#albert einstein wife

[famoushindi]

Hans Albert Einstein | 68+ Mind Blowing Albert Einstein quotes

Today we are going to read Mind Blowing Hans Albert Einstein quotes and Albert Einstein short biography. Albert Einstein was born into a Jewish family in Württemberg, Germany. His father Harman Einstein was an engineer and salesman. His mother’s name was Paulin Einstein. Although Einstein initially had difficulty speaking, he excelled in studies. His mother tongue was German and he later learned…

[mascdestr0yer]

Mom things

Paige x fem!reader

SMAU ˏˋ°•*⁀

(the race in the photos don’t matter !)

Liked by, paigebueckers, kamoreaarnold and 78,987 others

y/nbueckers: dumskii 🎀

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

UConnfangirl: I like y/n’s dumps more than paige’s

↳ paigebueckers: okay bro

kamoreaarnold: okayy nara smith😛

↳ y/nbueckers: 🩷🩷

nika.muhl: why is she growing🙄

↳ y/nbueckers: no frl, it’s so rude

aubrey.griffin44: she ptso

↳ paigebueckers: i know, i bought it

↳ kamoreaarnold: crazy how nb asked u

Liked by, billieeilish, paigebueckers, and 107,564 others

y/nbueckers: beach day 🌊☀️

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

billieeilish: pretty girl🤍

↳ y/nbueckers: OMG ??

↳ kamoreaarnold: @Paigebueckers🌚🌚

paigebueckers: my WIFE looks so good in the last pic

↳ y/nbueckers: stop being weird

↳ aubrey.griffin44: that’s just tragic

azzi35: it was fun without paige there

↳ y/nbueckers: yeah, she kills the vibe

↳paigebueckerswife: that’s crazy

↳ UConnluvr247: but look at your user😭

@Paigebueckers story

kamoreaarnold replied to your story:

next albert einstein 💯💯

Nika.muhl replied to your story:

they need to stop messing with her

Liked by, morgancheli, genoauriemma, and 457,982 others

Paigebueckers: we’re pregnant, again.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

overtimewbb: congratulations !

Kamoreaarnold: your pockets are about to be empty but, congrats ❤️

↳ paigebueckers: yeah yeah..

Nika.muhl: Another one?!

↳ y/nbueckers: yep

wbbyapper: why don’t they sound happy in the comments?

↳ y/nbueckers: hello?

Azzi35: Okay, slow down you guys

↳ paigebueckers: last one, swear🙏

aubrey.griffin44: going to league with a squad 😭

↳ paigebueckers: you already know it 😛

y/nbueckers: why’d you type the caption like that ?

↳ paigebueckers: like what?

↳ y/nbuckers: nvm..

[patchesproblem]

Nobody understands this the way I do because I can't figure out how to word this for the life of me. Tesla's so smart and yet she has a single brain cell. She can make leaps in technology but the second it comes to Einstein she just falls on her face

Tesla desperately trying to impress Einstein but immediately failing miserably as she just watches on is peak Einsla tbh.

It's literally just "Look at what I did!" and five seconds later their lab is past tense.

[writemekpop]

Bad Girl | Jung Jaehyun

Summary: Jung Jaehyun is the first guy you’ve ever met who isn’t attracted to you. You’re determined to seduce him. 

Genre: Enemies to lovers AU

Word Count: 1.5k

As you walked into the first play rehearsal, you felt your heart stutter. 

A painfully hot guy was standing by the cast-only coffee table. He was tall, statuesque, in a long black coat and glasses. His chest strained at the fabric of his white shirt, as if his stiff body couldn’t be contained.   

"Hey, you must be Jung Jaehyun," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. Now, you just had to wait for him to start drooling - guys couldn't resist you. 

"Afternoon," Jaehyun said. He barely glanced at you. Was he gay or something? "Thank goodness you're here, we're out of tea." 

You blinked. "Sorry…I’m your co-lead? I play Margot Warner, your character's wife?" 

He stretched out his hand to shake yours, stiffly. "Apologies - I thought you were the coffee girl." 

Damn it, even his cold stare of indifference was sexy.  

"Let’s start with the argument scene," the director said. 

You and Jaehyun took centre stage. "Does my gaze make you feel nothing?" you breathed, looking into his eyes. "My touch?" You twined your fingers in his heavenly soft hair. "My kiss?" 

Standing on your tiptoes, you squeezed a kiss to his lips. They were cool as marble. 

Jaehyun stared into your eyes. Now, overcome with desire, his character was meant to tear the buttons off your shirt and pull you close, just as the lights dimmed. 

But Jaehyun stepped away from you. "Time out!" He sighed. "I just cannot understand what my character sees in hers. Why does he suddenly give in?" 

The director nodded. "He’s right. We need some chemistry here, guys! This is… PG-13 at best.” 

Jaehyun looked at you. "Listen, you may have never seduced a man, but you are going to have to pretend. That is of course, what actors do." 

You could just strangle him. Never seduced a man?  Jaehyun thought he was so much better than you, with his stupid little theatre degree from Harvard. 

You didn’t need a fancy degree to be a good actor. Plus, you could eat Harvard boys for breakfast - and you had. You’d tasted half the football team, in fact. 

Four hours later, you still hadn’t got the scene. 

The director looked like he'd had enough. "Sort out the chemistry by tomorrow, or I’m firing one of you. Which one do you think I should fire?" 

"Him!" you said, at the same time as Jaehyun snapped, 'Her!" 

You stormed up the stairs of the auditorium to get your bag from one the seats. Chemistry problem. Bullshit. That was like saying Albert Einstein had an intelligence problem. 

"Where do you think you're going?" Jaehyun said. 

A tiny shiver ran down your spine. 

"Are you really going to give up on the scene that easily?" Jaehyun taunted. "I've seen chihuahas with longer attention spans." 

"It’s tough acting against a brick wall," you shot back. 

Jaehyun shuddered. "If I have to teach you how to act, I will. Come here."

You walked over to him. 

"Margot is trying to seduce her husband. Your acting is too unidimensional!" 

"Uni-what?" you said. 

"Obvious! You're playing it too obvious," Jaehyun said. "I can see why that would be a problem for you. The whole Barbie thing usually does the trick with men, doesn't it? With your tight dresses and your… long legs. " He glanced at your body, and quickly looked away. But you’d noticed.   

You smirked. "So you think I'm hot." 

Jaehyun scoffed. "What I'm saying is, you need to play the role with your whole body. Subtle - yet hair-raising." He grabbed your script. "I'll try Margot. Watch and learn." 

Jaehyun stepped towards you. 

On the surface, nothing had changed. But Jaehyun was a different man. His face was flushed, his breaths shaky. His eyes kept flashing to your lips, like it took everything in him not to kiss you. 

"Does my gaze make you feel nothing?" he said quietly, his black eyes searching yours. "My touch?" He twined his fingers in your hair, and you couldn't hide the sound of your breath catching.

Every inch of your skin was alive.

"My kiss?" 

Jaehyun kissed you. His lips were so much gentler than you'd expected. You knew it was just acting, but Jaehyun seemed so into you it made him nervous. His whole body trembled with desire. 

You pulled back, struggling to catch your breath. That kiss was hair-raising.  

Something told you Jaehyun wasn't that good an actor. 

Jaehyun pulled back, his face flushed, a pink cloud of lipstick rimming his mouth. He was biting his plump lips, almost as if he was fighting a smile. "Clear?" 

You smiled. "You've forgotten the end of the scene."

An unreadable expression flashed over Jaehyun’s face. 

“How did it end again?” he murmured, his eyes fixed on yours. 

Your eyes fell to Jaehyun’s lips. “Margot and Lewis find the time to… reconnect.” Your fingers found the opening of Jaehyun’s shirt. “To get to know each other again.” 

Jaehyun gulped. “I thought they hated each other.” You started unbuttoning Jaehyun’s shirt, one button at a time. He shivered under your touch. “Hate and love aren’t as different as you think,” you said. 

You abandoned Jaehyun’s shirt on the seats. His body belonged in an art gallery, a sculptor’s impression of the perfect man. Only, Jaehyun was not still and cold anymore. His chest was rising and falling, his flesh hot. 

“This doesn’t mean I’m giving in,” Jaehyun said. “I still abhor you.” 

“And I still don’t give a damn what abhor means,” you said, smirking. Jaehyun hoisted your leg up against his hip. His lips met yours now, hungrily, no script to lead the way. 

On the couch in Jaehyun's big New York apartment, you smirked down at him, stroking his chest. "How was that for seducing a man?" 

"Excellent work," Jaehyun said in mock-seriousness, trying not to look ridiculous despite still panting. "Highly commendable." 

“You know…” you said, nuzzling into his chest, “if you were so into me, why did you act like a jerk?” “I’m married,” he said.

 You felt a pang of disappointment.   

“Divorced, to be precise,” Jaehyun continued. “Eight years. She was my… my first.” He spoke into your hair now. “I didn’t know what to do with the way I felt about you. I know I’m just a fling to you, but-“ “You’re not,” you said, moving to meet his eyes. He was gnawing at his plump lip, and you smoothed your finger over it, stopping him. “The way I felt last night… let’s just say I don’t get that a lot.” Your voice dropped. “Or ever.” “Are you saying I’m the best you’ve ever had?” Jaehyun said, turning you around so he was hovering over you, wearing a smug smirk.

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder to earn that title…” you said, fixing your fingers in his hair. 

-- 

The next day, when you returned to rehearsal, something had changed. “You- um, you first,” Jaehyun said, gesturing to the coffee pot. 

“No, really, you,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. You had no idea how to act professionally now. Should you touch Jaehyun? Smile at him? Ignore him completely?  

You both broke out into laughter.  

When it came to that scene, however, you and Jaehyun fought the urge to rush to the end.  

"Does my gaze make you feel nothing - my touch - my kiss, blah blah blah..." you mumbled, then pulled Jaehyun towards you in a kiss that made you weak in the knees. 

A lot of the director’s throat-clearing later, Jaehyun finally prised you off him, and you stood next to each other. The spotlights were a little blurry – or was that your eyes?  

The director started a slow clap, his mouth ajar. 

"Will these two set the house on fire? I think so!" He walked towards you, lowering his voice. "But really, how did you do it? What's the secret?"

You grinned at Jaehyun. "We were just acting. That is, of course, what actors do." 

—     

MAIN MASTERLIST

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

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[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 💚💚💚

Credit goes to my blog @astroismypassion

💚💚 Scorpio Moons, even Moon in the 8th house or Cancer over the 8th house, talk about their sex life either in songs or accidentally "out" some of their sexual preferences online, in podcasts, interviews. Beyonce, a Scorpio Moon native, said she felt somewhat embarassed about song Partition (which is about sex with her husband) when she realized her parents will hear the song as well. Same with Justin Bieber (Cancer over the 8th house native) who wrote song Yummy, which he admitted was basically about his sex life.

💚💚 I noticed Aquarius, Capricorn and Gemini Jupiter are more prone to establish some sort of "rules" in their marriage or with their spouse. Albert Einstein, for example who is an Aquarius Jupiter at a Gemini degree (27 degree) had some unique, unconventional rules established in his marriage with first wife Mileva Marić. Which were that his wife should not expect any intimacy from him, should not reproach him in any way, should stop talking to him if he requested it, should leave his bedroom or study immediately without protest if requested and should refrain from belittling him in front of the children. This is even more prominent if Jupiter is also in the 3rd, 10th or 11th house. Jupiter retrograde natives second guess marriage a lot. Or they might marry the same person twice or they question themselves whether that are able to follow through with the committment and even if they are able to commit in the first place. Or they dislike sacrifices and compromises that marriage brings. There are so many real life celebrity examples of this, such as Elon Musk, Justin Bieber, Steve Jobs, Oprah Winfrey.

💚💚 Gemini Jupiter encounters issues in marriage only, because they seem too invested in their job. It's like they are metaphorically married to their job, work in the community or with social media. Famous Gemini Jupiter natives are: Taylor Swift, Steve Jobs, Tom Brady, Shania Twain, Billie Eilish, Emma Watson etc.

💚💚 Capricorn Moon likes to feel needed, but they do not like needy people.

💚💚 Pluto over the 2nd house transit or in Solar Return chart means that you could receive financial aid, especially from the government and other national institutions.

💚💚 I noticed sometimes person’s surname can be quite revealing about their major threes (Sun, Moon, Rising). Gemini placements can have an animal surname, most often also bird name. Like Fox, Robin, Wolf. Taurus Suns can have a surname that means field, cook, food aliment Youtuber Josh Carrott has Carrott surname and he is a Taurus Sun. Such as Mia Goth has Goth as a surname and is a Scorpio Sun.

💚💚 If you are looking at bands, Leo Sun almost always ends up the frontman or the lead singer. Like Joe Jonas from Jonas Brothers or even Mick Jagger from The Rolling Stones for example.

💚💚 Taurus Sun women often go for bad boy type of partner. Even if their person is the biggest softie and sweetheart. The physical appearance is always tall, hunky, with tattoos or piercings. Real life examples are Megan Fox (Taurus Sun) and grunge-y looking partner MGK, Debby Ryan (Taurus Sun) with Josh Dun from Twenty-one pilots who has tattoos, Behati Prinsloo (Taurus Sun) who has partner Adam Levine, again many tattoos.

💚💚 I noticed Capricorn Suns are always the ones best dressed in the friend group or the one that just dresses in more down to earth, simple, humble and plain clothing so that they don’t stand out too much or draw too much attention.

💚💚 I noticed not a lot of people who date share the same Rising sign. However, Scorpio Rising often times finds and dates another Scorpio Rising.

💚💚 Leo over the 7th house or Leo Descendant or ruler of the 7th house in the 5th house especially when younger can date people that don’t even truly want them or be with them. 🙁

💚💚 After marriage, Libra Chiron people often make their marriage their whole identity.

💚💚 I noticed a pattern with Mars retrograde people. Such as actor Sam Clafflin, Michael Jordan, Morgan Freeman, Theresa May or Robert Downey Jr. Often due to not being as assertive, people would start talking over them or they start a sentence and then don’t finish it, but start a new one or use a lot of “you know”. They often are what people would expect of retrograde Mercury people.

💚💚 Aquarius and Leo Moons really like quirky, modern, fun looking home decor and furniture. They would buy nipple pillows, big stool in form of an orange breast vases. They really don’t take themselves too seriously when it comes to decorating their home.

💚💚 5th house shows your primary education and even creative extensions of self. 2nd house shows earning abilities and manner of meeting financial obligations. 12th house shows emotional blocks and hidden support. 6th house shows your food preparation, but also attitude towards work. 10th house shows how the world judges you. But also your responsibility to society. 11th house shows money from your actual profession, not your job. 1st house shows your very, very early environment.

💚💚 Cancer Suns just love their bathroom selfies.

💚💚 Gemini/Virgo or Aries and even Taurus over the 3rd house often get their driving license in high school. Aquarius and Capricorn might wait a little and do it when they get their first steady job or after their first Saturn Return. They could also buy a car shortly after. Pisces over the 3rd house might decide do car share or car pool or they pass their driving license, but don’t own a car. Libra over the 3rd house could rely on their partner’s car and for them to drive them around.

💚💚 Sun at 20 degrees women often go for the “odd” guy. Sometimes this translates to unconventional looking as well. Such as Mila Kunis who is Sun at 20 degrees native who dated Macaulay Culkin.

💚💚 Taurus Suns often end up getting along with everyone, especially in school and work settings.

💚💚 Aries Mercury can end up always wanting to stay positive no matter what. Always putting on “a brave face”.

💚💚 Pisces Sun photographers are really good at taking pictures of parties, because they capture the moment so well. Libra Sun photographers, on the other hand, really focus more on taking shots of attractive people, not so much with the setting itself and especially couples. Famous photographer Tyrell Hampton who took a picture of Selena Gomez and Hailey Bieber was a Libra Sun.

Credit goes to my blog @astroismypassion

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned that Albert Einstein was notoriously incapable of remaining faithful to one woman.

Female beauty was his greatest weakness, and he wasn’t shy or bashful about the fact — he famously explained relativity as “an hour talking to a pretty woman feeling shorter than a minute of having one’s hand on a hot stove”.Albert Einstein had mistresses throughout his life.

He was unfaithful to his first wife, who was the mother of his three children.

He then was unfaithful to his second wife as well, who was also his cousin. The little girl on Einstein’s lap? His adopted granddaughter.

Who, as legend has it, may have been an out-of-wedlock daughter fathered by the aging scientist and then adopted by one of his sons to ‘avoid scandal’.The stereotype we have of Einstein is “somewhat confused, awkward scientist completely obsessed with his work”, but in reality, he was quite socially savvy and quite capable of seducing women, something he did often and ferociously.

Women in his life were aware of his proclivities — a great man belongs ‘to the world’, and sharing, as he saw it, was caring.

Some women like their men handsome. Others go for brains. Albert Einstein had no shortage of brains… and no shortage of women in his life. He got around, so to speak, and was sexually active until old age.

[astrowithkaro]

❥ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝟏𝟎𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄

This post will explain what it means to have Lilith in the 10th house, I will be assuming that you know the basics of Lilith and won't go into details about her symbolism 🌹

(Black moon) Lilith is named after Adam’s first wife before Eve who was the outcast of the garden of Eden as a demon for asserting her sexuality and independence. Lilith represents our worst flaws, our unconscious mind and repressed desires as well as our hidden sexuality. This dark goddess symbolizes lust and carnal desire; she epitomizes all things taboo.

You can find your Lilith by creating a natal chart for yourself on Astro-seek.com and specify Lilith placement (PS: NOT ASTEROID LILITH 1181, it needs to be BLM/h12 that is usually an option in the extended chart settings).

All credits goes to the writer - @astrowithkaro. Do not steal or repost!

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

You guys are made to play out the Lilith in your lives. Lilith will point where your hidden powers lie. People with this placement often have the ever-lasting sense that they are meant for something big. They have a higher calling in life and are often determined. They have long-term goals that are bigger than usual. They posses a lucky-girl mentality, but it comes at a cost.

Since the 10th house rules the eye of the public, your hidden extremities might be an invitation for rumours and scandals. Therefore, this placement can often get caught in drama, both at a young age while being in school, and often tend to manifest into their work life as well. You might have people speaking about you behind your back, but these rumours don't always resemble who you really are. As teens, you might develop crushes on teachers, or anyone that you idolise. In order to get their attention, you might try to seduce them or make yourself look as appealing as possible to the other person's deepest fantasies/desires. You often compare yourself to the best students and look up to the most successful people in your life, and even copy those tactics in order to gain those same traits you lack in yourself. On a darker note, you could have issues with your father or have a father figure that is absent. You might be oblivious to the insecurities that other people reflect onto you, and feel like it burdens you without being able to recognise where it stems from. You might fall in love with difficult people, people that are narcissistic or possess antisocial traits. People who do not have clear motives for you, but still lead you on in ways that would trigger a trauma bond between you two - love bombing is a clear example of that.

You might be labeled as a difficult person to work with and have a lot of competition when it comes to job opportunities. The people who are responsible for your job role/recruiters might ask you for sexual favours in return for a better position or a raise. Refusing to do this might lead to people throwing dirt on your name, you have the choice to stand up for yourself and make authority figures responsible for their bullshit. Having this placement also has a higher chance of working job positions that involve anything sex-and identity related.

There will be a certain fixation on shaming your position, or having people try to barber that recognition out of you. You might feel self-conscious around people who are highly successful. Though, you are able to recognise manipulation tactics used and you are not afraid to use it against anyone else if it comes down to it. But this could be a dangerous move since you can sometimes be vulnerable to Machiavellism due to your emotional side. You might also be prone to sexual partners who toy with your emotions, and want to use you for sex, might even try to shame your sexuality. You have a lot of public influence no matter what you get recognised for, two famous examples are Albert Einstein and Vladimir Putin. Therefore, you need to utilise it carefully.

Since there is a certain fixation on the desire for authority, you may sometimes desire darker powers or leadership, especially for those who meet a lot of resistance that lead to social isolation. You are afraid of failure and might be very responsive to any sort of failure or to be seen as vulnerable. You might develop a hyper-independence complex or a play a damsel-in-distress for people of power. You need to put your feelings aside when it comes to business. Your test in life is connected to having a sense of responsibility. There will be a delay in finding your career path.

There might also be a period during which you feel the need to over-sexualise yourself or romanticise parts of your life that are difficult for you to handle. This is rooted in the need for control over something that seems difficult or hard to reach. You might find it difficult to connect to your own deeper goals and ambitions, often due to unresolved resentment towards certain people or situations. You might hold grudges towards people who did you dirty. The path to empowerment is self-acceptance and moderation. If your needs aren't met, you tend to be ice-cold and might even appeared detached and distant - sometimes even "head in the clouds". You need to draw a line between your emotions and have an endurance.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･

𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙'𝖘 𝖎𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖋𝖎𝖓�� 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

[ideas-scattered-dreams]

/ / silence? anger.

fandoms: genshin impact AU: SAGAU player au?

imagine that... You were just minding your own business and playing genshin as you always do when u have free time. you always do farming, collecting, taking pictures of your characters, doing quest as the usual. You hummed being satisfied of your works, you ran up in hills and killing some hiluchurls with your characters of choice. you were a silent player playing this game, like most games u play always being silent and if needed to talk you would. you never really need a reason to talk, what would the character do? reply? that's laughable. Though, the thought of the characters replying is nice, as you can have a conversation with someone your familiar with and don't need to be uncomfortable with each other... you smiled and chuckled at your own delusion, a character wouldn't be programmed do so here, but u don't mind to think of that way.

The character u control is enjoying your presence and your elegant face in the skies. they don't mind being used for your own gain or just to have fun in general. though they wish to hear your voice rather than a sigh and a hum. they have seen a lot of your emotions that are visible on your face but not once voiced it out... until now ofc. 🌙━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━⭐ You were currently doing a quest that involves... ill abort or albert. you HATED that guy with pure sin and anger, u couldn't stand to be around him, you would glare and just avoid him at all cause, especially when u use barbara (or main her), but i guess this was your unlucky day, you had to interact with him. You saw him behind the cathedral... again. agh you knew why he is there but u cant program him to just leave and jump off a bridge to the water,' now what does he want..' you approach him hesitantly just moving your character slowly, like micro slow. agh... When u got close to him u couldn't stand him. like omg he ugly asf, you wish u could actually kill him with your character right now... you grumble and had a frown adored about your face, teyvats skies grew gray and winds grew harsh... the citizens wonder why u are angry and upset.. they couldn't have that right? if you were angry at someone, they should be disposed off quickly... the character u are using glared daggers at abort or albert for making you upset, this man just had to anger their grace with his presence.. before abort finishes his first sentence, you beat boxed that bitch hard. "stfu u looking like that one father that cheated their wife with a fuckin maid and still say your sorry even when u got her pregnant, what's up with you goofy ah outfit? bro looks like a a fuckin cabbage that your hair complements lookin like mayonnaise and what is with your posture? man even madame ping and the other granny grandpas has better back sides, you look like a whole ah gorilla, what's with the hair? did u dye it yourself bc u want to fit in the blonde air way? you look like bakugo madapaking katsuki Walmart version, bro i see others lookin like u in this game but you be the WORST one, bro looks like dottores failed experiment that lived a day to tell the tale. are u fucking jobless to stay here and fucking stalk our sweet deaconess barbara? i aint even surprised by you being jobless, bro i'd be surprise if your not homeless. bro thought he was albert Einstein but bro is just a weirdo stalking mf don't even stare at me with those fucking eyes i wish to PLUCK OUTTTT... "

You panted from that long speech and walked away from him, not looking back to see his shocked face and a group of acolytes behind him including Jean looking angered and disgusted. You were to upset to do your routine with your character for now as u are tired from yelling at abort... maybe u will ignore his quest and do another later.. you sat them down on one of the cathedral seats outside and planted a kiss on your finger and placed the kissed finger to your characters lips and exited.

After you left, teyvats skies thundered infront of abort, the characters you used has their weapons out ready to murder the fuck out of abort.. i mean.. you wont notice if he is gone right your grace? 🌙━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━⭐ the next time you logged in the game, you dont see abort anymore, like he just.. didnt exist in the first place... but who are u to question? good radiance he is gone, this made your mood happy and hum. this isnt a dream right? this feels 100% real, hah. what a nice reality.

[leggo-my-aego]

SxF Theory based on ch. 93!!

This is purely based off the small interactions we have with this little old man right here and the relation he may or may not have with anya's past

i think that not only was he a part of the project that Anya was a part of, i think he CREATED the foundation of the technology used to create the chimera experiments with Bond and with Anya's ability to read minds.

It would make a lot of sense as he states that one of the subjects he specializes in is Neurology, the study of the brain.

Also, his character design is very obviously supposed to look like Albert Einstein. Which is super important because Einstein developed the atomic theory that led to the development of the nuclear bomb. Ltrly the most devastating technology created in mankind. And Einstein was recorded to say that he deeply regretted even developing that theory.

So what does that have to do with this guy?

I think that Sigmund Authen theorized and developed the concept of a way to gain a higher neurological prowess. He said that he "dabbled in cultural anthropology," and a specialty in neurology, he was probably touring the world to understand the concept of the brain in different environments and the developmental aspects.

It's shown in a lot of sci-fi media about "unlocking 100% of the brain" and I think Sigmund found a way to do that. He probably showed this research to higher ups with good intentions to develop the human body but of course, the people in power wanted to use this for damaging purposes. And the fact he was pretty much MIA during the war that his wife didnt even know wtf he was doing just supports the timeline. Also, him being at the *start* of the project would make it plausible on why Sigmund and Anya wouldnt recognize each other.

I think Sigmund saw or found out about the inhumane experiments done in order to fulfill his theory and wanted to put a stop to it.

BUT

the head of the project (or whatever) stopped him and used his own research against him by wiping his memory of the events. Im guessing a very sketchy lobotomy that left him in the state he is in now where he forgets a LOT of what is happening most of the time. Which kinda shows how Anya can only get fragmented thoughts and very old memories when she reads his mind.

I had this in the back burner but this ^^^ panel from the latest chapter pretty much solidified it for me. Especially with the parallels of regret with Einstein's atomic theory. Also him saying that makes me think he prbly remembers fragments of the project or the feeling of regret was too strong for him to regret from that moment.

Either way, I cant wait to see more chapters! It definitely looks like we're continuing this Anya-centered arc with the way things are developing!

[yumeka-sxf]

Very cute new chapter today~ Though I couldn't help my first thought when I saw Sigmund being "Omg, they're gonna meet Albert Einstein?!"

(he could also be based on Sigmund Freud, or some combination of him and Einstein, since he says "Eureka!" a lot, lol).

As usual, even for these stand-alone chapters that are seemingly slice-of-life only, Endo manages to slip in war and other social commentary without it being out of place. We see more of the "spy scare" that's plaguing Ostania with the kids thinking Sigmund is a spy, as well as Sigmund's comments about how horrific the neighborhood was during the war.

The scene of the kids chasing Sigmund away because they think they're "saving their country" by getting rid of a spy is a nice parallel to the black-and-white view Yor has of her assassin work...that she's helping her country by eliminating "evildoers," not realizing that one of them could actually be a decent person (same could be said for Yuri and his job at the SSS).

We also get this bittersweet scene from Yor where she's wondering if Anya longs for grandparents.

Interestingly, she mentions that Loid's parents are gone too. While we never saw Loid specifically tell her that both his parents are dead, it could either have been an off-screen conversation, or Yor deduced that based on the fact that Loid and Anya never talk about them (not in the present tense at least).

But anyway, it was a wholesome chapter, lots of funny antics between senile Sigmund and Anya (mis)reading his thoughts 😅 I was half expecting the chapter to end on a darker note with Sigmund being more senile, where we learn that his wife is actually dead and his home no longer exists. Endo could definitely go that direction, but not this time!

I wonder if the Authens will become reoccurring characters? Maybe Endo wants to expand the cast a bit in anticipation of the manga going on for longer? We'll see! The last panel of the Authens making out in front of the Forgers was a great way to end the chapter. Twiyor needs to take notes! 😂

[quipster6]

🙊🕺Albert Einstein once said, 'Never memorize something that you can look up.' So I stopped memorizing my wife's birthday. Now I just look it up on Facebook. And guess what? She changed her privacy settings!😅😏😇

[nadiv22]

My favorite quotes from civ VI

TECHNOLOGY

“No man ever wetted clay and then left it, as if there would be bricks by chance and fortune.” – Plutarch

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” – Will Rogers

“I AM FOND OF PIGS. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” – Winston S. Churchill

“Who deserves more credit than the wife of a coal miner?” – Merle Travis

“When you find yourself in a hole, quit digging.” – Will Rogers

“I don’t believe in astrology; I’m a Sagittarius and we’re skeptical.” – Arthur C. Clarke

“Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.” -W. H. Auden

“I shot an arrow into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.” -Mark Twain

“I’m also interested in creating a lasting legacy … because bronze will last for thousands of years.” – Richard MacDonald

“MONEA, if it does not bring you happiness, will at least help you be miserable in comfort.” – Helen Gurley Brown

“A man on a horse is spiritually as well as physically bigger than a man on foot.” – John Steinbeck

“The Lord made us all out of iron. Then he turns up the heat to forge some of us into steel.” – Marie Osmond

“I cannot imagine any condition which would cause a ship to founder … Modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that.” – Capt. E.J. Smith, RMS Titanic

“Create with the heart; build with the mind.” – Criss Jami

“One man’s ‘magic’ is another man’s engineering.” – Robert Heinlein

“There is no easy way to train an apprentice. My two tools are example and nagging.” – Lemony Snicket

The purpose of education is to replace an empty mind with an open one.” – Malcolm Forbes

“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” – Aristotle

“Rocks in my path? I keep them all. With them I shall build my castle.” – Nemo Nox

“Not all who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

“People can have the Model T in any color – so long as it’s black.” – Henry Ford

“The pen might not be mightier than the sword, but maybe the printing press is heavier than the siege weapon. Just a few words can change everything.” – Terry Pratchett

“Astronomy’s much more fun when you’re not an astronomer.” – Brian May

“If facts don’t fit the theory, change the facts.” – Albert Einstein

“No one starts a war – or rather, no one in his senses ought to do so – without first being clear in his mind what he intends to achieve by that war and how he intends to conduct it.” – Karl von Clausewitz

“Science owes more to the steam engine than the steam engine owes to science.” – Lawrence Henderson

“Bolt actions speak louder than words.” – Craig Roberts

“Never criticize a rifleman until you have walked a mile in his shoes. That way, he’ll be barefoot and you’ll be out of range.” – The 2nd Target Company

“For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.” – Leonardo da Vinci

“If you can walk away from a landing, it’s a good landing. If you use the airplane the next day, it’s an outstanding landing.” – Chuck Yeager

“Benjamin Franklin may have discovered electricity, but it was the man who invented the meter who made the money.” – Earl Wilson

“Chemists do not usually stutter. It would be very awkward if they did, seeing that they have at times to get out such words as methylethylamylophenylium.” – Sir William Crookes

“If God had really intended men to fly, He’d make it easier to get to the airport.” – George Winters

“Untutored courage is useless in the face of educated bullets.” – George Patton

“There may be no forgiveness for polyester. On this one matter, Satan and the Lord are in agreement.” – Joe Hill

“I’m a big laser believer – I really think they are the wave of the future.” – Courteney Cox

"Even though the future seems far away, it is actually beginning right now.” – Mattie Stepanek

CIVICS

“Bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.” — Colonel David Hackworth

“A strong economy begins with a strong, well-educated workforce.”– Bill Owens “Look back over the past, with its changing empires that rose and fell, and you can foresee the future, too.” – Marcus Aurelius

“It was luxuries like air conditioning that brought down the Roman Empire. With air conditioning their windows were shut; they couldn’t hear the barbarians coming.” – Garrison Keillor

Divide and rule, a sound motto. Unite and lead, a better one.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” – William Shakespeare

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” – Sun Tzu

“History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon.” – Napoleon Bonaparte

“A good navy is not a provocation to war. It is the surest guaranty of peace.” – Theodore Roosevelt

“In democracy it’s your vote that counts; in feudalism it’s your count that votes.” – Mogens Jallberg

“There are very honest people who do not think that they have had a bargain unless they have cheated a merchant.” – Anatole France

“You can’t go around arresting the Thieves’ Guild. I mean, we’d be at it all day!” – Terry Pratchett

“Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government … You can’t expect to wield supreme power just ‘cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!” – Monty Python

“In diplomacy there are two kinds of problems: small ones and large ones. The small ones will go away by themselves, and the large ones you will not be able to do anything about.” – Patrick McGuinness

“A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday but never remembers her age.” – Robert Frost

“New opinions are always suspected, and usually opposed, without any other reason but because they are not already common.” – John Locke

“A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.” – Douglas Adams

“Destroying rainforest for economic gain is like burning a Renaissance painting to cook a meal.” – Edward Wilson

“If you don’t read the newspaper, you’re uninformed. If you read the newspaper, you’re mis-informed.” -Mark Twain

“Sports do not build character. They reveal it.” – Heywood Broun

“A good plan violently executed right now is far better than a perfect plan executed next week.” – George S. Patton

“We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” – John F. Kennedy

“Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?” -Jane Austen

“I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.” –Albert Einstein

[ducklooney]

Happy Pi Day!

Yes, I'm back, but unfortunately I had to retire again for a while, as I was seriously ill for two weeks. But I'm back and there will be more surprises! And I'm turning over a new leaf, so to speak!

Yes, 3/14 (March 14) is also Pi Day, which is an infinite number and starts with 3, 14 and so on with those digits and that number was established by the mathematician Archimedes. Also on that day, in 1879, Albert Einstein was born, a famous physicist and scientist known for the theory of relativity, as well as other scientific achievements. Yes, I am showing a picture of him with his first wife, Mileva Marić.

Pi Day is also Science Day, so of course I'm hanging a comic cover from the 2016 Dutch Donald Duck comic that shows Gyro Gearloose with Little Helper and the number Pi sign. Happy day everyone! Free to like and reblog this!

[denimbex1986]

'Christopher Nolan has a knack for wrangling impressive ensemble casts for his films, but he really outdid himself with his 3-hour historical epic Oppenheimer. Even if the World War II biopic didn’t include the frequent Nolan collaborator Michael Caine, the stacked ensemble is filled with a terrific ensemble of veteran Hollywood stars, Academy Award-winning performers, underrated character actors, relative unknowns, and a few former box office titans that have seemingly disappeared over the last decade or so. It wasn’t that long ago that Josh Hartnett was the marquee lead of films like Lucky Number Slevin and Black Hawk Down, but his star power has seemingly evaporated, as some actors can only maintain the same level of success for so long. However, Hartnett has always been a more interesting and complicated actor than the roles that he was given at the beginning of his career. Hartnett isn’t just in the middle of a major comeback; he basically steals Oppenheimer with one of the most nuanced supporting performances.

Why Is 'Oppenheimer's Ernest Lawrence So Important?

Oppenheimer is told in non-chronological order, in what has become a hallmark of nearly all of Nolan’s films. While Hartnett doesn’t play a significant role in the black-and-white sections that show the confirmation hearings for Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.), he is instrumental within the main storyline focused on J. Robert Oppenheimer’s (Cillian Murphy) studies at the University of California in Berkeley, where he first conceived of much of the technology that ended up becoming critical within the Manhattan Project. The sequences in Berkeley aren’t just where Oppenheimer unlocks part of his genius, but also where he falls in love with his second wife Kitty (Emily Blunt), and makes a community of friends for the first time. It is during this period that he works hand-in-hand with Hartnett’s depiction of Ernest Lawrence; having an outsider’s perspective on Oppenheimer’s work was necessary for this sequence to function.

Ernest Lawrence was an incredibly influential figure in Oppenheimer’s life. While he’s not someone that Oppenheimer often looks up to and idolizes like Neils Bohr (Kenneth Branagh) or Albert Einstein (Tom Conti), Lawrence represents the sort of man that Oppenheimer could never really become. Hartnett depicts Lawrence as a man of great importance, intelligence, and class that also has a relatively normal social life and shows an ability to adjust to the stresses within his life. Lawrence encourages Oppenheimer to find a balance within his work, but it becomes obvious that it’s not possible for someone with his capacity for genius. It creates an odd tension between them; Lawrence feels both resentful and sympathetic for his friend. Oppenheimer’s inability to simply “turn off” his brain and focus on something other than his work may end up making him more historically important than Lawrence, but it negates any sense of accomplishment or happiness he may feel.

Josh Hartnett does some really outstanding subtle work with his performance, as there’s an interesting dichotomy to Lawrence’s feelings about Oppenheimer. He’s not resentful, as he and Oppenheimer are able to get along and share much in common due to their shared experience in nuclear research. Lawrence is someone who can communicate with Oppenheimer on an intellectual level about the groundbreaking studies that are being done, but he’s not capable of reaching the same next-level conclusions. Lawrence is well-educated and knows what he’s talking about, but also acknowledges that it’s not his name that the world will remember. It was almost a bit of reflective acting on Hartnett’s part as if he was acknowledging that he was no longer the same star who had led Pearl Harbor to its box-office success two decades prior.

Ernest Lawrence Is Important to the Politics of 'Oppenheimer'

Christopher Nolan isn’t necessarily known as a “political filmmaker,” but while his films aren’t necessarily as overt as the work of directors like Oliver Stone or Spike Lee, there are strong anti-war, anti-escalation themes in The Dark Knight, Dunkirk, and Tenet. Oppenheimer is definitely Nolan’s most overtly political work to date, and Lawrence is instrumental in unpacking the film’s complex understanding (and criticism) of the decisions that Oppenheimer made on behalf of his country during his lifetime. At first, Oppenheimer’s relationship with Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh) is nothing more than a passionate romantic affair, but it's Lawrence who explains the danger that being involved with the socialist political movement at the time that they are in. Lawrence has his personal feelings about the rising Communist movement, but he worries that Oppenheimer’s mind could be distracted when he’s working on studies that could literally change the way that mankind observes the world.

The political differences between Lawrence and Oppenheimer are fascinating, and Hartnett does a great job of showing Lawrence’s conviction in his belief and handling the dense political dialogue. It’s fascinating that Lawrence’s political beliefs aren’t delved into that deeply other than his expressed desire to keep all discussions about the socialist movement out of the classroom. Lawrence tells Oppenheimer that he considered himself a patriot, but he also wants the University to be an institute of science, and not a hangout spot for a potentially dangerous movement to begin. He and Oppenheimer begin to grow further apart as a result of this, but they still share a mutual understanding of which events transcend their own personal beliefs. Both men react with the same surprise and fear when news of Adolf Hitler’s invasion of Poland breaks.

Josh Hartnett does a great job of showing Lawrence’s empathy for Oppenheimer. While he understands that a traditional celebration isn’t necessarily something that Oppenheimer would enjoy, there’s a friendliness between the two men that continues after General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) whisks him away to work on the Manhattan Project. Lawrence refuses to report incriminating evidence on Oppenheimer during the government’s investigation, and the two are able to shake hands at the end of the film. That’s more than Oppenheimer can say about Edward Teller (Benny Safdie), whose pro-nuclear beliefs created too much of a divide between them.

Josh Hartnett is in the midst of a much-needed comeback, and it’s great to see that Oppenheimer gave him such a nuanced role to execute. While it may have taken a while for him to finally get the chance to work with Nolan, his performance is one that is essential to show what made Oppenheimer tick on both an intellectual and personal level.'

[aristotels]

We actually need to talk about how the world genuinely hates balkan people. I made a comment saying how I wished people were more interested in balkan culture and non balkan people got mad over my comment 💀

These people fr can't handle when balkan people are happy and not the laughing stock. Some of them fr said that the balkan contributed nothing to the world....like did these mfs forgot Nikola tesla? Mother Theresa? Alexander the great? Albert Einsteins wife was serbian! AND GREECE ALONE LIKE THERE ARE SO MANY FAMOUS HISTORICAL FIGURES FROM GREECE HOW CAN THESE MFS SAY THAT BALKAN CONTRIBUTED NOTHING TO THE WORLD

Toliko sam ljuta ali zaista sam ljuta. Zašto ovim ljudima smeta ako ja želim da balkan ima više reprezentacije i da nas ljudi više ne mrze.......

tbh people view balkans as a backwater land filled with idiots and silly people who cant think for themselves; term "balkanization" is enough of a proof. its always used with such disgust too. what are we, a bunch of hillbilly balkaners who cant self-govern? (this was hitlers opinion too btw)

greece aside, just yugoslav countries have so much to offer you historically: faust vrančić (first parachute), slavoljub penkala (first pen), croatia had the first hydroelectrane in europe, ruđer boškovićs physics theories.

i always remember that tweet where this guy was like "if someone uses cyrillics, theyre a russian bot" and when someone said "ah yes russia the only nation in the world" the guy replied "people in croatia bosnia and serbia are poor and dont have phones or the internet".

balkans have been so shit on through the history, despite many acchievments of people from here, in culture, architecture, science etc, but there is always this disgust and hatred when people talk about balkans, like we are garbage deponium of history.

uglavnom slažem se, puno pozdrava, biće bolje jednog dana ❤️