#and the fact that she's russian ofc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fixfoxnox · 1 year ago

Note

Hii gmorning/night/evening! Hope you are having a really nice day.

I don't quite know if you're doing a platonic request, but if you can. Can I request maybe a fic or maybe a scenario, Tf141 and younger reader (younger than gaz himself) whose father is makarov himself and on one mission when Tf141 were capturing makarov the reader were forced to do the interrogation on their own father (the reader did it with professionalism ofc), makarov.

How would the Tf141 react when they found out that makarov was the reader father maybe around a day after the mission ended, the reader been in a both deep thought and sour mood when the mission ended. (Poor reader was trying to not punch cry on spot when he see makarov)

Anyway! Just that I hope it's not that confusing 👉👈 have a nice day!

Fun fact, if we're using Makarov's age in the OG game reader could be like as old as like 27 or so depending on how old Makarov was when they were born (Makarov is 47 when he dies in the OG games so he's like 46-47 during the events of the game)

Task Force 141 With a Platonic! GN! Reader Who is Makarov's Child

Characters: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Roach

Warnings: Brief injury to reader

"Vladimir Makarov," they made their way into the room carefully, catching the attention of the man currently tied to the chair in the center of the room. Makarov tilted his head at them, a smile quirking up his lips. "We have to talk. If you answer my questions, this will go easy for you. If you don't, I'll have to pass you over to someone with a lot more bloodlust than me."

Makarov paused for a moment before a chuckle left his lips. The sound of it echoed around the room. They grit their teeth as the almost taunting noise bounced around their head. "Makarov? Really? Is that how this is going to be?" Makarov's voice was low and careful and that grin remained on his lips.

"Would you prefer it if I just referred to you as the fucking terrorist?" they shot back, trying to avoid the obvious tension in the room.

"You could call me father. That's what I am, aren't I? Your father."

"Not right now," they stood taller, but all of their body felt tense. This was not a situation they ever wanted to find themself in, but the team had all unanimously voted. They would try Makarov first. If only the team knew why that was such a bad idea. "Right now, you're Vladimir Makarov, head of the Ultranationalists. A Russian terrorist group."

Makarov shook his head, a low tutting noise escaping his lips, "Now, now, that isn't how this works. I'm always your father, whether you're on the," he eyed them disdainfully for a moment, "wrong side of things or not."

Their father was taunting them. He wanted to get a reaction out of them. They could tell with just the way he talked. They'd seen him do it to enough people over the years to know what to watch out for. As odd as it was and as much as they hated to admit it, it helped that Makarov was who he was to them. It helped them see what was happening. They decided to change the subject.

"The girl. Where is she?"

Makarov gave a low hum and leaned back in his seat casually, "You know you used to stand like that when you wanted a treat from a store. A bit of candy or something." They tensed a bit, quickly shifting their position to something different. It pulled a chuckle from Makarov and made their face burn an angry red, "I suppose all things change with time."

"The president's daughter," their voice was a bit harsher than they meant for it to be and they knew it was because of their father's taunting. They took a moment to calm themself, "Where is the president's daughter?"

"I miss the days when you were so little and starry-eyed," Makarov sighed wistfully, "You used to hang off of my arm."

"Answer the question."

"I wish that you would drop this act of rebellion," Makarov narrowed his eyes at them, "Finally come home. There is a welcome place for you right at my side. There is always a place for family."

"This isn't a rebellion!" Their hands clenched at their side. Despite the fact that their father was the one restrained, despite the fact that they were the one standing with supposedly all of the power in the room, they felt like a helpless child. There were warring feelings in their chest, anger toward their father, and an ache for the family that they loved and missed. This was the problem. Their father was a terrible person, they'd accepted that. It didn't mean that they didn't love him. It didn't mean that they didn't feel like a petulant child when their father scolded them like this. They hated it. "This is an interrogation and you are going to tell me what I want to know!"

They stepped closer to their father threateningly, but it only pulled a grin from Makarov. "Am I?"

"Yes!"

Makarov tilted his head at them and gave them a look of pity, "No, I don't think I am."

The sound of a loud pop met their ears and they quickly found themself surrounded by darkness. The only think they remembered after their vision went dark was a brief flash of their father standing over them and a hand briefly stroking over their forehead.

Price:

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"What?" Their head shot up from where they'd been furiously scribbling at their paperwork. Despite their hard scratches, they'd barely managed to get anything done with the reminders of their failed interrogation from the previous day. Their pounding headache and the cut along their face certainly weren't making it easy for them to forget.

Price stepped into the room slowly and closed the door behind hi.. There was a long moment where he just stood and watched them, unmoving. "You're Makarov's kid." They froze and their pen snapped in half in their hand. Price's eyes shot down to it before moving back up to watch their face. There was a long moment of tense quiet that fell over the room before, "The IT department was able to piece together a part of the footage from yesterday."

"Price," they started carefully, their voice quiet, "I don't-"

"Why didn't you tell us," Price asked again, stepping toward them carefully. His voice wasn't harsh. In fact, he sounded almost soft with the way that he spoke, "We wouldn't have sent you in if we knew."

"That's why I didn't tell you," they responded quietly. "I'm capable of doing the interrogations. I'm capable of doing the missions." Their voice steadily grew louder and louder, anger burning at them at the reminder of why they'd been so afraid to tell anyone in the first place. At the reminder of how their father's choices could impact their life so easily. "Just because he is my," they cut themself off with a growl before continuing, "my relationship with him doesn't change how well I can do my job! He's a terrorist, and no matter who they are, my job involves stopping terrorists."

Price settled for a moment, watching them closely. "You should have told us," he settled on after a moment. When they went to respond, they were met with a hand from Price, silencing them. "Not because I don't think you can do your job." Price moved around the table, settling next to them carefully, "Because if I had known, I never would have made you go into that room. Whether you can handle it or not, you shouldn't have to." He paused for another long moment, watching their reaction closely. "Are you alright?"

They had to think about the question for a long moment. Were they alright? After so many years, after hunting him with the rest of the team, after viewing him as nothing more than a dangerous and unhinged man, they'd come face to face with Makarov and were forced to acknowledge the relationship they had with him. Forced to acknowledge the fact that he was still their father and that, despite their best efforts, they still cared about him. They hated it. It had been tearing them up since the wall had been blown open and their father had escaped.

"I don't know," they finally settled on after a moment. They buried their face in their hands, shaking their head at themself. Their father was a terrorist. He didn't deserve their sympathy or love. They could hear Price shift and, a moment later, there was a hand rubbing against their back. "I should be fine. I should only be upset that he escaped but...I don't know. I haven't seen him in so long. Then...that."

Price was silent for several moments, just offering comfort with a hand on their back, rubbing soothing circles against their skin. They just sat like that for a moment and, despite the silence, it actually seemed to help. It was nice just to know that Price was there, to know that the other man cared enough to sit with them like this. "You know," Price started finally, "It's okay to care about him still. He's your family, whether you like it or not. You can care about someone and still know that they're a bad person. It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I don't know if that applies here," they snorted and looked up at Price with wet eyes, "he's a terrorist."

"And you recognize that," Price nodded to them, his face serious. "But you can't just expect all of the memories, all of the love, all of it to just disappear. It's okay." There was a short moment that passed before they were rushing up from their chair to wrap Price up in a hug, their face buried into his shoulder.

"Thank you," they managed to mumble out. They were still conflicted. they still felt guilty. They didn't think that would be going away any time soon. But it certainly helped to have someone like Price around to provide them with a bit of comfort in times like this.

Ghost:

"You know, hiding like this won't do anything for you."

They looked up from where they were moving boxes around, just glancing at where Ghost was leaning in the doorway, watching them as they moved around the room. "I'm not hiding," they called back, turning their attention once again to the boxes they were moving.

Niether themself or Ghost spoke for several moments. They continued moving boxes around the small record room, trying to avoid Ghost's gaze as he watched them. "So," Ghost started finally, "You aren't hiding you just...decided to reorganize the record room on your off time?"

"I'm not off," They responded, still trying to avoid the conversation that Ghost clearly wanted to have.

"You're on medical leave," Ghost responded easily.

"I'm trying to stay busy."

"Boring way to keep busy." They stopped suddenly, dropping the box they'd picked up back onto the table with a huff.

They turned to glare at Ghost, leaning against the box for support, "What do you want?" They threw their hands in the air, "If you're so certain that I'm hiding, why not leave me alone?"

"Because," Ghost pushed himself off of the wall and stepped fully into the room, casually walking toward them, "We need to talk about the fact that Vladimir Makarov is your father."

They tensed at the words, their face crumpling under the gaze of Ghost's unmoving mask. It was times like this that they hated Ghost's mask, times when they wanted to be able to read what their lieutenant was thinking but couldn't because of that stupid mask. They avoided his gaze, desperate to have something other than that blank mask staring at them.

"Look at me," Ghost ordered after a long moment of tense silence. They begrudgingly listened, turning their gaze to meet Ghost's eyes through the mask. "Why didn't you tell us?"

They didn't answer at first, they just clenched their jaw and resisted the urge to look away. "Does it matter?" They finally landed on, "I figure I'm fired anyway."

"Fired?" Ghost tilted his head at them, "Why would you be fired?"

They scoffed, "My dads a terrorist that we've been actively hunting and I never said anything. If that's not grounds for firing I don't know what is."

Ghost gave a low chuckle, "I will admit, it wasn't the best choice on your part, but you aren't fired." Their entire body seemed to deflate at the words and they were quick to lean against the table for support as relief flooded through them, "Is that why you've been hiding? Because you thought you were going to be fired?"

"Wouldn't you hide too?" They glanced at Ghost out of the corner of their eye, watching him carefully as he watched them. A moment passed before Ghost was moving forward to wrap a comforting arm around their shoulders.

They were frozen at the move. It wasn't often that Ghost did anything like this, so, in the moment, it was a surprise to them. After a long tense moment they relaxed into his arms, accepting the comfort that he was trying to offer them. "Our team," Ghost spoke quietly, "We're a family, you understand that? You're family, no matter where or who you came from."

They tucked closer to Ghost's chest at the words, trying to fight back the tears stinging at their eyes. It was nice to hear those words from Ghost, to be reassured that, just because the team knew the truth, didn't meant that anything would change.

"You know we're still going to have to talk about you keeping this a secret, right?"

"I know," they spoke quietly, "I know."

Ghost gave a short nod, but didn't say anything else. He just continued to press them tight to his chest in a comforting hug.

Gaz:

"Hey, are you in here?" Gaz slowly opened the door to their room. He'd been knocking for the past minute with no response, so he'd decided the best option would be to just open the door and see if they were inside or not.

Their bedroom was dark with all of the lights in the room turned off and any of the windows blocked by heavy blackout curtains. For a brief moment, he was sure that they weren't in the room and that he'd been told wrong by Price, that disappeared when he saw the crumpled lump on their bed.

He gave a deep sigh, a small bit of amusement running through him at the sight of what was clearly his friend tucked into a ball under their sheets. "Were you ignoring me?" he asked after a moment.

"Go away," They groaned from the bed, "I don't want to talk to anyone."

"You can't just sulk in here all day," Gaz moved toward the bed and carefully lowered himself to sit next to them. He didn't try to coax them out from under the blanket, not yet. "I know that the past few days have been hard, but-"

They snorted from under the blanket, "Hard? My dad, a terrorist, kidnapped the Russian presidents daughter, allowed himself to be captured as a distraction and to taunt me and managed to get away completely free. What did I get out of it? A concussion and a scolding from Laswell and Price for not telling them anything. Hard is too light of a descriptor."

Gaz winced a bit, "At least we found the president's daughter?" His word were met with a groan and a hand shooting out to grab a pillow and smack him with it. He gave a short chuckle before leaning back against the bed, purposefully laying over their legs. "You have to understand how we feel, though, right?"

"I know," Their voice was quiet and it sounded weak to Gaz's ears. "I understand if you guys hate me. I know I shouldn't have lied."

"We don't hate you," Gaz assured quickly, "It's just shocking is all. I mean, I personally was firmly on team Makarov is definitely a virgin," he was smacked with a pillow again. Gaz gave a laugh and, even though they tried to hide it, he could feel laughter shaking their body as well. "Also you two just," he shrugged, "don't seem very similar."

"You'd be surprised," they muttered from under the sheets, "I actually take after him in a lot of ways. It's just I'm not a terrorist."

"Well," Gaz grinned, "personally I'm glad to hear that." There was another long moment of silence that sat between the two. They stayed buried under their blankets as Gaz stared up at the ceiling, trying to decide what to say. "You know we don't hate you? Right? None of us do."

They shifted under the sheets and were quiet for a long moment before responding, "Why don't you? I lied. My dad's a fucking terrorist."

"Your dad is a terrorist," Gaz agreed, "You aren't. You can't choose who you were born to. I'm sure if you could, you'd have chosen some celebrity and be living a life of luxury right now." They gave another small laugh from under the covers at those words and Gaz considered it a success. "And, well, we understand why you lied. We might not like it, but we understand. Just, uh, please tell me that your uncle isn't like...a war criminal or something?"

They gave another laugh at the words, "Don't worry, my dad is the only fucked one in the family."

"That's a relief."

The two stayed like that for several more moments. Gaz didn't move, he planned to stay as long as he needed to. As long as it took to cheer them up. After a few minutes, they slowly poked their head out from under the covers, their eyes meeting Gaz's carefully. "Thank you, for this."

"It's what friends are for," Gaz gave them a soft smile. They returned it with one of their own.

Soap:

"You really shouldn't be here," Soap's voice was filled with concern, but they ignored it and continued doing their reps, sweat dripping down their face. "Didn't the doctor say you had a concussion? The last think you should be doing is lifting heavy shit right now."

They gave a deep sigh and racked the weights they were lifting to slowly push themselves into a sitting position on the weight lifting bench. they turned to glare lightly at Soap, a sigh leaving their lips. "I need a distraction."

"There are safe ways to be distracted," Soap responded, stepping closer to them. He was in his own workout gear, likely having come to the little gym on base for his daily session.

"You're right," They responded, standing up from the bench, "I'll go to the gun range instead."

Soap snorted, "Yeah, I'm sure that will be great for the concussion too." He gave a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, watching them closely. "You know you don't have to do this, right?"

"What?" They responded, grabbing their water and towel. They had an idea of what Soap was talking about, but it really wasn't something they wanted to discuss at the moment. Really, they would probably prefer it if they never had to discuss it again.

"This," Soap motioned to them, "The training and the pushing yourself. I can see what you're doing. You should be resting." He sent them a stern look that really wasn't befitting of him.

"Alright, captain," they rolled their eyes, "I'm not doing anything. I'm just trying to find a distraction, something to pass the time. No need to look into it so much."

It was Soap's turn to roll his eyes at them, "You really think I'm going to buy that?" He gave a deep sigh and stepped forward to put his hands on their shoulders and guide them to sit back down on the weight bench, "Listen, I get that you're upset with yourself and you're blaming yourself."

"Soap-"

"But what happened wasn't your fault, okay?" Soap shook his head at him slowly, "It could have happened to any of us. And if it was any of us but you, I hate to say it but we'd probably be dead right now."

They clenched their jaw and looked away from him. "I should have known what he was doing," they tightened their fists into a ball, "I did know what he was doing and I still couldn't do anything to stop him." They looked up at Soap with harsh eyes, "What good am I to the team if I can't keep my head on straight when he's around?"

"Don't talk like that," Soap dropped into a squat in front of him, his eyes soft as he spoke, "You weren't prepared, none of us were. We all should have been paying more attention, we all should have known that something was going on." He shook his head and took one of their hands into his own, giving it a comforting squeeze, "You can't blame yourself."

"I'm," they hesitated for a moment, "I'm worried. What if he's able to get to me again? When it's more serious?" He shook his head at Soap, "I can't let that happen. I can't put you guys in danger because I can't get past my relationship with him."

"And you won't," Soap assured, "The next time we run into your father, we'll all be more prepared. You won't be alone. We'll be there to keep him from getting in your head." He gave another squeeze to their hand, "You just have to trust us."

There was a moment of silence between the two for a few moments. Finally, they nodded. "I trust you guys," their words were quiet, but they pulled a grin from Soap. "Thanks, you know, for this."

Roach:

"Course, that's what I'm here for." Soap popped up to his feet and held a hand out to help them up, "Now, come on, I say we go get something sweet and see if we can talk Gaz into letting us bully him on Mario Kart."

There was a hesitant knock on their door and they wanted to groan. They knew that it had to be another member of the team come to try to talk to them. The other members of the 141 had been trying for hours to get them to come out of their room, but they'd turned them all away. They didn't want to talk to them. They didn't want to have to explain.

"Go away!" They called, frustration eating at them.

"It's me," they recognized the voice as Roach's immediately.

"I said go away," they huffed, "tell Price that I'll come out to talk when I'm ready."

There was a quiet moment before Roach was calling, "I'm not here to talk about that, not unless you want to. I brought you food."

That caught their attention. They hadn't left their room in hours, too afraid of being cornered by the team. While it had worked great at keeping the team away, it had left them feeling terribly hungry. So the idea of food, food made by Roach especially, sounded incredible at that moment.

"Promise that you actually have food and aren't just trying to get me to open the door?" They stood from their bed and hesitantly started over, waiting for a response from Roach before actually letting him in.

"I promise," Roach called back. "I even brought dessert and drinks."

With those words they were quick to open the door and tug Roach inside, closing and locking it behind him. "Thank god, I'm starving." They were quick to grab the little bag that Roach was carrying and take off toward the small table in their room, unloading the several containers of food, drinks, and plates that Roach had packed for them. "You're a life saver."

"Yeah," Roach chuckled nervously, "Well, I may have lied a bit."

They looked up at him, betrayal on their face, "You're here to talk about my dad, aren't you?" Roach nodded slowly, an apologetic look on his face. "Traitor," They gave a sigh and collapsed into a seat at the table, "I can't believe you would use food against me like this."

"I'm sorry," Roach moved to sit next to them, "it was the only way I could think to get inside. But, hey," he slid one of the containers of food toward them, "Won't it be easier to talk about with a baked potato and steak to eat while we do it?"

They groaned a bit and took the container from him to begin loading food onto their plate. Roach was right, at least if he had to talk about it he could have some good food to go with it.

"Alright," they didn't speak until they finally had all of their food laid out and could start digging in to the meal, "Go on, ask what you need to."

"Why didn't you tell us that Makarov is your dad?" Roach spoke through eating his own food, digging into his own steak casually, as though he wasn't asking them such a loaded question.

They sighed, taking a few bites before responding, "I was worried Price would take me off of the missions. That he wouldn't let me help." There was a moment of silence where the two just ate, letting the words sit between them. "I want to help take down my father."

Roach watched them closely as he took a drink, just observing their face to try and read if what they said was the truth or not. "That's a lot," he finally landed on, "I mean...no matter what, he's your dad, right?"

"He's a terrorist," they snapped quickly.

Roach held his hands up in surrender. "I know that and I know that you know that," he clarified, "it doesn't change the fact that he's still your father." He paused for a moment before adding, "You know it's okay for this to be hard for you, right? None of us are going to judge you struggling with this. We're not going to doubt your ability to do the job."

They seemed to deflate at those words, all of the fight gone from their system. "I don't want to let you guys down."

"You aren't going to let us down," Roach's tone was serious. "You're strong, I've got faith that you can handle this. I just want to make sure that you know that you don't have to handle it. You don't have to be strong."

"I know," their voice was quiet, it was clear that Roach's words had helped a bit with the worry that seemed to be plaguing them. They'd managed to calm down enough to continue talking through the issue with Roach, venting their frustrations as they ate.

At the end of it all, they felt a million times better about everything. Roach had reassured them and talked things over with them. "That was a lot," Roach clicked the lid back on to one of the food containers, packing everything up. "I'm proud of you for talking about it."

"Thanks," they gave him a slight smile, "I feel a lot better. Thanks for listening."

Roach gave them a bright grin, "Of course, I'm always willing to listen. Now," he pulled another container from the bag and pulled the lid off, holding it out to them, "How about some cookies to make you feel even better?"

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #captain john price #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain john price x reader #gary roach sanderson x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gender neutral reader #task force 141 x reader

661 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 2 months ago

Text

Shared Experience - Chapter 10

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating: E

Warnings: Injuries, blood, blood-drinking, sex talk and touching.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 1972

Summary: Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers. A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night. Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences. Can a vampire become an Avenger? Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 10

Blood spilled into Rose’s mouth and down her chin, warm, salty, and nourishing. Rose tried to turn her head, to pull away, to stop from swallowing the very thing that could keep her alive. She had never wanted something as much as this before, yet simultaneously she wanted it to stop, to push away and fight this from happening. Steve was trying to feed her after spending months telling her no and she wanted it so badly, but if she started, she wasn’t sure that she could stop.

There was no stopping it. Her injuries were too severe and even if she was strong enough physically to push him away, when she was this close to death she lost all humanity. The instinct to survive pushed away all mortal thoughts and her body acted outside her control. It would have been hard not just to bite him if he wasn’t bleeding freely into her mouth. The fact he was, made it impossible.

She latched on, her hands going to his forearm and holding it in place as she drank. Each swallow of the thick hot liquid reenergized her. Her wounds knitted and her flesh filled back out. Color returned to her skin. The heat from the blood radiated through her until she felt like a furnace in the middle of the snowy forest.

Never had she felt the effect of blood so fully and to such an extreme as drinking from Steve now. It was like drinking straight from the sun. His blood surged through her, making her feel stronger and more alive than she could ever remember feeling. Within minutes, she felt strong enough to run again, yet she couldn’t pull herself away.

Steve moaned. It was a low and deep sound that reverberated out from his chest. She looked up at him. His head had lolled back on his shoulders and the look of pure bliss etched into his features made her tingle right through to her core. She knew what it was like for the people she fed from. The near-orgasmic feeling that vampires created for their victims was a defense mechanism. It stopped them from struggling and meant the Vampire had more control over the outcome.

God, how she wished this wasn’t happening like this. In the middle of the Russian Wilderness, buried in snow, and surrounded by HYDRA was not where she wanted to be sharing this with Steve. She wanted to do this at home, in her bed, his cock buried as deep into her cunt as he could go. She reached down and put her hand on his cock. He was rock hard, even through the thick fabric of his combat wear she could feel the press of his cock. He moaned again and pulled her closer to him. “Rose…”

It was her name that snapped her out of it. The way he breathed it, the love that it carried even in the throes of pleasure. She released him and pulled back, scrambling away from him. She needed a moment to compose herself and while the wound on his wrist was still open, she wouldn’t be able to. It would heal quickly now she wasn’t feeding - another side effect of her feeding. The wounds healed with no scar, so no one could guess what had happened.

Steve looked up at her dazed. “Rose?” he asked.

“Just give me a second,” she panted. Not that she was breathing heavily. She wasn’t breathing at all. It was just a way to regulate the blood flow and shake off the feeding frenzy that had taken over her. “Are you okay? Did I drink too much?”

Steve shook his head and looked down at his wrist. The wound was mostly healed and he rubbed his hand over it. “I’m okay… what was that?”

“That’s why it’s taken me so long to separate feeding from sex,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay? We should probably get out of here.”

He stood and while he still looked a little dazed, he was steady on his feet. She stood, shaking off the layer of snow that was clinging to her. “We should find the others,” she said. “I’ll need to go to ground soon. Dawn is coming.”

Steve pointed the way he came. “It’s that way, but we’ll have to move fast if you’re going to make it.”

“I guess we’ll go as far as I can. If I need to bury myself, that’s okay. You can mark it and find me tomorrow night,” she said.

He nodded. “Let’s go,” he said.

The two began to run, tearing along the frozen landscape toward the rest of the Avengers. The cold air stung Rose’s cheeks, yet she couldn’t remember ever feeling warmer or more alive. Something about Steve’s blood had invigorated her. It had given her some sense of life again. More than that, it made her feel slightly high.

She kept her pace steady despite wanting to take off and test her limits. She thought with this new boost she could run over water. She felt invincible.

At the speed they moved, she was sure she’d find the jet and the others before the sun rose. Unfortunately, she’d misjudged exactly how long she’d been awake for. Lethargy began to kick in and she felt the animalistic urge to start to dig. She kept pushing, determined to find something, and just as the first rays of light rose to the East, she spotted a small ice fishing cabin. There were no signs of life around at all and while there was the risk of someone coming during the day, with all the HYDRA activity in the area, it was safe to assume no one would be coming to use it.

Surprising as it was to find any shelter in the Russian wilderness, the fact she could see sunlight and yet was both still awake and not burning was more surprising.

She pointed at the cabin to Steve. “I’m going there. I need to get out of the open.”

He simply nodded and she ran as fast as she could, a mere blur in the snow, pushing the limits of her abilities. Her skin was starting to blister and her energy waned as she reached the building that was no more than a box with a slanted roof. With a massive heave, she shoved the pile of snow away from the door, yanked it open, and hurried inside. Once out of the sun, her skin immediately healed, giving her an almost tanned look. The cabin had bunks built into the far wall, each with a lumpy hole-ridden mattress and dusty blankets piled on them. Closer to the door was a wood stove, and some shelves with tinned food and a bottle of what looked like moonshine. Rose didn’t take long to take it in. She rushed to the bed, pulled down the upper mattress to create a walled box under the lowest bunk, grabbed the blanket, and crawled under it. As soon as the blanket was covering her entire body, her eyes closed. She had lost consciousness before Steve had even reached the cabin.

Rose woke all at once. She had expected to be colder than she was, but aside from the fact that whatever was in Steve’s blood had made her own body heat to above the ambient temperature, warmth radiated out from the other side of the room. She shimmed out under the mattress that was protecting her from the light. Steve was sitting on a rickety fold-out chair by the stove, looking over something on his tablet. With the large coat he had on, he looked far too big for the chair and she wondered how it was even still in one piece.

He looked up at the sound and a smile lit up his features. “Wow,” he said. “You look - different.”

She looked down at herself to try and see what he was talking about. All she could see was the tattered ruins of her uniform. She didn’t need coats like the others, but the outfit covered her neck to toe, including her hands. There was a tear in the fabric on her chest, but the wound under it was completely healed. “What is it?”

“You have a tan,” he said. “I was worried when the sun came up. You normally go into autopilot as soon as it gets close to dawn so you get somewhere dark and protected. What happened?”

She shook her head. “Your guess is as good as mine. I felt that urge, but I was able to overrule it, and when the sun started coming up, it burned but -” she shrugged. “I guess it was your blood. The super-serum. I feel - alive. Or as close to it as I have been since I was turned.”

Steve seemed to assess her. The weight of his gaze was heavy and she felt like she was under a magnifying glass. She wrapped her arms around her body, almost as if she was trying to protect herself. “Is it always like that?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

“The way you felt?” she asked. He gave a short nod in reply. “Yes. I think it’s a survival thing. It’s safer for us if you enjoy the experience.”

He didn’t say anything and she started to worry his feelings had changed about her. She hadn’t wanted this. She’d tried to resist feeding from him, but he’d forced it. “Are you angry with me?” she asked.

He blinked and shook his head. “Oh god, no,” he said, holding out his arms. She moved into them instinctively and he held her close to his chest. The steady even thud of his heart soothing her along with the strong arms. “No, honey. How could I be angry with you? You’ve never lied to me about what you are. This is just new - for both of us. I wonder what it means.”

“I’m sure it will wear off,” she said. “Like when you eat white bread. A blood sugar spike and then drop. By the time I need to feed again, it’ll be like it never happened.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I guess we’ll see.”

Rose closed her eyes and just let Steve hold her. Yesterday had been a lot. She’d had worse days in her life, but they’d been a long time ago. Never had she had someone there to just comfort her like this after so much stress and pain. Usually, the person she had to be with after it, was the same person who had inflicted the pain in the first place.

She pulled back slowly and looked up at him. “Should we find the others?” she asked.

Steve laughed. “Oh, they’re just outside,” he said. He opened the door of the cabin to show her the view of the lake. On the far side, the lights from the Quin reflected off the ice from the lake, glittering like stars. The sounds of the rest of the team talking and preparing to leave floated over on the arctic wind. “I stayed here through the day. I thought a wood cabin near a town and a HYDRA base might be a little risky to leave you unguarded. If someone else came to use it or hide in it, they’d just need to start a fire and that would be the end of you. The rest of the team was off finalizing everything. SHIELD arrived. They made their arrests. The base is in the process of being cleared out of illegal equipment.”

Rose sighed in relief and leaned against him again. “So we can go home?”

“Yeah, we have some prisoners that need to be taken to the Raft,” he said. “But yes, we can go home.”

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #marvel fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #ofc #smut #shared experience

38 notes · View notes

wexhappyxfew · 4 months ago

Note

And then “Look at you! You're spilling coffee.” For Brady and Annie >:)

HI POET!!!!!!! thank you so much for sending in a prompt + incredibly sorry it is so SO late for a response!! my summer has been so incredibly busy and i've only just gotten to this now, so i truly hope you enjoy!!! <3 annie and brady are an absolute joy to write and i always love getting to play around in the areas of time we get to see them in - so this is in the early days of getting to know each other and - you guessed it - it involves coffee haha! THANK YOU AGAIN!!! (also hi and hello i am back after an absolutely chaotic af week)!!!!!! <3333

porcelain, silk and starch

(a/n): ANNIE X BRADY GIRLIES THIS IS FOR YOUUUU!!!! getting back into some 'early days' sorta stuff for these two that i felt were needed for their connection. just those early moments of first meetings and interactions that i wanted to work with a bit! and ofc a cameo from co-pilot francis who is my fav of favs fr! a queen in true form!!! i hope you all (and poet most of all - this was a great prompt THANK YOU) enjoy!!! :D

“Silver Bullets should’ve been put into mass production the day she made the run over Caen,” Francis said, pulling her cigarette from her lip and patting the edge of the wing, the early dawn rays of the sun tickling the edges of the metal, “flies like a fucking angel, I tell ya, Bradshaw.”

Annie looked up at the large berth of wingspan for the B-17 and smiled a bit; it was evident how much Francis cared about the plane, like it was this thing they were caring for day by day, somehow watching it grow. It seemed Francis was coming around - they were actually on a name-to-name basis rather than incredibly formal 'Lieutenant Bradshaw' and 'Lieutenant Montez' callings. It was actually kind of nice. Annie knew Francis still held her bearings about everything, but she was more receptive and open-minded than she had been a few days back.

“So, how’d you get wrapped up in all this?” Francis said turning to Annie, a slightly darkened look in her eyes, “Some stupid bet, couldn’t handle a joke from a sick fucko back home? I’ll do you one better, an old boyfriend who thinks he’s God’s greatest gift-“

"Joined the WAC," Annie said, rather unceremoniously - not like her mother had been pleased, so Annie was just used to the lackluster of it all because of that fact (no one had been excited for such a thing, for someone like her, from where she was from), "started ferrying planes - fuel reloads, supply drops. Seems they liked me in the higher ups. Now I'm here." Francis watched her for a moment, smoke lingering up from the butt of her cigarette. With their uniforms on, they both actually looked half-decent - no pilot gear and uniform looking mangled from a mission, no sweat, burnt pieces of hair, frozen eyebrows and bloodied cheeks. Just like normal people for once.

“You know, I like that for you,” Francis said, “I had some guy tell me I could never pilot a plane. Showed him up.” Annie smirked from behind her aviators at Francis - quite the character, she could hold her own and had no problem telling it how it was. Yeah, Annie was already sold, even if Francis wasn't sold on her.

“So. The WAC. Do tell.” Francis said, pointing at her.

“Well, I did translating for a good period of time before I was wrapped up in flying. Gotta say if the opportunity had been presented, I would've stuck with it.”

“Whatcha translating?”

“German, French…tried to get a handle on Russian. Still trying my best with that.”

“Damn, Bradshaw,” Francis said before pointing a finger at her, “what the hell did that have to do with flying?”

“They said we couldn’t do it.” Annie offered back, crossing her arms and shrugging, "That sorta stuff you listen to, even if you don't want to. And then you do, even if they think you can't."

"Birdie really would've loved you." Francis said, the first real genuine smile growing on her face as she crossed her arms, "Wanna see inside?"

Climbing up into the belly of the plane, the lingering silence hit her like bricks, the feeling inside the fort. What had happened here. What they all knew had happened her; what the women of Silver Bullets had experienced. What had Montez said to let them know their pilot was dead? That she had to take control of the plane and the body was in the front seat? What mind-fuck had they gone through to wrap their minds around that fact?

"Pretty isn't it?" Francis said from behind her, briefly patting the edge of one of the seats as they both moved towards the cockpit.

"She's beautiful." Annie said, adjusting herself in the left side of the cockpit, running her hands along the buttons and the wheel and the edges of the window, "Really, it's a beautiful plane."

Glancing back at Francis, she noticed the woman far-off it seemed, eyes glazed, staring somewhere out to the hazy horizon. Annie slowly brought her focus forward again - Birdie had died here. Right where Annie was sat. It was a wonder Francis could even walk up here again - Annie gave her a lot of credit.

"Well," Francis started, blowing breath from her lips, a quick smile darting onto her lips, "we'll have plenty of time to admire this bucket of bolts in the coming days, for now…we oughta get ourselves to the dining hall. Breakfast. Ain't they say it's the most important meal of the day?"

Francis' voiced trailed off somewhere between her talking about breakfast and saying how she thought the most important meal of the day was actually dessert. Annie stood there for a moment, in the middle of the plane, lingering in the stillness, the plane that had launched that crew up into the sky and came back down without a pilot. Who still stood tall and strong, right here, right now.

Annie tried to clear her mind. She hopped out of the plane, landing beside Francis, rather gracefully, and looked up at the co-pilot in the morning sun, who was grinning like a goose at her.

"How many missions you been on?" Annie asked Francis, genuinely curious. She was trying to connect the dots from the incident to now. Had they been up in the plane after what had happened? With a new replacement that hadn't made the cut? How many had Birdie been on?

"Only two." Francis said with a slightly constrained look, before seeming to shrug it off as they made way towards the dining hall, "They wouldn't allow us to go with any of the replacements until we did a practice run or two. As you can see, those didn't go too well." Annie glanced at Francis and evidently saw the stress running rampage through her. It was evident in her face, in the way she spoke - she wanted something to work, she wanted to get in the sky again, she needed something to go right for the first time.

"If I get the position. Officially, that is," Annie started, looking up at Francis, "I intend to keep Silver Bullets as one of the best B-17s in the air. With the crew we've got, the co-pilot," Francis smiled, "I don't doubt that. Birdie had the crew for a reason." Francis watched her, a bit of sentimental air wafting through them as Francis reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"You're a good one, Bradshaw," Francis said and Annie quirked out a smile, "c'mon."

Entering the dining hall - Annie realized quickly it was only for officers and high-ranking officials when she saw the likes of Major Cleven and Major Egan at a table together, huddled over some coffee alongside Kidd, Crank and DeMarco.

"Here we go." Francis said, leading Annie towards the center strip of table, covered in a white tablecloth, filled with all sorts of baskets of goods, utensils, coffee and mugs, "Usually, you can just get it served to you. But. Figured you'd want to see the spread, huh?" Annie's eyes widened at the assortment of things as Francis gently gave her shoulder a tap.

"I'll get us a table, get your fill, I'll get the food." Francis said before walking off, giving a wave to a few, fellow officers down a few rows of tables, bee-lining towards the food line.

Annie stood quietly for a moment, her eyes running over the length of the table in slight amusement and wonder. Growing up, she never had the sort of luxury as much as simple things like sugar or cream - even in coffee. Coffee was usually black, and a little watered down (it saved them from having to buy so many coffee grounds, you know?), and usually it was bitter. But you washed it down because it was what you had.

Now - there was sugar, cream, honey, biscuits for dipping, actual cloth napkins, a little spoon just for stirring! Gently, she touched the white tablecloth, the soft texture something so delicate and foreign to her in ways someone shouldn't have to think of.

Tablecloths were rough, scratchy and torn where she came from.

Here - they were soft, cream and stitched.

Annie retracted her hand and instead focused on the coffee.

Coffee.

Sometimes all she wanted day in and day out was coffee.

Reaching forward, she picked up a mug and cradled it in her hands - it was still warm, like it had just been freshly cleaned, straight from the hot water.

Annie had remembered feeling out of place before - plenty of times had she done things in her life where being the odd one out was normal for her. But now - even with just beautiful tablecloths and hot coffee mugs - she felt like being the odd one out was something she had to address. Right now.

Glancing around, officers and officials at the tables weren't looking at her (of course, they wouldn't be, why would they, this is normal for them), but for her, being in a place like this? With things like this? Annie set the mug down and then looked at the pot of steaming coffee. She debated. Did she need the cup of coffee?

"Hey," a voice said from somewhere to her left, causing her to turn away from the coffee pot and towards the voice, finding Lieutenant John Brady there, a smile on his face, as he slowly removed his crusher cap, "Bradshaw, right? New pilot for Silver Bullets?" A smile popped onto Annie's face as she suddenly took in that it was that pilot - from a day or two back - John Brady.

A part of her had been wondering when she'd see him again or even just around. He'd been nice, hospitable, and had a funny sense of humor she could get behind. People like that you wanted in your back pocket. Even if all she knew was his name and that he had a nice face.

"Yes. Annie Bradshaw." she said, unable to help her ever-present mannerisms and held out her hand (as if they hadn't met a few days ago and they'd all but tag-teamed Major Egan), "….uh, Brady?" He grinned - she knew it was him too, she couldn't forget a face like that, but she wanted to test the waters. Give a bit of it back.

"Brady. John Brady." he said, reaching forward to shake her hand, smile growing on his own face, "How's it been going? Hopefully Egan wasn't bearing too hard after your introduction a few days ago." Annie laughed - almost a bit nervously and awkwardly - trying to make impressions was something she was never great with, but things usually weighed in her favor at the end of the day.

"No, no, it was fine, really," Annie said, as she slowly dropped his hand, a slight tinge of warmth pooled in her stomach at the thought of his hand again - and the fact that was the second time she had even touched his hand, "Major Egan is definitely quite the character."

"That he is." Brady said with a laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets, nodding to her aviators in her front pocket, "Busy day?"

"Francis' showed me Silver Bullets," Annie said with a nod and a smile, "she's a beautiful plane." Brady smiled at her and then glanced over Annie's shoulder at Francis, before readjusting his eyes on her.

"That crew's really glad you're here," Brady said, face falling slightly, "after what happened…." Annie nodded to fill in the gapping hole of words.

"I'm giving them my all. After everything." Annie said quietly and Brady nodded, watching her, something in his lingering gaze a comfort in a way she would never make out, "Well, don't let me be in your way-"

"No, no not at all," Brady said quickly with a nod, "coffee drinker?"

"Yeah," she said, reaching up to run her hand along her hot collar a bit - almost like she couldn't get her mind in gear properly, "never did have much of any of these sorts of fixings back home, so….to say the least, I'm pretty stoked to try it out." She looked back to Brady who was watching her with a quiet look on his face, a soft grin riding his cheeks as he reached forward and took his own mug.

"You said you were from Mankato? Minnesota?" he asked her as she reached forward and picked up the pot of coffee and began pouring.

"Yeah," she said, turning to look at him as she poured, "didn't have a whole lot, but…it was home." There was a twinge of pain to that word. Home. Her mind blanked for a moment, before she was hearing a voice in her ear and her hand was burning.

"Look at you! You're spilling coffee. Here, here-" Annie blinked and turned her eyes and found Brady slowly removing the coffee pot from her grasp, the mug overflowing with hot coffee there on the starch table clothes, stained with dark puddles of drying liquid, her heart pounding. She watched frozen as Brady grabbed some napkins to dab at it, before looking to her gaze again.

"You okay there?" he asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Didn't mean to batter you with questions, I swear my folks just raised me like that, questions and all-

""No." Annie said quickly, shaking her head and looking at her hand stained with hot coffee and gave a nervous smile, cheeks turning a bit pink, "I got….distracted. About home and this place. It's…it's all good. Sorry. About the coffee. And now the damn table cloths." Brady chuckled and took his hand off her shoulder and grabbed the empty mug and poured the coffee to a reasonable amount before handing it to her.

"Don't you worry, Little Birdie," he said with a smile, "it's a big place here. Lots to look at, get distracted by. Being so far from home anyway, that is. I'll let the cooks know-"

"Little Birdie?" she said, interrupting his train of thought. Brady grinned.

"You're a lot like Birdie. Captain Faulkner. You remind me of her, ya know? So - Little Birdie." he said with a smile, "Much better than Egan calling you No Name, too." Annie let out a laugh and nodded.

"Yeah, way better." she said and Brady smiled. For a moment, they stared at each other before Annie cleared her throat and looked at the coffee cup and back up at him.

"I'll be-"

"Your hand okay-" The two looked at each other before letting out a few nervous laughs.

"You first." Annie said, "Rank does its duties."

"We're both Lieutenants, Bradshaw."

"You're 1st. I'm 2nd." she said with a smile, "So?" Brady smirked, before the corner of his eyes and lips softened.

"Your hand okay? The coffee was pretty hot." he said softly and she nodded.

"Fine." she said, "Had cuts and bruises worse than this. Climbed trees as a kid." Brady watched her, brow peaked in interest. She smirked. "Also fell out of a lot of trees, too, so….all good." Brady let out a chuckle at her words, watching expectantly as she cleared her throat.

"And yes…..I was just going to be going. Don't want to hold you up." she said and then looked up at him. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, of course," Brady said, "probably flying club, right?" Annie raised a brow.

"Flying club?" She really was quite clueless on more than she thought.

"Drinks, dancing, music - get the tension out of your shoulders sorta thing." he said, another grin growing, "So, I'll probably see ya tonight?"

"Right." Annie said with a smile, holding the mug close to her, forgetting about cream or sugar, "Sounds good to me. I'll see you around. Thanks. Sorry again." And with that, she was turning away, slightly mortified at her clear inability to pour coffee efficiently. She hurried towards Francis at a table with their food, slamming her body and the mug of coffee down, meeting Francis' slightly annoyed gaze at the rough presence announced.

"You okay?" Francis asked her, eyeing the coffee and Annie's face again, "You look a little flustered. Hey, you drink black coffee?" Annie looked between the coffee and Francis and then sighed again.

"I meant to grab…." Annie looked over her shoulder and watched as Brady poured some cream into his own coffee cup - the one she had previously overflowed, to her own mortifying realization - and was now wandering away with, sipping it ever so gently, settling into a spot beside DeMarco. A pair of fingers snapped in front of her face and she turned quickly to look at Francis.

"Grab what? The LT's attention or a donut?" Francis said, before chuckling at Annie's slightly flustered expression and chuckled, "I'm just kidding you, c'mon, let's eat up. I think we're doing a practice run, just us girls - maybe with Just-A-Snappin', too." Francis bit into a piece of toast, "Harding wants to see us in the air. 'Longside another crew."

"Alright." Annie said with a nod, "We can make that happen." Francis smiled.

"Good," Francis said, "now, eat up. Don't need my pilot going hungry in the cockpit. Might have to feed you some of Margie's crushed up peanuts she's always carrying around-"

"Oh God." Annie murmured, "Bessie warned me….briefly…"

"Yeah, they're a goddamn curse on that thing, but she swears on it. Superstitious that one is." Annie chuckled at Francis' words and they continued to eat and discuss their day. Annie couldn't help but think of it all though - porcelain, silk and starch.

Everything and all things.

When you came from nothing, things like that were practically gold.

25 notes · View notes

sebastianmichaelisslander · 2 months ago

Note

for the ask game: grell for character and redcliff for ship :3

Aaah ofc! 🙏🏼💫 I’m still doing this though it’s been a while, btw!

Grelle

How I feel about this character:

first off, I think she’s beautiful, fr. Even before I got into Kuro, I saw her design and thought she was so pretty - and that was shortly before I started reading the manga.

I also think that she’s more complex than she gets credit for. When I write her, I like portraying what’s going on behind her queen facade - delve deeper into her psyche, her fears, how she really feels about every situation she’s in… I also think she’s very quick to act and has ended up saving her colleagues’ asses more than once, but that also means she’s impulsive and gets herself into far too much trouble.

Although she doesn’t show it, she really does regret letting her temper and jealousy get the better of her. She never got the love or support so many others she knew did, which is part of why she was resentful of her victims and others who had what she didn’t.

I also think she seems like the sort who, despite her shortcomings, has a great capacity for love and is loyal to a fault. I love showing all her layers and giving her even more.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Honestly, the only people I do ship her romantically with are William or Angelina. However, I don’t mind her with others she’s commonly paired off with, such as Mey-Rin (though I personally can’t see it sometimes), Sebastian (even if how Grelle is portrayed in fics with him often annoys me), Nina, Hannah, Undertaker, or anyone else lol.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Othello or Ronald would defo be her platonic soulmates, lol.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

She indeed is crazy about Sebastian, but more in an, “I want to fuck him and then bisect him with my scythe à la the black widow spider” sort of way. Does she wanna bang him? Yeaaaah. But by no means is she actually that into him romantically, lol.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

I wish her inner life and backstory haven’t been explored more in the manga. Not only would this have the Grelle lovers more content, but it’ll also give us more to understand her better. I also want her to get the happy ending I think she deserves. 😭

My OTP:

Grelliam. 😂 tho I’m a multishipper at heart.

My crossover ship:

Don’t really have one. I do think Grelle and Hidan from Naruto would be fucking funny, though.

A headcanon fact:

Not my own headcanon, but some of my mutuals on here hc that Grelle is of Russian origin and can even speak the language. Which I love. I also like the German Grelle hc equally, lol.

Now, for the ship part.

Redcliff

When I started shipping it if I did:

After Angelina’s death in the manga. So much angst potential.

My thoughts:

I’ve always remembered wondering if those two did have something else going on. It even seemed as though their relationship transcended what’s platonic. However, though I do like the pairing, I don’t usually seek out that many fanfics for it as two weirdly specific pairings (Grelliam and SebTaker) are the only ones I think of 24/7.

I think they could either be incredibly wholesome or extremely toxic depending on how they’re written in specific fics and given the nature of their rapport. There’s so much potential to explore it in several different ways. Plus… the ANGST.

Things done in fanfic that annoy me:

Can’t really think of any atm, tbh.

Things I look for in fanfic:

I really want another, “what if Angelina lived?” AU, fr. I also like Bizarre Doll!Angelina fics.

Whom l'd be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Don’t @ me, but (alive) Angelina and Undertaker would be funny. 😂 /hj

Actually, I don’t really ship Angie with anyone except Grelle. But as for Grelle, defo William.

My happily ever after for them:

They’d probably actually try to make whatever they have going on a healthy, functional relationship if Angie lives. As for whether they have a family… maybe there’s the whole, “Grelle finds a baby and decides to keep it” thing.

Who is the big spoon / little spoon?

Grelle is definitely the big spoon. Angie sometimes takes over though, lol.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

Lots of things. They both would read tacky magazines and penny dreadfuls together, give each other their observations while people-watching, go shopping, probably do art together… another one would be Angie braiding Grelle’s hair and making her feel so pretty while doing it. 🥹

That’s it for now! Do send in more 😁 💓

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #this #Angelina Dallas #grelle sutcliff #William t spears #ask games #shipping #Redcliff #grelliam

13 notes · View notes

leclerced · 11 months ago

Note

I just got ready for cinema and thought that I’d like to put makeup on Oscar. I think it would be fun. Imagine Oscar and Lando trying to do your makeup for some video. And they are just pure chaos. Oscar is so gentle and he knows some stuff because of his sisters but still he feels like he looks at an impossible to solve math equation so he constantly asks if it hurts? And should he do it like that? He wants to know what’s for what. Meanwhile Lando has a field day with everything that’s going on. He taps random stuff at your face, decides it’s not supposed to go there, wipes it off, does it again, then he discovers eyeshadows and ofc has to swipe every one. Yeah. Just chaos.

Maybe later ruin the makeup when he’d be eating me out but that’s not the point right

stop i once did this boys makeup with my friend while he was in my bed. we sat on either side of him and he looked sooo pretty. i took a picture of him and he told me to delete it and i lied n said i did. prettiest boy ever. prettiest bone structure. like a russian model or smth.

oscar would be nervous about having makeup put on him, but his girl wants to try out her new products on him and he easily gives in when she pouts and bats her eye lashes at him. imagine them sitting in bed with all her products around them and he’s completely relaxed, hands splayed across her thighs and he’s breathing so slow he might be asleep. she’s contouring his cheek bones and adding blush, she’d do really simple eye shadow just to kind of deepen his eyes or whatever. he’s scared of the mascara wand but she promises him a kiss if he lets her and he gives in. his makeup gets ruined bc hes so pretty she can’t help but take advantage of the fact that they’re already in bed

and omg landoscar doing readers makeup? lando gets the left side of her face and oscar the right. her right half is soft glam and looks surprisingly good, but lando’s side looks like a drag queen. she has six eyeshadow colors blended messily together, and a neon pink blush on her cheek. a red lipstick is smudged across half her mouth. oscar did a pretty nice wing and smokey eye, a mauve blush and a clear gloss with lip liner under. can see him watching their girlfriend get ready and he knows her routine while lando just grabs products and puts them wherever he wants. he tried putting neon blue in her smokey eye and oscar snatched the brush away before he could and told him to stay on his side, not to mess his up. gf trying so hard not to giggle underneath them as they bicker over who is doing a better job.

#ask #lifeboredme #ln4/op81

30 notes · View notes

z0rrp · 2 months ago

Text

IMPORTANT!

(The @lorrainailurophile and @sweetswirlybread drama)

Hey, honestly I didn’t rly want to write another post about stinkyswirlybreast but here we are😔

As an irl friend of muri cat (proofs will be down below) I think I had to write something about this situation.

I’m pretty new to the ranfren oc fandom, or ranfren in general, in fact my main account is a gravity falls vlog where I just reblog stuff.

BUT because muri is in the fandom for a LONG time (compared to me ofc) I know most dramas that have happened before I joined.

So about muri being a copy of murdurer:

I saw her in real life, and yes she DOES look like stray muri (just shorter and darker hair).

And I WAS on calls with her while she drew muri cat and I confirm that she WASNT copying faces/ poses from murdurer.the reason she can’t show speedpaints is because she BROKE HER PHONE (proof will also be below) and she got a new phone recently,so her drawings did NOT save.

The theory of sweetswirlybread being in fact saladcat:

Look, in my point of view, both salad cat and sweetswirlybread are rage bait accounts that are just beefing with everyone even if they are on THEIR side, which is weird yk. For example @satanwater , who DOES believe that muri could copy murdurer, but against the actions of sweetswirlybread (you can read more in her “Debunking the recent ranfren dramas” post) BY THE WAY I have nothing against satanwater,she ,as a viewer of the situation IS allowed to have her opinion,PLEASE do NOT send her hate comments.

Talking about her (satanwater’s) post, she ALSO believes that sweetswirlybread IS in fact saladcat.i can also recommend reading her post because there she does have some types of proofs that im too lazy to write lol.

In conclusion, my opinion as an irl friend is that muri is obviously NOT copying.and sweetswirlybread is an obviously an extreme ragebait account that has to be blocked.

Zeer zab zab mimimi!🐛🐛❤️❤️🙏🙏🙏

Important!

The reason why my phone is on Russian and we speak English is because I came from another country 🐛🐛❤️❤️🙏

(muri cat did give me permission to post those)

(And no I am NOT abusing her❤️🐛🙏🙏)

Proof that I AM an irl friend of muri and im not a schizo

And proof that she ACTUALLY broke her phone

#ranfren oc #ranfren #randals friends #oc #art #zeeb zeeb zeeb #fanart #ranfren drama

19 notes · View notes

moonyssmommyy · 1 year ago

Text

My Marauders Headcanons Pt. 2 ~ Sirius Orion Black

Loves sour candy

Isn't really sure if he's a pure blood supremacist or not

He'd like to say he is as it distances himself from his family but he's truly not sure

If you're close to him it doesn't matter if you're a muggle born, a half blood, or a pure blood but if you're not then he can say some pretty nasty things be it as a joke or not

Smooth mf talker

Oh my good

He has a very charming, very nice laugh

His voice is smooth but also has this slightly raspy roughness which paired with his accent is extremely hot

Would've been a momma's boy if he could've

Punk Sirius black

Can actually cook really well

Cherry flavored things are his bbg

Biased towards Slytherin's bc not only are they going to be at least somewhat like his family Slytherin house also houses Snape

His alcohol of choice is tequila

Sleeps naked

Will throw a fucking bitch fit if he gets too hot

He has back dimples

And regular dimples

He has really flawless pale skin aside from his face where he has a few moles and ofc his tattoos

He's very toned and lean

His first tattoo was a sun in between his shoulder blades he didn't know why but when he got home, home where it was always cold and the people there were too he knew. He'd gotten for James, James who was always warm, James who's eyes and smile always shone so brightly, James who was the center of Sirius world, James who was the sun.

He was kicked out after he came home from getting the tattoo; drunk, and high off his mind, and worst of all ignoring his mother. To say Walburga had disapproved of his body modification was the understatement of the millennium. Sirius didn't even care so Walburga decided to make him care

Contrary to popular belief this was the first time things had ever gotten physical, Walburga had decided to give him a body modification he'd disapprove of

She grabbed the knife off the kitchen table and made her way over to Sirius who was basically delirious with laughter before realizing something foul was bound to take place. He began running up the stairs but that didn't stop his mother before he could get too far Walburga had grabbed hold of his collar and began cutting. Sirius thrashed and cried and begged for her not to cut his hair but she did anyway, she didn't even care for the cuts she left on him as he tried to get her to stop

When she was done she simply told him he wasn't her son anymore

She wanted nothing to do with him

And Sirius begged for something he didn't even know what for

He doesn't like shaving but he prefers to be free of hair

He's French, Russian, English, and Romanian

He likes to paint his nails black

Sirius LOVES shiny things

Like they make him so happy and giddy

Sirius also LOVES his motorbike

His favorite article of clothing is his leather jacket which is somehow still in pristine condition despite the fact Sirius basically wears it in the shower he has it on so much

Loves jewelry

Winter is his fav season

His love language is actually quality time closely followed by physical touch

He's very affectionate after he loves and trusts you completely

Despite all the abuse he suffered with his family Sirius actually really misses his mom bc she wasn't all bad

Walburga suffered the same abuse as a child and after Sirius found that out it made things even harder for him because she knew

She knew what it felt like to have this happen and she still chose to do this to him

Sirius was actually her favorite son and one of the ways she would punish him was giving all her attention to Regulus whilst giving him the cold shoulder

That always broke Sirius and he'd beg for his mother's forgiveness and attention

Sometimes if Walburga was feeling nice and his father wasn't home which was rarely ever but it did happen occasionally Walburga would allow Sirius to crawl in bed with her and lie his head on her chest while she combed her fingers through his hair

Despite the affection this still hurt Sirius because she'd never look at him, and she wouldn't even acknowledge when he spoke to her. Never returning his declaration of love so he learned to accept her seldom affection in silence

Walburga was somehow even harsher after these times as she learned to view love and affection as a weakness

Chronic ice eater

Loves music

Extremely talented singer

His mother forced him to learn piano and he hates that he likes it

Taught himself to play the guitar

He has a little book where he writes out songs, he's embarrassed of them and the only person who even knows about it is James

Suffers from Borderline Personality Disorder and James has been his FP for fucking ever

He also suffered from Survivor's guilt thinking about what happened to Regulus after he left

His relationship with James is way passed platonic but it's also not romantic either

He has very thin patience and gets frustrated quickly

Speaks French, Latin, and Russian fluently

Sirius hates labels

If you're his, your his

If he likes you, he likes you

That's just Sirius

98 notes · View notes

bigpp6999 · 1 month ago

Text

Yes.

so tired of people not knowing who aki and haru is that I decided to take it in my own hands, oh and also honey <3 but anyways my brain hates me and decided that it’s going to hyperfixated on underrated characters and then captures me and forces me to draw fan art so here’s aki, haru, and honey [also Headcanon for all three, ignore how I completely forgot about trois ❤️]

ignore how it looks bad I’m trying to experiment with my artstyle okay hc

Ages? Aki: 28 [cmon his a teacher] haru is probably like 27 and honey has a confirmed age I think it’s 20!!! how the fuck did haru and Aki steal the uniforms? I feel like haru and aki have known each other ever since they were like 14 so since then they’ve just been stealing??? And when people suspected shit [aka when they were on the verge of graduating] they stopped but then continued when they turned 25/26 and they like started stealing again 💀💀💀 and then they got caught and started escaping and ended up in nanbaka ❤️

also yes I created my own ship and stated shipping aki and haru bc I can’t see ppl as friends ❤️❤️❤️ plus they just look gay 🙁 also what the hell are YOU going to do about it? 💀 anyways I’m trying to come up w a creative ass names and it’s not working

also I’m also just rlly going to be making haru and aki fanart and will share my couple gfs there bc I’m uh not straight 😭 omg aki looks terrifying I swear I will do better in my next art piece

fun fact aki means fall and haru means spring and that jst made me ship them more, i have problems k? Anyways haru has his own restaurant and it’s running very goodly, he first worked for chimney [aka also his master which im pretty sure is canon] but then got his own restaurant 🔥🔥🔥

queer hcs: Aki is queer [he dosent label himself] and he uses any pronouns bro does not gaf

haru is def pansexual and is on the demiromantic spectrum pronouns I feel like he would go with he/them or he/him

honey is for sure bisexual and and I feel like he would be bigender hear me out okay???? He looks bigender, anygays he/her or she/him if his felling goofy they/them but mostly mixed online like she/him!!!!

Ik trois ain’t on here but im also just going to slide it in [yes like that.] I feel like he would also be like fuckibg bisexual, asexual spectrum!!! Pronouns he/him

oh I also ship honey and trois they’re adorable!!

As for like their jobs I already explained Harus but I feel like aki have worked with elementary, middle and high school for some reason??? He worked in high school the most tho. I also feel like he had his own like room and office which he decorated, now idk if they have like a semester for health but if they did that’s nice. Haru and aki were def roommates in like college like I said they were friends ever since like they were 14!!! Also aki is just a nickname for him his real name is akifumi but ppl started calling him aki bc he literally looks like the season autumn so yeah, Harus name is just haru idfk 💀 also haru is half French and aki is half Russian and no one can stop me from hc that! Haru knows French and aki barely knows Russian but he thugs it out after all bro is in Japan he dosent need to know Russian for that LMAO. Also I feel like aki was rlly popular in high school bc he played like volleyball and haru was like the weird kid but when they became friends haru also became popular [after some struggle ofc] also chimney took haru in when he was like 13 LMAO so yeah

#nanbaka #Haru nanbaka #aki nanbaka #honey nanbaka #trois nanbaka #nanbaka honey x trois #honey x trois #Art #artwork #artist #nanbaka fanart

14 notes · View notes

callsignfangs · 11 months ago

Note

Aaaaaaaall right- I'm very curious.

I wanna know why you love Farah.

Do it- Yooou KNOW you want to. >:)

GIGGLING youre absolutely spoiling me right now 😇😇

I will take literally any opportunity to talk about the sweet girl so here we go 😻

Btw this is going to be completely unorganised, I’m literally just dumping my thoughts into a tumblr txt post 🧍‍♂️

Also ik for a fact that I literally cannot put my love for this character into words to forgive if my wording is horrible 😇

This is also for @missaimfire14red, who was lovely enough to drop this in my askbox as well 😚 Figured I might as well merge the two!! I’ll also be fleshing this out later for yous, hopefully into an actual semi-formatted essay lol 😭 /lh

Cw: Blood warning for clips & images of canon scenes

Now: Mwi (Modern Warfare one)

I’m gonna start off with her and Hadir. Their bond, like, HURTS me (in a good way 😇). They went through so much together - loosing both their parents, growing up in a warzone and almost dying + having to flee their home as CHILDREN, then being imprisoned for, as far as i know, almost all of their childhood and early adulthood.

DO YOU SEE THE WAY SHE LOOKS AT HIM??? 😭😭

Hes just her big brother and they love each other to pieces, literally quite possibly the strongest bond in the cod reboot imo. (See Hadir saying ‘I love you even if you hate me’ BAWLING)

And now let’s talk about her reaction to Hadir using chemical weapons.

Firstly, this scene, when she first finds out that Hadir betrayed them when he originally used them. I’m not gonna go too much into this scene bc I think it’s more about her bonds with Hadir, Price and Alex and I’m trying to keep this as a Farah post, but I might make another one abt this in the future. Lemme just say that she literally fights Hadir until she passes out. Ty 😇

Now what she says when she confronts him and he starts blaming Price for betraying them???

‘You betrayed yourself’. PAINNN 💔💔

She hated those weapons because they were used on her an her people and she just never wanted anyone to experience that ever again, even the enemy.

Let me reiterate that - she literally wouldn’t use the enemy’s own weapons against them due to the sheer inhumanity of it. Her morals are literally so strong that she practically disowns him because of it. She refuses to use the weapons that were used on herself, even on the people who attacked her. When I say I fully believe she is one of, if not the kindest, person in the cod reboot, I MEAN it. She rightfully refuses to give into the occupying forces but is still merciful enough to refuse to torture them the way they tortured her. She’s merciful in her warfare and her revenge and it just. It just breaks my heart 😇

Adding to that,

ALSO. Let’s talk about how, when she was being detained by Hadir, she had all the opportunity to kill him, literally weapon in hand, and she just let herself get taken. Was it for the greater good? Totally. But I think it also tells us that she trusts her allies enough to be willingly taken by the enemy (calling Hadir the enemy HURTS bro 😭). I also think it tells us that she still loves him, to some extent. She hates what he’s done unbelievably, but he’s still her big brother and she still loves him.

Okay, onto Mwii (Modern Warfare two)

First: Hadir’s death.

He tells her that she has the warhead and tells her to use it, but, ofc, she refuses. But then, what does she do??

SHE COMFORTS HIM. Tells him that she’ll defeat the russians, even if it’s not the way he was planning. That’s why I’ll literally NEVER take anyone saying they didn’t love eachother - bc no way would she ever spare an actual enemy (esp one she was technically interrogating) this kind of mercy, but she does for Hadir.

THEN the way he encourages her and her reaction 😭 She tells him that they have nothing to do with this, and I kinda feel like it’s either out of grief or because she doesn’t want them to know about this, in a way? She wants to keep their memories of their parents in a simpler time and doesn’t want to acknowledge what Hadir did, maybe even partially doesn’t blame him, because she’s angry too and she might even partially understand why he did it, yet she’s logical, kind, and thinks things through enough to know that it wasn’t the right thing to do, ethically or tactically.

And dont even get me STARTED on tactics. She’s literally the commander of her ENTIRE force ffs, you know she’s literally unbelievably smart, both against an enemy in general (Al Quatala) and against one with more populated and technologically advanced (manufacturing-wise, they have more weapons and are much more heavily funded). Not to mention her and Hadir literally produced weapons for their troops themselves. Personally, I don’t have much knowledge with weapons, but I do know that so many intricate parts go into them that it’s not the kind of thing a normal person can just do.

Admittedly, bc of the shift in focus for mw2, theres not much else I wanna talk about Farah-wise. I’m not gonna go into detail with the atomgrad raid bc honestly I dont have the time rn lol- might make another post about it.

The only other really notable Farah we got here that I’m gonna mention was Laswell’s rescue.

Firstly, let’s talk abt how she was willing to help, but was also smart about it. She didn’t risk forcing her people back into war, only pursuing the kidnappers once they reached Urzikstan, and the plus that they were Al Quatala.

Then, Farah’s ‘we share a common enemy,’

And Price’s ‘and a common friend.’

Honestly I’m totally projecting by saying Laswell is a mother figure to Farah bc there’s literally no plot evidence but. In my heart Price and Laswell are besties co parenting Gaz and Farah 😇😇 (and honestly all of 141 and ULF as well to some extent). But!!! Laswell does call her, Price, Gaz and Farah meeting as a ‘family reunion’, so there’s definitely some level of bond there. And then Farah proceeds to compliment Laswell on her moves which honestly had me giggling a little 😇

(Also can i just say I’m so upset we didn’t get a Farah reaction to Gaz’s heli moment?? Disappointing 🙄🙄 /lh)

Lastly: Mwiii (Modern Warfare 3) - and ofc spoilers for it.

For mw3, I’m only gonna go over her and Dena, mostly bc I’m running outta time rn lol.

They have such an adorable bond and I love them sm 😭😭

Can we talk about how one of the only times we see Farah smile,

Is at Dena? 😭 And Farah immediately asks about her mother? It’s such a like domestic sort of scene that I just love so much bc we get a little peek into Farah outside of Commander Karim 💟💟

Then they have the little moment in the car 💔

You can just tell how much Farah appreciates the encouragement and the trust between them

Honestly, I’m not gonna go over Dena’s death 🧍‍♂️ Like the other death in mw3, I feel like it kinda could’ve been handled differently/better (also like give my girl Farah a break jesus can she not be happy?? 😭 /lh)

Still, the way she promises to give Dena justice literally breaks my heart 😭💔

Anyways, that’s it for now 😚 At some point I wanna like come back to this and flesh it out a bit alongside other dialogue and plot stuff with Farah, I just didn’t have the time today :[

34 notes · View notes

guystheresbeesuphere · 2 years ago

Text

The Arcana Head Canons !

What are they like drunk ?

Asra (´ ∀ ` *)

Drinks occasionally ! I feel like they like to let loose sometimes - but only plan on getting drunk drunk in smaller gatherings or amongst close friends <3

He is a content (?) sleepy kinda drunk

Like a snake lounging on a rock in the sun

Or a cat curled up in the blanket

Unbothered, Moisturized, Happy, in his lane, Focused, Flourishing

Very cuddly and clingy, but also kinda mischievous

“Come lie with meeeee” with uppies arms going on

Sprawled out over any vaguely soft surface

Including shrubbery, or just any soft looking patch of grass

Probably the type to try and do normal tasks like cooking but with zero coordination

Would make a huge mess trying to make a pb&j

That apprentice would have to clean up

His hangovers would probably only last a day or so, and not really that bad. They'd probably just stay in bed and sleep it off. If you mentioned anything he did he would probably just give you a shit-eating grin.

Julian ٩(＾◡＾)۶

Jules probably drinks the most out of everyone, bar maybe Nadia - he frequents taverns and bars… probably dragging the apprentice along with him.

Julian is the saddest of sad drunks

But not in a depressed and crying about life kinda way

But more in a like, sees a really cute cat and starts bawling his eyes out kinda way

Sees his friends/partner and gets all teary

would just hold your face in his hands and cry for a good 5 minutes before you could get a word out of him

“You’re the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me”

Gets tears all over your coat

You’d have to carry him home

To be fair, not too different from his usual self

Just with way more all over the place

He’d either have the worst hangovers known to man, or would just walk it off like a champ. If you mentioned anything he did, he would go bright red and stuttery: “I was drunk ! What do you expect of me?”

Muriel ╰(● ⋏ ●)╯

I feel like Muri isn’t one to get drunk often, if at all. He much prefers having his brain and body fully within his control. But when he does drink, he’s a real heavyweight.

If you versed him in a drinking game, you would lose

Complete blackout before he’s even a little tipsy

I think he’d be a very touchy feely drunk

Very clingy but also very quiet

Like, always holding apprentice's hand

Or petting their hair

Or just generally being quite sappy and cuddly

You’d literally need a crowbar to pry yourself out of his arms

He would fervently deny it afterwards though, when he came to

He would have a pretty bad hangover. But he’d insist that he’s fine and try to power through his daily tasks despite the fact. But with a bit of coaxing from the apprentice, he’d accept the help and sit down to rest for a bit. He'd probably just roll his eyes and grumble (well meaning ofc) at you, turning bright red if you mentioned anything from the night before.

Portia ꒰(･‿･)꒱

Portia probably views getting drunk in a similar way to Asra ! Like, enjoys having fun with friends occasionally, but not too often.

She would be a super loud, outgoing drunk

But in a super friendly

Slurring her words a lot, and probably slips a bit of random russian in there

Omg her accent getting really thick

Waahh okay thats actually hella cute to think about

Full of compliments and words of adoration

You wouldn’t be able to get her to shut up

Giggling over literally everything

She would be stumbling down drunk after like, 2 drinks though

Its apart of her charm ﾟ.*

I feel like she’d end her night by passing out in apprentices arms

Babbling nonsense and giggling all the while

I don't think she'd have bad hangovers though, but would play it up if it meant Apprentice would take care of her <3

Nadia (*´▽`*)

Nadia would drink quite frequently, as accompaniments to fancy dishes that require it. As a result, probably has a very high alcohol tolerance. But she never really drinks to get drunk though - to her, alcohol is meant to be tasted and enjoyed.

Its probably kind of hard to tell when she’s drunk

She’d laugh way more freely i think

And be way more cheeky

A mischievous glint in her eye

Very well versed in high society alcohol

Very knowledgeable on what to pair it with

Probably has her own fancy reserve too

She would also definitely be one to bust out the really nice booze when shes far too drunk to be able to appreciate it

Especially if the apprentice is there

She likes to spoil her friends/partners <3

I feel like, even drunk, she would make sure you were taken care of first - always trying to send you home with a fancy new bottle the morning after too.

Lucio (￢‿￢ )

I feel like the count is pretty average in terms of how much it takes to get him drunk - but he enjoys getting smashed as much as possible.

LOUD as hell

And completely UNAPOLOGETIC about it

Gets drunk a lot

Would 100% organize a party just to have a reason to get drunk

Everyday being himself is a day to celebrate ofc

Sometimes just does it without the party anyway

He would be super boastful and cocky

Probably trying to start fights (that he definitely wouldn’t win) with anyone and everyone

And saying things he shouldn’t

Would drag apprentice to every little event

Being a little shit to get your attention or make you laugh

I think he'd enjoy dragging the apprentice along just to see them loosen up and relax a bit - not that he'd admit it, but he'd go out of his way to make sure you were having fun too <3

and a cheeky little bonus !

Amias ! ( ´ ω ` )

Tends to only drink at social events or parties. But loves drinking games and competitions - could easily drink both jules and asra under the table.

He is definitely a sulky drunk.

just a big old 6'4 toddler

with Surprisingly co-ordination though

Good luck trying to stop him from climbing any Big Rock or Cool Tree he sees

Probably tries to fight inanimate objects.

And definitely cries when he loses.

Just Asra trying to console him,

“There there, Amias - you really showed that bin what for”

“*sniff* yeah?”

“Yeah <3 Now let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

“okay...”

And then he would promptly passout.

OHOHO but Amias and Asra drunk at the same time ?? Absolute menaces. The sheer tomfoolery and mischief they would get up to. Would definitely feed off of each other’s chaotic disaster energies. Getting the pair of them to do anything, or go anywhere while drunk is literally like herding cats. Very stubborn, unreasonable, toddler-esque cats.

#the arcana game #the arcana headcanons #asra alnazar #asra the arcana #julian devorak #julian the arcana #muriel #muriel the arcana #portia devorak #portia the arcana #nadia satrinava #Nadia the arcana #Count lucio #lucio the arcana #imagines #head canon #hcs #arcana game

301 notes · View notes

mister-mickey · 1 year ago

Text

Idk outsiders ethnicity headcanons !!

Darry

- all four grandparents are Irish immigrants!

- it doesn’t affect him at all, he does not care

- all he knows is St. Patrick’s day, he goes overboard with the pinching and the green

- they’re Protestant, and while he isn’t really religious, it still had an effect ofc

Sodapop

- also Irish (obviously)

- he always goes crazy for holidays, so everyone makes sure to wear green on St. Patrick’s day. It’s all he knows about Ireland lmao

Ponyboy

- Irish (again)

- the only one that actually knows anything about Ireland.

- he likes to look at postcards and pictures of it. He thinks it’s very beautiful. He kind of wants to move there someday

- church had an effect on him too (that’s canon though)

Two-Bit

- he’s welsh, his moms parents still live there (he’s never met them)

- his mom still has a slight accent, he teases her about it

- he used to have an accent when he was a baby lol

- his dad was also welsh, but he left so Two doesn’t gaf about him and his side

Steve

- his dad has distant Scottish ancestry, but neither of them know anything about Scotland so they don’t care.

- his mom was Apsaalooke, and she was from Montana. Steve doesn’t know because she died when he was a baby and it hurts his dad to talk about her

- Steve has also never seen a picture of her before either. He has no idea, his dad doesn’t realize that he has no idea

Johnny

- both parents are Shawnee

- they moved away from their families because their families didn’t want them together. Part of the reason they’re still together is because they fought so hard to be together that they don’t want to separate now that they hate eachother

Dallas

- he doesn’t know anything about his heritage because he never sees his dad and his mom is dead

- but he’s polish

- his dads surname was “Witowski” but he changed it to Winston because ppl kept thinking it was Russian and harassing him

- so his dad hates Americans because of it

Tim

- mom is a Russian immigrant, dad is a Spanish immigrant. He doesn’t know anything about either cultures

- mom moved to America in the 30’s with her brother and met his dad almost immediately.

- then they moved to Tulsa! Also tim hates his uncle lol

Angela

- same as Tim, but she gets along with her uncle and actively enjoys Russian culture

- she was only three when her dad died so she also doesn’t know anything about Spain or her dads side

Curly

- he has a different dad (one of my fave hcs) and his dad is also Russian, so he’s fully Russian

- also loves their uncle and enjoys Russian culture

Bryon

- British ancestors

- he does not care about his heritage, he has more important things on his mind

- also it’s such distant ancestry that it rlly doesn’t matter

Mark

- so I hc dallys dad to be the infamous whore cowboy that fathered mark and Tex, so he’s half Polish

-his mom is Shawnee though (was ig, since she’s dead)

- he is aware, but he doesn’t like to think about his family for obvious reasons, he likes to think taht he’s just bryons brother

Cathy

- I also hc her and M&M to be two-bits cousins! Their dad is his moms brother (solely based on the fact that they all have grey eyes)

- so she’s welsh. She sends letters to her grandparents but has also never met them

M&M

- also welsh ofc

- his dad forces him and Cathy to send letters to their grandparents. His grandparents do not like him so he hates it

- he does think Wales is very cool though

55 notes · View notes

foundtherightwords · 10 months ago

Text

The Firebird - Chapter 2

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 4.2k

A/N: A note on the Russian names/pronunciation:

Paul's full name in Russian, Pavel Petrovich, is used for formal occasions. Pasha and Pavlik are short forms, while Pashenka and Pavlushka are pet names.

The princess's name, Zhara, is based on the Russian word for fire, Zhar (Жар). "Zh" is pronounced like the "s" in "leisure", or the French "j".

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - A Princess Named Zhara

Paul had, in fact, seen a number of undressed women before, though perhaps not quite so thoroughly undressed.

But the flush of embarrassment that crept up his face was nothing compared to his utter perplexity upon seeing this strange girl.

"Who are you?" he said, once he found his voice again. "And what have you done to my bird?"

"Your bird?" she scoffed. She was still slumped over in the bush, her head resting on her arm. "What makes her yours? You didn't even manage to catch her."

This is some trick, surely, thought Paul. The bird hadn't really flown into this bush, and this young woman just happened to be lying here. But he hadn't seen the bird come out again... So it must still be around here somewhere...

"I was just trying to find a quiet place to rest," the young woman was saying, "and maybe find some clothes too. Is that too much to ask? I've been flying the whole day with a bust-up wing. But no, oh no. I had to have the misfortune of flying into the biggest cretin in the whole of Lukomorye..."

Ignoring her mumbles, Paul searched the grove and the adjacent meadow for any sign of the red-and-gold plumes, but there was none. The meadow, separated from the forest by a burbling brook, was large and flat. There was no bush, only smooth grass that spread all the way to the horizon where the sky still had a faint, pinkish edge where it met the earth, so he doubted the bird could have hidden there. He turned back to the grove, but here the curtain of darkness had lowered completely, and he could see nothing but the birch trunks shining pale like a brigade of ghost soldiers. It was too late to keep searching. Paul could feel fatigue settling into his bones, and decided to turn back. Perhaps in the morning, he could return with some servants. A wounded bird couldn't have gone far.

He went back to the thicket. The young woman had sat up. In the gloom, her hair had darkened to a mahogany shade, contrasting with the paleness of her skin. Paul was reminded of Eve in the Garden of Eden, and blushed again.

"Where did you come from?" he asked. "What happened to you?"

"Go away," she said, sniffling.

"There's a village nearby. I can raise an alert and get you help, should you need it."

"No one can help me. Just go away and leave me alone." She buried her face in her arms until her hair enveloped her whole body like a mantle.

Paul shrugged and turned away. It was likely that she was a peasant girl from one of the villages around Tsarskoye Selo, abandoned by a lover and too afraid to come home. Well, if she didn't want help, then it certainly wasn't his problem.

As he walked off, he couldn't help noticing how small and lost the girl looked, with her arms wrapped around legs that were drawn up to her chest and her head bent over her knees. Sighing, he unclasped his cloak and tossed it at her feet. She turned quizzical eyes to the cloak, then to him, but made no move to pick up the garment. Paul paid no more attention to her and went in search of his horse.

But something was different about the grove. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, only that it gave him the same otherworldly feeling he'd had when he'd first seen the bird. And then, as he walked deeper and deeper into the grove, he realized what it was—the grove was much larger than he remembered. After leaving the horse, he'd only had to run a few dozen steps to reach the thicket, yet now, despite having walked far enough that the girl was only a speck of white in the distance, he couldn't see the arch of the two crooked birches or his horse anywhere.

He kept walking and walking, but it was like walking in place, for the birches remained unchanged, and he couldn't tell if he had passed this tree or that already. The white trees almost glimmered in the dark, and he felt he was going blind after looking at them for too long. Eventually, he had to stop, too tired to go on, afraid that he would push himself to exhaustion walking in circles.

Was he lost? Was the grove really that vast and he had gone further than he thought? Perhaps the girl would know. He turned around, intending to go back to ask, and almost walked straight into the girl. Somehow, she had followed him without him knowing. She had donned his cloak, and her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, which fell to her knees. It was tied at the end with a string of dry grass.

"You're not from here," she said, before Paul could speak.

"What?"

"You're from Rus'."

"Do you know the way back to Tsarskoye Selo?" Paul asked. He began to wonder if the girl was at all sane. Though the royal household and the courtiers rarely ventured outside the confines of the Summer Palace, every peasant in the area knew of the court. Yet this girl didn't seem to recognize him at all. Her eyes shone with a strange light, and she was looking at him with a mixture of wonder and curiosity.

"There is no Tsarskoye Selo here," she said slowly, pronouncing the words as though unfamiliar with them. "See, this is not Rus'. This is Lukomorye."

"What?" Paul repeated. He was quite certain now that the girl was mad.

The girl sighed. She put one hand out of the cloak and snapped her fingers.

Paul jumped back, crying out in alarm.

The tips of her fingers had caught fire.

"I bet you don't have anything like this in your land, do you?" the girl said.

"What sort of trickery is this?" Paul whispered. He had seen fire eaters at feast days in court, but none of them had ever made fire come out of their fingers.

"It's not a trick."

The girl closed her palm, and the fire went out without even a puff of smoke. She snapped her fingers again, and again fire burst from their tips. Her fingers burned steadily like candles in the dark, illuminating her face so Paul could see the myriad of freckles scattering across her skin like stars on the night sky. The fire gleamed on her coppery hair and reflected in her eyes, which he saw were of the same golden amber color as the bird's. It was those eyes, rather than the unnatural flames on her fingertips, that finally convinced Paul.

"You're the bird," he said, comprehension dawning.

"Oh, he's sharp," she said, mockery dripping from every word. "Here I was thinking you're just another nincompoop."

Paul was so shocked he even forgot to take offense at her impudent tone. "But—how—"

"I told you, this is Lukomorye. The land of magic. The Otherworld. Surely you know of us, as we know of you?"

Paul recalled the dreamlike feeling he'd been having, the childhood memories. "The land of magic. Like... in the fairy tales?"

"If that's what you call them."

He took a breath and tried to think rationally. "Prove it then," he said. "If you're really the bird, turn back. Transform."

"I'm not a shape-shifter," the girl said, closing her palm to put out the fire again. She clutched the cloak closer to her body as a shadow passed over her features. "I'm cursed, if you must know. I only turn into a bird during the day."

"That's convenient," Paul retorted. He was beginning to see how absurd the situation was and refused to let himself be swayed. "All right, if this isn't my world, can you take me back?"

The girl shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid I can't. Opening doors between the worlds is a very imprecise sort of magic. Most of the time it just happens. I was injured, and frightened, and must have opened one by mistake..."

Her words made no sense to Paul. He took a step back, as though by putting some distance between them, he could avoid being infected by her otherworldly air and keep his mind clear. He remembered how he had ended up here in the first place, his quarrel with his mother, and his usual anger and suspicion came surging back. "This must be some trick, some mischief meant to harm or confuse me, to make me seem unfit for the throne—"

Her eyebrows went up. "The throne? Are you some sort of prince?"

Paul drew himself to his full height. "I am. I'm Tsarevich Paul, Pavel Petrovich Romanov, son of Peter the Third, heir to the Russian throne."

The girl shrugged, unimpressed. "Well, none of that would help you here. Here, you're just another mortal." She ignored Paul's indignant spluttering. "I'm sorry, but there is nothing to be done now. It's late. Tomorrow, we can look for someone who can help you return to your world."

Without waiting for his answer, she went over to a birch tree, tapped its trunk experimentally, and, leaning her forehead against the tree, whispered, "O les chestnoi (1), I thank you for this gift I'm about to receive." Then, with a bit of bark held in one hand like a bowl, she snapped a branch and put her bark bowl underneath to collect the clear sap that dripped from the broken bit.

"What are you doing?" Paul asked, astonished.

"It's too dark to go searching for food. This birch sap will have to do."

Her words reminded Paul of how hungry he was himself. He turned and walked away.

"Where are you going?" the girl said.

"Back to the palace."

"Haven't you got it through your thick head yet? Your palace isn't here! Nothing from your world is here!" He took no heed of her and kept walking, but not before he heard her mumble, "All right, get yourself killed then, see if I care." Then she added, with feeling, "Cretin."

Paul stormed through the grove, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that grew and grew the longer he went. This was clearly all a mistake. He hadn't been paying close attention while chasing after the bird and had gotten himself lost; that was all. The horse must have bolted. And as for the fire on the girl's hand... it was a trick. It had to be. As long as he found his way out of this confounded forest, everything would be right again.

He was now far enough that he could no longer see the girl. The ranks of birches were giving way to oaks and lindens and other trees, meaning he was going in the right direction. His disappearance may have been noticed at the palace already, and at this very moment, perhaps a battalion was being deployed in search of him. Taking heart in this thought, he pressed on, crashing through the dense trees, trying to ignore the soreness of his limbs, unused to strenuous exercises, and the gnawing hunger in his belly. He tried, too, not to notice that the oaks seemed much bigger and older than he'd remembered and that sometimes he couldn't recognize the leaves on a branch that hung over the path or the flowers of a bush that he had to sidestep.

There was something else he tried to ignore as well, without much success. The forest wasn't as quiet as it had been when he was chasing after the bird. Now there were all sorts of creaking and rustling around him as though a tempest was brewing overhead, yet there was nary a breath of wind, and the crescent moon shone clearly, valiantly through the thick foliage. Strangest of all, the creaking and rustling seemed to stop when he stopped and pick up when he resumed walking.

"Who's there?"

Only the hoot of an owl answered him.

He started walking. The rustling started. He stopped. It stopped as well. Could it be the girl, toying with him? "If you're trying to frighten me, think again!" Paul shouted. He thought he heard a high-pitched noise that may have been the chirping of a cricket or the eerie, distant echo of some giggles. He picked up a rock by his feet and flung it, with all his might, toward the noise. It ceased instantly.

Satisfied, he continued on his way. The creaking and rustling erupted again, to a deafening degree, right by his ears. Paul stared back in horror. The trees seemed to be enlarging, blocking out the moon. No, it wasn't the trees... or was it? He couldn't say what he was looking at. A human form was rising out of the forest, but it still looked like a tree, with bark for skin, branches for limbs, leaves for hair, and moss for whiskers.

"Who dares to disturb the peace of my forest?" the creature bellowed in a voice that sounded like a storm blowing through the trees, showing a mouth full of thorns.

Paul staggered backwards, stumbled over his ceremonial sword, which he'd forgotten to take off after the drilling exercise, and went sprawling on the ground. This movement alerted the creature to his presence, and it whirled around to face him. Two spots of yellow light, like a pair of fireflies, blinked under the leaves, showing where its eyes were. It raised an arm as thick as an oak branch over its head, apparently with the intention of bringing it crashing down on Paul. Its movements were so lumbering that Paul would've had plenty of time to move out of the way, had he not been rooted to the spot by shock and fear.

"No, les chestnoi, wait!" The girl appeared by his side, her knees bent, arms outstretched in a pleading gesture. "He's with me! He's with me!"

The creature's arm paused in midair. Its phosphoric eyes dimmed slightly as it inclined its head, its tree-trunk neck creaking in a way that caused Paul to cower, thinking that branch was coming for his head.

"Tsarevna Zhara," the creature said in a softer tone. "Forgive me. I didn't know this—mortal was under your protection."

"He's not," the girl said, glancing at Paul with irritation. "But he is from Rus' and doesn't know his way around Lukomorye. Please, spare him."

The creature's firefly eyes blinked slowly, its moss-covered mouth working, grinding its thorn teeth, while it appeared to be mulling over the matter. Finally, it dropped its arm. "Very well, my lady," it said. "Out of respect for your late father, I shall spare the moral."

"Thank you, les pravedniy (2)," the girl said with a deep bow.

The creature returned her bow with more ponderous creaking, then turned and walked into the forest. It soon became one with the trees, with only the creaking and rustling fading into the distance as evidence of its presence.

The girl walked away as well. Paul found that he could breathe and move again, and he hurried after her.

"What in saints' names was that thing?!" he exclaimed.

"That thing is a leshy," the girl said, long legs moving in and out of his cloak as she strode down the path, "and you had better show him some respect, if you don't want him coming back for your head."

The word sounded familiar, though it took Paul a moment to remember where he'd heard it and what it meant. "A forest spirit?" he bleated.

"Yes. You're lucky he was in a good mood."

It was too much for Paul. Only a few hours ago, he had been arguing with his mother about the throne. Now he was walking through a forest that was both familiar and not, with girls that turned into birds and walking trees. It did not seem possible. He sat down on the path and gripped his head in his hands, as though by doing so, he could prevent his brain from melting and leaking out through his ears, which he felt it was very much in danger of doing.

The bird-girl, noticing his absence, turned back and stood watching him for a moment. Glancing up at her, he noticed there was still something birdlike in her posture, in the way she tilted her head at him, in the way she shifted her weight, never staying quite still. Eventually, she seemed to take pity on him and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"I suppose this is quite difficult for you to accept," she said gently. "Let us find a place to rest for the night. Morning shall bring more wisdom."

Those words, so often encountered in fairy tales, calmed Paul, and that hand, so warm that he could feel it through his coat, revived him. He followed the girl back to the thicket, now bathed in the silvery light of the crescent moon. The girl handed him her birch-bark cup with some sap in it. Being too hungry and thirsty to ask further questions, Paul drank it straight down. It was only slightly sweet, with a mossy aftertaste, but refreshing. He could feel strength and clarity slowly returning to his body and mind.

"So if you can't return me to my world, then who can?" he asked.

"Probably the same person who could free me from this curse—Baba Yaga."

Paul dropped the cup. "Baba Yaga," he said. "Baba Yaga the witch, flies around in a mortar, lives in a hut with chicken legs, that Baba Yaga?"

The girl nodded.

"She's real," he said. It wasn't exactly a question.

"Of course she's real!" the girl said. "Only," she added, "no one has seen her in ages, and even if we do find her, she may not agree to help. But she's my only hope."

"And I suppose it was Koschei the Deathless who cursed you?" Paul said, intending it as a quip to show the girl that he wasn't completely ignorant when it came to Fairyland, but at the mention of Koschei, the shadow that had passed across her face when she mentioned her curse came back, and lingered.

"I guess you can say so, in a way," she said in a small voice. Her answer puzzled Paul, but she looked so miserable that he decided to hold his tongue.

"How are we going to find Baba Yaga?" he asked instead.

"Some say she likes the taste of Russians and can smell them from hundreds of versts away," the girl replied. "So perhaps she'll find us." She glanced at Paul's blanched face, a corner of her mouth lifted into a crooked, impish smile, and some of the shadow lifted from her face. "I'm joking. Some say she has gone to Vyriy."

"Where is that?"

"Nobody knows," the girl said. "It could be a mere thought away, or a year's trek on foot and horseback, or so far that one may travel for his entire life and still can't reach it."

"Of course," Paul said bleakly.

"Lucky for us, we shall not have to go so far. I know how to find Baba Yaga. Or rather, how to find a creature that can find her."

If she continues to talk in fairy-speak, I shall have to throttle her, Paul thought grimly. The girl seemed to notice his dark look as well, for she quickly continued, "Apparently Tsar Afron of Smorodina is in possession of a horse with a golden mane, foaled by Baba Yaga's own mare. His fortress is a few days' trek from here. If we can borrow the horse from him, it shall lead us back to its mother."

Paul nodded, relieved that there was now a solid plan. A few days he could deal with.

The mention of a tsar reminded him of something else...

"That thing—the leshy," he said slowly. "He addressed you as tsarevna."

The girl lifted her chin, her amber eyes glinting in the moonlight. "I am. Zhara Artyomovna, daughter of Tsar Artyom, heir to the throne of Arthania."

So they let women rule in this land too, a bitter thought came into Paul's mind, but he immediately felt guilty about it. After all, this girl—Zhara—had saved him from the leshy and even offered to help him, when she could have left him to rot. Almost as though she could read his mind, she smiled her crooked smile again. "I suppose that makes us equals, does it not? And it would not be beneath you to travel with me, would it, Tsarevich Paul?"

Her knowing, teasing smile only deepened his shame. "Are we to sleep here then, out in the open?" he said, scowling to mask his discomfort.

The girl was already gathering dried leaves and grass into a little bed for herself. "What do you require? Silk sheets? Feather mattresses?" she snapped. "I'm sorry Lukomorye cannot provide you with the comforts you're used to. This is all we have."

Paul wondered what sort of tsars they had in this land, when a tsarevna was no better than a peasant girl and thought nothing of sleeping on the ground. He was aware that this was unkind and scowled again, though this time more at himself.

"What about wild animals?"

"The leshy shall protect us."

"What about the cold?" Though it was summer, it was cool under the trees, and already he could feel the chilliness coming through his shirt. "Can we at least have a fire?"

The girl looked down at the cloak she was clutching about herself, then looked at Paul, who was rubbing his hands together to chase away the chill. "Oh, of course. But you'll have to gather the firewood. I can't do much with this." She lifted her injured arm out of the cloak with a wince. The wound was still weeping a little.

With a sigh, Paul got up and went around the clearing, picking up all the twigs and branches he could find. Zhara raised an eyebrow at the meager pile he brought back, but said nothing. She waved her hand over it, and soon, a cheery fire was crackling amidst the grove. "There. Good enough for you now, Tsarevich Paul?" she said, before returning to her bed of dry leaves.

"It's fine," Paul grumbled. Seeing that she still held her injured arm awkwardly by her side, he unwound the silk cravat from around his neck and wrapped it around her wound. Her skin was pleasantly warm under his fingertips. No wonder she didn't need a fire. She watched him with twinkling eyes but made no remark on his handiwork, and only said a quiet "Thank you" once he finished.

He went back to the fire and tried his best to make himself comfortable. He wondered if his absence had been noticed at the palace, or they'd simply shrugged it off and made a point to lock the doors from now on, as they had after he'd snuck out of the nursery when he was a child. He wondered if his mother would care.

Then he became aware of whispery voices and giggles all around him, soft, tinkling sounds that nevertheless hid a menacing note, like the wind blowing through broken glass. He opened his eyes and saw little flickers of light among the tall grass, surrounding them, moving closer and closer.

"What—what are those?" he asked, hugging his sword closer to himself.

The girl lifted her head and glanced at the lights. "Oh, those are the leshy's little children. Harmless creatures. They're just curious." She lay back down and promptly went to sleep.

But Paul couldn't sleep. The lights were now just on the very edge of the fire's halo, and he could see that they were indeed the same phosphoric eyes as the leshy's, only these were set on bodies that resembled toadstools or broken twigs and rotten leaves. He shivered, thinking how close he'd come to picking up one of them for the fire by mistake. Compared to the leshy, they were much lighter on their feet—if they even had feet—flitting from bush to bush, branch to branch, crowding, jostling, pushing each other forward, daring each other to get closer to Paul.

Then they began to sing:

Pavel, Paul, little Pashenka Scolded by his mama He runs away from home, he falls down a lane And no one hears from Pashenka ever again.

At this, Paul's fear was replaced by anger, and he picked up his plumed hat by the fire and threw it as hard as he could at those glow-worm eyes. "Shut up!" he shouted.

"Stop tossing things about, you ninny," came the girl's irritated voice from under the folds of the cloak, "and go to sleep."

The lights scattered, leaving behind a peal of burbling laughs that soon faded into the murmur of the stream. Paul lay still, listening to the sounds of the forest for a long, long time, until eventually, exhaustion overcame him, and he slept.

Chapter 3

1. Les chestnoi: honorable one of the forest. 2. Les pravedniy: righteous one of the forest.

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

23 notes · View notes