#anna's writing

[drowning-in-cacophony]

gentle like a wave

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 269: Living Weapon

[Summary: it's not as easy as thought to use this weapon]

“Bloody hell,” one of the men breathe, bug eyed and gaping. She sighs and places down her shears – her flower dead-heading is clearly a job that’s going to have to wait for another day.

They’d burst through the waterfall with gleaming guns and preposterous postures. The same story, then, and she reads that truth in the leader’s eyes as he blusters his way forward, a demand already tracing the shape of his lips. There’s an ugly-looking moustache quivering above his upper lip. She crosses her legs, tucking her ankles neatly away, backed against her latest crop of flowers. Sitting down, she’s found, puts them on the back foot constantly. They expect one image; have no idea what to do with what she gives them.

They’re all clearly shocked by what they’ve discovered here. What story was it this time? A push through the water and there would lie a sword, enchanted beyond all measure. Splash droplets from hair and wrap a hand around the greatest machine gun in history. Wipe eyes and find a bomb that’d end all wars. The leader – a commander, by the badge on his lapel – has begun to put together the pieces. Behind the water, behind all the strife to get here, and you’ll find a weapon. And well, it’s not bloody likely to just be her shears now, is it?

“On behalf of the United Squadrons, I am requesting your use,” the Commander says, wobbling himself to his full height. She presses fingertips against the seam of her trousers.

“That’s not how we do things here, Commander,” she says flatly, and continues before she has to listen to any bluster. “Tell me what you want.”

His eyes water. At his side, his hand flexes, though the handgun tucked in his holster remains sheathed. She hopes it stays that way: threatening their way to what they want never works out well. “You are the thing we’re looking for?”

How am I meant to know if you won’t tell me what it is? But it’s obvious, since no-one other than old Nana ever comes here for other means, so she gives him a gentle incline to blow his heartbeat wild. A bead of sweat hangs like a pearl, suspended at his temple.

“Then you must understand,” he begins, quick-paced, a little sanctimonious. “There is a war going on out there and-”

“No. I said tell me what you want. Not what’s going on.”

The man blinks. Behind him, his soldiers too. She sees the nervous licks of their lips, the hungry ones too. How long have they travelled to find her? There’s a hollow sort of look to their cheeks, but then she finds the soldiers often do end up concaved in face. Cheeks first, then the skulls. Once, such a man had stumbled in here and died before he could even tell her anything. His broken skull, along with his better condition bones, lie underneath the oak tree some stone throw’s away.

At least, despite the blinking, he gets to the point. “I want your power.”

“To?”

“To-? To destroy the enemy, of course! To bring justice to the land, to restore order, to-”

“No.” She nods to herself. “Next.”

The Commander stares at her, mouth hanging open. It’s quite an unseemly look to the man, so she glances to the man hovering a few steps behind. Maybe he’s the next-in-command, standing slightly closer to denote that; mostly, she just finds the next face she can. One hand reaching up, she beckons him forward with a twitch of her fingers, a raise of her brow when his step falters. His eyes dart to his Commander, uncertainty spoiling blue eyes like a damn rainstorm.

“What do you mean next?” the Commander blurts out with, cheeks going steadily red. “Didn’t you listen to me? I said-”

“I heard.” Her tone creaks, an old floorboard in distaste. “I’m not convinced by you.”

“Not convinced? Lady, do you know who you are talking to?”

She blinks, once. “Next. I won’t ask again. Either it’s next, or you’ll all leave.”

“We most certainly will not, not until you have-”

“Remember what you have come for.” Her voice now is gentle, in the way the sea goes before a massive wave rushes in to sweep a land clear. The Commander freezes, a man well acquainted with the gentle sort of danger. His throat throbs, a pulse she can see, easy enough to rip out. His eyes bulge, fish-like; she watches his thoughts go through him like the water from the waterfall.

There is this: the Commander might be the sort she doesn’t deal with, but he knows when to step back.

Stiffly, mind you, with his own distaste echoing around his face, loud as a church’s bell. Bewildered for a moment, his second is left standing on the precipice. There is a space to be filled, and she waits with expectation.

This second man takes a deep breath and a small step forward. His gun, which had been mostly lowered from the moment they’d all locked eyes with her, goes completely slack to his side. She reads his threading nerves, pounding a sickening drumbeat behind his skin.

“Tell me what you want,” she says.

The man exhales, a gust of wind to graze her cheek. “I want you to help us free the people.”

She says nothing. The gap in which to be filled, and he does not disappoint in understanding the intention. Cautious words, stalking a deer through a crispy field, he keeps on speaking.

“They suffer under a regime. I don’t know if what we intend will be better – I can’t predict it – but I know I want to try and make a place better than what it is. I want to improve things, for them.”

She taps her fingertips against the seam. “Thank you for your inquiry,” she says, and purses her lips. The man understands this too, bowing his head and waiting in silence, even as his Commander makes a few huffing noises somewhere behind him. She flexes her other hand, fingers weary already.

But this is how the agreement must go. They can ask, and if they give her an answer that meets her requirements, then she has to say yes, weariness or not.

A weapon cannot be too tired to fire, after all.

She raises her head, and gives him the answer.

[mournfulroses]

Marina Tsvetaeva, from The Essential Poems of Marina Tsvetaeva; "For Anna Akhmatova,"

[spn2006]

the fact that eric kripke isn't even christian really adds something to the way christianity is depicted on supernatural. because its really not about being christian at all, but about living in america, a country dominated by christianity, and having to decide for yourself how to handle that. faith is huge in supernatural, and the mythology of the show is very bible-centric, but notably, christ is never there. even sam, who starts out revering the angels, who once said he prays every night, doesn't actually call himself a christian or imply that he believes in jesus--the show is steeped in christianity and biblical lore and yet neither sam nor dean are christians. in fact, over and over again the church itself is depicted as a haunted house that sam and dean will only ever enter as strangers, as outsiders. priests, preachers, faith healers, chapels, crypts, etc. are all just iconography that create an intense sense of unease that sam and dean respond to instantly. as a jew, its very relatable. an essential part of living in america when you're not christian is that exact sense of unease, of knowing that the culture of your country has ensured that you'll get knocked over by christianity no matter where you go, that you'll see hundreds of people truly believing they're good people while doing awful things in the name of their god, and you have no choice but to confront that. kripke gets it

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"I BELIEVE THERE IS A GOD. BUT I'M NOT SURE HE STILL BELIEVES IN US." // MUSINGS ABOUT GOD

Vi Khi Nao Fish in Exile // pinterest // Ada Limón The Echo Sounder, from "Lucky Wreck" // Mitski Bug Like an Angel // Margaret Atwood Half Hanged Mary // Ethel Cain American Teenager // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Elle Emerson Regarding the Röttgen Pietà // Yves Olade Belovéd // Kim Addonizio Wild Nights from "Tell Me" // Jensen McRae Machines // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Anna Kamienska A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook (tr. Clare Cavanagh) // Tom Waits Day After Tomorrow // pinterest // Lauren Camp Upon Taking the Universe One Thing at a Time

[sharp-fanged13]

What a wonderful occassion to remember this happened and is canon af:

[feral-ballad]

Everything is still. I lie still at the center of the hunger that is actually grief,

Anne de Marcken, from It Lasts Forever and Then It's Over

[anna-scribbles]

calling all miraculous fans who watched anime in middle school

PLEASE tell me what you think adrien’s favorite anime is. bonus points for characters you think he would relate to / want to be friends with

[elialys]

ANNA TORV as Dr. Wendy Carr (Mindhunter) | 1.04

[my-own-personal-dragon-horde]

That fucking hospital scene…that is a sequence that I’m glad it didn’t feel like playing the game. Instead, I felt like I wasn’t breathing the entire time. That was one of the most effective sequences of television I’ve ever seen, from the acting to the emphasis on the brutality.

The way Joel seemed to be walking through a dream…that’s the part that hit the hardest. We as the audience were hyperaware of his actions, while he was barely there at all—Sarah and his grief and Ellie were the only things on his mind.

Neil Druckmann really wrote a story that turned a mirror on humanity, and my god am I thankful for both the game and this adaptation.

[thorias]

s2g, we're all gonna get fat as hell with how much Gail Simone is feeding us.

Holy gods, it is refreshing to finally have a writer who actually likes Romy together, doesn't write them as dysfunctional or treating each other like shit, etc. They actually get to be a happy, loving, affectionate married couple now. See how easy that is, Tom Brevoort? lol

Inject this issue into my veins, Gail. You're doing the lord's work.

[spaceorphan18]

Alright. So. This is a thing that happened....

I... maybe have written my first real X-Men - Rogue/Gambit fic. Inspired by an interview X-Men 97 Gambit Voice Actor did. And then, it got posted to Twitter. And then said Gambit Voice Actor reblogged it, READ IT, and commented.

I am so... shellshocked you guys. I cannot believe this happened. I just... I was shaking when I found out today. This is wild and amazing and I'm so flattered and wow. I just can't even believe it.

I have literally been smiling all day.

<3

[drowning-in-cacophony]

what's left

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 274: Empty House

Dust blows in through a cracked window pane. The edges, dripping with a light algae, wind-buffeted smooth like sea-glass. The floorboards groan gently underfoot, the sounds of a dying ship about to go under.

She curls her hand around the key.

               When dusk comes, she makes a fire in the corner of the living room. Winding grooves in the wood, leading to the tips of her toes as she crouches down by the warmth. The flickering yellows, burning oranges; they don’t look more than dull, drenched in the shadows of this room. The sounds echo, a little brassy on the edges with nothing to muffle the noise again.

Her silhouette in grey sleeps on the wall behind her. A dark grey ghost.

Just another to stain the remains of the wallpaper.

               A breeze wraps itself around the chipping, flaking bricks. A vicious freeze to grind away at the mortar, seeping through all the scars gouged so deep between all the slabs. Despite the fire, she feels the icy cold fingers of the breeze, creeping at her collar, pressing the bones of her spine like piano keys. The one in her hand; there’ll be an imprint bored into her palm now, a bruised tattoo. The loop at the top, two swirls meeting in a kiss. The pin release at the bottom, a code to a lock long broken now. If she closes her eyes and listens, she could probably hear the thing swinging against the shabby front door, a last dance in the gusts. The closest thing to a clock, the seconds piling on by, each one bringing her that one step closer to the future. One step from the past.

               The fire keeps pace, fed from the broken timber she finds piled up in the middle of the kitchen, the cabinets yanked aback, spread like ribs. She presses her feet over broken tiles that mutter their pain from her weight, scraped along the edges. The hull, then, paint clawed away by the rocks running it aground. When the wood burns, the smoke hurts the back of her throat.

Even when the light outside of the splintering glass spills to wine dark, the fire still looks washed out. Moody greys with a suggestion of colour; if she put her fingertips among the licking, would it even hurt with colours like this?

               Moonlight filters a quiet weakness, a web of fractures across a sweat-drenched floor. Eventually, her hand uncurls, the antique finish of the key coming into sight. Her back to the fire keeps the thing painted only in silvers, cold blacks and unfeeling highlights. It’s part of her now, that’s how it feels. An imprint pressed in to make a new hollow, so it could settle among her layers of flesh and veins, tangling itself in. United, together.

But she can’t be the new centrepiece for an empty house forever.

               The fire banks to embers by dawn’s break, a stirring of ashes to mingle with the dust. A perfect harmony, char to the world’s neglect, until it’s all inseparable.

The key sits waiting against her palm, a reluctant question tied about it. Tomorrow, she decides.

She’ll leave tomorrow.

[mournfulroses]

Anna de Noailles, translated by Jethro Bithell, from Poems; “Tale of Hearts”

[itsv3n0r1s]

WHEN I CATCH YOU, max verstappen

pairing, max verstappen x fem! gasly! reader

summary, in which max starts the 2024 season with a bang...

note, i see the mistakes but i'm honestly too lazy to fix them :(

faceclaim, camila morrone

masterlist┊༉┊the winner's circle masterlist ┊༉┊taglist

instagram, ༉‧₊˚.

forthegirlsf1news

liked by maxverstappen1, username, and 843,652 others

forthegirlsf1news 3 time world champion max verstappen seen kissing mystery girl in monaco ahead of the 2024 season, what do you guys think is this a new wag or a possible fling?

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yngasly posted 16 hours ago

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yngasly

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 2,673,981 others

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tagged maxverstappen1

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twitter, ༉‧₊˚.

[odraziduse]

He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

[thoughtkick]

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms.

Anna Akhmatova, You Will Hear Thunder