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beauty-and-passion · 3 years

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What Eurovision 2021 taught us

1. That a nice, enjoyable show was possible (even if 4 presenters are still too much)

Of course nothing can beat Love Love Peace Peace (even if Ja Ja Ding Dong does its best), but this year's intermissions were very enjoyable.

We expected something flashy and over the top because hey, The Netherlands. Sex, drugs, gays and all that jazz.

But instead Covid surprised us. And then The Netherlands surprised us even more, by making a very enjoyable show, despite the restrictions. My personal favourites were:

The water intermission of the first semi-final. I loved the mixed feelings, how water is both scary and respected, for being such a powerful, unstoppable force.

The rooftop concerts during the final. Social distancing? Sure, no problem, let's make the past winners sing on top of some roofs all over Rotterdam. That was pure genius, I loved it so much.

On the other hand, the presenters were basically all useless. We could've had just two of them instead of four. But hey, at least they weren't as cringy as the three scary ukranians from 2017 or the useless four ladies from Portugal. The true highlights of the show were the intermissions, the guests and especially the songs themselves and this is perfectly good for me.

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2. That we can live in a world without boring ass ballads

I’ve never been so proud of the Eurovision public, especially during the second semifinal: that evening was PACKED with ballads. Boring ballad after boring ballad, with just a couple more funny songs in between.

The ballads were all left behind. Even the two Amen. And I love the irony we chose El Diablo and the finnish band for the final, but no Amen. No saints allowed, only the norwegian angel. As it always should be.

And so we had the best final I've seen since I started following Eurovision in 2014. Catchy songs, dance songs, upbeat songs. And power ballads. Yes, ballads can still have a place, but only if they're good.

Because yes, Switzerland and France were good. Very good. Just not as good as the ones the public wanted.

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3. That we want Eurovision, not Englishvision

Every year, the same message blasts from all Europeans: send a song in your native language. This show is supposed to make other people from Europe (and the rest of the world) to know more about your own country, to enjoy its rhythm and to listen to something we don't usually hear. So why waste this huge opportunity, to bring a generic song in English?

Because the English song wins. Because we all understand English, so English has more chances.

Flash news: GUESS WHO WON THIS YEAR. No, it’s not the generic English song.

The public has been crystal clear, the final poll is even clearer: the top five includes an italian song, an ukraine song, two french songs and only one english song. We want different styles and rhythms, we want to listen to Europe.

So I want to give my full thank you to:

Albania: amazing song, great voice, wonderful language. Do it again.

Serbia: these ladies are fantastic, their song is great and they sang it in their language so I love them

Switzerland: thank you for leaving English to the side to give us some good french

Spain: the song wasn't as good as Universo, but it was in sexy spanish, so thank you for using it almost every year

Danemark: the song was terrible, but it was in your language and this alone deserves everything

France: I know we all make fun of you for being France, but your language is perfect for songs, so thank you for always using it

Ukraine: take note, Ukraine, because Europe is madly in love with your language and your rhythm

Italy: our language is beautiful, so thank you for delivering every year

While my biggest biases go to:

Greece: a generic pop song with no balkan rhythm and no greek either? An absolute shame, greek should always be used for songs.

Russia: russian language is very melodious and yes, we got something this year, but what about bringing a full russian song? We want it!

Germany: I may sound crazy, but I honestly think german language is good for songs. It's not like the mediterranean languages, but it still works. So please, do not be scared and show what you can do with it!

Scandinavian countries: why do you never want to bring your own language? Do it, don't be scared! Yes, Sweden, I'm talking with you: you still never tried to bring something in swedish, so do it.

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4. That we don't want Americans to play with us

For reasons we still have to understand, Flo Rida was competing this year. And he was competing for San Marino, the smallest European country.

I'm pretty sure they took some time to explain to him what was going on, where he was, where San Marino is, wtf was happening, why there were sexy italians and ukranian witches and a norwegian angel and loads of beautiful women everywhere.

And I loved how we all send memes about this, about ahahah why is Flo Rida here, what if San Marino wins where would they host Eurovision, all while enjoying an actual catchy song.

And then, in the end, Flo Rida basically disappeared. Who remembers Flo Rida, when we got Ukraine, Italy, Finland, Iceland, and the UK? And Germany being wholesome? And the love story between Norway and Azerbaijan? We collectively forgot about him and I think it's very sexy from Europe to just say "nope" and push America away, even if for just one week.

And this isn't the first time: we basically showed Madonna in a corner in 2019, thanks to Mans, Eleni, Verka and Conchita. Once again, Europeans knows what they want: we don't want Americans. Australia can because they're like that little brother we took under our wing for no reason and now it's part of us. But not Americans.

The rest of the year is all yours, but one week is ours.

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5. That we can lose like bosses

This year, the voting results have been absolutely insane and FOUR COUNTRIES got zero points from the public, while the UK got both zero points from the public AND the jury.

Don't get me wrong, the song was bad. And yes, Brexit played a role in this. And yes, hating England is Europe’s favourite sport.

But can we please all take a moment and appreciate how James Newman reacted? The public gave him a round of applause and he celebrated this achievement like a boss.

And he had all the reasons! He achieved something incredible, he unlocked something that this new voting system was supposed to never lead to. But he did it. So hats off to you, my boy: My Last Breath was better.

Germany is also used to the bottom of the chart, but this year I really thought Jendrik could have a chance to achieve a higher position. The song was funny, carefree, lively, the hand costume was the kind of trash we need and the message was nice as well. But he still got 3 points.

Despite that, Jendrik celebrated like a maniac and seeing his this happy made me happy as well. I really wish him the best.

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6. That FUCK YOU JURY

Again, same message every year: the jury vote should be eliminated. It's a fucking farce and their votes have nothing to do with what the public want.

The jury focuses on the voices, except when they don't, and clearly giving points to your neighbours is because you like the song, not because they're your neighbours.

I usually make fun of Greece and Cyprus showing eternal love to each other, by giving 12 points to each other every year, but this time, it sounded even more stupid than usual. It really looked like a farce. Why should we see this farce? Why can't we just choose what the public wants? So at least we would blame ourselves for our shitty musical tastes.

Even if I'm pretty sure we all have great musical tastes. Let's not forget that in 2019 the public's winner was Norway, with a song that mixed english, a catchy rhythm and an amazing part in yoik language. Arcade is good as well, but we cannot deny the norwegian entry was a lot more interesting.

And this year, the public's taste was flawless:

Look at this beauty: italian glam rock, ukranian techno folk, french powerful ballad, finnish hard rock and whatever that thing was with Iceland.

There's variety, there's everything for everyone. And there are native languages. Italian, Ukranian, and French on top three, followed by English.

Moral of the story: the public is great and the jury should be abolished forever.

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7. That Ukranian technofolk is all we needed in our lives

I didn’t see enough love for Go_A, so as italian, I think it's my sworn duty to give my appreciation to them and their amazing entry, because this band is awesome and Shum is currently on top of the Spotify top 50 - as it should be, because everyone should listen to it and join this slavic rave party.

I already liked their entry for 2020, Solovey. But I also liked My Last Breath from the UK and Universo from Spain. And this year they brought two of the worst songs. So I was very wary of Go_A.

But Shum is an absolute blast. Katerina Pavlenko's voice is unique and the song is even more, because based on ukranian folklore and traditional dances to summon the spirit of spring. They managed to teach something to all Europe in a three minute song and I think that’s incredibly sexy of them.

And so, I searched for other songs and OMG, I don’t know how it’s possible, but they are all great. Rano-Ranenko, Zhalmenina, Tanula, they all are perfect and I’m in love with this band.

And if all of this is not enough, THEY DID A COVER OF DANCING LASHA TUMBAI. The most iconic Eurovision song, sang by our god Verka. And this is the coolest, most badass cover ever in the whole universe. Please listen to it HERE everyone needs to hear this.

So thank you, Ukraine, for giving us Go_A. We all had a small empty place in our hearts and this place has ben perfectly filled by them.

And yif you think you don’t need ukranian technofolk, is only because you still haven’t listened to it. Please listen and enjoy Shum. You’re welcome.

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8. That rock and roll never dies (and Italy’s well deserved victory)

The last time Italy won was in 19-fucking-90. 31 years ago. I was just born.

And now, they finally won again. And what a song! Despite being italian, I've never listened to Maneskin before, but oh damn, this song is good. Not all their songs are, but this one is. And also Morirò da re.

Their show was perfect as well. This post is really eye-opening about how well they put on their show. The use of the stage, the movements, everything has been part of a great performance, even their clothes. Damiano's voice never faltered, despite having an entire continent watching him. They handled the stage like bosses, despite being only in their twenties. And they gave us some good fucking rock.

And so the public said a loud "FUCK YOU" to the jury and chose its winners. The sassy, sexy italians.

And yes, I know that there has been a lot of petty polemics because those youngsters are having drugs!1!! as if they were a bunch of idiots who used drugs on international TV, with their manager sitting next to them.

Of course it was a pointless accusation and honestly I don't care if some people are sore losers. The drug results were negative anyway, what a shocker.

What we should truly think about is how strong the Maneskin's bladders are, because they spent the whole evening of the final drinking the entire alcohol supply of the Eurovision and, at the end, they were still happy and cool. Hats off to you, you sexy people.

This man is just iconic, why did I miss him before.

Also, have some more Maneskin. You know, as a treat.

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9. That solidarity and wholesomeness are the biggest winners

It's just beautiful to see these nice people, from all over Europe, bonding, having fun, taking photos together and being friends.

The true winner of this, is probably Norway: Tix wanted to have a good time and he had a good time. The video of him vibing with Ukraine and Germany while listening Hard Rock Hallelujah is the best (HERE). His love story with Efendi from Azerbaijan is even better (please, check the video on his youtube channel, it's hilarious). I don't like his song, but he's a great guy and deserves everything.

The italian and finnish rock relationship is also great. Maneskin and Dark Sides found each other, considering they were the only two rock bands in the competition, so mutual appreciation was inevitable.

But Damiano is also a man of culture and he appreciates Ukraine's entry. And Ukraine appreciates both Finland and Italy. Is this what world peace looks like? Because I love it.

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10. That Italians will be Europe's clowns again (and you're all allowed to make fun of us)

Beware, Europe: we Italians are messy and chaotic, our presenters don’t know a single word in English, we are homoerotic AND homophobic at the same time, our musical competitions are so fucking sloooow... let’s say next year’s Eurovision is going to be interesting.

And yes, you’re allowed to make fun of us. We don’t care, we won, so we deserve to be Europe’s clowns once again.

And I don’t know who the presenters will be (my bets are on everyone’s favourites: Fiorello, Amadeus and Malgioglio), I don’t know how we will ridicule ourselves once again, I don’t know where will we find the money to put on the show, I don’t know how ungodly long it will be... but I know that Mans Zelmerlow will be part of it. This man loves Eurovision just like all of us, so I can already see him packing his suitcase and planning his flight to Italy. Come to us, Mans, we will wait for you. We actually need an English presenter, so if you have nothing else to do...

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y0itsbri · 3 years

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Falling for You

ballet au one-shot for @gallavichthings 's a.u.gust

summary: dance instructor mickey! ian keeps messing up the lifts with the dancers, and mickey cannot have his girls injured because of this himbo, even if he is hot. he makes ian stay after class to practice on him -- and he swears there's no ulterior motives. but they're so close and his hands are all over him and he can feel his breath and it is so unprofessional but fuck it.

words: 2k

Mickey had a new guy in his class that wasn't doing... well... by any standards. Alright, the dude sucked. Mickey had been a ballet instructor for several years and not once has he met a dancer as uncoordinated and unbalanced as Ian fucking Gallagher.

Somehow, Ian had managed to not only rip the ballet barre off of the goddamn wall in his attempt at a grand plie, fallen flat on his face after pas de chat gone wrong, but he also managed to launch his fellow ballerinas onto the floor instead of the air.

He was a disaster.

Mickey had better shit to do with his time at the studio than patch up his dancers, and studio, after Gallagher's classes. Svetlana's father would have his ass if she got injured on his watch. And Ian being the only guy in their class, there was no way for him not to share the front-and-center spotlight with Svetlana.

Yeah, Mickey wasn't letting Ian any-fucking-where near Svet if he could help it. At least in his current state. Dude was a piece of work.

Mickey figured he would be a lot more upset about all this if Ian's apologetic puppy dog eyes weren't so goddamn convincing.

Fucking Gallagher.

"Ayo, Mands! Come help me with this!" Mickey called, echoing in the studio, now nearly empty besides the Milkovich siblings and a six-foot-tall ginger man looking both utterly clueless and utterly terrified. Mickey was utterly hopeless.

Mandy popped in the doorframe, sliding her shoes on but leaving them untied.

"Can't! I got actual shit to do! I don't live and breathe the studio like your sorry ass. No offense, Ian, my brother is great, please stay. Full offense, Mickey, get a fucking life!"

Mickey was left speechless and slightly embarrassed by Mandy's outburst and only managed to flip her off before she was out the door.

"Charming sister you got there," Ian let a quiet laugh slip before schooling his expression at Mickey's lack of amusement.

Mickey sighed and rubbed his hands down the length of his face for a moment. Ian and Mickey held eye contact a bit longer before Mickey abruptly straightened up and clapped his hands together. The noise startled Ian from his own amused trance.

"Alright, Clifford, how do you feel about private lessons for a little bit until you're not tripping over your own feet?"

Ian stepped forward to argue, but, proving Mickey's point, stumbled over the shoes on the floor in front of him. He didn't miss the way that Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side.

"Can't afford extra classes," Ian shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"It's on me," Mickey swiped his top lip. He didn't miss the way that Ian's gaze lingered on his mouth,"Kinda need you..." really want you, "to, uh, look good..." as if he doesn't already, fucking red-headed alien-looking motherfucker, "on the floor..." of my bedroom, goddamn it, Mick, get it together! "the, uh, dance floor."

Ian paused, considering the way that Mickey was stumbling over his words in a way that one might call endearing, another might call the-worst-fucking-experience-of-his-life.

"I'll do it."

Do me. Seriously, go drink some water, oh my god.

Mickey literally took a sip from his water bottle, hoping that it would at least calm his nerves. He was a professional!

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You free after class?" A pause, "To work on some skills, I mean."

"It's a date," Ian smirked, leaning down to pick up his shoes from the ground in front of him. By the time he was upright again, Mickey had already started walking away, but the blush on his cheeks and the back of his neck could be spotted from a mile away. He was utterly fucked.

Mickey yawned and got up from his stretching position on the floor. He walked over to the stereo, systematically knocking his dancer's feet on his way over until they were all turned out and pointed.

"No Orange Boy today?" Svetlana asked, meeting Mickey's eyes with a challenging stare.

Mickey ignored the chorus of "He's so hot!" "Have you seen his arms?" and "Ian's the nicest!" from the rest of the girls.

Svetlana raised her eyebrow in question and Mickey's defenses flew out the window. This goddamn power dynamic was going to be the death of him.

"I put him on private lessons until he's no longer a disruption to the class," he shrugged.

"Aww," one brunette pouted.

"Disruption to class or disruption to tiny bulge in your pants?" Svetlana smirked, earning some scandalized gasps from the other dancers.

Mickey flipped her off, "The fucker made me take out a greater insurance policy with all his accidents, don't be fucking absurd."

A blonde nodded understandingly from the back of the class, "My ankle is still a little funky from the last lift we tried."

Mickey held his arms out in a display of I-told-you-so and Svetlana rolled her eyes.

"Great!" Mickey clapped his hands together, earning the full attention of his class as they hurried to their feet, "Now that all the hot drama is outta the air, let's do a quick warm up combo across the floor. Chasse step pas de bourree double pirouette step arabesque, in 5, 6, 7, 8..."

Ian had been waiting outside the studio for the last ten minutes of class, more-so watching his instructor shift around than paying attention to what the dancers were actually doing. That's probably what got him into his current predicament, and he couldn't decide whether that was a curse or a blessing. Mickey's arms flexed as he pointed across the room to call out someone's weak spot.

Yup, it was a blessing.

Oh shit, Mickey was looking his way. Was this a double sided mirror? No, of course not. Why would there be a double sided mirror? Oh, Mickey was definitely staring at him. Fuck. Wait, did he just wink? No way, he must've just blinked. With one eye. Yeah, totally normal. Nothing to overthink, Ian.

Get it together!

Mickey dismissed his class five minutes early and it had nothing to do with the Jolly Ginger Giant standing outside his studio.

While most of his dancers wordlessly accepted the easy out, Svetlana stayed back to taunt. "Have fun with private lessons," she sneered, jerking off an invisible cock.

"Choke on it," Mickey retorted tossing her warm-up jacket at her face, which she swiftly caught.

Svetlana turned and made a show of looking Ian up and down, his cheeks turning pink under her intense gaze. She faced Mickey head on, "You will be vegetable stew by the time this man is done with you."

The fuck does that mean?

Sometimes Mickey thought that Svetlana spoke in riddles just to mess with him. He blamed it on the Russian accent, never mind he was part Ukrainian himself. The languages were similar, but not identical, fuck you very much.

But, damn, forget that, Gallagher looked good. He was wearing his usual white tank top and grey sweatpants, but Mickey never got the opportunity to openly ogle in class. Not that that was what he was doing now.

Ian returned the long look appreciatively before stepping closer and Mickey snapped back into professionalism, well as far as professionalism goes, Milkovich-style.

He turned his back on the bane of his pathetic existence and snapped a quick but polite, "Get your shoes on and we can get started."

"Oh, right."

That seemed to be enough to get the gears in Ian's head going again as he dropped his bag to the floor, echoing in the truly empty studio, and dropping down onto the floor himself to secure his ballet shoes, which may as well be clown shoes for as big as his feet were. Mickey fit into the same brand as the girls, but he had to order special for Gallagher.

"Thanks for doing this, Mickey."

Mickey. The way that this man said his name was making him feel all sorts of flustered that he would most definitely deny.

"Mandy said you don't usually make exceptions."

"Gotta catch you up to speed or you're gonna be dancing with the 5 year-olds, man."

Ian tilted his head considering.

Mickey frowned, "Don't do it."

Ian smirked and Mickey had to look away as a grin and blush creeped up on his own face.

"Alright, so we'll start you off with the basics."

Mickey went through their normal class routine, but broke it down slowly, pausing to explain certain positions in details he couldn't afford to spend time with in class, specifically how not to fall. It should have been fairly obvious in his opinion, but Ian still managed somehow. The first few times, he was on the floor before Mickey even knew he was going down.

But the third, Mickey made a mistake. Mickey instinctively reached out to catch him.

As soon as he realized where his hands were, he pulled them off like he'd been burned, which he may have well been. He pulled his gaze to his feet, studying the floor while he composed himself.

"Mickey," Ian waited until he looked up, and then he spoke so quietly, "You can touch me."

And what made things worse was that Ian's dazzling eyes left little to the imagination. They both knew where this was going, and the moment was too intense too quick. The longer their eyes held, the hotter Mickey felt his neck grow.

"Ya know," Ian stepped closer. "To fix my positions..."

Mickey swallowed, "Uh, I think we're done for today."

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He never meant them to begin with. But if Ian stayed any longer, Mickey was going to climb him like a tree and that really wasn't under his personal code of professionalism, no matter how loose those terms may be to begin with. It was getting late anyways, he reasoned with himself.

"What about the lifts? That's the important part, right?" Ian questioned, eyes pleading like he would die without this one skill being taught to him by his oh-so-unprofessional instructor.

Mickey sighed. Ya know what? Fuck it.

Mickey sauntered over to Ian, pressed his back to Ian's front, and grabbed one of Ian's massive hands and placed it on his own waist.

Ian gave an experimental squeeze and Mickey softened in his grip.

Ridiculous.

"We're not doing the lift are we?" Ian murmured breathily, hot air making the hairs on the back of Mickey's neck tingle.

"What do you think, Firecrotch?" Mickey pushed his weight back into Ian's chest, which would be the second mistake of the day.

Ian toppled over backwards, landing with a painful sounding thud and sending Mickey down on top of him before he rolled off the the side with a groan.

Ian started laughing and Mickey was concerned. Was this idiot actually fucking concussed this time? He wasn't sure how he would explain this to his insurance company.

Mickey straddled Ian's lap, gently slapping his face, "Are you good, man? Alive?"

"Never better." Ian was still smiling like an absolute goof.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in concern.

"Seriously, I just can't play things cool," Ian raised his hips to grind against Mickey's ass, "Obviously."

"You're an idiot," Mickey rolled his eyes, and all Ian could do was grin and reach up towards Mickey's neck, pulling his down until their lips almost touched, sharing breaths and excitement.

"Maybe," another breath, "But I still got you to fall for me."

It was Mickey's turn to laugh, more of a raspy exhale than anything. His "fuck you" was almost lost between them as they fell together at last.

(side note: this was the lift that they were going to do, so i feel like the hand on the waist makes sense -- gotta have a visual lmao)

#i might have an idea for a sequel/series if anyone is interested: mandy pov of this and another one shot in their relationship era???#who knows #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #mandy milkovich #ian x mickey #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #svetlana yevgenivna #my posts

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e-m-christina · 4 years

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Serpent Of Sparta

Ivar The Boneless x Reader

PART ONE

Requested by @childishhoe

Summary: Ivar Lothbrok meets his match when he is introduced to Y/n Artròmitos, the daughter of a bloodthirsty Spartan king. She is sent to fight in Ivars army, after making an arrangement with Rollo, the Duke of Normandy.

With matching rage and ambition, Y/n feeds into Ivars flame, igniting feelings that neither of them thought they were capable of. But fire can easily be burnt out.

Series Overall Rating: 17+

Word Count: 2k

Comment to be added to taglist. Requests are open.

MASTERLIST

* * *

TWO MONTHS AGO

Your incarnadine wrap dress fluttered in the wind, fastened only by the golden broach of nobility at your exposed shoulder. Rays of early morning sun glinted off the wine glass that was being twirled between your fingers, as you watched the city from the castle of Mistras. A new batch of children were being piled into carriages, waiting to be sent off as slaves, to the city of Athens.

“You cannot keep running from this marriage. I know you already rule Athens, but after the death of your husband, you must marry again!” You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes at your father’s remark.

“I have no time for love. I had to sacrifice love for respect. You know this much.” You took a seat opposite your father, who was running a hand over his grey beard. “On the contrary, the Athenians are weak. If I wanted to marry again, I would choose someone in a position of strength.” You said, rolling a grape between your pointer and thumb, making your father sigh.

“I know what you sacrificed, Y/n. What you had to do was terrible, but it was for the best. Both for you and your d-”

“Anyway,” You said, cutting your father off, “I am already Queen of Athens and the leader of the Spartan army. What use would a husband be?”

“Commander Y/n.” The doors of the hall burst open, revealing a puffed and red faced soldier. “The Duke Of Normandy has sent you this.” He passed you a piece of tinted brown parchment, bound by the wax stamp of Normandy.

“Leave me.” You waved your hand, and the warrior promptly left the room.

* * *

“Rollo is bringing a great ally, from a place named ‘Sparta.” Hvitserk said, standing beside his brother, Ivar, and King Harald. A fleet of blue Francia flags sailed towards them like great dragons on the dusky pewter ocean.

“I have heard little of this ally that Rollo is bringing.” Harald said, folding his arms across his chest. “But, what I have heard is that he is a great and fearsome warlord, and that his soldiers are blood-thirsty demons.”

“She. The ally is a she.” Hvitserk corrected Harald, watching Ivars expression turn into one of curiosity.

“What is her name then, dear brother?” Ivar asked, staring at the approaching ships with a new found excitement.

“Y/n. But she is often referred to as the ‘Serpent of Sparta.’” Hvitserk said, feeling uneasy about the glint in Ivars blue eyes. “And if I were you, I would stay out of her way. Her people basically worship her. They believe that she is a descendant of one of their Gods of battle. Ares I believe God was called.”

Ivar smirked. Not only was she apparently a great warrior, but she was also apparently descended from the gods?

“Well, I do look forward to meeting this ‘Y/n’. I would hope that she lives up to her reputation, otherwise I will be disappointed.” Ivar took one last glance at the oncoming fleet, before making his way back down the salt washed wooden deck, ignoring the ‘of course you do,’ from Harald.

* * *

Your nose wrinkled. The pungent smell of decaying fish grew stronger as you came to dock. After stopping in Francia to gather Rollo’s men, you and three hundred of your best Spartan warriors made for Norway. And after two weeks at sea, you were in a horrid mood. After an attempted assassination directed at you, you were pushed over the edge. Not only did you have to command your own men, Rollo had dropped out the day you were meant to leave, making you in charge of all his Francish soldiers. The problem other than the sheer amount of men to keep track of? There was a massive language barrier. You spoke Russian because you often went to Kiev, on trade deals, and you also spoke the language of the northmen. Not french.

Your days often consisted of making ludacris hand gestures to command the french, only to be laughed at by your own warriors. Though you only shared the same ship as your best warriors, the only person you could confide in was Freydis, a Norwegian slave that you had bought from Kattegat five years prior. She had taught you the language of Norway and you taught her Greek. Freydis had grown to be your best, and only friend. You had made her a free woman, yet she chose to stay by your side, through everything. She told you everything about herself and she knew almost everything about you.

“Get ready to dock!” You yelled, throwing thick reams of hemp rope attached to an anchor into the dark water, before climbing over the edge of the ship, Freydis and your best fighters trailing behind you. You were greeted by a large wooden dock surrounded by what looked like disheveled old fishermen.

“I thought these people would be made from tougher stuff.” You said in your language, making your warriors laugh, as you fixed the golden clasp of your crimson cloak. With one flick of your hand, your Spartan warriors started to march down the dock in a wild wave of red and gold. You were at the head, with Freydis and Araios, your second in command, by your side.

“Commander, I heard that this ‘Ivar the Boneless’ is a cripple. Talk about not being tough.” Araios chuckled. You did not not.

“So what? One of our gods, Hephaestus was crippled, yet he was a great warrior. I would not so lightly throw that statement around with malice.” You gave Araios a stern look, before continuing down the dock.

* * *

“I have been anticipating your arrival, Lady Y/n.” You came to a stop in front of the throne that King Harald Finehair was situated on. “We all have.” He finished, before waving his hand at Hvitserk, a Northman you had met in France, and a dark haired Viking that you had not yet met.

“You will address me as Queen or Commander Y/n.” You corrected King Harald. “Take your pick.” The dark haired Viking chuckled, before reaching out his hand.

“Do you know who I am?” He said, shaking your hand. Since he was obviously not King Harald, or Hvitserk, it was a simple enough equation to solve.

“You are Ivar The Boneless. Ragnar Lothbrok's youngest.” You said, making Ivar duck his head with a grin.

“And you have met my brother, I hear.” Ivar pointed to Hvitserk, who refused to make eye contact with you.

“Yes. I remember him. I had to put him in his place after he unsuccessfully tried to ‘woo’ me into bed.” You shot a look at Hvitserk, who was scratching the back of his head and glaring at his brother.

“Well, Queen Y/n, I am sure that we can thank the Gods that you and your men have arrived unharmed. Though, I must ask, where is Rollo?” King Harald said, moving from his throne to sit at a table with Ivar and Hvitserk, indicating for you to do the same.

“Yes, I give thanks to Poseidon for a good passage.” You said, taking a seat opposite the northmen. “As for Duke Rollo, he had urgent business along the Silk Road to attend to.”

“I am sure that you will fare well in his stead. But for now, make yourself comfortable. Tonight there will be a great feast to mark your arrival.”

* * *

Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, dried salmon and whale in a green sauce, cheese you brought from Francia that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The feast was certainly large and exciting. But it was not the type of food you and your warriors were used to. Usually, you had lean chicken breast and a small bunch of grapes, greens, bread and the occasional fish. All because a doctor in Athens had carried out research to conclude that those foods helped with building of muscle. The servants that the Northmen called ‘thralls’, were all young women dressed in greys rags, moved wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.

“Why are your Spartan soldiers eating outside?” Ivar asked you, finding it odd that only the warriors from Francia and Norway were in the feasting hall.

“We eat outside for the most part. You said, taking a sip of Mead. The drink of the northmen was certainly different to your usual wine, but it was a welcome difference. “They also sleep outside in trenches. My people believe that it makes them stronger. Little girls and boys born in Sparta, are placed in a number of trials. They have to fight and fend for themselves. If they can’t, they either are left on a hillside to die, or they are sent to the City of Athens as slaves.”

“We do something similar. We leave the weak out to die. But we do not test our children like that. Is that not too harsh?” Ivar said, leaning forward, making you chuckle.

“Ivar, if you want to be the best, you have to have the best warriors. And because I am sitting here right now, proves that you do not have the best warriors.” You said. Ivar narrowed his eyes as he tipped his cup of mead back and placed it on the table.

“We do have good warriors. We were just out numbered, because Bjorn had hired the help of the woodland fighters from Sweden.” Ivar crossed his arms, clearly annoyed that you would suggest his army was not sufficient. You had to laugh. Were these men being serious?

“Forgive me, I forget that the warriors of your people are not on the same level as mine.” You smirked into your horn of mead, watching as offence flickered over Ivars face.

“And why would you say that?” Hvitserk said, trying to defuse Ivars switch.

“The Battle of Thermopylae. Three hundred of my Spartan warriors fought against a vast army of the Persians. There were thousands of them, yet, we still won. Yes, we did have the advantage of land, being that we were on the high ground, but non the less. And you tell me that with a huge heathen army, you could not win because the other side had a couple hundred more warriors?” You said, making Ivar scoff.

“Well, then it was fated. The Gods were on your side, otherwise you would have lost.” Ivar said, making you frown.

“When my Spartan warriors fight, Ares grants us good will.” You narrowed your eyes and leaned forward. “But are you telling me that the Gods don’t favour you?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course the Gods favour us, afterall, they have allowed us to pull together an even bigger army.” Ivar said as he re-filled his horn with gritted teeth.

“In any case, it is up to fate now. Hmm?” Harald said, standing up. “Well, I must go now and see where Astrid has gotten to.” King Harald took on the last swig of Mead, before weaving his way through the crowd and through a door at the back of the room.

“Well, it is getting late. I better go find Freydis.” You said and stood up. “Have a good night.” You ignored Ivars grunt and nodded your head at Hvitserks ‘farewell,’ before following the same path as Harald.

“What do you think of her, brother?” Hvitserk asked cautiously, very aware of Ivars clenched jaw and his blue eyes baring into your back as you left. Ivars silence made Hvitserk bite his lip. He did not think he could bear his brother complaining about you for the next few weeks.

“She is arrogant and rather patronizing.” Ivar said, a smirk slowly curling his lip. “I like her.”

* * *

“You fight like a child.” You spat out a mouthful of salty crimson, swinging your bruised fist. Crack! The large white-haired viking toppled into the mud - for the third time. He had challenged you to a fight after he overheard you talking the night prior. But unfortunately for him, he just proved your point. You being half his size and a woman, he thought he could win the fight with ease. But you had only sustained a punch to the jaw, whereas he was sporting a broken and nose and multiple lost teeth.

“Þú eru witchr!” The man growled, stumbling up from the mud.

“No I am not a witch.” You side-stepped out of his way, as he lunged towards you, only to miss completely and stagger back down into the mud with a thump. “I am just better than you.”

“When I asked you to come help fight, I did not mean fight my men.” You heard a voice call. Turning around, you saw Ivar, who was leaning against a blacksmiths doorway. He stretched out his hand and beckoned you toward him.

“What do you want?” You asked, annoyed that you were interrupted.

“I was thinking about what you said last night.” Ivar said, tapping his crutch thoughtfully.

“So was he.” You pointed your thumb at White-Hair, who was still on the ground a few yards away. Ivar rolled his eyes and leaned forward.

“Not like that. I want you to train my warriors.” Ivar said, watching your expresion flicker.

“And why would I do that?”

“Do you want to win this battle?” He asked.

“I could win this battle easier without your men.” You retorted, crossing your arms. Did you not have enough to worry about?

“Then why don’t you?”

Part 2 coming soon.

Requests open. Comment if you want added to the taglist.

VIKINGS TAGLIST:

@youbloodymadgenius @krissydclayton93 @peachyboneless @1950schick @therealcalicali @the-blue-dalek @xceafh @pieces-by-me @ietss @spring-edlothia @stillsoloststillsolonely @poisonedjoinery @prunelsg @pomegranates-and-blood @revolution-starter @profoundtyrantharmony @ibenkastberg @xvxcarolinexvx @springsoulofengland @lady-valkyrie-blog @ritual-unions-gotme @chaotic-kinky-hippie @cocovikings23 @moonie-flower101 @readsalot73 @saruuslovesmcfly @adhdnightmare @fandomfic-galore @heavenly1927 @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @dacreshoney @jadelynlace @chibisgotovalhalla @bravado07 @starjane312 @teishalicious @the-girl-in-the-box @ecarroll1978 @childishhoe @punkrocknpearls @jessimay89 @justaproudslytherpuff @dog-cats-fandoms @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @bethcarling-blog-blog @yourdevilmaycare @littlebirdgot

#vikings #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen #ivar lothbrok #hvitserk #ragnar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #romance #bjorn lothbrok #ivar the boneless fanfiction

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superman86to99 · 3 years

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Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late. An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible. While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour. It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling. We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places. A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail. Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines. I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation. Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers. Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois. The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are well-done and tensely paced. While sometimes I think the pupil-less flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking. Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me. I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas. The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me. The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing in these pages. The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either. So, another rare misstep from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion. STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline. A lesser book might not have acknowledged any time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to. Huh? How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman. If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib? Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer. She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

#superman #dan jurgens #joe rubinstein #cat grant #adam morgan #toyman #dan turpin #joke guns that only exist in comics #cat grant the dark retributor #coming soon to image comics

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maglors-anion-gap · 3 years

Text

Fic Writing Asks

Thanks to @samarqqand for the tag! Sorry for the late-ish reply!

how many works do you have on AO3?

I have 8 fics on AO3, with one WIP that I have been neglecting for Ages (so sorry to the anon who requested it, and to user findrahil for helping me beta in, like, march...), and three Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang fics coming very soon!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

Currently 36,972

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Mostly Tolkien. One sad MCU fic (it's not finished, please ignore it, I started it in a brighter era where I wasn't exhausted by the MCU movie industrial complex)

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

"Why Breaks Thou the Wand" - Gimli/Legolas (qpl) Tam Lin!AU

The MCU fic that I will not be linking to

"Your Mouth is Poison (Your Mouth is Wine)" - Celebrimbor/Sauron, the events leading up to the sacking of Eregion, also known as "how to bottom in the most manipulative and vindictive manner possible"

"There are Roses That Come Without Seeking" - Curufin/Finrod, midwinter masquerade celebration turned hook-up

"Turning Shadows Into Shapes" - Feanor&Fingolfin, brotherly loveloathing and the aftermath of Finwe's death

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Every single one. I don't get a Ton of comments so it's pretty easy for me to do and I talk non-stop so.... it's a natural instinct. I love to see what people have to say abut my work, and I love to let them know I appreciate their commentary

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Angstiest ending is hands down "Where the Spirit Meets the Bones" because it ends with Maedhros yeeting himself toward his doom... In general a very angsty fic because it's all about failed obligations, self hatred, and being a flawed person.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I've never written a crossover, I haven't really found universes that I desperately wanted to smash together. The closest I'll ever get is AU works.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes but not on anything posted on my AO3. The commenter left me something mildly obnoxious, but when I checked out their profile they were a huge bigot. Bidoof's law for general assholery.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Yes. More often than not. Excuse #1: the pandemic is keeping me from being my slutty self and I am projecting. Excuse #2: self-introspection. It's no coincidence that my smut fic is most often either something I find kinky, or an exploration of my identity or something I want to communicate in my life. "Halos Made of Summer, Ribbons Made of Spring" was me exploring my attraction to women (when I still thought I was a woman). A lot of my other stuff was me coming to terms with being transmasc (though I haven't included trans themes in my fics yet - that's gonna change tho).

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! I don't think my stuff gets enough traction for that (rare-pair hell, my beloved). I also don't think I'd notice if themes were lifted from my work. I treat fandom like a soup pot. It would be rude to take the stock wholesale and say it was your own. That said, it's likely that at some point two or more of us are going to come up with similar flavor pairings. If you're inspired by my work, it's good grace to say so. But swapping ideas is pretty par for the course.

have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! But you guys are always welcome to do so! I've been meaning to translate my stuff into Spanish, it's good practice for me and I know that fandom can be pretty English heavy.

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! I would like to at some point, I think the closest I've gotten is like, trsb exchanges.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

Probably Fingon/Maedhros because of my penchant for self-flagellation and bad decision making. It's an old standby pairing for me, and I like its Romance, in the classical sense. Celebrimbor/Sauron is a close second because I like working through how I feel about deception and betrayal and really unhealthy love.

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Um... I don't want to say the WIP that's currently languishing in my drafts. I have Got to finish it because I went out of my way to get people's opinions on it. Um, probably this thing I started for Gimli/Legolas, I don't think it was imaginative enough, I have a hard time being imaginative and it feels derivative. I need to significantly re-tool it.

what are your writing strengths?

Setting up a central theme, and characterization. I like implicit meanings.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue is hard, pacing is hard (it's really hard for me to read, so I always want to pare my stuff down when I should expand on it). Executive function is non-existent so the writing process itself is just. odious (/humorous).

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Ah, like adverbs and epithets, it serves a purpose (to indicate something specific). I think about a) can readers understand this b) is this respectful and does it fit the situation or characterization c) does it add something special d) do I have a good enough grasp of this language. For MCU fic I won't be linking I taught myself some very basic russian to include some russian dialogue because I wanted english readers to be temporarily out of the loop like one of the characters (like, in dramatic irony the readers know something the characters don't - I wanted a situation where the readers didn't know either). Don't go looking for that fic, my russian is embarrassing to me and others.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

The lord of the flies :( I was 13

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably "Halos Made of Summer, Ribbons Made of Spring" for managing to write something long and detailed :)

I’m tagging @galadhremmin @arofili @undercat-overdog @findrahil @dialux (some of you may have already done this, sorry) - this is the moment where I forget every single one of my followers and mutuals... I'm so sorry, if you're reading this please consider yourself tagged and back-tag me with your replies

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stripper-patrick · 4 years

Text

Now they know👹 Henry Cavill

Part 1

Warnings: language, angst, smut, dramatic af, fluff

Tags: @rebellious-desires @mrsbanreswillseeyou

Song: she will be loved- maroon 5

Relationship: Henry Cavill x black plus sized reader

Scott’s POV

I see Y/N twitch in her sleep and I carefully look over. Zara lays between us almost snoring with her foot on my arm and her head on Y/N’s chest.

“Henry” she whimpers. Did I just hear correctly? There’s no way she just moaned Henry’s name.

She jolts up and sees the tv on. She looks at me seeing I’m already staring at her.

“What are you still doing up?”

“Watching you moan Henry’s name. Hey why is that by the way?”

“I wasn’t” she rolls her eyes sitting up. Zara turns and opens her eyes to look at me. Zara just lays on her back watching between the two of us. She’s starting to pick up on grabbing things to which she grabs Y/N’s shirt cooing. Y/N picks her up laying her down starting to breast feed her.

“You were. Do you like him?”

“Scott please it’s 4 in the morning. Just go to bed”

“Answer my damn question”

Y/N POV

I’m standing in front of a loaded gun wondering which hole the bullet lies in. It’s a sick game of Russian roulette.

“Scott...” I whisper pleadingly. I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth even though I’m quite sure he knows the truth.

He becomes enraged and throws the tv remote ultimately scaring Zara. Scott stands up and I try to calm her down while I turn on the dim lamp “how long have you and him been together. Doing this. Fucking!” He yells

“Since early last year” he says. I get Zara under control and he runs his hands over his face in stress. He stops dead in his tracks and looks at me.

“Christina mentioned at dinner last week that Zara looks like Henry. Is she even my daughter?”

I can’t even look at him. I just look down at my baby girl. I shake my head and he exhales sharply. The next words to come were the ones that scared me the most “get out”

I snap my head up “Scott it’s the crack of dawn and where am I gonna go?”

“To your baby daddy’s house” he walks out the room

“Real fucking good. Fuck you. Asshole” I throw a shoe at the door starting to sob and grab my suitcase packing it of mine and Zara’s stuff. I grab bottles of hers and slip her into a jacket considering how cold it is outside. I grab some sweatpants and a t-shirt and some shoes. I grab my phone and car keys. I grab my baby and set her in her car seat where she starts screaming. I push her pacifier in her mouth getting her to stop and I walk downstairs.

I walk past Scott who’s turned away from me. Without a word I open and slam the door going to my car. I set the baby down in the car seat making sure it’s secure before getting in being basically alone with my thoughts. I have no choice but to go to Henry’s. As much as I don’t want to right now.

I turn on the car and look in my rear view mirror seeing Scott standing there with his arms crossed looking at me. I look forward and turn the key in the ignition starting my car pulling off.

....

I arrive at Henry’s house and pull Zara out of her car seat where she just stares at me. I knock on the door and kiss her nose while waiting where she smiles at me giggling a little. I watch the door open and it’s Henry with no shirt on and his hand in his pocket “y/n what’s going on?”

“Can I please just stay the night?” Zara squeals extending her arms to Henry. He takes her smiling and nods bringing me in

“What happened?” I give him a certain look which tells him that it has something to do with our extracurricular relationship.

“Henry?” Christina comes down in a robe and sees me “honey what happened?”

“I don’t wanna get into it tonight I just wanna get some rest please. You won’t even know I’m here”

“Honey go back to bed I’ll get them settled” Henry says. Christina nods leaving and Zara plays with Henry’s ring on his pinky finger. Once Henry sees the coast is clear he looks back at me

“Did he find out” I nod biting my lip “Come on let’s get her to sleep”

I follow Henry upstairs where he takes me to a nursery which I didn’t know they had. I knew they had been trying but I didn’t know they’d taken it this far “it’s for whenever it actually happens which I’m hoping won’t be for a very long time” he sits in the rocking chair with Zara and begins talking to her in a soft low voice.

“Tell me what happened Y/N”

“I was having a dirty dream about me and you and I accidentally moaned your name out loud in my sleep. And it all went downhill from there”

“I’ll get to you and your dream in a second but did he put his hands on you?”

“No he just told me to get out and I doubt he’d even think about letting me back in the house. I don’t know what I’m gonna do”

“You’re going to stay here with me until you get yourself together. Regardless how long that will be hopefully it’ll subside the issues me and Chris have been having recently. With this whole baby thing it’s got me and her stressed and it’d be nice to have another person in the house”

“Henry I feel like I’m intruding”

“You’re not trust me sweetheart” he looks down at Zara who’s eyelids keep closing and opening. She’s fighting it. He places his finger in his tiny hand and she grabs on finally shutting her eyes. He rocks her for a little while longer before placing her in the crib. He takes out the decoration around it that could smother her setting it in the floor “your Christina would make great parents you know that?”

“Hilarious” we walk out together where he leads me to the guest bedroom. I can’t help but watch his back muscles move making me wish he were inside of me. Of course that triggers the butterflies and wetness to collect.

“I’ll be just down the hall if you need me” I sit on the bed nodding and looking down stuck in my thoughts

“Do you mind staying with me for a second” I ask not even bearing to look at him. He shuffles back to the bed and I lay down.

“Trust me I’ll be out of your heart in a second and I’ll keep the baby quiet so I don’t disturb-“

“Y/N sweetheart I want you here as long as you need. You’re not a burden” he says. I look at Henry through the dim light and place my hand on his cheek caressing him softly. He leans forward kissing me. Henry moves pressing his pelvis between my legs. He grinds against me getting harder and I smile moving my arm between the two of us to stroke him.

I lift my hips to pull my shorts down followed by his pants. It was easier that he didn’t have on a shirt. Henry grinds harder against my pussy moaning in my mouth.

“Please fuck me” I beg. He smiles and taps his dick o my bare pussy rubbing the tip on my clit. “Don’t tease me”

I cause him to chuckle lowly and I hear a low growl as he starts pushing his head inside of me.

In one swift motion Henry fills me up and I place my small hands on his broad shoulders as a brace. His hips roll into mine while his moves down kissing me. His hand presses against my lower back making my toes curl.

“You like that?”

“I love that” I moan. My hands moves to his hair pulling lightly. He always loved when I pulled on his hair. The way his body moves with mine is mesmerizing. My arms don’t know what to do so my hands move to his back feeling his muscles flex. My nails scratch down his back “Henry”

“Say my name darling” he moans slamming his hips into me harder. I whine arching my back. He sits on his knees pulling my legs on his shoulder. Henry pounds me harder and presses his large hand around my neck.

“I- can’t take it baby fuck” I moan trying to pull away from him

“Take it. Don’t ducking run from me darling”

“Oh god” I moan. A tear slips from my eye and he lets go lifting my hips and pulling me further going deeper. I hold onto his thick thighs digging crescent shaped marks as a brace as he rails me. Henry does the unthinkable and grabs the intricate headboard throwing his hips into me harder. My jaw drops and my eyes close feeling my body seize as my release comes quicker than expected.

As soon as I let go I cover my mouth masking a loud scream nearly forgetting where I was. Henry growls lowly moaning my name as he coats my walls in his thick beaded cum. His legs shake and tense up and I smile biti my lip. Henry stops all movements once he’s juiced out and leans down pulling me in a sloppy kiss.

The door busts open and I see Christina with tears streaming down her face and a gun in her hand “I had a gut feeling. Of course the week I get released from my contract with no money left to my name I see this”

“Christina put the gun down” he says pulling out of me leaving me sore. Both of our juices leaking from my pussy.

It was like a switch went off in her brain and she became a completely different person “Henry I know this sounds crazy but I wanna make this work with you” he looks to me and I look at him

“Wait what?”

“Henry I need you” I furrow my eyebrows. This bitch isn’t slick. I stand up and she pulls up the gun. A loud pop goes off and I blink then feel a searing pain to my side forcing me to scream out in agony. I look down seeing blood just gushing. Henry screams and grabs a shirt trying to stop the bleeding. I hear the baby scream as he keeps applying pressure which is making it hurt more forcing tears to fall down my face. I stumble back on the bed feeling dizzy. I don’t know if it’s from the pain or the bullet placement. As we’re dealing with the wound Christina comes back with my baby and a sinister smile on her face.

“Bitch you better put my baby down or I’ll kill you” I grunt out holding my side l.

“Henry all I ever wanted to do was love you and give you kids. But I can see you gave her a baby instead. At one point in time my own best friend. She looks so much like you” she moves to the window

“Christina. Put. My baby. Down” I demand. My heart drops when she opens the window. I step forward b stumble and Christina laughs stepping near and sitting in the sill and that’s when I start to hyperventilate and shake.

“Y/N calm down” Henry assures me

“Why couldn’t you allow me to love you Henry” she asks staring at Zara who’s clearly in distress “you knew we were having trouble to have a baby and little did I know you had already had one and thought I wouldn’t find out” I manage to grab my phone and press the lock button about 5 times feeling the vibrations. I hear a man on the phone “911 what’s your emergency?”

“Step any closer and I’ll drop her” she says

“Christina put the baby down please” I say in a softer tone. She holds Zara by her shirt holding out outside of the window of the three story house.

“Oh my god. Christina this is nuts” it feels like the walls are closing in. A quick thought comes to mind and I pass out. I keep my eyes open just a little bit and they both rush to my side. I can hear Zara crying in the background. I open my eyes seeing both Henry and Christina at my side with no baby. I muster up the strength to drive my fist full force into her face hearing a small crack. Blood gushes everywhere and she holds her nose groaning in pain “get the-“ I’m tackled to the ground and we fight for dominance of the gun.

Henry grabs the baby and leaves the room. The gun goes off again but this time in the ceiling. Me and her tussle and I wind up on top of her giving her blow after blow until I feel someone pull me off. I realize it’s Henry and I don’t even bother trying to get out of his grip because it would be pointless. All of a sudden police rush in and handcuff Christina as she struggles against the cops. The other cop grabs the gun from her.

I look up and grab the baby sobbing while trying to soothe her “you’re ok mommy’s got you”

I exhale sharply falling to my knees and Henry grabs me. The paramedics walk through the door with a stretcher. They try to grab Zara and I slap his hand away “darling let me get her”

“Get that bitch out of here then I’ll go” I say

The police escort her out and I finally oblige to the paramedics “let me have her I’ll be right here with you I promise” Henry says. I give her to him and he holds my hand

“You’ll be alright” Henry nods “As long as I’m here no one else will hurt you”

....

I wake up in a hospital room to see Henry asleep with Zara on his chest. The sunlight shines through the window and I rub my eyes. I cough groaning and that’s when he wakes up. He sets down the baby on the chair placing the blanket over top of her.

Henry stands up grabbing a chai sitting right next to me. He places his hand on my thigh and I try to sit up but moan in pain clutching my side “sweetheart lay back and relax. Are you ok?”

“Yea. Is she alright?”

“Perfect” he smiles looking at the sleeping baby with her lips poked out

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine” he says

“So what are we gonna do?” I ask

“Nothing. You and my daughter are going to come back with me. Christina’s name wasn’t on the house and as far as I’m concerned she’ll never be near the two of you again. I called my lawyer and signed the divorce papers already. You have my word that nothing will ever happen to either of you again” I get choked up

“I just want her to be safe” I say closing my eyes feeling a tear fall. Henry kisses my head

#smut #fluff #part 2 #henry cavill series #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #geralt of rivia #happy birthday henry #dramatic

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

The Red Well: (Part 4) Merry Christmas

Here we go yo. Thanks for reading

You really thought you had Herzog pinned. But Herzog knew you too well. Even though he wasn’t sure how you’d escape the well, he had calculated that you would and prepared not a deadly trap, but a non-lethal but extremely strong net. He knew your Soul Skill and he likely attracted you up here intentionally, to get you out of the way.

In fact, he was so prepared that you saw a massive wall of large dump trucks that you figured were full of deadpool. While you were down in the well with Ruri, these trucks were already parked as a barricade for any further escape.

You smile up at him, completely bound in super strong and extremely sharp nanofiber. It was engineered to tighten as you struggle. If you wanted, you could probably break it but only at severe injury. Already the near invisible threads were cutting off your circulation. If you continued to struggle, you would probably lose limbs as the threads cut through completely.

You smile up at him peacefully. “Ahh… you got me.” You say in a soft voice.

Herzog was wearing a slim-fitting tuxedo with straight suit pants and a bright purple shirt, a white silk bow tie, and black and white brogue shoes. Herzog crouched next to you and stroked your hair. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I hope you can have a bit of a chat!”

“Of course!” You say brightly. Your heart is beating but you feel a weird mix of joy and chagrin. You wanted to kill him but he’d knocked you flat, and you weren’t even angry.

Herzog put away the gun, pulled a knife and neatly cut the fiber. You glanced at the blade but didn’t say anything. Something strong enough and sharp enough to cut these strings wasn’t ordinary. Cutting those threads was a clear threat not to misbehave. You sit up and he helps you up with one hand behind his back like a gentleman.

A table was already set up on the engineering lift platform. There were candlelights on a white table cloth and a bottle of Red Label vodka with two glasses and ice. “For me? You shouldn’t have!”

“My work took me away from the wedding! I had to make it up to you somehow. I had a friend record it for me. It was quite beautiful.” Herzog pulls out a chair and you sit down smoothing what was left of your dress. Herzog sits across from you.

He had a front row seat over the heart of the storm, but the scene below was so calm. A curtain of huge raindrops hit the bloody battlefield and make ripples on the red lake.

Chisei Gen and Ruri Kazama walk slowly around in a circle, as if this is the stage where the actors say their long-written dialogues. Ruri Kazama walks silently, the wind pulling his robes away from him like a frail maiden, while the dragon-type Emperor Gen Chisei makes a heavy sound like an armored warrior.

You take a sip of the vodka and feel its warmth radiate down your throat. Herzog was relaxed, tranquil as a Buddha. Right now, you could ask Herzog anything you wanted and he’d probably answer honestly. He’s won and you were going to die. So you switch to your familiar home Russian language and call him softly, like you used to in Black Swan Bay. “Doctor.”

He turned to you. His face was still covered in the white mask.

“Why… do this? You’re so smart. You could do anything. You could change the world in countless ways. You could stop everything now and … go cure cancer or end world hunger… or something”

He closed his eyes and laughed, speaking to you in that voice from your childhood. “Those are all very high level aspirations… but the world is very basic, my dear. Dragons ruled thousands of thousands of years and, even though they were defeated, they are so enduring that they will rise again eventually. When that end of humanity comes, only those who are on the dragon’s side will endure.” He replied.

“So you … want to endure. Then… When humans win, will you go back to human’s side?”

He picked up a cigar and lit it. “If humans win again. Once the Black King rises, he might do with them what he did with the White King. Or… attempted to do. Now… more to your point about … stopping now.” He breathed in and let out a puff of smoke. “Let me ask you this. If I did stop now. Let’s say, I decide that I don’t want what I’ve pursued all my life. What then? Would you let me live my life peacefully? Just walk away and cure cancer?”

You’re silent for a moment. It was unlikely. Even if you didn’t pursue him and forgot he existed, there was no doubt that Cassell and the Japan Branch wouldn’t forget and pursue him.

“You see, you could pass a merciful judgment, but the people over you.” He pointed up to the sky. “They feel differently, so your judgement has no standing. You do not make the rules or the decisions here because you don’t have the power. Only those with the power can make the rules. So no, I cannot stop until I am over all and no one can challenge me. That is the way of evolution.”

“I disagree with your views on evolution…”

“Go on.” He puffed again.

You’re getting suspicious of his lack of urgency. Wasn’t he watching the clock a minute ago? “You say that Evolution is just the weak against the strong, that it’s just the strong devouring the weak. But even the weak have strategies or else they would die out. If the strong stop adapting to the strategies of the weak, they die out. If the strong become too strong and devour everything, they die out. Evolution is about balance and equal competition. Your theory of evolution has no balance. Your way of thinking, this one way pursuit of greater strength, will not destroy the world or devour the weak. You will just die out once you run out of food. Surely, you’ve considered this.”

He smiled. “It feels good to discuss these topics with you. You’ve always been possessed of great spirit and intelligence.”

“You’re changing the subject.” You grumble.

“If I die out, then it means I have been unable to change the world, and it will be a fitting end for me. Now, I have a question for you, my dear.” He reached up and took off his mask.

You gasp. “Bondarev? … w...wait.” Under the mask was not Herzog, like you expected but the face of Tachibana! You tilt your head. “I figured you escaped the fire…” It hits you again, harder this time.

Herzog waits, smiling watching the magic unravel in your mind.

“At Tokyo tower. The other body was a fake. No… it was a real body but a different person. Wearing a mask. You were controlling a body double? To make them pretend to be you? You did that from up here too? You never entered the Red Well yourself.”

“Body doubles are a common spy practice. After I escaped the fire that killed the identity of Tachibana and Bondarev in the mind of Hydra, I was able to suppress Ruri while I completed my preparations.” He said. “I see you weren’t quite fooled. But you still believed Bondarev was alive as an individual. No… I killed Bondarev long ago and assumed his identity.”

“I see. So you were aware of Hydra’s and The Devil Clan’s activities.” You say, sinking into your chair.

“Indeed, I created both organizations to complete my work. Now I need to ask my question. How did you do it? How did you escape Black Swan Bay?”

Your mind was still flipping through your memories. Herzog knew from the beginning, from the moment you arrived in Japan, that you were here, that you were alive. Through his Hydra contacts, he knew your every move. When you met Ruri, he tracked you again through the Devil Clan. No wonder he knew where you were to send Hydra operatives after Chance in the park. He knew ...everything. Everything was his fault. All the pain, all the sorrow and loss and danger and struggle. He was behind all of it. One hundred percent.

You answer his question. “I wish I could tell you how I came here today. But I don’t know. I fell into the ocean.” You said. “Even though the ocean was frozen solid that time of year, there was a gap in the frigid water that I fell through that was created when the Lenin ship arrived to take the dragon specimen away. I must have been encased in ice for those 20 years. But I don’t know how anyone found me and I don’t know how I lived.”

“So there’s someone else out there who knows about the unnamed port?” He looked at you.

You nod. “He’s been pulling my strings from beginning to end. To this day, I don't know what his aim is.”

Herzog was silent and his face grew serious. “Is he here?”

You answer. “Probably.”

An unnamed piece of the puzzle, another variable!

There’s an explosive boom and you’re suddenly pushed out of your chair and launched back. Pain explodes in your abdomen and you’re surrounded by a cloud of poisonous mercury vapor! Herzog rises again, his mask over his face. He snuffs out the cigar. “I’m going to miss you.”

Herzog is carrying Western Watch, the pistol with a huge muzzle that could fire explosive mercury rounds and is extremely effective against Deadpool.

You stagger to your feet, gasping. You try to summon your abilities through the blood of Ruri Kazama. Your eyes flicker, but that surge of power never comes. Surrounded by mercury gas, you’re weakened. The wound in your stomach is gaping and pouring blood. The skin around it is turning white and the scales are falling off! A cough stings your lungs and splatters your dress with red.

Ruri’s blood was only a temporary solution. Ruri had warned you. You couldn’t stay apart from him for long without your condition deteriorating. It seemed that while you chatted with Herzog, you were weakening rapidly.

A low chuckle came from the fog of mercury. It seemed to come from left, from right. Like he was moving so fast to keep you guessing where he would appear. But you didn’t need to rely on your ears. Those spiritual tendrils were still in the ground. You could feel the vibration of his steps.

Behind you! You whirl and you’re suddenly gripped in a hug. But this wasn’t a friendly, loving hug of a father. This hug shoved a dagger in your back. It squeezed you so tightly you couldn’t breathe. It squeezed so tightly your bones were starting to strain!

Something hard was pressing against your chest and shoulder. They weren’t the King’s bones, but something under his jacket. Your eyes widen and turn bloodshot and then they turn bright fiery gold! Snakes slither about in your mind and reveal piercing golden eyes!

If you used blood rage now, there would be no turning back. But it was fine since you were going to die anyway. You would die on your terms and take Herzog with you! Your dragon blood surged rapidly. Your whole body becomes covered in fine scales one by one, your knotted muscles protrude like iron bars.

Had Chu Zihang been here to help you, he would have told you that Blood Rage comes in degrees. You’d never be able to ascend to be a pure blooded dragon this way, but you would come very close. He would have told you that, like a very fine grain of sand, your humanity cannot be crushed and, as a result, you will be a Deadpool, not a dragon. He would say you ascended from nothing to the highest level, Third Degree of Rage!

But that was more than you needed to tear through Herzog’s fine suit. Your bones fractured to twice their normal joints and those bones all move independently. Hundreds of barb-like bone spikes penetrate his body all at once!

He pushes you away with a mighty yell and kicks you so you skid across the dirt. He’s bleeding in countless places. The whole front of his suit is stained red. But those wounds rapidly heal and the bleeding stops.

He’s frowning, irritated, and a bit disappointed in you for sacrificing your life so pointlessly.

But you’re laughing as you stagger to your feet. Your heart is gleeful, so gleeful that you shout. “Merrry! Christmas! Merry Christmas, Father Frost!” in Russian.

Herzog scowls but then he smiles brightly, looking like the Herzog he always was. “My, my… you’re quite the powerful deadpool aren’t you! It’s been a pleasure. Now. I must go. Time is short!”

He reached into his jacket and frowns. He pats his jacket and pants and then stares with horror as you stand there holding those two dark colored pieces of wood in your hands.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You’re laughing, your hot dragon breath coming in a fog. “MERRY GODDAMN CHRISTMAS!”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The trucks that surround you come alive with the sounds of babies crying. But these babies were big and strong enough to rock these 10 ton vehicles off their wheels. Gigantic serrated claws tear through the metal like they were tearing fine linen and hundreds of eyes glow golden in the dark and the rain. Every single truck was filled with deadpool nearly a hundred each! With at least 10 trucks they were about a thousand! These were the last of Herzog’s creations. After today, he wouldn’t need them any more and he had wanted to use them on you. But you had stolen that power.

The deadpool fall over each other in a mad dash, tumbling out of the trucks in a pile and rushing towards the cliff, dragging their heavy snake-like bodies on the ground, driven by the sound of the clapper. You back into the crowd of them as they rush Herzog. Herzog himself doesn’t bother to run. He knows there’s no escape from the trap that he himself set.

He looked at you and smiled one last time. “Perfect. Merry Christmas, MC.”

Then he was engulfed by the seething mass of golden bodies. They shredded his suit, dismantled his bones and ate his flesh. They took the mask and shattered it like it was so much pottery. Herzog could not come back from this. You smile and watch, filling with triumph and a bit of sadness.

Your time was up. You were going to lose your mind any minute. Even now, the strong pull of the blood of Herzog was drawing you to see what it might taste like. But you had a feeling that once you started licking that blood you could never go back. You tapped the woodblocks in a second pattern, one you were familiar with that was used to control the children, and the deadpool were seized with epilepsy, wailing and hissing and screaming until they fell silent, flopped to the ground all at once like empty wooden dolls.

You staggered over to the lift elevator and pressed the button. The mental tendrils of your Soul Skill are telling you that no one was moving in the well. In fact, Chisei and Ruri Kazama were just staring each other down, but you didn’t hear voices other than Ruri’s soft singing.

“Ruri… Herzog is dead. I killed him for real…” You say once you’re at the maintenance platform again.

Ruri is standing there, his smile stretched in horrible joy. Chisei faced him. He didn’t move or speak or acknowledge your presence. You step around them looking between them. Ruri’s eyes were spinning with bright gold mandalas. When you look into Ruri Kazama’s eyes, the Red Well disappears and you’re plunged into darkness.

You feel paralysed. You can’t move. Your eyes roll around in fear and you startle as you see at least 12 women. They were beautiful but they were frozen like statues and dressed in elaborate kabuki costumes. You count twelve of them. You were the thirteenth statue.

You seem to be in some sort of basement. Discarded equipment sat dusty against the wall. And there were old dirty gym mats on the floor. It smelled horrible and that horrible smell was coming from a cast iron tub in the center of the room that was filled with chemicals. And in front of that tub, Chisei sat, looking human again, looking much younger, wearing the black trenchcoat of the Executive board, with his Spider Fang sword in his hand. He was staring at the door of the basement, as though waiting for someone.

#Dragon Raja

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notagamersdey · 3 years

Text

Freebird

By Tyler D. Ortiz

Rating: M

Word Count: 2k~

Warnings: Violence, insinuations of sexual assault, drug use/mention, murder, character death, bad language

Summary: Local superhero, Lady Griffin, attempts to save a group of hostages during a bank robbery.

~~~

“This is Veronica reporting live at the intersection of Flour and Junction where the domestic terrorist group ‘The Red Hests’ has taken Grand Central High Bank.” The news reporter presses her left index finger into her ear, “They are currently holding over 50 hostages of both visiting customers and employees. No one knows their demands yet, but people speculat - Wait. I’m getting reports that Lady Griffin is passing Grand Central High this moment-”

PHEWWWW!

The news reporter ducks, her hair flying to the left as Lady Griffin speeds by from above, “and there she is! WOW! Look at her go!” The news reporter turns back towards the camera, her hair sticking out in odd angles, “Well, she will no doubt take care of those criminals. Back to you, Jorge.”

Lady Griffin, with light brown wings between her shoulder blades, swoops above the bank building, landing onto the ledge. She jogs up to the rooftop door, pulling at her new uniform which was a bit tight.

“Grif’, stop messing with it, it’ll loosen up,” a voice, Ezra, told her through an earpiece.

“Did you have to get it super tight? I thought we weren’t doing the whole sexy thing,” her bright auburn hair falls against her shoulders as she skids to a stop, yanking the door off its hinges. She cringes slightly, placing it lightly against the wall, “remind me to come fix this later.”

There’s typing on the other end of the call, “Will do. And it’s not about your sex appeal, it's about being pragmatic. It’s light material, and the closer it is to your body, the less wind resistance you have. Don’t you have a college education?” Ezra teases.

Lady Griffin scoffs, “Yeah, in biology, not in astrophysics, or whatever you’re proficient in.” She goes through the door, peering over the staircase. It's a square spiral staircase going on round and round 8 times. The building was 8 stories, the first few filled with cubicles and offices, the rest were holding centers for money, computers, or basically anything else a bank would need to secure its finances. “Alright, Ez’, what are we looking at here?”

More typing, “You’ve got about 6 to 8 armed men on floors 1 to 7, the floor below you is currently under construction. The men rounding up every employee and customer to the middle of the floors. Elevators are down, and you’ve got one man at each stairway entrance.”

Lady Griffin grabs the railings to the staircase, “Any suggestions?”

“Eh. I say start with the bottom floor, you can prevent a shootout with the police, and they wouldn’t be able to get away.”

“Smart move.” She takes a slow deep breath and nose dives to the bottom floor. She moves quickly, expanding her wings to slow her fall. She lightly drops down in front of the door, looking through the tiny glass window. She notices one guy off to the left of the door. Another at the wall farthest from her. They both wore suits, pointing rifles to the ground.

“Hey, Ez’, what kind of rifles?”

“They are...” He pauses. She hears a chair roll away along with the rustling of papers, “PP-19 Vityaz’s. 9mm chamber, stamped steel, carries 30 round magazines. Both semi and automatic, typically used by Russian Special Forces, designed for covert-op. Usually equipped with a suppressor. I guess it makes sense. Cheap ammo, lighter than 5.45 plus a suppressor on this one is much more effective than-”

“Ezra, focus, you’re my eyes. Let me know if they call for reinforcements, I don’t want any surprises.” Lady Griffin, rolling her shoulders back, jumping a few times. Her wings ruffle and shake. She bends down, pulling her ankles up, stretching.

When she stands back up, she takes in air, focusing on her surroundings. She hears the men rounding up hostages the floors above her, she can hear the man breathing from the other side of the door. Heartbeats. Everywhere. She lets her breath out and breaks down the door. The door flies a few feet away, crashing onto the marble floor. The man next to the doorway is the first to react, bringing his rifle up to shoot at Lady Griffin, but she was too quick. She throws a front thrust at the man, sending him flying. The guy that was across the door shoots. Lady Griffin sprints towards him, ducking under the stream of bullets. She blitzes him, thrusting her wings out and back, creating a gust of wind to propel her at the assailant. She punches through his chest, sending him flying to the wall.

“Back up!” She turns to her left to see two more guys running at her. Both trained their guns at her, one holding a radio. Everything slows down again; she sees the sweat drip down both their brows, sees the horrendous, angry teeth from the one talking into the radio. She sees the slightest quiver of the gun. He’s weak. He’s not holding the gun right. “We need back up-” She swiftly rushes her wings forward, sending a powerful force of wind at the two. The guy holding the radio falls; however, his partner holds himself up against the impact.

“If you don’t stop now, I will put a bullet between those pretty green eyes, girl. Just accept it. Just take it,” he adjusts himself.

Ezra’s voice crackles against her ear, “Be careful, darling, you don’t want to hurt yourself.” Lady Griffin suddenly feels dazed. She shakes her head, trying to focus. She slightly relaxes her stance, wings back in their resting position. She places her hand behind her back, smirking at the man in front of her.

“You think you’re special? Just cause the Doc treats you well? You’re nothing, girl, only a mere spec within an indifferent universe.” He gives her a vile grin.

She bursts out laughing, hunching forward, her hand away from her back with a long piece of piano wire, “You think you’re so cool quoting Doctor Strange? You know the bad guys, like, disintegrate in the end, right?” She stands up straight, beginning to wrap the piano wire between her fists, leaving enough room for a head to fit between them, “No matter, I’m not going to go that easy on you.” She gives a wide grin and launches herself.

Meanwhile, up on the seventh floor of the bank, the leader of the Red Hests sits on an office chair, watching his associates continue to round up everyone on the floor. He smirks to himself with a lollipop sticking out of his mouth as he hears one of the women scream in fear.

“Shut up!” One of the men points the barrel at the woman’s face, “Shut up or I’ll hurt you. I’ll really fucking hurt you.”

The leader gets up off the chair, pulling out the lollipop as he walks towards the group. The men have surrounded the employees, all women, in the middle of the room. They sit on their knees, hands zip-tied to their back as the men stick thick duct tape onto their mouths, “Now, now, take it easy. You hurt them; they lose value. But then again...” He kneels in front of the woman who screamed, bringing the lollipop back between his lips, swirling his tongue thoughtfully, “This one doesn’t seem to be that valuable.” He extends his hand out, gesturing blindly behind him. The man closest to him takes out a large bowie knife from behind his back, handing it back to the leader. The women all yelp behind their tape at the sight of the knife, scurrying tightly together. The leader brings the knife up to the woman in front of him, placing the tip onto the tape, pushing forward slightly. The woman just weeps silently, trying her best to keep still.

As he begins to push the knife with vigor, the radio crackles, “Sir, Floor One, we need back up-” Static.

The leader stands up, swiftly grabbing the radio as he takes the lollipop out of his mouth, “Floor One? Come in Floor One.”

Another henchman picks up, “Floor Two Sir! She’s here at Floor-” Static.

The leader looks up at the rest of the men incredulously, “Strap them. We don’t have time.” The men move at tremendous speed, pulling out briefcases and attaching them to each woman’s chest. They all open each brief case at a time, revealing a timer connected to two blocks of C4.

The leader moves off to the side, attempting to warn the other floors, “get away from the doors! Be prepared for that wretched wench! She will come through the staircase, forget the hostages! Focus on the girl!”

“Sir! She’s got-” The sound of a window crashing bleeds through the radio, followed by gunshots and screaming.

“That was Floor Five!” The leader announces, “be ready before we hear from Floor Six!”

Lady Griffin finishes off Floor Six by throwing the last guy out the window. The women behind her gasp lightly. She smiles, turning around as she wipes her forehead sweat with the back of her hand, “Don’t worry, you guys are safe now.” She starts to cut the zip ties, “Do you all know if the leader is on the next floor?”

The women remain quiet until a little girl, with long black hair, and bangs raises her hand, “Yes, he’s there.” Lady Griffin looks up at her, then to the rest of the women. The rest of the women had either blonde or light brown hair, and none of the women resembled the girl in any way. She looked around. Floor Six was one of those floors with offices and cubicles; it was not the type for clients or customers to be wandering around in, let alone with a child.

“Hey, sweetie, is your mom around?” She kneels in front of the girl, holding onto her hands softly.

The little girl looks around, leaning in to whisper, “The bad man told me I wouldn’t see her again.”

Lady Griffin scrunches her eyebrows worriedly, “Did the bad man take her?” She lightly brushes the little girl's hair behind her ear.

She shakes her head, “He took me.”

Lady Griffin lets go of the little girl's hand, “Well, don’t worry. I will take you back. I just have to finish this.” She stands up and leaves for the next floor.

On the seventh floor, Lady Griffin bursts through the door. She is met with the same sight as the last few floors. Men surround the women at the center of the room. The leader, however, is off to the side, sucking on another lollipop. He begins to chuckle, clapping his hands at a slow pace.

“Magnificent. You are glorious creature. Exquisite. A terror to my business, no doubt, but exquisite!” He leisurely walks to only a few feet away from her, circling her like a tiger hunting its next victim. Her wings raise menacingly as the leader gets closer, “Hmmm. No doubt at all. You, Griffin, are a threat. You have a choice. You can either join the rest in the middle there,” she looks behind him, focusing on the bound women, “Or, you can die...”

The men surrounding the women raise their muzzles towards her. She looks between them all. Trying to find weaknesses. Guy on the left has a tremble in his right hand. Guy down the middle is shifting too much between his feet. Her eyes dart back to the leader. The leader...

“Grif’... You have to calm down, or he’s going to do something bad,” Ezra says.

“Shut up!” She pulls the earpiece out, throwing it at the first guy she can. She leaps forward, punching the left and right, taking each man she touched to the ground. The leader continues to circle the room, watching the scene before him with calculating eyes.

Lady Griffin grunts as she grabs the last henchman by the neck, pushing him up against the wall. She slams his head once, twice and then a third time. She doesn’t stop until he crumples to the floor with blood seeping out of his skull. She wipes her hands onto her uniform then scratches at her face. She quickly turns around, looking for the last assailant. He is smirking at her, “Wow, truly a beast. You really are an animal, Grif-”

“Don't call me that.”

“But I’m afraid, this is the end. As much of an asset as you are, you must go...” His hand disappears behind his back, but Lady Griffin pays no mind. She charges. For her, it’s slow. Her wings are spread out, casting a shadow over the leader's entire body. Her face is scrunched as she baring her teeth at him. Her arms are gunning for his neck. A smile creeps onto his face, contorting it to looks monstrous. He begins to pull out his hand from behind his back, revealing a small syringe. Her eyes return to his. His eyes are black. Her surroundings begin to fade. She blinks a few times. And suddenly pain.

…

A girl is naked, laying on her side on top of a raggedy air mattress in a small makeshift tent made from old windbreakers and newspapers. Her back, from the shoulder blades to the elbow, is covered in large tattoos of wings. Her wrists and ankles bruised and burned from pulling at the now loose plaited rope. A man is next to her, looking down at her with sad eyes. With gloved hands, he puts a few fingers onto her neck, looking for her pulse. Her heartbeat is erratic. Her breathing is slow with a high wheezing. He turns her onto her back, pulling a penlight from his back pocket, looking into her eyes. Extreme dilation. He sighs, bringing her to her side, patting her lightly.

“So?” A man asks at the entrance of the tent, his arms crossed, foot tapping, lollipop between his lips.

The man on the floor huffs, “I warned you. You gave her too much... We need to get her to a hospital, or she won’t make it.” He moves to pick her up when the man scoffs.

“Pff! Hospital?” The man takes the lollipop out, “What the hell do I pay you for if you need to go to a fucking hospital?”

“I don’t have anything that could treat this.”

“Don't give me excuses, Ezra, you’re costing me my best fucking asset here. People come from all over for ‘Lady Griffin’. I’ve got people booked all the way to tomorrow for her! Not to mention everyone in this God damn country is looking for her.”

Ezra looks at him incredulously, “So what’s it going to be? You let her die, and you lose even more money, or you take her to the hospital, and only lose a few thousand...”

The man laughs, “Yeah right... Cops will be all over that place the moment they take her blood.” He plops the lollipop back into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue as he looks at the girl, “You know what, Doc, just let her croak. Pussy’s pussy, right? All the girls are fucked up anyway, so it's not like it'll make a difference. We will take her to the river after the last client leaves.” With that, the man walks away, leaving Ezra with the girl who was known as Lady Griffin.

Ezra sighs, annoyed, as he takes off his gloves, throwing them at the windbreaker wall across from him. She moans slightly, opening her eyes in a daze. He crosses his legs, staying by her side as he strokes lightly at her cheek, “I’m sorry, Darling, I tried. I really did.” She attempts to say something, but it comes out in a garbled mess, “Shh... Don’t worry... you don’t have to talk anymore, Grif’. You’re free.” Her eyes drift, her breathing fades. She dreamed that she was flying, until it faded into a starry oblivion. At last, she is free.

~~~

Let me know what you think, if missed any warnings or tags as well!

Taglist form || Masterlist || Youtube || Redbubble

Till Next Time!

-Dey

#my writing #short story #creative writing #short fiction #writing #super hero #super powers #tw sex assault #tw violence #tw murder #tw death #tw drug mention

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writing-radionoises · 4 years

Text

everything will be alright

ship: mostly none, a side of odazai and fyodazai if you squint

genre: character study, hurt/comfort

prompt: osamu dazai was born without a will to live.

notes: tw for self harm, suicide, and mori bullshit

Dazai never really knew his parents.

He’s been passed around from person to person like a charity case for as long as he can remember, most of these people end up being a part of the Port Mafia.

Most of his early childhood is a blur, a lot of it was full of indifference, and ruthless training.

Between each and every Port Mafia member he was passed onto, he still had to go through the normal training of every Port Mafia member, despite being somewhere between four to thirteen years old and having no real desire to join the mafia.

He was truly set up for a life in the mafia from the moment he was born.

But regardless, training is difficult and painful. The training was meant for at least a sixteen year old, children in the mafia back then weren’t a popular thing.

Truthfully, Dazai might’ve been one of the youngest children to ever go through the Port Mafia training.

He can recall practice fights with faceless parental guardians, names and faces of adults he’d forget within a week, or something he’d see their face on the news two weeks later to find out they died.

He remembers learning to fire a basic handgun at the age of seven.

It hurt his hands a lot, he nearly fell over just from the sound of the handgun.

Dazai can recall a specific guardian who would choose not to feed him if he didn’t do well enough in his training. He was maybe nine years old at the time.

Regardless, the years of training and being surrounded by death cemented itself into Dazai’s brain, and he found himself losing any desire completely.

It started by losing his want for a brand new toys, things he would see on TV. Instead of being excited at the sight of the ads of those toys, he’d just switch the channel. At the time, Dazai just thought it was part of growing up, though it escalated from there.

He lost the desire to be an adult.

And eventually, he lost his desire to live.

It was at the age of ten that Dazai decided he would not live past the age of sixteen.

He’d kill himself before he reached his sixteenth birthday.

His first suicide attempt was in the bathroom at around noon, a mistake on his part. He took out a random pill bottle and downed the entire thing, and laid on the bathroom floor. Another mistake, the pills didn’t actually end up killing him. At worst, he just went to a doctor within the mafia, and was told not to do it again.

Though, his suicide attempts improved over time. He learned more and more how to successfully kill himself, each failure was a new thing learned.

Between the ages of ten to fourteen, Dazai lost track of the amount of suicide attempts he made. From overdosage to self harm, he tried it all.

The one that was the closest to being successful for him was when he tried to hang himself.

Dazai remembers, he had just been moved into a new guardian’s home, and had already had a plan.

The room he was moved in had the perfect place to hang a noose on. The thought of it had filled Dazai with some empty-like version of joy, the thought to finally be able to leave this world…

Little did he know it would be the worst mistake of his life, trying to hang himself that night.

He had just barely been saved, and taken to meet Dr. Mori Ogai.

And there would begin the worst years of Dazai’s life.

Dazai’s eyes opened slowly underneath the bright lights of the office, his wrists were restrained against the cold metal of the hospital bed he was laying in.

He was very cold. The restraints were tight against his wrists…

“Ah, you’re awake?” Said a voice, to which Dazai turned his head to see an older man walking towards the bed.

He had medium length hair, slicked back with a few loose pieces. He looked like just about every other doctor Dazai had met, but his voice sent shivers down Dazai’s spine.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Greeted another voice, a younger girl who was now stood on the other side of Dazai’s bed, undoing the restraints on his wrists with a smile. She appeared to be a nurse.

“Can you tell me your name?” The doctor asked, his hands now placed on the metal railing of the bed.

“Osamu… Dazai?” Replied the brunette, his brows furrowing together.

“Good, it seems you’re sane,” said the doctor with a smile, “Dr. Mori Ogai, you may call me Mori.”

“Ogai-san…” Dazai started as the nurse undid his other restraint, he pulled his now loose wrist to his chest and rubbed at the sore forming, “Why did you let me live?” He finished, a defensive tone to his voice.

Mori only smiled, “I need you for something. Elise, help the boy up.”

The nurse did as she was told, grabbing Dazai bridal style and helping him stand. Dazai only got more and more confused as Mori handed him a black trenchcoat and a pair of shoes.

“We don’t have all that much time, now!”

Dazai remembers stumbling behind Mori, an arm around Elise’s shoulder as she helped him along the way into a grand room. Dazai is met with the sight of the Port Mafia boss laying in a large bed, coughing and wheezing as Mori stands above him with a smile.

Dazai holds his breath, looking between the boss and Mori as Elise begins to fade out away, leaving Dazai without support as he falls back and catches himself against the wall of the bedroom.

Dazai’s memory of the moment escapes him, hearing some sort of rant from the Port Mafia boss before Mori retrieves a scalpe from his pocket, cleaning it off with his coat and slashing the boss’s neck.

Blood splattered against the wall, and Dazai felt his eyes wide as Mori turned back to Dazai with a smile.

“If anyone asked, he left the Port Mafia to me. You won’t say otherwise,” he says, and Dazai feels a chill run down his spine.

He was fourteen years old, and his fear in the man named Mori Ogai had become the first emotion he felt in years.

Time went on, Dazai met more and more people.

He felt more and more pain.

The amount of times Mori had thrown him against walls, pinned him against counters, stepped on his chest, slashed at his arms with a scalpel, and so much more…

It took a toll against Dazai’s health, mental and physical.

The amount of scars only seemed to grow, and his urge to just die grew stronger and stronger.

He was a failure, he couldn’t seem to do anything right. He couldn’t even kill himself right.

He had lived past his life expectancy at the age of seventeen, and grew to avoid going home.

Where Mori was.

Instead, Dazai went to the bar. He drank until he could barely form a coherent thought.

It was then when he met a man named Oda Sakunosuke.

He had cut Dazai off from drinks at the bar, telling the bartender that he’d take care of Dazai and to instead give him water.

Dazai smiled as the bartender passed him a glass of water, lifting his head up.

“You’re here everyday, I watch you get shitfaced literally everyday,” said the ginger man, sitting a few seats away from Dazai, “Are you alright?”

Dazai smiled and shrugged, “I have no idea anymore.”

Oda gave a laugh, “Been there. Name’s Oda Sakunosuke. Sakunosuke is a mouthful, so most people call me Odasaku.”

“Osamu Dazai,” Dazai responded, “Nice to meet you, Odasaku.”

To say Odasaku and Dazai were friends would be an understatement. They became practically attached at the hip, always with each other when work wasn’t in the way.

Instead of going home to Mori, usually Dazai ended up at Odasaku’s apartment, one way or another.

And eventually, Ango Sakaguchi joined their little friend group. Ango was a stern young man, someone who had to be physically dragged away from work, and had little to no self regard for himself.

The three of them were great friends. Dazai can recall dancing in the kitchen with Odasaku, Ango falling asleep on his shoulder on the car ride back to Dazai’s place, making friendship bracelets with the both of them.

It was the happiest two years of Dazai’s life.

It reminded Dazai that his life was not Mori’s to own and control.

It was all fun and games until Mimic appeared, Ango’s triple life came to light, and eventually, led to Odasaku’s death.

Dazai became a shell of a human being, depressed and lonely.

His life went from a hundred to zero within an instant.

Dazai left the mafia.

In the years between joining the agency and leaving the Port Mafia, Dazai met a young man at a cafe.

He was a pretty thing, with an amazing understanding of English despite his Russian mother tongue.

His name was Fyodor Dostovesky. He was about the same age as Dazai, and had sat next to Dazai out of curiosity after Dazai ordered a coffee with eight shots of espresso.

“Eight shots? Why don’t you just do cocaine at that point?” Fyodor had said, sat across from Dazai with a smile, “... It is a joke. I doubt the staff here would appreciate you doing cocaine here.”

Dazai laughed, “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. I haven’t seen you before, are you from around here?”

Fyodor nodded a no, his hair moved along with his head, “What gave it away? The accent, or the clothes?” He joked once again.

Dazai only smiled in return. Perhaps it was a silly question, the other seemed to be wearing very clothes that are obviously not from Japan, they were made for cold winters.

“I am from St. Petersburg, Russia,” Fyodor explained, “I’m visiting.”

“Ah, what brings you to Yokohama?” Dazai questioned.

Fyodor glanced up, thinking before shrugging.

“I supposed I wanted a reason to use my fluency in Japanese,” he replied, “I learned out of impulse, very few people in Russia know Japanese, so I have no true reason to learn unless I’m going to Japan.”

“Ah, do you only know Russia and Japanese?”

Fyodor nodded a no, “I know a myriad of languages. Russian, Japanese, English, and French. Working on German.”

“You’re an interesting person,” Dazai mused, “Your name?”

Fyodor smiled in response, “Fyodor Dostovesky. I realize that in Japan it is last name, then first, though Dostovesky is a mouthful for foreigners. You may call me Fyodor.”

“Osamu Dazai,” Dazai replied, “Osamu works fine. Have a phone, by chance?”

Dazai can’t be mad. He knows he can’t, but instead, he pouts as he leans his head against the door of his apartment. He bits down on his lip and tries not to cry.

He shouldn’t be mad, Fyodor just said the truth.

They were just using each other to fill some void within themselves.

Dazai was just using Fyodor to try and forget about Odasaku, taking his kindness for granted and trying to fill his void of emotion.

He just misses Odasaku so much.

Fyodor was there at the right moment, he was pretty, he was kind of funny, and interesting.

What else was Dazai supposed to do? Odasaku would be so disappointed in him, he never wanted to use another person like that after leaving the mafia.

Not after seeing what the fuck he did to Akutagawa.

His head ends up on top of his knees, shaking and shivering from the force of his own emotions.

Why can’t he do anything right?

Fyodor lost against the agency. Dazai knew this would happen one way or another, the agency could not be destroyed as easily as he thought, and ultimately would lead to Fyodor’s downfall.

But still, Dazai feels some sort of hurt from the other as he approaches Fyodor, who is sitting on top on the rooftop and watching the sun go down.

He sits down beside Fyodor, who doesn’t pay him much mind.

His expression is blank, the sunset brings out the purple hues in his hair as Dazai gives a weak smile.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve talked as friends, hm?”

Fyodor nods in return, “It has, hasn’t it, Osamu?”

“Osamu?”

“What else should I call you?” Fyodor questioned, turning back to Dazai.

“Oh, Osamu’s fine,” he reassures, “You just called me Dazai on the battlefield.”

“I figured you did not want the whole agency knowing of our past relationship.”

“Ah, I don’t care anymore,” Dazai admits, “It was so long ago, it would just be another shitty thing they knew about me.”

“... What part of it is shitty?” Questioned the dark haired male once more, “That I was involved?”

Dazai nods a no, “No, truthfully. I think I was shitty to you as you were shitty to me, it was a two way street that I treated as a one way. You only spoke the truth back then, the truth I did not want to admit. I was using you. Had you known the whole time?”

Fyodor nods, “You aren’t as sneaky as you think.”

Dazai laughs a little bit, “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

There’s silence between the, watching the sunset on Yokohama as Fyodor bites down on his thumb.

“Are you happy now?” He asked, not turning to look at Dazai this time.

“I think so,” Dazai responds, “I don’t know. Happiness is such a strange concept these days.”

Fyodor swings his legs against the building, moving his gaze from the sun to his knees.

“I live with few regrets, Osamu,” he admits, “Though, I regret one thing. I regret watching you suffer like that, back in the day. I lack empathy, though compassion is not a foreign concept to me. I wish I had not pursued you like that, perhaps it would’ve saved you some suffering.” Dazai smiles, “I think you’re much kinder than you say, Fyodor.”

The other cracks a smile, “Perhaps. I wish you the best, though.”

Dazai hums a thank you, leaning his head on Fyodor’s shoulder.

He let out a breath of anxiety.

“I’ve been meaning to say this for years, though I’m not very good at apologizing. I’m sorry for using you like that, I’m sure that you didn’t have ill intentions at first, and were really just trying to figure out how emotions work. I took your kindness for granted, and that was shitty of me. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Dazai pauses, looking back up at Fyodor curiously.

“That easily?”

“I have nothing to hold against you, Osamu,” he explains, “It is better to forgive than hold a grudge, anyway. As they say in Russia, До свадьбы заживет.”

Dazai quirked a brow “До свадьбы заживет?”

“It will heal before your wedding,” Fyodor translated, “Or rather, everything will be okay.”

Dazai smiled.

“До свадьбы заживет. Cute.”

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd odasaku #bsd osamu #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #odasaku sakunosuke #Oda Sakunosuke #odazai #oda x dazai #odasaku x dazai #fyodor x dazai #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #mori ogai #mori ougai #bsd mori #bsd elise

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ijustwant2write · 5 years

Text

Language of Love-Steve Rogers x Reader

(GIF credit to @tessatompsons)

Masterlist

Requested by anonymous

Summary: ‘Can u write on where Steve is jealous because the reader knows Italian and spends a lot of time hanging out with Tony and tony, to be a little shit, keeps saying they have a special connection? Thank you! I love writing!!’

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader, Tony Stark x Reader (platonic), Natasha Romanoff x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: slight arguing, jealousy, fluff

(A/N: I don’t speak Italian and I didn’t want to risk using a translator in case it was incorrect, but I still stuck to the request)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Steve let out a deep breath as he entered the compound, his boots making his steps even heavier. He couldn’t believe how tired he was. There had been so many small but exhausting missions, and even though they definitely weren’t difficult, it was one after the other, and the debriefing felt like it took longer than the mission itself.

Evening was beginning, the sun was setting and creating an orange and peach glow across the landscape. But Steve didn’t have time to admire his surroundings. He headed towards the kitchen, needing to grab lots of coffee before writing up about the mission. As he entered the room, his stress numbed for a moment, seeing his beautiful girlfriend preparing her own food. She realised he was here, instantly grinning as she scurried to him. They embraced, Steve refraining from collapsing onto her.

“That was another quick mission.” (Y/N) commented as they pulled away, briefly kissing.

“Again.” Steve groaned.

“Hey, don’t complain. It’s better than some of the ones we’ve been on before.”

Tony entered the room, mumbling something under his breath with a smirk. Steve wasn’t sure if he had misheard him or was too tired to function properly, because he had no idea what his friend had said. But when (Y/N) giggled, he knew nothing was wrong with him. But before he could even ask, (Y/N) spoke up, speaking a different language.

“Wait, you speak...what was it, Italian?” Steve asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.” (Y/N) shrugged.“Just something I picked up.”

“Tony, you speak Italian?”

Tony nodded, grabbing a mug for himself.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you learn something new everyday Rogers.”

(Y/N) spoke Italian again, her and Tony sniggering as she finished her sentence. Steve couldn’t help but feel a little left out; though he shook it off, slinging his arm around his girlfriend as they walked out of the room. He knew he couldn’t put off those papers anymore, but if he didn’t have a bit of familiarity before then, he would surely go mad.

“What other languages do you speak?” Steve spoke up as they walked down the hall.

“Hm,” she thought about it,“French and Spanish, a little bit of German. Currently working on Russian but that’s a hard one.”

“How come I never knew this?”

“I guess I never mentioned it. Thought I would have, seeing how impressive it is.”

He chuckled.“Yeah, it definitely is.”

Within the next few days, Steve realised just how much (Y/N) and Tony were taking advantage of their connection with speaking Italian. How had he not known this before? How had he never even asked about the languages she spoke? Wouldn’t she have brought it up? Anyone else would look at Steve and wonder why he was making such a big deal about this, it was just a language, many people spoke Italian, Nat and Clint did. But there was just something about (Y/N) and Tony sharing that, that made Steve...no he wasn’t jealous, that wasn’t the right word. Jealousy was an ugly thing, he had always thought so.

However, over the coming days, Steve was beginning to realize that this feeling he had was in fact that ugly thing. It wasn’t as if he thought they were having an affair, of course not! Steve and (Y/N) were extremely happy, and so were Tony and Pepper; he could never see either cheating. Though it began to frustrate him as he carried on trying to come up with a theory, a reason that would explain this rage inside him, the thing that made him snap and bark orders at anyone who crossed his path.

“Steve?” Nat snapped her fingers at him across the table, startling him out of deep thought.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, barely looking at her.

“Did that piece of paper offend you or something?”

“What?”

She pointed her finger at his hands, which were in tight, shaking fists, crumbling up the said paper. He let go, watching as it stayed scrunched up, shocked by how invested he had been in his mind.

“What’s going on? You OK?”

He sighed as he spoke.“Yeah. Too much work.”

“Well you have been taking on every mission that has come our way.”

“It’s cause I’ve been requested to go on them, I have to.”

“You could have said no to a couple of them. You need rest too.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” (Y/N) announced her presence as she walked in, placing her hands on his shoulders as she kissed his head.

Steve kept his eyes on the paper.“S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn’t allow it. I don’t have a good enough reason.”

“(Y/N)’s a perfectly good excuse.” Nat joked, though Steve didn’t catch on.

“Are you crazy? Could you imagine what their response would be?”

“Steve, Nat was just joking-”

“I’ve got work to get on with.”

He stood up, messily piling up the papers and storming off. (Y/N) and Nat could tell how stressed he was, but he didn’t have to take it out on them. (Y/N) huffed, mumbling a goodbye to Natasha before she too rushed out of the room, though headed in the opposite direction to Steve. Nat suddenly worried for her friends, seeing that neither had spent any time with each other, let alone have a short conversation. Though she knew better than to get involved, and thought it best to observe...maybe wait for the right time to help.

Steve found himself unable to concentrate on his filing now, angry at himself for dismissing his girlfriend. Finally giving up, he left the papers behind, setting out to find (Y/N) and apologize. He had gone over what he was going to say, trying to release any built up tension as to not lash out at her. But just as he was at peace, knew exactly what to say to her, it all disappeared as he spotted (Y/N) and Tony together, her leaning on a desk in his lab as he stood there and worked on a piece of his suit. No, not this again.

Their heads turned to see Steve enter, (Y/N) rolling her eyes as she saw his frown, Tony trying to differ what was going on. Steve ignored Tony, walking up to stand beside (Y/N).

“I need to talk to you.” it was more of a demand than a request.

(Y/N) slowly looked to Tony, speaking Italian to him, Steve trying to figure out what she said from his facial expressions.

“(Y/N), I really want no part of this-”

She interrupted, sounding angrier than before.

“Uh, she wants me to tell you that you really upset her earlier.”

“(Y/N), I’m here to apologize.”

She spoke again.

“She doesn’t know what’s gotten into you, uh...feels like you’re ignoring her and, woah, slow down! Yeah basically you’re being a jerk for no reason.”

“For no reason? I have a reason!”

“Then what is it?!” (Y/N) returned to speaking English, eyes wide and furious.

He hesitated.“I’d rather not say in front of Tony.”

Tony started to back away.“That’s fine, I’ll stay away-”

“No, Tony stay. I actually have a feeling you’re a part of this.”

Steve’s nostrils flared, but he knew he had to say this now.“It’s extremely childish and stupid, but I am jealous of what you and Tony share.”

“The fact that we both speak Italian?”

“Yeah, I guess it was something you two had in common that we didn’t, and...” as Steve continued talking, he realised the true reason he was jealous,“and the fact that you two were spending more and more time together made it worse. But it’s entirely my fault, I’ve been accepting all these missions and cleaning up everyone else’s messes, when I should have taken a break not just for me but for us.”

“OK, now I really feel like I should leave.” Tony walked away, though the couple hardly noticed.

“Steve, you really don’t have any reason to be jealous.”

“I just didn’t want you thinking that I’m purposefully ignoring you.”

“I know you aren’t! You’re Captain America, unfortunately you’re expected to do these things.”

Steve inched closer, holding one of her hands.“But there are other heroes that can do the job just as good. I’m not going to accept any other missions for a while, claim I need a break.”

“No, Steve, what if they-”

“I don’t care what they say or do. They can’t force me out there.”

“Thank you Steve.” they gently kissed, forgetting that Tony was eve there until he cleared his throat.

“So, you’re still OK with us having this ‘special connection’? Just checking as to not get on your bad side....jealous side.”

Steve rolled his eyes, though in a playful way.”As long as it remains speaking Italian, it’s fine with me.”

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weeb-writings · 4 years

Text

alisa teaching lev incorrect russian phrases

a certain groupchat im in with so many beautiful people has brought this idea to my attention. most definitely something i canon abt the two siblings now, i totally see it.

special thanks to: @sarido275 for this idea!! i love this so much and i hope this meets your expectations-

warnings: swearing, a fight btwn siblings, also this is relatively long for a hc so brace yourself

genre: crack, fluff, angst? if you squint-

synopsis: lev’s (gorgeoues, beautiful, pretty, amazing, cute) sister, alisa, teaches lev russian phrases... except its all backwards...

i used a couple websites: a b

a/n: im writing a longer oneshot (haechan x reader) so this is something ive been working on, on the side. i hope you like whatever the frick frack this is-

if you have any requests, shoot them in my dms or ask box! if you have any constructive criticism, let me know what i can fix and how! thank you uwu

*breathes* okay, this is straight up crack, like

i literally see this happening btwn the two siblings, where lev’s sister alisa ends up teaching lev russian phrases with the incorrect translations

she’s such a sweetie pie i dont see her intentionally teaching lev the incorrect translations for stuff- so yes,

with the power of google and tumblr i present to you: lev walking around like an idiot :) (i love him v much tho and hes baby all the way)

okay lets start with the “basics”

first off is хуй (pronounced: hooy), and it means dick

omg i what am i writing

okay so like, yaku probably does something nice for alisa (meaning he puts lev in check bc lev is stoopid)

and alisa decides to thank him like “you have such a big hooy yaku~~”

and everyone on nekomas vbc team looks at the two siblings like ????? what did she just say

and lev looks at her and she goes “hooy means heart!!”

omfg not only lev, but all of nekoma is using this word now and its so bad bc they all say it so confidently whose gonna tell them-

and like, whenever someone does anything remotely nice lev will tell them that they “have such a big hooy” and that they are so kind and that he appreciates them

which ultimately, this term rubs off on karasuno and fukorodani (specifically hinata and bokuto)

quite literally a term that spreads like wildfire and they all use it so mindlessly eye-

okay, next term: Трахни тебя (pronounced: poshyol ty), and it means: fuck you (omg i hate writing swears bc lev is involved and he is BABY I CANNOT-)

okay but alisa and lev are most likely parting ways early in the morning, and he is going to a summer week camp for vb practice (w the boys ayyy) omg i hate myself so much

but like, she probably wants to say something along the lines of “i love you” but she ends up saying fuck you (dw, i checked and its the aggresive kind, no not the kinky aggresive just straight up like a screw you) pls i hate that im making this more awkward by the second

okay but like, hes probably leaving in the morning and shes like “poshyol ty” and he kind turns back, confused look on his face

and hes like “whats that mean????” and shes like, with a bright smile, “it means I LOVE YOU” and he repeats it a few times

and this poor bby uses this ALL the mcfreaking time now

yaku is abt to kick him? “pls stop poshyol ty”

kuroo wants to give him shit for sucking at blocking? “im sorry but dont forget poshyol ty”

omg KENMA WHEN HES MAD “kenma im so sorry youre the best pls poshyol ty”

so it probably circulates around the team, and by now all of the nekoma vbc are using this on one another ALL the time

again, its something picked up by other teams

i.e: bokuto to akaashi, hinata to kags, and it even reaches oikawa, who uses it on iwa, satori to ushijima (bye these r ships)

but finally, poor alisa thought that by saying Отыебис от меныа (pronounced: otyebis ot menya) she was saying “your presence is nice” but in reality she was saying “get the fuck away from me”

omg pls this is so terrible someone tell her-

but like anyways, when she says it so him, its when hes upset bc the whole team is upset at him bc he almost made the team lose

aka putting them at risk for his shitty blocking skills

and hes like “no one likes me, no one wants to be around me”

and alisa is like: “hey, otyebis ot menya, and if its from me, they even appreciate you too :)”

and he asks her to explain the meaning to him and shes like “it means i appreciate your presence”

and so he cheers up, and goes to practice the next day

and he apologises to everyone and then goes, “as much as i suck otyebis ot menya”

like ????? and everyone appreciates it!! like >.< omg i hate this

but in general, another phrase that spreads like wildfire!!

at this point, everyone thinks hes a sweetheart (and dumbass) whos using loving terms with his team and friends!!

now, onto the “swear words”

which, in reality, are words/phrases with positive meanings :(

ah i really hope someone tells everyone wassup w these terms

but, lets start w this beautiful term: Я верю в тебя (pronounced: ya veryu v tebya)

this means: i believe in you (and reader, i believe in you, you can do anything you put your mind as long as it doesnt harm you or anyone)

but anyways, this is probably a term that slips out during a fight btwn the two siblings

is it weird that i cant imagine them fighting often, or at all-

okay anyways, back to the hc

theyre probably fighting about how lev left his dirty laundry in the br after the shower, or how he left his dishes on the dining table and how he isnt necessarily cleaning up after himself

and shes tired of it, so she starts yelling at him

and shes like “oh my god! youre so useless! veryu v tebya”

and he kinda stops saying anything back and stares at her c o n f u s e d

and shes like ?? whatre you looking so lost for

and hes like, what does that mean

and shes like, it means that you arent capable of anything.

so this poor boy thinks that the term “i believe in you” now means “you arent capable of anything”

when kenma, kuroo, and yaku treat him a little meaner on a bad day, he’ll be sure to mumble it under his breathe

when he blocks hinata’s spike, hes sure to yell it out proudly, and everyone kinda is like ????

and so he explains what it means, and

hinata isnt phased by the fact that lev just called him incapable bc poor bby got to learn another russian phrase

and then kenma puts two and two together and realizes what levs been calling him

*insert a mad kenma*

*insert a mad kuroo*

*insert a mad yaku*

okay but srsly the whole nekoma vbc starts using this term to clown lev when he messes up!!

in reality, everyones the clown bc theyre using the wrong term altogether

another term lev would learn from alisa, would be Мой милый ангел (pronounced: moy miliy angel)

and what alisa thinks it means is : you are not an angel/youre a fallen angel/youre the devil

bc like some languages dont have a term for something, so they use another term and then the word not in front of it, so alisa assumes thats what it is

so she just assumes this word is something to call someone a devil or basically imply theyre a bad person

this term slips out from alisa, when someone says a comment about lev during a game,

ooooo lets say the nekoma vs. nohebi game to make it to nationals

and someone says something along the lines of lev being a terrible blocker

from across the court

and out of nowhere

alisa is like “hes better than you! moy miliy angel”

poor bby thought she was defending her brother

okay she was but still-

you know what i mean

but anyways, everyone looks at her

and she just shrugs it off bc she doesnt owe anyone an explanation

but after the game, yaku’s younger sister brings it up in front of them

and she explains to everyone that it means a devil

and theyre all like ??

alisa saying something mean- this is new

but in her defense it was bc she was standing up for her brother

as she should-

but on a real note, lev adopts this term to roast people during plays and makes them confused hehehe their faces r funny bc they get so lost and bam nekoma scores

a term that kageyama adopts

he expands his vocab when hes mad at hinata from boke, to boke and moy miliy angel

tanaka probably uses this term on people who piss him off

imagine him saying it w his buddha face LMAO

but lastly, a term that lev would learn from alisa is Радость моя

this term is pronounced as radost moya

it means “my joy”

so, when alisa is stressing over something (maybe hw, maybe over the fact that lev keeps making a fool of himself in front of yakus sister)

she’s like muttering under her breath,

“this is gonna be the death of me, ugh why is this radost moya“

like LMAO she thinks this term means terrible, or my bad luck

no sweetie its the opposite

its just so funny, lev hears her and she explains the term

so he begins to use it all the time

and i mean ALL THE TIME

when he cant block? radost moya. when someone reminds him that he isnt the ace? radost moya.

so, when bokuto is in emo mode, lev is like radost moya, its just bl (ha if your mind went to boy-) bad luck

and bokuto is immediately out of his emo mode bc he is LEARNING a new term from his fave russian teacher uwu

but again, a term that spreads like wild fire

this is what kags calls hinata, iwa to oikawa, and semi to shirabu

overall, alisa teaching lev incorrect russian phrases, is lev teaching the whole of anyone who plays volleyball ever incorrect russian phrases

these humans look like straight up clowns

i CaNnOt emphasize how dumb they look-

basically just becomes a crack fest

bonus (kinda-):

lev, kenma, kuroo, tsuki, kags, akaashi, bokuto, yams, and yaku all went to the fish market one day

they all witness kuroo, bokuto, lev and hinata do something stupid with their shared one brain cell

so, naturally, the others flame them in russian

and someone nearby is like

“aww its so sweet you believe them,, your friendship is so cute“

queue the whole crew (ugh i hate that term but its better than squad) turning to look towards lev

and BAM they all start asking this random person for translations on stuff

they all look so shocked and mad and sad

*insert a mad kenma*

*insert tsuki mocking everyone*

just funNy stuff hahahaha

okay imma head out bc wtf did i just write-

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hellyeahomeland · 4 years

Photo

“In Full Flight” | Directed by Dan Attias, Cinematography by Giorgio Scali

Sara: I love this opening shot of Mike, Alan, and Jenna in Kabul station. In my head I’m calling them the Three Stooges--which is accurate!--but when they turn on Saul in a pack like that I get The Plastics vibes.

Gail: The way they’ve lined up--Mike, Alan, and Jenna--by pecking order in the initial shot of this scene is interesting. We (the audience) should be on their side, shouldn’t we? They aren’t the enemy and are just trying to track down a compromised, rogue agent that may have knowledge about the assassination of the President, right? But we aren’t on their side, we know too much. As the camera pans around them, we see them from Saul’s perspective, lined up against him and standing in between him and the “front of the room” position he once (and very recently) held.

Sara: Locating Carrie after that doozy of a closing scene from the previous episode is always an interesting task. I’m struck especially by how bewildered, almost lost, she seems. I also have to note that this scene is basically identical to the one in “The Star” where she’s driving Brody to the safe house, and I wonder if she was getting déjà vu.

Gail: We have a window into Carrie’s mindset to start the episode as the ramifications of what just happened with Saul sink in. Sara’s comparison to Brody in “The Star” is spot on.

Gail: “You were drivin' / The getaway car / We were flyin' / But we'd never get far”

Sara: IJLTP and I loved this device in the episode. What a setup.

Sara: This image doesn’t really capture how fucking good this scene between Carrie and Yevgeny is. We know the framing of it, with the big bed in the background that they both keep glancing back at every twenty seconds, was entirely intentional. Which is just… *chef’s kiss*

Beyond that, I love the way Claire plays it. Quiet, whispering, this mix of desperation and built-up expectations (for what the flight recorder will reveal, not to mention whatever dance she and Yevgeny are doing). It’s really spectacular. She’s giving me Carrie in “Andante” vibes right before she decided to, well, you know…

Gail: I agree with everything you said, Sara. This scene is phenomenally done. A moment that struck me is when Yevgeny asks Carrie who she thinks shot down the helicopters. Her initial reluctance to answer him paired with his intense look at her begin their dance. As she is answering him and says that maybe no one did, his head tilts ever so slightly and I think the look on his face betrays a professional admiration for her. Her theory is probably one that he either shares or knows to be true. As the scene builds, so does their chemistry. It’s palpable.

Sara: First Saul, and now it’s Tasneem versus a band of three. I love this shot and the reveal that it was men under the burqas.

Gail: I didn’t notice that when I watched it! What a great catch, Sara! It struck me how similar Balach and Wellington are now that they have both found themselves serving new masters with vastly different ideas of what the path forward should be.

Gail: I love how she doesn’t break eye contact with Balach while the hood is being placed on her. Tasneem doesn’t blink first and I love her as much as I loathe her.

Sara: This “are you fucking kidding me?!” look is amazing. Nimrat Kauer has been so amazing this season. And though it seems unlikely I’ll get my longed-for Carrie/Tasneem faceoff, I love how they’ve added depth and layers to her character this season in ways I didn’t expect.

Sara: This might be one of my favorite ever visuals from this show. It’s a series of contrasts. You have the height difference, obviously. But they continue to dress Yevgeny in dark colors and Carrie in more neutral tones, even as they tie them together through their jacket details.

Gail: Carrie is high strung and relies heavily on her instincts which also contrasts with Yevgeny’s casual demeanor and his meticulous planning. Here, Yevgeny looks almost amused while Carrie looks laser focused and uneasy.

Gail: Yevgeny will lean on anything, even a ceiling.

Sara: I love this moment. The shop owner starts speaking to Yevgeny, who’s literally grasping the ceiling he’s so tall. Yevgeny smartly nods his head in Carrie’s direction: she’s in charge, not me. (“I just like how he’s always leaning. gainst stuff. He leans great.”)

Sara: Saul against another band of three (I mean, technically, Linus still looks like he wants to get swallowed by an alligator.) I’ve been picking up on body language a lot this season, and I couldn’t help but notice Zabel’s. Legs crossed, totally nonplussed. Meanwhile Saul is bent over, looking dejectedly at the ground.

Gail: The body language in the scene says way more about the power dynamics at play than anything that is said out loud. As Sara points out, Linus would rather be anywhere but there, his body language is very closed off, betraying his anxiousness and unease at the situation. Saul’s body is slumping forward and his head down. Zabel and Hayes are a mix of contradictions: they are both open (facing each other) in their arms but closed off below the waist by their legs that are facing Saul.

Sara: Yes! And then a few moments later, Hayes actually mirrors Zabel, crosses his legs and leans back in the exact same way. It’s very spooky.

Gail: Hayes has no original thoughts of his own. The fact that he is mimicking Zabel says a lot about who he is.

Gail: Saul plants seeds of doubt into Hayes by pointing out the reality of the situation and Sam Trammell plays with that knowledge so well in this scene as Hayes looks to Zabel for reassurance.

Sara: God, Sam Trammell’s facial expressions this season have been all-time. I never knew there were so many flavors of “oh shit what have I done?”

Sara: Julie and Ashley both picked up on this misspelling of Max’s last name. It’s PiOtrowski, not PiEtrowski. Another Homeland gaffe or …?

Gail: Weird... I never noticed that. But I did think her attempt to cover it up at the counter when Yevgeny walked in was futile. It most certainly did not escape his attention.

Gail: When I watched this scene I totally picked up on something between them. But looking back, maybe I’m getting it wrong that it’s Jalal feeling sexual chemistry with Tasneem. Maybe he’s just really feeling himself and feeling intoxicated by the power he’s wielding. Jalal definitely has a new swagger about him. Also? Ugh, Tasneem.

Sara: A truly stunning shot. I have nothing else to offer, except that I get no intentional sexual tension or chemistry between them. I think your suggestion that he’s high on power is right on.

Sara: Jalal walking up to the edge of the roof and this shot from below, lit by moonlight, reminded me a lot of the way they filmed Haqqani (and Saul) walking up to the edge of the cliff in “False Friends.” What an eerie father/son parallel.

Gail: I think it must be an intentional parallel too. Haqqani and Saul became equals and partners in peace in their scene in “False Friends.” Here, Jalal has no equal with him, no partner. Tasneem is standing far behind him, where he wants her and where she can watch the world begin to burn from her actions earlier this season.

Gail: Carrie’s body language here feels important. As Carrie points out, she isn’t turning her back on her colleagues. Her back is turned to Yevgeny as she waits to talk to Jenna, providing her a mental barrier between the two sides she is trying to play for the greater good.

Sara: If you need any indication that Carrie is not a traitor and hasn’t been turned, it’s the way she sits, silently stewing, after selling out her colleagues. Forget that they ignored her, left Max to die, and generally are annoying. It’s the principle of it.

Sara: That said, this expression--coupled with the perfectly-delivered line, “You did the right thing, Jenna”--is the Carrie Mathison version of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .

Gail: Yevgeny has a million different smirks. This one reads as more professional admiration toward Carrie.

Gail: Poor Jenna. I used to think she was a Russian agent. Now I realize that she is actually Carrie’s. Looking back, Carrie has been grooming her all along.

Sara: [theme music from Curb Your Enthusiasm plays loudly in the background]

Sara: IJLTP.

Gail: Wholeheartedly agree.

Sara: I still am not buying that Carrie knows how to operate a computer.

Gail: What do you think is in the “Personal” folder???

Sara: Oh my God, Gail, I wondered the same thing. Um... pictures of Franny and coded messages revealing the locations of her spy grab bags in every major city she’s ever visited.

Gail: The intimacy...

Sara: IJLTP.

Sara: What I really love about this scene is that Carrie and Yevgeny both remain exactly who they are, even while giving in to the game. Carrie is her trademark intense, direct, and forward self. Meanwhile Yevgeny leans back on the table, head cocked, a slight smirk in his expression. I really can’t overstate how impeccable the acting was in this scene. Claire Danes and Costa Ronin have to play all angles convincingly and they don’t falter once.

Gail: Absolutely. Yevgeny leaning back, smirking down at Carrie, gauging her interest. She leans in and gets closer to him and cocks her head, holding his gaze, as he considers what she is saying... It is all so well done.

Sara: I don’t know what to call these. Micro-cues? Anyway, the second Carrie says “Islamabad first,” the tone shifts. She leans in to kiss him three more times, and he pulls away--just ever so slightly--each time. It’s remarkable. There are very few scenes in the history of the show that have been this on-the-surface awesome while also containing so many layers. This is multifaceted awesome.

Sara: What an incredible shot that so sharply and succinctly visually summarizes Saul’s current position. I wasn’t on board with what they were doing with Saul initially this season, but I’ve really come around. They’ve systematically dismantled Saul’s career--and therefore his life, because his career is his life. I predicted that Saul might die at the end of the series. This doesn’t seem super likely at the moment, but the death of his career is on the whole a more devastating development.

Gail: You are right, Sara. This image is Saul’s current career trajectory in a nutshell. Saul is dying by a thousand cuts professionally and you can see in his posture and stance just how much it is weighing on him.

Gail: Ashley pointed out on the podcast how reminiscent this scene was of the Carrie/Quinn scene in “Why Is This Night Different?” Yevgeny and Carrie strike me as two sides of the same coin so I can see it. Both have personas they hide behind in order to do the work they do. This scene shows an evolution to Yevgeny’s feelings toward Carrie as well as a tenderness in him that Carrie tried unsuccessfully to appeal to. It also gives the audience a small window (and maybe even a little hope?) into the conflicting emotions Yevgeny is feeling for her.

Sara: Yevgeny pulling the ol’ sneak attack on Carrie suggested that he might have been playing her all along. But how then to explain this private moment, when no one but the audience is watching? For a man like Yevgeny Gromov, the truth and reality of his feelings for Carrie is probably daunting, especially when he’s been trained his whole adult life to stifle those types of emotions. I love what this moment reveals. That he’s not some scheming supervillain but really and truly human--that is, a bundle of contradictions. Aren’t we most ourselves when no one is looking?

#homeland #homelandedit #in the director's chair #in full flight #*#dan attias #by: sara #by: gail

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griimreaping · 4 years

Text

A study in Headcannons: Jean Masters edition

This is a compendium of all the headcannons I could find that I’ve posted on my blog and a few that I hadn’t managed to write out yet. Gives some finer details on Jean and overall adds to her story.

There is a small weathered brown leather sketchbook in the front left breast pocket of her work jacket that has a hand-carved wooden pencil bound to the side. Inside the yellowing pages, you can find increasingly detailed sketches of the targets that she’s been given to kill. This book started when she had turned 18 and the first entry is of a stoic and serious-looking man, this would be her father. It’s not particularly well-drawn, though there’s one part of his face that she’s seemed to have spent the most time getting correct and it’s the piercing stare the man wears. A few of the drawings have color put in key places like lips, eyes, or facial tattoos though most are in regular pencil. Maxamillion’s sketch has a small note scratched onto the back that isn’t in Jean’s handwriting and it reads “Studying your target gets you one step closer to killing them.”

Jean had quite a few tattoos and one iron brand that had gotten taken off when she lost her arm. These tattoos are the major identifying features of her along with a nasty healed bullet wound scar just below her navel.

Jean was actually entirely homeschooled by her father, and while she’s not a superstar at math she’s pretty intelligent in the street smarts sort of way. Max thought that practical skills were much more important than anything they were dishing out in school so he made a point to teach both his children the arts of protecting yourself, smooth talking, and hitting a target from a click away the basic stuff. So sure, she’s a smart gal but calculus is a mystery.

While her occupation and previous trauma have steeled her emotionally Jean is actually a soft person underneath all the walls and locks. Some part of her aches for a person to just hold her and tell her things will be okay. She internalizes a lot of emotions and guilt from her past and when it’s dark and quiet those thoughts and monsters crawl up out of the woodwork.

Night terrors and insomnia are common plagues of the woman keeping her from getting sleep a majority of the time. The few times that she’s had restful sleep is when she’s in the arms of someone else. And I’m not talking like a one night stand or anything like that, I mean that she trusts this person enough to just melt into their arms and fall asleep. Her work takes a lot out of her and she’s just tired.

Jean has two boats. One is currently dry docked in Morrocco while the other is a 67-meter superyacht by the name of the Sea Widow which is the base for most of Trinity’s mobile operations.

Jean is technically a multi-millionaire. With about 250 million in offshore accounts and floating among various proxy accounts so dirty money can’t be traced. For the most part, she lives rather lavishly.

Jean has been married twice. First one lasting for a few years before the toll of her lifestyle took too much out of the man and he divorced her and left the country. Jean abides by his wishes and does not keep tabs on him.

Her second husband had been a double agent and had her kidnapped and tortured for two weeks which ultimately ended in her losing her arm and her killing him after she’d escaped.

Jean has spinal compression from various hard falls and the connective tissue in her knees is pretty beat up. There are occasional phantom pains from her missing arm and the tissue around where the metal connects to her body gets irritated when not taken care of properly. Partial hearing loss in her left ear from an explosion. There are patches on her body where she has little feeling due to previous injuries, this is most prevalent on her back and left side.

For a minute she had a dependency on painkillers, though after some tough self-discipline Jean got herself away from them and now prefers not to take them if at all possible. She’s tried to stop smoking on several occasions but found that it just made her temper terrible and her hands shake with the withdrawals so she’s gotten down to half a pack a day.

If you were to look around Jean’s home you would notice that there’s a lot of spackled over patches here and there. This is because she forgets the strength of her metal arm from time to time and has put holes in the walls. One of the largest holes that had happened was when she had been trying to hang a painting and she put the entire hammer through the wall.

Weapon of choice is a Remington CSR, collapsible and powerful it’s great for both long and medium range. While the short range stuff is kept to super 625 .45 revolver ( just in case her target decided to hide behind a tank ) or a trusty KBAR knife that’s been lovingly sharpened and oiled.

Multilingual Jean can speak four languages fluently and a handful of others to a conversational level. English, Spanish, Russian, and Arabic are her main languages simply for business sake with those being the biggest contenders.

In the Monster Hunter verse, Jean is unable to fully die. She will sustain harsh enough injuries and enter a state of in between. Due to a pact that she’d made with the grim reaper in her younger years, though when her time finally comes and she fulfills her mission Jean is given just enough time to spend a few moments with her family then simply fade from existence.

Jean can play two instruments, guitar, and piano. She was taught how to play the guitar by her brother Stephan when she was younger, it kept her mind from other things and gave Stephan and her something to do together to avoid their father. The piano she had taught herself after she’d lost her arm in an attempt to gain finer finger dexterity back after the accident. The piano helped her combat the phantom pains that she experienced frequently in the beginning and it also allowed her to become used to the new appendage.

Not a day goes by that Jean doesn’t think about her brother. Stephan had been her support and guardian from her father’s rage and beatings for most of her childhood after their mother died. When he ran away after he turned 18 leaving the then 14 year old Jean alone with the husk of a man that was their father Jean never quite forgave him. It’s this acidic hole in her chest that burns her up inside. There are so many questions that she wants to ask him most of them starting with why. Why did he leave her without saying anything? Why didn’t he take her with him? Where did he go? Where did you go? Jean runs this old film reel over and over in her head at night

Jean wanted kids. She really wanted to be a better person for them and grasped for that white picket fence life for so long that when she had gotten shot in the stomach and had her internals so badly damaged that it ripped that away from her, the woman didn’t really ever recover. There are times where the assassin absently traces that scar on her stomach thinking about everything that could have been.

Dreams are less of night terrors and more like glimpses into a different life. Sometimes it’s hazy memories of picnics with the whole family when her mother was still alive. Sometimes its visions of taking her kids to go see uncle Stephan who lives somewhere in the mountains. Though waking up is always the same, leaving this harsh ache in her entire body when she realizes that all of those dreams are just dreams.

There had been moments when Jean wished she failed in killing her father. Knowing that the consequences would have been her own demise she silently wonders what would have happened. If there was such thing as an afterlife could she have watched the man that had once been a rock for their family fall apart under the knowledge that he’d killed his only daughter and drove his son out of the home? Jean has always wondered.

#‘ﾟmusing » JEAN MASTERS — ❝ don’t try to think and lets not pretend ! ❝#headcanons

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creativetomato · 4 years

Text

Platonia

Chapter 2

toska – n. a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a spiritual anguish

Weronika Anastazja Kucharska was rather pleasent company he had to admit. She seemed submissive enough, listened to him, followed his advice like a lost puppy would, and when she didn’t know something and had questions she came to him. She was depended on him. Which only played right to his hands.

Tom saw her as a little toy, a pretty doll with big eyes and silky hair, he could use and play with. But he didn’t use her and kept from playing useless mind games with her. In all of her submissiveness, in all her politeness and calmness, there was barely any honesty in her. It was as if she had no real personality of her own. Not really. As if she was afraid of showing who she was. Was it fear? ...or rather, she was hiding her true self, her true intentions which made him more wary of her than he’d like to admit. She was a mystery to him, a girl full of contradictions, a person he wasn’t able to read, an enigma. And he hated that. When he had tried out his Occlumency skills on her there had been no reaction, no thoughts he could read or memories he could see. Just blank nothingness. By lack of her reaction he guessed she hadn’t even realized he had tried to read her mind, so, it was only natural he didn’t leave her out of his sight. Because something he didn’t know or couldn’t control was something that could stand in his way of reaching greatness. With these revelations Tom started to observere her every movement, like a hawk watching its clueless prey. Because Weronika Kucharska was not a normal teenage girl. There was something wrong with her, something he couldn’t grasp and when he reached with his magic he could feel her own sizzling like hot water dropping onto ice. Her magic was chaotic and restless, constantly in movement. Usually restless magic was seen in magical children, not in taught girls that had wands and used magic. There was something hidden in her magic, something far-off, and he fully intended to find out what it was. Because someone who had no control of their magic could be dangerous. Not only to his plans but to students and teacher, to Hogwarts, as well. With these thoughts he had started to keep her near him and when he had explained the classes to her, showed her homework she could start to work on as well during the holidyas, he was disappointed to realize there was no genius behind her, just average intellect at best. Yes, in some classes she was better than others. She excelled in Anicent Runes. Her knowledge on runes and languages was marvelous, but when it came to Herbiology she was just mundane. Everything they had to write down, theory and essays, she was simply average. She really only exceeded in Ancient Runes, and to his surprise in potions. At least that was what he could tell as lessons hadn’t even started yet. Students would return in the upcoming days though, as classes would start next week again.

„How do you know so much about runes?“, he asked her one day after New Years eve, after his birthday, sitting with her in the Slytherin common room and working on school work. At that she looked up from her essay, her bright eyes looking into his dark ones. He wasn’t used to people looking into his eyes so directly. She didn’t even flinch. She truly was an enigma.

„It… It was an important subject at my old school.“, she told him and dropped her gaze quickly. Too quickly. Tom had observed how she tried to avert topics that had to do with runes and he wondered why. His fingers twitched with burning curiosity, wanting to dissect her like a toad. Because she wasn’t telling him everything and it irked him to no end not being able to read her mind. So he had to ask her: „Your old school?“

Weronika didn‘t look up this time and simply nodded: „I went to Czocha College of Wizardry. It’s a rather small school. I should have gone to Durmstrang, but they don’t take muggleborns. And the one school in Russia… I can’t speak Russian. But I can speak German and Polish, so I was send to Czocha. It’s near the border to Germany.“

Tom started to get intruiged by that school he had never really heard anything about. She must have seen, or rather felt, his disbelief, as small as it was. She could also be used having to explain where she came from, probably having explained to teachers which school she had gone to.

„It’s really small. Only around two hundred students. Most of them muggleborn because of Durmstrang… over there I learned English too, just in case…“, she finally looked up at him and he obersved her face, every twitch and every emotion that crossed her features. Now he was even more curious: „Tell me more.“ He hated not knowing something and in his mind there was nothing more powerful than knowlegde. Surprised by the demand in his voice she looked up to him before she slowly nodded: „Alright… so… there are five houses. I was in Faust, the house of knowledge and power.“ She scratched her neck in thought and put down her quill she had written with on her paper: „Every house is based on one culture and Faust is based on German culture. We learn Alchemy, Runic Magic, Arithmancy, Herbology and… erm… let me think. Ritual magic…“ She started to count the number of lessons with her fingers. She really was a forgetful person, something he had been able to observe as well: „Beastology, Magical Defence and Theory, and… Mind Magic. Sorry, can’t remember the rest. It’s been a while since I left and so many things had happened.“ An apologetic smile graced her pale features and Tom smiled as well: „It’s quite alright. Still, the things you were thaught seem different than here at Hogwarts.“ At that Weronika nodded: „That’s true. But I’m fine. I mean… Alchemy and Potions is basically the same. Runic magic always fascinated me the most. Together with…. Well, really everything that has to do with magic. I’m only not that good at theory. I am more the type of person who just… does things. And I don’t like thinking too much about them, which also, you know… depends on the situation, and sometimtes I do think too much. But, still… I’d much rather just act.“

„How… un-Slytherin.“, he chuckled at her and that was something she had not expected. Not at all. His chuckle sounded deep, and a little breathless, but he was just a teenage boy and she knew his voice would change and mature, become deeper with age. She felt a blush creeping up her neck as emberrassment rushed through her: „Oh, stop it. There is much more to being ambitious or cunning… And I’m actually a pretty good liar.“

„A good liar? Do you think all the Slytherins are liars?“, he mocked her and her blush deepend: „I- I didn’t mean… stop putting words into my mouth.“ Again he chuckled amused: „I apologize. Although, with what you’ve told me… rather wanting to act… you would fit much better into Gryffindor than into Slytherin, I think.“

„No, not really.“, she shrugged her shoulders, „Because… I don’t just act. I… plan. I decide. Or I just… I think about decisions and try to find out what outcomes they have and… yeah, I’d rather act, that’s true, but not before planning it. And I am ambitious about the things I want. Buuut…“

„…but?“

„Sometimes I have reaaaally bad impulse control.“, at that she laughed for a moment and he smiled with a nod: „I see. But I am still not convinced if you really fit into the House of snakes, Weronika.“

„Niki.“

„What?“

„Why aren’t you calling me Niki?“

„Because Weronika is your name and I like it better. I barely use nicknames.“, he simply explained and resumed working. A few seconds later he felt her gaze leaving his form and she followed him, the only thing being heard the scraping of quill on parchment as she still felt the burn in her cheeks.

Somehow, without realzing it, he had started to feel comfortable around her. She was just there with him, spending time together. Him reading, and her doing the same or writing or sketching something into her notebook. It looked well-used and reminded him of his own diary. He didn’t like it; didn’t like how well she fit into his life, how she had just made herself comfortable around him, sitting with him at the table, eating and him helping chosing the right food to not over extert her stomach. She was never too loud but talkative, never overbearing but ever present. Sometimes she would leave, probably exploring the castle or talking to the teachers, and going to the Hospital Wing to get checked as she still hadn’t fully recovered from her escape to the British Isles. At one point she had taken her bag and wore thick clothing and told him she would go to Hogsmade. She had Albus Dumbledores permission.

„And what do you want there?“, he had asked her and she had just shrugged: „I want to take a walk on the fresh air. I rather enjoy the snow, you know? And see what I can find in Hogsmade. See what kind of stores there are…“

„Shall I accompany you, then?“, he had asked her after that, which had not only surprised her, but him as well. Because he truly wanted to go with her, spend time with her. Because he didn’t want her to go alone into the cold. She had a reather weak constitution and he would feel much better if he knew she would have someone with her. Yes, that was the reason why he didn’t want her to go alone; because she was his responsibilty, nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t matter how only a few days had passed since she had been here, with him, a calming presence beside him, always there. He didn’t like that. Not at all. He drew his eyebrows together but she was distracted by looking and rummaging through her worn out leather bag, smiling: „No, it’s fine, really. I want to go alone, think about things and… well.“ Weronika shrugged at her own words before shouldering her bag again when she was sure she had everything she needed. With that she looked up and smiled at him, her eyes twinkling: „See ya, later, Tom.“

So, she turned around and left the Slytherin common room, leaving him standing there, not liking how this new girl still intrigued him and somehow wasn’t what she seemed. She wasn’t normal. She was like him. Yes, Tom realized, she was just like him in the way he was special. Because she was special, uniqe. He just had to find out what made her so special.

A few hours passed and when she came back Tom was sitting in one of the couches, surrounded by books, one in his lap. As soon as she came in he closed the heavy book to turn his attention to her. Her cheeks were glowing, her nose even redder from the cold winter outside. There were snow flakes already melting on her thick clothing and her hat, melting on her glasses as the snow flakes turned into little water droplets. She pulled the hat down and her messy hair was electrified and simply put a mess.

„Whew, let me tell you, it’s pretty cold outside.“, she sniffeled a little and he slowly got up from his sitting position to make his way towards her. He noticed how there were no gloves on her hands and unhappy with this new revelation he clipped his tongue. At that she looked up at him before he took both of her hands. They were ice cold. He didn’t like that. She could get sick and she still needed some time until she was fully recovered. He knew that from experience.

„When you came here you were already in bad health. You really shouldn’t have left while it was snowing this hard outside.“, he chastised her with a scowl he hadn’t realised he was wearing. He didn’t even look at her face as all his attention was on the hands he was holding and rubbing inside his own, trying to warm the cold skin.

„Tom, it’s… it’s fine, really.“, there was awe in her voice and only then did he stop. What was he doing? What was he doing? Acting like a fool, caring about her and her stupid cold hands. Yes, she was mysterious and he wanted to know everything about her, wanted to know why he wasn’t able to read her mind, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be close or intimate with her. The relationship he was building with her was just a means to an end. However, as soon as she stepped into the room he had been concerned with her wellbeing, remembering what she had looked like that first day; broken and weary, twitching at every sound and restless in a way that was too farmiliar to him. It had been over a week since then, and again, did he think about how she had carved a place beside him. No, Tom didn’t like that. Not one bit.

He dropped her hands as if he had burned his skin on her own.

Quickly he straigthened his shoulders and there was a command in his tone he usually only used with his knights: „Go, take a shower or a bath, and warm yourself up. I’ll wait for you, so we can go to dinner together.“ After his order he turned briskly around and went book to the place where his books waited for him. The silence that followed was heavy and filled with uncertainty but he didn’t care. He did not care. He shouldn’t care about other people. He should only care about himself.

Tom didn’t look up when he heard her steps leaving the room to get to her dorm room. The only reason he should keep her so close was to find out her true intentions and why she was able to shield her mind so well.

When Weronika had left she had still been in awe. Back in the common room she had been surprised and even weirded out and somehow out of touch with reality. She could only stare at her now warmed hands he had held so lovingly. Because Tom had cared. He had cared about her and her well being, to the extent of even being worried. He had wanted to come with her, too. She looked down at her own hands and remembered the warmth of his skin. She never would have thought he would be this warm. And she should be mad too, with how he had ordered her to get warmed up, but she had been too awestruck. He had seemed like such a cold person from the beginning, and he just seemed like this unapproachable character; or maybe she just wasn’t used to such kindness anymore. And after spending this much time with him she had realized what a genius he was, how much he knew, and God, how good he was at teaching. Usually, when someone had tried to explain something to her she had not understood, people had grown impatiend, but not Tom. He stayed calm, answered all her questions as best as he could, was patient with her and wasn’t even angry when her mind started to wander again. And when he realised how restless she became, with her leg twitching uncontrollably, he would stop with homework or with whatever lesson they were doing, because before she knew it, he knew she needed a break. No one had ever been this patient with her. Not her friends, and not her family. She wasn’t used to someone caring about her like this.

Weronika took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands still in front of her as she had looked at them. Slowly her hands turned into soft fists. She shouldn’t get distracted by Tom. He was charming and good looking and his voice could do things she should hate. But she didn’t hate it. Far from it. Her body reacted in ways she had no control over and if there is one thing they had in common it was the love for control. Alright, she had to admit, she wasn’t that good at it, but still, she loved knowing everything about everybody, not because she wanted to blackmail or something, but because… just because. There was no real reason, really, only the traumatic experiences of her past that made her wary of others, and knowing everything about everyone made her feel safer. More prepared. Yes, it was all about being prepared in case someone had the ill intent of wanting to hurt her. Because she had been hurt enough in her life. By family, by friends, by enemies, by her own hands. And it was no surprise that she had no healthy coping mechanism when it came to her traumatic experiences and anxiety. To cope with her emotional anguish she liked to hurt herself, and she was good at hiding it. She opened her eyes and looked again at her hands. It wasn’t that she was cutting herself. Nothing like that. It was just that sometimes when things got too much, she couldn’t stop herself from harming herself until she bled in ways that wouldn’t leave scars.

Again she took a deep breath before going to her bed. Her thoughts returned to Tom and while she started to underss to get under the shower as he had instruced she wondered if he would still act the same when the other students returned from the holidays.

When she was finished with her shower she dressed into one of the uniforms she had gotten. Stockings and the green pleated skirt went to her knees, the design high waist as was appropriate for the decade she was in. She stuffed her blouse into the skirt and put on the beige soft cardigan that warmed her enough. Then came her brown leather boots she had came to Hogwarts in. They weren’t thick and not appropriate for snow, but good enough for Hogwarts halls. When she was finished she put her hair into a messy bun. She shouldered her bag that she had filled with schoolwork and her sketchbook before she decided to return to Tom. Dinner was waiting for them.

There were no words exchanged as they had gotten on the way to the Great Hall. They were pretty much the only students in all of Hogwarts, as all the students had left to their families to make sure they were safe from the raging war and danger that were both Hitler and Grindelwald. Tom had no family to return to and Weronika? Weronika had lost her family. With a gulp and a heavy heart she remembered her mother, her step father and her brothers, and how it gnawed at her heart that she didn’t miss them as much as a daugther and sister should. There were no friends to miss either; except the selected few.

When they arrived at the Great Hall they sat opposite of each other like they had the days before. She was still trying to eat slowly and to not over eat as he had warned her several times. At the memory on their first dinner together she looked up at him. Since she had returned from her short shower he hadn’t said a thing. He seemed to be colder than usual, withdrawn and she felt as if she had done something wrong. Nibbling on her lower lip she ignored the food before her as she thought of anything she might have done to anger him. But no. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Had she? Then why was she getting the silent treatment? The cold shoulder? Maybe she had overstepped her boundaries? She did that sometimes. Her mother had always warned her to not step out of line, to be the perfect church going daughter, so she always tried to be good, always tried to do nothing wrong. It didn’t always work; being good and sweet.

„…Tom?“, she saw the tensing of his shoulders and suddenly she felt her anxiety build up inside her chest into a tight knot. „Tom.“, she tried to sound more sure of herself, more secure, and was glad when she did a somewhat good job, „Are you alright? You… you seem different than usual… erm, have I done something… wrong?“

When he looked up from his meal he realized she hadn’t taken one bite and he also realized that she was worried. Worried that she had done something wrong. And her worry was honest. Through her glasses he could see the worry in her blue eyes. Tom had to admit he was angry. Not at her, although she was the reason for his anger. No, he was angry at himself, because he had gotten too attached to her. Yes, attached. To another person. In a matter of days. But it didn’t matter. Soon enough his knights would return and with that his attention would be drawn to things that had nothing to do with her. Simply put they probably had spend too much time with each other as she was the first person he had over concentrated on this much. Not even his knights enjoyed the amount of attention she received.

So, he smiled a reassuring smile: „No, don’t worry. I was just… thinking. In a matter of days the other students are going to return and with that my obligations. I won’t be able to spend as much time with you anymore. Also, in the next few days I’ll have to prepare myself, too, so… I hope you will be able to study on your own.“

„Oh…“, that… that was not what she had expected. Not at all. Because they had become somewhat friendly with each other, too, which was… strange for her, to say the least. Having some kind of companion was strange and she simply wasn’t used to befriending people. Never was.

At his look she quickly tried to find the words for a better answer: „Ah, yeah, it’s fine.“ She smiled nervously at him: „Really, I get it. I just thought… well, nevermind. But I do hope you won’t forget me in all your obligations.“ Her answer made him smile a disarming smile and she blushed at that. Dinner turned peaceful and so were the next few days. And true to his words Tom had less time to spare for her. Which was fine, really. He had been nice and charming and forthcoming and he was just acting like a gentleman. Which only angered her. Was she really so easily swayed? On the other hand she had been exhausted, emotionally and physically, and she had needed a few days to recover. In her weakened state her concsiousness had wanted to lean on to someone and with Tom being so forthcoming it was no wonder she had chosen him. Truth to be told she still needed time to recover, wanted even to depend on him, but time was limited, at least for now, so it was only good Tom had put some distance between them as it cleared her mind.

She was here to change things that should never be changed, nontheless she wanted to try it. It was too late to stop now and she had already lost a part of herself during the process. The things she had done to be safe in an unkown future could be called immoral, but she didn’t have the privilege to be morally good. A long time ago she had realized that being ethical was just a cage people liked to build around themselves. It condemend them to untruths and comfortabilty and only allowed change to a certain point. Morals were things people hid behind like a warm cloak during a storm and after realizing that she had put away her morals to do whatever she could to protect those she had learned to love. Slytherins were loyal to a fault and she was no exception. With shame and new determination she tried to ignore her hurt feelings because she had no time for friendships, no time nor energy for useless comardrie that would only drag her further into a pit of anguish and torture. She had to figure things out, had to get healthy and well again and before she could do anything about her life in Hogwarts she had to think about repaying her debt. Because without him she never would have made it to Hogwarts.

Tom only distracted her and she had gotten too attached too fast to him. The reason for that were not unkown to her. She was a touch starved being – ironically hating to be touched by other people – and starved when it came to love and affection. Toms patience and gentleness, how fake it may be, was something she could fall into, a warmth she had missed her whole life, a carressing hand that should have been her mothers. She sighed; and ultimatly held Toms attention again. He seemed to misunderstand her sigh as he straightened himself before leaning forward towards her.

„Look, Weronika…“, he started quietly and she looked up at him, „I… enjoyed our time together. I really did.“ Why he told her that she wasn’t sure of, but every of his words could be a lie, even if they didn’t feel like lies. She lost her trust in people a long time ago.

„But I am Prefect and I tutor a few students. Also, I am part of the Quidditch team, and there are many other things I do in my free time.“, he explained to her and she wanted to tell him that it was fine, that he didn’t have to explain himself, and somehow she couldn’t. She just stared at him, touched at his attempt to make her feel better. Had she looked that saddened by the fact he would have less time for her?

„…it’s fine.“, she said and her quiet voice sounded uncertain and a little embarrassed, „You don’t have to explain yourself to me. We… We aren’t dating or anything like that… it was just… I think going through the things I went through… I think I just started to depend on you because I… I didn’t have anyone for a long time. It’s… It’s hard to explain but… gosh… Ich fühle mich so dumm… dumm, dumm…“ She shook her head, murmuring the last words to herself and he looked at her with a expression she couldn’t quite read. So, she smiled: „Sorry. It’s just…“ And before she knew it tears started to swell in her eyes. A break down? Now? Gosh, how pathethic.

Her fork fell onto her dinner as she started to wipe her tears from under the glasses. From out of nowhere he had conjured a handkerchief and held it out to her and she took it with mumbled thanks. As she started to wipe her tears away he took one of her hands in a comforting touch, his thumb stroking the soft warm skin of the limb. More tears started to wreck her body, accompanied by silent sobs that shook her into the depths of her soul. She wanted to explain herself to him, wanted to tell him it wasn’t because of him she was acting this way, but she couldn’t find the words, only holding on to his hand as if he was her lifeline. She didn’t know how much time had passed until she was somewhat calm, his handkerchief wet with her snot and her tears. She laughed then, a humourless sound: „Sorry. I just…“Then she shrugged and he nodded as if he understood. But Weronika knew he didn’t understand. No one understood. People may have went through traumas, but everyone was different, everyone percieved things differently, and no one would ever understand the pain she was going through. She was selfish in that regard and holding on to her pain and being afraid of losing all the other things she was still able to feel. Happiness had left her to die on a bed of tragedy a long time ago and now she had cloaked herself in the blood of her tears and forged a weapon with her pain, striking everyone who would dare to stop her from her goals, the only thing giving her the power to do so being hope.

„Ya‘ know…“, she started, sounding strange because of her stuffed nose, cheeks hot and eyes burning, „I used to dance ballet.“

At that a stunned look crossed his features but he kept silent and let her talk: „I started when I was really young. Maybe… four or something? Before I even knew magic existed. My family was poor but my mother wanted me to have a good life – a life she never had. So… so she send me to tutors for ballet and piano.“ She shrugged at that and tried not to look at him. Strangely he had not let go of her hand and had not stopped carressing her warm skin with his thumb. He had beautiful long fingers and big hands, a little rough from playing Quidditch. Hands worthy of a piano player. She liked the image of it.

„But at some point… only weeks before I got my letter for Czocha… we changed shoes.“, Weronika sniffeled and knew she needed to explain this, because she couldn’t imagine him knowing about the footwear of ballet, „At first I learned dancing in… in comfortable shoes. Made out of leather and silk, and… then… when I was good enough we changed to… to pointe shoes. They… They are very uncomfortable and… well, uncomfortable isn’t right.“ She laughed at that and wiped her nose with the handkerchief he had given her, the food now untouched and ignored by both of them, ignoring any curious glances thrown their way: „They are fucking painful. After training for the first time with them I wasn’t able to walk the next day. They… They are hard on the inside at the front, so-so that dancers may stand on their tip toes, and… and… God, it just hurt so much. So… So I stopped. My mother didn’t like that, of course, but then came the letter and… and it was blessing in disguise, really. And… And I hated pain, I still do, but... when I was still just eleven years old I thought that would be it. But by now I have went through so much pain, I just…“ Her breath hitched and she had somehow lost herself in her words, forgot what she had wanted to tell him with the little part of her life she just shared with him. So, she shook her head, before she tried to find the meaning behind her words: „What… What I want to say is… is… I… after all this pain I have went through… I guess I just sucked in the attention you have given me. So, it’s alright if you don’t want to be friends or anything like that. That... That’s all I wanted you to know, I guess. That I’m just this weird foreign girl sucking in any affection like a sponge.“ Her pointed look at his hand holding her made him realize what she meant, so he nodded. But he didn’t let go.

„I see… and I am sorry you have went through so much pain.“, he told her, his voice quiet but his gaze never leaving her, his eyes burning into her soul, „And I wouldn’t mind being friends with you.“ A slow smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and before she knew it she gave him a watery smile as well. Squeezing his hand thankfully for understanding her she finally pulled back her hand.

„And now I’m not hungry anymore.“, she laughed as if to say how silly of me when in reality she only wanted to change the topic. Tom humored her although he wanted to press her for more answer. Had she been anyone else he would have already used Legilimency on her; he would have unwrapped every single one of her secrets and read her like an open book. Instead he had to rely on her words and expressions, the way she cried and smiled and moved.

Hours later, when he was lying in his bed and thinking back to their conversation he mulled over her words; over and over again, analyzing them. From what she had shared with him pain had became a part of her life at some point. There was also a desire to be accepted and loved, to be held and embraced. When he had been a small child he had held the same desire, but now he scoffed at these romantic notions. He was a powerful wizard, he only needed himself. Affection wouldn’t help him achieve his goals, but girls like Weronika were dependend on them. With her tale she had shared the way he would be able to control and manipulate her. He smiply had to become the person she would confide in the most, the person she could lean to and trust. If she truly was as touch starved as she thought it would be easy, really, to get on her good side. He could whipser sweet meaningless nothings into her ear, make her blush, hug her and coddle her like a babe. It was a small price to pay if it meant he would be able to gather all her secrets like the collector he was.

A smile grew on his lips as he slowly drifted to sleep. Yes, it would be easy to turn her into his submissive little pet.

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