember his own name. “We didn’t know who he was so we didn’t know what to do with him” Bullshit. Do a fuckin google search for “Harry Hart,” which is both his legal name and the name he introduces himself by to literally everyone despite the fact that he has a code name. 

I love Tilde. I really love Tilde. I promise I love Tilde so much--I think she is cool and funny and down-to-earth and smart and kind. But. Why did she and Eggsy get fucking married. Really? Someone who is royalty dates a foreign commoner for like a year and they decide that’s enough time to know whether or not they wanted to get married? Plus, at the music festival, Eggsy literally sounded zero percent into the idea. I’m so mad. 

Speaking of the music festival...Why? Why? I get that Kingsman logic is the logic of the absurd, but that was way too much Plot Gymnastics just to get in a pseudo sex scene. Fuck off with that bullshit. “Mucous membrane.” Just stick your finger up her nose and run away!

There were not one but two puppies in this movie. I am pleased. It almost makes up for the fact that I am meant to believe that JB is dead. Which he isn’t. Because reasons. (I have always been and always will be a “IF WE DIDN’T SEE THE BODY THEY AREN’T DEAD” kind of fan.)

Harry is gay. Harry is literally gay. Literally everything about him suggests that he is gay and I really wish someone would just mention that he likes men. He’s gay. In both movies, he got into a bar fight because someone who just met him called him gay in an insulting way. I know straight men are like really into that brand of insult, but that’s just excessive, especially the bar fight in this movie--someone approached him to call him homophobic slurs just because the sheer force of Harry’s gay aura offended him. I believe this counts as deliberate queerbaiting but because I don’t have any self-respect I’m totally falling for it because I need positive gay male role models. (Harry counts as a positive role model, doesn’t he? ...Doesn’t he?)

Ginger Ale is a lesbian. Roxy is (PRESENT TENSE BECAUSE SHE’S STILL ALIVE) a lesbian. Everyone in these movies is gay or bi. It is law.

I wasn’t expecting the president to be so Trumplike. I appreciate that he was impeached. I’m a little troubled because this movie is supposed to take place in 2015 and so the president would still be Obama like it was in the last movie. I thought for a moment that maybe Kingsman!Obama accepted Valentine’s invitation and was killed during the head explosion part, but Kingsman!Obama is likely a Democrat just like the real Obama, and the president in this movie was C L E A R L Y a Republican, when in real life it would be Obama’s vice president, who would also be a Democrat. So just a plot hole I guess. 

Weird that just like last movie, the villain was a person with a reasonable goal (stop climate change, legalize drugs) going about it in an incredibly unreasonable and genocidal way. I think both movies are going for positive social messages, but it...it’s just weird. IDK.

Boy, Kingsman sure is getting a lot of mileage out of those mountain-camouflage white snow suits. Where’s the next movie going to take place, Siberia?

Charlie better stay dead this time. I hate that bastard. 

Did I mention Elton John was great in this movie?

Ginger looked so good at the wedding. I love her. 

I did like that this movie showed that most people who do drugs are just normal people. 

I liked that Statesman was more diverse than Kingsman but I straight up saw like one Asian woman and one black man (and Whiskey) and then a ton of white guys. Call me back when Statesman is half women with just...considerably more people of color. Considerably more. It’s cool that Ginger is an agent now but keep working.

Are code names linked to your position in Statesman like in Kingsman? Is Ginger now Agent Whiskey, or still Agent Ginger Ale? (I didn’t like that the only woman was the only non-alcoholic beverage, by the way. I get that it miiiight be tied to her being the only non-field-agent but I still hate it.) Also, how do they not run out of beverage names? Can people be named after their favorite mixed drink? Agent Cosmopolitan? Agent Screwdriver?

Oh my god here are some agent names that totally exist within Statesman: Agent Beer. Agent Wine. Agent Scotch. Agent Brandy. Agent Gin (hard to say). I love this stupid organization. I hope Agent Beer is from Wisconsin. 

Eggsy jumping through Whiskey’s lasso was so fucking sick. I saw the movie with three other people and we all SCREAMED. 

Colin Firth in a wet white shirt can only ever make me think of Pride and Prejudice. Thanks for that, Kingsman. 

I knew I was forgetting something I really wanted to talk about: GOD SHITTING FUCK I CAN’T BELIEVE EGGSY AND TILDE MOVED INTO HARRY’S OLD HOUSE. I GET THAT IT MIGHT BE TIED TO THE GALAHAD POSITION BUT GOD FUCKING DAMN. It’s been a year and they haven’t redecorated? Possibly at all? That one bathroom is still full of butterflies and Mr Pickle is still mounted on the wall? 

Eggsy’s voice breaking and his lip quivering when he and Tilde talk about Harry. Kill me.

THE BREAKFAST SCENE MADE IT INTO A MOVIE PLEASE KILL ME

Harry and Eggsy are in love? They’re in love

I love Roxy so much. Did I mention she’s still alive? 

Agent Tequila’s thighs when they take him out of deep freeze. God damn. 

Just remembered that Eggsy was like “this dinner is really important to me” and everyone assumes that it’s the dinner with Tilde’s parents from the trailer but it’s his friend Brandon’s birthday party. ;___________;

I think that’s all I got. 

[ferriskilldeer]

from this ask meme

What does your character typically keep in their pockets? nothing. pockets must be free in case he wants to put things in them later :)

Do they consider themselves an optimist? Pessimist? Realist? What are they like in actuality? considers himself a realist. he’s mostly a pessimist, with some optimistic ideas about the people of barovia.

How do they carry themselves around strangers? Friends/Lovers? Family? always polite. a bit less sincere, more ingratiating around strangers. shy and mild around friends. tired around family.

If your character was a work of art, how would you describe them? oil painting -  tenebrism - isolated - articulate - cavernous despair

How does your character express they're comfortable? willing to close his eyes or at least lower his lids, relaxing his posture, asking personal questions of someone else

How does your character express that they're uncomfortable? wide, unblinking eyes and a rictus grin, quiet voice with less inflection. whats quickly becoming a catchphrase: “dont say things like that”/”oh x you shouldnt say things like that”

How impulsive is your character? not too much, but in the heat of the moment he makes some dumb decisions

What is something they cannot resist? cleaning and wine

What is their favorite scent? fresh laundry or fresh water, fruits

If they were in a rock band, what role would they play? bass guitar or keys

How does your character blow off steam? he decompresses a little by fussing over his companions’ appearances

Physically, does your character feel warm or do they always feel cold? cold-natured, but heats up quickly with drink or embarrassment

If they were a body of water, what would they be? pond

Does your character value promises? Are they good at keeping them? yes and yes

Describe their ideal date. something quiet and respectable--a public place where they can enjoy a private conversation. a quick but interesting meal before or after. escorting them to their home and bidding them goodnight. laying awake and giddy for hours afterward

What keeps them going? he’s not built for anything else

Does your character swear? What's their favorite phrase/word? he tends to swear because i do, and “fuck” slips in as a sentence enhancer a lot. if i played it completely straight he wouldn’t swear as much, especially in front of people he thinks are his social “betters”

How does your character act when they want to seem inviting? pleasant, servile, and charitable

How does your character act when they want to seem threatening? he hasn’t tried this yet. probably gets cold, toneless, and petty

Can your character flirt? Are they aware they're flirting? How do they do it? he flirts through compliments or friendly gestures, but gets embarrassed and immediately backs down from it 

If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.) something light and translucent, maybe green or pink, in a fine-cut clear glass decanter sealed with red wax. smells of soap and blood.

What kind of person would they never side with? the ruthless, the hungry, the unrepentant, the narcissistic

Would your character want to be famous? Why or why not? hell no--he must never be in the spotlight

What's a controversial food opinion they would have? he loves weird combinations. totally a “x on pizza” or “dip your nugs in y” type

How does your character feel about spending money? he’s frugal for himself, but generous when it comes to spending on others

What would they want for their funeral? he wants everyone he knows to come, he wants no one to come, he wants to be cremated, he wants no speeches, he wants a thousand tears, he wants no one to notice he died at all.

If they were a ghost, how would they haunt in the afterlife? funny: would clean up after the living and help out around the house. less funny: plaintive scratching at closed doors, cold spots, sounds of pacing, banging cabinet doors in a bid for attention

Why do they keep secrets? he’s ashamed of being alive

What does your character have too much of? shame and anxiety

What never gets old for your character? Something your character can't get enough of? new food and external validation 

Can your character visualize actual concepts in their head? Or are they just vague thoughts? yes, strong third eye

Does your character daydream? What do they usually keep their mind occupied with? he doesnt daydream often. often goes over lists of supplies, chores, sensations to occupy his mind if he starts to get too anxious

How do they feel about the unknown? frustrating and scary, but cant be helped

How do they respond to condescension? part tight, teeth-grinding fury, part resignation/agreement, self-loathing

Do they consider themselves childish/mature for their age? he’s always thought himself mature. but actually, his self-denial and black-and-white judgment of himself is a bit childish

What makes them blush? impropriety of any kind, and being complimented in any way

What are some ways your character acts silly? makes weird offhand remarks about birds, responding seriously to the overly creepy things others say

What fairytale/myth suits your character the best? the nightingale and the rose prob

What does your character believe their party lacks? power and, if hes honest, a fighting chance

Describe a corruption/redemption arc version of your character. the letter opener demands more and he gives more because hes always been a servant, and himself for the chance at beating strahd and saving ireena+barovia is hardly a price at all. i guess the letter opener eats his soul or something and he becomes cold, driven, and megalomaniacal. probably scares the others and eventually they part ways--perhaps violently, since ismark and marceline dont suffer any sort of disrespect or threat lightly. could only be redeemed if someone can convince him that he doesnt have to bear all the responsibility, and that theyd rather have their normal squishy ferris over an insane powerhouse. hed have to sacrifice himself/his power in some important way to make up for it though, if he did something really bad

What's a texture/sound your character cannot stand? dislikes ripping+scraping sounds, and chunky gloopy textures

Is there something your character isn't very good at, but enjoys doing nonetheless? talking about wine

Is your character good at apologizing? Why or why not? yes because hes very tactful

How do they hold onto people? physically? clasp a shoulder, grab an arm with one hand, or hold on to the fabric at the small of their back. 

What would they never forgive themselves for? killing an innocent person or doing something purely selfish

How does your character feel about growing old? fine, he just wishes hed wasted less time

Do they consider themselves funny? How do they use humor? he doesnt think hes especially funny, but gets a big confidence boost when someone laughs at his jokes, which he uses to defuse tension or establish a rapport

What do they want to leave behind? he just wants to forget his time at cobblepot manor. and he doesnt

Do they talk to themselves? sometimes mutters when hes annoyed

What is their native language? If they know multiple languages, how do they speak/act differently? he knows a lot, but the further they get from elvish or common, the more formal and archaic they get

What makes them a hypocrite? though he holds high standards for himself and others, he relaxes his standards for others quickly (“oh what did i expect anyway, im the responsible one here”). also will decry needless violence or murder, even though he murdered his boss brutally in the guy’s sleep

If your character was under quarantine, what type of quarantine person would they be? (Productive? Hobbyist? Lazy?) very productive. flits to new hobbies quickly

What does freedom mean to them? confusion, terror, excitement. its the only thing that would make him really happy, and he doesnt want it

What is something they currently look forward to? What is something they dread? look forward to getting a reward from the burgomaster. dread seeing strahd again

How has your character's mental health been recently? not great! but hes been holding it together because marceline is already upset and ismark is volatile. theres not room for his feelings.

If your character had wings what would they look like? sleek, pointy, fast-flying, well-preened, earth tones. falcon for efficiency, owl for discretion, or towhee for smallness

How does the way they act seemingly contradict their ability scores? very high cha abilities that he rarely uses, since marceline and ismark are more assertive. notably an intimidation score higher than marceline’s and equal to ismark’s that he would probably never use

What's a habit that needs to be broken? he needs to learn how to aim eldritch blast (i need to roll better)

What's something your character has realized? hes fucked

Who do they go to when they need to bounce ideas off of someone? suggests things to marceline and ismark (the other PCs), but makes a point to ask ireena (DMPC) what she thinks

Who do they go to when they've had a nightmare? nobody

Who does your character think is the most put together in the party? marceline or himself

Which party member would they pull a prank on? Who would they plan a prank with? ismark; marceline or ireena

What is one thing they want each party member to know? marceline: no matter where you come from or what youve done, youre a precious ally and friend to me. we are all unhappy here, so please just try to play along. ismark: you need a goal beyond protecting ireena and killing strahd because if you achieve those goals then youll be left adrift. and you deserve better. please stop yelling at, lying to, or trying to fight everyone we meet. ireena: you deserve more than life dealt you. as long as you live, there is hope for you. youre loved and protected by a lot of people, and its a happy burden.

Which do they value more?

65. Adoration or Intimidation? adoration

66. Outward Passion or Quiet Rebellion? quiet rebellion

67. Selflessness or Self-Preservation? selflessness

68. Objective or Subjective? objective

69. Journey or Destination? wishes he could say journey, but its destination