#germany has had a cold for like two years now

[forsoobado137]

Hi just wanted to ask,does a nations health depend on their economical and political stability,for example in the past weeks both france's and germany's governments crumbled what would be the consequences of it in your au would they both be severely ill , or just feel a little feverish and how would people react to the vulnerability of their nations to their political and economical conditions,would it push people to stop revolting as often as they do(specially in france),or would it push politicians to actually do their job correctely if they saw the impact that it could have on their nations wellbeing?

Because of the economic situation, I think they are going to look visibly ill. They'd have symptoms of a moderate cold with extra fatigue and a temperature of around 39 Celsius. As for the political crises, they'll be very dizzy from the instability. They'll also probably have upset stomachs and headaches from the turmoil. France has definitely been dealing with that for a while so he probably has an entire sick day routine.

In this circumstance, the public is definitely worried. People tend to catastrophise when they see sick nations, even if they have a minor cough. Once people notice, there's not much that governments can do to quell concern. There's also probably a few memes like "Me watching the German government collapse right after I moved here" and it's just a picture of Germany looking sickly.

I don't think seeing France looking sick would make people stop protesting. The main reason is that France is usually on their side, and he wants to keep the spirit of the movement alive. So he's like "No! I order you to keep going! Vive la France!" While running on 1 hour of sleep and holding back vomit.

Another reason is that it's not really the protesters' fault. Economic and political instability are usually because the people in power messed up. So the public will see a NP's sickness as a result of government incompetence. The NP merely reflects how the average person is feeling.

Some politicians may want to do better by seeing the state of their nation, but most of the time, they just go for quick fixes. So instead of fixing the root issue, they just have their nation hospitalised or ignore them entirely. Basically, if the politicians don't care about their people, there's a good chance they're not going to give a shit about their NP either.

[ltwilliammowett]

Cooking like a Sailor- Frisian teatime

Today it's going to be a bit Friesian again and this time the delicious treats come mainly from the North Sea islands and Halligen, where they usually originated before they floated ashore and were eaten or drunk there.

Now that we are approaching autumn with great strides, there are such delicacies. This was the time when many of the seafaring men returned home, which meant a rich harvest of specialities from foreign countries and often also the weddings were hold which were arranged the year before.

But let's start with the drink: tea punch, just the thing for the wet and cold season when it's stormy and raining outside.

Ingredients: Black tea, köm and kluntjes (brown sugar candy).

But even more important than the right ingredients are the way it is prepared and consumed. If you are in a hurry, you have no place at the tea punch table!

The tea punch is served as follows: The teapot is placed on the teapot warmer and the pre-heated bottle of Köm is placed on the table. Don't be surprised: the tea punch cups are tiny. This has nothing to do with stinginess, but with cosiness. And this is how it works: Pour tea into the cup, add a dash of köm and sugar to taste. Listen to the Kluntjes crack, stir and drink hot. Have a chat and then top up again.

This drink has existed on the islands since 1735, when a ship with tea chests stranded off Amrum at Theeknobs, although at the beginning there was no knowledge of how to prepare the tea leaves. As a result, the tea was drunk quite thinly, which was also due to the fact that tea was something special that was not always available, just like schnapps. Köm is a spirit similar to aquavit with caraway seeds. The yellow (geele) Köm is particularly common in the North Frisian region. This is a spirit, usually made with grain, which is mixed with caraway and sometimes with a hint of aniseed.

The tea punch was of course also known on ships, but here the köm was swapped for rum and the punch was used to warm up rather than for chatting. Sailors preferred to do this on land.

What do you serve with tea? Hallig Knorken or Friesenwaffeln are best. This wafer-thin delicacy has been around since the 16th century thanks to the Dutch who settled in northern Germany. They were light waffles that were made with rum and then served with plum jam and cream. Again, these delicacies were either brought by the men or had to be bartered or bought on the land, as the islands and Halligen did not have huge areas of land available for agriculture and so there was a lot of trade with the delicacies from the sea.

Ingredients for 4 people (this is the modern recipe) 4 eggs 200g sugar 250g butter 300g flour 3-4 tsp. cornflour 50ml rum 1 packet of vanilla sugar 1 pinch of salt

Bake the waffles in an iron and then serve hot with plum jam and cream.

Now we come to the highlight of every festive table - the Friesentorte. This magnificent cake is truly a precious piece. Because it requires valuable ingredients that were not always available back then and were therefore more likely to be found on festive tables. It is not known when it has been around, but probably since the 19th century, thanks to the sailors who brought many recipes with them from other countries. Like puff pastry, for example.

Today's variations also work with shortcrust pastry, but are not the original recipe

Recipe

Bake two puff pastry bases (you can use ready-made pastry) Brush one of the bases (the top) with egg yolk and sprinkle with caster sugar Leave the second (base) plain After baking, spread the base generously with plum jam Spread not too little whipped cream on the plum jam base Cut the top into 12 even pieces and then arrange the pieces on top.

The wealthier the family the more the cake would consist of several layers. Which made eating even more complicated, because how do you eat this monster without smearing cream all over your face? Well, you take the lid off, eat the inside and nibble the lid separately.

So there you have it and I wish you a delicious tea time of a different kind. Enjoy your tea and your tasty treats like real Frisians.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

How About It, Agent Miller? | Lenny Miller x fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1988. The Cold War is well underway and tensions are slowly rising between the US and the Soviets. CIA Agent Miller isn’t threatened by the new young agent from the Soviet Union but she has a plan to get his attention, and to get even.

Warnings: Misogyny, violence, gun, kidnapping, restraints, dubious consent, noncon, smut, unprotected sex, edging, drugging.

word count: 4661k

Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones 🎶

Devils Haircut- Beck 🎵

You Know I’m No Good- Amy Winehouse 🎶

Movie: Anna (2019)

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks!

He thought this job was going to be simple, almost easy. She was working for East Germany, young, and new to her position; surely she wouldn’t be that difficult to eliminate. He’d been working for the CIA for nearly fifteen years at that point. He was one of the top agents and had orchestrated the downfall of many notable German and Soviet spies. To be fair, there had been that minor detail of receiving several severed heads from the KGB back in 1985 but that was all behind him now. They didn’t scare him now, and certainly, that twenty-something agent he’d heard so much about wasn’t about to make him lose sleep. In fact, he was looking forward to meeting her.

The girl in question was twenty-two and one of the deadliest spies to ever work for East Germany (the communist side). Y/N Y/L/N managed to slip past the CIA on multiple occasions, stealing out the backdoor or using false passports to get out of the country undetected. She’d made one mistake, however, and Agent Miller was quick to catch it. He rued the way she’d avoided detection for so long when it felt like it was all due simply to good luck. She didn’t seem especially smart or conniving, just pretty. It pissed him off. The mistake that Y/N had made was small, easy to look over, but Agent Miller was looking, and he found it.

Y/N tricked men around her to get information on the US. Once she’d get them alone, she drugged them, shot them, etc; anything to get them out of her way while she downloaded classified files from their computers. She had managed to steal these files before without leaving traces of her crime but low and behold, the last time she had removed the flash drive without ejecting it from the computer’s system. The computer held onto the flash drive's information and told Agent Miller exactly what the young woman was planning next. She’d been collecting information on nuclear weapons and international trade deals that the US was trying to keep hush hush. And for that reason, Agent Miller knew who she was going after next.

He straightened his striped blue tie and cleared his throat as he and his team crowded into the elevator. The men behind him carried larger guns and thick bulletproof vests, ready for whatever the girl threw at them. They’d followed her into a hotel in New York City, a place that felt too normal for the situation at hand. When the elevator doors opened with a soft whooshing noise, Agent Miller nodded his agents on, directing them to either side of the corridor. Quickly, they raided the hotel room belonging to the man they believed she had gone after that evening, but did not find her there. She was nowhere in the hotel. Agent Miller cursed beneath his breath and gritted his teeth. He knew his impatience was his worst quality and it only hurt him in these situations, but then again, the American government isn’t known for being very patient with communists…

Clenching and relaxing his jaw, Agent Miller went back down in the elevator with his men. They separated into groups in the lobby, each climbing back into the armored car sent by the CIA. Agent Miller waited behind, his cold eyes trained on the curb in front of the hotel. His car was separate from the others and would take him directly back to his office. A sharp wind ruffled his dark brown hair, displacing one strand into his face as his car pulled up to the curb. Agent Miller climbed into the dark backseat, the car door slamming closed beside him and a lock clicking into place. He looked up. The barrel of a pistol was pointed at his forehead. He froze.

“Hello, Agent Miller. Wie geht es Ihnen? I’m so glad we finally got a moment alone. I apologize for the circumstances but you know how the politics are these days… it’s so… toxic. Ja? Now, be a good boy and hand me the glock you have at your hip,” a young woman smiled on the seat beside him. She was wearing all black and blended in against the dark leather seats and tinted windows. Agent Miller frowned, his hands unmoving.

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it? You’re putting me at a disadvantage here.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself like that, Agent Miller. You and I both know what you’re capable of,” she chuckled mockingly but her sunglasses hid her true meaning. “Give me your gun, now.” Her voice was hard and cool like a porcelain plate, one of the perfect edges with a chip. Agent Miller raised his hand slowly and moved his jacket to the side, showing his holster. As soon as she had his gun in her hand she tapped the glass partition between them and the driver, signaling him to drive.

“Where are we going?” Agent Miller sighed calmly, leaning back against the seat. Y/N smiled, pleased at his temperament. It made things easier.

“One of my favorite places in New York City,” she answered with a smirk, a gun still trained at the man beside her though it had been lowered.

“And what kind of place could that be, god forbid?” Agent Miller asked rhetorically and looked over at the window beside him.

“The Plaza Hotel,” she answered slowly and shifted in her seat. Her pleated leather skirt shifted across her black stockings, showing more of her thigh, fleshy and round. Agent Miller noticed it and smirked, the comedy of the situation being too much for him to take seriously. The car stopped at the back of the hotel by the service entrance. Men exited out of the building and held a door open, waiting as Y/N escorted the CIA agent inside. Agent Miller followed her calmly as he searched for someone who could help him.

“No one’s here. It’s off-season,” she sighed lightly and pushed him into an elevator.

“It’s never off-season in New York,” Agent Miller raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Surprise, surprise.”

They took the elevator up to the top floor. Agent Miller’s hands began to sweat as he was led out of the elevator and around the corridor to a suite, separated from the others.

“You must get a good salary,” Agent Miller cracked as the woman jerked the gun towards the door of the suite. He kept his hands visible as he entered the room and looked around. The room was large and was actually made up of multiple rooms. In the center of the living room area, a chair had been left out.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Bitte.” She had a way of talking that sounded like a purr but it was clear to Agent Miller that her words were more threatening than they sounded. Still, it was hard to take her seriously. It was hard to believe that this woman was the deadliest spy in East Germany.

“Danke schön,” Agent Miller muttered, his American accent muddling the German.

"Kannst du Deutsch sprechen, Herr Miller?” Y/N pretended to sound surprised as she closed and bolted the lock. “I’m flattered, really,” she smiled and removed her long black coat. Slowly she placed the coat on a couch’s arm and pulled off the blonde wig on her head, revealing her dark hair beneath which fell into a messy bob around her shoulders, over her dark mauve blouse. Last she removed her sunglasses and folded them neatly on her coat. Then she met his eyes.

“Nein? Well, then it's good I’m so fluent in English. You would never tell by my accent. At least, you didn’t the last time we met.”

“We’ve met before?” Agent Miller asked and shifted in his chair.

“Oh yes.” She smiled and dimples deepened on her cheeks.

An image came back to him, one of a young woman dropping a stack of manuscripts in the lobby of a hotel where they had been investigating the last crime scene. She’d been wearing a long brown wig and tortoiseshell glasses. She even had brown contacts in her eyes to hide her true eye color. He’d stopped to help her collect the manuscripts.

Oh gosh, thank you so much. So sorry about that. My boss is going to kill me. Thank you! She’d blushed as he handed her the papers. He’d met her before. She’d shown herself to him just to play with him. He scowled.

“Now I feel even more at a disadvantage.”

“How? After all, you’re the big-shot CIA agent, due for a promotion any day now… and I’m just a little girl. I don’t need any real smarts, not when I can just use my good looks to get what I want. Right, Agent Miller?” Her voice darkened as she finished, flashing with resentment. “You could fight me right now. It’s just the two of us. I’m surprised you didn’t. You’ve had ample opportunities to but you blindly follow my orders. It’s not that you’re scared to hurt me, you aren’t that sexist.”

“I don’t see the point of fighting when you’ve put so much work into getting me alone. I assume you have something to say.” Agent Miller swallowed, his cool facade slipping slightly as the woman approached him slowly.

“Aw how chivalrous of you! Oh, but what if I told you that I was only interested in getting you alone so that I could finally get even with you.” Y/N twirled the gun around her pointer finger and shifted it to his chest. He stiffened.

“Get even?”

“Settle the score,” she offered with a shrug.

“I don’t think I follow,” Agent Miller frowned warily.

“Then let me explain,” Y/N purred and with quick movements, she removed a pair of handcuffs from the back of her skirt and closed them tightly around both of his wrists, tying his hands around the back of the heavy chair. His eyes widened slightly when he realized what she had done.

“The fuck…” he started but she cut him off quickly.

“You didn’t think I could outsmart you or get the upper hand… you thought you could so easily catch me. And what a good job you’ve done!” She crossed her arms across her chest and set the gun down, smiling. Agent Miller averted his gaze, staring at the upper corner of the room. He clenched his jaw and struggled against the handcuffs for a brief moment.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Agent Miller?”

“Figured what out?” He snapped impatiently.

“I've been planning this for months. Do you really think I accidentally removed my flashdrive wrong, coincidentally leaving you all of the information that i’ve gathered since starting my mission? You’ve really underestimated me,” she clucked her tongue and kicked off her high heels, standing barefoot in her pantyhose on the dark pink shag carpet.

“I knew you’d find the mistake, I wanted you to. You did everything you were supposed to do, good boy,” she carded her fingers through his dark hair. The soft warm lighting in the room brought out the freckles across his pale face. Just as he started to turn his eyes to hers, she yanked his hair back so that he was looking up at her. “But how did this special agent who graduated from MIT of all places, end up in this position?”

“Did you do all of this just to show me how smart you are?” Agent Miller growled as she continued to pull at his roots.

“Something like that,” she smiled again, “I get off when men think they’re smarter than I am. I like proving them wrong… and then killing them.”

“Is that your plan for tonight?” He tried to keep a level voice as the smell of her perfume wafted down to his nose. She shook her head slightly and chuckled.

“You’ve been trained to resist torture, so there won’t be much that I can get out of you that way. And anyway, there isn’t much that I don’t already know.” She released her grip on his hair and stepped back. Y/N moved to the bar cart, stocked with crystal jars of whiskey and bourbon.

“So what are you going to do to me?” Agent Miller raised an eyebrow as he watched her pour a small glass of whiskey. She turned slowly and approached him again, swirling the whiskey in her glass. She raised the glass to his lips and poured it gently into his mouth. He parted his lips for her, his eyes trained on her face.

“Whatever I want,” she whispered and pulled the glass from his lips. Agent Miller raised his eyebrow, swallowing.

“Won’t your government disapprove?” He scoffed and shifted in the seat, calming himself down. His body was starting to get hot and his collar got tighter.

“Shhh,” she shushed him, a finger pressed against her own lips. Y/N approached him again and trailed one manicured finger from his arm to his hand. He shivered beneath her touch and his heart began to race. He felt his pulse in his stomach as she carded her fingers through his hair again, softer this time. She placed one knee on the chair between his thighs, pressing against his crotch. She tipped his head back with the edge of her nail beneath his jaw and leaned in close, exhaling beside his jaw. Seeing an opportunity, Agent Miller tried to kick her, jutting his knee up because it wasn’t restrained. She stopped him quickly, forcing him back into the chair, not missing a beat. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked on it. Her hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed but not harshly. His skin was warm beneath her hand and she smiled, her white teeth flashing.

She pressed her knee sharply into his thigh, holding his leg down, and slid it closer to the top of his crotch. She chuckled softly when she felt the outline of his cock inside his pants with the side of her thigh. Agent Miller’s body tensed below her, his hands folding into fists as he exhaled sharply.

“Aw does this hurt?” She cooed as she dug her knee further into the flesh of his thigh. His jaw tightened as she teased him. Moving closer, she rested both knees between his thighs, forcing them against the arms and pinning them in place. Suddenly she was so close and her thighs were pressing against his stomach…

How was it that he was getting an erection from this shit-show? How could she get this reaction out of him so fucking quickly? He tried to even out his breath as she shifted in the seat, her hands trailing up his chest to the knot of his tie.

“What did you drug me with?” Agent Miller muttered. Strands of her hair brushed against his cheeks.

“You don’t have to resist it, Agent Miller.” She ran her hands down his sides beneath his dark blue suit jacket. His body was full and firm, and warm. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispered against his forehead.

“What did you put in my drink…” he repeated, his voice wavering in strength as her hand moved down his stomach to the front of his pants. His erection was pronounced and visible, pushing against the fly of his trousers. She must have given him something, something to get this response. He wasn’t even that turned on. He sighed, frustrated and mad. He turned his head to the side, avoiding her soft lips.

“You think I have to drug you to get this kind of response? Silly boy,” she slid off of his lap and sat on the edge of the couch in front of him. She crossed her legs at first and allowed her eyes to trail up his body like a man would to a woman. Agent Miller stared back, his blue eyes hard. She giggled and reached up her skirt, hooking her hands under her pantyhose and pulled it down her thighs. She rolled the pantyhose slowly down her calves and slipped it off her feet. Despite his best efforts, Agent Miller watched her closely, studying the way she pushed the pantyhose to the side with her foot.

“I prefer genuine responses, it helps with my ego,” she broke the silence and watched with a sly smile as Agent Miller swallowed. With a sigh she stood and leaned over the CIA agent, her hands gripped around the arm rests. “Are you embarrassed? The high and mighty CIA agent succumbing so quickly to someone like me?” She teased him sharply, a glint of malice behind her bright eyes. “Tell me, Agent Miller. You’re thinking about me… you want me to touch you more. You want to see what I could do to you.”

Agent Miller cocked his head slightly and sighed, pretending to be disinterested. Y/N grabbed his face, her fingers digging into either side of his jaw. When she kissed him, he exhaled, almost relieved. He kissed her back, forgetting himself and liking the way she tasted, the way her lips felt in his mouth. She pulled his face closer to hers, still hovering above him. She kissed him feverishly and he followed blindly, distracted by the pleasure found in each movement her lips made against his. Then as quickly as it had started, she pulled away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Some of her lipstick was smudged across his mouth but he couldn’t tell. He was breathing heavily, his lips pulled apart so that he could catch his breath. She took a few steps back and grabbed a file from a nearby table. She flipped it open and turned the pages until she landed on the right one. She held the folder open in one hand and with the other she began to unbutton her blouse from the top down.

Agent Miller felt his cock throb as he watched her shrug off the silky blouse and drape it over the arm of the couch. When she turned he could see her black t-shirt bra fitted perfectly against her breasts. Her collarbones rose and fell as she breathed and Agent Miller nearly groaned. She read aloud from the file as she moved back to the chair.

“My records tell me that the last number of confirmed nuclear weapons in the American arsenal was 27,000. It’s been half a decade since that information was released to the Soviet Union. What is that number now?” She straddled his lap slowly, smoothing out her skirt over their legs. Agent Miller moved his eyes from her breasts to her face, trying to keep his face straight as he felt the woman’s hand unbuckle his belt.

“I can’t tell you that,” he managed as she played with the zipper of his fly, her fingers dancing over the hard bulge.

“Has the number grown?” She offered and slid her hand below his waistband. Her hand grazed the patch of his pubic hair before she reached his cock. He shivered and looked up at the ceiling of the hotel room. “More?” She asked softly as she wrapped her fingers around his erection, it was hot and wet in her hand. He was so sensitive already that he groaned softly when she touched him. She squeezed him softly and freed the hard length from his pants. She rubbed her hand up and down. Agent Miller panted softly as she masturbated him. His eyes snapped open and he watched her, their eyes locked.

“Has the number changed?” She asked again softly as the agent clenched his jaw.

“I can’t tell you that,” He fought the words out as her hand sped up.

“Are there less? Has the US been involved in a trade agreement for its nuclear weapons?” She pushed, her hand moving faster.

“Fuck…” Agent Miller panted as her grip tightened around him. His cheeks deepened with color and his chest shook as his climax built. Just as he felt like he was about to cum, Y/N pulled her hand away and clucked her tongue.

“You’re going to make this very hard on yourself,” she observed and smiled as she watched him pant. He was completely erect beneath her skirt, resting against her bare thigh. They stared at each other as he caught his breath. She snapped the folder closed and tossed it to the side, sighing impatiently.

“Who has the US traded with in the past year?” She asked, her hands holding his thighs down.

“That is public information. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“I want you to tell me about the trade deals you haven’t made public,” she loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “Which countries have illegal trade agreements with the US?” She added before kissing his neck, sucking on the soft flesh until she started to make hickeys. With her freehand she held his cock still as she lowered herself onto his head. She moved her hips slowly up and down and pulled away to look at his face. His adam's apple quivered in his throat as she moved on top of him.

“I-I can’t-fuck,” he gasped softly as she started to shift her hips over his lap, taking him deeper, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Come on, Agent Miller,” she whispered against his ear, “be a good boy for me,” she smirked. “Does it feel good? Is this harder than torture?” She teased him as her hips sped up, rocking back and forth. Agent Miller moaned softly as she held his face to face her. His mouth was agape in pleasure as she began to bounce slightly, falling hard on his cock. He grunted as she went faster, moaning theatrically against his lips which she refused to kiss.

“Do you want to cum, Agent Miller?” She whispered against his lips, her tongue touching his bottom lip with a flourish.

“Fuck…” he panted again.

“Can you cum for me?” She purred and Agent Miller nodded weakly, his eyes now closed. She smiled and pretended to pant, coaxing another deep moan from the man’s throat. “Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She asked, raising herself up and holding him inside her. He weakly tried to thrust but she held him down.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his brows furrowed in frustration.

She snapped her hips down, taking him in again and hugging his cock. He gasped as his stomach tightened. He was going to cum.

“Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She repeated sternly, not moving on his cock as the wave of climax started to dissipate again.

“I can’t fucking tell you that-fuck,” he growled when she moved her hips very slowly.

“But you can tell me, Agent Miller, and if you do, I’ll let you cum,” she stroked his cheek and kissed his jaw feverishly. “I want you to cum. Fuck, I want you to cum inside me too.” She whispered against his neck. When he resisted saying anything she pulled herself off and backed away towards the bed in the room beside them. Agent Miller watched her, his chest rising and falling quickly. Still watching him, she slid her leather skirt off, showing that she had no underwear on underneath. He felt like he might explode just by the sight of her.

“Jesus…” he groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. He couldn’t help himself but look back as she undid her bra and dropped it to the floor. Standing completely naked, she laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows.

“If you won’t cum, I’ll just have to finish myself off,” she sighed and trailed her fingers up her thigh to her cunt, wet from sex. “It just never feels as good.” She rubbed her fingers over her clit over and over again until she felt an orgasm grow. She curled her toes and bit her lip, grinding against her own hand. Agent Miller knew that he could look away but the scene was just too much to ignore. He watched as she arched her back and twisted her hips, reacting to the sensitivity of her clit. Her eyes danced below her eyelids as she thought up fantasies to fuel her climax. Rubbing harder, she started to moan softly and quivered. Agent Miller pulled at the handcuffs, struggling to remain calm as he watched her touch herself. As her orgasm finally arrived, she collapsed back onto the mattress and caught her breath.

“Enough,” Agent Miller sneered from the chair, still erect and horny. “At least get me out of these so I can fuck you the right way.”

Y/N smiled and hopped off of the bed, her tits bouncing slightly as she did.

“You want to fuck me, Agent Miller?” She leaned close to his face again. He stared back at her, his jaw set.

“Let’s get it over with,” he answered nonchalantly and she tilted his jaw up but didn’t kiss him. She undid the handcuffs around his wrists and he sprang to his feet, grabbing at her body. He kissed her feverishly, lapping at her mouth with his tongue hungrily. She pushed off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt as he slipped off his shoes and pants. They didn’t have time to remove his shirt before he entered her. He took hold of her hips to pull her closer and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close to his chest. She clawed her hands down his dress shirt, her knees high on either side of his waist. She moaned loudly and he studied the way she opened her mouth to do it, mesmerized by the way she reacted to him inside of her.

“Good boy,” she praised him when he sped up, hitting her G-spot. She reached her hand down between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, coaxing a stronger orgasm.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Agent Miller ordered, short of breath, “let me do it.” He massaged her clit himself, his large hands covering the front of her cunt. Her mouth fell open into a loud gasp as he synchronized his thrusts to the way he rubbed her clit.

“Fuck,” he exhaled tightly as he felt her flex around him.

“Keep going,” she wrapped her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer to her face, their mouths exchanging exhales, “fuck me right.”

He kissed her deeply as he moaned, the muscles in his back tightening beneath her nails. She was so tight and wet, he nearly came just thinking about it as he moved. She carded her fingers through his hair and pulled as he chased their peaking climax. He was grunting now as she began to finish around him, shaking without much control. He moved his hands back to her hips and rocked himself deep inside of her as he brought on his orgasm. He came inside of her with loud grunts, thrusting until he’d finished completely. Only when he was done did he pull out and collapse beside her on the elegant duvet. He panted loudly, exhausted. They remained in silence until Y/N rolled over, putting her lips close to his ear.

“You know, I didn’t have to ask you all those questions. I already know the answers.” Her voice was serious and cold, Agent Miller eyed her.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see you tied down,” she answered calmly. He raised his eyebrow and scoffed just before the sting of a cold, sterilized needle pinched his neck. Then he quickly went to sleep.

When he awoke, he found himself alone in the hotel room. Everything had been returned to normal and the place scrubbed for fingerprints. And she was gone. She’d gotten away again.

[anomalyaly]

The Nut Cracked

Summary: Sebastian Sallow doesn't understand muggle holiday traditions. But this one, he could get on top of.

OR, a spoof of 'The Nutcracker', but make it feral.

NSFW. ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+. MINORS DNI.

AO3/Wattpad

3k words. Written for a NSFW discord server event: The Naughty List.

This is NOT canon to the 'Secrets' universe hahaha or is it

Tags: Explicit sexual content, objectophilia if you squint, seventh year, orgasm denial, Sebastian has blue balls and doesn't know how to handle it

Sebastian didn't understand muggle holiday traditions.

The brightly decorated Ravenclaw girl presented him with a small parcel that he had initially been excited to unwrap. But, as much as he loved seeing the look on Elsie's face as she handed it to him, he couldn't understand why, out of all the gifts she could have chosen, she had picked out an odd-looking wooden doll.

"It's a nutcracker!" She beamed. "My parents can never be bothered to figure out what to get me or my siblings, so they usually send us a whole slew of stuff."

"And...you saw an old man doll and it reminded you of me?" Sebastian turned it around in his hands questioningly. He tried his hardest to seem grateful, but truthfully, he was utterly confused.

She scoffed. "It's not an old man doll. It's a traditional gift that originated in Germany to ward off evil spirits and –"

"Evil spirits?" He laughed. "The only evil spirit we have to worry about during this time of year is Peeves."

"Well, if you don't want it –"

He abruptly yanked his arm away from her and held the wooden figure closer to himself. "I never said I didn't want it. I just think it could be more...appealing."

She tilted her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. "How so?"

Sebastian grinned slyly and picked up his wand, waving it in front of the nutcracker and transfiguring it to look like a girl with wavy, dark hair and freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks. He held it up proudly. "There. Much prettier to look at."

He was met with an eye roll as she stood from the couch and stretched. "If you say so."

Sebastian hadn't been particularly secretive about his feelings for Elsie in recent months. In fact, he thought he was being blatantly obvious, doing everything short of outright telling her due to her relationship status being a bit complicated. Even so, he did his best to hide his irritation every time she brushed off another one of his comments as a sarcastic quip.

It certainly hadn't helped that the other day, she had trudged back from another one of her adventures in the Highlands sopping wet from the snow, the already thin material of her blouse nearly transparent as it clung tightly to her form, her nipples peaked from the cold. He had spent half of the night restless, the other half with his hand wrapped around his cock every time the tantalizing image replayed itself in his mind.

The castle was nearly empty as the two of them spent Christmas at Hogwarts together, and all he could focus on was how frustrated he had felt.

"I should turn in for the night," Elsie sighed, glancing at the time. "I promised Lydia that we would still leave milk and cookies out for Father Christmas. She's very adamant about keeping to tradition."

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek as he forced himself not to beg her to stay with him for the night. It wasn't like the prefects or professors cared to parade the halls during the holiday with so many students gone. But she likely didn't see him that way. His streak of terrible luck would have him falling for someone he couldn't have.

"Alright," he murmured, hiding the disappointment in his tone. He held up the wooden doll. "Thanks for the, uh...gift?"

She grinned. "Have no fear. We'll exchange our actual gifts tomorrow. But," she tapped the nutcracker's brunette head, "I suppose now, you'll have the nutcracker version of me to help keep you safe."

Sebastian's eyes followed the sway of her hips as she headed toward the gate of the Undercroft. He quickly averted them when she turned back to look at him. "Happy Christmas, Sebastian. See you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Yeah, see you. Happy Christmas."

She gave him one last soft smile, and the gate clanged shut behind her. Sebastian sighed. Guess I ought to head back to my common room for the evening. He grabbed the tiny doll and sauntered back to his dorm, feeling even more tense than he had been hours before.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

~

Sebastian awoke the next morning, exhaustion creeping in. He needed to get control of his thoughts before he –

"Good morning!"

A light, feminine voice chirped at him from his bedside. The rest of the dorm room was noticeably empty — Sebastian assumed Ominis had left for breakfast early, not wanting to wait while he slept in.

It still didn't explain why Elsie was standing by his bed on Christmas morning. She would never sneak into the Slytherin common room without good reason, let alone his bedroom, even with how often he had teased and prodded her to spend time with him there.

He rubbed his face, his eyes still bleary. "Elsie? What are you –"

The words died in his throat once he finally took a proper look at her. She was smiling coyly at him, her raven hair free and cascading down her back. But what surprised him the most wasn't the expression on her face or the loose, dark strands that curled along her freckled, pink cheeks. It was what she was wearing.

Instead of a Christmas jumper, like she had promised she would have on, Elsie donned the bright red uniform reminiscent of the nutcracker she had gifted him the night prior. It was loose on her small form, barely hanging on to her shoulders, and short enough that it hardly covered the creamy skin of her thighs. He knew he should look away, or at least tell her that she was far too exposed for her liking.

"You're uh..." He cleared his throat. "What...what are you wearing?"

"Oh, this?" She playfully slid the top further down her shoulders. His hungry gaze followed the line down her collarbone and towards the curve of her breasts.

This wasn't like Elsie at all. The girl he knew wouldn't have been dressed like this in his presence, especially because they hadn't so much as kissed yet. She would be flustered, finding anything she could to cover herself up, and likely avoiding him afterward for days out of sheer humiliation.

"Why so shy?" She asked. It was definitely her voice but with a sultry tone. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Sebastian swallowed. How could she have known that? "W-what do you mean?"

Elsie shrugged. "You made me. I heard your wish, and I'm here to grant it."

He blinked. Made?! "If this is some sort of muggle holiday prank, Elsie, it's really not funny."

She chuckled and sat next to him on the bed, draping an arm over his bare chest, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "It's not. I'm your nutcracker, silly."

Oh. Oh.

The nutcracker he had mindlessly transfigured last night to look like Elsie had somehow become sentient. And now, Elsie, or at least a perfect copy of her, was practically on top of him, half-naked and promiscuously alluring. It was something he had only dreamed about in the darkest hours of the night, alone in his bed with a silencing charm cast over him.

His thoughts were racing wildly as he drank in the sight of her. She was close enough now and leaning in at just the right angle that he could see entirely down her top, and his breath caught in his throat as he realized that, underneath, she was completely bare. He shifted on the bed as he felt his erection press tightly against his pajama bottoms, quickly losing any scrap of restraint he had left, which hadn't been much to begin with. This was wrong, wasn't it? He couldn't deny how badly he had wanted this – wanted it for months now.

Moments later, her lips and tongue were tracing a hot trail of kisses along his neck, and as she lightly grazed his pulse point with her teeth, the last thread of his control snapped.

In one swift move, he took her face in his hands and fiercely captured her lips with his own, the sensation nearly enough to send him over the edge. Months of pining - of gentle, innocent touches and cuddles that the real Elsie had naively passed off as what two good friends would share - had made him ache with need.

For an imitation, the nutcracker-Elsie felt wonderfully authentic.

His fingers snaked in her hair and tugged lightly, eliciting a soft moan from her that had him shivering. Realistically, had it been their true first experience together, he would have wanted to savor every moment, taking his time as he mapped out every sensitive plane and curve of her body that would make her writhe with pleasure underneath his touch.

But, since this was his Christmas wish, he was going to be self-indulgent and take exactly what he wanted, just as he had imagined doing for so long.

A soft brush of her hand against his very hard and throbbing erection nearly sent him into a frenzy, and he let out a mewl so pathetic he would have been embarrassed had he not felt so ridiculously desperate. His hands scrambled to tear the baggy nutcracker uniform off of her, and as he ran his hand along her inner thigh and traced his fingers along her core, he realized without a doubt that she was soaking. For him.

Happy fucking Christmas to me.

Sebastian groaned as he practically dragged her into his bed and flipped her onto her back. His body vibrated with anticipation when her fingers tugged at his pajama bottoms and yanked them down abruptly. His cock sprang free, already aching with desire, and he melted into a moaning mess when she wrapped her silken hand around him and stroked.

"F-fuck...so good, Elsie —" The way she held him, so expertly gentle and firm at the same time, was better than even his wildest imaginations could conjure. His hips bucked into her touch while he stared down at her through hooded lids, understanding that he needed to take every second to memorize her body in case he never had an opportunity like this again.

Her face was flushed, the smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks standing out, just the way he liked to see them — one of the reasons he would purposely try to make her blush. His hands followed his gaze as it traveled further down, past her parted pink lips and onto her voluptuous breasts, and he couldn't help but lean forward and take one of her pert nipples into his mouth.

Elsie's sighs and moans as he swirled his tongue around it were music to his ears. He reached out with one hand to cup her other breast while his other slid between her legs once more and lightly circled her clit with his thumb while he pumped two fingers inside of her. The sounds she emitted were delightfully sinful, and he decided that he didn't want to wait any longer. He had waited long enough, trying his damndest to be a gentleman all this time and letting the real Elsie take whatever their relationship was at her own pace.

He had earned this. It was bloody Christmas, and she was his present, and he fucking deserved it.

Sebastian slotted himself between her thighs and pulled back to look at her again. The unbridled need on her face mirrored his own, and he momentarily wondered if he should have spent more time making sure she was ready for him before taking her. After all, if it were the real Elsie, he would have made sure she felt good and reached her release many, many times before he had even attempted to fuck her.

All reason and logic flew out of his brain as he fitted the sensitive head of his cock at her entrance, her slick coating him completely. The needy cry that she let out at the feel of him was all the encouragement he needed to know that she was as desperate for him as he was for her.

"S-Sebastian," she moaned, the sound so erotic he hadn't thought it possible for it to have come from her. "Please — please fuck me. I — need...inside me — please."

Elsie begging. As if he couldn't come undone anymore.

"Anything for you, Princess."

With one abrupt motion, he pushed his hips flush against hers, sliding inside her easily and simultaneously letting out a disgustingly pitiful whimper. He was internally grateful that Ominis had decided to go to breakfast early — he would never have let him live down the sheer humiliation of the chorus of wanting coming from his lips.

Though the doll had been made of wood only moments before, the tight heat of her cunt felt very, very real. It was her body, her silken skin under his fingers, her normally elegant hair mussed and tangled against his bedsheets, and, best of all, her voice crying out his name as he fucked her relentlessly.

"S-Sebastian! Don't — don't stop!"

The high-pitched squeals she refused to hold back egged him on further as he roughly snapped his hips against hers, releasing a low growl as her legs wrapped tightly around him and pulled him deeper into her. The heady scent of her filled his nostrils — the distinct smell of vanilla and jasmine that had so often intoxicated him now enveloped him, and he tucked his head into the crook of her neck to allow himself to be consumed by it.

"Fuck, Elsie. I'm so fucking close."

It was happening too quickly, his release approaching dangerously faster than he would have preferred had this been the real Elsie. He teetered on the precipice of wanting to slow down and make it last longer, to enjoy every sound and feel of her as much as possible, or rewarding himself with what he had been dying to have for so long.

Fuck it — it was Christmas.

She dug her fingernails into his back and muttered a terrifyingly incoherent string of expletives in his ear, but somewhere within them, she was encouraging him to let go.

He was right there, so bloody close now — only a few more thrusts as he selfishly chased down the reality that she was finally, finally his.

"Sebastian!" Yes. Say my name again.

"Sebastian, please!" Just like that, almost there —

"Sebastian, wake up!"

Sebastian's eyes flew open as he sat up abruptly, blinking furiously in an attempt to gather where exactly he was.

Elsie, fully clothed in a Christmas jumper and trousers, her hair in its normal, elegant plait, stared at him from the side of the Undercroft couch, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you alright?" She asked worriedly, and her hand softly stroking his arm was almost enough to drag another pathetic groan from his throat. "You were making all these noises in your sleep. It sounded like you were having a nightmare."

Sebastian rubbed his face as reality came crashing down on him like a bucket of ice water. He had been too tired to head back to his common room last night and had fallen asleep in the Undercroft after Elsie had left.

As if to confirm his misfortune, the nutcracker she had gifted him was gingerly tucked under the crook of his arm, still transfigured to look like the girl who currently stood in front of him eyeing him curiously.

He would have laughed at the idea that she referred to his wet dream as a goddamn nightmare had he not still been so fucking hard, left to wrestle with the infuriating ache of incompletion.

Sebastian cleared his throat and muttered a thank Merlin to his last night's self that he had thought to cover himself with a blanket, lest she be subjected to his current state when she had only been trying to check on him and make sure he was okay.

"Uh, yeah. A nightmare," he grumbled, lowering his gaze to hide the heat that was beginning to creep up his neck and along his cheeks. "That's all. M'fine now."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, and he knew she had good reasons to wonder if he was telling the truth — especially considering he could barely look at her. Not without imagining all of the unholy acts that his dream self had been moments away from —

"I guess the nutcracker didn't help ward off the evil spirits after all," she teased.

The nutcracker. His face reddened further at the memory of Elsie's desperate cries that would forever be branded into his memory.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She reached out to brush her hand along his forehead. "You're looking a bit flushed –"

He smacked her hand away, one touch further from losing himself right in front of her. "I-I'm fine! Just...got a bit warm down here, is all."

It was a blatantly obvious lie, considering he had slept in the Undercroft, which was always perpetually cold. Thankfully, she didn't question him further.

"Well, if you're alright, then get up soon," Elsie said, interrupting his immensely impure thoughts as she turned on her heel to leave. "Ominis is meeting with us outside the Great Hall to exchange gifts." She wagged a finger at him in mock warning, the sly smile on her face reminding him all too much of his dream, and he suppressed another shudder. "And don't be late. A bad back from sleeping on the couch is not a good enough excuse to miss Christmas."

He only offered a curt nod in response.

When the sounds of her footsteps receded, Sebastian flopped back on the couch, once again left alone with his miserable frustrations. The 'Elsie' nutcracker still lay on the couch next to him as if to taunt him, reminding him of what he had been so close to enjoying and what he could never have. He angrily batted it to the floor before grabbing one of the cushions, bringing it to his face, and smothering a mortified, unending scream.

Happy fucking Christmas to me.

[wososcripts]

I've Been Getting Lost in Translation (Part Two)

(these kits are god awful but you didn't hear that from me)

stina blackstenius x reader; part one can be found here

Summary: You finally get to meet your girlfriend’s parents, but you aren’t sure they’re aware the two of you are more than just friends.

A/N: Here's part two finally! I hope it's worth the wait for you all lol, make sure you read the first part as well as that author's note for clarity! As usual, nothing I write is intended to speculate or infringe upon player's personal lives, it's all 100% fiction and done in good fun.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings⚠️: very very slight mentions of anxiety and self-harm behaviors, but it really isn't featured here more than a passing mention

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You could feel Stina's eyes on you as you came down the stairs and joined the group in getting ready to go, you felt them on you in the car, and once you got to the skating rink. She never seemed to not be looking at you, sending worried little glances your way that you just couldn't interact with right now if you wanted to keep it together. 

"Here are Linnéa's extra skates." Stina's mom held out a pair of ice skates for you to grab. "I'm not sure they'll fit, but Stina said you were around the same size as her sister… otherwise you can rent a pair here." 

She gave you a warm smile and left you to try them on, already lacing up her own and taking off on the ice. 

It was a beautiful day, sunny and cold with a thick layer of snow on the ground from a couple of days ago. And the rink was amazing. It was well maintained, but still had the feeling of a pond you'd have skated on as a child. 

Stina's sister came to sit down next to you, explaining some of the quirks with the skates. You had to pull the laces hard to get them to fit in the clasps at the top before you could tie them, she showed you, yanking on your ankle a little roughly for your liking.

"Linnéa, be careful with her foot!" You heard Stina call from the ice. 

Linnéa waved her off, turning to you.

"Does it hurt?" 

You shook your head.

"That ankle is just a bit sensitive. I broke it in June." 

"Well the laces being tight will make sure that doesn't happen again," she laughed, then glanced to make sure Stina wasn't looking at you two and said something lowly to you. "How is she doing in London? I mean she says everything is going well, but it's hard to know when we're not there to see her."

You smiled, genuinely for the first time in hours.

"She's doing great. Everyone loves her, she's been playing fantastic this season, she gets along well with the coach and the players. I really don't think there's anything for you to worry about." 

"It's good that she has you and Amanda there. She seems reserved but without a few good people around her I know she gets lonely."

"What are you two slow pokes waiting for?" Stina's father skated by, gesturing for you to come on. 

Linnéa followed him, starting a conversation with him in Swedish you could hardly grasp onto. How this family managed to speak so quickly, you were lost on.

You joined the rest of them on the ice, trying to ignore your poor mood from earlier. Moping around was no way to make a first impression. So you tried to suck it up and let the joy of the moment overtake you. You hadn't skated in years, having played in Italy for a bit before moving to London. There never seemed to be enough time, or good rinks close by. And when you were back in Germany you mostly wanted to see your family and Laura. 

You ended up skating with Stina’s nephew, a boy around seven. He was already impressively steady on his skates, something you would not have been able to say at his age. But still, he held your hand and talked your ear off in Swedish you only partially understood. 

"Did you come with aunt Stina?" He asked, to which you nodded. 

"We play for the same football team in England." You explained in your slow Swedish.

"Did you come here on a plane?" You nodded again, smiling. 

"We flew here yesterday, from London."

The boy considered you for a moment.

"You speak funny," he proclaimed, letting go of your hand, "watch what I can do!" 

And with that he skated in front of you, circling around you playfully as you stood still. You grinned at him, giving a round of applause when he was done.  

“Hey,” you heard Stina come up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as to not startle you. 

You gave her a smile which she softly returned. 

“What are you two up to?” 

“He’s showing me his incredible skating skills,” You replied.

Stina’s nephew nodded and twirled around again, clearly looking for more praise. 

Stina cheered him on, catching one of his hands and spinning him once more. 

“Very impressive,” she praised, “Unfortunately we’ve got to go eat some lunch. It’s getting dark out.” 

You looked up at the sky, having not realized that she was right, the sun was setting already. You checked your phone and saw it was barely one pm. 

Stina’s nephew nodded and shot forward ahead of you two, rushing back to where his parents were. 

“How are you doing?” Stina asked. 

You could tell she was still unsettled by what had happened earlier in the bathroom by how careful she was with you, how she treated each interaction tentatively. You felt badly for making her worry, for turning this visit with her family into yet another stressful situation rather than the relaxing break you both needed.

“I’m doing all right.” You gave the hand on your shoulder a squeeze and started to skate in the direction of the exit, a little further away from her than you would normally. 

You felt the distance seemingly in every stride you took, agonizing over your choice to move further from her. You were upset by the lack of any physical affection, and yet here you were removing even the chance that she might initiate it. It was self sabotage, you knew. Yet it was still difficult not to indulge in it. Whether she felt the distance as much as you did, you couldn’t know. 

“Why does Aunt Stina’s friend speak so funny?” You heard Stina’s nephew ask his mother, to which you couldn’t help but chuckle as she scolded him lightly. 

“She’s still learning Swedish, baby, she’s from Germany.”

“You’re from Germany?” The boy asked you once you were in front of him, skates in hand. He said it as if it were some far away land, not in the same continent. 

You nodded and ruffled his hair a bit, giving him a smile. You sat down on the bench, unlacing your skates and indulging the boy as he asked you several questions about Germany and what it was like there. You noticed Stina had a firm watch on you as you started to take your left skate off—the one that Linnéa had tugged on. It was aching a bit, that was true. But you simply massaged it for a moment and stood up like you couldn't feel a thing.

“Thanks again for lending me the skates,” You said to Stina’s mother, giving them back carefully. 

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The eight of you decided to eat at a small restaurant not far from the rink. Sunset was already in full force, vibrant orange and pink staining the sky around you.

Stina had borrowed her sister's car that morning, preferring not to be squished in the back seat all day. The drive over gave you a bit of privacy, which you spent in relative quiet, Stina's playlist playing softly through the car speakers. Her hand was on your thigh innocently, and every once in a while she glanced over. Maybe she expected you to say something. But you knew if you started now, you wouldn't be able to stop.

You were thankful for your sturdy sneakers as you stepped out of the car, a twinge in your ankle rippling up your leg. It was more sore than you would've expected, but nothing you were overly worried about. The doctor had warned you that some days might give you more trouble than others, and that was normal. You would just have to take care to ice it this evening before you went to bed. 

And by the looks of it, Stina would be making sure you did anyway. 

She was robbed of her chance to ask if it was bothering you by her nephew, who seemed to have taken a real liking to you. He came barreling at you, arms open for you to lift him up. You weren't all that tall, and he certainly had inherited his family's height, so lifting him was a bit complicated. Eventually the two of you decided on a piggy back after some awkward maneuvering. 

"He likes you," Stina's brother commented, tickling his son lightly. "He's normally quite reserved around new adults."

You smiled at him, feeling your heart soar. This, this was what you wanted from the trip. You wanted Stina's family to love you, for her not to have to worry about you fitting in or being accepted. 

"She's going to sit next to me!" The boy announced once the waiter had shown you to your booth.

"Do I need to be worried?" Stina joked, to which her nephew stuck out his tongue. 

She returned the favor playfully.

"No need to fight, there's plenty of me to go around."

The booth wasn't all that big, which was how you explained Stina's closeness. Most of your right side was pressed right up against hers, something you initially tried to rectify, only to receive a strange look from her. You cursed yourself for how unsure you were being. You'd spent months like this before the two of you had started dating and it nearly drove you (and your teammates) crazy. 

You let Stina order for you since she had been here before and she knew what you liked. The tiredness was beginning to hit you. It was dark outside now, and between skating for a few hours, entertaining a seven year old, and worrying over your relationship, you'd had quite the day. Thankfully you had ibuprofen in your bag in case of one of your headaches. 

Whatever Stina had ordered you looked delicious when it came out. You dug in, realizing then how hungry you were. Usually you had a snack in between breakfast and lunch particularly on training days.  

You were surprised to feel a hand on your knee a little while later. You were listening to a story her nephew was intently explaining to you as he colored in one of the books his mother brought for him, and suddenly it was there. It was something so completely normal you couldn't believe how much it shocked you. If anything, that was proof of how much you had gotten in your own head. Back home it would be impossible to imagine sitting next to Stina without her hand resting lightly on you somewhere. It helped ground her, she said. 

But now, your thoughts were racing with every move she made. Stina's fingers drummed absentmindedly on your thigh, the rhythm of them distracting you slightly from her nephew. She didn't usually tap unless she was feeling fidgety, which meant she was anxious. Was Stina feeling something similar to what you were? Was it out of anxiety that she was keeping things secret? The idea of your relationship inspiring such emotions in your girlfriend made the lump in your throat that much bigger. Maybe she was picking up on your mood. Stina had always been very perceptive (because she spent so much time quietly watching, you often teased) and seemed to pick up on your moods without issue. But you’d been trying to hide this. 

You caught her eye and sent her a quick smile. A piece of hair had fallen into her eyes and you wanted desperately to push it behind her ear as you normally would. But the gesture seemed too intimate now. It was as if you were in a glass cage, every move observed with the chance of exposing your feelings. But what was the problem in that, you asked yourself. You loved Stina, openly. Why were you letting this affect you so much? 

Stina's sister declared that she wanted to do a bit of shopping after lunch, which the rest of the group was perfectly amicable to. It wasn’t all that late, and you’d get a chance to see the Christmas market all lit up. Stina's nephew certainly hadn't taken much convincing once Linnéa mentioned stopping at the toy store to look at something.

"Am I your favorite now?" Linnéa asked him, looking at you with a sly grin on her face.

"Yes!" The boy cried, smiling wide.

"You can't buy true connection, Linnéa," you teased, still helping to color.

"Can't buy connection." The boy repeated wisely. "I still like Stina's friend too."

You smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, suggesting quietly in his ear that you move to another page and make a drawing for Stina. 

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Linnéa joined you and Stina in the car on the way back to their parent’s house, adding to the tension that had been building since the eight of you had gone shopping. Stina had stuck close to your side, and you’d done your best to act normally while keeping some distance. You needed to sort your head out, and being close to her wasn’t helping. Thankfully her nephew provided a good excuse to be tugged in all sorts of directions—he had decided you were his favorite once more, leaving Linnéa to hang behind with her siblings. 

Once you had reached the Christmas market, after a short detour in the toy store where you had agreed to get matching dragon plushies for you and the young boy, each of you wandered off on your own. You, Stina’s brother, and her nephew headed first for the big tree that had been decorated in the square while the rest went to get something hot to drink. You had managed to sneak off under the guise of having to find the toilet, Stina’s brother covering for you if you needed. You wanted to get a small gift for Stina, something in addition to what you’d already purchased. Most of it was back in London since bringing it all on the plane was a hassle. 

You’d found a perfect gift at a small stall tucked away near the edge of the market where an older woman was selling vintage jewelry. You picked through it slowly at first, not sure you would find anything. Most of it was too gaudy for Stina, and too impractical. But then you found a simple pendant with two stones in the middle—an amethyst and an opal, each of your birth stones, set in a complex circular pattern that reminded you a bit of some of the celtic designs Katie had shown you. You had purchased it immediately, no matter that it was overpriced. 

Now you were sat listening to Linnéa’s music quietly as the three of you drove, trying not to nod off. You were unsuccessful, because the next thing you remembered was being jolted awake by Linnéa’s door falling shut. You heard Stina chuckle next to you and put a hand on your shoulder, likely amused by how suddenly you had shot up. You chuckled along with her and patted her hand, putting your coat back on to brave the cold once more. 

“Is your ankle bothering you?” Stina asked you quietly as you all began to walk back to the house for dinner preparations. 

You thought that you had been hiding the slight limp in your walk well, certainly nobody else had noticed, but nothing escaped your girlfriend apparently. 

“Only a bit. I’ll ice it later and it’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You should’ve said something if it was hurting, I told Linnea to be careful—” she was beginning to ramble, but you cut her off. 

“Stina, it’s fine. I said I’m fine. I know what I can and cannot handle.” 

It was a lie, and the both of you knew it. You were a stubborn bastard. Stina had been with you through your recovery, through every incident where you pushed yourself too hard only to have to face the consequences. She’d found you on the kitchen floor, comforted you after a physio session, seen you train with the team for the first time again. It was insulting to allege she didn’t know when too much was too much.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, already feeling bad for snapping at her. It wasn’t fair, she didn’t even know what was wrong and you were what? Punishing her? 

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again. Do you know how horrible that was? To see you in that much pain?” Stina’s eyes were glossy with just the memory. 

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You and Stina didn’t talk much about your injury and recovery. It was still too fresh, barely more than a couple months old. The crack of your ankle, the blood, her tears, her gentle shaking hands, it was all still at the front of your mind. 

You were saved from having to formulate a response by Stina’s mother calling her to the kitchen. She left you, only looking back once to give you a slight smile, showing that the two of you were okay. But you knew the time to confront what was going on needed to come quickly. 

You sat with Stina’s brother on the sofa and watched some Swedish Christmas program mindlessly. Mostly you were thinking about how to go about talking to Stina later. “Directness is key”, Laura's voice reminded you. You just had to say it, without blaming anyone. Just focus on yourself, your feelings.

It wasn't clear how long you sat there quietly before dozing off again, but Stina’s nephew was the one to wake you for dinner, doing so by climbing into your lap. 

"It's dinner time." He said, poking at your shoulder. 

You forced your eyes open, giving him a drowsy smile. 

“Okay, Prinzi” you replied, picking him up off your lap so you could stand. He managed to hang on to your side though, and you ended up lifting him onto your hip anyway. 

Fuck, you cursed silently as you noticed your ankle was even more tender than when you had fallen asleep. You’d have to check for bruising later and keep off it for the rest of the night. But still, you carried Stina’s nephew to the table with ease, setting him in his seat next to his mother who shot you a sheepish smile. 

“Tired, aren’t you?” You heard a voice behind you, and then a gentle hand at your back. 

It was Stina, who smelled of something sweet in the kitchen. You wanted to lean back into her and not move for the rest of the night. Instead you just nodded. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“You’ve been playing babysitter all day, that might be part of it.” She smiled. 

You nodded in agreement, a smile on your face as well.

"You're so good with him," she whispered into your ear, "it's adorable."

You had caught her taking pictures of you with her nephew a couple times throughout the day, and now, as you briefly as her phone light up with notification, it seemed she had set one of them as her lockscreen.

"I try my best. He's a good kid."

"Well, he's in good hands."

Dinner was delicious, but relatively uneventful. After an entire day together everyone was happy to sit quietly and enjoy the food. Stina’s nephew joked with you a couple times, still wanting all of your attention, but even he seemed to be winding down for the night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the table was cleared and the dishes had been washed (a task delegated to Stina’s brother this time), the group splintered off. Linnéa was going out to meet with a few friends, Stina’s brother and his family had to go home before it got too late, and Stina’s parents had settled in the living room. The two of you were welcome to join, they offered, for a nightcap. But it was clear that maybe you and Stina needed some alone time. 

So you bid everyone good night, thanking them for a wonderful day, and giving Stina’s nephew a big hug goodbye (even though you would be seeing him the next day). You tried to prepare for what you knew was a difficult discussion coming your way. In and out, you tried to remind yourself.

“Go ahead, I’ll be in in a minute,” Stina told you when you reached the bedroom door.

You nodded, thankful for the extra minute to think. The room was quiet around you. You felt the quilt beneath your hands, taking another deep breath. You didn’t need to overthink this. It was simple. And Stina loved you, you reminded yourself. 

There was a knock at the door, after which Stina slowly opened it and slipped inside. She had a bag of ice in her hands, presumably for your ankle. Already you felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Here, for your foot.” 

She lifted your leg, grabbing a chair for you to prop it up on, and pressed the ice to it.  

“So,” Stina paused, still standing before you, “What’s wrong?” You opened your mouth, but were cut off before you could say anything. “And don’t say it’s nothing, I can tell it isn’t. And I want to know, I want you to tell me, whatever it is.” 

You chuckled internally at the similarity to Laura’s demand earlier. Stina knew you too well for you to hide from her either. That made your heart ache a little bit. 

Your lack of response seemed to signal to Stina that you needed more convincing because she knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in hers. 

“What were you doing in the bathroom earlier? Why did you look so upset? All day, I can see you trying to hide it, but I know you’re hiding something. It hurts me too, to see you like that. It’s like a thorn in my ribs.” 

Your lip trembled, and you bit down hard on your cheek until you could feel blood in your mouth. It rushed onto your tongue, the metallic taste distracting you from the urge to cry. Stina had caught your gaze, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“Do your parents know we’re together?” Your voice held steady as you asked. 

Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. Stina let out an airy chuckle, looking relieved. You brought your gaze to the floor, eyes wetting rapidly, which Stina quickly noticed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” She brought a hand up to your face, brushing the hair away from it. She sat next to you, moving up from where she was kneeling, and pulled you into her. “Look at me.” She put a finger under your chin, drawing your gaze to hers. The sight of your eyes nearly broke her heart. She hadn’t seen your face crumple in on itself like this since you were injured. The idea that something she had done could have caused you pain like that made her feel indescribably awful. 

“Of course they know, of course they do.”

You let out a sigh of relief, putting your head in your hands. You felt a hand on the back of your neck, rubbing the skin there tenderly.

“Then why have you been so…distant all day? And yesterday? This morning at breakfast, I couldn’t even hold your hand. It seemed like you didn’t want your family to see us together. I thought maybe you… I don’t know, that you were unsure of us, or afraid, or—” 

“That’s not it, I promise,” she said, wiping a tear away that had fallen from your eye. Fuck, you hated crying this much. “It’s just odd for me to be affectionate in front of my parents. They never were very touchy with each other in front of us, so it just feels like some unspoken rule. And then when my brother married his wife, they were the same way. But I promise, tomorrow I’ll try—”

You shook your head. You could tell Stina was upset too now, and you didn't want that. That wasn't the point of this. Tears continued to stream from your eyes, and you continued to swipe harshly at them.

“No, no. It’s all right. I don’t need you to be affectionate in front of them, I understand. It just seemed strange when I didn’t know the reason. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Stina seemed at a loss for a moment, truly shocked. She pulled you into a kiss, pressing her lips firmly against yours once, twice, three times before pulling back.

“You’re in this house too. And we’re a team: you don’t just have to do things the way we do. I’m supposed to meet you in the middle, okay? We’re in a relationship—if something hurts you, or is important to you, I want to know.” 

You nodded, squeezing her hand as a small thanks. The taste of blood trickled through your mouth, reminding you of the wound. You did your best to swallow it down. 

“Come on, let’s get you into something more comfortable,” Stina said, helping you up. 

She opened the dresser, looking for some of the pants you had brought. When she turned around, in her hands were a pair of grey sweats and one of her long sleeve Swedish national team shirts. 

“Sit,” she requested, pointing at the bed. 

You followed, sitting and allowing her to help you undress. It was totally non-sexual, Stina was wholly concerned in caring for you. Once you were dressed in the casual clothes she had picked out, Stina returned to your side, your ankle in her lap as she massaged the skin gently. 

“Was that what made you think I hadn’t told them?”

“It seems silly… but I also overheard them talking to your aunt in the kitchen last night.” You took a breath, trying to banish the tears for good. “I know my Swedish isn’t that good, but I was doing my best to keep up, and they kept referring to me as your friend, your friend, Stina’s friend.” 

Stina looked at you, confused. 

“They did? What did they say?” 

You did your best to repeat the word, cringing at your own pronunciation. 

“Väninna?” She repeated, and you nodded. “Who told you that means friend?”

“Amanda.” you replied, “She said it was like a female friend.” 

Stina shook her head, laughing. 

“What?” You asked, a bit indignant. 

“It does mean that. But it also means girlfriend. I don’t think Amanda thought you’d ever run into the word. It’s a bit old fashioned.” Stina explained. 

“Oh…” you said, feeling very stupid, and very relieved. 

“Come here,” Stina said, leaning back against the headrest and gesturing for you to settle against her. She grabbed the bag of ice on your foot and shifted it to lie comfortably again. “I’m sorry you had to go through the day thinking I’d invited you here under friendly pretenses.” 

You could tell she was making fun of you, just a little, but that there was sincerity in her voice too. One of her hands crept under your shirt, resting comfortingly on your stomach. 

“I hope you don’t treat all your friends like you did yesterday morning.” You replied, snuggling closer to her. For the first time in days your head wasn’t full of doubts, and you could relax wholly. You just wanted to enjoy her warmth around you. You had faith that tomorrow would be great, that you could finally enjoy your time here the way you were meant to.

She chuckled, hugging you closer to her and pressing a kiss to your upward-turned lips. 

“No, definitely not. I usually have better decision making skills around most people.” 

“I guess I’m just special then, huh?”

[joydoesathing]

hallooo💗💗💗do u have any nacho headcannons,like his family,his relationship with his ex,with anatolli etc ?only if u want ofc💓💓,also the last art of him it's extremely beautiful,all my german friends agree 💕💕💕💕( srry for bad english i don't think google translate translates so good)

have a good day/night💓💓🙏,at us in germany now it's 8:45 PM in Berlin kissesss🎀

thank you and i hope you have a great day/evening too

so here's a short list of some of my hc for the mikaelys boys (i'll just throw in my headcanons for anatolii while i'm at it)

Nacho

A friendly and mild-mannered man that gets along with people but is sometimes known to be a bit of a nervous wreck at times.

He dotes quite a lot on Anatolii (when he first started of as a single father, he didn't really have the time to bond with Anatolii because he had to work a lot more now that he had a son to care for and he didn't really know how to balance his time for work and for Anatolii. When he's gotten the hang of managing his time a year or two later, he wasted no time to start providing Anatolii with all the affection and love he needed)

When he was younger, he was quite a troublemaker and had bad company for "friends". But ever since he stepped up as a dad, he has long since cut them off and manned up.

He isn't really up for dating or getting into a relationship with people; not ever since the trainwreck of a relationship he had with Frances. He does feel really guilty about the whole thing, so he decided to dedicate himself to put Anatolii's wants and needs before his as a form of atonement.

When he and Frances were dating when they were younger, he didn't really take their relationship seriously. Now that he looks back, he probably thinks it's just his imagination, but, could he possibly now still have lingering feelings for her..?

He has a large scar on his lower back from the "incident" with Frances.

Currently, Frances and him are on neutral terms. He gets super nervous and awkward when he sees her but when Anatolii does interact with Frances, he can't help but ask his son what was Frances like or how's she doing etc.

Anatolii

He may act and look quite cold, uncaring and unfriendly, but he's really a sweet boy (he doesn't smile a lot but he's good-natured)

Performs really well at school so he's quite smart

He plays football and collects matchbox cars as a hobby.

Also really likes model trains.

Though he may not look like it, he really looks up to his dad more than anyone. He tries to learn how to do things by himself quicker to not be a burden to his dad and also to sometimes earn his dad's praise.

He lived his life not knowing who his mother is, but he's been quite hesitant to pry his dad into talking about it because Nacho would always look quite pained when he does try to talk about it. Nacho has always told Anatolii that, his mother always have and will continue to love him, it's just that there's a certain problem that's keeping her away from them. Out of love for his dad, he just took his word for it.

[mariacallous]

The year was 1998. Walking down Pushkin Boulevard in my native Donetsk, I listened to English lessons on my Walkman and dreamed of America—a country I would soon call home.

At age 20, I couldn't form a sentence in the language of the USSR's arch-enemy; my teachers, who didn't speak English themselves, made sure of that.

Born and raised in Ukraine, I had just graduated from Donetsk State Tech University, but I couldn't speak Ukrainian either.

Russian was my native language; though it wasn't me who chose it, Russian colonialism did just as it chose to plaster the names of Russian chauvinists, like Pushkin, all over my city.

I was gaslit by the evil empire, and so were you. Let me correct this: So are you.

In the fall of 1982, I remember the nannies at my kindergarten weeping over the death of "our dear leader," Leonid Brezhnev. Perhaps I cried, too. The earliest childhood memories are notoriously faulty.

But in 2024, I hold no illusions about Russia: What it has done, what it seeks to do, and what will happen if the Free World fails to stop it.

Rewriting History: A Soviet Mirage

It took me a lifetime to un-dim the metaphorical lights—to escape the unreality Moscow constructed for the peoples and lands it colonized.

It all started with a perverted version of history that provided all the answers but left no room for questions.

For example, when did World War II start? Sorry, my mistake—the "Great Patriotic War," as it's called in Russia. Everybody knows it began in 1941 when Nazi Germany invaded the USSR.

Except it didn't. Adolf Hitler's betrayal of Joseph Stalin didn't start the war—their secret pact to invade Poland did.

What the world remembers, and what Russia tries desperately to forget, is that Europe's worst calamity began with the unholy alliance of two evil regimes hellbent on colonization.

Growing up in the USSR, doubt and skepticism, at the heart of the Western intellectual tradition, were out of reach.

It took me decades to understand that the Soviet Union was never truly a country, but rather an oppressive Russia Empire by another name.

When the "brotherhood" of 15 nations is praised and celebrated all around you, it is almost unimaginable that one of those "brothers" was prepared to kill, rape, and torture in a zealous pursuit of its imperialist ambitions, which, in Russia's case, always took categorical precedence over human life.

The Victory That Wasn't

When the Berlin Wall came down and the Cold War order crumbled before our eyes, many in the West mistook it for a victory. But who exactly did we defeat?

During the 70 years of the USSR's existence, the evil of communist ideology was merely layered atop the evil of a Frankenstein state, one that desperately wanted the world to see it as a nation.

By 1991, Communism was gone, the USSR fell apart, but the revanchism and a deep-seated fear in Moscow—that the Russian Federation would collapse under the weight of its own contradictions—remained.

Empires thrive on perpetual expansion, as vividly demonstrated by Russia's invasion of Ichkeria, Georgia, and now Ukraine.

Caught in a relentless cycle of conquest and domination, Moscow's legitimacy and stability hinge on the constant acquisition of new territories, the appropriation of other nations' histories, and the subjugation of their peoples.

Suppressed History Is a Harbinger of More Violence

In seventh grade, we studied the "Great Famine" of 1932-1933 and learned about the "kulaks" hiding grain and how the righteous Red Army was fighting the imperialists who wanted the Soviet project to fail.

But did I know what role Stalin's monstrous and deliberate policy to starve millions of Ukrainians by engineering Holodomor had to do with my own life story?

Why did everyone around me speak Russian in Ukraine at the tail-end of the twentieth century? How did my Armenian father, born and raised in Georgia, end up coming to Donbas—the Soviet Union's promised land of his youth?

Colonialism is the answer. Moscow knew that to bury the Ukrainian dream—escaping the empire's yoke—required repopulating the land with outsiders to prevent even a possibility of a grassroots national movement rekindling.

Finding myself both complicit in Russia's imperial project and its victim was as confusing as it was unsettling.

Raphael Lemkin, the man who introduced the concept of genocide to the world, recognized Moscow's Holodomor as a systematic effort to destroy the Ukrainian nation, culture, and people through starvation and repression.

Yet, as I grew up, his name and his views existed in a separate realm of knowledge and awareness from the one I inhabited. The two were meant never to cross.

Had I not escaped the morass of endless lies sustaining the evil empire, I would've never understood that we are witnessing another genocide attempt and that history is indeed repeating itself.

A Breath of Fresh Air

The year was 1998. Walking down 900 East Street in Salt Lake City, Utah, as a fresh-off-the-boat American, I had much to look forward to and little to reflect on.

Between naïveté and arrogance, I managed to strike both with the thought that my individual journey was forerunning the path Ukraine was to inevitably take: From the dark past of oppression and suffering all the way to freedom and prosperity.

I didn't think much about Russia at the time. Surely, it must have wanted the same thing for itself, but it was for the Russian people to decide their future.

When I swore allegiance to the U.S. flag in 2005 and began my career in international relations, the rose-colored glasses started to come off. The straitjacket of lies that had enveloped my mind since childhood showed signs of wear and tear as it came into contact with history books that weren't Russian propaganda.

Not only did I start to understand the past, but Moscow was also unmasking itself fast in real time—murdering thousands of Chechens for defying their colonizers, meddling in the affairs of Ukraine and other neighboring states, and reverting to ruthless authoritarianism after a brief flirtation with democracy in the nineties.

Meanwhile, Ukrainians were rejecting a rigged election and uniting in what became known as the Orange Revolution, demanding accountability from their government.

It was evident that Russia and Ukraine were on different paths, but I was unprepared even to imagine the magnitude of this difference.

From Public Service to Global Diplomacy

After five years of U.S. government service, working on development projects from agriculture in Moldova to renewable energy in Mongolia, I applied for a graduate degree in Public Administration at Harvard.

For a kid from Donetsk, a son of a coal miner, getting an admission letter felt like something out of a fairytale.

Arriving in Cambridge, MA, I delved into the mechanics of democracy and governance; conversations with professors and peers sharpened my vision. I saw more clearly than ever how Moscow had twisted its colonial history and appropriated or perverted histories of the lands it controlled.

My education was no longer a means to an examined life; it was to become a weapon against the empire of lies that had once claimed my allegiance.

My next stop was the World Economic Forum in Geneva, where I covered regional affairs for a portfolio of countries including Russia and Ukraine. Moderating panel discussions with ministers, activists, and opinion leaders often revealed deep historical tensions.

Ukraine faced significant challenges on its path toward Europe, with freedom, prosperity, and nationhood at stake.

What remained obscured to me at the time, however, was the extent to which Russia would resist and sabotage Ukraine's progress at every turn.

The heir to the bloodthirsty tsars and commissars, the Russian Federation was firmly set on a trajectory toward totalitarianism, oppression, and, ultimately, fascism.

With hindsight, I realize that my gaslit mind mistook a bit of situational awareness for enlightenment. Back then, though, I believed—indeed, I knew—Russia couldn't invade Ukraine.

Now, I can see that for the Moscow-centered empire, colonial conquest was all but inevitable.

The West Deliberately Refuses to Understand What Russia Is

Pick up any map, and you'll easily spot a vast country called Russia. But make no mistake—this is no nation; it has no national interests, only imperial ambitions.

Bizarrely, we justify Moscow's criminal actions eagerly at our own peril, despite the threat it poses not just to Ukraine, the Baltics, Poland, etc. but to the entire world and, paradoxically, to the population of Russia too.

Don't take my word for it, ask the people of Tatarstan, Bashkiria, Dagestan or any other Eurasian folk Moscow had colonized. The veritable prison of nations spent decades, if not centuries, attempting to erase their identities, languages, and cultures.

Our stubborn refusal to face the facts is confounding.

What is holding us back from processing the lessons of Russia's bloodstained history, from believing Russia when it tells us it plans to commit what I see as genocide? Why can't we act decisively on this knowledge?

Given an opportunity to restore deterrents, rebuild our credibility, and reassert our commitment to the values we profess, we flounder time and again.

To help Ukraine defeat the aggressor is not charity, it's in our strategic interest. Any other outcome creates a much more problematic future for each of Ukraine's allies individually, and all of us collectively.

The Peril of Inaction, Cloaked in Excuses and Laced With Cowardice

Gaining clarity of vision and decolonizing my mind has been a decades-long process, still ongoing.

I finally learned Ukrainian, and I no longer speak Russian. After all, Moscow used the pretext of "protecting" Russian speakers in Donbas to justify its invasion.

As an unhumorous joke goes, no matter where you are or who you are, if you continue to speak Russian, the motherland will come to "save" you one day.

Reflecting on my journey, I see much of it mirrored in the painstakingly slow and reluctant awakening of the Free World to the realities of Ruscism (Russian Fascism).

But we can't afford decades of incremental enlightenment; we must now recognize that the policy of "with Ukraine as long as it takes" has failed. From the start, it was grounded in our misunderstanding of Moscow.

History makes it clear that Russia responds to indecisiveness and weakness by raising the stakes, but when faced with strength and determination, it retreats.

The humiliating defeat of the Tsarist Russia by Japan in 1905 is one such example. More recently, In 1989, a nuclear-armed superpower—one of only two in the world—was forced to withdraw from Afghanistan after another devastating loss.

Its equally violent successor, the Russian Federation, has claimed victory in every conflict it initiated since, with the consequences all too obvious.

We, in the Free World, can no longer afford to be willfully gaslit by Moscow's lies. The stakes are too high, not just for Ukraine but for every democratic nation.

Our moral and historical obligation extends beyond thoughts and prayers; it demands decisive action. We owe this to the generations before us, and even more to those who will follow.

The time has come to end incrementalism and commit fully to Ukraine's victory, securing not a temporary ceasefire–certain to boomerang back as a yet more dangerous war–but a lasting peace for Europe and the world.

[be-my-ally]

Snowballs and Kisses

Hello darlings!! Merry Christmas! I hope everyone celebrating has a wonderful day, and everyone for whom it is a usual monday has a better than usual start to the week!! 

I have been MIA the last few weeks on here, but never fear I have been busy behind the scenes and hopefully more things and fics will be finished very soon!! I cannot wait for my little new year break, and *finally* catching up on all the stuff I've missed!! In the meantime as a ittle teeny tiny Christmas gift please enjoy this timeskip for my Splashing Around ‘verse to Christmas Eve 1960 and my shameless OC self insert of what I’d like to gift Elvis. 

a/n not totally accurate weather references: it didn’t actually snow in memphis in the latter half of 1959 but, this is fanfiction after all and it *was* very cold november 18th 1959. (I also cut a whole 4k of angst that will come out at some point as a separate chapter, Anita getting a poodle, and the colonel dressed as santa because honestly i just wanted to write and read fluff, but here's a warning that there may end up being more festive fics posted…a little late). 

warnings: 18+, smut lite; gentle fingering and references to cumming in pants. UNEDITED

Graceland - December 1960 

The excitement of having Elvis back at home for the festive season was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that it was his first Christmas at home without his mother. He’d not really tried to celebrate properly in Germany; sure they’d done the best they could, and he raved about the gift of a fully dressed tree for weeks,  but it hadn’t been the same as it would have been at home. 

This year though, Elvis seemed determined to restore the festive spirit. Perhaps even further than just restoration - an attempt to make it as bright and jolly as possible in response to both his mother’s passing, and missing the last two. He’d bragged to anyone who would listen about how excited he was to give out presents, his plans for even more lights than ever before; signs and lawn decorations.

While Louise was excited, it had left her in an almost constant state of anxiety, Christmas wasn’t just about the gift-giving… but it was a large enough part of it that it’s where her mind immediately went. From the moment he suggested they hang at Graceland that first year, from the first time they’d all pored over the letter to Frances, and his promises to “have a ball next Christmas”, giggling and whispering about what fun they were going to have the following year. From all of those times Louise had been preoccupied with what to get him and whether her secret plan was good enough for Elvis of all people. 

That first year he had reiterated to them all and was absolutely adamant no-one needed to gift him anything and wouldn’t hear of anything being sent over to him. But his frequent calls and mentions of the upcoming holiday belied his actual feelings and besides, Louise wanted him to feel special. Wanted him to know they’d been thinking of him as much as he must have missed being home. It wasn’t until the 27th of November and the slightest of snowfalls had occurred, tiny little snowflakes, delicately falling down when the temperature had dropped just enough for the rain to crystallise when a flash of inspiration hit her. She couldn’t send it, so instead she’d waited patiently, adding to her bundle throughout the months. Now that it was almost time to give it though she was second-guessing that two year decision. Was it too juvenile? It’s just so tricky to buy for the man who literally has anything he could ever wish for. As the festive period hurtles on she resigns herself to having to hunt for a back-up gift…maybe a nice sweater. Maybe that will do.  Or maybe it’s best to have options. 

Elvis’ melancholia about the holiday doesn’t seem to stretch into Christmas Eve, and he encourages them with all the enthusiasm he’s ever had. The party starts from mid-afternoon and stretches long into the evening and night with all the makings of an excellent time from the music to the food until eventually they all find themselves around the extravagant tree to exchange presents. It’s a little chaotic, so many people about and frequently someone’s having to dive from room to room to fetch people or hidden gifts. Louise finds it almost dizzying when she finally manages to take a seat on the long sofa, catching her breath from being sent to find someone. She was already finding herself struggling to think whenever she glanced over at Elvis - he looked outrageously good in a white shirt, black trousers - well, he looked outrageously good all the time at the moment - but there was something about the feeling in the air of the day that made it all the harder to act natural around him. Elvis had been quiet for a moment, but now he was sat on his armchair across the room, looking for all the world like a king on a throne ready to bestow his generosity on the peasants. Except, that’s not the feeling in the room at all; it’s jolly and wonderful, picture perfect - all of them slightly tipsy on champagne and vodka cocktails and finding the evening all the more entertaining for it. He announces he wants to give the presents that he’s bought everyone before he opens his own, and Louise dips her eyes when he hands her a little bow-tied box. No-one else’s comes with a ribbon and she strokes it, feeling a glow emanating from her stomach and chest as she imagines his nimble fingers tying it on, totally ignoring the fact that she knows someone else probably wrapped it for him. Still, she tugs it off to hide from the others - not wanting to be teased about how such a little gesture has made her blush so strongly - and tucks it into her palm, fully intending on slipping it into her shoe or around her wrist in a moment, knowing she’ll keep it forever - wear it in her hair like a declaration.

When she looks back up everyone has a similar box and she opens it quickly in case they’re all the same - she doesn’t want to ruin her surprise. There, nestled in a little velvet box is a ring, a huge, gaudy red stone in the centre, almost too big for her finger.  Louise is transfixed, staring at it, barely a thought in her head as she tries to wrap her head around the way it sparkles in the light. Despite the size of the gem, the band was more than a little small when she tries to slip it on, and she quietly puts it back into the box, not wanting to draw attention to her apparently larger than expected fingers. She glances around, suddenly coming out of her shocked obliviousness. Her face falling when she realises that everyone around her is unboxing similarly precious jewellery. She’s resigning herself to having to sneak it off to get it resized and hating herself a little for it, wondering if there are exercises she could do or maybe a special diet to shrink her fingers to size, when she suddenly realises all the other girls are turning each-other around, kissing Elvis on the cheek in thanks, or asking him to clasp their new necklaces. Louise looks back down at her box and the others. What does a ring mean? It’s been gifted with such casualness that it can’t possibly mean anything can it? When she looks back up Elvis is staring right at her, and she makes eye contact with him - her wide eyes meeting his laughing ones. He winks, and turns back to Red. She tries her best to distract herself from it, ooh and aahing over everyone else’s and keeping quiet about the little box clutched tight in her hand. 

Half hour later Elvis is admiring his own little haul, when he catches her eye again, 

“You forget about me Lou?” Louise cringes at being called out so publicly, 

“Of course not!” She looks around the room, at the large group gathered there, “No, uh, why don’t you, well I’ve gotten you something else….It’s a sweater. It’s not great really, but I… your real gift I’ve made you, but,” She swallows building her courage, unsure why she’s so nervous suddenly when she’d been so excited for so long; the whole idea just seemed juvenile and silly now. “… you’ve gotta follow me for it.” He stares into her eyes for a second, before nodding and standing up, gesturing at her as if to say ‘lead the way’. 

He grins at the boys when they walk out, making a salacious movement as if to suggest her gift may not be all too family-friendly to accompanying guffaws of laughter. She ignores it, even as her tummy churns; should she be offering that? Is that what he wants these days?

“Don’t laugh.” She asks nervously as they walk into the little pantry. Elvis looks bemused to find himself there, leaning against the wall of the tiny space 

“I won’t” Louise nods, shutting the door, only to hear Elvis giggle, “You tryin’ to get me alone, doll?” 

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“One hell of a christmas present! to be locked in a cupboard with a pretty little gal.” 

She rolls her eyes, wiggling past him to get to the freezer, 

“Close your eyes.” He obediently does so, and she reaches into an old box of ice-cream to pull out a Tupperware, “Hold your hands out.” And she puts it in his cupped fingers, “Ok…open.” He blinks down at the Tupperware.

“Um. Well, thanks, I’m uh, sure this will be useful.” Louise rolls her eyes, impatiently tugging off the lid herself, “Oh.” Elvis goes silent, staring at the three perfect, teeny snowballs balanced in the tub. Each resting upon a little piece of paper with Louise’s very best cursive handwriting spelling out the date; December 12th 1958, 18th November 1959, and 20th December 1960.  

The silence stretches as Elvis stares at the box, and Louise starts to ramble nervously,  “I was starting to panic this year, but at least I’d thought to pick some up back in January — it snowed so heavy on the 5th.  I think it was, or maybe the 15th? I’ll have to check my diary… so I mean it isn’t entirely accurate that it’s all from the 20th - but I mean, I had to have something and well I know how much you loved it when, when your mother… and I wanted you to know I’ve been thinkin’ of you non-stop while you were away. So, here, the first snow from the garden from every year you missed.” Elvis is still staring at the box, one finger poking each little round ball. 

“This really snow from two years ago?” 

“Uh-huh… I mean I don’t know what you’re gonna do with it now, but it really is… been in that box in the freezer this whole time…I hid it from everyone. Every time someone said they wanted some ice cream I panicked.”  

“Lou.” 

“‘M sorry this is really stupid, god - what are you gonna do with some snowballs, I should’ve gone in with the other girls, got you something really good… I just - well, I thought you’d like it and I know you misse-”

“Baby, I don’t, I don’t know what to say. I… I didn’t think anyone would think of me like this, like mama did, ever again. I - well, thank you, Lou darling, this is, well, its the best damn gift I’ve ever gotten.” He grabs her arm, tugging her to him - pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, the force of it surprising her.  “I’m gonna show everyone - c’mon - quick before they melt.” He runs out of the kitchen, leaving Louise to follow meekly behind. 

He shows them off like he’s a new father, proudly holding them up in the box, delicately picking one of them up and sighing at it, holding it up at the light for everyone to marvel at. It’s a little ridiculous in some ways - everyone in the room had been gifted something hugely lavish, and yet the thing  everyone was talking and gossiping at was a snowball. 

Hours later the party finally winds down enough that Louise realises she’s one of the last few stragglers of a night so late it’s turned into Christmas morning. How she’d ended up in this position she’ll never know, and she questions it herself as she stands quietly in the doorway, watching Elvis fumble on the piano. Just his fiddling is beautiful, little snippets of remembered carols, before he hammers onto the keys, singing along to Santa Claus is Back in Town. Louise can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes her and he looks up at her, smiling almost teasingly, perfect glint in his eye as he pauses for a second to run a hand through his hair before he continues for another verse and a half. He stops almost abruptly, standing up to stretch before turning to her. She’s trying to find the words to explain how beautiful it was, how perfect he sounds - how she can feel it throughout her whole being, but before she can express those sentiments he’s in front of her and grasping her hand. 

“C’mon,” He tugs her over to the armchair he’d been sat in earlier in the evening, “Over here hon, that’s it - you’re the last.” Elvis throws himself onto the chair, holding onto her, pulling her stumbling body against his. “You’re the last of my girls left…” He sighs melodramatically and Louise giggles uncontrollably back at him. She’d had an illicit two glasses and a half of champagne earlier in the evening; Elvis had playfully wagged his finger at her as she’d accepted it from Red although she’d seen him have more than a few drinks himself. She can feel the bubbles still settling into her tummy and head, fuzzing her thoughts a little and making her giggly and affectionate. Still, she wasn’t so tipsy she couldn’t call out his overdramatic behaviour. 

“They’ve just gone home for the night. They’ll be back tomorrow I’m sure.”  She shakes her head. He ignores her, crying out, 

“I’m all alone!” He tugs her by her elbow, catching her as she stumbles into his lap, pulling her onto him, flattening her wide skirt. It wasn’t really the fashion anymore but while she’d been momentarily hesitant about her holiday dress she wasn’t self-conscious, and she liked how it made her shape look. Some might suggest the bow and petticoats were juvenile, but it made her feel more adult than the tighter styles that were starting to become popular with her peers, more herself than playing dress-up. 

She snuggles under his arm, head pillowed on his chest, cheeks pressed against the little buttons of his shirt. He pretends to choke at her hair brushing his nose, using his free hand to flatten it under his chin and she grins, shivering against him as his breath tickles her skin. They stay cuddled for a few moments, sinking into the kind of happy exhaustion that seems to only occur on holidays. It feels different than before, although Elvis is more similarly carefree than she’d seen him in a long time. He’d grown up a lot over the years she hadn’t seen him, or so it felt, and his adultness didn’t match the image of him playing and fooling around that she had in her head. It’s an awful feeling, she thinks, that even with him right there, surrounding her, she still longs for a little more of the playfulness of the past.

Suddenly though Elvis shifts, interrupting her thoughts and murmuring against the top of her head, 

“Y’hear that?” Louise stops breathing, and all she can hear is the solid thump-thump of his heart against her ear, he waits a second but she can’t work out what he’s referring to and doesn’t respond, he gasps “There it is again! Do you hear it?” 

Louise shakes her head against him, frowning a little, “No?” She tries really hard to listen out, but other than the faintest hint of the music from the boys in the other room she can’t hear a thing. “The music?”  

“No! No, listen.” He puts his finger to his lips, shushing her,

“I really don’t hear anything Elvis.” He wraps his arm around her waist a little tighter, tugging her up so she was sat more upright on his knee, her face close to his. He whispers into her ear, 

“I think I hear hooves…” Louise frowns, 

“Hooves!?” God, it would be just her luck that he’d gone and bought her a horse or something, and she’d have to act grateful even though she was terrified of them.  

“Mmhmm, that’s right.” His hand rises up to brush across her back gently, fingertips dancing around her side, “Hooves. Hooves and bells.” He pauses for dramatic effect, jabbing his finger into her side in a tickling poke. His voice dips lower, as his arm squeezes around her, “Someone must have been a good girl this year.” 

Louise grins when she realises what he’s implying and couldn’t bring herself not to play along. 

“…You think it’s Santa Claus?!” 

“Hmm, definitely…who else would it be, on the roof with hooves and bells on Christmas eve?” She giggles, both in response to his kind-natured teasing and his fingers poking her side with an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, I wonder what he’ll leave in my stocking…” Elvis hums against her hair, 

“Mmm. Coal.” 

“Nooo!” She giggles back to him, “You just said I’ve been a good girl!”

“You’ve been a very good little girl.” His voice has hit that low pitch that immediately sends a jolt down her spine, right into the pit of her stomach and she swallows, trying to keep up with the joke. 

“Well, I’m, uh, I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is.” 

“Mmhmm….” His hand brushes up her leg, “Bet ya I’ll like what’s in your stockings more…” 

“Elvis!” She shrieks, playfully batting his hand away, he pulls it off of her, smoothing down her skirt, and resting it onto her lap for a moment. Louise feels her breath catching as he presses a kiss to the side of her head, brushing her hair out of the way and shifting her on his thigh so that she’s facing him. It’s almost a struggle for her to meet his eyes, she felt so desperate for his attention - but there was nowhere else to look that made her feel any less heated. His hair, god even his eyebrows were Elvis-enough to make her squirm. It’s only a second of him kissing her jaw, before she’s gasping for him, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s grabbing his hand and shoving it back on her thigh. 

She’d kept herself for him, even as it felt that she’d been playing before, doing it for someone who would never notice or care - ostensibly in general, but really if she was truthful - for him. She’d touched herself, hadn’t been able to resist the temptation, especially after his deep voice came through the phone - but the other boys, the boys in school, the ones with blue collar jobs and careers, had all lost their appeal whenever she imagined kissing them, and her imagination interposed the image and feeling of him, his slippery body in the pool, the feel of him in front of her on the bike. He was thinner now, even still, than he was before, puppy fat replaced with lean muscles. His face shape changed just the tiniest bit, perhaps unnoticeable to some, but so very obvious to her, cheekbones and chin more angular than before. But his lips feel the same as they did before he left, and since his return home - she’d expected they’d have lost their eager nature, but still she can feel the hint of desperation as he presses them against her jaw.

She gasps, rocking against him as he roves down her neck - a place no one else has ever touched, tiny points of pressure feeling like a heat was expanding across her neck and chest, matching the clench of her thighs. His hand gently strokes up her stockings before he hitches her up, capturing his mouth with hers and shoving her underlayers up to her waist in the abrupt movement. Louise moves with him, desperate to stay in contact with his lips and she moans in upset when he starts to pull away. 

“C’mon baby,” He whispers, “C’mon, Lou-Lou let me - let me say thank you,” He’s barely audible as he speaks against her lips between pressing bruising kisses onto them, “I just - wanna, wanna make you feel good, Lou doll.” She gasps out her agreement, eyes falling closed and her head falling into his shoulder as his fingers find their way to rub against the silk of her underwear. He shifts her again, balancing her so she can rock against his thigh and his hand, whilst also rubbing her leg against his covered crotch. Louise is almost surprised at the heat of him against her thigh, but her curiosity has no chance to be satisfied when he hooks a finger under the leg band of her panties, totally distracting her from anything but the feel of him under her and attempting to stay somewhat upright. His finger feels softer than she’d imagined, and yet, in comparison to her own the pads feel foreign, rougher and surer than hers ever were sliding into the wetness they find there.

“God, you’re so soft baby, so fucking soft in here, perfect for me, you been waiting on me, honey?” 

“Uh-huh, waited, waited so long for you Elvis - didn’t, I didn’t want anyone but you.” He groans in response, his fingers moving faster. Until he’s forced to stop, tangled in the fabric and he growls in frustration. Louise feels it go straight down her body, and her thighs clench, trapping his hand even more. He pauses for barely a second to manhandle her up, just enough to roughly tug her panties down enough that it’s now entirely her bare skin rubbing against his hand and clothed thigh, the fibres of his trousers almost giving her a friction burn with her rapid movements. He continues as he was a second earlier, but now with far easier access he’s able to swipe his fingers across her clit, taking her to the edge almost immediately. She has no idea if this was something he’s always done well, or if this is a trick he’d picked up while he was away, but whatever the reason she was grateful. She doesn’t even consider how they were still, essentially, in public, too distracted by his slender fingers to be concerned about her now partial nudity. The only noise to break up their combined breathy moans is the layers of of taffeta rustling between them, as she continues to rock against his thigh, but this all changes when he delves his thumb into her wetness, bringing it back up to stroke circles on her clit, gently but repeatedly running it over her. 

“Oh, Elvis?” She cries out,  

“What baby? You’re so - I can feel you’re close,” His own breathing is getting heavier, and he holds her steady with his other hand grasping her thigh while his thumb continues to stroke her, 

“I don’t - I don’t…” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, and before she manages to turn it into a complete sentence she’s shaking on him as she rides out her orgasm. He sees her through it, continuing to stroke her with the same pressure before rapidly shoving his hand down his own pants, roughly rubbing himself off to quick completion. She watches him closely, unable to do anything but stare as his own eyes slide closed, head falling back against the couch and mouth opening as he gasps out a high-pitched moan. It was about enough to make her shudder again against his thigh, the look on his face, his mussed hair, open collar and the noises of sheer pleasure. Louise finds herself bouncing on his chest as he breathes rapidly from the effort, and he holds her tight for a few moments while they both regain use of their limbs. Louise feels almost a little shell-shocked and she only really comes to her senses when Elvis shifts, wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace and patting her thigh, 

“Gosh that was, I, um, thank you El,” He grins at her, clearly pleased with his success, and he pats her leg again, 

“Thank you, honey, for just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me earlier baby, it was just - I’m gonna treasure them snowballs forever, you’ll see.” She grins back at him before an unstoppable yawn takes over her face, “C’mon lil girl, time for bed.” She gulps, thinking about all the people on the house - worrying what will happen next, 

“D’you…where am I gonna sleep?” Elvis frowns, little furrowed line marring his previously relaxed face, 

“With me?” 

“Oh,” Louise swallows, “Um, I think my parents will be expecting me - you know, Christmas morning’s all about -“ 

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll drop you home at the crack of dawn,” He winks, “-gotta make sure the house is all in order in any case anyway.” Elvis pauses, “Or, or you could invite your mama and pops over. They’d be more than welcome…nothing my mama liked more than a full house - especially at Christmas.” He’s looking at her with that earnest little boy expression again and it takes everything in her not to just suggest she should stay forever, it was so absurd that he’d want her to stay, instead of the other way around. 

“Well…maybe I could stay. And, well, I mean, I could come over in the evening? If you swear you’ll make sure I get home in time -“ He’s quick to interject, 

“Cross my heart darling,” She hums at him, and he motions the crossing of his heart across his chest, solemnly holding eye contact, “I swear.”

“Ok then, I’d love to stay.” 

Somehow, and (despite his promises) to Louise’s surprise, she’s dutifully shaken awake and dropped off home, albeit not by Elvis himself, only a few very short hours later. Coming up the driveway of her childhood home it feels almost inconceivable that she should have spent the day and night how she has, and she wonders for a brief moment if she hadn’t knocked her head or something and just hallucinated the whole affair. She’s so in her thoughts that she doesn’t yet notice, as she traipses past the lounge and kitchen where she can hear her mother singing to quickly change, a new set of boxes under the Christmas tree. Elvis’ script on the gift tags declaring “To Louise, a very good girl, from Santa.” 

taglist: (it's been so long that I've lost the list for this verse - lmk if you want to be added, or taken off!)

@lialocklear @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @thatbanditquee @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @powerofelvis @dkayfixates @shakerattlescroll

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 21: Welcome Back

2 years later

Kimber wasn’t the only one who suffered from the battle. Campbell took a shot. Left his leg useless. Witnesses said a blonde woman did it. But that’s all behind us now. Small Heath has grown into my heart as a new home. Unfortunately the calling to my old home wasn’t weak enough to stop me from tying up loose ends. A few months after the whole Kimber dual I decided to take a quick trip back home to Brooklyn. The Shelbys were disappointed to see me leave, especially Finn. But I assured them I would be back in a few weeks’ time. 

Sadly time did not agree to my plan. The instant I arrived back home I discovered my stay was going to exceed far beyond what I’d hoped. Mother contracted tuberculosis and since my brothers were called away on ‘private business’ I was obligated to stay and nurse her back to health. For the next half a year I received multiple letters from the Shelbys asking about my return. After a while I simply replied that only God can answer for me.

And God must have heard my prayers because lo and behold after what seemed like a whole century mother finally recovered. I thank the angels a million times and counting for her good health. My parents are reluctant towards my decision to return to Birmingham but the mention of an official job persuaded them. No words were said about what type of business I’m working for. One packed trunk and one boat ticket later I’m right back to where I’d been lost two years ago.

Nothing seems to have changed. Small Heath is still the same gloomy and dusty crime heap as it was when I arrived last time. The sight of the familiar Shelby household makes my heart soar. But my excitement is crushed the minute I enter the home. No lights are on. A dreary atmosphere has draped over the house and is dead silent. Where is everyone? According to Thomas’ letters their business has been thriving. Where else would they be?

“Hello?” I poke my head into the kitchen. 

Still no one. I set my suitcase down and move to the back door. Where on Earth-?

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice asks sharply. I know that voice.

“Is that any way to treat a visitor?” I accuse lightly and open the door. “Thomas Shelby. It’s good to once again be of service.”

Same handsome smile. Same piercing blue eyes. As usual he’s dressed to the nines in a fine black suit. But this seems slightly fancier than usual.

“Hello, love.” He offers a hand and we shake. “‘S good to see your smile light up this place.”

I get straight to the point. “What happened? Why the dress-up?”

Thomas hangs his head and pulls out a cigarette. “Freddie’s dead. Pestilence.”

Dear Lord. Another death. Poor Ada, she was so happy with him.

I give a heavy sigh. “Why is it whenever I’m around the shadow of death follows me? I am so sorry. How’s Ada been?”

He takes a puff and a halo of smoke clouds his face. “She’s taking it fine, actually. Says she’s free now.”

“Acceptance is a vital stage of grief.”

He gives a small hum and passes me to walk into the kitchen. “How’s things in America?”

I guess that discussion is closed. “Much better now that my mother’s well. Though I wish I could say the same for my in-laws in Germany. They had to move back to the Netherlands since the economy’s been so run down.”

Thomas, as usual, reaches for a whiskey bottle I’ve brought. “I heard Prohibition is in full swing.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me. Father’s been taking a hit and we finally convinced him to open a speakeasy.”

He takes a drink and hums in approval. “‘S good to have you back.”

It’s sad to see Thomas hasn’t lost his gruff personality. If anything he’s just as cold as before. I suppose all hope of having a relationship higher than being his employee has withered in these long two years. But at least his heart has been given time to mend.

I haven’t seen Grace around in America… Though maybe that’s because as soon as I got home I had my brothers send out a warning to our contacts to keep her away from Brooklyn. In America we stand by loyalty and never forget.

“We’re expanding to London,” Thomas continues and I follow him towards the Bull Ring.

“Yes, your last letter hinted at that. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations can wait. The Garrison’s just been attacked.”

Seems that the Shelby’s lives are still violent as ever.

“Another mystery for Thomas Shelby to solve. Mind if I help?”

Thomas opens the door to let me through, then takes a drag from his cigarette and smirks. “It’d be a waste of a trip if you didn’t. Although some of us are still surprised you’ve held on this long.”

Shelby Company Limited is now officially on the door. There’s also new hired help. A few new bookkeepers and secretaries. But no familiar faces. 

“You can go catch up with the others while I go see to a lead,” Thomas says and gestures to the back office.

“Where are the others? Where’s Polly?”

“She and John are in the back. Better let her know you’re here or she’ll have my head. Finn too. They’ve missed you.” He pauses and seems to think over his next words. “We’ve all missed you.”

A warm smile creeps onto my face. “‘S good to feel wanted. I’m glad to be back.” I point to the new sign. “You’ve got your name on the door now.”

He nods. “‘S my office.” 

I raise a brow and tilt my head respectfully. “Impressive. It suits you.”

He opens the door and I stride in, literally walking into a conversation between Polly and John. Both of them haven’t noticed me yet. What I do see is that Finn has hidden himself under the table, trying to be part of the conversation. Sneaky lad.

“Six. Six questions since you’ve walked through that door,” the Romanian woman says. “Soon you’ll have to start being the man with the answers.”

“Why?” John asks.

Polly frowns. “Seven. Because when London happens you’ll have to hold up your end. Or we’ll find someone else who can.”

“He can do it,” I say, determined.

Both their heads whip around to spot me in the doorway. Beneath the table Finn’s eyes go wide and Polly breaks into a wide grin.

“Verena, love! Good to see you!” Polly rushes over and pulls me into a hug. “You made it over ok?”

“Yes yes, it was a dull trip.” I catch my breath from her death-like grip and smile at the young Shelby. “My goodness! Look at you! Finn, you grew like a weed! Might I say a fine young gentleman!”

Finn, wearing a sheepish smile, stands up from under the table. He holds out a hand and we both shake. “You talked with Thomas?”

“Briefly. He still as stubborn as before?”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me. Since you’re back now, does that mean…?”

I cannot stop smiling today! “Yes, Finn. I can set aside time for some more lessons. I thought you’d be sick of them  by now.”

He gawks at my words. “No way! I’ve missed them.”

Oh. I didn’t think they meant this much. But I suppose since his brothers have been so busy with the London expansion then Finn might get looked over now and then.

“Patience, Finn. I’m sure Verena’s tired from her travels.” Polly ushers him away and gestures for me to follow her out. “You have no idea what it’s been like to be the mother hen around here. Thanks so much for coming back. How’s your mum?”

“She’s recovered and hasn’t let it slow her down,” I answer. “And now my brother Abel-”

But a John pulls Polly over and I’m left alone. Um, good to be back? I guess I can wait in the kitchen until someone gives me further instructions. Patience, Verena. It’s been two long years. These people don’t need me busting in with catch-up chit chat. 

“Ugh.”

There’s no mistaking that grunt. Thomas must be back from his lead. I poke my head out and see my guess is correct. The gangster seems angered by something.

“You’re upset,” I observe, wanting an explanation.

Thomas grunts again and puffs on a cigarette. “Best for you to stay out of it.”

Oh. So much for clear communication. “Thank you for taking your anger somewhere else. Can I help with anything?”

“Apparently I’m the chosen one. Some Irish scum tried to shake me up.”

Irish. Possibly IRA. Uncle Colon would have told me if he was sending any contacts.

“You gonna call a family meeting?” A bit of my Brooklyn slang slips.

Thomas cracks a small smile at my accent. “Bingo. Would you mind making biscuits to go along with it? You have no idea how hard it’s been without them.”

I mock-curtesy and Thomas goes on to enter his office. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Shelby. When should I tell them to expect you?”

He gets to his desk and turns around. “Don’t bother with that. I’ll show up when I show up.”

Same old Thomas. God has graced his family with prosperity. Still I suppose time hasn’t been too kind on his heart for him to act so brash. So where do I come in?

Good to know the kitchen hasn't changed. How appropriate. My place remains doing what women do best: keeping house. Soon enough I mix up some dough for biscuits and bake the first batch just as Finn walks through for the family meeting.

“John and Arthur are on their way. You can join too.”

Word must travel fast. I quickly throw the hot cookies onto a plate and follow Finn into the back office. Finn begins pacing beside where Polly is standing. There are a few more standing in the back but I can’t put my finger on their names. Esme waits on the staircase, while the rest of the Shelby brothers are in front.

“Sit down, Finn,” Arthur instructs.

Finn obeys but is still antsy.

 “Where the bloody Hell is Tommy?” John asks impatiently.

“He’s on his way,” Polly answers sternly.

Arthur thinks for a moment and then stands up to fetch a wooden crate. “Well while we’re waiting so patiently.” He sets the crate on the table. “Whiskey.”

Now I step closer into the room to make my presence known, holding one of father’s bottles.

“If you’re looking for whiskey, might I suggest the Steenstra brand?” Both brothers look up and I give them a wave. “John, Arthur. You’re looking well.”

Behind their stern frowns their eyes lighten up and they each offer a quick hug.

“Good to have you back, Steenstra.” Arthur gladly takes the bottle and offers me a glass. “You still don’t drink, eh?”

“Only for special occasions.”

“And being reunited with the Peaky Blinders isn’t one?” Arthur replies. “Come on, Steenstra. Have a drink!”

I can’t help but give into his hospitality. “Very well.”

John passes over the glass with a small frown. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“She’s forgiven, John. She made biscuits!”

John’s attitude immediately changes and he pulls over the plate I’ve brought. Finn joins in on drinking as well but I keep my mouth shut. I settle down next to him just as John gets up to address us.

“Before Tommy gets here I think there’s a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us.”

Polly scoffs. “You think?”

John nods. “Yeah. I want to know… when did we all take a vote on this expansion south?”

This doesn’t sound right. “You mean the move to London wasn’t a group decision?”

Esme speaks up. “Should she be here?” 

She gives John a look and he mulls over the idea. “Um, maybe-”

“Shut it,” Finn interrupts sharply. “Verena’s the one who taught me to think, not you. She stays.”

John looks at the floor and nods. “Right then. Now, I see all the books. Shelby Company Limited has been making 150 pounds a day. Sometimes more. Why are we changing things?”

Finn considers this with a serious expression. I’m glad to see my teachings about economics haven’t gone wasted. John and Polly bicker some more and Esme tries to butt in. If only someone would tell me about what the Hell is going on then maybe I could do something besides make biscuits.

Just then Thomas walks in and the arguing stops.

“Everyone’s allowed to speak. On your feet, Esme. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

She stands up from her place on the stairs but John begins before she can speak.

“I speak for our household. So-”

Thomas won’t have it. “John, this is a modern enterprise that believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme.”

My, Thomas has changed. He’s allowing more outside opinions. Women’s ones, at that. In some places back home it’s like pulling teeth to even win a conversation against a man about what shoe polish is better. But I know better. Grace left a bigger mark on him that he’ll care to admit.

Esme takes a breath and sets her jaw straight. “‘M not a bloody member of this family, but perhaps that can allow me to see things in a different light. I have kin in Shepherd's Bush and Portobello. It’s more like wars between armies down there. I want to raise my child somewhere with no violence.” She glares defiantly at Thomas. “London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas. That’s all I have to say.”

“That was a lot of words.”

Arthur offers a glass. “Wash ‘em down with a drink.”

Thomas nods in response. “Thank you, Esme. Firstly, the bang in the pub had nothing to do with London. Understood? That is something I’m dealing with on my own. Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion so long as we stick together.” He gestures to where I’m sitting. “Our dear ally and friend Verena is joining us for this, so we will have strength in numbers. After the first few weeks, nine-tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”

His brother nods. “That’s right.”

“Some of you in this room have discussed your reservations,” Thomas addresses. “Fair enough. If any of you don’t want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door. Right now. For those of you with ambition, expansion begins tomorrow.”

John’s itching to say something but remains silent. Polly still looks torn about the matter but Arthur seems fine with it and celebrates with another drink. Finn rubs his head and soon both he and Thomas are looking at me expectantly. The answer is obvious.

“I just traveled thousands of miles to get back to work. I’m not backing out now.”

Finn lets out a sigh of relief and his older brother slowly claps. Family or not, I’ve just dug myself deeper into this crazy world.

“Welcome back, Ms. Steenstra.”

[arsenal-womens-1]

Chapter 23 page 28

Page 28. I’m stuck on page 28 because I know when I turn to page 29, she won’t be there. We have to pretend we never dated or knew each other. How can I forget our story? It had just started; it wasn’t time for it to end. In the ideal world, it wouldn’t. But here I am, sitting next to her as if we didn’t just spend the last two and a half years loving each other. I still love her with all my heart; I think I will forever.

I met Georgia when we were young; we grew up together. It wasn’t until 2020 that anything happened between us. Through the whole of the lockdown, we were something, and for two years after, we were together. We were the only ones to know. Now she’s leaving to go live in Germany, and I’m going to Spain with one of her best friends, Lucy. I know I should be happy; I mean, I’m going to be playing for Barcelona, the team I’ve always wished to play for. But now I want to go with her, but I can’t.

I understand why she has never told the world about her sexuality, but her teammates, I don’t get. Getting dragged back to the present as one of the girls says something about crashing Serena’s interview. We all form a line and start singing, shouting, "It’s coming home," barging through the doors. We go around the table; Mary and Lucy get up on the table and do some sort of dance. For being the TikTok queen, Mary doesn’t know how to dance the best. I can’t really say anything; I can’t dance to save my life.

Rushing out of the conference room, we go back to the changing room. A few split off to go outside wailing; some of the German girls walk past. I walk into the locker room to see a bunch of girls dancing to "Every Time We Touch." Hanna is sitting in her cubby; I decide to sit next to her. We don’t say anything to each other. After about half an hour and a lot of alcohol later, someone walks in and tells us that the bus is outside.

We all pack up our stuff and make our way onto it, deciding to sit away from the girls. I know I will get questioned about it, but I need to think. My signing for Barcelona isn’t public yet as I’ve not actually signed it yet. I’m flying out after Trafalgar Square; I’ll be stopping there for the day, then going to Ibiza for a day or two, then back to Manchester to pack up the rest of my stuff. I know the fans are going to be devastated as they want me to stay.

Laying my head against the window, the cold cools down my face. I watch silently as the bus pulls away, leaving behind a whirlwind of emotions, knowing that the next chapters of my life were about to unfold in ways I couldn't yet predict.

We pass fans coming out of Wembley Way. I still can’t believe what we have just done; we are on top of Europe; we won. We actually won. This whole last three months have felt like a dream, from getting called up to playing in the first match to winning the whole thing.

Closing my eyes, I just listen to the girls, the staff, and the outside. After a bit, the bus stops; the sound of the doors opening tells me that we are at the hotel. I wait for everyone to get out before getting off. There are people with cameras all over the place. Getting in front of the hotel fast, all our friends and family are waiting for us. A few run to their friends and family, others walk. I just stand there; mum and dad aren’t here as they had work.

I stand, watching everyone reunite with their friends and family. I couldn't shake the bittersweet feeling that this moment marked both an end and a beginning of an era. Jill and Ellen are retiring, but that means there will be new talent going up to the bar they have.

I get six shots of vodka; I take three and walk over to Ella and Alesia and hand them one. I promised them if we won I would buy them a shot; technically, I haven’t bought them one, but it’s the same thing. A bottle of gin is passed to us; I down a bit.

Feeling something cold against my back, I open my eyes; the sun shines straight into them. What? Looking around, by the look of it, I am outside. I can see the hotel. Getting off whatever I’m on, I look back at what I was on. Where did I get a pink flamingo pool float from?

The last thing I remember was at 3 am; one of Ella or Alesia’s friends was on the table. Why was she on the table? Why am I outside walking slowly up to the hotel? My head is banging, and I feel like I’m about to throw my guts up. I’m never drinking again. Finally, I make it back to the hotel to see about sixty people.

Eating, all them very quiet heads turn when they hear the door open. Slapping my hand over my mouth, I run to the nearest bathroom. After a minute or to I stop throwing up, clinging to the wall I push my self up walking back to the room. People turn to see who it was a few look concerned, and others are amused.

I need to find Ella and Alesia. One to see if there OK and two to find out where I got the flamingo from and why I was asleep outside. But first, a glass of water and some paracetamol and ibuprofen seeing a table of bottle water and boxes of paracetamol and ibuprofen I take some. I looked up as someone walked into the room. It was Ella and Alesia—I didn’t need to go looking for them.

“Hey, girls,” I greeted them. They mumbled a quiet “hi” in response. “I need to ask you something.” Ella nodded, prompting me to continue. “One, why was I asleep outside? And two, where did I get a pink flamingo pool float from?” Confusion was evident on both their faces. Alesia spoke up, “What pink flamingo? And what do you mean, you slept outside? You went to bed around 4.” She struggled to hold back laughter as she recounted this. Now, I was even more confused.

“What do you mean you don’t know where I got it from? And how did I end up outside if I went to bed?” They both tried hard not to laugh but looked genuinely perplexed. “Well, when Alesia and I left you in your room, you had just stopped crying about something. You weren’t making much sense by then.”

After hearing their explanation, I rubbed my temples, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of last night, wondering how everything had spiraled into such a blur.

"Okay, thanks for bringing me to my room." Walking to my room to try and piece some of this together and try to find my phone, getting to the hall of my room I see Jess, Carter, and someone else passed out in the hall. Opening my room door, everything looks normal; my phone is on the bed. Going over, I open it; I see a crap ton of Instagram notifications. Opening the app, I go on the notification thing and see I posted a story at 3:56 am, so just before I went to bed. You can’t really see much; all you can see is me, Ella, Alesia, Lotte, Georgia, and Ellie. Maybe one of them knows.

Walking into the bathroom, I look in the mirror. It’s then I realize I’ve got a hickey. I remember someone knocked on the door; I let them in. But who was it?

[headingalaxys-sweet]

Spooky Season Shenanigans for the Nekos Part 1

America-Cat 

He begins to gather clumps from his litter box and soil that is damp from the backyard. America cat has taken some of his owners socks which he uses as casings to store his ‘ammunition’. This crazy cat is even in the midst of crafting an underground lair of sorts. He’s stored a few long lighters, fireworks, toilet paper rolls, eggs he’s brought to ‘ferment’, masks, costumes, etc. America cat is going to be putting on an entire production. If he already wasn’t the King of Halloween this will make him the king now for like ever meow! 

Canada-Cat 

Has gone to cat markets, candle shops, and bakeries where cat’s all over the world come to visit when Sept 1st hits. There is one shop in particular that sells this legendary Maple Fish Cake, which only available during this time of year. They’re so popular in fact that they have to limit cats with only being able to purchase 5 of these specialty cakes for the season. [Yes, there were many years where scammer cats hoarded the entire stock of cakes in the morning. They’d mark up the price of them 300% to say that ridiculous is an understatement but the cakes are that yummy. And they may or may not have a special cat-nip lacd in them] 

Canada-cat tentatively passes by the costume shops debating with himself on if he’s going to attend his brothers cat’s annual Halloween party and prank-a-thon. 

China-Cat

Busy raiding his owners' pastry / cookbooks to make an entire special Fall menu of food for the season. He will do more to spend time in the sun while it still lasts. China-cat wants his dark chestnut fur to get nice and toasty so he can store it away for the Winter months. [So his old bones don’t get frozen and brittle.] China-cats favorite pass time is to go to Yi Dian Dian & The Alley once or twice a day to get a hot or cold milk tea that occasionally has Boba in it. 

England-Cat 

His tail will be flicking back and forth lowly on the carpet. The season where he got to be on the fresh grass or out on the open sea. When he daydreamed about the wide open waters he thought about the days that he was a mouser alongside his swashbuckling and commanding owner. As England cat was in the midst of his thoughts clouds made the sky darker and the air became colder. When his head rises he was able to catch the last milliseconds of a lightning boldt. He hears low chattering rising from the basement. 

‘Arthur must be at it again so he can try to win Halloween this year against that Yank. I guess now is a good time for me to maybe get ready for America cats shenanigans this year as well.’

France-Cat

He’d invited ‘Charmy Chartreux,’ a famous cat known for doing home holiday decorating, planning, and execution. By the time Spet rolls around, France cat will be ready for the season of the spooky but make it posh & elegant. Tangerine tea lights, pumpkins with the flur de lese, macaroons, & the Eiffel Tower carved into them. He even managed to make a deal with Canada-Cat to have a shipment of Maple Fish Cakes sent to him. 

Germany-Cat 

Planning safety guides for cats and what to do when you’ve had too much cat-nip contingent plans. He knows America-cat is planning an insane rager complete with ill-advised pranks, stunts, and performances all meant to stroke his ego. Germany-cat also makes note to buy extra sausages, treats, and Apfelsaft (Apple Juice—just make it sparkling). He does this so no cat is on an empty stomach and has its whiskers twisted by catnip. 

Italy Cats 

They haven’t thought about Halloween all that much. They’re just vibing with the season changes. The crisper air carried the fresh scent of harvested grapes, olives, pumpkins, etc. The two of them love stealing Felicianos tortelli di zucca (pumpkin soup), minestrone, and strudel di mele. 

“Germany! Germany! Help me! The kitties have run a-way with my delicious food again!” 

Japan-Cat 

Yet, another cat who loves to watch the season transition into the next. He adores watching the thousands of leaves float down to the ground. The mesmerizing colors of the fall leaves are cornsilk, fawn, midnight greens, and burnt oranges. All these colors melded together to create a beautiful scene that is ephemeral and sort of angelic in a way. Japan-cat has a special stash of tuna that he likes to eat when he finds a magnificent view. 

While he eats he’s working out how he’ll survive another America-cat rager. 

Russia-Cat 

Happily roaming the streets receiving belly rubs, scratchies, and treats from the last of the summertime tourists. Halloween only seems to come to his mind when his owner mentions it or begins to decorate for it mid-September. When Ivan does begin to get the decorations out Russia-cat gets far too comfortable in the organs of one of the pumpkins Ivan has made. 

“Really, my little cat?” He crouches down to pet his loveable but somewhat mischievous cat. 

“Meow.” (Da.) Russia-cats beady eyes will be looking at Ivan like: “I’m cute and a cat. What are you not understanding? I’m number one now, BELLY RUBS human BELLY RUBS!” 

[iftheshoef1tz]

Ahoy! For Halloween, I thought I’d give you all a teaser for my latest project. 😈

Eris Vanserra is a young doctor in West Germany in 1968. After learning his mother has been keeping the old ways behind the back of his deeply religious, deeply abusive father, Eris decides the easiest, most direct way to vengeance is by summoning a demon. This scene takes place in Grunewald, a forest in West Berlin, where Eris summons said demon. This will be, of course, Azris, so y’all know who the demon is.

Special thanks to @queercontrarian who helped me develop this idea by suggesting it take place during the ‘68 riots in West Germany in the first place and who is also indispensable as a translator. This is unedited and unbetaed and will likely change its form before i actually post this thing. Enjoy!!

A break in the trees reveals the lit-up summit of Teufelsberg. He can’t quite see the three dome radio towers, but he knows they’re there. He’d seen them up close only once, when he’d gone skiing three years ago. It had made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, to be so close to the machinations of the American secret intelligence apparatus.

Now, though, there isn’t any snow, only the wet squelching of fallen, rotting leaves beneath his bike tires.

It had been easy enough to find his mother’s book, in the end – it had been in the kitchen next to the cookbooks. A smart hiding place, one Beron would never think to look for something important.

Decoding it had taken somewhat longer. It was handwritten in shaky cursive, sometimes in what seemed to be Middle German, and Eris had risked eye strain trying to tell the writer’s vowels apart. But there, hidden among recipes for poultices and medicines for pain or fertility, is a three line recipe, as it were.

The cold October air whips Eris’s hair into his face as he mouths the words to himself: ich beschwöre euch, Dämon. Gebt mir eine wahre und getreue Antwort, sodass ich an mein ersehntes Ziel gelange. Ich beschwöre euch.

It’s not the original Middle German, of course; Eris is on the other side of the Luther’s ninety-nine theses and he trusts his pronunciation of modern German much more than the other. It had occurred to him that the translation might affect which demon answered his call, but in the end, he had decided it didn’t matter. This was all a fool’s errand, regardless.

He laughs once at himself. It clouds around his mouth before being blown away by the wind. Rain is in the air, and he needs to get this idiocy out of his system before then.

It’s the kind of rebellion he has never had the time or energy for, and he feels as though he’s tilting at windmills. If he were a braver man, he’d simply murder his father himself.

Eventually, he feels he’s reached deep enough in the forest, and he slips off his bicycle. He hesitates before simply resting it against a nearby tree. Yes, it’s technically visible from the path, but it’s nearly eleven at night in the middle of a bloody forest. No one is around to steal it.

Leaves and branches crunch beneath his feet like rusty, crackling laughter, and he feels foolish again. He can turn around now, be back in his apartment by midnight, and not have his landlady be any the wiser.

But something pulls him deeper into the loamy dark, his torch beam hardly piercing the darkness around him.

Eventually, it is only Eris and his stupid quest in the dark of Grunewald, and he draws to a halt. It takes only a moment to kick away leaves and clear a small section of grass, and he slides a glass jar from his backpack.

The recipe had called for chalk or dirt, and he uses dirt he’d collected from the farm to draw a circle in the cleared space. It’s wobbly, and he swipes at his mouth in irritation. The motion leaves dirt on Eris’s face; he can feel it but doesn’t care.

Next is another small jar, with two slender sticks of incense. He’d stolen them from Nesta last week and figures the scent of cedar would be least offensive to a demon. It’s incredible how much effort he’s put into something so stupid. Perhaps, he thinks with a wry twist of his lips as he eases into sitting position, he should start considering that he’s doing this after all.

The circle is barely visible in the torchlight, and the lit end of the stick of incense also seems to disappear into the clutching dark. He is alone here in the dark woods.

Eris shuts his eyes against the sudden lurch of fear and inhales once through his nose. He exhales, then repeats. On the third breath, he murmurs, “I invoke thee, demon.”

The silence thickens around him.

“Give me a true and faithful answer,” he continues, his gloved hands clenching in his lap. “So that I may accomplish my desired end.”

The wind breaks the silence suddenly, moaning through the trees. The sound of it through the leaves sounds like a snake’s hiss, sharp and violent. Eris is alone and cold here, and no one will notice he is missing if something goes wrong.

“I invoke thee,” Eris forces himself to finish, barely above a whisper.

A faint shudder rolls through the earth, or maybe it’s just Eris himself, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut. Would it be better or worse to open his eyes and find that his words have brought him nothing but embarrassment?

After a moment, the wind dies down, and Eris cracks his eyes open.

He is alone. The incense is no longer burning, its embers quenched by the hissing wind.

“‘I invoke thee,’” he snarls to himself and rushing to his feet. He kicks through the wobbly line of the dirt invoking circle, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Bullshit.”

[…]

He turns to look behind him, his fear from earlier returning. It’s thick along the back of his tongue as he watches two perfectly round lights bob up the road towards him. He pauses, one foot sliding in the mud just off the road, as the tremulous lights steady and the rumble of a car engine reaches him.

Thank God, he thinks acidly. What a day it would be if demons weren’t real but aliens were.

The rumble grows closer, and Eris sticks out a thumb, slick and shining in the car’s headlights. It slows as it reaches Eris before finally stopping in front of him. The driver is revealed bit by bit as he rolls the window down – dark hair flopped carelessly across his forehead, piercing hazel eyes underlined by heavy bags.

“You lost?” the man says. His German is accented in a way Eris can’t quite place.

“My bike was stolen,” Eris says, not bothering to hide his shiver. “Could I trouble you - ”

“Get in.”

Eris blinks in surprise at the quick acceptance, but the man is leaning back in his seat as if he picks up strangers in the dark woods every day.

He slips into the car, winding the window shut as fast as possible. The storm spits a last few drops into his face, and he collapses back into his seat. The inside of the car is too warm, the heat turned up nearly to the maximum. The engine purrs beneath Eris’s feet when the man takes off, and Eris watches the man’s hand resting on the gear shift.

The skin looks waxy, and Eris recognizes them for the burn scars they are. He has the strange impulse to touch them, to make sure they are real in a way nothing else has felt tonight.

“What were you doing out here so late at night?”

Something in Eris rebels at the patronizing tone, but he quashes any visible reaction beyond pushing his sodden hair from his face. When he looks over, the man’s hazel eyes are so dark as to seem black.

Blandly, he replies, “Biking.”

The man laughs, just one short burst. “Of course.”

“Thank you for the lift,” Eris says. He arranges himself in a way he knows makes him appear smaller, more delicate. It angles him more fully towards the man and shows off the curve of his hip. Some men like that, Eris knows, especially when they don’t like to like men. “I was dreading walking home in the dark by myself.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” He smooths a hand down the front of his sweater.

The man waves a dismissive hand at Eris, encompassing his whole body. It somehow manages to make Eris feel brutally naked, and he curls into himself with no coquetry in the motion. “Don’t do that thing you did just then. Make yourself so – ”

“I - ” The word falls pathetically from Eris’s mouth as more half-formed excuses pile up on his tongue. Maybe the man is a policeman or part of the secret service, and Eris has just broadcast his willingness to spread his legs for another man. God, maybe he’s an American.

Eris waits, breath trapped in his throat. But the man never finishes his sentence, and his hand falls to the gear shift again. The engine rumbles beneath them, knocking Eris’s thoughts into one another.

Beron will kill him if he’s arrested for this. He might kill his mother, too, for breeding such a deviant. It doesn’t even occur to him to be afraid that this man might kill him for the offer, which, despite it’s immediacy, lacks any real teeth.

“I think I can walk from here.” Eris is proud his voice doesn’t tremble; his hands are steady, too.

In response, the man purses his lips. He doesn’t pull over, though, and Eris thinks he might vomit. At least if his body turns up at some point in the future, no one will know he was with a man before this. The thought makes a hysterical laugh well up in his throat, competing with his excuses trapped there.

He wishes, suddenly, pathetically, for Nesta.

“Do you know anyplace quiet we could go to?”

The man’s voice is almost covered by the engine, and Eris has to swallow once, twice, before he says, putting a little of Beron’s sternness in his voice, “I’m not taking you home with me.”

At this, the man turns his head towards Eris. They pass under the first street lamp of the main road, and Eris narrowly bites back a gasp.

Eyes black as coal with no white showing, the demon says, “I think you and I have some things to talk about.”

[marimayscarlett]

I sometimes wonder if where Richard lives is somewhere close to where the guys used to hang out in the early days. Prenzlauer Berg isn't that big, so I'm curious if there's any significance to the building because before he bought it, it wasn't much of anything (like most of PB).

It kinda sucks that early Rammstein days are not that well documented, at least not as extensively as Feeling B. I'm sure Paul has loads of photos, but no one filmed them that much.

Hi 👋

As a matter of fact, Richard apparently really does live close to precisely two locations which were rather significant in the early days of Rammstein.

In this interview, it is mentioned that his house is located near the spot where the Knaack Club existed. Here, Rammstein played their first concerts in the beginning of their career as well as when they were already very popular - this location doesn't seem to be that important to Richard, but the second one which is mentioned: near the Knaack Club, the former rehearsal room of Rammstein was located, which holds fond memories for him.

[Rammstein at the Knaack Club in 2004. They played three concerts to present their new album "Reise Reise" to their fans]

It's interesting to note that despite having lived at Prenzlauer Berg very early on (he moved there for I think two years when he was 19, but felt very lonely in this part of the city and spend most of his time playing guitar, mentioned here) and many memories were made there, Richard really isn't a big fan of the city. He mentioned numerous times that Berlin striked him as cold and elitist and doesn't overly feel like home, at least when he moved back there after his time in New York. Slowly he warmed up to the city, he doesn't really know where else he should live in Germany (mentioned here) and as a father, Richard is amazed how many playgrounds there are in Prenzlauer Berg 😊

Prenzlauer Berg in general is apparently in the process of heavy gentrification (a reason why the Knaack Club had to close its doors), which Richard heavily critizes, and he thinks that Prenzlauer Berg got rather boring now that a lot of artists can't afford the rent anymore. If he hadn't any personal relations to this district, he would've most likely live in Kreuzberg.

I don't know if the building held any significance before Richard bought it - he once mentioned that he actually didn't like the building in the beginning and only bought it because of the rooftop 😅

Regarding the documentation about the early Rammstein days: it really is noticeable that Feeling B has an extensive "archive" with videos and picture materials as well as a whole book ("Mix mir einen Drink") dedicated to their history. The book holds some information about the formation of Rammstein, but not a lot. There are two documentaries about punk music in the GDR in general, which also has some Rammstein/pre-Rammstein information (I can sadly only link the trailers since you have to buy them to watch them):

"flüstern & SCHREIEN - Ein Rockreport"

"ACHTUNG! WIR KOMMEN. UND WIR KRIEGEN EUCH ALLE."

A fotobook with Paul's pre-Rammstein pictures would be very informative, as well as some more picture material of the numerous other bands the band members originated from (Orgasm Death Gimmick, Die Firma, Das elegante Chaos, The Inchtabokatables and more). Well, we can dream 😊

[goldielia]

chicago

a part of: yeah, i like you au

connor didn’t think vienna would show up. it was june and he knew the summers liked to travel europe, especially since noah had moved to germany for his soccer. but here he was, in nashville, wearing his suit that he knew had her name embroidered into the lining right over his heart with the rest of his family. and there she was, stepping into his hotel room wearing a black dress and a red lip and her beloved dark red converse and he still couldn’t really believe she was here.

his nerves feel calmer instantly, like the blackhawks know now that vienna summers is here with connor they’re going to pick him. she still feels the exact same when she steps into his embrace. the way his arms fit right around her waist, his nose pressing to her neck while her arms encase his shoulders with just the right amout of pressure to feel loved but not painful yet. even the way she still smells like that perfume he’s pretty sure his mom gifted her a few years ago.

“what are you doing here?” he breathes out after a few minutes. “i don’t know, some guy i used to know is going first overall today and his parents flew me out” he knows she’s smiling without even having to move his head. “you don’t know i’ll go first” he mumbles, anxiety suddenly coming back at full force. “no, i don’t. but i think you will. and you’d deserve it.” he can’t help but pout when she pulls back from their hug to take his jaw into her hands and look straight in his eyes.

“no matter when you’re picked. no matter if you’re picked. i’m so, so proud of you. you understand me?” viennas smile when he nods his head brings the butterflies straight back to his stomach. the butterflies he thinks have always been there, just not at full force, but ever since he took her to prom a few weeks ago they feel different, stronger.

“good, because i have a surprise for you. actually two” she reaches into her bag and presses a bracelet into his hands. it’s white with small red hearts and he can tell she made it herself. when he takes it out of her palm he notices she’s wearing a matching one, only with bigger hearts. “will you put it on me?” he asks, voice a quiet murmur because in this moment every softest sound feels like it’s too loud.

“of course.” she answers just as softly. her gentle hands work quickly and tie the bracelet around his wrist, fastening it to fit properly. “what’s the second surprise?” he asks after he’s examined his wrist with the bracelet on and decided he likes the look of it. the look of them belonging together. “well, you know how i’ll go to college in the fall, right?” he nods, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“i applied to chemistry programs in every city that was in contention for first pick” she whispers into the space between them. “there’s a really good undergrad chemistry program at uchicago. and they’d want me on their soccer team. full scholarship. maybe, after tonight, you’re gonna need a roomie in chicago?” she smiles up at him timidly.

he feels hot and cold at the same time. the girl that he’s been watching the stars with since they were four years old, the girl that was with him every step of the way, no matter if he was three streets down or thousands of miles away, wants to continue living her life with him in it. is willing to base a decision as important as college on his career. willing to move to a different city, hell a different country to be with him.

“i haven’t confirmed anything, if you don’t want me to i have a few other schools i could go to, i’m sorry for even-” her remaining words are muffled by the fabric of his suit. “you’d do that?” he whispers breathlessly into the hug. “you’d come with me?” and she laughs wetly, “connor, i think i’d come to the ends of the earth with you” and he has to squeeze her tighter at that.

it takes about three pleas to convince his mom to let vienna sit next to him in their row. he’s been asked a few times if she was his girlfriend but not at all as many as she had feared. madi figures it helps that the matching bracelet is hidden beneath his suit jacket and shirt sleeve. the two girls stick closely together anyway, always having been close and not wanting to bother connor too much but equally as much wanting to support the boy they’ve both loved for as long as they could remember.

she doesnt’t think holding his hand would be smart with the way hundreds of cameras are pointed towards connor from the second he arrived, so she settles for linking her ankle with his. when the blackhawks representative steps up on the stage her breath is stolen out of her lungs. her fingers tap on her thighs and fiddle with the hem of her dress mindlessly until he starts speaking.

the breath she’s holding releases with a laugh before the man can even finish the word regina and as soon as connors name sounds through the room she’s up, waits for him to hug his family first though before he turns to her and wraps her up in a lingering hug. “thank you, cherry. could not have made it here without you.” “t’was all you, con. all you” there’s tears shining in her eyes when they pull away and madi has her arm around viennas waist within seconds.

connor throws her a wink with a smiley “don’t cry” over his shoulder before he makes his way towards the stage. before he even has the jersey over his head vienna has her phone out already and confirms to uchicago that yes, she will enroll there in the fall and yes, she will play soccer. madi and connors mom smile at her, pull her into a tight hug as the three of them giggle. their favourite boy made it and vienna’s going with him.

the following hours are a little much for vienna, which she knew beforehand. there’s so many people and so much happening but the second they step out of the venue and towards the car she feels calmer. the family dinner they have at the hotel restaurant feels a lot more comfortable than basically the whole evening and when she asks connors dad for the keys to their rental car and if she can steal his son for a couple hours, no bedard could’ve said no to her.

they’re quiet on the drive, nashville looking mesmerizing at night and both of them having to process what happened today. she’s put some quiet instrumental music on, he knows it’s taylor swift songs on the piano because it’s what she likes to listen to while studying. she makes a quick stop for ice cream at the mcdonald’s drive through, ordering both their favourites on autopilot even after they haven’t gotten them together in years.

he eats his ice cream and alternates between staring at her and the city that’s getting smaller and smaller behind them until she parks the car somewhere out of it. he doesn’t realize why until she opens the sunroof and reclines her seat. his throat constricts as his breath hitches at the familiarity of it all.

he can’t recount how many nights he’d spent just like this. vienna and him under a sky full of stars with their favourite snacks. there’s the butterflies again. they’re always there, he’s noticed. when vienna’s there, when something reminds him of her, when someone mentions her. the little tickles in his stomach are her constant companion.

whenever people talked about butterflies in his stomach when he was younger, he envisioned a slightly uncomfortable sensation. what he’s feeling now is anything but uncomfortable though. it’s the same feeling he’s had around vienna for his whole life, or at least for as long as he can remember and it’s nowhere near uncomfortable.

he finds he likes the butterflies even more when he slides his hand in hers. there’s tears in his eyes now and fuck, he promised himself he wouldn’t cry in front of anyone else on his draft day, only allowed himself a few happy tears in the bathroom when he found a quiet moment. but vienna’s gentle with him, just as she always has been, squeezes his hand once before her other comes up to wipe his tears away.

when vienna has showed him all the constellations she can find on this particular night, they make their way back to the hotel. she drives slow on purpose, he knows, because they don’t have moments like this often anymore and it gets him excited for when she’ll start college in chicago. he makes a mental note to start looking for apartments near campus and the arena, thinks he needs to make sure they have a terrace or balcony to watch the city from.

there’s no hesitation when they make their way back to the hotel. she makes a quick detour to her room, grabs a small bag with the things she’ll need to sleep over and then slips right into connors room with him.

when they’re lying next to each other and connor watches vienna fall asleep in his shirt he can’t help but feel lucky. he went first overall and he’ll get to share his space and his life with his favourite girl again.

[amoromniaodium]

Slow Horses

Irina Agapov (OC x River Cartwright)

Irina Shayk as Irina Agapov

Jack Lowden as River Cartwright

Gary Oldman as Jackson Lamb

The rest of the cast as themselves

Introduction

When Irina was a young girl, too young to remember everything clearly, her mother brought home a British spy. It’s important to note that Irina did not know who he was until years later. He was very different from the usual men her mother brought around. For one, he wasn’t Russian. He was smaller than the typical Eastern European men, and when he spoke Russian, his accent made her giggle. Even at her young age, Irina could tell that he was dangerously charismatic. After his third visit, her father disappeared and was never found. Her babushka told her he had died for Mother Russia, but Irina knew, even as a child, that it was really the strangely charismatic man with the piercing glare—his eyes, blue like the deepest part of the ocean—that was responsible. That’s the only thing she truly remembered about him: the eyes.

Later, her mother and she left Germany for England to start a new life. However, at that time, England was not kind to Russian immigrants. It was there that Irina learned to build masks and switch between them quickly. She developed an ability to read situations and analyze human reactions—skills honed while running from bullies, but some would say they were passed down by her father and grandfathers, all men involved in the world of espionage. So it was no surprise that the same man who visited her mother when she was young continued to keep an eye on Irina—until she disappeared to America at the age of 16.

Jackson Lamb knew deep down that little Irina was going to be a problem. He just never realized what kind, until it was too late.

—-

Irina has worked worldwide for government agencies and private companies in need of her services. Her exploits, as terrifying as they are magnificent, are in high demand everywhere. However, when she learned that Jackson Lamb now works at Slough House—and has for years—she couldn’t resist visiting him. She had also heard that he had grown particularly attached to his group of misfits, especially one named Standish. Finding work in London wouldn’t be difficult for Irina, but the real issue was that this particular group of incompetents would somehow worm their way into her cold-blooded heart, especially one River Cartwright, whose grandfather she despises.

This is the story of how a little Russian girl became one of the most feared assassins, but if you were able to find a way into her cold heart, she would be willing to do anything for you.

This is the story of River Cartwright, a kind and gentle soul whose stupidity might outweigh his competence, but whose love will bring about great change.

This is the story of Jackson Lamb and the little Russian girl with big green eyes—whom he was never able to forget, but wishes he could.

This is the story of the Slow Horses, whose incompetence may make them the best agents in MI5—if only they had one superhuman addition.

This is the story of Lady Di, who will regret knowing Jackson Lamb for the rest of her life.

——

Preview:

"What happened to you? You used to be an extremely attractive man."

"And how would you know? You were only five years old."

“River Cartwright, you say? Cartwright, as in…?"

"Ah, yes, you know my grandfather?" River replied.

Irina couldn’t help but burst into laughter—not a soft, elegant laugh, but the kind you get when you realize that karma has delivered a perfect blow to your biggest enemy.

"Ah, perfect! The old bastard’s grandson in Slough House—this is better than anything I could have done to him. How did he react when you told him?"

River wasn’t sure how to respond.

"No, don’t tell me. I’ll let my imagination run wild for the next two months. Thank you, you’ve truly brought me joy," she said before brushing past him to go upstairs, shouting, "Lamb, Lamb! Please tell me you have a picture of the—"

River didn’t hear the rest, but he could guess where she was going. The only thing he managed to say, five minutes too late, was "You’re welcome."

He wasn’t sure if it was her confidence, perfect posture, perfume, or her face that made his brain slow down, but he knew one thing: her presence here was definitely not going to help his chances of getting back to the Park.

[usafphantom2]

NATO’s E-3 Sentry AWACS are Now Operating from Norway’s Rygge Air Base

The AWACS, described as NATO’s ‘eyes in the skies’, usually employed Ørland as forward base, however this time it was decided to deploy the aircraft to Rygge, with at least two E-3s already operating from there.

Parth Satam

A NATO E-3 Sentry AWACS arrives at Norway’s Rygge Air Station in connection with Nordic Response 2024. (Image credit: Onar Dignes Ase/Forsvaret)

The Norwegian military announced last week that its Rygge air base, in the southern part of the country, will begin frequently hosting NATO’s E-3 Sentry AWACS (Airborne Warning and Control System) aircraft. This is owing to the unavailability of the runway at Ørland in western Norway, which led to Rygge being chosen, the statement from the Norwegian Armed Forces said on Aug. 22, 2024.

Interestingly, the notice came a day prior to the threat alert at the NATO air base in Geilenkirchen, in far-western Germany, on Aug. 23, which saw personnel being evacuated until the alert was deactivated. The base is home to the NAEW&CF (NATO Airborne Early Warning and Control Force) E-3A Component.

Subsequent reports by German media said that the alert was owing to indications of “preparatory actions for a likely Russian act of sabotage,” although a NATO spokesperson later denied. “The word Russia was never mentioned,” said the spokesperson to Reuters. “We talked about a threat caused by drones.”

E-3s from the NAEW&CF had already operated from Rygge during the Nordic Response 2024 exercise, held from Feb. 26 to Mar. 15. Flight tracking data three days after the announcement, on Aug. 25, also showed an E-3 Sentry (callsign NATO40) operating between Rygge and Denmark over the North Sea. Again on Aug. 28 and Aug. 29, two E-3s (callsigns NATO01 and NATO06) were circling the length from northern Norway over the Norwegian Sea to northern Germany in two separate routes, operating from Rygge.

Nordic Response was the name given to the Norwegian military’s annual Cold Response series of maneuvers, after it was expanded to include Finland and Sweden, following their accession to NATO. Nordic Response itself was a part of the broader Steadfast Defender exercise.

‘E-3s to become a Common Sight at Rygge’

According to the statement by the Norwegian Armed Forces, “Several aircraft of the type E-3A AWACS will operate from Rygge air station in the coming weeks.” Usually, the AWACS are “periodically stationed at Ørland air station, as a forward base for NATO.” The decision to relocate them to Rygge is owing to unavailability of the runway at Ørland for AWACS operations, said the press release without providing details.

“From their main base in Germany, the E-3 aircraft “are regularly seen over and in Norway for shorter missions, where they exercise and train together with allied and Norwegian military forces.” Ørland Air Station meanwhile is the RNoAF’s (Royal Norwegian Air Force) main F-35 base, which is expected to receive all its Lightning IIs by 2025.

Another shot of the E-3 Sentry AWACS at Rygge during Nordic Response 2024. (Image credit: Onar Dignes Ase/Forsvaret).

“Our role is to facilitate and support AWACS operations from Rygge air station. We are well prepared for the mission, and look forward to receiving both aircraft, personnel and equipment,” said Colonel Thomas Orud Harlem, commander of 134 Air Wing, in the press release. The Wing has a helicopter unit that operates the Bell 412, besides being home to Air Force Training and Air Force Operations Inspectorates.

Nordic Response 2024

As mentioned before, NATO E-3As last operated from Rygge during the Nordic Response exercise between February and March this year. NATO said that at Rygge, during the drills, the participating countries operated two E-3A AWACS planes.

“The E-3A aircraft is often referred to as NATO’s ‘eyes in the skies’,” noted NATO’s press release. “This is due to its capability to detect air and sea movements hundreds of kilometers away. This data is shared with NATO commanders to provide them with a shared understanding of activities that take place in areas of particular concern.”

This year’s expanded version of the exercise saw the participation of over 20,000 soldiers from 13 allied nations. Of these, approximately 10,000 exercised on land and were the most visible during the exercise. The participating countries included Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Norway, Spain, Sweden, the United Kingdom, and the United States.

More than 100 fighter jets, transport aircraft, maritime surveillance aircraft, as well as allied CH-53 Super Stallion, EH-101 Merlin, AH-1 Cobra helicopters and V-22 Osprey tiltrotor participated. Nordic Response was also closely integrated with the British-led naval exercise Joint Warrior, which took place in the sea between Scotland, Norway, and Iceland in late February.

E-3 Sentry AWACS is NATO’s key asset

“The strategic role of the NATO Airborne Early Warning and Control Force cannot be overstated,” said ​​Air Commodore Andrew Turk, NATO Airborne Early Warning and Control Force Chief of Staff and Deputy Commander. “We can showcase this in a large-scale, multi-domain scenario like Exercise Nordic Response 24, showing our determined ambition to dominate the airspace and defend the Alliance.”

The importance of such assets was also stated by Norway with the announcement of the deployment to Rygge. “The aircraft operates as a command and control unit in the air, has unique characteristics and can detect both sea, land and air movements from far away,” said the statement. “Together with other sources of information, they form a comprehensive aerial view for decision-makers.”

Nordic Response also came at a time when “for the first time, NATO is setting new defence plans into reality proving their executability and NATO’s warfighting transformation,” said an official statement. The transformation also includes the renewal of the AWACS fleet, which will be replaced by the newer E-7 Wedgetail.

Last year NATO decided to replace its fleet of 14 E-3A AWACS with six new E-7A, with the first one expected to be delivered by 2031. The Wedgetail will be part of the Alliance Future Surveillance and Control system of systems capability, which will also include space and maritime intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance assets, along with the already operational RQ-4 Alliance Ground Surveillance.

About Parth Satam

Parth Satam's career spans a decade and a half between two dailies and two defense publications. He believes war, as a human activity, has causes and results that go far beyond which missile and jet flies the fastest. He therefore loves analyzing military affairs at their intersection with foreign policy, economics, technology, society and history. The body of his work spans the entire breadth from defense aerospace, tactics, military doctrine and theory, personnel issues, West Asian, Eurasian affairs, the energy sector and Space.

@The Aviationist.com