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justabigoldnerd · 2 months ago

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Thank you so much @the-golden-comet for the tag!!!

This week's fic is "Lost On You"

⚠️Warning⚠️ for internalized and period typical homophobia in this one, but also this has one of my favorite arguments I've ever written 💕

Under the cut because this fic's whole premise is kisses lmao so it's a long one

Illya's hands were violently shaking and they were being watched by the enemy. Solo had to think of something and fast. His eyes darted around the room, looking for whatever the goons were not looking at. When he found the pattern, he took in a quick breath, closing his eyes to calm his racing heart. "Illya," Solo whispered, and his friend's dark gaze shifted towards him, "I'm sorry." Before Illya could possibly process what he meant, Solo slid his hands up his arms and locked his fingers behind his neck, pulling him into a rough kiss. It would've hurt less if Illya pushed him away. If he'd shoved him off and spat at the ground, hurling strings of curses that Solo had heard a million times before. However, Illya sighed into the kiss, his hands hovering with uncertainty over Solo's waist. One of them finally landed just above his hip and his heart shattered. Solo broke the kiss before either of them had a chance to do something they'd regret. Illya's hands left him like he was the eye of a hot stove and he stepped away, his eyes wild but no longer shaking. "We'd been spotted," Solo told him through gritted teeth, "I had to lose them."

Thankfully, Illya nodded and found a path to the exit, guiding Solo along by his elbow. When they finally slipped through the side door and into the alley, Illya checked the entrances then pushed Solo against the brick wall opposite the door. He expected a fist fight. A screaming match. A knife to the gut or a bullet to the brain. What he got was Illya ducking his head and kissing him again, angling so that it was deeper this time. His thigh brushed close to Solo's crotch, and he hummed into Illya's mouth. Without warning, he pulled away, leaving Solo trailing after him. "They were watching again," Illya shrugged, turning to start the short walk to Gaby's waiting car. Solo exhaled softly and smiled. He was one hundred percent certain that there hadn't been a single soul in that alleyway.

"Sure we can." Solo's eyes were heavy now, from more than the drug, so the kiss he pulled Illya into was lazy and chaste, but just as sweet. "See?" Illya's eyes stayed closed. With a heavy sigh, he reciprocated, his hand finding its way to cradle Solo's cheek. His lips moved slowly, nothing behind it but simplicity, and it made Solo that much sleepier. After they parted, he could feel Illya's breath on his face as he whispered, "Goodnight, Cowboy."

"Uh, I don't give them names," Illya was lying now, and obviously so. "Of course you do," Gaby countered, taking one of the cat's paws between her fingers and shaking it like a hand, "What's your name, little one?" "Zvezda," he muttered, "Star. Because of the spot." Illya ran his thumb through a patch of white fur on the cat's chest. "Pleasure to meet you, Zvezda," Gaby cooed, planting a kiss on Zvezda's forehead. Solo saw a flash of a different universe, one where they weren't spies in Istanbul, but friends in a hospital in West Berlin, and the tiny thing in Illya's arms was an infant rather than a cat. She had Gaby's eyes and a shock of blond hair like Illya. Solo's heart ached for a timeline he'd never see, the notion of a welcomed baby vanishing from his mind. This will do, he thought, watching Gaby rest her head against Illya's shoulder to babble sweet nothings to Zvezda. This will do.

"I'm going for lunch," Gaby said after a length of comfortable silence, "I haven't eaten since London." "I'll join you. Give Peril some alone time with Zvezda and friends." Gaby nodded in agreement, then stood on her toes and gave Illya a kiss on the cheek. He smiled softly, a loving look in his eyes. Solo couldn't tell if it was love for her or for the cat. It didn't really matter. She retraced their steps and Solo waited until she was out of sight to ask, daringly, "You ever thought about kids?"

Quickly, before he could psyche himself out of it, Solo took a step closer and pressed a gentle kiss to Illya's cheek. "I'll see you at the hotel," he remarked as he walked away, not allowing himself to see how Illya reacted.

Gaby's sea legs were horrible. They always had been. So she stumbled the moment she stepped out of the boat. Illya was there to catch her, helping her balance with a gentle hand on her waist. Her hands held his arms, and she looked up at him sweetly. A pit formed in Solo's stomach as he saw her fingers dance across his cheek. Gaby's lips parted ever so slightly, and Illya accepted the invitation, dipping his head to kiss her slowly.

"Are you taking responsibility for a fuck up right now? Wow, you must be really in love with him," Gaby laughed, finishing her previously untouched glass and refilling it with the wine. "I could still murder you and hide your body where no one will find it," Solo reminded her unseriously. "You love me too much," Gaby grinned and leaned down to kiss his cheek, "Join me on the couch? I want to see what's on TV."

For the next few hours, Solo enjoyed Gaby's one man performance that only got funnier with each glass of wine. A weight had been lifted off of his chest. When Illya got home, looking absolutely bored out of his mind, Solo greeted him with more warmth than he had in weeks, even grinning as Gaby kissed him hello. She shot a knowing glance over her shoulder at him and he rolled his eyes.

10.

"What now?" Illya asked carefully. Solo took a small breath to steel his nerves, then said, "Well, I'd like to kiss you now, if you don't mind." Nodding softly, Illya turned slightly so that he was facing Solo, their knees pressing together. "Okay." Tilting his head, Solo smiled adoringly at Illya, then carded his fingers through his hair. "You can tell me to stop any time." "I don't want you to stop," Illya whispered, his eyes falling closed. Solo rested his hand on the side of Illya's face, and he leaned into the touch. "Then I won't," he purred, leaning forward to capture Illya's lips in his own. It was soft and exploratory, a question more than anything. Illya answered, his hands coming up to hold Solo's jaw. Humming in delight, Solo gently pushed Illya backwards until he was laying on the couch, then angled his head to deepen the kiss. Tonight, he tasted of peppermint tea and fresh starts. Illya's hands found Solo's waist, and he straddled his hips in response. When they parted, they were gasping for air, making them both laugh. The skin around Illya's eyes crinkled at the corners in that adorable, genuine way and Solo pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. "I love you, Illya," he breathed.

11.

"Thank you," Illya's eyes shone with love, "Thank you, Solo." Solo quite liked his name on Illya's tongue when it was said like that. Pleased, he stole one more languid kiss, then laid on top of Illya, his head on his chest. "I'm a cuddler," he told him, muffled by the fabric of his dress shirt, "So be prepared for a lot more of this."

12.

Solo didn't even bother to look up. "Welcome back, Gaby." "I told you you were safe," she ruffled his hair, then bent to give Illya a kiss that was cut short by the smiles they couldn't contain.

13.

Illya was thoughtful for a moment, then decided, "I want to try." "You can kick me out if it gets too much," he soothed, climbing out of his arms with another quick kiss, "I'll get started on the food."

14.

Illya caught his hand, and Solo looked back at him curiously. He took a breath as if to speak, then stopped. Instead of saying anything, Illya brought Solo's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. An understanding passed between them, and Solo beamed, giving Illya's hand a squeeze before heading into the kitchenette.

Open Tag for anyone who wants to join!!!

#tmfu #the man from uncle #tmfu movie #illya kuryakin #napoleon solo #gaby teller #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #illya x napoleon x gaby #kiss game #tag game

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silverfactory · 2 years ago

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i said i would do these character-development questions for jack fairy, and i did 🫢

1. what is the character’s go-to drink order? a botanical cocktail, usually with gin or absinthe. sazerac, aviation, dirty martini, etc.

2. what is their grooming routine? extensive! most of their beauty routines aren’t unusual for their era — they use cold cream as a cleanser, and have an array of biba, lancôme, and chanel cosmetics — but they go the extra mile doing shit like pushing back their cuticles and taking primrose supplements. they color their hair with henna every two weeks, since it’s naturally a light, warm cinnamon-brown. facial hair is a dysphoria trigger for them, so they shave first thing every morning, often before any overnight guests see them. they also religiously shave or wax basically all of their body hair (not typical for the ‘70s), though this is something they start to relax post-glam when they’re in a steady relationship. grooming straddles a line between being deeply affirming for them and fraught with expectations of perfection.

3. what was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? jack has a mix of cheap and extravagantly expensive things. they aren’t used to having as much money as they do now, so they still mostly live frugally, but in moments of stress they’ve been known to make some…less frugal purchases. they once bought an original salvador dali watercolor because they were fighting with malcolm. their black patent leather duster is a £2,000 custom piece from ossie clark. (also in general they love to spoil malcolm… he’ll say he’s cold and jack will be back in 10 minutes with a new fur coat.)

4. do they have any scars or tattoos? not exactly a scar, but one of their canine teeth is broken from a punch to the jaw (it has a porcelain crown). they also have miscellaneous knicks from childhood beatings, though you wouldn’t know unless you were looking for them.

5. what was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? jack learned very young that things are better for them when they don’t cry, or at least don’t show it. they’re a bottler of emotions for sure. they get vivid, disorienting trauma dreams though and will sometimes cry when they wake up. this was how malcolm first saw them in tears.

6. are they an oldest, middle, youngest, or only child? they’re an only child, which was slightly unusual in an irish catholic household in the 1940s. their mother was in poor health and was never able to carry another baby to term.

7. describe the shoes they’re wearing. heeled chelsea boots in black patent leather, a little scuffed and dirty from walking around berlin.

8. describe the place where they sleep. jack’s bedroom has always felt like one of the few spaces that’s entirely their own, where as a queer person they aren’t going to be told to exist differently, and they treasure that. it feels very personal — soft and dark, with satin pillows and velvet drapes and deep green art nouveau wallpaper with a pattern of water lilies. smells like cigarettes and musky, herbal perfume. they have a bunch of dried bouquets and candles and a huge gilt-frame mirror they found on the street. their siamese cat maila is usually there too.

9. what is their favorite holiday? halloween. jack is here for any celebration of the weird and liminal. they grew up hearing that it’s the time when the veil between our world and the fairy world is the thinnest, and magic is at its peak.

10. what objects do they always carry around with them? for most of their life, the green brooch was basically a part of them. they still unconsciously reach for it sometimes. other than that… a pocket notebook for lyrics. medications, both legal (aspirin, tums) and less legal (acid, amphetamines), in an antique pillbox. lipstick. a comb. a mother-of-pearl compact mirror. small knife in case of harassment. cigarettes and a lighter. crystals and plain old rocks.

#velvet goldmine #jack fairy #this got long!!#it was so fun though

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baekhvuns · 2 years ago

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I was dreading to open your blog and read your reply, cause I knew the slander would be too much 😐😐😐😐 I'm simply closing my eyes. Blocking the haters (aka user baekhvuns). I actually stayed up late to watch the match and it was not worth it, thankfully Sanhwa went live and their Lego shenanigans were more exciting 💀 I kept yelling "wake up, Madrid, Ancelotti use your fucking brain and Gavi get off the pitch!". Benzema in his salty era, yikes, I know he's mad that his goal was offside and so am I, but come on.

Moving on........

I just hope that if the allegations against Gr**nw**d are true, the girl won't go through the same shit again. 🙃

Yeah the Atiny I met has been following Atz around since last year, that's why I blocked her and stopped interacting with her recently. She's not dangerous, but how manu times do you have to see them? That Judy girl is so fucked, she thinks she's doing something??? And is besties with NCT???

Fucking LSM destroying his own company, ffs I've always said he'd be the downfall of SM. Chris Lee what a dumb greedy bitch, no wonder these two are related. But speaking of dumb people. The delusion and saviour complex is huuuuuge. And did you see that "SM with Hybe" Twitter account???

Avocados don't like snow so I'm not shocked your uni closed ajshaisshhajahwkkaa. Pls stay inside it's safer and cosier 😭. Omfg knife crime typical London behaviour, sigh. Paris is bad too lol, not the safest place, Berlin is better, but the city is also on my shitlist, too privileged. Kai you don't need to go there

"Your guys's hierarchy" hey, don't group me with them Brits, I'm just an outsider who has been studying the UK behaviour for years 😭 Brummie accent was once voted the least appealing, but foreigners are obsessed with it cause of PB, so hilarious. I like beans on toast, I'm afraid... BUT IT DOESN'T MAKE ME BRITISH OKAY.

I remember when Hwa apologised he couldn't dye his hair black yet, because of Imitation?!?!? Some people had the audacity to comment on the grey hair 🔫🔫🔫🔫

Cornish accent is sometimes called "the most American of UK's accents" but they're not like deep South, Cornwall is nice and fun! I guess the difference between most Southern English accents and Cornish is that they roll their "Rs". I have some friends from there, one got into performing school as a child and they asked her mother if she could "get rid of the village accent" huh?! She wasn't even from a village

Breaking Wommys hearts kusuahsjsjauaah but I'm not complaining 🥰 yes to fencer or racer Hwa

WHAT did you just say about the nose 🔫🔫🔫 my feelings are soft, I just wanna perform some cannibalism ok. let me bite Seonghwa's nose in peace!

Finally some Atz x fashion interaction! Seonghwa next pls 🤗

Liking anything when you're over 25 is illegal Baek, so have fun while it lasts. Later it's just taxes, mortgage, 2 shifts etc. no happy days in sight 🤗

Everyone's screaming shaking and crying trying to find Seonghwa's winter MD, but ever since I saw the blurred previews I knew I had to have him, so I'm safe! I'M GONNA EAT HIM I REALLY WILL!!!! THE HEART BLUSH?!?!?!? I'M UNWELL

This is bad for me, a cat boys enthusiast 🙄

Pls look away OP, you don't need to perceive him. In constant battle with myself, because I wanna gatekeep Seonghwa, but also want everyone to know and praise him 🤧

My rockstar gf! and Mingi toooooo

I'm on the floor actually. The 2nd photo 🥴🥴🥴🥴

👀👀👀 but girlie was stressed msjsjdjsjabsnswjsh

Hwa is watching The Alchemy of Souls, I won. Also TAoS Hwa AU...... 😊

And can we talk about KQF2 name... it's pronounced"SAIKERS"?! Say XIKE lmaoooo - DV 💖

hello!!

anon… ur in for a ride,,, both ur teams LMFAOOO 😭😭😭😭 BARCA COOKED!!!! HUMILIATION? HUMILIATION !!!!! AND WITHOUT OUR MAJOR PLAYERS???? GETFOOO AGAINST THE SAME REAL MADRID??? HELP RHQKDHQKDHKW TAKE GAVI OUT???? TAKE VINI OUT BRO WAS WWE-ING ON THE GROUND AND DIDN’T GET A RED AND DISRESPECTING THE REF???? 🔫🔫🔫 and now the second leg with pedri, dembele, lewa ???? cOOKING !!!! forever rm’s owners <;3 no wonder they got bodied

mOVING ON DEBKBJFBJQ TO THIS

and man united ??? 7-0??? LMFAOOOO?????? WHAT THE FUCK??? THIS IS TERRIBLE FHWNHDK

I just hope that if the allegations against Grnwd are true, the girl won't go through the same shit again. 🙃 /// Yeah the Atiny I met has been following Atz around since last year, that's why I blocked her and stopped interacting with her recently. She's not dangerous, but how manu times do you have to see them? That Judy girl is so fucked, she thinks she's doing something??? And is besties with NCT???

tbh i hope someone finds a loophole in the case and gets him to be held accountable, his careers def gone & he’s def not playing for the england national team 🤚🏻 they’re already shit wouldn’t want them to become even more,,,

anon ur friends are 👁questionable👁 NOOO SRS THE NCT JUDY GIRLIE WHAT IN THE WORLD ???? hoping sm sues her bc what tf?? their bodyguards need to bodyslam her some sense

????? he’s nicer than me fr

THEYRE SO 😭😭😭 WHAT EVEN IS THIS “kpop is slowing down” it never was that famous to begin with!!! its really mostly on twt which for some = worldwide,,, but i have to say even those not remotely into kpop know solder sm groups,, i wonder why kpop slowed down,,, maybe bc everything is about achievements now 🔫🔫 the saviour complex of this company and man needs to be studied,, the music quality deteriorated and now mr hybe will come to save it with it’s auto tune <3 one thing i liked about sm was the insane music quality they had,,, doing this shitshow online is so tragic to see,,, I DID AND WHAT THE ABSOLUTE SHIT IS THAT 😭😭😭😭 the artists coming on their bubble to say “i don’t know what’s happening but im with u” bro 😭😭😭

WILL DO 🫡 no bc wth is this knife problem in uk 😭😭😭 there’s so many true crime cases on it like??? kINVES BELONG IN THE KITCHEN KEEP THEM THERE! i feel like france and ny is the same thing,, the pickpocketing 😭🤚🏻 speaking of berlin,,, is this an accurate representation FBKWHDKW

YEAH SO TECHNICALLY UR A BRIT 🔫 u become what u eat and live in 🤚🏻 no bc the brummie accent, and the nottingham accent how DO U EVEN UNDERSTAND THEM one of my cousins is from nottingham and she spoke to me and i ???? went pass my head,, so fast i just stared at her nodded <3 STOPPPPP THATS SO NASTY MY FATHER HAS AN OBSESSION WITH THE BEANS ON TOAST WHY DO U ALL EAT LIKE ITS STILL WW1 COME ON 😭😭😭 UR BRITISH RBWMDHWK PEAK BRITISH

sorry what is this

I remember when Hwa apologised he couldn't dye his hair black yet, because of Imitation?!?!? Some people had the audacity to comment on the grey hair 🔫🔫🔫🔫

some people should have their rights taken away

AHHHHHHH hopefully they’re not just exactly like how americans are personality wise,, NOT THE VILLAGE ACCENT NOOOO 😭😭😭😭yOU GUYS ARE BRUTAL CALLING THEM OUT ON EVERYTHING 😭😭

Breaking Wommys hearts kusuahsjsjauaah but I'm not complaining 🥰 yes to fencer or racer Hwa /// WHAT did you just say about the nose 🔫🔫🔫 my feelings are soft, I just wanna perform some cannibalism ok. let me bite Seonghwa's nose in peace!

wommy’s need to be shown their place 🤚🏻 not but there’s seriously like no woo fics in atiny writing community now 😭😭 fencer hwa and a racer hwa,, but what about a hockey player hwa <33 I SAID NOTHING ???? WHAT DID U READ 📸💥📸💥 📸 i saw this video the other day that explained ur liking for vampires i WILL find it by the next time i answer this HOPEFULLY why bite when u can take a seat

Finally some Atz x fashion interaction! Seonghwa next pls 🤗 /// Liking anything when you're over 25 is illegal Baek, so have fun while it lasts. Later it's just taxes, mortgage, 2 shifts etc. no happy days in sight 🤗

FINALLY!!!!!! BALMAIN AMBASSADOR SOON 🤲🏻🤲🏻🤲🏻 seonghwa and of mingi for versace ?? would pass out,, LMFAOOOO will use my 20’s as a excuse to travel and live my yn moment <3 anon how’d ur mortgage going, how’s the job? HOWS KR BEEN

U ORDERED IT RIGHT???? GOD BLESS U IM ON MY WAY HIDE UR DOOR UR KIDS UR CATS UR PC’S IM ON MY WAY he looks like he’s about to join a furry con / star in a red velvet mv

This is bad for me, a cat boys enthusiast 🙄//// Pls look away OP, you don't need to perceive him. In constant battle with myself, because I wanna gatekeep Seonghwa, but also want everyone to know and praise him 🤧

OP TRUST ME HE’S MEAN ASF FUCK DONT STAN HIM LEAVE HIM ALONE 🔫🔫

My rockstar gf! and Mingi toooooo /// I'm on the floor actually. The 2nd photo 🥴🥴🥴🥴 //// 👀👀👀 but girlie was stressed msjsjdjsjabsnswjsh

no bc how dare they do this photoshoot for japanese albums and not for korean ones! WHY ARE THEY SO EXPENSIVE AND THIS???? 😩😩 seonghwa for calvin klein when

Hwa is watching The Alchemy of Souls, I won. Also TAoS Hwa AU……😊 //// And can we talk about KQF2 name… it's pronounced"SAIKERS"?! Say XIKE lmaoooo - DV 💖

STOP STOP IVE BEEN CRYING OVER THAT DRAMA FBWMFBWKFHWKHDWCJCKCKCKCI KEPT THINKING ABOUT SEONGHWA IN IT 😭😭 nOW HOW DO WE SAY THAT NAME??? SHAKERS??? HIKERS??? saikers???? 😭😭😭😭

anon we’re finally getting the return of shoujo with stunning animation 😭😭

just, JUST WHEN I THOUGHT U COULD NOT HATE THIS COMPANY EVEN MORE

hot take, but they’re kinda right

#✉️ : ask #dv 💖 anon

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diorysuss · 2 years ago

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boo diorysus info dump jumpscare

with the jazz agents, dion and berlin.

If you’ve ever seen South Park or played TBBW, dion’s kinda like craig. very nonchalant, blunt, and very threatening in terrence eyes. he can’t dissect her because she’s just so.. off-putting to him. sometimes she won’t answer him, or she’ll talk over him like he’s not even there. the times she does acknowledge him, it’s very rage inducing. dion trolls terrence dialogue would go:

“don’t you DARE disrespect me with those crude jazz gestures-“

“yeah i got a gesture for you”

for Berlin, they’d be pretty neutral about each other at first. then Berlin starts getting corrupt and slowly gets a lot more violent with his threats and shadow speak, which unnerves terrence. also, berlin thinks terrence is boring and usually just drowns out his ramblings while the other guy goes on about “getting rid of him” and “continuing with the plan.” (just to be a prick he follows up every sentence terrence says with “what did you just say?” “repeat that please” or just a plain “i don’t give a shit.”

For the two pig skinners, Ares and Pat:

if it isn’t obvious for ares and bruise, they’re mortal enemies. each encounter for them resulted in one of them getting beat up, (most of the time, it was bruise with the exception of ares getting beat up in the first swamp encounter). ares BIT bruises finger off for christ sake. they also use to serve under bruise until they were honorably discharged from the army due to a shellfish allergy, so they know how cruel this guy is.

pat doesn’t view bruise as an enemy to kill, rather just an opponent to persuade. each time he shows up, pat just waves and talks to him as if they’ve been friends for a decade. bruise is very confused by this. he thinks it’s psychological warfare, no pat is genuinely just that much of a pacifist. when he (easily might I add) defeats him in arm wrestling, pat offers bruise to stay at his mother’s barn; which bruise reluctantly offers.

for Demet; the cheese wizard (pacifist until she’s not)

Noël and Demet have so much tension you could cut it with a knife. Demet being disabled on all makes Noël really reluctant to fight her, but Demet’s “gimme all you got pussy cat” attitude throws that morality out the window.

Raised hands! I have stuff to do tomorrow early in the morning but because I still have a day off from work!! I wanna get to know all of your Loathing OCs more :]

Reblog and/or reply with how your OCs feel about General Bruise, Dark Noël, and Terrence Poindexter, and as a bonus, how they all feel about the OC! I'll start in the next reblog ^^!!

#so many tags..#dies #shadows over loathing #sol noël #sol bruise #sol terrence #sol dion simmons #sol ares simmons #sol demet simmons #pat c. fist #berlin d. fist #they all hate each other except bruise and pat #but pats also sort of an idiot so take that as you will

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years ago

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not a soldat | part 6.

Summary: Y/N L/N is not a superhero. No serums, no agencies. Just a civilian from a long line of family that’s served in the military. Y/N’s a history buff and bit of a spy in her own special way. This somehow lands her in trouble she never saw coming and straight into the hands of Falcon, Captain America, and Black Widow… if she doesn’t get caught in the unbreakable grasp of the Winter Soldier first.

Warning for the Series: violence, angst, slow burn

Pairing: Bucky x black!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

While still being arrested since you were at the scene, Rhodey had convinced them to let you sit in the passenger’s seat of the van currently carrying Steve, Sam, and T’Challa. The three men behind the caged area. You ignored most of their conversation— checking out after Sam asked T’Challa if he liked cats. To say you were pissed was an understatement. The men were all in comfortable outfits that they had under their suits, Sam and Steve were even allowed their jackets. You hadn’t been allowed to go back home and change, not even with an escort.

They had wanted everyone on planes to Berlin immediately. And with no other women on the squad that had come to collect Bucky, you were stuck in your sundress. The only satisfaction you got was no one had searched you, Sam and Steve would’ve put up a fight and even Rhodey knew a line would be crossed. So you still had all the contents of you and Bucky’s bags in your backpack as well as the knife still hidden on your thigh.

“And now, because your friend murdered my father…”

You checked in when you heard T’Challa speak those words.

“He didn’t murder anybody,” you said but you were ignored.

“So I ask you as warrior and king, how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?”

“He didn’t murder anyone,” you said loudly.

The three men got quiet. You turned as best as you could to look T’Challa in the eye. King or not, he had no right.

“I’ve been with him every day since being in Romania. So tell me, king, how can a man be in two places at once? I don’t care what you think you know and I’m sorry for your loss, I understand how that feels but the man who murdered your father is not the man locked up in the van behind us. He’s innocent.”

“You would vouch for him?”

“With my life… and my life is not cheap, Your Highness.”

Sam and Steve smirked when you turned back around. T’Challa grabbed his necklace that held his father’s ring and rubbed it between his fingers. He didn’t know you very well but the bandage around your leg, the sundress, and clear lack of fighting… not even a spy could act that natural, you were clearly not an accomplice of any kind to Barnes. He knew what he saw, what everyone said but T’Challa wanted to believe you.

You were escorted out of the car to the garage of a very secure building. In front of you was a CIA man and the familiar face of Sharon Carter who looked very puzzled to see you with them.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Steve asked as you guys spotted Bucky’s containment unit being wheeled in.

“Same thing that ought to happen to you,” the man said. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.”

“For what?” you asked. “He didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry, who is she?”

Sharon stepped in before you could say something. “This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander.”

“How about a lawyer?” you continued.

“Lawyer. That’s funny. See that their weapons are locked up, we’ll write you a receipt.”

Ross was grating on you. He looked you up and down with a raised brow and air of condescension. “And figure out what she knows.”

“Sir, I don’t think…” Sharon protested along with the others.

“Only if I stay with him,” you said.

“No,” Ross pressed.

“I’ll run.”

“Have you seen the armed guards?”

Sam grabbed at your arm. T’Challa looked on with intrigue, you shied away from everyone but fought so hard for Barnes. Why?

“You shoot a civilian? Better hope you kill me with one shot because I’m sure the press would have a field day, when I tell you everything, I’m sure they’ll still have a field day.”

“She really a civilian?” Ross turned to Sharon.

“Sir, that’s (Y/N) (L/N).”

“The S.H.I.E.L.D. historian… Shit!” Ross exclaimed when Sharon nodded. “You guys infiltrated her safehouse?! Damn it, this makes us the bad… okay, will you talk with us in the office and then we get you to Barnes immediately?”

You nodded.

“Get her a proper medic and find a change of clothes.”

You walked over to Bucky and gave him a smile, one he returned very tight-lipped. You shook hands with the Avengers who had only heard of you from Nick and had seen maybe one or two pictures. It didn’t take long for the entire government building to hear about how they fucked up and got you caught in the crossfire. Everyone stared at the wrapping around your leg. You were informed after taking a seat that the UN members were already aware that you were with them— of course only a few S.H.I.E.L.D. members knew your face but your name and what you did was known by everyone. Before the Accords were even a thing, you were the loose link between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the UN. The mole that knew how to keep a secret so well they couldn’t even pin a location on you.

You watched them hook up Bucky’s containment unit into a large outlet on the security screens. The edge everyone had from Sam and Steve off the grid mission was quickly forgotten. Even Tony couldn’t be mad after seeing you, he knew something else was up. They all did and before they entered the room, Steve had made up his mind to sign the Accords. He had made it up after seeing you almost get dropped on the highway after T’Challa had leaped onto Sam. You were the civilians he was trying to protect and they had done a bad job of that. Steve had always fought for freedom, it was an American thing, a 40s thing.

He felt the Accords were stifling that freedom of the Avengers to stop the bad guys— how could they stop fights if they had to wait for a panel to confirm, everyone knew the UN was slow. But maybe it was the right way to go about if it protected people like you, someone that protected Bucky.

“Coffee?” Tony asked you.

“Tea, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Ross sat across from you while everyone else took seats at the table. The Secretary of State was pulled up on video call. You thanked Tony for the tea and placed it in front of you. Ross’ face dropped with each sentence, so did T’Challa. Bucky couldn’t have been the man, not unless you secretly had super spy training and were lying to all of them. Nat prided herself in knowing people and she knew you. The same woman that helped her and Steve was the same woman in front of them— not a liar.

“But if it wasn’t Barnes then who?”

“Is that my problem? I told you Bucky was with me, we didn’t even know about Vienna.”

“He still needs to answer—”

“For what, Secretary?”

Nat sat back a little, she hadn’t seen this nippy side of you but was thoroughly enjoying it.

“For his crimes, Miss (L/N).”

“When he was a prisoner of war under HYDRA. I didn’t realize the US government encouraged the torture of war prisoners, or excuse crimes of people they like and ignore helping actual victims… actually after reading what I have, I’m not surprised. Should I pull up the countless journals I have? I’m interested how the general public would feel about reading how HYDRA slipped under the nose of almost every government in the world.”

“Miss (L/N), I don’t think you understand the gravity of this.”

“I don’t think you understand, Secretary. My job is enough to put all of you under and I will release every document to the public. Every backdoor contract, unknown HYDRA spy, shady table dealing. You think you’re secret but your paper trail is heavy and even digital leaves a footprint. You shouldn’t have given me the keycard to the world.”

Rhodey tried to hide his snort. Sam and Natasha smirked while Steve looked on proud, his friend picked one hell of a girl to protect him. The secretary’s face hardened for a moment. He knew you were right. They all knew you were right, there was enough evidence to shut down the world and it was all under your thumb. And that was something they couldn’t take back now or ever.

“So you propose we just let Barnes go? Let the Avengers run wild.”

“I propose we get Bucky the actual help he needs and you negotiate the Accords on better terms.”

“Privately?”

“God, no. My whole family is a part of this world. Contrary to whatever you may think, I do understand how this works. Bucky will have to speak publicly, on the UN floor. But after that you let him go and we redo the Accords. Take it or leave it.”

“If we leave it, you’ll pull the trigger won’t you?”

“Her nickname is Caliber,” Sam spoke up, giving Ross an answer while you just sipped your tea.

“Fine. I’ll get the UN on the phone, this will take time. Are we allowed to interrogate, I mean question Barnes while he is here, Miss (L/N)? As a preliminary.”

“I can’t stop you from that, Secretary.”

“I wouldn’t know anymore.”

He hung up and everyone around the table looked at you. Ross was the first to speak in a demeanor that you assumed was him trying to apologize for earlier. He called in the medic who undid the first wrappings and began to disinfect— T’Challa apologized for causing the wounds. His hit was enough to take out a super soldier, at the time he hadn’t realized you weren’t involved and by no means a super soldier. You nodded through a hiss as the disinfectant touched your leg, accepting T’Challa’s apology. Sharon came back with a pile of clothes for you.

“How about we get you bandaged, clothes changed and then we take you down to see the tail end of Barnes’ questioning in person?” Ross asked.

“Sounds good.”

You turned your attention towards the screen showing Bucky’s container while the medic pulled out the bandages to start a rewrap, Ross turned up the volume so everyone could hear. Tony watched Steve thumb through the Accords. It was a moot point since you had made it so clear that they would be renegotiated but the corner of Tony’s mouth lifted as he watched Steve sign it before passing the pen to Sam.

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions.” You heard the interviewer ask Bucky.

“Do you know where you are James… I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky.”

Ross relaxed again. He was prepared to send you in, fully bandaged or not, hoping that Bucky would talk if you were there but he started before Ross could move.

“Tell me Bucky, you’ve seen a great deal haven’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve turned back to the pictures in front of him while you focused on the interrogation TV, blocking out everyone else.

“Why would the Task Force release this photo in the first place?” Steve asked. Everyone but you turned to him.

“I’m saying, it seems like a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken and the world starts looking for the Winter Soldier.”

“You think someone framed him to find him?” Sharon asked.

“Considering (Y/N)’s the only one who managed to see him all this time, the only way to find him would have to be big.”

“But that doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would find him.”

“Yeah,” Ross chimed in. “It guarantees that we would.”

All of a sudden the building was plunged in darkness. Ross started talking over a walkie talkie for someone to get the power back up and get the cameras back on. Tony started scrambling for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to find the source of the power outage and fix it. The lights came up and you were the first to spot it, having never taken your eyes off of the monitors.

You recognized the star on the big red book that was now on the table of the interviewer in the room with Bucky. The Russian words that you had memorized after seeing them written in so many different documents— hidden in code until you had put all the pieces together.

“Guys!”

You directed their attention to Bucky thrashing around screaming ‘no’. He broke through his chains but couldn’t get through the thick glass of the box. Bucky started banging on it to try and break it.

“Someone gets Barnes out of there!” Ross yelled over the walkie. “And one of you, get her out.”

Everyone left the room, you being flanked by Tony and Rhodey. Tony pulled you back as they made their way to the cafe on ground level. You heard the punch and knew it was Bucky. Not your Bucky from Romania but the Winter Soldier.

“Is there another way out of here for her?”

“He’s blocking it,” Ross said.

“I’ll go back up, see a second way,” Rhodey said before leaving.

“Okay, shit, we’re gonna have to fight through. Stay back if you can (Y/N),” Tony said as he whipped out his Iron-Man glove— the only part of the suit he had on him.

“Understood.”

You watched Tony go in first. He ended with his ass on the floor but at least he got Bucky to empty all the bullets from the gun he had grabbed. Nat and Sharon tag teamed Bucky and wow were you mildly jealous of the women and their fighting skills. They were brilliant. Until they weren’t as they were both crashed into tables. T’Challa was next and you already knew he would be down as Bucky turned to him.

The Winter Soldier was on a rampage and for what you didn’t know. You were stuck on the stairs when he came towards you, the only target left. You grabbed at the knife on your thigh as Bucky’s arm pinned you against the wall, his metal arm slowly crushing your windpipe. He grabbed at your wrist holding the knife causing it to drop. Bucky looked down at the knife on the floor.

“Soldat, please,” you barely whispered.

He quickly pulled his arm away from your throat. Looking you in the eye, Bucky tilted your chin so he could see your neck. Not seeing any bruising or signs of harm, he bent down to grab the knife and shoved the handle roughly into your hand. His eyes seemed to harden again. You sank to the floor as he raced up the stairs. Steve who was coming from the sublevels met you shaking, the knife wobbling back and forth.

“He went upstairs, I think he recognized me,” you said as Steve crouched to check on you. “Go, Steve. I’ll be fine.”

The knife shaking in your hand told him otherwise but Steve left at your insistence and raced up the stairs to find Bucky. It wasn’t hard as he followed the sounds of T’Challa fighting him— the man had darted up the stairs seconds after Bucky left you.

(Part 7)...

#bucky x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic

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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years ago

Text

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part i

AO3 part ii

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 4.009

Summary: Russell Adler should have known better that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees.

Warnings: just swearings, sexual tension, blood, mentions of past abuse and brainwashing. adler being that manipulative asswipe like usual.

Author’s note: i don't know what i'm doing. one moment, i was watching the walkthrough of the new call of duty game, found myself curious, acutely curious by that guy with the scars and shades on- a younger, shadier (no pun intended) Robert Redford in Spy Game and oh my... fast forward to 2 weeks later, here we are.

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A house somewhere on foreign soil,

Where ageless lovers call,

Is this your goal, your final needs,

Where dogs and vultures eat,

Committed still I turn to go.

I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division (1980)

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It's mystifying how little she talks. Or when she does, it's always in fragments. Like a crossword puzzle in your local newspaper, but several letters are missing. He initially thought maybe MK-Ultra fucked her head or worse, if it hasn't worked at all, but the more he watches her, the more he realizes it's just the way she is. And it's ironic because he named her Bell. He expected her to chime like a goddamn goldfinch yet here they are.

But he won't be fazed. Russell Adler is a man who's stopped at nothing in getting what he wanted before, he sure as hell won't stop now for a close-mouthed science project.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We've got a job to do, Bell."

It intrigues him, every time, the way the words trigger something deep within her psyche, the way her eyes change, her body stands a little straighter, like a machine ready to function at his disposal. It reminds Adler of one of those cartoons he watched when he was a kid about wizards and magic words, except there are no musical dance numbers playing in the background or a talking cricket perching on his shoulder. This is his power over her, over the USSR, over Perseus. That monstrous filth. It really does take a beast to tame another.

Although he surmises calling Bell one would be superfluous.

She barely looks like one, but Adler knows too well than to underestimate her. Just because Bell hasn’t shown her set of claws, that doesn’t mean she’s harmless, delicate, like a miniature China Doll in his breast pocket.

Bell never offered him her reply before, but now, now, she nods, head almost bows, obedient pretty thing, and says:

“Yes, Adler.”

So it goes.

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It takes West Berlin for Adler to realize she’s left-handed.

She wears her watch on her right hand, smokes with that same said hand only when she’s writing or moving her pieces for an impromptu late-night game of chess against Lazar. And she always wears her gloves all the time- leather, black, lined with silk and pretty, small buttons on the cuffs, covering those striking red nails underneath. Whether it is for the theatrics or an old habit of hers, he can't really tell.

He doesn’t know why he begins to take notice of these mundane details about Bell, but rationalizes because he’s never been in the same room with this version of her, post-brainwash Bell, for more than 10 minutes. And for all intents and purposes, there’s still a lot of question marks surrounding her character; who is she? Where did she come from? What is her connection to Perseus?

Are they in a possession of a walking, breathing bomb about to destroy them all or the West’s only salvation?

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler hears Bell from his table, typing busy on the computer- barely blinking- all soaked up in that caffeine-infused energy at 1 am. She's always like that, he learns, when it comes to working, always with that steel determination, pulling out all the stops as long as it gets the job done- that Soviet discipline at it's finest.

Reminds him a little of himself when he's young.

Adler walks up to her.

“You done for the night?” A shake of her head is her only response. He sighs. “You should go home, Bell.”

“You go. I’ll lock up behind you,” Bell replies, low and monotone; that youthful stubborn.

If she was any other person, he would probably commend her for such fierce willpower, but she is Bell, the walking conundrum, his ace in the hole. Call him paranoid, but the idea of her having the safehouse for herself does nothing but raises every alarm in his head.

“No, we’re going home,” he says instead, tone brooking no argument and she frowns at the screen, her fingers stop moving then looks up at him with those goddamn empty eyes. "Come on, it's late anyway."

She doesn't say anything. Adler wishes he could read her mind- or crack that lovely skull on the back of her head, dissect her brain, learn its secrets and answers.

Adler has his gun with him. It wouldn’t take long. A quick, true shot to the heart to keep the brain intact. He’d have Hudson contact one of his people inside BND and he'd deliver the brain himself if he has to. They could do it. He heard they’ve been studying inmates' brains for decades now, anyway.

Before he has a chance to entertain the idea further, though, Bell nods once and rises up from her seat.

Bell walks past him. Her scent, like honeysuckle on ice, hits him like an uppercut in the face. Adler inhales, as if against his will.

He thinks he could get drunk on it.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he says once they’re outside, regretting the decision the moment the words left his lips, but he knows he can’t just leave her on her own at this late hour.

The irony isn’t lost on him, though, considering he just thought about unspooling her brain a few minutes ago.

Bell complies without a protest. Getting inside the passenger seat, wordless still, fingers toying with the radio. An angry, krautrock music comes blaring all over his car. Adler winces, but at least the riot is loud enough to muffle the one's brewing in his head.

"How's your memory these days?"

Bell shrugs. "Nihil novi sub sole." There's nothing new under the sun.

Good, he muses. The least she knows about herself the better.

Though that doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, from now on, I want you to keep me informed if there's any new progress about your memory or if you've developed any new symptoms. I want to know everything." He steals a sidelong glance at her, making sure she is listening (she always does, but Adler needs an excuse)

(An excuse for what?)

"Alright, Bell?"

"Of course," replies the woman in question.

"Good." Adler shifts his attention back to the road. "Good." Taking a long drag, he considers trying to appeal to her sentimental side. It's not something you'd improvise last minute- at least not with someone you brainwashed to believe you are her mentor/confidant for the past decade, but he's itching to know where he stands with her.

"You know, I'm just tryin' to look out for you, kid."

Her lips twitch but the rest of her visage remains impassive and faraway, more like a flick knife than a woman. The correlation is uncanny.

That's when she inches closer. The space between them bridged. He freezes. Hyper-aware of just how dangerous this is, but can’t bring himself to pull back, to look the other way. Not when her hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still glued to his, and curls her lips around the filter. One heavy pull, and then she rolls down the window and tosses it out on the side of the road.

"Thought I'd reciprocate the sentiment."

And with that, she leans back in her seat before Adler could even process what has just transpired.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid,” Adler greeted her, about a month ago.

Park had insisted that he had to be there for her when she woke up (naturally, Adler had balked at the idea, but at the English woman’s fact-of-the-matter explanation, also because it had somewhat dawned on him last minute the logic behind her machinations- “both of you are supposed to have known each other for years now. If she doesn't see you by her side, she’s going to wonder why”- thus, here he was)

“How are you feeling?”

Bell blinked owlishly and stared at the older man with those bottomless, cat-like eyes that had haunted him since January.

Her gaze eventually softened as recognition flickered across her face.

“Like someone just hit me in the chest with a bulldozer,” she said hoarsely. “Where are we?”

“St. Dismas’ hospital, Pittsburgh.” Adler got up and fetched her a glass of water from the table. “Although not a bulldozer, but bullets did. That, and you hit your head really hard on your way down. Thought we’d lost you there, Bell.”

Bell drank in silence. She’s still watching him, thinking. This was the first time he realized that he couldn’t exactly read her expression and somehow that threw him off.

“What happened?” she asked, one hand mid-air, like she was deciding which to touch first, hesitating and abandoned the idea.

“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. Adler pretended to look remotely distressed about it. “The doctors warned me about this. It must have been because of the fall- heck, I could even still hear that sickening crunch from here.” He dragged his chair closer towards her bed.

“We were in Amsterdam. Remember Fohler?” she shook her head again. “Well, we’d been tracking this son of a bitch for months, but we were chasing him in Amsterdam. He was running away and climbed up some scaffolding. You were about to go up after him,” he recited the fabricated story he, Park and Hudson had crafted. “He shot you and you fell and hit your head against the pavement.”

Bell looked away first, silent. Her hand gingerly touched the back of her head and winced, albeit only slightly.

Adler was almost impressed, if not, disarmed by how calm and composed her reaction was to all of this. But then again, after having had witnessed first-hand how the woman barely flinched under any kind of interrogation technique they threw at her- a personality built for wrestling tigers- he really shouldn’t be surprised.

“Bell, what is the last thing you remember?”

Bell frowned. “Not much. I remember ‘Nam, but-”

“Vietnam? Kid, that was thirteen years ago.” Adler watched the way her throat bopped, like she was swallowing her own blood and the color drained from her face, just like the first time he’d seen her, and proceeded to drop the bomb:

“Bell, the year is 1981.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Bell dear, would you mind taking a look at this?"

Park's voice sails from across the room. She says it like it's a compound word: Bell-dear. Like the two words belong together. Bell-dear. 2 syllables, 1 word, 9 characters and that just might be the weirdest thing he hears this year and he heard many things.

"Bell dear?" Adler asks much later, his gravel-and-smoke voice reduced to a whisper, when she delivers a document to his table.

Park shrugs as if that explains everything. "What? I like her."

He's tempted to say you really can't put a term of endearment and someone you brainwashed into submission in the same sentence, but what else is new?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They wind up in a bar. It’s called Die Stube and the place’s brimmed with artists and all sorts of leather-clad, Bowie-esque dramatic, chromatic blue eyelids young people chattering over a dirty cloud of smoke.

The two of them colonize a lone booth in the back. It’s dark and the quietest. She orders a beer and he, a scotch and they drink in silence. There are moments where her head would twist to the side, as subtle as a needle and survey the phantasmagorical scene before them, like studying something from a petri dish.

While he’s watching her.

Only to tear his gaze away to the nearest object he can find.

It lands on his watch.

"It’s almost ten. Hudson's contact should be here soon," he announces, if anything to distract himself. She nods mutely in reply, as always, and runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"The place ain't much of your scene?"

She shrugs, like it's self-evident. "I didn't know this was a scene, though."

"Well, that’s West Berlin for you. A worry-free playground for the hedonists, hipsters and proto-electro NDW enthusiasts with drugs on tap," Adler says, sipping his drink in practiced nonchalance. "Always makes my head spin."

"I guess I remember it differently," Bell replies, tinged with something akin to begrudging.

That warrants his full attention. "What do you remember?”

Bell shrugs again and lights a cigarette instead, menthol, one of those long, skinny cigarettes they only market for women; biding her time, making him wait. She lets the smoke flares from her nostrils so her eyes are veiled.

"It’s hard to explain, but I suppose it’s grittier?” she gesticulates, searching for the right word like she’s skim reading the entire Oxford dictionary in her head. “Bizarrely, infinitely grittier and dimmer? Like being in an underground tunnel and there's not much to see."

Interesting. Maybe she’s recalling one of her ops for Perseus or her mind is confusing her with the world on the other side of the wall.

“Maybe you’re remembering one of our clandestine ops here. It was a few years after Vietnam,” Adler supplies, passing over the tale like bait.

She falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Ah, I guess that also explains my fluency in German.”

“I taught you that.” It’s only logical, he decides, that she learned from him. She’s supposed to be his protégé after all.

An elegant brow quirk. "You did?"

"Yeah, though you were already fluent in Latin, Russian, Vietnamese and Portuguese when we first met anyway. You have quite a natural ear, kid.”

She gives him a look. He really can’t categorize it, but it makes it a whole lot harder to fight against her stare.

“What else did you teach me?”

If they were anyone else, the lines could have a potential to entice, to seduce, that winsome, catty-eyelashes coquette, but they aren't anyone else and Bell does not voice it like that. Yet the implication behind the question stirs something in the pit of Adler’s stomach anyway, that tight knot of confusion as it is buried with something else and he finds himself, once again, uncharacteristically speechless.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That particular question of her stays, even hours later, unbidden. Interspersed with her scent and face.

His emotions are a minefield whenever she’s near now. It evokes that newfound rush of terror within him, like walking on a tightrope or being thrown into the pit to face hundreds of hungry lions, bare hands. It makes Adler questions his every decision, and he can’t have that in his line of work.

Adler lights his sixth cigarette, contemplating everything, nothing. Anything to distract him from her. It's 4 am and he’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop whirring. This isn’t like him at all- like he's lost somewhere in a Dali-style labyrinth that is his head and he wonders if this is a byproduct of his fear or fascination or confusion for the young woman.

He fears it is all of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(They're only 10 minutes away from East Berlin when he senses it, something akin to burning on his peripheral vision, pulling him like weight.

Bell is staring at him from across the seat.

He cocks his head slightly to the side.

Adler catches the quick, telling quirk of her lips, like she's about to smile but lights a cigarette instead.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Did you hear that?”

Krauss has just crossed the wall and their soles are slippery from the rain. She's panting. Her breath is white like a fog. Adler muses it must be from the running, until his iris trails down to where her hand is clutching his jacket sleeve, the leather creasing like a modulation signal.

“What is it?” Adler asks, hushed. There are no Stasis here, but even one can't be too careful.

“The TV.” She’s gaping at the broken TV next to them. Adler looks at the said object, frowning, then back to her. “Y-you didn’t hear it?”

"Heard what? Bell, the thing's dead."

Bell withdraws from him. Stepping back until her back meets the walls, her eyes seeing and unseeing, like a lens finding focus in the dark, then she closes them, as if trying to regulate her breathing. Adler has never seen her scared shitless of anything before. The sight confuses as it intrigues him.

"Bell, what's going on?" Adler steps closer, but he dares not to touch her.

She shakes her head, dismissive. In just a span of seconds, Bell dons that mask she likes to wear again; deadpan and frustratingly distant. A spike of annoyance drives through him. Just when he thinks he can get through her, there she goes again, retreating behind her palisades.

"Nothing." Bell turns away abruptly and she’s walking again."Let's just go. The others are waiting for us."

He doesn't pry about whatever she heard on the TV- Adler knows better than to beat a dead horse, thank you very much- not even after they save her from Volkov's clutches, after she bashes his head against the steel door and reeks his blood all the way home, it seems superficial at the time.

Until two days later.

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The day starts, as it mostly does for the team, with a briefing.

Fifteen minutes in and something like a gasp pulls his attention to her.

That’s when he notices it; her hands are shaking, coffee spilling out of the mug over her hand. A shatter follows. Her mug smashes to smithereens at her feet. She’s swaying, near collapse, like a house of cards about to fall, a hand on her nose.

Adler catches her before she tumbles to the floor.

“Bell!” His arm around her waist tightens, trying to keep her steady. Lazar rushes to their side in a flash and helps him move her to a nearby chair.

"Jesus Christ," he curses, more to himself than to her as he watches blood, a bead of angry red, trickling down her nose. "Sims, get me a washcloth from the bathroom."

He kneels before her once Sims returns with a damp cloth. Nicotine-stained gloved fingers tentatively grasp her chin, holding her still.

“Kid, you alright?” Adler asks, worry bleeds into his voice without him realizing it. He firmly presses the cloth under her nose, his other thumb touches the pulse at her throat- it's almost sickly affectionate. “Bell, talk to me."

Bell looks at him, discombobulated, like he's a figment of her imagination, then blinks. Again and again until she heaves a deep breath.

"I-" she hisses. One hand flies up to her head. "Fuck. My head.”

Adler’s eyes immediately search for Park’s. A knowing look passes over her face and he knows without saying that she's thinking the same thing, like they're attached to the same brain-wire:

MK-Ultra.

There’s a fraction of pause, then Lazar asks, "Should we give her something?”

Before Park can voice her answer, Bell beats her to it. "I already took an anticonvulsant this morning. It should have helped.”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Adler asks.

Bell looks away, a hesitating look shadowing her face. He fears the worst.

“Bell…” he tries again, a slight warning to his tone.

She sighs loudly, as if mentally preparing herself before walking into a storm.

“Yes. Two days ago."

His mind instantly refers to East Berlin, the TV. Trying to connect the dots in his head. It seems far fetched, but now he wonders if she saw something that triggers this. Although he's never read about this on other subjects before, the correlation is just impossible to ignore.

Fuck. He heaves a breath, willing himself to calm down, to think. They can't afford complications at times like these. Not when there's so much at stake right now.

Adler snaps his attention back to Bell when she tries to scramble awkwardly to her feet, swatting his hand away. The hand on her neck immediately reaches for her waist again and pushes her back down onto the chair. His grip's tight enough to leave marks on her skin, but he doesn't care.

"Bell, for fuck's sake, stay still or so help me," he says, exasperated, not letting go of her waist.

"I feel better now." Stubborn little shit.

He is tempted to scream at her face and grab both of her shoulders and shake. “The hell you’re not. Stop fighting it. You’ll only make things worse.”

Her face sours, if only for a millisecond before it morphs into guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Adler watches her for a long moment. It’s only now that he realizes that he’s still holding her waist and the cloth on her face.

He backs away from her like he’s been burnt.

“You should have told me. I thought I made it clear the other night to keep me informed regarding this,” he scolds.

“I’m sorry,” she utters again and she looks so pliable like this, a blank canvas perfumed with obedience and lethal mind. It makes him almost feel sorry for what he has in plan for her once the shit show is over.

“Look, just go back to the hotel and take a day off.” Her mouth cracks open. He raises a silencing hand. “That’s an order, Bell.” But she merely scowls, looking more like jagged ice than a person. Hudson may have just met his match, after all.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looks to me.”

“It is. It’s my body and I know what I’m feeling, and I’m telling you, I. Feel. Fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Are you disobeying a direct order, agent?”

Bell doesn’t answer, but her whole face remains challenging and hard. Undeterred.

Adler holds his breath. He feels the whole room collectively does the same. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun and there’s an awful sort of danger to be found in that.

Just when he thinks an imaginary bullet would dig itself into his skin, however, Bell utters, “Of course not.”

And so the woman resumes to her normal, docile self at a drop of a hat. Even when Park steps in and whisks her out of her seat, drives her back to her hotel with Lazar on shotgun.

It doesn’t assuage his worry, though. He’s still restless throughout the day, like a roaring ocean inside a bell jar. She’s never done this before, openly rebels against him. Now, the situation is just bad. Not casually bad or almost-got-shot bad, this is the-entire-Europe-could-turn-into-a-nuclear-wasteland bad, an-armageddon-waiting-to-happen bad.

What if this is the beginning of her old self trying to scratch her way out of the surface? Adler’s blood goes cold at the thought. He is going to have to keep a close eye on this development.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

West Berlin - 1 am, local time.

“How is she?”

“Stable. I’ve administered another dose of Propranolol before I left the hotel. She should be fit as a fiddle in the morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think happened to her?”

“My theory? Traumatic brain injury. A cumulative product of torture, trauma-based mind control and chronic stress. I've read reports about cases like these before in MI6. None of them is still alive to recount the tale, unfortunately."

Adler grips the phone.

“How long do you think we have?”

“Theoretically, 2-3 weeks tops.”

“But?”

He hears Park sighs on the other line. “But then again, none of the subjects I’ve encountered before were like her. So, I suppose it’s still a little too premature to determine at this point."

Adler kneads his temple, feeling the start of that familiar Bell-induced headache forms in his head. Can things just be fucking simple for once?

“We don’t have that much time anyway, Park. And if Hudson gets a wind of this, he’ll want her gone by morning. I can’t let that happen. Not…” he pauses. “Not when we are this close.”

"What are we going to do about her, then?"

Adler sighs.

"Raise the dosages of her drugs,” he says. “And keep an extra eye on her. I think we may be heading into uncharted waters now.”

Tagging: @mvalentine cause you said to tag you with everything i write so 👁👄👁

#russell adler #russell adler x bell #cod bell #cod #call of duty #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #cod cold war #alex mason #frank woods #helen park #lawrence sims #jason hudson #lazar azoulay

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ddesole · 3 years ago

Photo

[matt/frank; a playlist]

Blank Frank - Brian Eno

Blank Frank has a memory that's as cold as an iceberg / The only time he speaks is in incomprehensible proverbs / Blank Frank is the siren, he's the air-raid, he's the crater / He's on the menu, on the table, he's the knife and he's the waiter

The Devil Caught Me Nappin’ - Andrea & Ervin Litkei

I don't know how it done happened / The devil caught me nappin' / He must have come without a-rappin' / Without a-rappin' on my door / But he and I don't talk no more

Berlin Chair - You Am I

If you wait I'll give all my aches to you / Take the chance, to ignore what you're going through / My cold hand is there for you to take / I'm your Berlin Chair, won't you lean on me 'til I break

Bad Religion - Cat Power (originally by Frank Ocean)

The city keeps hurting me / Keeps bringing me to my knees / All these bad religions / This unrequited love / It's nothin' but a one man cult / Cyanide in my styrofoam cup / I could never make him love / Just a scrounging through the wall

PDA - Interpol

You are a past sinner, the last winner, I'm reaping all around me / Until the last drop is behind you / But you're so cute when you're frustrated, dear / Yeah, you're so cute when you're sedated, oh dear / Sleep tight, grim rite, we have two hundred couches where you can sleep tonight

Heaven and Alchemy - Siouxsie Sioux

Oh, what a lie / Heaven, heaven and alchemy / Heaven, heaven and alchemy / I would catch a falling star if you asked me to / But I can't seem to find one to hold on to

Blinking Pigs - Little Dragon

These nights are haunting me / I don't want to run / I don't want to leave / Now that you're standing closer / I don't want to run / I don't want to leave

Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall In Love) - Joan Jett & Paul Westerberg

I'm sure sometimes on the sly you do it / Maybe even you and I might do it / Let's do it, let's fall in love

+ a crack!song from MST3K

youtube

Knowing that love could be Frank if only the sun and the moon would collide to be Frank / Let me frank about Frank / Nothin' but sweet lovin' Frank / 'Cause Frank is the best Frank that's ever happened to me

#fratt #matt murdock #frank castle #daredevil #the punisher #fanmix #*

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ssvgawara · 4 years ago

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Haikyuu boys and some oddly specific crime they’d commit

a/n: I come back and the first thing I write is a shitpost!! enjoy </3 tw for drugs, murder, alcohol and general crime committing xoxo

Karasuno

Daichi- he’s a cop sorry that’s all there is to it man

Suga- Suga has multiple charges of 1st-degree murder against him but they can’t seem to find his identity so he continues committing murder and will continue until he gets caught or ends up murdering enough people to be put in a position of power

Asahi- everyone is probably like “Oh Asahi is innocent” NO. He has learned that his slightly scary face will let him get away with a lot, he is buying alcohol illegally because he looks old enough to, and he’s buying so much other shit and just getting away with it

Nishinoya- This man gives fucking pimp vibes I can just see him in the big leopard print fur coat with a pretty girl in his lap and he calls himself big poppa but no one else will

Tanaka- Drug dealer vibes, probably runs an entire fucking drug ring with his sister and not just a Lil weed these mfkas have the hard shit too like you could probably buy meth from them, he’s not using it but it’s good business

Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita- They literally rob a bank they have an entire scheme and get away with multiple bank robberies and this goes on for MONTHS

Kageyama- We know he’s volleyball smart but otherwise he’s so mfing stupid and I love him for it but he is a chronic shoplifter. Just picks something up and takes it, has walked out of a store without paying for an entire bed set once and got away with it somehow so idk props to him

Hinata- He is the little guy in any heist situation, he fits anywhere so he can sneak in and out the best, he gave himself the stupid ass code name tiny giant but everyone goes with it because somehow he is the best

Tsukishima- armed robbery, but he doesn’t have a gun just a knife like he’s tall and as an attitude, a knife will get him whatever he needs he doesn’t need the gun

Yamaguchi- He runs a catfishing scheme where he pretends to be a naive girl, scams old men out of their money, and then ghosts them and I think it’s what he deserves let him carry on especially because no one would believe it’s him. Also not really like a crime crime but still a crime in a way

Kiyoko- She kills men and I know it, Queen Kiyoko ending the patriarchy one shitty man at a time like she only kills men who deserve it bc some have rights.

Yachi- She’s too anxious to commit an in-person crime so she does a lot of cybercrime, hacking government databases and releasing info to the people, truly the anonymous we deserve

Saeko- She’s running that drug ring with Tanaka, and she loves it because there’s a thrill to it even though yknow she’s dealing literal meth but like its fine plus she loves rocking people’s shit when they get too handsy, which bring me to my next point underground MMA Saeko, like the illegal one with no rules yeah <3

Ukai- this man probably sells all kinda shit to minors that he shouldn’t he is so unbothered a 7-year-old could probably walk in ask for a pack of camels and get them and leave before he noticed what was going on.

Takeda- Did y’all see how scared Hinata was when Takeda gave him that lecture? This dude could kidnap someone and scare them into giving all the information he needed, a legend truly

Aoba Johsai

Oikawa- took steroids one time. And of course in sports, that’s not allowed. But he only did it once and regretted it for months afterward. Never told anyone and was just relieved he didn’t have to piss in a cup and have someone find out.

Matsukawa- Without hesitation, I know this man takes dead people’s bones and sells them on the internet. Has dubbed himself the bone man and he feels so much power when someone buys a femur or sumn. It’s kinda funny honestly he has a hoard of bones to sell, his fave is the pelvis.

Hanamaki- He’s in between jobs because he stole money from his last job, like he said he was sorry he just needed a little extra for gas but was sad to find out that’s a literal crime and he was laundering money.

Iwaizumi- he’s a street racer, like the fast and furious style and it’s so sexy of him like late-night races ugh to be in an expensive fast car with him where he has one hand on my thigh okay that’s enough of that.

Kunimi- Look me in the eye and tell me he does not do drugs. He does and if you don’t believe me you are wrong and I will fight you on this one.

Kyotani- If there is a crime he will commit it for fun. Like he will do it with no hesitation. He has a record longer than twilight and I’m not sure how he is not in prison actually nvm he escaped and is a wanted criminal lol

Shiritorizawa

Ushijima- Assault, he just reeks of getting into bar fights when he’s absolutely wasted. Like he most likely didn’t start it but he will be finishing it

Tendou- grave robbing, he just goes into the cemetery picked the oldest plots, and gets to digging. Has made thousands on dead people jewelry and probably won’t get caught, like besides the groundskeeper there’s no security he will never stop.

Semi- he breaks copyright laws on the daily. He’s sampling music in his all the time but he’s doing it so sneakily it’s fine its what deserves stream his band on Spotify right now,

Shirabu- His bangs are criminal enough. No, but he has stolen drugs from the hospital before he just wanted to try the Xanax, and yeah he could just write himself a prescription for it nut like it’s so easy to just go get some and no report it so that’s what he did.

Goshiki- y’all want me to say arson don’t you?? Fine. He commits arson multiple times and kills 7 people with fire before getting arrested and he doesn’t even feel bad so in prison he probably fucking runs a gang he is crazy.

Nekoma

Kuroo- he is a capitalist and class traitor and that’s crime enough I don’t care is he’s attractive or rich, He commits crimes daily by just existing but I still love him anyway.

Kai- Could not commit a crime he just wants to garden and live his life. Jk there’s at minimum one body in that garden let him kill a man he deserves it just let him have one dead body

Yaku- he keyed someone’s car once just because they pissed him off. Was it kuroo? Yes. But that’s fine because he also keyed Lev’s car but blamed lev for keying kuroo’s and Kuroo for keying Lev’s. He just wants to watch the world burn.

Kenma- cyberbullying but man he is mean. Like no bars held we will dig into every insecurity he can and that shit hurts and he doesn’t even feel bad about it he will just be as mean as he can if you’re not careful

Lev- his crime is being tall and dumb also doesn’t understand the economy and prints counterfeit money because why can’t we print more money? The government should get on that.

Inuoka- He released all the animals from a zoo, like snuck in one night and just let them all free, I’m surprised the tiger didn’t eat him but hey the animals are free, there’s still some missing uh oh he’s very proud of himself for it. After the rush, he starts sneaking into shelters and freeing all the dogs and cats

Yamamoto and Fukunaga- Have egged a house before, it was Kuroo’s he deserves all this bullying and you can’t stop me.

Date Tech

Aone- Criminal Conspiracy, sure he had an entire foolproof plan to get away with the perfect crime but someone found out, and now his plans are ruined, damn </3 and no one ever suspects the quiet guy either.

Futakuchi- Having a prostitute, he just wanted some company like mans is lonely so he paid a girl to just spend a Lil time with him it’s all good.

Fukurodani

Bokuto- I know we all haha funny laugh at tax evader bokuto and sure maybe he evades his taxes but he’s also committed vehicular manslaughter, he cannot drive and has killed someone with his car maybe even multiple someones but he always drives off in a panic because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Akaashi- Hasn’t actively committed a crime but has been an accomplice in every vehicular manslaughter Bokuto has committed why the fuck does he keep letting bokuto drive? He really needs to stop that.

Konoha- A master scammer he is so convincing everyone gives him money even if they’re a little sus because he’s just that good each scheme is so convincing.

Inarizaki

Kita- He grows weed, you can’t tell me those rice fields are just for rice he’s got all this space he is growing marijuana and selling it, let him do it I want him to be my plug.

Atsumu- "What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning, the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting. I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years. She's never taken another lover. I don't care. I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier."

Osamu- resisting arrest. He just said no and ran. Granted he shouldn’t have punched the cop in the first place to have to be arrested but like that’s not the point here.

Aran- accidental child abandonment, like he just forgot he was babysitting and left the kid alone for like a day. He felt terrible but he still forgot the kid and now is fearful of parenthood

Suna- owns an illegal weapon, like he just never registered it and keeps it around and would use it if needed Suna please just point the weapon at me maybe

Others

Terushima- Graffiti, he loves painting on the walls of buildings and tagging them, has so much spraypaint and his day isn’t complete if he doesn’t tag at least one building or train car.

Daishou- Public intoxication- he got a little too fucked up and stripped on the street he will forever have to live with everyone knowing he has an ass tattoo like damn bruh

Sakusa- Perjury he simply wanted to get out of court so he said some shit so he could leave granted he lied under oath but whatever, did they ever find out? No, so he’s fine and he’d do it again if it meant he could leave faster. Like sure he was a witness to a murder but bruh he pretends he does not see.

Hoshihumi- driving without a license he simply thought you didn’t need one because why do you need a piece of plastic to say you can drive a car like??? Just know how to drive it.

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tangerinebeak · 3 years ago

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The thick silver band on my pointer finger can tell you my heart’s unsteady beat, the serrated knife that is my sleep, the calories burned, the chill of my flesh from dusk till dawn. The thick silver band can track the cogs and wheels that jam and jerk inside a body that began breaking some two decades past. The thick silver band can measure everything!—everything except how loud I laugh and how much I talk (so, so much!) and how soft my heart, or stone-cold, depending on what you say to me. The thick silver band doesn’t detect how utterly the neon greens of June awe me, desert child that I am, in this land of numinous rains. Or how joyful beyond logic a summer dress can render me. Or how many days, weeks, years I lay in dark and silence, too sick even to move, teasing memory’s every detail to the surface, so that the other me, the first me—the writer, the athlete, the globetrotter, the lover—might never go missing, might always be my own. The thick silver band cannot compute how the beveled blade of grief at the enormity of life’s losses coexists with the sugar sweet balm of the humblest victories—the deadheading of a petunia, a walk to the end of the block, the shooting of a single photo in which a thick silver band hugs a pointer finger that’s resting on an eyelet dress amidst Berlin’s summer greens while a reticent rescue cat lounges on a deck chair unseen.

#myalgic encephalomyelitis #me/cfs #long covid #oura ring #chronic fatigue syndrome

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silverfactory · 3 years ago

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i can no longer find the ask, but this is @transjackfairy’s headcanon request for malcolm & jack fairy from velvet goldmine, no. 14 🤍

————

14. romance

three places where malcolm and jack fall in love:

one

their first sort-of date is in london, 1975, not long after the death of glitter. malcolm sneaks jack away from a gala and into a grimy little cinema where the screen is clouded with cigarette smoke and the velvet of the seats is so crusty they have to cover it with their coats. it is decidedly unglamorous. but they can be anything here, queer and famous and maybe in love, and no one will care. (the girl at the ticket counter does a double-take but doesn’t ask.)

that night, the theater’s showing deep red. jack and malcolm both love horror, especially when it’s gaudy and improbable and the blood is almost pink. but malcolm hardly notices the movie because he’s watching the emotion on jack’s silent-film-star face, and the way they flinch a little at every scare no matter how predictable. jack seems to know everything about the future sometimes, the births and deaths of stars, but not when someone’s going to pop onscreen with a phony knife.

it makes malcolm want to hold onto them. he’s never felt like he could do that before. (they’ll laugh about this in a year, when they’re watching a horror movie at home and jack is situated — very heavily and lankily — somewhere in the vicinity of malcolm’s lap.) but, timidly, he takes jack’s hand and strokes it, and jack strokes back, and the first part of some spell is broken, because jack is no longer too remote to touch.

two

jack’s favorite place in berlin isn’t a club or a museum but an orchid conservatory. it looks like a big glass bell jar, tropically hot and full of birdsong even when the rest of the city is asleep beneath snow. jack’s never brought anyone here before. they treasure their quiet and their secrets, yes, but also it’s never really occurred to them that anyone else would care to come along.

but malcolm says (insists) he wants to see jack’s favorite place in the city. so jack takes malcolm’s hand and walks him along the mossy stone paths, describing the varieties of orchids and the extraordinary intelligence of flowers, telling themself it’s alright if malcolm isn’t listening — but he is. he’s looking at the orchids with wonder and genuine love, because he sees jack’s love in them. this place makes me think of of another world, malcolm says, hushed. tell me about these ones that look like praying mantises. what are they adapted for? and jack sweeps him onto his tiptoes for an immodestly grateful kiss. the way malcolm listens makes jack actually want to speak.

three

i never thought i’d be the kind of person who has a home, malcolm says once, in the morning, in their bed, in the sunlight, in the constellation of pale freckles (usually so well-hidden) that is jack’s embrace. he tries to say it casually, like it doesn’t weigh anything, but his voice gets small and he knows he isn’t fooling jack. this bed, this home, is a place they’ve fought for. slurs, cigarette burns, bloody lips — all for this expensive satin duvet and the way jack strokes malcolm’s hair and says, shh, my heart. i know. their cat maila yawns, stretches, and resettles in the groove between their pillows. malcolm never thought he’d be the kind of person who could quit fighting — and maybe he still can’t — but right now it’s enough to toy with maila’s paw and kiss jack’s collarbone and be, for a change, the kind of person who has a home.

#velvet goldmine #asks #long post #this took LITERAL WEEKS i’m SO SORRY 😭😭#my thesis has been trying to eat me alive #but i enjoyed this so much #thank you so kindly for sending it 🤍#(i posted like 5 mins ago but i forgot to actually pair it with the ask so…ignore please)#headcanons

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lord-tathamet · 3 years ago

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Dinner Plans

A short story almost two years of age, that I once wrote for a university class. Found it again, dusted it off, polished it slightly, but let it retain that little bit of amateurish writing simply to marvel at how far I’ve come with my writing ever since.

Enjoy.

For the fifth time in the last two hours did the man with the moustache and sunglasses look up from his research and look at the face of the clock of the broken church. He scowled beneath the moustache, but forced himself to look at it regardless.

4:18 pm.

They were late, as per usual. He shook his head and focused back on his literature. He made the mental note to have a number of alarm clocks be send to each of them for next time. Flatteringly Photoshopped pictures of the Mexican coast reflected in his sunglasses while his eyes skimmed through the brochure's whimsical descriptions of the rich culture of its indigenous people and beautiful beaches. He skipped through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for. A decidedly too sharply fined and too pale fingernail stabbed into the page displaying the photograph of an ancient, grey pyramid.

The man sitting behind the shining aluminium table was tall, narrow and sharply dressed: a suit jacket with bloodstone cufflinks, black suit-pants, a clean white shirt only slightly wrinkled and two buttons open. His legs ended in a pair of shiny, pointy shoes. His face was stern and angular, with pronounced cheekbones and a pointed chin. Bushy eyebrows sat above the pair of sunglasses that protected his eyes against the sun, and a long white moustache grew beneath the hooked nose which gave his appearance a certain roguish charm. A wavy mane of grey-white hair surrounded his face and hid the pointed tips of his ears, giving him certain qualities akin to an old lion. It was difficult to clearly guess his age, but anyone briefly passing by and glancing at him would take him for a very spry looking gentleman in his mid-fifties.

Leaning in on his read, the man with the white moustache made a few notes on a small block of paper. The pen he used was black, ornamented with silver filigree and absurdly expensive, as was the ink held within. Next to the note pad stood an untouched and by now cold cup of coffee, its content as pitch-black as a dark winter night and reflecting the bright afternoon sun above. Disgusting in taste and disgustingly cheap in comparison, but he needed the table, and none of the waiters would bother him as long as he had at least one beverage in front of him, as maligned and untouched it was.

Cars rolled by exhuming grey fumes, the nearby fountain shot water into the air and people passed his table. Most of them in casual summer clothes, sundresses and cargo pants and shirts and some of them even with hats to gain some shade. For a moment, the man looked up from his notes and allowed himself a brief indulgence – the eyes behind the sunglasses darted from one healthy neck to another. A small, wolfish smile parted the pale lips and if there had been anyone to pay close attention, they would have gained a brief glance at his very pointed, very sharp and unusually long canines.

“Good afternoon, count.”

The man in the white moustache begrudgingly pulled his eyes away from his current mark – a lovely Turkish woman with streaming black hair that was climbing the stairs around the fountain just a shy dozen feet from his table, close enough for him to smell the sweet mixture of blood and perfume she exhumed – and he turned to the youth that had seated herself opposite of him, soundless and sudden as if she had appeared out of the thin air.

“And to you, countess. You are looking lively as always.”

She seemed young enough to be his granddaughter, though no one within their right mind would have thought to imagine a superficial familiarity between the two. A girl of fourteen years, with a healthy, rosy complexion and flowing, lush dark hair that curled at her shoulders, the sunshine twisting golden shimmers into its waves. Large doe-like eyes that projected innocence and hid a vicious intellect, a petite body that suggested fragility and cloaked the strength to bend iron bars as if they were straws. She was in white, of course she was, a pretty, knee-length dress and a white handbag in her lap and with her hands folded atop of it. The lid of her bag, the man with the moustache noted with a mild amusement, was riddled with numerous, colourful stickers and badges, and around her wrists hung several loops and bands of tiny gemstones like rainbow wreaths.

They were the only change about her since their last meeting.

“Thank you. My sincere apologies, there was an unfortunate delay with the train between Kassel and Hannover.” She shook her head. “More than five centuries since the invention of rail transport and still a simple thing like an open door may stall a train's journey for almost an entire fifteen minutes.”

She nodded at the travel brochure still open in front of him. “Are you already planning your next journey? I thought you would stay in Berlin a little while longer.”

“I am a traveller at heart, milady. Although my beloved home will always be in the heart of Europe, the other continents do possess their own charming allure,” he replied, setting the brochure and note block aside. “And besides, it has been a while since I have last visited the Americas. There must be much exciting game to be hunted there.”

“Always about excitement, is that the reason you wanted us all to meet here of all places?” The countess nudged her chin toward the broken church spire in the background, a disgusted sneer cracking her face. “And mirroring glass everywhere around us. One of these days, your thrill-seeking hunts might cost you your life.”

“How would the youth of your seeming generation say? No risk, no fun.” The count let his eyes wander around the square for a moment. “Where is Laura? The two of you were practically bound at the hip when we last met.”

The young-seeming woman stiffened in her seat. The snarl dissolved into a very neutral, very calm expression that seemed like it was carved from marble. “Laura is... no longer with us.”

A single eyebrow rose, but otherwise the count's face remained unmoved. “Hunters?

“No.” There was a subtle tremble of her lip, the count noted, before she continued: “She could no longer bear it, she told me, moments before she drove the knife through her own neck. She betrayed me, just like the others before her.”

“My condolences.”

She nodded, her face remaining neutral. “It has been over three decades since. I have moved on as best as I could.

“In fact,” she allowed herself a smile,” I happen to have a date just after we met up with our friends.”

“You still insist on fraternizing with your prey?” The count sneered. “Now that is a carelessness that will get you killed one day.”

“Because unlike you, I seek actual companionship?” Her eyes glinted like sharp icicles in the sun. “Because unlike you, I do not wish to to prolong myself in solitude and run afoul like some pack-less dog? Because I want to spend this blasted eternity with someone like myself?”

Blue flashed and briefly turned red. For a moment, the two stared at each other with an intensity not unlike of two big cats, every individual muscle tense and ready to pounce. Then as quickly as the moment came, it passed.

“I did not mean to insult you, milady. Forgive me. I only worry about others of our kind. We are already so very few remaining,” the count sighed.

“Do not kid yourself, count. You care for nobody but yourself,” the countess replied, but she too relaxed in her seat.

The next five minutes they spent in silence. The count returned to his brochure, only briefly looking up to take notes and to send another quick glance up at the clock tower. The young woman had produced a smartphone from her handbag and immersed herself in the screen, brief smiles lighting up her face in between her typing and the brief ping of sent messages.

“Empusa will be here in half an hour,” she said after little while and looked up from the screen. “She is picking up Lamia from the airport and helping her through customs right now.”

“What about Schreck?”

“The sun is still up, remember? He will meet us after dusk.”

“His mutation is as highly fascinating as it is impractical,” the count murmured. “Why didn't they update me about it?”

“We do possess a text chain, you know. I'm surprised you are not part of it, since you are always the one organizing our meetings.”

“I refuse to touch one of those damnable Apps ever since Lestat sent around pictures of his own rectum to everyone.”

“Suit yourself. Why the Americas?”

The count tapped his finger on the table. “The Mexica people of pre-Columbian America possessed fascinating religious rites related to blood sacrifice to honour their gods...I wonder if there might be others of our kind still in their old territory.”

The countess fiddled with her smartphone. “Sometimes, I admit, I envy your ability to travel without restraint. I tried everything, yet I still must return to my family's tomb ever so often.”

“Have you considered moving your tomb in its entirety, stone by stone? There are still many old woods and mountain valleys unmolested by human hand. I am sure the hags you usually travel with would be most grateful for the exercise.”

“I have tried, once, when Laura was still with me.” A twinge of sorrow crept across her face. “I wanted to go far, far away from home and take her with me. But then, my body began to wither, my senses to decay the longer I prolonged returning to my tomb for a night. Laura, too, could not go long without a place to return to. Horse-carriages can only get you so far. And when we tried to move a single stone, what little strength I had left in that moment was about to leave me.”

The count hummed. Then his own phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, swiped across the screen, read the message in silence. A wolfish grin split his face.

“Then you'll be happy to know that I plan on putting an end to these laws that seem to bind us.”

“What to you mean?” The countess leaned forward, an eyebrow arched.

“I planned on surprising all of you when Schreck, Lamia and the others would be gathered with us, but I might just as well reveal it all now,” the count smiled and leaned back, hands tapered together. There was a red gleam to his eyes, behind the sunglasses. “In my studies of the Americas, I came across a new initiate to our little circle – one that shares many of my own tastes and wishes to help others of his kin. Among such, is breaking the accursed bindings placed upon us.”

He extended a pointing finger. “He is currently sitting on the other end of the Breitscheidplatz. The tall man, olive skinned, with the gold rings in his ears.”

The countess followed his direction, narrowed her blue eyes to a glint. “What is his name?”

“The old Mayan people called him Camazotz. And he might very well be one of the first of our kind to walk this earth.”

On the other end of the square, the tall, olive-skinned man with golden rings in both his ears turned his head and nodded at them. His eyes gleamed in a blood-red, and for just a moment, both of the undead nobles could catch a glimpse of his shadow flickering across the wall behind him.

For just a split-second, they saw the shadow of a bat the size of a small house, stretching its wings and enveloping the street within its grasp.

#dracula #vampire #vampires #supernatural #carmilla #nosferatu #fanfiction #?#definitely fanfiction #horror #modern day #my writing #fiction

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watching-pictures-move · 3 years ago

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Viddying the Nasties #37 | Possession (Zulawski, 1981)

This review contains spoilers.

Andrzej Zulawski's Possession is a movie I'd somewhat been dreading revisiting. When I'd seen it all those years back (on YouTube, split into two parts if I recall correctly, as the DVD had been hard to come by in those days), despite being greatly moved by the experience, I'd also found it an extremely exhausting film to sit through. It's a tortured divorce melodrama (among other things) that starts at 11 and only goes up from there. Lots of shouting and screaming, physical abuse, kicking around chairs and tables. The movie is not what I'd call an overtly pleasant experience. Watching it now (on a Blu-ray from Mondo Vision, a substantial upgrade from my original format), while I won't characterize my previous impressions as inaccurate, I was able to better appreciate how the movie modulates this tone, acclimatizing us to its fraught emotional space. The movie starts off in the realm of a normal, bitter breakup, with the husband having returned from a work trip only to learn that his wife is leaving him and struggling to make sense of it, his frustration and anger stemming as much from the fact of her dissolving their relationship as his inability to comprehend her motivations. It isn't really until the half hour mark that it asks us to dive off the deep end with it. The husband hits his wife in the middle of a fight, follows her onto the street as she tries to halfheartedly throw herself onto the path of a truck, which then drops its baggage in an almost comical bit of stuntwork, their squabble ended when the husband becomes surrounded by children playing soccer and joins in. Any one of these by itself is nothing out of the ordinary, but Zulawski assembles them into an off-kilter crescendo, and does away with any sense of normalcy for the rest of the runtime.

That this approach works as well as it does is largely thanks to Isabelle Adjani as Anna, the wife, who spends the aforementioned scene looking like a vampire in cat eye sunglasses and blood streaming down her grimacing mouth. She delivers perhaps the most bracingly physical performance I've seen in a movie, but again this is something I'd maybe underappreciated initially in terms of how finely tuned her choices are. An early scene where she fights with her husband has her manically cutting raw meat and shoving it into a grinder, as if to channel her frustrations into acceptable form of violence for women. When she takes an electric knife to her throat, she begins to spasm about like a farm animal during a botched slaughter, providing a further comment on her domestic situation. The film's most famous scene has her freak out in a subway tunnel, thrashing her limbs about chaotically but almost rhythmically, maybe like the contractions when goes into labour. Her character later describes this as a miscarriage, ejecting the side of her which is neat and orderly and "good". Adjani plays this other half as well, with a much more old fashioned hairdo (braided conservatively like a stereotypical schoolmarm), one which provides a much more tender maternal figure to the couple's son. Adjani is also well cast because of her emotive, saucer-like eyes, which she isn't afraid to point at the camera repeatedly, providing a genuine emotional grounding during both the quieter and more hysterical sections of the movie.

Her husband, Mark, is played by Sam Neill, who had been cast after the filmmakers had seen him in Gillian Armstrong's My Brilliant Career. To understand why Neill works so well, it helps to know that Sam Waterston had previously expressed interest in the role. Waterston, while a good actor, would have come off too fogeyish as the husband. Neill brings the appropriate edge and even sex appeal necessary for the material. And like in Jurassic Park, his best known role, he brings an inquisitive quality that keeps him close enough to our vantage point to give the narrative arc some grounding. The other major human character here is Heinz Bennent as Heinrich, a new age guru who happens to be having an affair with the wife. One on hand, this character represents the counterculture from Zulawski's homeland, which he had left after trouble from the authorities when making his last movie. On the other hand, Zulawski was drawing heavily from the bitter divorce he had just gone through, and directs a sizable fraction of the movie's contempt at this character, leading me to believe that his wife in fact left him for some new age buffoon. In one of the movie's funnier scenes, he has Heinrich confront Mark over Anna's disappearance and then go into a dumbassed trance while spouting new age nonsense and basically calling Mark a Nazi. This is the guy his wife left him for? This jackass? Mark sets him up by sending him to Anna, knowing full well he could be killed, but the potency of Mark's rage (and Zulawski's, by extension), as well as the ludicrousness of the Heinrich character, keep us from sympathizing with the latter too much. Zulawski has Heinrich die with his head in a toilet, a final flush by Mark serving as one last hilariously mean-spirited gesture of contempt.

Zulawski originally conceived the movie as having another major character, Anna's ex-husband, to be played by veteran actor and director Bernard Wicki, but after the first day of shooting with Wicki, he decided to drop the character entirely. (I suppose it depends on the personalities, but I wonder how actors react to being let go early from a project. Is it worse if it's on the first day? How about if you lead the filmmakers to realize they should do away with the character altogether? I only hope Wicki got paid.) It's not hard to see what purpose this character would have served, particularly in the way that Anna "upgrades" her lovers, having traded a much older man for the younger, sexier Mark, and then trying to replace him with an evolving monstrous fuck-squid (more on this later) that she was trying to nurture and reshape into the ideal partner. The only remnants of this character in the finished film is his young wife, who appears in the climax and his goaded by the "new" Mark (the final form of the fuck-squid) to shoot into the corpses of the real Mark and Anna. The character's proposed thematic purpose might have spelled out this moment's significance more clearly, but I'm not always convinced thematic clarity is preferable to how things move and feel, and the end product does not feel incomplete or incoherent, or at least not detrimentally so. The emotions make sense, even if the events onscreen are outside the norm. (My condolences to those of you who've been dumped for a monstrous fuck-squid.)

Having been conceived after his last project was quashed by authorities in Poland, there's undeniably a political element here, enhanced by the noticeable presence of the Berlin Wall, near which much of the film is situated. (At one point the camera looks out the window and sees the police from East Berlin staring back.) The realities of the Cold War figure heavily in the characters' lives, as it's suggested that Helen (the other Adjani) is from behind the Iron Curtain (she speak of readily identifiable evil, which could be interpreted as the visible presence of an authoritarian regime) and that Mark's work is in the field of intelligence, maybe even espionage. But the movie is less interested in pointing out political specifics than in the accompanying sense of repression and division, which plays heavily into the visual style. The movie often divides its frames to separate the characters, but rarely with any sense of symmetry, suggesting a sense of emotional chaos enhanced by the bruising mixture of wide angle lenses and handheld camerawork. When we're with Mark, the movie looks overcast, bluish grey, appropriately repressed at first, although Anna's presence throws his neat, fluorescently-lit apartment into disarray. Anna's love nest, situated in the Turkish district right beside the Wall is dilapidated and unkempt, which may have reflected the squalid realities of a hastily rented apartment in what I assume is a poorer part of town, but after having excised the orderly part of herself, it seems like an accurately messy reflection of her headspace.

Now back to the fuck-squid. It's hard to go into Possession this day and age completely blind, and even back when I first saw it, it came on my radar as the movie where "Isabelle Adjani fucks a squid". I have a lot of respect for Zulawski for delivering the goods on this front and for Adjani for throwing herself into this material, not because I'm some kind of sexual deviant who gets off on this stuff (although if you are, I'm not here to judge, it's a free country, just clear your browsing history after), but because modern arthouse cinema often defaults to a mode of cold, downplayed and too afraid to raise the audience's pulse (because apparently it's undignified to force a reaction out of the audience) and it's nice to see a movie serve what it says on the tin (this is one I'd have loved to see with an unsuspecting audience back in the day). Producer Marie Laure-Reyre notes that Zulawski was very hands on with the conception of the monster, drawing inspiration from gargoyles in Polish architecture, as if to further imbue political context into the proceedings. When seeing the end product, I can only assume Zulawski broke up with his wife at a seafood restaurant (I would hope he didn't react like Mark and throw around all the tables and chairs). Of course, the design of the monster means that the movie leans heavily into body horror, and its inclusion on the Video Nasty list in the UK and its release in the US in a heavily-trimmed 81-minute version emphasizing these elements likely contributed to its psychotronic reputation early on. (I am still interested in seeking out this cut, as I can't imagine the loss of 40 whole minutes wouldn't substantially alter the film's character.) It flirts with other genres as well. Certain scenes have a clear slapstick quality. Some of these involve Heinrich, the ever-reliable target of the film's ridicule, but there is also Margit Cartensen, playing Anna's friend and Mark-hater Marge, falling on her ass like a Three Stooges bit. And there's the climax, parodying action movies with its woozy cocktail of car chase, shootout and explosions, which leads a headlong rush into the film's apocalyptic final moments.

#film #viddying the nasties #movie review #possession #andrzej zulawski

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caitlesshea · 4 years ago

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death doesn’t discriminate

“Nile called. She said they did a recon mission in Brazil, blew up some buildings.”

Booker waits a moment, makes sure James is fully in the room before speaking again.

“She said it could’ve been a solo job.”

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you.” James mumbles as he stands next to him.

Booker turns towards him, ready for an argument, when he sees the wary expression on James’ face.

“Why?”

James turns away from him and starts pacing the length of the room. Booker thinks momentarily that he should’ve started this conversation in the office and not their bedroom, but he can’t change it now.

“James. Why?”

At the sound of his name, James turns toward him with wide, almost terrified eyes.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” Booker crosses his arms as he leans against the dresser and stares at James. “Why didn’t you give me the job?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“I couldn’t.”

Booker scoffs. “You couldn’t?”

“Mm.”

“Why?” Booker moves closer to James as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Why?”

“He said you were in pieces!”

Booker freezes and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

“What?” Booker breathes out and it’s the only sound in the room.

James rubs at his face like he’s mad at himself for letting that slip.

“The church, after the grenade, the report back was that you were in pieces.” James’ breath catches on the word pieces and Booker stares at him incredulously.

“I healed.” Booker says slowly, as the dawning realization that James had cared for him, even then, sinks into him.

“You won’t always.”

“Not for a long time.”

“Just look at Andy!”

Booker feels like he’s been slapped and James realizes what he said a moment too late.

“Sébastien.”

“No.” Booker takes a deep breath. “No.”

Suddenly he can’t be here, in their room, in their house, with James. Booker bodies his way out of their bedroom and starts moving through their house, collecting his keys, wallet, and phone.

He knows he needs to say something, anything, but he can’t get the words out from where they’re lodged in his throat.

Before he makes it to the door he turns to look at James and almost stops what he’s doing at the tears in James’ eyes. This isn’t how Booker saw this conversation going, this isn’t how he wanted it to go.

James pulls Booker’s motorcycle helmet from its hook by the door and hands it to him. The argument that he’ll survive any crash is on the tip of his tongue but he takes the helmet and nods instead.

He turns without another look back and it isn’t until he’s been riding for at least thirty minutes that he lets the tears fall.

When his phone won’t stop buzzing he finally pulls over to look at it. He wants to rip his helmet off and throw it into the grass as far as it will go, but he stops himself.

He sees a few texts from Nile and one from James and because he’s nothing if not a masochist he reads that one first.

[James: I’m sorry]

Booker wipes at his eyes and instead of reading the string of texts from Nile he decides to call her.

“What the fuck did you say to him?!” Nile seethes on the other end of the phone without so much as a hello.

“I didn’t…”

“Don’t make me call Quynh.”

Booker sighs and a feeling of helplessness settles in his gut.

“We got into a fight.”

“No shit.”

“Nile.”

“You need to fix this Booker.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Booker hangs his head because he knows that’s not true.

He knows it only escalated because he got scared when James admitted to caring about him even then.

“You better. He requested to join us on our next job, he’ll be in Berlin tonight and we head out tomorrow.”

“Job? What are you talking about?”

“Some trafficking ring. The meetup happened yesterday and we’re taking them out tomorrow, he asked to join.”

“He can’t!”

“Well. He is. So you need to fix this.”

“The house in Berlin?”

“Booker.”

“Dammit, Nile.”

He can hear her sigh over the phone. He knows he’s breaking every rule they have in place that allows him to speak to Nile and Quynh, and sometimes Andy, but never affords him the opportunity to join them on jobs.

They don’t even know he’s dating James. Or was.

Fuck.

“Please.” Booker isn’t above begging. He knows the kind of people on this job that they’ll be dealing with, he can’t let James go into that, CIA training be damned.

“We’re at the house in Berlin.”

“Thank you.”

“And Booker?” Nile waits until she confirms he’s listening. “He was crying.”

She hangs up, after she twists the knife he was already feeling in his chest.

“Fuck.” Booker groans, wipes more tears from his eyes and heads to the private plane hangar they use and asks for a flight to Berlin.

When he gets to their safe house in Berlin he wants to scream. Nile, the asshole, said the job was tomorrow.

What she didn’t say was that it was in the dead of night.

So, now he’s a couple of hours behind when James got here, and Booker can tell he’s already been here because his laptop is on the table, but they’re all gone. For however long this job takes.

Booker really doesn’t want to get caught in the safe house when they return so he heads out to a café until he can get Nile to let them know they’re back.

He’s barely taken a sip of his coffee when his phone rings.

“Nile.”

“You’re in Berlin?”

“You know I am.” Booker grits out.

“Copley’s hurt.”

The blood drains from Booker’s face and he sways where he stands.

“What?”

“It’s bad. Can you meet us?”

“Tell me where you are.”

She rattles off some address and he’s already jumping on his motorcycle before she even finishes.

Fear, like he’s never known, grips him to the point where he knows he’s a mess. He barely manages to contain the sob caught in his chest as he finally makes it to their location.

Nothing matters except getting to James. Booker doesn’t even take out his gun as he runs into the building.

He barely has a chance to take stock of the situation, which is, a lot of dead bodies and the people he considers family all sitting around James as they check him over.

Booker feels like he can’t move. There’s so much blood, more than he feels like he’s ever seen before, which he knows isn’t true, but it’s coming from James, and it matters.

“Sébastien?” James croaks out and Booker doesn’t hesitate, he slides down next to James, pushing Nicky out of the way, who protests until he sees the look on Booker’s face.

Booker’s frantically looking over James, who looks surprisingly okay for someone sitting in so much blood.

“Sébastien.” James grabs his hands and stills them.

Booker looks at him and then back to Nile and narrows his eyes at her sheepish look.

“She said you were hurt.” Booker whispers and James nods at him but lifts his shirt to show him his bloody stomach.

“I don’t.” Booker shakes his head. “He needs a doctor!”

It’s not lost on Booker that the placement of the wound is very similar to the one Booker obtained at the church in France.

The wound they were arguing about. Healed but not.

“We can’t take him to one.” Andy says quietly.

“We have to. He’ll die.”

“Sébastien.”

Booker turns to look at James as he coughs wetly.

“No.” Booker swallows. “No.”

Booker fumbles for his phone and calls one of James’ contacts that he set up for Andy should she ever need medical help.

“What are you doing?” Joe asks him and Booker shoves him back.

“I’m getting him help.”

At their blank stares he growls. “Do you really think he’d just let Andy die if she was hurt?”

No one says anything and Booker feels anger coursing through him that they still thought so little of James.

“You can either leave or you can stay.” Booker grits out.

Thankfully they all keep quiet and in no time at all Booker’s sitting in a waiting room in a hospital waiting to hear if James is going to survive.

Booker feels like his nerves are so frayed he’s going to come apart at the seams. He can’t get his legs to stop shaking, either.

Nicky settles his hand on Booker’s knee and Booker looks over at his brother with watery eyes.

“He’ll be okay.” Nicky says quietly and Booker shakes his head.

“You don’t know that.”

“Have a little faith, Book.” Andy says from where she’s leaning against a wall.

He laughs as he tips his head up toward the ceiling.

“How long has this been going on?” Joe asks as he squats in front of Nicky’s chair.

Booker doesn’t want to answer, wants to tell them it’s none of their business since they decided to exile him, but.

“Since London.”

Booker looks around at everyone. Nile’s smiling, Quynh has a grin that looks suspiciously like the Cheshire Cat. Andy looks tired and Joe and Nicky have their heads tilted to the side like they’re wondering just how much they missed.

“Not here. We’ll talk at the safe house.” Andy decides and Booker nods.

They’re finally allowed back to see James and Booker can vaguely hear the doctor explaining something about a miracle and fast healing organs when he see James sitting up in bed, smiling.

Booker rushes over to him and grabs his hands.

“I healed faster than I should have.” James says quietly to him and Booker looks at him and James pulls up his shirt to show his unblemished stomach.

Booker doesn’t hesitate he just leans down to hug James as best he can while he weeps tears of joy.

James puts his face to Booker’s cheek and kisses it once.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too.” Booker doesn’t think he needs to admit just how scared he was, and how he understands now why James didn’t want Booker running headfirst into danger.

“I love you.” James whispers and Booker feels the tears well up again.

“I love you, too.”

#the old guard #booker x copley #bopley #mentions of injury #mentions of blood

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nada-para-siempre · 4 years ago

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Human destinations

Last year was beyond belief, incredible and full of changes for everyone; Covid happened, I self-published my first cookbook ("Menú Covid 19: recipes shared in viral times"), our African trip was aborted but I started a journey alone -without the one who had been my partner since the beginning of this blog-; furthermore, I traveled through myself and visited what I like to call: human destinations.

It all began in March 2021, when I started contacting my friends around the world to ask them for help with my new personal project: a universal cookbook to survive the quarantine. One of the criteria for selecting the book's contributors was that they should be nomads like myself, travellers and immigrants who cross borders just like the damn virus.

Being locked up in the Cajón del Maipo (literally a stone box embedded in the Andes mountain near Santiago), I had the opportunity to revive journeys and stories by video or WhatsApp calls with the crazy characters of my book. Among them was my Turkish friend Burhan, who shared his delicious köfte recipe (super tasty meat balls, seasoned with whatever spices you have on hand and fried. One of the most beloved dishes in his country).

I met Burhan virtually when he contacted me for “creative” reasons about 8 years ago and then in person when I visited Berlin for the first time. Dieser super nette Typ took me to my first parties in that city and showed me how was living as an artist there. I got to know his workshop shared with other artists and he offered me any help I needed. In total I must have met him about three times during those 10 amazing days I spent in Berlin. Over the years we communicated a couple times, but when I contacted him to ask him for his recipe it was like we were friends. We were friends. We are friends. Sometimes it happens that way with people; you see them three times (twice in a dark dungeon), and there is a click.

When I told him about my failed plan to go to Africa, about my break-up, about my desire to travel around Europe and to find my destiny there, he offered me his sofa in the sunny city of Barcelona, in the really sunny Plaza del Sol (where he lives now). And BOOOM!, suddenly I had a first stop on my route of people.

From here on - and since the tarot reading of my sister Vale - everything unfolded magically and naturally. The universe led me to the precise human places where I needed to be at any given moment. I traveled alone but always with the best possible company.

Burhan, Andreas (his charming Norwegian flatmate) and Ninja (the fluffy and elusive cat) welcomed me into their home and made my life happy when it could have been not so happy, difficult or maybe sad. Once again, Burhi showed me the city, its sunsets, took me to the sea for the first time in months and we talked non-stop about our lives, about his childhood in Eskişehir and mine in Santiago, about our parents, art, music, philosophy, angels and demons as we drew until it became daylight every time. He assisted me in buying my first watercolours and motivated me to become an artist (I’m working on it :) and I tried the köfte in its original version! He open his house to me because himself had been many times in a half-precarious situation where he received a friendly hand. Having moved from Turkey to Zaragoza, then to Berlin and then to Barcelona he knows what it is like to have a new start. And I, a lost soul, was open to hear about these experiences.

I remember the refreshing feeling of taking an ice-cold shower at his flat and feeling that everything was about to begin. Looking out of the small bathroom window, at the rooftops, the orange sunset, as I cooled off and smiled, so happy to be there.

This journey started exactly a year ago, in July 2020, and it went like this: I went to Sandramandra in Costa Brava and Montpellier; Pavinito in Normandy on a mind-blowing roadtrip through Gotic cathedrals to bunkers blocks to his family in Mayenne; Julie and Cotipoti in Paris; Lea and their adorable flatmates in Basel, the bike rides, the architecture, the jump into the Rhein and Zumthor greener than anything; crazy Antonio and his CircoFreak in Cagliari: Mauro, Anita, Luca, Alessandro, Rosa, Omar; the other Mauro and his family in Bari Sardo (I ate olives with fork and knife, something never seen by Italians before); mein neuer Großvater Klaus; Campidarte’s gang with Giorgio, Mario, Linda, Cali, Gustavo, Belén, Roxi, Rika, Fernanda, Sean, Carolrollo, Jacopo; Fabio in the forest; Theo back in Paris. And then, even settled in Barcelona, I kept traveling with my roomies Helo, Natalia y Melo, and the friends of the house, the Colombians, the French; and my old friends Sofi, Manu; and my new friends Bart, Toni, Marco, Bret; the visit of Andrés del Chino; Mon cher Illan, his brothers and cousins and JoJo; back in Berlin, the lovely Caro and Käthe, the adorable Vini and Luca; Selva!; naked Bernhard in the forest; Sabine and Christian, immer in meinem Herzen; Onno, the smoothies and German Lea.

They all let me hover around them and fell in love with their generosity and openness. I travelled through them and they travelled through me. That's the beauty of Couchsurfing and work-away or just crashing your friend’s couch, it's a reciprocal experience of discovery and exchange. And even if you are not physically moving, you are traveling. It's like life opens up new paths, everything connects and you learn things that are sometimes difficult to explain, but perhaps they are the most important ones; the missions of each one and how each one has faced them. The ability to reinvent yourself and your life. Like Roxi and Gustavo. Or dive into a new world, where money doesn't exist, like Cali. Or put all your efforts in learning a new skill to be the best you can possible be, like Illan. You see, everyone is creative in their search for answers. Life is flexible and can bent by the forces of nature, for a virus, for luck, for yourself and your own decisions and for friends who offer you a hand. All these people have inspired me and helped me to find my own direction, a place called Iguanistan, my final destination :) ♥

#human destinations #tripping #couchsurfing #workaway

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