#i haven’t spoken Russian in years but I can still read!

[hetalia-club]

if you are willing to share more please tell us more about Dothraki Spain and Dothraki culture, im writing a fic with your au and I’ve only seen the show.

That’s so exciting! Yay! I’m happy people like my game if thrones au!I had someone else today say they wanted to write a fic set in my universe, that makes me happy!

I’ve really said all I can about Dothraki Spain. He’s not a very fleshed out character in my universe. So other than what I said you can just go ham with him really. I started a second fic and I’m trying to have him in it more and potentially be a main character but I still haven’t added too much depth to him yet. Here is his character description:

A tall young man, about 17-18 years old he could be as old as 20 or young as 16, his exact age is unknown Dothraki don’t keep track of age how everyone else does. He has brilliant green eyes, copper skin, and soft looking Chcolate brown hair looking like it were cut haphazardly with a dagger and no looking glass, he has a singular braid on the side of his head with a small strand of hair. The braid has golden rings and 2 bells dangling off it. He has a bright smile, often smiling when he does not understand. And every other time he wears a smirk like he is aware of a joke but won’t tell you the punch line. He wears crudely made horse leather armor that looks like it is in need of repair and smells like it needs thrown out. When he needs to keep up appearances he wears his Greyjoy metal armor, that he looks very uncomfortable in and does not know how to stand. He carries around his hooked sword at all times no matter the occasion he even takes it with him when he goes to sleep. He has a large muscular red stallion he brought with him from the Vase Dothrak, and Dothraki don’t name their animals so it doesn’t have a name. He’s 1/2 Dothraki 1/2 Iron-Born. But looks fully Dothraki. He’s more Dothraki than iron born. But is very intrigued to learn about iron born culture, but not too intrigued. More so fascinated with the new world around him and a little home sick at the same time. The iron islands are mostly rock so he spends a lot of time missing the Dothraki Sea (grass felids). But he does still get to go back there to trade and could go back there at any point, he’s not there unwillingly. He does enjoy his family, and the pirate life. Just not so much the rest of it.

As for Dothraki culture you don’t learn too much more in the books than what you learned in the show. And what we learn in the books and show is all through Danny’s POV, who is an actual moron btw. I speak a little bit of Dothraki rather I know some of it by ear and reading(the romanized version not the script) I can’t make the sounds with my mouth lol. It is actually a fully fleshed out language and if it were in our world it would be considered a ‘romance language’. It sounds Abraic to the ears but actually has a lot of Russian grammar rules. It’s very hard to speak and learn, as you could imagine. So dumb ass Danny wearing her spit bib over there in the corner and mouth breathing mastering it in a couple months is something I refuse to believe.

If you want to write him properly and if he is speaking the common tongue in your fic here are some quick Dothraki language rules:

They can’t say the TH sound at the start of a word but they can at the end of a word. And it sounds more like Thrua instead of TH. So you gotta roll it. They also have no L sound

They don’t say things like “I had a good day today” in Dothraki everything is spoken as if it were on horse back even if they are not and horses have nothing to do with it (which horses usually do have at least something to do with it). So instead of “I had a good day today” they would say something like “I ride good today” even if they never actually road a horse that day. So if you can just phrase everything as if he road a horse all day that is propper Dothraki speach

They have about a million ways to say the word “kill” they are a very murder and death heavy people, so they like to jazz it up I guess.

They don’t just straight up say things so they don’t have a phrase for “I love you” and instead of that they may say something cryptic like “you are the one I ride with” or “you are the one of my heart” and of course the famous “you are my sun and stars” and “you are the moon of my life”

Their religion follows “the great stallion” who is just a big ass horse who lives in the stars. They believe the sun is a god, the moon is his wife and the stars are their khalasar (army). When you die you go to “the night lands” and become a star and join their khalasar but only if you died in battle (it’s all very Valhalla) They pray to the mother of mountains for what I’m not sure. They are terrified of the ocean a d Magic and just the idea of magic sends them into a panic.

Anyone can ask me anything at all about this AU it’s by far my most in depth one and I could talk about it for actual hours.

[lilacmeadows]

Made For You pt. 2

Omg you guys thank you so much for all the support! Part 1 was my first fic and you guys were so sweet. I had to get started on part 2 right away. If you want to be on my taglist, just let me know! This is just leading up to the next few chapters that’s just gonna be FILTHY. I needed a bit of backstory to be satisfied, but now that the boring part is out of the way, I’m gonna go research other names for genitals. Hope you enjoy! -Savvy

BUCKY X READER

Summary: Hydra had just finished training you to be the Winter Soldier’s perfect mate when the Avengers saved him. But what’s going to happen to you now that Hydra has deleted your old life and left you with nothing but a soldier that needs to learn to love himself before he can love someone else.

Part 1    Part 2     Part 3

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, explicit language, underage reader (nothing sexual happens underage), stockholm syndrome, mentions of family death, eventual dom/sub dynamics, mentions of captivity and kidnapping. violence- guns, mutual pining, eventual smut, fluff, angst if you squint (must be 18+)

WORD COUNT:  2.9k

“Make the Soldat happy. He is my mission.” 

When she was first taken, of course she was scared. She didn’t know why, where she was going, if she’d be rescued. It was a painful adjustment, and some days it was as if the tears would never stop. It’s not like she was worth anything to anyone who mattered, her family wasn’t rich. Just her mom and brother. They lived a happy and normal life. 

She’d guess it didn’t really matter. At the age of 10, y/n was old enough to understand basic concepts, carry a conversation with adults, and she had strict teachers in school, so she knew how to behave. 

What she didn’t know was how to be a wife. Or a ‘life-partner’. None of the Men would ever call her a future ‘wife’. She was training to be a mate. Someone the Soldat could own and connect with so he didn’t fly off the rails if things got out of control. If he got out of their control. Every morning, a watcher would wake her up at 8AM so she could stretch, eat, and meditate. By 10AM, her first trainer of the day would come in and teach her the schooling she was missing. Just basic math and reading, a little German, and a little Russian. Not enough for her to eavesdrop on their plans, but enough to understand her Soldat if he didn’t feel like speaking English. 

At 1PM, another trainer would come and bring her to the small kitchenette down the hall. They had no intention of domesticating the ‘couple’, but she was learning to be a woman- of course the Men would have her start in the kitchen. She would learn very simple meals that could feed a fully grown man, and usually had something light for lunch herself. The men brought her the other 2 meals a day. At 3PM she would have lessons on ‘Womanhood’. At least that’s what she called it. A trainer would come in and teach her a never-ending list of rules that she had to follow in order to be a ‘lady’. It reminded her of an old Barbie movie she would watch when she was little. There was a song called ‘To Be a Princess’, where a poor girl learned how to act proper. Once she started seeing herself as that princess, the days got a little easier. Some days, they would go over how to sit and lie down like a lady. Others, they would walk laps around the halls open to her, reviewing how to walk on the balls of her feet. She learned to talk in short sentences with excellent manners, and how to brush her hair, so she could look more presentable for her Soldat. 

Over the years of compliance, the trainers softened on her just as the watchers had. Of course, they were still horrible people, but they knew she was a kind girl at heart and wouldn’t cause trouble. Some days, she would be made to sit perfectly still with a stack of books on her head, while her trainer would tell her something silly happening outside the walls of the building that became her home. She learned little bits of information about their lives, music, art. But never anything political or having to do with who the Men even worked for. That was strictly forbidden. They would let her color in her free time. Sometimes a watcher would bring a book from his home for her to read, and when she was old enough, she was given a few colors of yarn and started knitting sweaters and scarves on plastic needles. She didn’t have a clock, but she would learn by the rotating shifts of her watchers what time of day it was.

There were children whose lives sucked more than hers. And for that, she was grateful.

When she got older (let’s say 18), the training started to change. She never knew what day it was, or even what year. She had stopped keeping track so long ago, but the changes were made gradually. She would be made to read books on intimacy, and then watch videos of men brutally ravishing ladies about her size. She had to learn what to do to please her Soldat, without being taught physically. This made her happy. The thought of any of the watchers or trainers doing that to her made her sick. And everyone thought it was in her best interest to be completely innocent to the touch of a man when she has her first encounter with the Soldat.

Which turned out exactly as planned. But on the day Steve and Sam plucked her out of her bedroom, she was not expecting the Soldat to be sitting right in front of her. In all his glory.

The quinjet was eerily silent for all of seven seconds before Clint had the audacity to continue the conversation he started.

“You make the soldier happy?” was the best the shocked man could come up with.

“I haven’t met him yet, but I’m ready. They made me ready for him.” y/n said with bright, hopeful eyes. Her words flowed so easily, they sounded rehearsed.

“Do we tell her?” Tony asked Steve, who was getting greener by the second. He couldn’t believe he just got his best friend back, not two weeks ago, and now he has to worry about a girl who’s obsessed with said best friend.

“I don’t think we really have a choice.” Steve replied, taking a deep breath. The whole quinjet looked like they were holding their breath. y/n still didn’t know the names of the three men on the opposite side of the quinjet. Two of them standing together, pausing their conversation, and the brooding man, who everyone keeps looking at.

“y/n, meet Bucky.” Steve said, pointing at the man across from her. But ‘Bucky’ went completely over her head- the name being unfamiliar to her.

“Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you.” She said, offering a genuine smile, but clearly not picking up what Steve was putting down. Clint chimed in again, wanting to be out of his confused misery.

“Wait a second. Y/n. You mean the soldier, as in the Winter Soldier?” Y/n immediately nodded at hearing that name. She knew her Soldat went by that name. “As in that guy right there?” 

Her eyes went wide at the realization. He was sitting right in front of her. Staring at her since the minute she stepped onto the plane. And he was gorgeous. Long hair, thick thighs, piercing blue eyes, and a jaw that could probably cut glass. But he looked upset. Pissed really, and that scared her. She had one job: Make the Soldat happy. And there she was, barely presentable. She hadn’t even addressed him properly, how she was taught. With all the eyes on her, she felt a blush rush through her whole body at the embarrassing thought. But she had to. He wouldn’t like her if she didn’t follow the rules she grew up with.

Y/n daintily stood up and walked until she was right in front of Bucky. He held her eye contact the entire way, still not having said one word during this whole exchange. She gently knelt down until she was on her knees in front of him. 

“I hope I can make you happy, my Soldat. I am a gift from the Men who take care of us, and I am entirely yours.” Bucky’s jaw twitched. He hadn’t said anything this whole time, but his mind was moving at lightning speed. He watched this gorgeous, barely dressed girl sit across from him, and was already in awe. But then that girl got on her knees and declared her loyalty to him? In front of everyone he knows? He couldn’t lie to himself, he’d never been more turned on. But everything about this was wrong. She was just a Stockholm Syndrome’d girl who wanted to follow orders. But her orders were to make him happy. He finally broke eye contact with her to see Tony’s shocked face looking over at Bruce and Thor, to make sure he’s not hallucinating this. 

“Y/n, you should stand up.” He said to her in a hushed tone. Probably harsher than he meant to. He could see her visibly take a breath at the sound of his voice, his eyes followed the gentle slope of her neck down to her breast. She dreamed for years about what his voice would sound like, and it just rolled over her. But she quickly obeyed and stood in front of his seat. He expected her to say something else, but she was silent then. Her previous outburst was one of the few exceptions to her ‘only talk when spoken to’ rule. “What do you want? Where is your family so we can take you home?” He asked her. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. He didn’t want her was all she could assume. She was made for him, so why was he turning her away?

“I want to make you happy, sir. It’s all I want. Please let me be good for you. I promise, I’ll be so good for you.” Begging was familiar to her from her studies. She didn’t expect to be begging for her to be able to please him, but she would do whatever it took to get him to keep her.

“No. Y/n. This isn’t right. You were being kept there, whatever Hydra told you to do is over. You’re free now.” The tears flowed freely down her cheeks and it broke his heart. She tried to cover her face with her hands. He didn’t want to see her cry, nor did he want to turn her away, but he also couldn’t just let her be his sex slave. It wasn’t right. 

“Please don’t be sad. This is for the best-” He tried to reason with her, but when he took her hand off her face so she would look at him, the contact only made her sob harder. This was all she wanted. 

“Buck, I think we should just let her sit for a minute. Can you grab her some water? Tony and I will try to figure out where she was from.” Steve said to Bucky- trying to end this painful and awkward situation. Bucky stood and walked to another area of the quinjet. He was grateful to be able to use this time to think.

“Y/n, we’re gonna need your help to get you home okay. What’s your last name? How old are you?” 

“Y/L/N” And then she went quiet. It never occurred to her that she didn’t know how old she was. Of course, she remembered her birthday, but she couldn’t tell the weeks and months apart, so she hadn’t celebrated it since she turned 10 in 2006. “What year is it?”

“When did they take you?” Steve asked gently. Being a man from another time, he could remember well the day he woke up in 2011 when it was supposed to be 1944. He knew how jarring it was to discover all the time that’s been lost, and wanted to spare her that grief.

“2006. I was 10.” She looked at him, and she could tell it’s not just 2008 by the look on his face. She knew her body went through changes over her time with the Men, but between the ‘dietary supplements’ they gave her, and the fact that she wasn’t looking in a mirror- much less shopping for clothes- she didn’t realize she had fully completed puberty. 

“Y/n, it’s 2016. You’re 20 now.” And that made the tears come harder. But she wasn’t so upset about the 10 years of her life. She was mad at 20 years of her life wasted. Since Bucky didn’t want her, all of the training was for nothing. She knew living for him made her the definition of a broken person- she wasn’t dumb. The idea of her Soldat was what grounded her all that time. When she was lonely, she’d think about the man the Men always tell her about. They told her how he was their ‘greatest asset’. And she often fantasized about if he would fall in love with her. So by the time she met him, she had already been in love with him for much longer than she’d care to admit- which makes the heartbreak of rejection hurt that much more.

Unfortunately for Bucky, his heart was heavy too. He tucked away into the tiny bed area on the jet after quickly handing Steve the water to give to y/n. It was too much. Being in that room with her, she looked at him like he hung the moon. But he most certainly had not. He was a murderer. Tony’s father was a scientist during the war, and Bucky knew him pretty well through Steve. And he killed him. He had scattered memories of hurting dozens of people, so why would she be so willing to be with someone like him?

Part of him wanted it. After almost a century of not owning anything and not having a choice, he was given the opportunity to have something that belonged only to him. A gift from the men who take care of us. If it wasn’t cruel, he would have laughed in her face. Maybe she was taken care of, but he most certainly wasn’t. She was brought in young enough to still be under the impression that Hydra wasn’t evil, just strict. He imagined for a minute how things could have turned out for the two of them if he hadn’t gotten free. If Hydra really was planning on giving him a gift. He didn’t like the last gift they gave him in the shape of an arm, but y/n was perfect. She was the perfect size for him- although his broad frame could dwarf most women. And her smile pulled at his heart.

He wanted to kiss her the minute he saw her. He knew he wanted to make her his.

And that was bad.

He rubbed his hand over his face and decided to rejoin the group in the middle of their conversation. Thor and Bruce decided to stop being passive members of the conversation and introduced themselves. Y/n was very confused at Thor’s proclamation as ‘God of Thunder’, but with all that was happening, she didn’t feel it was her place to question it.

“- a good thing we have spare rooms at the compound. You can stay as long as you like.” Tony finished speaking to y/n just as Bucky was walking into the room. “We’re gonna have a new house guest MC.” He waggled his eyebrows at the man who caught the back half of that conversation.

Bucky’s jaw dropped. This would only make the situation much harder than it needed to be. He looked to Steve for an explanation. The blond stood up and made his way over to Bucky.

“Look, Hydra scrubbed her records off of every database and-” He took a deep sigh, “Her family is dead, Buck. They probably killed them after they took her.” 

Then it was Bucky’s turn to sigh. He knew the right thing to do was to help her, but he also knew how much he wanted to feel her soft skin in his hands. And that made her dangerous to be around. 

What nobody knew was why Hydra took the 10 year old from Georgia. In 2006, the Winter Soldier was sent on a mission to kill a scientist that lived there. Of course the poor guy didn’t have a chance when the Soldier was sitting in his house, waiting for him when he got home, but what the Soldier wasn’t expecting was a little girl to be coming inside with him. The scientist looked sleazy and didn’t have any children, so who knows what would have happened to her if the Soldier didn’t get there in time. She screamed and cried. The comm in his ear commanded him to kill the girl for being a witness. But the part of the Soldier that was still Bucky wanted her to be safe. He shushed the little girl and asked her for her address. When she recited it to him, he rubbed her head and told her she was a good girl, before he dug his metal fingers into the child’s pressure points and she fell limp into his arms. y/n woke up in her bed, crying at the bad dream she must have had- her mother not even home yet. That was the first act of defiance Hydra ever experienced from the Winter Soldier. First sign of humanity and compassion. They knew if the mind control was getting weaker, he would be harder to control next time they unfroze him, but his protective nature of the girl would make her an asset to them.

Her capture was arranged before his heart was fully frozen in the chamber. Neither Bucky nor y/n remembered this- Bucky only remembering parts of his time under their control, and y/n never thinking about that bad dream again, but the connection was still there as strong as it was that day 10 years ago.

Part 3

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress - 3

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part three of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc brought to you by me listening to turning page from sleeping at last so i decided to add a quote. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

“if i had only felt the warmth within your touch. if i had only seen how you smile when you blush or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough i would have known what i was living for all along”

previous chapter

She entered her past as she stepped into the right wing room. She remembered this room, she remembered it way to well from the shelves on the walls and the book cabinets to the burning smell it still somehow held even after all these years. Her eyes gazed from side to side until they turned purple and ghosts of her memories started to take form. Her eyes widened as she stepped back, trying to run away from the room until two hands grabbed her arms into place forcing her towards the chair where he was, long hair hitting his jaw, strapped like a wild animal. She struggled against the two men, trying to free herself from their hold, yet it didn’t budge, they kept holding her into place as if she was being punished. 

     - Wipe him again. - one of the men in a lab coat said in a thick Russian accent as the chair lowered down towards an electric head lock. His screams inundated her mind like daggers. Her breath quickened as she started to move her arms to try and get freed for them, to try and help them.

     - STOP! PLEASE! - she yelled out, begged as she continued to try and free herself from the two men holding her arms until she fell on her knees. An agony filled scream passed through her lips, overpowering his own screams as a wave of white glow expanded from her to the corners of the room.

     - Y/N! - her head was tucked into her legs as someone held her shoulders. Her breathe came out into fast, short paced puffs as he lifted her head to see Bucky standing in front of her holding her arms. What scared her wasn’t him but what surrounded her as she looked around to see everything that laid across the room was gone, the walls itself interrupting from being walls into being made of white glow, her eyes completely white.

    - Get away from me. - she pushed away from Bucky, unsure of what she had done, unsure of what she had seen. - I don’t wanna hurt you, I don’t wanna hurt you again.

    - Look at me. - he ignored her pushing him away, walking up to her again and lowering himself down to her level. His blue eyes met her completely white ones as he wondered what to do. He didn’t know what to do. - Breathe, okay?

    - Okay. - she felt the air enter and exit her lungs slowly as she stared into his  blue eyes, so calm. 

    - GET AWAY FROM HER! - a red glow pushed him away from Y/N to reveal Wanda and Sam who had come to her rescue the moment they heard her scream. She rushed from the door to her friend, holding her hands in hers while Sam went to check on Bucky. - What’s wrong? What did he do? I can’t read his mind.

    - He didn’t do anything. I ... I lost control. - Y/N looked down at her hands and at the room which was slowly returning to its normality, with the objects slowly returning. - I don’t know what happened. I walked in and ... it just exploded. 

    - Guys, we found it. - Monica spoke over the intercom. Y/N’s eyes lingered over to where Wanda had effortlessly thrown Bucky too, an apologetic look, yet she couldn’t understand his look. It was curious almost too curious as if he was looking for clues in her face. Wanda protectively draped her arm over her back, pushing her away from the room which was still haunted by a white-like glow.

She knew that memory, the one she had been stuck in. It was a much too familiar memory of several times she had been punished by watching them ... by watching them hurt him. Madame B was many things but she was a smart woman, a smart woman who carefully plucked out every fear her girls had and used them against them if any stepped the line. Bucky had been one fear too easy to spot, having seen Y/N step up to a guard who had harmed him even after the much taller man had thrown her to a ground. It was a haunted memory for her. - they would always hold her and make her watch as they hurt him. She still remembered his screaming, blood curdling, pain filled screams. Seeing it again, being in that room and have him come to her was just too much. 

Yelena and the rest of the team had been left in the dark about everything that had happened. It was best that way; she did not need more people worrying about things she should’ve already figured out. However, Agatha was right and that she knew. Whatever the soul stone had given her was easily uncontrollable if she was in a messy state. If someone had answers it had to be Agatha yet she had learned that dealing with her was a monkey’s paw. 

Bucky on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at her. The more he did, the less foggy the memories became from the very time he had seen her to the last time he did. All he could fixate however was on a broken promise he had made her the last time he had seen her. I will find you, I promise. Such pretty words, such a beautiful promise, almost worthy of being in a poem but the truth is, he hadn’t been looking for her. He had memories of her in patches, memories of what he had felt for her and now she was there. He wondered if she remembered him, if she knew who he was. If she remembered ... maybe she didn’t. After all HYDRA and the Red Room had a particular talent at destroying memories with a swift ability. He watched as she listened to Monica explain what they had found and what not, her hair escaping the grip of her ponytail held up by a red piece of fabric tied in a small bow. 

     - Promise me you’ll remember I love you. - his own ghost voice melodised into his hearing along with the sound of rain against window panes. It wasn’t raining and he wasn’t speaking. - Because they’ll make me forget and you have to remember. You have to remember so you can remind me.

    - You won’t forget it. - he could hear her voice as he looked at her but Y/N wasn’t even looking at him. He wondered when she had told him that, he wondered if he had reassured her, he wondered if she remembered when he had told him that. There was so much he still didn’t know but it came in waves, it came in waves explaining what it was. Wanda, however, was staring at him, head slightly cocked to the side in a menacing manner. He looked at the Sokovian woman, trying to read her but he couldn’t. Her mood was a simple as someone keeping her eye on him.

The small plane landed just outside the hex; Yelena jumping from the harbour onto the wilderness the first, followed by Alexei and Monica who were excited enough to study the new notebook but Y/N lingered behind. Flashes of what had just happened rushing through her mind as she stared at the blank wall of the small plane and then back to her hands which were trembling.

    - Matter manipulation is messy, isn’t it, dear? - a voice shook her from her own mind. Looking around there was no one but her. She put her hand over her holster, ready to shoot at nowhere. 

    - What are you doing? - she turned around to see Wanda approaching the jet, having broken apart from the group to check on Y/N. - We need to talk. It’s about Bucky.

    - What about Bucky? - she climbed out of the jet to met Wanda.

    - I can’t read him anymore. - she sighed. - Did you maybe by accident expanded your “shield” to him too?

    - This is not Twilight, Wanda. I cannot expand whatever it is I have.

    - Well, I don’t trust him. - she shrugged. - What happened in the Red Room?

    - Oh, it was nothing. - she lied, it was something but she did not want to worry Wanda. She didn’t want to worry anyone, she just wanted to get into the hex and go to sleep and that’s just what she did.

She forwent the meeting, last thing she needed was to hear about the Winter Soldier. If there was someone who knew more about the Winter Soldier than the person himself was her and that knowledge was tainted with memories that she wished to relieve yet forget. Laying against her bed she starred at the white ceiling of her bedroom, raising her fingers to play around with the white mist that surrounded them at her will. Element manipulation, that’s what she did. That’s what her file said, that’s what SWORD told her yet element manipulation wouldn’t have made a full room’s objects disappear. Whatever it was, whatever HYDRA and her father had put in her she didn’t know. She always seemed to be the last to know of things that concerned her. Bringing her hand down, she rolled in bed to lay on her side, watching her door with sleepy eyes, hoping she could go to sleep. Of course the universe had different plans as once she felt herself waver between to conscious and unconscious world, she heard a knock against her door. Groaning, she got up from the warmth of her bed and padded towards the door, opening it to slightly to see Bucky standing there. 

   - Sergeant Barnes, everything okay? - she leaned against the side of her door, staring him up and down. 

   - Yes, I just wanted to give back the letters Monica Rambeau gave to me. I assume you and your team will be able to decode them better than me ... I guess. - he handed her the stack of letters worn out by time and his own hands. Her eyes moved up from the letters to his eyes, looking for any type of game he could be playing with her. - I guess with you being Pierce’s daughter and all ... maybe he commented with you.

   - Ah ... - she forced a smile upon her lips as she took the letters. - You know, I haven’t spoken with my father since I was 10.

   - I didn’t me ...

   - He didn’t really try to reach out to me either. - she interrupted him. - The only person he has reached out while in prison has been Fury. I don’t even think he would know what I look like. 

   - I didn’t mean to offend you.

   - You didn’t. - she sighed, hand pushing her own hair back. - I wish I could apologise better for what he did to you but I really wouldn’t know how I’d do it. 

   - I wouldn’t want you to apologise.

   - You don’t even know how many apologies I actually owe you. - she looked down to her feet before looking at him. - ... because of my father, I mean. 

    - Well... if anything there helps. - he put his hands on his pockets. - Or if you know who they’re for  ... let me know.

She stood against her door as he left right after that sentence, watching him disappear in the long hallway probably to return to his bedroom. It didn’t really matter, really, she told herself. Yet part of her knew Bucky was much more observant than she could ever be so if there was nothing she could find in those letters. Nevertheless, the most curious side of her nature only wanted to know what is, so she did. She sat down in her bed and grabbed the first letter, pushing it from the envelope onto the comforter. She recognised his handwriting, a bit more messy, probably rushed in ran out ink. He probably had stole one of the sign in sheets old pens which barely worked. 

Y/N faltered, refusing to focus on his writing, on his words to her. She knew they were dated after she had ran away from the Red Room and she didn’t want to read his words to her after she had abandoned him. It was too much yet the more her eyes read the date, the more courage she got. Might as well get her heart broken and move on with her life.

Dear Daisy,

today I remembered you and it is probably silly to be writing it down mostly because I don’t expect you to ever read it but if I write it down at least I can remember you again if they make me forget. I remembered the first time I ever saw you yet mentioning it now feels weird as I don’t even know if you knew I had seen you. You had a black bodysuit I am almost certain and black ballerina shoes dancing up to some monotonous music with your hair pushed back with some old red fabric in a small bow. It just came to me staring at that piano myself, maybe as long as that piano exists I won’t forget you yet I don’t know if it will hurt less to remember you or to forget you. All I know is, the moment they send me out I will find you. I promise I will find you.

Well, the two of them were good at broken promises, she thought to herself. Maybe he had reminded himself to find her and chose not to after assessing her actions, maybe he didn’t even remember she existed or what her voice was. She hoped the later was true. She wouldn’t know what to say, what to do if he remembered her. Years ago she used to picture it in her naive mind; running to him, hugging and kissing like in a picture perfect rom com. Now she just wouldn’t know what to say other than beg on her knees for his forgiveness. Not that she deserved it. At least she had that in common with her father, both owed James Barnes an apology which could never be accepted. 

Y/N shoved whatever was left of those letters under her bed, hoping to bury them in the same place she buried all her worries. What use was going back to the past? It hadn’t been kind to her then, it wouldn’t be kind now so there was really no use in dwelling in what could’ve been. In what she could’ve been. Childish whims. She let her thoughts simmer, lull her into sleep until she was back into that place, that room which had made her into what she was now. She looked down, dressed in the issued black shirt and leggings, small gun in hand. She looked to the side, Madam B. standing near her in her impecable blue suit with a wood board under her arm.

      - It’s just this one and you are gonna win. - she gave her a smile but it wasn’t warm, it was cold, too cold. - Just shot the target, darling. 

     - What if I fail? - she looked at the person tied to the chair, bag over the head. 

     - You can’t fail. - the assistant pulled the bag from over the target to reveal Bucky. She took a step behind, faltering as her grip loosened over the gun she was holding. - Shoot him.

     - I can’t.

     - Shoot him. 

     - I can’t ... I won’t.

     - Fine, then I’ll do it. - she grabbed the gun from her and rose it up to Bucky’s head. She tried to run, to try and put herself in front of her but she was stuck, she was stuck ... and then bang. 

She rose from her bed in terror, sweating, breathes coming in and out as fast as they could as she looked around to see the walls of her bedroom. She was safe, she was safe, she was not there. He was safe. Looking down at her hands, the shivering had become and this time it bothered her. She looked weak, frail ... just like her father had described her before, like SWORD and HYDRA described her. Y/N jumped off her bed, running away from her bed to try and find the bathroom or the kitchen ... somewhere she could wash her shivering hands, somewhere she could drown her face in cold water just somewhere. She rushed through the kitchen doors and to the sink, turning on the water before putting her hands under the running water.

     - Y/N? Are you okay? - she had rushed so fast into the kitchen she hadn’t even noticed someone else was already there. She turned her head from the sink to look at Bucky but what she saw made her put her hand in front her mouth. He was there, long hair ... with a wound shot on his forehead. She turned her head back to sink, watching her reflection in the sink, her eyes glowing white. - Y/N?

She looked over her should back to him, that look ... what he looked like was gone. He had short hair, healthy skin, no wounds but she had seen it, she had seen it. Bucky noticed the discomfort in her face, taking a step back once he noticed his arm was on full display along with its scars. Sometimes he forgot about how he looked, about how he could freak people out.

     - Sergeant Barnes, I’m so sorry ... I didn’t mean to scare you.

     - Are you okay?  - he wanted to reach out to her, be comforting but he barely looked like a comforting man. - You look shaken up.

     - Yeah, I just ... bad dream really. Quite childish.

     - It’s not childish. I get them all my time, my therapist say it’s normal.

     - I have no reason to have them. - she leaned against the counter. - Why are you here? Midnight snack?

     - Just had to think about some stuff and Sam snores. - he joked around, smiling once he saw her lip curl slightly upwards. - I have a question for you. You read those letters, right?

     - One of them. Why?

     - Do you think she might have loved me?

     - Pardon?

     - I will reword it. Did you love me?

taglist: @lookiamtrying​

[everythinghotchniss]

Close your eyes

pairing: Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss

warnings: angst? I tried okay

word count: 2238 words

Basically what if Hotch sees Emily one more time before she leaves for Paris (inspired by a piece I learnt on the piano)

Also this is my first Hotchniss fanfiction & the first fanfiction I have ever posted so... *hesitates before pressing post*

Hotch looked at his watch. He had been sitting in his car parked in front of the run down hotel for nearly two hours.

The sun was about to set now and he went over the many things he wanted to say to her, the conversation they were about to have in his head, never really finding quite the right words to say to her. He ended up deciding it was not about the words that had to be said but to see her, alive. After her funeral he had to make sure for himself that she was still living, breathing, somewhere at least.

Seeing her was the only thing on his mind when he entered the hotel.

He tentatively knocked at the door and could hear rustling behind it, a scrap as someone checked the peep hole and a small gasp. He heard her unlock the door and open it.

His first thought was that she had changed her hair. The bangs she usually wore were clipped away from her face. He quickly discarded that thought, he knew she had been in Bethesda for nearly a month. She looked tired, he decided, wearing a dark jumper that he was sure was at least two sizes too big for her and black leggings.

“Can I come in?” Hotch asked after they stared at each other for a while and she nodded slowly, opening the door for him. He looked around the room when he heard her fasten the multiple locks on the door. She wordlessly poured two glasses of scotch and gestured to the small couch.

“How did you find me?” Emily asked him and his eyes widened at the new rasp in her throat. He hadn’t heard her voice in so long, it started to feel unfamiliar, becoming a foreign melody of something he was sure he would never forget.

“JJ. She told me you were staying here until you leave.” He said quietly and she nodded, downing her drink. She poured herself another one and kept her eyes on the small table in front of her.

“Why are you here?” She asked when she found the silence between them overwhelming. There were too many words that had to be spoken even if she wanted to leave the sentences unsaid.

“I wanted to…I had to see you.” He replied running a hand over his face. “Emily, what happened in Boston…” He trailed off and she closed her eyes at the memory, Ian Doyle’s icy blue eyes once again invading her mind.

“You want to talk about him?” She asked and he sighed.

“I- I really don’t know. Why did you do it?” She nearly laughed at his question.

“Which part of it? Sleeping with an international arms dealer and terrorist or deciding to take him out by myself?”

“Either. Both.” He replied and bit she her lip.

“Why are you really here?” She asked and he looked up, trying to find her eyes at the familiarity of her question. He remembered the last time he heard those words from her, even then she could right through him.

“The last time I saw you, you flatlined in the ambulance. I didn’t want my last memory of you be you dying.” He said quietly and she swallowed.

“But I’m already dead, Hotch. Emily Prentiss died. You attended my funeral.” She stated as if it were a fact. Her voice was sure, unwavering and he did not miss how she spoke of herself in third person.

“JJ mentioned that as well?” He asked her after a moment of silence and she shook her head.

“She didn’t have to. I know how these types of things work. How is everyone?”

“You don’t want an answer to that.” He told her and she smiled sadly. She knew he would evade that question, she still had to try. They were her family after all.

“How’s Jack?”

“Well, he thinks you’re on a secret mission for the government so he can’t talk to you I couldn’t…not with the possibility of you coming back some day and not so soon after Haley died.” He emptied his glass and she refilled it with a small nod. “He actually joined one of those kids soccer teams. I’m coaching.”

“You? A soccer coach?” Her eyes lit up and he nodded.

“Well I try my best. He’s doing great at school, I still read to him every night. He says that you’re better at doing the voices. He misses having ‘his Emmy’ around.” She smiled at that.

“I miss him too. Just promise me he won’t start talking to a candle instead of me, okay? I may be dead but I don’t want to be that dead.” She saw the corners of his mouth twitch at that and she smiled at him.

“I’ll make sure of it. I’ll get him to talk to a picture of you instead.”

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humour with all of this. How are you, Aaron? And don’t give me that I’m fine bullshit, how are you really?” She asked him and he stiffened at her question.

“I’m…I wish you’d still be around. Since Foyet, you’ve always been a constant in my life, before that even. I never thought I’d have to do this without you.” He confessed and she nodded solemnly.

“Promise me you’ll find someone, yeah? Don’t let me become the reason that you start locking yourself away. I could never forgive myself.” She brushed his hand with hers softly and he interlaced their fingers, brushing his thumb over her short nails.

“Emily…” He began and she shook her head.

“No, Aaron, please. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back. Do this, for me. Say it.” She insisted and he nodded.

“Fine. I promise.” She knew he was lying, the small thing he did with his eyebrow always was a dead giveaway to her, even before they started dating. Emily decided to ignore it, put on a brave smile for his sake and leant closer to him.

“When do you have to go?” She whispered and felt his grip on her hand tighten involuntarily. She swallowed, she already knew whatever he said would be too soon.

“I wish we had longer.” He answered, the small break in his voice

“Me too. Remember the first time we met?”

Aaron had to smile at the memory. The first time he saw her she was 19, wearing a worn out leather jacket over a red skin tight dress, with a cigarette between her lips and a bottle of vodka in her hands. Her mother had ordered him to find her daughter, that she was probably hiding up on the roof again. And he found her.

“I remember. You tried very hard to convince me that The Cranberries are the best band in the world, far superior to The Beatles. And then you told me about how you used to sing in a band to piss of the ambassador and if Yale didn’t work out you would become a rockstar.” He smiled fondly at the memory and heard her laugh next to him at the naivety of her young self.

“I thought I had everything figured out back then. Funny how things change. I’ve always thought that one day I’d settle down and marry, have the 2.5 kids and own a house in the suburbs with a wrap around porch and a white picked fence.” Emily shared and he nodded.

“I know, you told me on that evening. When I observed that even though you act rebellious, all you want to do is fit in you told me that I should think about going into profiling rather than white collar. I guess you knew me better than most people, even back then.” He reminisced and she smiled, she couldn’t remember saying that.

“Pity I can’t remember much more about the evening, I was well into that bottle of vodka before you arrived.” She told him and he had to chuckle at that. He wished he didn’t remember every word she had said as if it were scorched into his mind. Over the years he had lost count of many times he had thought of the dark haired girl since then, quoting Tolstoy in its original Russian, passion lighting her eyes.

“It was a lifetime ago.” He simply replied and she nodded.

He was right. When they first met, he had just proposed to Haley and everything they talked about were wedding venues and cake tastings and honeymoon destinations. He thought he would spend his whole life with Haley, working a 9 to 5, becoming the happy family he had always wished for as a child. She was right, things had definitely changed since then.

“I can hear you thinking.” Emily said quietly, squeezing his hand that was still interlaced with hers.

“It’s not important. I’ve got something for you.” He told her and reached into his suit jacket to hand her a CD. She furrowed her brows to make out the album cover in the darkening room and she had to laugh.

“The Beatles White Album?” She asked him and he nodded.

“It’s my copy. If you ever want to think of me, chances are I’ll probably be listening to The Cranberries, thinking of you. I know how much you love the song Blackbird and the CD is small enough to take with you. I’m sure you can’t take many other personal possessions.” The truth was that Aaron was sure he didn’t even have to listen to her music to remember her. He would think of her every time he walked into the bullpen, just looking at the now empty desk. He thought of her every time he could make out the stars in the night sky, remembering how patiently she had explained some constellations and the stories behind them to Jack one evening. He thought of her only yesterday morning when he buttoned up the light blue shirt she once said suited him the best and then again only moments later when he chose the red tie to go with it.

“I can’t take this.” Emily voiced the first thought that came into her mind and he shook his head.

“Yes you can. Return it when you get back.” Hope laced through the words he just uttered, a hope that she would return before he even started to miss her. She understood what he did and again decided to let him.

“You know Em, I never got to tell how much I-“ She broke him off before he even got to finish the sentence.

“Don’t. I already know. Me too.” Emily would tell him when she got back, she thought. The three cursed words that had danced around in her mind, taunting her, these last couple of months. They were a painful reminder of the many times she whispered them to Ian, no Doyle, during her time undercover. She would tell Aaron someday. But not today.

When the sun had completely set, darkness had engulfed them both and she knew that he would have to leave soon. She pushed the thought away, leaning in closer to him, trying to remember everything she could. The way his hand felt in hers, the way she could pick out his cologne from a whole crowd. The patterns her always traced on the back of her hand, mirroring the small movement he made with his hand when he was deep in thought. She rested her head onto his shoulder and she made herself remember how well they always seemed to fit.

“I don’t want my last memory of you be you leaving.” Emily whispered into the terminating darkness hotel room.

“Close your eyes.” Aaron said quietly and she did.

She focused on the way his lips brushed hers softly, how his hand tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand rested for a moment too long on her jaw, taking his time to brush the tear that had fallen from eye away with his thumb. She took a deep breath when his hand left her face but decided to keep her eyes closed. He was glad she did. He never wanted her last memory of him to be him crying for her.

She decided not to hear the creak of the floorboards under his feet. She all but ignored the small gust of wind she felt on her skin as the door was opened and closed. The intensity of his cologne that had surrounded her mere seconds ago was now beginning to fade away and her eyes fluttered open.

Just like that he was gone.

And Emily Prentiss did what she always did: seal the small box in her mind labelled Aaron Hotchner.

__________________

It was silly, she thought the next day as she boarded the plane, she always thought that the next time she would fly to Paris, she would do so to show the city to him.

“Paris is a place in which we can forget ourselves, reinvent, expunge the dead weight of our past.” - Michael Simkins

[0ghostwriter0]

Peaky Blinders Imagines

This is a bit random. This is not edited or proof read so please read and like if you want. Not tagging anyone for this as can be very sensitive.

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x Original Character (Lucille Hughes)

Warnings: Suicide but no major detail, emotions, violence, mention of affairs, swearing

The two meet for the first time when Shelbys chose to expand to south London. Lucille is the niece of Father Hughes so she’s uses to a different way to life.

Before the war, Lucille was abused by her father sexually and physically. His excuse was that he blamed his daughter for not being able to conceive another child after her birth. A fact that her mother had turned a blind eye to. During the war, Lucille was 14 when her father had left for the war and months later she would be orphaned following her fathers death in action which triggered her mother’s depression. By 1924, the 24 year old had been running the Hughes for 10 years. The Hughes were powerful business people but an even more powerful London based Gang. Much to the young Lucille’s dismay, the Hughes became notorious. Being the only person to hand during the war, it was her responsibility to control the legal and illegal business from going under. During the years of the war, Lucille face abuse and hardship from every angle. Much to her surprise, the uncle who comforted her sought out to abuse and rape her for many years before she claimed her full power in the Hughes during 1919. After which the young woman had prematurely aged in wisdom and became one of the most powerful gang leaders in London. After the Italians and Russians were run out of London by the Shelby’s, the young Hughes became a legend. The death of Father Hughes allowed Lucille to hide in the shadows and conduct her business as she saw fit. The once well known woman of society, started to decline from social events until she stop attending, the risk was too high to be left unguarded with socialites. As her power grew so did her lack of trust and rightly so.

By 1931, Lucille was reacquainted with Thomas Shelby. The two began their professional relationship but Lucille wanted an out. Thomas began to see a different side to Lucille that she tried to keep away from her work- the abused woman. Following his wife’s ultimatum, Mr Shelby kept Lizzie away from charity events in order to get closer to Lucille. But when Lizzie, got paranoid about Thomas sleeping with other women even though she said he could “sleep with another if they weren’t in their home and he hadn’t held his children’s hand the day prior”. The MP had been falling out of his marriage for years but for the sake of his children he would stay. One after noon, Lucille had received an invitation for a charity ball being held by the Shelby foundation. Such an invitation had not been received by Ms Hughes for quite sometime and with the added protection of the peaky blinders, Lucille chose to attend. The night was tedious. Lucille sipped on gin as she warmed up to the riches, even though she was also now a woman with money she felt out of place. After hours had passed, the near 31 year old started her goodbyes before meeting eye to eye with Thomas Shelby.

“I’ve heard that you’re making your great escape before the host can by such a beautiful lady a drink”

“Shouldn’t that woman be your dear wife”

“She neglected to join me tonight”

“Too bad she’s a lovely person to hold conversation”

“Not behind closed doors”

“I must be taking my leave Mr Shelby, I imagine the Monday meeting is still to go a head”

Thomas nodded and placed a kiss on the young woman’s cheek before escorting her to the door. Little to his knowledge, Lizzie had watched the encounter and after Thomas watched Lucille go, Lizzie confronted him.

“So that’s your new whore good to know she has no morals”

“What do you want Lizzie!”

“I want you to be mine, my husband not fucking whores”

“I’m not having this tonight Lizzie, there’s a room full of people waiting for me to go back out so just fucking leave it”

“So you are fucking her. Brilliant. I should have divorced you when I had the chance.”

“Divorce! You want a divorce, fine, I’ll give you one. Lizzie Stark you’re no longer my wife. You no longer have to worry about my business. Oh and that woman, the one that left, I haven’t fucked her”

In the days that followed, no one would have expected the events that unravelled.

It was the following Wednesday when Thomas Shelby proceeded to hand over the divorce papers as a man of his word. The past whore sat silently as she watched the Shelby walk away- walk out of her life. The peaky blinder was far from okay but would never let show the heartache he was suffering. His first wife died and haunts his days. His second, the woman who mothered Ruby and took care of his son, paranoid and divorced. He needed a friend, someone he could drink with and forget. Although, the only person he wanted to see was the lovely Lucille who always found a way to put him in his place.

Later that day, events occurred which no one could predict. Perhaps the only way you leave this family is through smoke clouds. It was around 11 when the Hughes meeting started.

“Now I know what you're going to all say so I'll say it for you. Why are we here? Well, it's come to my attention that over the years I've let things slip through the cracks. So if you're in this room, then you are one of the very few that hold my trust. I can count you all on two hands and I'm willing to cut off fingers. So I suggest you leave or prove that I chose correctly” she sat and waited for one of the rugged faces to stand an walk out on the Hughes for good.

“Right then, there's a file under your chairs. This information stays in the room. Any issues we sort them out now.”

They spent the next 2 hours editing and explain the lengths of the documents. It was 1:15 when Sophia, the Secretary, interrupted whilst stumbling through the door.

“Sophia, dear we're in the middle of a meeting, ” Lucille spoke softly while looking up from her hard oak desk. Although, after immediately meeting the gaze of the stumbling woman, Lucille nodded.

“There's a Lizzie to see you”

“Send her in, I'm sorry about the disruption this should only take a moment” Lucille nodded as she responded. Soon, a distraught sight of a woman entered the office.

“Mrs Selby, what-” her words caught off.

“You don't get to say that name, you whore.”

“Lizz-”

“Dont you fucking dare. He gave me these. I'm guessing your fucking doing!” Lizzie bellowed which shocked the room. Although, Lucilles attention was drawn to the divorce papers that fell on her desk.

“I knew you were fucking him behind my-”Lizzie was cut off by Lucille standing.

“Now I will stop you there, Ms Stark, I suggest you take a walk and return when you've calmed down. These papers have no reason to involve me, so please kindly leave”

“Im not leaving until you understand” as a gun was raise Lucille remained calm as she stood from her seat.

“Do you want to shoot me?” Lucille spoke softly as she gestured for the others in the room to hold their horses. Stepping around her desk, Lucille didn't hesitate to stand closer to Lizzie.

“As I see it you have two choices, stand here and shoot me or hand me the gun and go home.”

“I have no home. I've lost everything. So it's your turn.”

���You still have your daughter and your dignity so I suggest you hand me the gun or shoot me now” Lucille stepped closer.

In this moment, time started to freeze over.

From the corner of her eye, a man rose from his seat as Lizzie cocked her gun. Turning slowly, Lucille regretted taking her eye off of the distraught woman.

The next moments will haunt her for the rest of her life.

She felt the spatter before she heard the sound. One single shot. It wasn't the man she was now facing who had made that single shot. Trembling subtly, Lucille ran her fingers over the splatter of fluid that grazed her cheek. Her fears had been confirmed. Time stood still as the younger woman turned to the spot previously occupied by a broken woman. It was empty. Lucille refused to look down as the shocked faces confirmed what she needed to know.

Looking around the room, she planned the next step.

“In light of this sensitive event, I ask you all to hold your tongue on today’s events. Go home, kiss your other halves and I will converse with you when I am proficient.” she watchedas they all filtered out. Turning quickly,

“You ever try that again I will have your head. I was in control and you tried to be the alpha male. Today this is on me but next time it's on you. Now go.” she spoke harshly with a soft undertone as the burly man dropped his head and left like a stray dog.

The boss watched as the alpha male left and her heart dropped as Sophia started to head for the door.

“Sophia, dear I suggest you don't come in any further. Send for Mr Shelby, say nothing and take the rest of the week off. Inform the rest of the offices to leave for the week.” Sophia nodded and scurried away.

Fear filled her mind as she sunk on to the top of her desk before finally looking down. Lizzie Shelby had blown herself out. Yes Lucille was attracted to Thomas Shelby but knowing full well that Thomas was spoken for and a business partner of the Hughes. But now she had blood on her hands -her face- something she vowed never to do. She became everything her mother and father wanted except she wasn't a man.

[meichenxi]

Grimm’s Law and Verner’s Law: part 1 - Indo-European background

OR: how ‘cannabis’ and ‘hemp’ are actually cognates

tldr: sound change is cool and this great series of videos can explain it better than I can: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aal9VSPkf5s. this is going to be the first of a few posts on sound change in German and English. I originally wanted to explain the second sound shift, but quickly realised that it doesn’t make sense without any of the historical context, so please bear with me

What makes a language Germanic? Imagine for a moment that you’re an alien a la Matt Haig, newly arrived to Earth and presented with a sample of the world’s languages - or specifically, part of Eurasia’s. Some languages look very similar to each other; some very different. How would you go about building a hypothesis about which languages were related to each other, and which weren’t? How would you then test this hypothesis? And how, presented finally with data that shows your languages are related, would you explain how these changes came to happen in the first place? 

Before we go on to Germanic, though, let’s talk about Indo-European today. You guys probably all know that IE is a large language family that stretches from Icelandic to Hindi; Germanic is one of the sub-groupings of this wider IE family. Within the sub-family itself, there are divisions: German is more closely related to Dutch, Norwegian to Swedish, Icelandic to Faroese and so on. This seems all fairly obvious to us now. 

Way back when many centuries ago (not that many centuries, and certainly long after the Bible began), the idea of a language family spanning English to Russian to Farsi was a little less obvious. For much of the 17th century, people (esp a bishop dude called John Wilkins) sought to prove that English was related to Hebrew - this was an important endeavour at the time, because it would lend the language religious authority, especially in its translation of the Bible. Fast forwarding to the 18th century, a man named Sir Williams Jones who lived in Bengal realised - on account of his classical education and extensive contact with Indian languages - that there were much greater similarities between Latin, Greek and Sanskrit than anybody had previously realised. He wasn’t the first to think it, but he was one of the first to make such a definitive statement. The following quote is probably one of the most famous in historical linguistics, so I apologise for quoting it in full: ‘The Sanscrit language, whatever be its antiquity, is of a wonderful structure; more perfect than the Greek, more copious than the Latin, and more exquisitely refined than either, yet bearing to both of them a stronger affinity, both in the roots of verbs and the forms of grammar, than could possibly have been produced by accident; so strong indeed, that no philologer could examine them all three, without believing them to have spring from some common source, which, perhaps, no longer exists: there is a similar reason, though not quite so forcible, for supposing that both the Gothick and the Celtick, though blended with a very different idiom, had the same origin with the Sanscrit, and the old Persian might be added to this family.’

He was wrong in a lot of ways - he excluded some languages that do belong in this family and erroneously included others. He also wasn’t the first to come up with this idea. This quote, more than anything, marks the beginning of people’s interest in the ‘common source’: how could such a thing ever be proven, if we didn’t have access to the language itself?  Part of the building ground for Indo-European historical linguistics was the desire to prove that linguistics was an empirical science much like any other, with laws that held universally and hypotheses that could be tested and demonstrably falsified. This rested on two principles both promoted by the Junggramatiker, or Neogrammarians, a Leipzig based group of scholars. Firstly, that sound change - the process by which sounds change, arise and disappear - was a highly regular process that held universally and obeyed certain rules. Secondly, that languages that exist today are structurally and in principle no different from languages that existed thousands of years ago - that is, we have no reason to assume that processes existed in the past that don’t exist today. This is called the uniformitarian principle. 

If both of these things are true, that means that it would be possible to not only determine how exactly these languages were related, but also reconstruct an earlier version of the language once spoken by all Indo-Europeans!! (I hope you agree that this is immensely cool.) 

Reconstructing these rules is important, because it allows us to better understand structural similarities between languages. There are some similarities which are surface deep: it’s easy to compare English cold and German kalt or warm and - well - warm, and say that they look alike. Pfad and path is a little harder, but when you compared Pfeffer and pepper it’s clear, ok, there’s a <pf> / <p> alteration going on there. Leaving the Germanic family behind, though, things get a little more tricky. 

How exactly is venue cognate with come? What about English quick and Latin vīvus? And how can sister and Hindi bahan possibly be cognates??

Some of the most meaningful observations are structural; they are not surface deep, and they’re not immediately available for study. This is because, quite simply, the time depth since Indo-European was spoken is vast; there have been extensive sound changes in all of the languages concerned. 

And that’s exactly what Grimm’s Law is. It’s a sound change that happened specifically in the Germanic branch of Indo-European, so it’s common to all Germanic languages, and nothing else. It’s one of those diagnostic criteria that an alien would use to determine that Norwegian and Dutch were related: it’s present, apart from where further sound change has obscured it, in every Germanic language - and it’s not present, apart from in borrowed words, in any non-Germanic language. That’s what we mean by diagnostic. 

Let’s have a look at some examples! We’ll explain it in more detail next time, but this might whet your appetite. Don’t worry if you can’t read the phonetic description; it’s the consonants that are important at the moment (don’t, please, ask me about vowels. just please don’t).

(nb: where I use an asterisk *, this means that this form is reconstructed, not actually attested: we don't have any records of IE. > just means ‘goes to’ or ‘becomes’ in the various daughter languages. Also <these> brackets are talking about spelling, and /these/ brackets are talking about phonemes, or actual sounds. Also, the little ‘ means aspiration - we’ll talk more about what that means next time)

*p > f (no later shift in German, though /f/ is sometimes spelled v):

Engl. brother, Germ. Bruder (cf. Lat. frāter, Skt. bhrā́tā)

Engl. full, Germ. voll (cf. Lat. plēnus, Skt. pūrṇás)

*t > *þ (Engl. th) > Germ. d

Engl. three, Germ. drei (cf. Lat. trēs, Gk. /trê:s/, Skt. tráyas) Engl. thin, Germ. dünn (cf. Lat. tenuis, Skt. tanús)

*ḱ, *k > h (no later shift in German):

Engl. hundred, Germ. hundert (cf. Lat. centum, Gk. /he-katón/, Skt.

śatám)

Engl. horn, Germ. Horn (cf. Lat. cornū)

*kw > *hw (Engl. wh) > Germ. w:

Engl. what, Germ. was (cf. Lat. adjective & relative quod, Skt. kád)

*d > *t (Engl. t) > Germ. z:

Engl. two, Germ. zwei (cf. Lat. duo, Gk. /dúo/, Skt. dvā́)

BRUH. ISN’T THIS COOL!! AND THERE ARE MORE!

You can see here already by looking at the German and English that both have sometimes subsequently undergone sound changes, like English */hw/ to /wh/ and then finally to /w/, which becomes German <w> or /v/ - these sometimes obscure things. And if you really want to find out why German is different to English, well, we’ve got quite a few sound changes to get through before we get there! 

Melissa, you might be saying, I know for a fact there’s something yucky and not-worky about Grimm’s Law. What about cases where it doesn’t seem to apply? What’s that? Also, I swear some Danish dude had the idea first but just didn’t publish...

Well. You’re not wrong. But this post is long enough already. Next time, we’ll go over what exactly it is, where exactly it manifests itself, and how it didn’t seem to work 100% of the time...and I suppose I still haven’t answered how ‘hemp’ and ‘cannabis’ are cognates...you’ll just have to stay tuned! 

Bis zum nächsten Mal! 

[yikesharringrove]

His Fault.

Thank you @thinger-strang for the commission! 💕

Read on Ao3

Steve took Max first, grabbing her around the knees and lifting.

He didn’t know which kid was which, just picked them up and shoved them through the hole in the ground.

No thoughts in his head besides getting the kids to safety.

He was still dizzy from the fight, from Max’s wild driving, from being thrown into low oxygen conditions.

He grabbed Dustin.

The last kid to get through.

There was a rumble.

The ground shook.

And Steve stared death right in its face.

A pack of demodogs, heading right for them.

He grabbed Dustin, thought maybe, maybe he could shield him.

If this kid dies, it’s all my fault.

But the ‘dogs passed them by.

On their way to protect from El.

Because their plan didn’t work. Their carefully crafted idea to help El was bullshit.

He pushed Dustin up to safety.

He had brought these kids down here for no reason.

They had all gotten hurt for no reason.

All because of him.

-

Steve’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

He was trying to get himself to get up, get out of the car.

Staring through the windshield at the small service.

Barb’s funeral.

The girl that died right outside his house. The girl who died in his pool.

The girl he killed.

By being too preoccupied with Nancy. By being too much of a stupid fucking jock.

It’s all his fault.

He got out of the car, stayed mostly to himself throughout the service.

He hugged Barb’s parents afterwards, offered his condolences.

He got the feeling that they never really liked him.

That’s okay. He doesn't really blame them.

And if they knew, if they knew what he did to their Barb-

They would do more than just not like him.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, thoughts of your fault your fault your fault whipping through his brain.

He killed Barb.

-

Steve was trying to think quickly.

It was a little tricky, what with the pounding in his head, the hits he was taking right to the gut.

He needed to somehow talk his way out of this.

Which sucked because talking has never been his strong point.

But he brought Robin into all of this. He had let Erica climb through those vents to get them into the elevator. He had helped Dustin suss out what the message meant.

Actually, he hadn’t.

He had been too fucking stupid to help with that.

No.

He had just encouraged the translation that was happening around him.

Had just walked three people right into the clutches of the Upside Down, and these violent goddamn Russians, and-

That one hurt.

He woke up sometime later to Robin yelling.

“Hey, will you stop yelling?”

“Steve! Oh my God! Steve!”

She sounded, actually relieved.

“Are you okay?”

-

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

Robin was sitting next to him, both wrapped in thick blankets.

They had their own ambulance, Nancy and Jonathan in the one next door.

He had watched them take Billy off on a gurney, watched them slam a defibrillator to his body until his heart started beating again, watched them load him into the back of an ambulance, and take him off to the hospital.

The adrenaline, the heavy drugs, it was all out of his system.

And he was crashing.

“I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I shouldn’t have talked Dustin into translating the tape, I shouldn’t have-”

“Okay, Dingus. Let’s get some things straight. I’m pretty sure Dustin talked you into the translations. I don’t know if you’d be able to talk Dustin into anything. And you didn’t rope me into shit.”

“I mean, I mean with the Upside Down. This whole fucking conspiracy. You deserved to go your whole damn life without knowing any of this.”

“But Steve, I know about it now. The milk has been spilled. So stop crying.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Yes, it is.

-

“Hi, welcome to Family- Nancy?”

Nancy had stopped in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Steve. I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Yeah. You know, with the mall being all, burnt down. And stuff.” She nodded slowly, stock still in the doorway. “Can I help you find something?”

“No. Thanks. I’m just browsing.”

“Well, uh, let me know if you need help. Or ask Robin, maybe. She’s better with the recommends.” Nancy seemed to startle, stepping into the store properly.

“Thanks, Steve.” He smiled tightly at her.

They really hadn’t talked since breaking up.

Of course, they’d spoken in the summer, but that was less exchanging pleasantries, more how do we stop the giant fleshy monster that’s trying to take over the whole world?

Which isn’t quite the same.

She browsed through the aisles, Steve doodling on the carbon pad next to the register.

She smiled tightly at him, a few tapes in hand.

“So, uh, how are you?” They hadn’t spoken since that night. Since he wandered over to her ambulance, checking in with her and Jonathan.

“I’m okay. Just working and stuff. Obviously.”

“And how’s Billy?”

“Managing. He’s in all kindsa therapy and stuff now.”

“That’s, that’s good.” She was all stiff as he handed her her change. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“Yeah, Nancy. Yeah, you too.”

He hated how shitty and awkward that had been.

Hated that she was the person he felt closest to for the better part of a year, and now they’re stuck with light conversation and forced smiles.

He pushed her so hard.

Always poking and poking.

Always too clingy, always too emotional, not emotional enough. Too insensitive, or just too much work.

He doesn’t know how anyone puts up with him.

-

“Hey,” Billy smiled softly at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that my little nurse is here.” Steve rolled his eyes, smiling back as he sat on the bed next to Billy.

He had brought him to his house from the military hospital.

Billy still had a long road of healing. His scars were pulled together, and the wounds were closed, but everything was still pretty rough.

“Can I get you anything?” Billy reached over for him.

His hands were scarred and rough, and he was still trying to regain feeling, the nerves having suffered far too much damage.

“Nah. Just sit with me.”

Steve took one of his hands, stretching his hand like the doctor had shown him.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Nah. My stomach’s all outta whack today. Don’t know if I could keep anything down.” Steve furrowed his brows.

“Are you, can I make you something? Soup?”

“Stevie, I’m okay. One day’s not gonna kill me.” It felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Something must've shown on his face because Billy was trying to sit up. “Sorry, that was a shitty joke.”

“No, I just-”

“It’s okay. Sorry.” Steve tried to gather himself.

“Don’t like jokes about you dying. Thought you were dead for, for like a week, you know. Before they told us you were stable.”

“Baby, it’s alright. I know it was hard on you.” Steve blinked rapidly.

“But I mean, it’s like, youwere the one, the one in the hospital I shouldn’t,” he stood up, Billy wincing as the bed shifted. “I’m gonna make you something.”

He was holding back tears as he spread peanut butter and jelly onto saltine crackers.

Billy had the best luck keeping it down when he felt sick.

He felt like shit whenever he did that. Got all mopey on Billy.

Billy was the one trying not to die in a hospital bed. Steve was just, doing what Steve does.

Making everything about himself.

He brought Billy the plate, kneeling next to him in bed.

“You okay?” Steve just shook his head, plastering on a nice smile for Billy.

“I’m fine, Bill. Just try to eat? For me?”

Billy managed three of the crackers before he heaved into the garbage bin placed next to the bed.

Steve felt like shit.

Billy’s core muscles were still healing, and throwing up only made him sore, made him tired and in pain.

“Billy, I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have made Billy eat. Shouldn’t have tried to make himself feel better by force-feeding Billy while he felt bad.

When he finally stopped, Steve helped him to the bathroom to wash out his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Steve, it’s not your fault.”

“But you said you didn’t feel good.”

“You’re just trying to take care of me.”

Keyword here being trying.

Trying and failing at taking care of Billy.

-

“Steve, are you busy tonight?” Dustin had thrown open the door to Family Video stomping inside.

“I mean, no but I thought, isn’t tonight your big tournament?”

Dustin sighed dramatically.

“The arcade is closed.”

Dustin had been saving up for months, using the end of the summer to mow neighbors’ lawns.

Steve had even paid him to mow his own lawn.

He and the gang were going to rage for hours, Dustin organizing a special secret prize for whoever got the highest cumulative score.

He had put so much thought into everything, had been so excited.

And the arcade was closed.

“Can I talk to Keith?”

“Be my guest.”

Dustin pushed into the backroom.

Steve could hear his voice, could hear him arguing with Keith.

He came back out, Keith following behind.

“Harrington, I told you, customers aren’t allowed in the back.” He pointed to the Employees Only sign on the door. “Can you even read?” Keith rolled his eyes. Steve studied his shoes.

“And Henderson, I told you, the arcade is closed for renovations. A pipe burst in the storeroom.” Dustin Huffed. “Just, rent a movie or something. But you know, don’t ask for Harrington’s recommendation.”

Keith laughed to himself as he retreated to the back.

“Like I would ask you for a recommendation. I know what kind of movies you like.” Steve forced a smile at him.

“Sorry about your game night.” Dustin shrugged.

“I thought it’d be fun. We haven’t played DnD since Will moved. It just feels wrong without him, I guess. I thought this could bring us back to the fun spirit.”

“It’s a good idea. I’m sorry you’re gonna have to postpone.”

Steve just kinda lived with a big ol’ bit in his stomach these days.

But every time something like this happened, something where his friend was sad, and Steve was completely useless to help him, the pit seemed to grow.

He wonders what happens when the pit gets too big.

-

Billy stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly.

“You okay?”

Billy blew out a breath, rubbing his chest.

“Yeah. Just cold. It hurts.” They were standing outside, waiting for the kids to be finished with school.

Steve drove Dustin and Max home, usually brought Billy along with him.

Neil had been one of the flayed, the only casualty Billy said he didn’t feel bad for.

So Max had moved with her mom into a tiny two-bedroom house.

Billy was still staying with Steve for the time being.

“Oh! I got a sweater in my trunk.” Steve ran around to the back of the car, unlocking the trunk and digging through.

He kept his car pretty clean, just his bat, some jumper cables, and a go-bag.

So he should see the sweater right away.

But he didn’t.

He frantically shifted everything around.

“No, no.”

The sweater wasn’t there.

“Fuck are you, are you serious?”

He genuinely could cry.

Billy was blowing into his hands, rubbing them together when Steve slumped back over to him.

“Billy, I’m sorry. It’s not in there.” Billy squinted at him.

“That’s okay.”

“I thought it was, but I must’ve taken it out, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just, you know, come here and make it up to me.” He had a lazy smile on his face. “Come keep me warm.”

Steve wrapped himself around Billy, burying his face in his neck.

“I wish I could keep you warmer. I wish I had that sweater.”

“Baby, I’m okay. Just achy.”

Steve made sure to turn up the heat full blast when they got back in, the kids in the backseat.

-

“Fuck!”

The bottom of the box had given out, tapes crashing to the tiled floor.

He had been on his way to reshelve everything, after spending all day in the back rewinding.

But here he was, checking each plastic tape for cracks as he tried to find something else to put them in.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington.”

Ah, yes. That’s what he needs right now. Keith standing over him while he cleaned up the mess of tapes.

“What’d you do now?”

“The box, it just fell apart.”

“You know, Robin really went out on a limb to you to get this job.” Keith was standing over him, staring down at Steve sill kneeling on the ground. “Maybe I should just fire you both.”

“Wait, no!”

Steve’s heart was in his throat.

It felt like he was gonna choke on it.

“You, you can’t, I don’t care if you hate me, okay, just, just don’t fire Robin!”

Keith loved to do this. Dangle his measly power as manager over Steve.

Robin said it was some kind of revenge fantasy for how shitty Steve was to him in high school.

Steve just figures he deserves it.

Bottom of the food chain now. That’s where he is.

The guy that thought he was the hottest shit to walk the Earth. The guy that barely graduated. The guy that had to linger around his hometown. The guy has no life. The guy that has no future.

“Why not? She vouched for you.” Keith was eating a pack of M&Ms, crunching each one loudly between his teeth.

“Just, just don’t.” Steve felt like he could cry.

“Then get this cleaned up, and I’ll consider letting you both stay.”

Steve just nodded.

He didn’t think his voice would work without cracking all over the place.

He found a crate in the stockroom, stacking the tapes as quickly as he could.

He liked reshelving.

The organization system made sense, and he could do it easily without having to know anything about the movies, without having to know anything besides the alphabet, and the genre sticker each tape had.

Robin was better with customers.

Better at making change and recommending movies. Better at talking to people without sounding like an idiot.

But he finished reshelving, and had to retreat behind the counter.

“You’re being weird today.”

Steve had zoned out, staring through the front windows.

“Sorry.”

“Bad night?” he just nodded slowly. He didn’t want to tell her about Keith’s little threat. She would just go on a rampage. Probably yell at him a lot. And if Steve being a fuck up didn’t get her fired, defending him for sure would. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie. Most nights are bad. “Steve, are you sure you’re okay? It feels like,” she glanced around. “It feels like you’re getting, like, worse.”

“Sorry.” She furrowed her brows.

“That’s not something you need to apologize for, you know that, right? I’m just worried about you.”

“Sorry.” Her face pinched up even more.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, I, just you know. Not sleeping much.”

“I could come over? You said it’s better when there’s sound in your house. I can stomp around for a while.” He huffed a laugh through his nose, giving her the biggest smile he could muster.

“That’s okay. I’m managing, Rob.” She raised one eyebrow. “And besides, I, uh, I won’t be home tonight.”

She made a face at him, pursing her lips so she didn’t smile.

Billy had gotten his own apartment with the money the government had given him, a little thank you for your discretion gift when he was released from the hospital.

He had spent nearly a month in a coma, a month in which Steve had only left his room a handful of times. After waking up, delirious, and in pain, he had spent the next six months in heavy rehabilitation, in daily therapy, both mental and physical, in which Steve practically lived at the hospital with him.

They had bonded more than Robin could ever know, both boys spilling everything to one another, every dark thought, every bad memory.

Long story short, they were inseparable.

“Then have a fun night. And talk to Billy. Tell him you’re struggling.”

“I’m not-”

She stomped her foot, giving him a stern look.

“Yeah, okay.”

-

“Shit.”

Steve knew he had a key to Billy’s apartment.

But it wasn’t on his key ring.

“Are you kidding me?” He knocked on the door.

It took Billy a few minutes to come get him.

“I’m sorry, I, I lost my key.” Billy looked tired . It was Thursday. Billy was a stockboy at Meldvald’s on Thursdays. His doctor said getting a job would be nice, that it would help him rejoin society, make him feel good to support himself, all this shit.

Mostly, it just made Billy’s sore.

“It’s okay.”

“No, but, it’s not on my ring! I don’t know where it fell off, it could be anywhere, you might have to change the locks or-”

“Steve! It’s fine. Just get in here.”

Steve snapped his jaw closed. Billy shuffled back to the couch, groaning as he sat down slowly.

“Can I get you something? Have you eaten? I can rub your back if-”

“Harrington, just come sit with me.” Billy was giving him a little half-smile.

Steve stumbled over to the couch, and tucked himself right under Billy’s arm.

“What are we watching?”

“Some soap. There’s been a marathon all evening. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve leaned his head against Billy.

He had no clue what was going on. Had a question on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask about the plot points, the characters.

But he’s bothered Billy enough tonight, making him get up to open the door, always, always bothering-

“Hey, where’d you go?” Billy was stroking one rough hand through his hair.

“Nowhere.”

“Robin called me from the video store.” Steve sighed, burying his face into Billy’s neck. “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re always okay.” He said it like he was mad, like he was frustrated with Steve.

He pulled back, sliding to the other end of the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Billy was staring blankly at him. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad. What are you even-” he cut himself off. “Steve, talk to me. You’re getting, distant.”

“I’m-”

“Please stop apologizing.”

Steve swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to help you.”

“I-” Steve’s throat was closing up. “I don’t know what to do.”

Billy shifted stiffly, reaching out for Steve’s hand.

“Talk to me, Baby. You know I’ll listen.”

“I, uh, I just.” His jaw was moving, but he couldn’t form any words.

Billy took his hands, pulling him gently.

Steve let himself be tugged, let himself fall into Billy’s lap.

“It’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“All of it.”

“Can you, maybe elaborate?”

“Everything. It’s all my fault.” His chest felt pulled tight, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. “Everything, everything. My fault.”

Billy had no fucking idea what to do.

Steve was breathing sharply, his eyes squeezed closed.

He had both hands in his hair, pulling roughly.

“Steve, hey.” He took his wrists, trying to stop him. “Steve, I need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that?” Steve shook his head.

“Just, just try to take as deep a breath as you can, okay?”

Billy was trying to remember what his shrink had told him, the tips for dealing with his own panic.

But watching Steve fall apart, well. It was hard for Billy to keep it together.

He sat with Steve, holding his hands until he opened his eyes, until he was breathing without Billy reminding him to do it.

“Steve. Sugar. Talk to me.”

Steve was still slumped over, still had his head in Billy’s lap.

He turned to bury his face in Billy’s thigh.

“Sometimes I feel like the world is crushing me. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Can you explain that to me? You said everything was your fault.”

“Like, like Barb. She, it was my fault she died, and my fault the kids almost got hurt in the tunnels, and my fault that Dustin and Robin and Erica got stuck in the lab, and, and, and I’m so bad at taking care of you. I can’t do anything right.”

Billy could feel his tears, wet patches soaking through his sweatpants.

“You do a lot of stuff right!”

“Keith told me he was gonna fire Robin today, because I messed up again.”

“Fuck Keith. No way that creep has firing power. And maybe you should talk to Robin. Or go to your boss about him. He just likes going on a power trip with you.

“And as for, well everything, Pretty Boy, none of that was your fault. Barb was killed by, by a monster-”

“At my house, at my party, in my pool.”

“Still not your fault.”

“I thought she had left, you know? I didn’t know she was out there.”

“That just proves my point! You didn’t know she was out there, you didn’t know what was going to happen. That whole event , it had nothing to do with you. And the kids like, fully kidnapped you to bring you to the tunnels. If anything, that’s my fault for, you know. Doing what I did.”

Billy took a deep breath.

“I know a lot about guilt. I know how it feels like you’re just, you’re drowning. And you’re never gonna get to the surface, but that, that stuff. People make their own choices. You can’t control what other people do, you can just control what you do. And you, you do nothing but good. You just love, and you love, and you love. You always do what you think is best, and that’s what matters.”

“I feel bad all that time. Like, like right now I feel bad because, because of course you feel guilty, and I’m saying shit that doesn’t matter, and my problems they don’t-”

“Don’t you dare say your problems don't matter.” Billy was tangling his fingers through Steve’s hair, playing with it gently. “Your problems matter . They matter to me. It hurts me that you're struggling. It hurts me that I didn’t notice.”

“Billy, it’s not your fault.”

“You say that like it’s so easy. You take my guilt and you ease it. And that’s what I want for you.” Steve wasn’t crying anymore, but he was still curled up on the couch, still had his face pressed against Billy’s leg.

“I don’t know how. I’ve been so thoroughly crushed under all this that I’m scared of what happens if I claw through it all.”

“Maybe you won’t feel like shit all the time.”

“Feeling like shit is the easy part. It’s predictable.”

“I know. It’s safe .”

“Yeah. What do people even think about if they aren’t thinking about all the problems of the people closest to them and finding ways to blame themselves?” Billy laughed at that. Steve could feel his belly moving next to him.

It was a nice moment.

“I don’t know. That’s what movies and books are for. When you’ve got shit else to think about because you’re not trapped under a mountain of guilt.”

“Probably why I’ve read so few books, then.”

“We need to start watching more movies.”

-

“We need to talk about Steve.”

“Hi, Robin. It’s great to see you. How’s your day?” Robin rolled her eyes. She was leaned over the counter at Family Video, flicking through a magazine.

“He had a break down last night.”

“Finally. He’s been hanging on by a thread for weeks,”

“Yeah, try years.” She looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“He like, unloaded fully. He still blames himself for the girl that got killed in his backyard.”

“Wait, he thinks that’s his fault?”

“Yeah, and the kids in the tunnels, and also you and Dustin and Erica being brought into the whole mess. And also that he’s bad at taking care of me? Which, don’t know how he got that one. He does a really fucking good job taking care of me.”

“Jesus. He’s like, stressed.”

“To put it lightly.”

“So, what’s up? Where do I come in?”

“I’m planning an evening. A We Love Steve Harrington party.”

“I can be snack duty.” He smiled at her, clapping her on the shoulder. “It just us?”

“Yeah. I figured to leave the kids out of this one.”

“Good choice.”

“Be over at seven.” She nodded once, giving him a two-finger salute.

-

Steve was curled up, Billy spooned up behind him when there was a knock on the door.

“Go get that, will you? I’m all stiff.” Steve turned around, looking at Billy all concerned. “Go on. I’m okay.”

Billy had to shove him away before he finally went to answer the door.

“Oh, Robin, uh, hey.” She pushed one of her shopping bags into his arms.

“I was invited for an evening of bolstering you up.”

Billy came lumbering in, throwing himself down on the couch.

“I, don’t get it.”

“Robin’s here because you need some lovin’.” Steve’s bottom lip wobbled.

“That’s really nice.”

“You deserve it.” Billy was looking at him seriously.

Steve tucked himself into Billy’s side, Robin shoving herself next to him on the little couch.

Billy had pulled out all his lumpy blankets, and they had already torn into a box of cookies.

Steve was all warm.

Curled up in the blankets, watching The Aristocats.

“Thank you, guys. For this. It means a lot.”

“Can it, Dingus. Thomas O’Malley’s gonna sing.”

[katareyoudrilling]

Reunion: Chapter 1

Pairing: Original characters, OMC Andy x OFC Melanie (enneagram 1 x 6)

Summary: It has been 20 years since Melanie saw her high school best friend and crush, Andy, when he walks into their reunion.

Word count: ~1.5k

Rating: Teen, for now (18+ only, NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: some angst and pining

A/N: Thanks for taking a chance on some original characters!  If this story was a movie, Pedro Pascal would play Andy.  Some chapters include flashbacks in italics.  Some chapters also have some Russian phrases.  Translations will be available at the end of those chapters, but the meaning should be clear in context.  I use the enneagram to help develop my characters, but knowing the enneagram is not necessary to enjoy my writing.  I hope you enjoy!  I would love to hear from you!

Update 2/25/22: Given world events, I want to make it clear that my inclusion of the Russian language in this story does not mean that I condone the Russian invasion of Ukraine.  It is abhorrent.  Andy’s family came to the United States in the 1990s and they have no desire to go back, but they still feel a deep connection to their heritage.  Melanie and Stacy both chose to study Russian out of intellectual curiosity and a desire to feel connected to branches of their own family trees.  They found friendship and a deep appreciation for Russian culture.  All of my characters would feel absolutely sick and profoundly sad over the events in Ukraine, as do I.

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Chapter 2

“You can do this, Lena.” Lena is short for Yelena.  My name is not Yelena.

“I’m so nervous, Sonya.”  My best friend’s name is not Sonya either, for that matter.  We met in 9th grade Russian language class.  On the first day we chose our Russian names and they stuck.  At this point it would feel so wrong to call her Stacy and me, Melanie.  Her hands squeeze my bare shoulders.  Her eyes lock onto mine, willing confidence into me.

My first love has just walked into our 20th high school reunion.

The sign by the hotel ballroom entrance read “Party like it’s 1999…. Again!” and my former West Chester High School classmates are taking it seriously.

The atmosphere in here reminds me of prom, or it would if I had gone.  The room is decorated with green and white streamers and balloons.  A large dance floor is surrounded by round tables with floppy foil centerpieces – the kind you would buy at a party supply store in a pack of ten.  There is a long table with snacks and an open bar on the far wall.  Clearly the planning committee prioritized the booze over décor.

I suppose prom didn’t have an open bar.  I’m guessing many prom goers were drunk.  Were they as tipsy as the crush of 38-year-olds currently on the dance floor?  The sound of Sonya’s voice snaps me out of my musings and back into the present.

“Go talk to him,” she urges.  I smooth the front of my black silk jumpsuit and fiddle with the simple necklace at my throat.  “You look amazing.  Stop fidgeting.”

Sonya is always telling me I look like a Greek Audrey Hepburn.  In this outfit, with my black pixie haircut and dark, round eyes, I suppose I can see her point.  I am built like Audrey.  All angles and limbs.  Sonya says I’m lucky because she could never wear something like this with her generous curves.  She is much more Marilyn Monroe – a blonde bombshell for sure.

“It has been so long.  What if he doesn’t remember me?”  I haven’t spoken to him since graduation.  Twenty years is a long time.  Sonya’s blue eyes are kind but firm.

“That’s nonsense.  You were best friends.  Go.”  She’s using her mom voice now.  I had better listen.

A crowd has gathered around him.  It’s no surprise, given that he’s the founder of a billion-dollar Silicon Valley startup now.  I make my way to the edge of the group surrounding him – taking deep breaths to calm my rapidly beating heart.

The years have been good to him.  His gangly, teenage frame has filled in.  His mop of dark brown curls is tamed into stylish waves away from his forehead.  He has replaced his wire-rimmed glasses with modern clear epoxy frames.  His tailored dark suit and crisp white shirt are understated and elegant.  He can probably pay for a stylist.  Or maybe he has a wife that dresses him.  I tamp down the jealousy rising from my stomach.  He was only ever a friend.  I have been repeating that to myself for 20 years.  I nearly believe it.

The barrage of handshakes and bro hugs has slowed enough for a path to clear in front of me.  I take a deep breath and walk towards him.

“Melanie Nikas!” his face lights up as he spots me.  His smile is joy itself – like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.  Just one Andy smile could turn my whole day around.

“Andy Bocharov!” I reply with a smile of my own.

He leaves the crowd behind and gathers me into a bear hug.  My face nestles into his chest just like I knew it would.  I breathe in his scent, so familiar after all this time.  One long drag may be enough to last me another 20 years.

“Hi! Can I sit here?” I ask as I sit down across the lunch table from the new boy.  He looks up startled.  “I’m Melanie.  Andy, right?”  I can’t imagine why this cute boy is sitting all alone.

“Yes, I am Andy.  Nice to meet you,” he says haltingly, his words heavily accented.  That must be why.  Teenagers are the worst.

“Nice to meet you too, Andy.  Are you Russian?”  I dig into my lunch.

“Yes.  My family move to United States two years ago.”

“That’s really cool.  My parents moved from Greece when I was little.  I am taking Russian.  Can I practice with you?”

He looks a bit overwhelmed.  Maybe I came on too strong?  After a moment he replies, “Ok.  My parents say I need to practice my English more.  Maybe there is trade?”

I nod encouragingly and smile.  He smiles in return, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling.

“So, what do you do?”  He leans in close to my ear to be heard over the ever-louder music.  I have to give the DJ credit.  He is mixing in a lot of 90s jams.  Even I am having trouble standing still.

“I freelance.  Writing and editing mostly.  Some project management.”  Look at me keeping so calm when I can feel his breath on my neck.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his warm brown eyes alight with interest.  He genuinely wants to know.

“I do.  It gives me a lot of flexibility.  What about you?  Do you enjoy your work?”  My conversational skills are outstanding.  I should be an investigative journalist.

“My company is on the cutting edge of agricultural technology so it’s really exciting, but start-up life is hard.”  He moves to continue but is interrupted by yet another classmate.  I guess this is how it goes when you make the Forbes “40 under 40” list.  Everyone who ignored or made fun of Andy in high school now seems to think they were his best friend.

“Andy! Dude!” the guy slaps him on the back and pulls him into a bro hug, clearly drunk.  I don’t even recognize him.

“Good to see you, man.”  Andy politely brushes him off and turns back to me.  I smile weakly.

“This is crazy,” he says, or rather yells, exasperated.  “We can’t even have a conversation.”

“I know.  It’s quite a party.”  Ace of Base starts playing, and a roar goes up from the crowd.

He leans in close to my ear again.  “I want to catch up with you properly.  I’m in town for a bit, are you?  Could we get coffee on Sunday?”

I nod eagerly.  “I am.  I would like that.”  Warmth fills my chest.

“Great!”  He smiles genuinely at me.  “In the meantime, would you like to dance?”  He gestures towards the growing mass of middle-aged bodies on the dance floor, all singing “I Saw the Sign” at the top of their lungs.

“Why not?” I laugh.  I set my drink down on a nearby table and follow him to the edge of the dance floor.  We join our former classmates and pretend we are 18 again.

I let the pulse of the music move through my body and wash away my nerves.  Under the flashing lights I can watch him.  He’s a good dancer and he hasn’t outgrown his goofy enthusiasm.  It’s utterly charming.

He left his suit jacket on a chair allowing me to appreciate his broad shoulders as they flex beneath his dress shirt.  His slim hips move in time with the music.

His boyish features have aged into pleasing manliness.  He wasn’t considered “hot” in high school.  The definition only allowed for a certain football aesthetic.  But I always appreciated the distinctive line of his nose and jaw.  Approaching 40, he is breathtaking.  What was unconventional attractiveness then is undeniable now.

A stray curl falls onto his forehead.  My fingers tingle at the thought of brushing it back and running my fingers through the rest.  I look away to regain some control of my thoughts and see Sonya making her way towards the exit with her husband.  They probably need to get home to the babysitter.  She gives me an encouraging wave.

As I turn my attention back to Andy, the music switches to a slow song.  “Kiss From a Rose” by Seal.  Only my favorite ever.  Spouses and dates pair up all around us.

“Well?” Andy is holding his hand out to me.  I can’t help but notice he’s not wearing a ring.  With a nod I place my hand in his and allow him to draw our bodies close.

The warmth of his body seeps through the thin fabric of my outfit.  He is solid beneath my touch.  I am aware of every point of contact between us.  My breasts pressed against the firm muscle of his chest, my hand surrounded by his and cradled into his shoulder, my fingers resting on his bicep.  His scent surrounds me and I resist the urge to nestle my face into his neck.  My heart hammers in my chest.

His large hand spans the width of my back. I don’t allow myself to wonder if it’s chance or intentional that his fingertips graze the bare skin above my top.  This is like a dream come true.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to be right back where I was at the end of high school – pining over a boy on the other side of the continent.  He is just a friend.  We are going to catch up as friends on Sunday.  That’s all this is.

Chapter 2

Masterlist

[magiefish]

hhhhhhhhhh guess who drew all the batim characters in prep for the comic they’re making!

yeah so it took like 4 days to draw all these guys, and it was actually pretty fun figuring out colours and designs and stuff!

(also, update on the Reveries Twisted comic, I have a plan for the first chapter but i have like, 7 tests next week and I haven’t started drawing it yet so it’s definitely not going to be coming out anytime soon sdfgsdfsj but i am still working on it!)

anyway, i felt like writing little descriptions for every character, so feel free to read these below the ‘keep reading’ line if you feel like it! My ask box is also always open, so if u have any questions feel free to ask

Bertrum Piedmont-he/him, gay/ace

-Started working as a mechanic at about 15 and worked his way up from there -Everyone in the studio @ him: why are u british -His big ego often gets in the way of things, but at his core he's a good person (doing bad shit but ultimately having good intentions is common among these guys shdgfs) -Wlw & mlm solidarity w/ Lacie, who is his most trusted confidant and friend -Actually treats his employees well, even when they do basically nothing all day, so he does a lot of work himself most of the time Linda Stein-she/her, straight as a ruler -Parents immigrated from Spain -She's very catholic and very into 'traditional family values' and that sort of stuff -She is sweet, but her strict morals and black and white ethics often make her do unintentional harm -She is also pretty oblivious to most things Jack Fain-he/him & they/them, pan/ace, OCD -Mother immigrated from China to France, and then he moved to America, it's confusing -Can play the violin really well, but is terrible at composing his own pieces -Peak friend material -Short and round and soft with a love of a good espresso -Kind and quiet but ultimately ineffective and happy to watch from the sidelines Daniel 'Buddy' Lewek-he/him, aro/ace, autistic, jewish -He is curious and observant, but very very naive -He finds it hard to pick up on social cues, and tends to daydream a lot -Never really had a father figure, and unfortunately kind of half sees Joey as one (baaaad choice), but his mother is great -Loves drawing and tends to chew on pens (and most objects really) -Too young Susie Campbell-she/her, demi -Her parents were Russian and she picked up their accent, but taught herself how to cover it up. She is now excellent at voice acting. -Has a birthmark most theatres turned her away for. But luckily voice acting gave her another chance at performance, and the music department really does not care about it. -Her dad was a butcher, so she now knows a concerning amount about how to cut up and dissect meat. -She gets easily attached to things emotionally, and has a whole pile of random bits and bops she keeps on her person because she can't throw them away. -Naive, but smart enough to know how to read and deceive people if needed. Ms Abigail Lambert-she/her, lesbian -A very gifted artist, who is quite frustrated with the business aspect of animation. -Picked up quite a few things about engineering from Lacie. -Stern, but kind. Motherly, if she likes you and you squint hard enough. -Used to fighting for things. -Giving her food is a pretty good way to get her to like you. Being an artist, she forgets to eat at the correct times a lot, so a meals always appreciated. Norman Polk-he/him, gay, albino -Knows how to fix things, knows how to fight, knows how to hide -General cool uncle vibes -He watches people a lot, and gives off some creepy vibes, but he does genuinely care about people -Knows something is up and is determined to find out what (even if he dies trying) -Fought in WW1, then worked at a cinema for a bit. Emma Lamont-she/her, heteroflexible -Keep dancing even when everything goes wrong -Bit of a 'i'm better than these fools' mentality going on -But she's pretty chill, and willing to act when needed -Basically every woman in the studio knows her on the basis that she chills in the girls bathroom. -Hates Joey, but knows those who stir up a bit too much trouble usually 'resign' Sammy Lawrence-he/him, (vocal-romantic) bi/ace, ADD -His dad sucked, so he ran away. He's also the reason he's largely abandoned his faith, but he still holds hope that there is some kind of god out there. -He and Jack are basically brothers, they've known each other for a long time. -He can compose music in his head, but can play basically every instrument. -Tall and thin and sharp with a love of black coffee. -He's actually pretty chill and nice, but the conditions of the studio (workload, noises, dreams) have left him quick to snap and a stressed out mess. -He's pretty oblivious to his own feelings and spends basically all his time thinking about music, so he usually only realises that he has a crush on someone if he hears them singing (hence the vocal-romantic joke) Johnny Hart-he/him (she/her), gay (trans), heart condition -A nervous wreck who avoids everything and everyone -Trans but doesn't realise it, he thinks this level of discomfort has something to do with his heart condition or something like that. -Speaking of which, if he gets genuinely terrified or panicked he could have a heart attack. -Hence why he's a recluse who remains in the organ room and interacts w/ literally no one. -Except Dot and Buddy (who forgets he exists and who he also has a crush on). Wally Franks-he/him, pan -Friends with literally everyone who isn't one of the older folks (and thomas) -Honorary member of the music department because he can play a harmonica and vibes with everyone there. -Tries to put a positive spin on everything, often beyond the point of reason -A mischevous, mildly selfish prankster with a heart of gold -Gossip pals with Susie and Norman The Violinist-she/her, nobody knows -Has literally never expressed an emotion ever -Seems to know things are going to happen before they happen -Just generally pretty weird -She isn't friends with Dot, they're both just vaguely interested in what the others doing -She looks a lot like Allison, but the two have never spoken and nobody knows if they're sisters Thomas Connor-they/them, gynephilia -He is just. So tired. -An actual mechanical genius who gets his work used for the wrong purposes. -Is very of the 'when you're on a path stick to it' mentality -Cold and hard exterior that vertually no one except Allison has ever managed to get through. -He can and will beat you up. Henry Stein-he/him, gay, vitiligo -Nice and hardworking. -Doesn't have many emotions other than to draw. -He's in fucking narnia he's so deep in the closest. -Feels emotions, but buries them deep down and doesn't express them too clearly. -Has difficulty setting healthy boundaries with people and represses himself far too much. Joey Drew-he/him, homoromantic/pansexual, bipolar disorder, alcohol and cigarette addictions -Chaotic, feral, short little man who lies to everyone -Charismatic as hell, but also a terrible friend and person in general -He doesn't blink enough, does not know the meaning of personal space, and hasn't aged for about 4 years, which are all very bad signs. -Doesn't understand how to run a business but does so anyway. Doesn't understand how to interact with people but does so anyway. Doesn't understand how to create life but does so anyway- -He isn't pure evil, he just gets into very bad mindsets and makes poor decisions that lead him down the wrongest way to go. -Does some self evaluation and goes 'maybe this wasn't the right way chief :/' just a bit too late Audrey Dempsey-she/her, lesbian, Borderline Personality Disorder -Feral conspiracy theorist -May or may not be related to multiple studio members -Everyone's called her crazy for years and made her feel like a burden, and she is hellbent on proving everyone wrong -Quite socially awkward, and rather sarcastic with a dark sense of humour -Works for Archgate Allison Pendle-she/her & they/them, androphilic/ace -Is forever lost in a vintage clothing store -Most people say she seems nice, but everyone just kind of subconciously registers that there is something up with her -Knows a lot about the supernatural -The person closest to Joey, which doesn't necessarily mean they're friends -Nobody has ever seen the right side of her face Dot Acciaci-she/her, pan -Her parents are Italian, and she speaks a little herself, usually using it to encrypt her private notes -Mischevious & curious, but ultimately kind -She will find out your secrets, and is very good at reading people -Great storyteller -Struggles with loneliness a lot Dr Eleanor Hackenbush-she/her, aro/ace -Science knows no bounds -Doesn't care what your motivation is, as long as you give her some cash and some experiments -Filled with nothing but utter spite Ms Reina Rodriguez-they/them, demi -Tired of everything -Although she puts up a calm exterior, Rodriguez is very attached to the studio and views it as her 'new family', having a terrible relationship with her old one -Her family drama connects to the fact they're very catholic, but she nobody knows what this drama is other than Joey Tessa Arch-she/her, straight -An absolute bitch -Trusts her husband far too much -Not very smart, but compensates for this for being good looking and rich Shawn Flynn-he/him (intersex), pan -Jovial, but gets angry quickly -Willing to do 'wrong' things if it helps someone else out, kind of like Robin Hood or something -His mother taught him how to sew and he helped her make clothes when he was younger -Found it hard to get a job because he's Irish, so despite being tired of all the bullshit of JDS, he is reluctant to look elsewhere -Friends with Lacie and Grant because they appreciate his humour Lacie Benton-She/her, lesbian, trans -Tougher than the toughies -wlw & mlm solidarity w/ Bertrum, who she views as one of the only genuinely smart people in JDS and who she has worked for for basically all of her life -Feels like something is up, but doesn't notice much if it doesn't connect to her work -Has automatophobia -Friend with Shawn and Grant because she respects their dedication to their work Grant Cohen-He/him, bi, depression, jewish -Absolute madlad at maths -Acts like he doesn't care what you think, cares far too much about what you think -Everyone wants him to just get therapy already -Doesn't have many friends, but has a weird 'we're both horribly overworked' kinship with Sammy, so they usually just chill and smoke together -Friends with Shawn and Lacie because they're actually mentally stable and he needs some rocks Nathan Arch-He/him, straight -You should hate him -You should hate him a lot -Super rich and doesn't pay his workers enough -Silver tongued -Basically a spider. Creates webs of manipulation and lies, sees a lot, and knows plenty about waiting for his prey to come to him.

[hardcorehardigan]

[Cover: GREG WILLIAMS/AUGUST IMAGES]

Tom Hardy interview and exclusive David Bailey shot

Tom Hardy interview and exclusive David Bailey shot

By DANIELLE DE WOLFE

02 September 2015

ShortList meets the British actor who took on the Kray twins and won. Plus an exclusive image of the actor taken by the inimitable David Bailey.

Interviewing Tom Hardy is not like interviewing other film stars. From the moment he arrives – alone, dressed down in hiking trousers and black T-shirt, puffing away on a complex-looking digital e-cigarette – it is immediately clear this is not someone who will be exhibiting any kind of on-promotional-duties polish. He is very, very nice (I get a hug at the end of the interview), but there is unmistakably a wired edginess about him. When we sit down, it starts like this:

Me: I’m going to start with an obvious question, which is… Hardy: Have you seen the film? Me: Yes. I… Hardy: Right, well that’s the first question, then. The second one is, “What did you think?” I tell him I loved it, and why, and he is pleased (“That’s a f*cking result!”). When we move on to me asking him questions, his answers – again, in contrast to other film stars, with whom the game is to get them to veer slightly away from prepared, succinct monologues – are smart and eloquent, but long, drawn-out and enjoyably all over the place, veering off into tangents prompted by thoughts that have clearly just formulated. At the end of our allotted time, we are told to wind it up not once but twice, and even then he is still going, launching into theories about American versus British gangster films and life and humanity and such things (“Sorry man, I can talk for f*cking ever!” he laughs). He will be talking with a seriousness and sincerity (“All the risk was taken by [writer and director] Brian [Helgeland], to be fair…”), then will switch without warning into a piercing, mock-hysterical falsetto (“…letting me PLAY BOTH F*CKING ROLES, MAN!”).

In fact, briefly, while we’re on the subject of the way he speaks…

Tom Hardy’s normal speaking voice is not something we have been privy to onscreen. Since he delivered – whatever your opinion of it – the most imitated cinematic voice of the decade in The Dark Knight Rises, we haven’t come close. That thick Welsh accent in Locke, The Drop’s quiet Brooklyn drawl, the Russian twang in Child 44: we just never hear it. And this might be because it doesn’t exist. It’s five years ago, but if you watch his Jonathan Ross appearance in 2010, where he is very well spoken, he confesses he “sometimes picks up accents, and sometimes I don’t know how I’m going to sound until I start speaking”. If you then watch another video of a feature on GMTV, dated just a month previous, while addressing some young people from troubled backgrounds as part of his charity work with the Prince’s Trust, he is speaking to them in a south London street kid drawl. Today, in the flesh, he is about halfway between these two.

A natural-born chameleon.

Tom Hardy shot by David Bailey for ShortList

BEING DOUBLE

The role we are here to discuss today does not, by Tom Hardy’s own standards at least, involve a huge stretch accent-wise. But it is “the hardest thing that I’ve ever done, technically”. This is because, as mentioned, he plays not one role, but two. In the same film. You will likely have seen the posters for Legend by now, depicting Hardy as both of the Kray twins. Which seems an ambitious, almost foolhardy undertaking.

Hardy agrees. “It is one of them situations,” he says. “You get an actor to play two characters, and immediately, it’s pony. It’s gonna be rubbish. Just: no. It’s a bad idea.”

This particular “bad idea” came to him when he first met writer and director Brian Helgeland (who had previously written screenplays for – no biggie – LA Confidential and Mystic River) for dinner. Brian wanted Hardy to play Reggie (the hetero, alpha male, more-straight-down-the-line Kray). Hardy, though, had read the script, and of course, being Tom Hardy, was drawn to the more complex character. “I was like, ‘Well, I feel Ronnie,’” he says. “So which actor am I gonna give up Ronnie to, if I play Reggie? Errrrrggh…. I can’t have that. ’Cos that’s all the fun there! And Reggie’s so straight! But there was a moment when I could have come away just playing Reggie. We could have gone and found a superlative character actor to play Ronnie, and that would have been the best of everything."

But Helgeland sensed the dissatisfaction in his potential leading man. “I’m sitting there thinking, ‘Oh, he wants to play Ron,’” he tells me. “And the paraphrased version is that by the end of the dinner, I said, ‘I’ll give you Ron if you give me Reg.’”

And so began their quest to turn a risky, potentially disastrous idea into something special (as Brian puts it to me, “the movie’s either gone right or gone wrong before anyone even starts working on it”). Hardy found some comfort in Sam Rockwell’s two-interacting-characters performance in Moon. “I’m a big fan of Sam,” he says.

“And Moon gave me reason to go, ‘I know it’s possible to hustle with self, to create a genuine dialogue with self.’ So then it’s the technical minefield: can you authentically create two characters within a piece at all? So that the audience can look past that and engage in the film? It is what it is: it’s two characters played by the same actor. But I think we got to a point where people forget that and are genuinely watching the story."

This was the ‘why I liked the film’ reasoning I gave to him at the beginning of the interview. And it is a remarkable performance, or pair of performances, or triumph of technical direction. The opening shot features both Tom Hardy Krays sitting in the back of a car, and feels strange, but very quickly, within about 10 or 15 minutes, you settle into it, and forget that it is actually the same guy. This was made possible, in part, by Hardy’s stunt double from Mad Max: a New Zealander named Jacob Tomuri.

“He inherited the hardest job of my career,” Hardy grins. “I put on a pair of glasses, played every scene with Ron, then took ’em off and played Reg. And we went through every scene in the film, recording it on the iPhone. So he’s got every scene of me doing both characters, on his iPhone. He actually played both brothers, had to learn all of the lines. He was paying attention twice as hard to keep up. But he superseded that, and was eventually ad-libbing. There’s a line that ended up in the film, where Ronnie goes, ‘I bent him up like a pretzel, I hurt him really f*cking badly.’” “Where did that come from?!” Hardy shrieks, in that falsetto again. “It came from New Zealand."

The wife’s tale

The other big potential pitfall, as Hardy sees it, was contributing to the ongoing glamorisation and eulogising of two brothers who were, to say the least, not very nice. Somehow they have become almost as iconic a piece of the Sixties puzzle as the Beatles or the Stones. But this was not something that Legend would be setting out to reinforce. “One has to approach these things thinking about the families of the victims who were involved in the other end of it,” he says. “Before you find the heart to like somebody, you’ve gotta look at their track record as best as possible: the people who’ve been hurt, the bodies, the suffering, people who were bullied, who lived in terror, who lost significant parts of their lives in the wake of these two men. There’s a lot of sh*t to wade through. And a lot of people who do not, quite rightly, want to see anything to do with these two men. And if I were them, I wouldn’t want to be involved myself, but there’s also part of me that wants to know. That wants to get under the skin.”

So how do you go about doing that? About humanising, to any extent, such people?

“I think the first port of call is, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to do and say whatever you wanted to do and say in the world, regardless of the ramifications and the consequences?’ Ultimately, when I – we – go to the cinema or read a book or we go to escape, we respond to certain types of characters that go, ‘F*ck it: I’m gonna do whatever I want.'

And that’s because we can’t. Because most people would feel a responsibility.”

The answer to how Legend would do this came in the shape of a person who did feel some responsibility, namely Frances Shea: the troubled wife of Reggie, who died in 1967. Played by Emily Browning, she became the centre of the film when Helgeland met Krays associate Chris Lambrianou, who told him that “Frances was the reason we all went to prison”.

“We could have put more of the carnage and the crimes in that film,” says Hardy. “Not to say that it is not there, but what you do see, really, is Reggie, Ronnie and Frances. That’s the dynamic we focused on, that space, which hasn’t been seen before. What was that dynamic like? I don’t know if we came anywhere near the truth, because we weren’t there. But that was the playing field, if you like: Frances Shea, future ahead of her, caught up in something, and no one with her, the suicide. That sits with me in a way as the lead. She’s who we forgot. Ronnie, Reggie, they’ve done their bit. Frances was forgotten. And that kind of all ties it together for me."

FUTURE LEGENDS

The initial praise for Legend has been plentiful, but the mindset of Tom Hardy right now is such that he does not have the time to bask in it. There are other quite ludicrously challenging projects to be pressing ahead with. Coming in autumn is The Revenant, starring his good friend Leonardo DiCaprio and directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu of Birdman fame. Its trailer, as well as doing the not-going-anywhere trend for big beards no harm whatsoever, suggests that it will also match Mad Max in terms of an unrelenting barrage of intensity. Further into the future there’s the Elton John biopic Rocketman (initial challenge? Hardy “can’t sing”) and another foray into comic-book adaptation with 100 Bullets (news of which broke just after our interview).

And right now, as in this week, he’s working on a BBC series called Taboo, which is set in 1813 and stars Hardy as an adventurer who comes back from Africa and builds a shipping empire. The story has been developed by his production company Hardy Son & Baker (formed with his father, Chips) and has been written and directed by Locke/Peaky Blinders creator Steven Knight, with Ridley Scott also exec producing.

“We’re sat on something really awesome,” says Hardy. “And it’s trying to piece it together. I’ve never produced anything before, so I basically don’t know what I’m doing. But I’ve got some options and solutions: if you say something is not working, you better come up with at least four other options. But it’s good. It’s just different.”

Another day, another big challenge. Another chance to do something different. It isn’t an easy life being Tom Hardy. But neither will it ever a boring one, and that’s good news for us.

Legend is at cinemas from 9 September

Words: Hamish MacBain. Images: David Bailey, Studio Canal

You can also read the Hardy interview in this week's ShortList Magazine. It'd be a crime to miss it.

Source: https://www.shortlist.com/news/tom-hardy-interview-and-exclusive-david-bailey-shot

[mrs-falcon]

Vincent is finally getting his own ref sheet :3 This character is part of universe I created called "Shadows of the Real World", partly drawn, partly written complex story. Character created - 2017 (along with Raven) BASIC INFO: Current name: Vincent Jackson Former/Original name: Dmitry Sergeewich Trutliv (Дмирий Сергеевич Трутлив) (hopefuly english ppl will understand the pronounces xd ) - exhausted (looks like he's chill with almost everything) - can get easily mad/upset - quite slim figure after his mother - can be a loving parent/partner - caring about others he loves - hates his father - took care of Raven he'd found on streets Family: - father: Sergei Vasileevich Trutliv (Сергей Василеёвич Трутлив) (Black Yukon wolf) - mother: Alexandra Antonovna Trutliv (Александра Антоновна Трутлив) (Arctic x Eurasian wolf) - "stepmother": Melanie Manson (Shiba inu dog) - half-brother: Frederich Manson (Black Yukon wolf x Shiba inu dog) - partner: Sherab Azuki (irbis) - daughter: Rozaline Jackson (hybrid) Gender: male Age: 40 years (from the beginning of the written story) Height: 190 cm Species: inclination to Eurasian wolf Spoken languages: - native: Russian - first foreign language: English (American) - second foreign language: Japanese Born country: Russia Currently living in: USA Job: (currently) security guard in metal factory DETAILED HISTORY: [*WARNING - following text contains lots of triggers and mature stuff (such as abuse mention, violence, character's trauma mention,...), please read at your own risk] Born in a cage? First what Vincent, formerly Dmitry, remembers is aggressive voice going toward his mother. His father was a rich (yes - rich, not wealthy) and very famous person in his country for his position - Sergei was a successful communistic leader, business man and ... a professional rook. Living on far east part of Russia wasn't easy and, of course, not cheap. Thanks to Sergei's intelligence and extensive contacts he could easily manipulate with all people in his region, which led to exploitation of the lower classes working under his control, making Sergei's life much more "rich". However, a typical successful businessman has to have a perfect partner, right? Sergei's and Alexandra's encounter was a pure coincidence - Sergei needed a proper wife who would do anything according to her husband, Alexandra needed a man who would take care of her and financially secure her. Alexandra was a very young lady from a poor family. But what was worse than living from hand to hand was her untreated illness - fragile bones, fragile mind and a slowly growing cancer - that all was a secret Sergei never found out about. And due to Sergei's aggression and growing presure from his work and political position, Alexandra had to suffer slowly... and no-one could do anything about it. Not every home is the best After Alexandra gave birth to her son, Dmitry, she became even more fragile and exhausted. Her husband didn't care anymore, he only did his best to keep himself as a successful person in strangers' eyes. And because of that Alexandra had to gave up on her faith, who's a Orthodox Christian, and started to centralize around Vincent, her only hope. However, even in presence of their only child Sergei didn't hesitate to relieve his aggression on his wife. Alexandra was helpless - she could not leave without Dmitry, without money, without her own strength. Alexandra suffered five more years until she finally reached her prayed heaven, leaving her only son behind... Since Alexandra gave bith to her son, her health condition became worse, every day, and with this thought Sergei blamed little Dmitry from Alexandra's death and started developing aggression towards him. Little Dmitry, confused by why his father started hating him so much, tried to enjoy his free days somewhere outside. However, making friends with their long lasting rivals, tigers, was not acceptable, right? Little Dmitry learned another hurtful lesson. It took long time for Dmitry to get used to this life - he hated it, but he could not hate his birth country... which was taken away from him another five years later. Sergei could not handle the situation of his low class employees who finally after so many years started a revolution. Sergei's and Dmitry's home was in a centre of revolution - bricks broke the windows, fire engulfed the furniture... Sergei and Dmitry had to literally run away from this place, once called home, and run away from their country. Better start? America - a place of golden streets, a place of free lands. That was Sergei's new target. But was is exactly as he dreamd of? As other immigrants Sergei and Dmitry lived in crowded flats filled with filth and limited basic life needs. Dmitry was tangled to his father's back luck, whether he wanted it or not. But his father had still contacts. After few months they could move into a large, already rotten and almost fell apart, building with no-one around. Sergei saw a new change, Dmitry only worse start. His father started to get bored of his son's company and started neglect his son even more than before. Dmitry was sick of his new life, worse that before, but Dmitry's new "mother" was even bigger nightmare than he could imagine - a simple streetwalker only few years older than him. However, young people can get surprisingly mean. After Sergei's new mate, Melanie, found out about his fundations, she started to make a plan how to force Sergei leave all of his legacy for her. Best idea? Give him a better heir than Dmitry was. Get onto your own feet Dmitry could not handle the current situation in his life and decided to run away from his abuse father and his new rival. But who would accept a half-wild wolf cup in thier nest? With people's prejudices Dmitry started calling streets his new home since he had no other choice. And returning to his father? He would rather die than that. It didn't take Dmitry long to understand money are a key to, at least, standart life. But due to his low age no-one would employ a kid into their business... except for black markets and perverts. Ready or not, Dmitry knew living only from garbage wouldn't keep him alive for long. As a shadow, as a no longer officially existing person, Dmitry started making money through "gentle work" which left a great trauma on him. However, his first luck appeared - his body started to get features after his father and Dmitry started getting offers for street fighting. It wasn't exactly the best, but definitely better that his previous experience. "Vincent... now this sounds like a fighter!" Now Vincent earned his new identity and could finally afford a smaller flat and a proper food. He visited his "family" only few times since that. After that, he tried to focuse on his new, hopefully better, life. Luck! Luck! Luck! But that doesn't last forever With higher earnings everything went much more smooth. Vincent asked for asylum in a new region for young adults who aspired to find a job a leave the place as soon as possible. The workers of that place gave him few tips for work with recommendation. Another long years of his life Vincent kept up like a security guard. Was it a coincidence or not? The same working place was requested for a quite young female irbis immigrant, Vincent's future life partner - Sherab Azuki. Both of them did not honour the ancient traditions since Azuki was brought up by pair of ibex. Vincent knew this will be his life partner and tried his best to not lose her - he learned Japanese, found another two jobs for better earnings and even bought their own flat, that all only for his beloved Azuki. At the top of it, the pair was lucky to have their common child - Rozaline, tehir sweet Rose. Vincent could not even express his excitement and joy for his new, true family. His daughter and partner gave him new energy for their future life. Vincent tried to do his best he could, tried to be better father then his was. However, Vincents death number appeared once again... After the wolf came back from his work, he could not believe his eyes - Rose and Azuki were murdered. Who could do that? Someone who feared ancestros such as Vincent and Azuki were? Someone who did not accept hybrids? Someone who new Vincent was related to Sergei? There were so many options yet no-one could finds the true sinner of this terrible crime. Waiting for death The new energy quickly vanished, Vincent lost all of his jobs, his flat, his new hope. What did he do wrong for such terrible things that happened to him? Lost in emptiness of his inner world and left with despair, Vincent didn't try to continue in his life. Isolated at the far edge of the large city, somewhere in the middle of ruins, he waited for death to consume him. To quicken his "process" he started damaging his organs, especially lungs. But to the wolf's surprise his younger brother, now successful businessman like their father was, offered him a help. Vincent didn't trust his half-brother, but Frederich's current power over regions forced Vincent to join him. What an irony they ended up in the same place where it all began - in the old rotten building, now one of the greatest and high productionable metal factories in northern part of USA. Vincent wasn't surprised that this all inherited Frederich, now that their father is gone. But why so sudden? Even though Vincent was offered a job and a place to live, his current life was like a street's rat - hidding from the world and waiting for death... That all changed a young cat Vincent found behind the factory almost death, yet still breathing... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Even tho Vincent's past was more drastic, Vincent's and Raven's lives are somehow very alike... This kind of "storytelling" leaves a lots of quetions. Does the Sergei's death and Vincent's murdered family have a connection? And what about Frederich? We haven't heard much of him in this post... Artwork, Vincent, story & SotRW (universe) © MrsFalcon (FalconFeatherTheCat) (me)

[elles-writing]

When The Worlds Collide - VI

Kili x reader

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for not posting my own works in like two weeks or so. It was rough for my mental health and school was kicking my ass and I was not in a mood for doing many things, so now I hope you will like this long chapter!! It’s not really about the main plot, just some fluffy moments to enjoy. Also, it was my birthday 23rd September and it’s finally autumn!! I also don’t really know when am I going to draw, because like I said, I was not doing mentally well, but I think I could give it a shot in a next few days, because I’m on my autumn break, finally! I’ve been finishing a cake w my mom in past hour or so and I created a moon on it and waves in Gogh’s paintings style, I’ll show you a photo of it in next part.

gif not mine

gif not mine

gif not mine (inspo for the bun and cooking scene)

Also, I’m not sure in which year in modern world this shall be oriented, but songs I’ve been thinking of (aka you playing these to them):

Spanish: Volar – Alvaro Soler, also We Don’t Speak Americano

French: Amour Plastique – VIDEOCLUB, La Vie En Rose – Edith Piaf

Korean: Sweat, Blood & Tears – BTS (because I don’t know almost any Japanese songs, but I like this one and some other songs in Korean)

Vegetable pie – quiche (I’ve had a pumpkin one in a cafe and it was real good)

Warnings: fluff

tags: @moony-artnstuff​ @whenputtingpentopaper​

One of the fun things while having this group around was that they would constantly look around some rooms in your house and tell you how pretty it was, even if you haven't been tidying and cleaning it in two weeks at least. They also loved to explore your library and spended countless hours by reading the books. You've decided to introduce them to human culture. Only the basic things, really.

"So, here, the race of Men has developed into a different coultures and languages all over the world. Can you guess, for example, how many languages is here?" Kili didn't even thought about his answer.

"Well, you have one common language, so I guess just one, maybe two or three," He said with proud confident smile, changing in his typical cheeky grin as he winked at you. You chuckled and shook your head. Balin looked up from his book.

"There must be more. What about five, or ten?" You looked over others.

"Any other answer? C'mon, try out some number." You felt like a teacher in a class of many different students.

"Thirty languages, that could be," said Legolas calmly.

"Well, this is much bigger world, but it can't be that much. I guess twenty." Bard was thinking aloud.

"So, how is it, lass?" Fili asked and you couldn't help to cover a smile that was forming on your face.

"Well, actually, it's much more than that," you said. You've heard Gandalf to chuckle.

"It's over six thousand languages." Kili's eyes widened and his jaw fell down, Fili did pretty similar face. Most of them looked at you as if you'd told them you personally know Smaug and he's your best friend. And that dragons are the biggest cuddly softies.

"Bold of you to assume that whole population in this world speaks one language or a few dozens of them," you jokily murmed to yourself. Of course, elvish ears have picked that up. Thranduil looked at you with his icy glare.

„How does they sound, then?“ You pulled out your phone and opened YouTube.

„Well, this is a language called Spanish,“ You‘ve played one song in Spanish and all of them were listening to it, deeply in thought. You’ve noticed some dwarves trying to catch the lyrics, and when the song ended, you looked over them.

„This was Spanish, it’s one of the most largely-spoken languages all over the world. It can be slightely different, it depends on where you go. Then, there is another language, and it’s called French. It’s also called the ‚language of love‘, because it sounds softly and even as some sort of charm or magic.“ You looked to the elves.

„I think you may like it, it sounds a bit as an elvish in a way,“ You shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to offend them. They looked more interested in what you were about to play to them.

„This song is in French, but it’s a sad song. It’s also quite old, but I think it’s quite a good example, because it’s well-known, so,“ you left the sentence unfinished and played La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf, then one more modern song in French so they’d get the idea. When it ended, you’ve spoken again.

„Well, then there are much different languages. This one is Korean,“ you said and played a song, around fourty seconds.

„What were they saying? It’s all so different!“ You’ve heard Fili and smirked.

„You haven’t heard Russian, Fili.“ Kili sat closer to you, just as a puppy needy for attention.

„They are all so different!“ He threw his hands into air. You smiled.

„Oh yeah, they are. But it’s better to know at least two languages, to get higher chances of getting a job. The more languages you know, the more likely will people want you to work for them.“ Bard piped up.

„How can you learn them? Some of them sound way too difficult to learn, that Korean for example, how would you learned that?“ You looked over to your library.

„Oh well, you can go to some classes and learn the language here, or you can learn them by yourself. There are many textbooks you can use for learning grammar, and you can use books in your target language to help you to learn the vocabulary. Or you can watch movies in that language, listen to a songs, read articles instead of books, text or call with somebody who speaks that language...there are plenty of ways to do so, there is probably even more of them. Also, depends on the language and the person. Some people learn easier when they’ll learn the basic grammar first, someone needs to learn the pronounciation first, and so on.“ You finished talking and they were staring at you, surprised.

„How many languages do you know, if I may ask?“ Balin looked curiously down at you, sitting with crossed legs on the floor with Kili sitting next to you. You’ve thought about his question.

„Well, I’m fluent in two languages, and I’m learning another one. It’s a great way to relieve stress and it’s really fun thing to do, even though sometimes you have to learn to write completely different letters.“ You showed them Koren, Japanese and Russian letters, and they couldn’t believe their eyes.

A few minutes later

Fili sat down to the other side, so you were seated between them and they could look on your phone and into your book about Korea and Japan.

„How can you write that? How can you read that? It’s impossible! It all sounds the same!“ Kili and Fili cried out when Google Translate pronounciation have proved them wrong after another attempt of reading the languages.

„Every language has it’s own rhytm and you have to really listen to it, so you will recognize the words. If you don’t know the languages, it does sound close. Maybe we could try out some French and Spanish, what do you think?“ You said after seeing the elves being annoyed that they could not pronounce it, but not complaining as the dwarf brothers.

But oh boy, French and Spanish, that was another challenge. Even if not that big, but still.

„How do you do that with your mouth?!“ Kili asked you, looking as unhappy, flustrated puppy whom you took it’s ball and refused to give it back (or throw it).

„There are some rules for something called grammar and pronounciation, which you are purposely ignoring and then you complain you don’t understand how to do it!“ You said and rolled your eyes.

„You always tell me it’s wrong!“

„Because it is! You are pronouncing it wrong! It’s leviOUsa, not levioSAAA-!“ You stopped and then you started laughing. Kili furrowed his eyebrows.

„What, what are you laughing about? What is so funny? Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?!“ Kili looked at you, lying on your back on the floor, tears from laugh sparkling in your eyes.

„I sound-I sound just like a Hermione! It’s not LevioSAA-“ You started laughing again and they all looked at you worried.

„Shall we be concerned?“ Fili asked and you shook your head.

„No, no, it’s okay, I just-“ You looked at Kili and tried to not to laugh again.

„I’m okay, it’s okay.“ You breathed in and out, slowly, closing your eyes. You didn’t noticed how most of them looked at each other. As if they’d ended up with some crazy person.

You spoken.

„Okay, I think that was enough of languages for today. I know you have Khuzdul, Elvish and common language in Middle-Earth, but here is much more. Human culture in here has been developing for thounsands of years on many different places, so that’s why.“ You said and got up to your laptop to find some pictures of a certain places. They all came closer.

„Well, this is Rome, in Italy. Then, we have Paris, in France, now some Scandinavian countries. This is Stockholm, Sweden. Then, there is London, Great Britain. Now, this is Los Angeles and New York, that’s both in United States. This is in Japan and this is in Australia.“ You showed them well-known places all over the world and especially Europe, since you assumed it was the closest to Middle-Earth style of living.

After a while, you’ve decided to make some dinner. It wasn’t too much left, and you knew you’d have to go shopping soon, but you didn’t wanted to stress yourself about leaving some fictional characters alone in your house for an hour. No. You prepared a recipe and ingredients and started making dough and left them in living room with another pile of books. They especially loved classics, because they had similar language to what they were using, but they liked even more modern books. You didn’t even counted the time you were thanking yourself for collecting books and being a bookworm. And being a „public library“, as you and your friend would say.

Meanwhile, Kili looked up from his book to Fili, whom was reading one book series and seemed to like it, but now his brows was furrowed as if trying to solve some problem that came up. He quietly closed it and noticed you weren’t here with them, so he‘ve decided to find you and maybe talk with you about the book he was currently reading.

The first place, where he’ve decided to take a look to, was kitchen. He stood in the doorway, more to the side so you wouldn’t noticed him right away, but you seemed to be deeply in thought and mentally far away.

You were making a dough, with your hair up in a messy bun, your apron had quite a lot of flour on it, some flour ended up on your face and especially on your cheeks and up to elbows your hands were covered in it, even in your hair was a flour, but you didn’t seemed to mind it here. Next to you, there was a bowl of some cutted vegetables and a smaller bowl of cheese and a few eggs, some spices and herbs.

He didn’t noticed when you‘ve looked up as his memory flew back to his mother back in their old home in Middle-Earth in the kitchen cooking and his and Fili’s failed attempts they called cooking. They were much better at cooking from mud and twiggs than from real food. He imagined his mother and you in that kitchen and that you’d both tell him to get out from the kitchen and he’d sneak in afterwards to steal some piece of pie or cookies or sweet pasteries to prepare for you and him a picnic under the stars...

„Are you going to stand here and stare at me while I’m cooking?“ You placed your hands on your hips and a smile was dancing across your face. Kili’s head snapped and his cheeks blushed.

„I, uh, I wanted to talk with you about this book, I think it’s a good one.“ You came back to your dough and started working on it, again.

„Well, what books is it?“ You looked at the book he was holding.

"Oh, so The Picture of Dorian Gray. How do you like it so far?“ Kili looked at the book in his hands as if it could answer instead of him. He didn’t wanted to embarrass himself in front of you.

„Well, I...uh...it’s-it’s interesting and-“ You softly chuckled and his head snapped up.

„You can sit by the table rather than to stand in the doorway, Kee. Or you can help me out.“ You clapped your hands and big cloud of flour appeared in the air. A cheeky grin found a way to his face.

„Oh, so you would risk cooking with me, miss Y/N?“ You grinned back at him.

„Well, maybe. And still, you can sit down and talk about the book, I’ll listen to you.“ You said and a soft chuckle escaped your lips when you’ve seen how eager he was to sit near you, somebody whom was ready to listen to him.

„Tell me what you honestly think of that book, Kili. I won’t get offended or anything.“ You smiled at him and you’ve seen his eyes to shine as he spoke and when you were talking about all the characters and the storyline from different points of view, but that didn’t lasted long, because...food.

„What are you cooking?“ Kili asked curiously as he’ve checked the dough you were doing, the vegetables, spices and herbs.

„I’m baking a pie with vegetables and cheese, Kee.“ He scrunched his face and furrowed eyebrows.

„Why would you bake it with vegetables? Pies are sweet, aren’t they?“ He looked up at you with his questioning soft brown eyes and you’ve melted once again. You sighed and started explaining.

„Well, they are, but this type of pie is made with vegetables and cheese and eggs. It tastes good, I promise. It’s something like a pizza, but...well, it’s just a bit different, but good too!“ You said and he nodded, remembering that you baked a pizza a few days ago. Then he was standing next to you, looking sleepishly down at it.

„Put your hair out of the way, Kili, or they will end up in it. And that would not be good.“ You said, pulled out a hair-tie from the pocket of your apron, and created a messy bun out of his hair. You’ve realized that touching someone’s hair is (well, at least in the movies and books) intimate for dwarves, so you felt your face to heat up in embarrassement. You realized that it was probably true when Kili was suddenly stiff and his ears became red.

„Oh, I didn’t realized, I’m sorry-“ He cutted you off.

„It’s okay,“ You noticed he was sleepishly looking at you, but there was a twinkle in his eyes telling you he was not mad at you. (As if he could be possibly actually mad at somebody, you thought.) You shyly looked away.

„I, uh, wanna help me out?“ You looked down at floor, suddenly too embarrassed to look at him, so you didn’t noticed how his eyes widened in surprise.

„Y-you would let me to cook?!“ His voice came out as high-pitched and you glanced at him. His eyes were set on you, he was clearly surprised and excited.

„I will keep an eye on you, but yes, at some point I will.“ You said a bit hesitantely. He looked a bit concerned, but excitement overtook him. You handed him an apron. Yours was dark blue with little stars on it, this one was creamy with brown fabric around the edges. You helped him to put it on and stepped a bit away, hands on your hips and slightely narrowed eyes.

„Yeah, that’s good. But we need to do something with your bangs,“ You said and pulled out a few hair clips and bobby pins in more sizes from pocket of your apron. You went through them and then slightely nodded, chose a few of them and the rest gave back. You looked up to Kili.

„This will help to hold all of your hair out of your face,“ you said and he took them and suspiciously glanced at them. You sighed and rolled playfully your eyes. You took one of your pocket, took a strand of hair that escaped to your bun and inhaled.

„That’s how to do it. It’s not like it will bite you.“ You said, clasped the strand to it’s place, placing your hands on your hips and rising your eyebrow. He grinned and winked at you.

„Okay, let’s get the pie done!“ You quickly said, trying to cover your rising blush.

You broke the eggs into the bowl with vegetables and let Kili to put the herbs into it, but you added spices and heavy cream into it.

„Now, mix it-carefully, so it won’t end up on the floor and stay in the bowl-and then carefully pour it onto the dough,“ you motioned to the prepared dough on pie dish. Kili, when he calmed down (which almost didn’t happened, he seemed to be excited somebody trusted him enough to let him to kitchen to do something else than just eat, drink or sneak in for food), was a quick learner. You placed the pie to oven and let it to bake. You leaned against the counter and with a huff you wiped off your forehead.

„I think it’s time to get cleaned up,“ you sighed, your eyes falling shut. Kili nodded, but it seemed something on your face cought his attention. He came closer, he was close enough for you to see his soft gaze filled with concern and his brows slightely scrunched, him being concentrated.

„You have...a bit of flour left here...“ he said and his thumb runned across your cheek. You slighely flinched on that sudden contact. Your eyes met his and you’ve seen in his gaze he was thinking about something. His touch was sending shivers down your spine. You slightely opened your mouth, but closed it again, not wanting to ruin the moment. His eyes had a sparks in them, but he looked more nervous than cheeky and confident this time.

You couldn’t help but looked quickly on his lips and back to his eyes. It was only you two now, as if the whole world disappeared. You were holding your breath, nervous what was about to happen.

„I-,“ Kili whispered and you felt his breath on your lips. He was looking deep into your e/c eyes, thinking about how beautiful they were and how close he was. He could kiss you, your lips were just a few inches away, and he’d lie if he said he have never, at least once thought about how it would felt like to kiss you, at least once, since he met you.

„Kili, where are you?!“ You both flinched, quickly parted and looked away. You’ve heard Kili groaning as his older brother appeared in the doorway.

„You need to read this series Kee-wait-“ he slightely frowned, looking at his brother more properly.

„You were...cooking?“ You nervously smiled.

„Uhm, yeah, I was making a dinner and, uhm, Kili was helping me out,“ You said.

„Kili, you can go clean up, I will clean here a bit,“ You didn’t gave him a place for an answer when you pushed him to go to Fili. When a door fell after them, you sat down on the floor and thought about that moment you almost kissed. And then Fili came in, you thought and groaned. He was definetely keeping an eye on his brother.

[niqhtlord01]

Destiny 2 Season of Dawn Funny Dialogue Part 2: Saint - 14

With the return of the greatest Titan to ever fight in for the light, what would he think of what the city has become? 

Saint: You are the one called the Drifter, yes? Drifter: The one and only. Saint: Do not go causing any trouble for the people here. Drifter: No need to be so hostile friend. I'm only here to promote Gambit for spry Guardians such as yourself. Saint: Believe me, this is far from me being hostile. Saint: (Steps closer to Drifter)  Saint: Hostile will be me using you as kindling to stay warm one cold night. Saint: (Glares at Drifter) Saint: I know your kind, but I know you have also helped Guardians. Saint: So this time it is only warning. Next time, it will be promise; "friend".  

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Devrim: So you're the guardian everyone's been clamoring about. Saint:  You must be the Gie Lovos Devrim: Pardon? Saint: Forgive me, it's what I heard the Fallen outside call you. Devrim: You understand that snake hissing? What does it mean? Saint: "Pretend Sniper" Devrim: I most certainly am not!  Saint: They were talking about this human that sits in a tower with a sniper rifle and never fires a shot. Devrim: That's nonsense, I shot some Fallen just this morning. Saint: Really? May I see your rifle then? Devrim: Of course, just handle with care. Saint: (Takes rifle, Inspects it) Saint: I doubt you killed anything with this bolt action. Devrim: It may not be as fancy as your guardian weapons, but old fashion weapons are just as good. Saint: Indeed they are, but I was referring to the fact the chamber has been rusted shut and can not load a round. Devrim: Well this is embarrassing. Saint: No doubt Gie Lovos

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Saint: Ello Ms. Holliday. Holliday: Hey Saint. What can I do for ya? Saint: I would like a sparrow with guns. Holliday: Why would you want one of those? Saint: Yours do not have guns. Holliday: Adding guns is a special order, and I just can't give everyone a custom ride. Saint: Yet you design one to look like christmas sled. Holliday: Well that's just- Saint: And one that has giant animal skull on the front easily the weight of a small child. Holliday: Now hold on now- Saint:  And don't think I forget what you made for Shaxx last solstice. (Both turn to see Shaxx on his tiny Sparrow scooting by) Shaxx: Thank you again Ms. Holliday! Shaxx: Why I haven't felt this much fun since I was kidnapped and made to read Shakespear! Saint: (Shouts after him) You would go faster if redjack pushed you like itty bitty child. Shaxx: (Shouts back) When you finally complete a mission in under three years then you can talk to me about being slow.

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Drifter: Bit odd to hear you being the greatest titan of all time when all you have is one gun. Saint: I am greatest titan of all time because I only need ONE gun.

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Saint: I have been told that you know much of the Vex. Asher: Of course I am you walking time paradox! No one can compare to my knowledge into the depths of the Vex mind. Saint: I would argue that I am just as knowledgeable as I have fought them for many centuries in the depths of the infinite forest. Asher: Do you not see my arm?! (Holds up Vex arm) You dare think you could be my equal? Saint: I notice your other arm is of the awoken, does that mean you are also a master of knowledge with the awoken? Asher: Don't be preposterous- Saint: Then why does being part Vex make you a master of knowledge of the Vex?

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Ikora: When you have some time I'd like you to sit down and tell some of the new guardians your experiences in the infinite forest. Ikora: Your years fighting the Vex would be a great boon for them to learn from. Saint: I....I do not wish to speak of that time. Ikora: I understand. I do not wish to bring up bad memories of the Vex. Saint: It was not just the Vex I fought all those years. Ikora: Meaning? Saint: Osiris could explain it better than me, but time does not work properly in the forest. Saint: A second here becomes a lifetime in there. Saint: When the Vex failed to defeat me, they made Fallen. Saint: When the mound of Fallen dead proved no match for me, the Vex made Cabal. Saint: When the burning wreckage of their war machines lay strewn across the ground, the Vex made Hive. Saint: When I impaled the last of their knights on their own swords they made something far worse than anything I had ever faced before. Ikora: What could possibly be more terrifying to fight then what you slew before? Saint: (Looks at Ikora) Saint: They made guardians......they made you all.

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Zavala: It's good to have you back; the city will need all the guardians it can get its hands on. Saint: Thank you. I have actually been meaning to speak with you for some time now since my return. Zavala: What do you wish to speak of? Saint: I believe you need to leave the city more often. Travel the system, fight foes on different worlds, stretch your wings and fly so to say. Zavala: There isn't a corner of this system I have not fought on nor enemy I have not faced in battle. Saint: I respect that, but that is not what I mean. Since my return I have noticed you are more...what's the word.....obsessive, with the wall. Zavala: Come again? Saint: I have yet to see you anywhere other than atop the wall, and the people I have spoken to have told similar stories. Saint: I must admit it is slightly disturbing that whenever I have seen you it has only been atop of this wall. Zavala: I must remain here and be ever vigilant so something like the Red War never happens again. Saint: Hmm. Were you not atop the wall then as well when it happened? Zavala: (death glares)

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Saint: I've heard you have been selling knock off copies of my helmet. Spider: What can I say? You guardians have a rather interesting sense of fashion. Spider: I take it you're here to claim a piece of the profits? Saint: No, I wish to purchase all of the ones you have left. Spider: Oh? This was certainly unexpected. Spider: When I was told the nightmare of Mercury was coming to pay my humble establishment a visit, I thought the worst. Spider: Pray tell, why the sudden need? Saint: I want to get back at Shaxx for not letting me enter his silly crucible by making sure every guardian he does let in will bare my face. Spider: Now that, is so deliciously evil I'm tempted to offer a discount.

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Saint: So the traveler was damaged? Zavala: It was during the Red War. Saint: But there is more underneath it? Zavala: From what we can tell there is far more. Saint: (claps hands) Saint: So Traveler is like Russian doll! I knew it!

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Saint: I've been meaning to ask you Osiris, but what happened to Mercury? Osiris: The Vex took control of the entire world and changed it. Saint: I meant why is the planet nearly cracked in half? Osiris: Oh. The Red Legion brought a super weapon called "The Almighty" that partly destroyed the planet. Saint: So the weapon is harmless now? Osiris: Not really. There are cabal still on board. Saint: That is concerning. Osiris: Hardly. There's also a Hive Dreadnought floating out by Saturn that's been there for years as well. Saint: That is even more concerning.  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saint: It is good to see you all again. I hope you slew as many foul birds over your break as I did. Holliday: I didn't know you ate turkey. Saint: Why would I eat turkey? Holliday: You just said you slew birds over the break. Saint: Yes. Big ones as huge as a tank with jaws filled with razor sharp teeth. Holliday: Think you may have misunderstood the meaning of the break. Saint: Nonsense. Shaxx explained it to me very clearly. Saint: "Slay more birds than your friends and family, then revel in your victory." Holliday: Wh- Saint: (Holds up hand at seeing Shaxx walking by) One moment. Saint: (Shouts to Shaxx) 38! Shaxx: (Stops and shouts back) 47! Saint: Birds the size of sparrows don't count you rusty showman! Shaxx: They might as well for you you walking museum!

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(Saint leads fireteam through Leviathan Raid and enters Calus throne room) Calus: (Clapping hands while on couch) Calus: Marvelous! Simply Marvelous! Calus: I knew from the mome- Saint: AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Saint: (Starts running and leaps through air at Calus and headbutts him, knocking Calus, Saint, and the couch over) Guardian 1: Wow. Say what you want about him but the man can jump. (Saint 14 stumbling to feet holding Calus head in hand) Saint: FRIENDS LOOK! HE WAS A MACHINE ALL ALONG! Guardian 2 to Guardian 1 in whispered voice: Did he not know that already? Guardian 1: (Shrugs) I don't think he'd have cared either way. Guardian 2: He's going to freak when he sees what's below.

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Shaxx: Ikora told me what you went through in the forest. Shaxx: (rests hand on Saint's shoulder) Shaxx: You truly deserve the title as strongest Titan for your struggles. Saint: Thanks....It...means much to hear you say that. Shaxx: Tell me, did they make copies of me as well? Saint: Plenty. Shaxx: And you defeated them without question? Saint: Indeed. Shaxx: Absurd! What if one of them had been the real me?!? Saint:  I could easily tell none were the real one. Saint: None of them had right smile. Shaxx: (Laughs, pats saint on shoulder and lifts him up) Shaxx: Come! Let us celebrate your victories against my imposter's! Saint: (Stands up and joins him) Saint: You know at first, they made them with two horns. Shaxx: Ha! It is unsurprising they keep failing when they can't even capture my glorious visage properly!

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Ada-1: Greetings guardian. Ada-1: What can I help you with? Saint: I would like a gun. Ada-1: Can you be more specific? Saint: I would like a very big gun.

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Saint: I wonder if I have mail. Postmaster: You have, 3972, messages and, 9086, packages. Saint: Oh boy....

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Saint: Why is everyone worried about the moon once more? Ikora: It has been overrun by nightmares. Saint I fail to see how that is troubling since it already was when I vanished. Ikora: No, I mean nightmares brought back to life in service of the hive. Saint: The hive can be pretty nightmarish in their own right but they go down just the same. Ikora: I think we're speaking of two different nightmares. Saint: Unless it is trying to get Banshee to pay back money he owes me when he was Banshe-34 you do not know the definition of nightmare.

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Saint: Good to see you again Eris. Eris:............. Saint: What is wrong? Saint: You look like you have seen ghost. Eris: (Angry face, storms off) (Surrounding crowd looks awkward) Saint: What? Did I say something wrong?

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Saint: Why do you not let the people out of the city? Zavala: Because the world is still full of dangers. Saint: It was full of dangers long before this wall you love ever went up, but that did not stop people from venturing into the unknown. Zavala: The risks are simply too great. We can not afford to lose any more people. Saint: I understand my friend, but that does not give you the right to turn their home into a prison. Zavala: No, you don't understand. The red war- Saint: Yes, yes, the Red War. That seems to be your justification for many things as of late. Saint: You forget humanity has fought many bloody wars before the red war and that did not shackle our legs from moving forward. Zavala: And each one has nearly brought about the end of our species. I will not risk that again. Saint: Life IS change. The more you fight against that change, the farther you will be left behind by the world around you.  

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[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Winter Fox Part 1 / 2

Summary: Steve and Bucky discover that they know the Female!Rogers!Reader more than they think.

TW/CW: Bucky Barnes x Female!Rogers!Reader, other than that I don’t think there is any but if you know any I should add, lmk. Set after the snap.  Spoiler Alert: Reader and Bucky end up together in a different part.

Requested?: No

Word Count: 1,396

A/N: Uh I used Google Translate for the Russian so I apologize if it’s incorrect. I didn't get very far in learning Russian and it was a while ago when I was learning it. I had to split it into multiple parts bc I was afraid it was getting too long but should I just do a second and like time skip to when Reader remembers everything and she and Bucky are together or would you guys prefer that I make a series of it and show her regaining her memories? Spoiler Alert: Reader and Bucky end up together. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Requests are Open!

Your POV

    They call me the Winter Fox. Often times, if it weren’t for me, the Winter Soldiers wouldn’t have been able to complete the missions they were sent on. My missions were generally the same, get intel of a subject and give it to Hydra so that they can figure out how to send a Winter Soldier after them. That was until they tried to start sending me on missions with the Winter Soldier, the first of his kind. These missions were always a power struggle and they ended up having to add who was in charge to our mission commands otherwise we would get into arguments and almost compromise the mission. 

    When the Winter Soldier escaped and Hydra supposedly fell, another head of course took its place. I was taken from the storage facility in Siberia, where I was being kept with the other Winter Soldiers. They didn’t need the others if they had me. I could out match all of them put together. Even still, I was kept in cryofreeze until Hydra saw fit to raise their head again. 

    It wasn’t until three years after the lost half of the world’s population returned from The Snap that Hydra decided The Avengers had gotten too comfortable and wanted to shake things up again. Of course, most of them had been wiped out in the snap and brought back. I wasn’t though. I still remained in cryofreeze. Once, they brought me out again, they prepped me and immediately sent me after Steve Rogers, which I suppose I should be thankful for. 

    I failed to complete the mission the first time and the Winter Soldier, well I suppose he prefers his real name now, recognized me. I don’t actually know his real name, or maybe I do and don’t remember it. It’s on the tip of my tongue but I can’t figure it out. Anyway, I failed that mission but Hydra sent me right back out after a memory wipe. I failed again and that brings my thoughts to where I am now, good timing too. 

    A red headed woman enters the room with her head held high, “Privetstvuyu Gidru.” (Hail Hydra). 

    Suspicious, I confirm, “Privetstvuyu Gidru.” 

    Not missing a beat, she commands, “Zimnyaya lisa, dayte otchet o missii.” (Winter Fox, give your report.) 

    “Po ch'yemu prikazu, neznakomets?” (On who’s orders, Stranger?) I inquire. 

    “Vasily Karpov. Vash staryy komandir mertv, i teper' ya glavnyy. Ne zastavlyay menya povtoryat'sya,” (Vasily Karpov. Your old commander is dead and I am in charge now. Don’t make me repeat myself,) she says. 

    Convinced, I give her my mission report of the failed mission I had just been captured on. As I finish, she turns her back and faces the one-way mirror, “So, this one wasn’t only sent for Rogers but for Barnes as well.” The name Barnes catches my attention but I keep my gaze lowered and ignore it. I haven’t been spoken to therefore it’s none of my business. After a brief moment, she turns back to me, “Chto eto u tebya na sheye?” (What is that around your neck?) I pull the dog tags out from under my shirt. I had long since forgotten about them but never took them off, I was ordered to keep them on. “Kto oni takiye? Chitat' ikh,” (Who’s are they? Read them) she commands. 

    “James B Barnes,” I pause. There’s that name again, “32557038 T41 42 0. R. Barnes. 3092 Stockton Rd. Shelbyville, IN.” The look of shock on her face is unmistakable. She turns to the window again. 

Bucky’s POV 

    Everyone in the room has their eyes on me now. Those are my dog tags. Why does the Winter Fox have my dog tags? Tony goes to say something but is interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y, “Mr. Stark the results are back from the DNA test.” 

    “Okay, let’s hear it then,” says Stark. 

    “Captain Rogers, Sargeant Barnes, you may want to take a seat for this,” F.R.I.D.A.Y cautions. 

    “Just get on with it, please,” Steve insists. 

    “The DNA matches that of one (Y/N) Rogers. Born (Your Birthday), 1916.” 

    “That can’t be. She disappeared back in the 30s,” Steve says in surprise. 

    “The DNA test isn’t gonna lie, Rogers. That’s why we did it in the first place,” Stark informs gently. 

    “But she disappeared 90 years ago,” Steve says, not wanting to accept that his older sister is now sitting on the other side of the glass. 

    “You’re right. She disappeared but that doesn’t mean she died, Steve,” I say, finally finding my voice again.   

Your POV 

    I wait patiently as the woman seems to be listening to something, probably an earpiece. Suddenly, everything goes black. A blue theater screen lights up, bathing the darkness in a soft glow. Then, a movie starts to play on it. I watch as a young girl and two young boys play tag on a street corner. Somehow, I recognize the girl as myself. I watch as a woman calls the three children into the house. 

    The scene shifts and the three children are now nearly adults wandering down a long sidewalk. On the girl’s right, well my right, the tallest of the two men nudges my arm, “Ya know, doll, maybe you guys should at least come over for dinner tonight. Wouldn’t want you two to starve.” 

    I glance over at the shorter man beside me and he shakes his head as expected. “Thank you for the offer, James, but I think we’ll be alright. Besides, Stevie doesn’t seem to want to be around anyone right now,” I whisper this last part. So that’s their names, Stevie and James? Wait James as in, I, well the me that’s watching the movie, look down at the dog tags hanging around my neck. Surely this isn’t the same James, that’s such a common name.   

    I look back to the screen and now the movie me is standing on a porch with Stevie and James. I step aside as James steps forward and hands Stevie a key, “The thing is, you don’t have to. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.” Stevie turns and unlocks the door before going inside. With this, James turns to me, “Take care of yourself, and him. You know where to find us if you need anything.” With this, he kisses my forehead before walking away. 

    Everything goes black again and I open my eyes. Now, there are several other people in the room with me. I look around and to my surprise, I see Stevie and James in the room as well, except James is also the Winter Soldier and Stevie has gotten a lot taller. Confusion courses through my mind as Stevie steps forward, “(Y/N), I’m Steve. Do you by any chance remember me?”   

    I look to James and back before nodding, “You’re my little brother and that’s James. He was our best friend when we were growing up.” My head hurts after remembering all this information. Oddly, that’s the last thing I remember until being assigned the mission I failed for the second time today. My mission, I was sent to kill my brother and his best friend, who I now know is the Winter Soldier. 

    “You’re safe here. Hydra can’t get to you here,” Steve says, “do you want to go lie down somewhere?” 

    Before I can answer, James speaks up, “Don’t tell her that, Steve. We don’t know that they won’t come for her or that someone else won’t for that matter.” 

    “Bucky, I’m trying to not scare her,” Steve scolds. 

    “He’s right. I’m their last weapon. They’ll come for me,” I mumble. 

    At this, Steve turns to a teenage girl in the corner, “Shuri, can you get the trigger words out of her mind like you did Bucky’s?” The girl nods. Steve turns back to me, “She can make it so that they can’t trigger you anymore. She did it for Bucky too.” 

    I look over to James. Steve always called him Bucky but I liked James better. He looks at me for a moment, “She can. You don’t have to do their bidding anymore, doll.” Doll, he always called me that. Rarely did I ever hear him call me by my name. 

    I return my attention to Steve, “Okay, let’s do it. The sooner the better, less likely that they get to me before she does it.” 

Part 2 || Masterlist

Taglist: 

[rileywrites]

If you’re still doing prompts, this is from your prompt list in the random section — nos. 4 or 14, or from the fluff section, no. 12, in yet another of my reluctantly shipped ships, the Book of Nile. *sigh* (I have fulfilled the requirement of the manifesto) 😆

I wanted to give you options just in case someone already asked for any one of these!

Or, if you want, you could go for my original prompt, which would be: Nile has now learned Italian, Ancient Greek, Modern Greek, perfected her Arabic, etc. When Booker returns to the fold, Nile asks him to teach her French, (which Andy, Joe, and Nicky always said would be his job when he came back) but he basically gives her the “Ask your mother” “Ask your father” treatment, passing the responsibility like a hot potato between the other members of the Guard. After some time has passed, Nile catches him quietly singing songs in his old dialect of French, and oddly, only when the two of them are alone in a room. Since his old dialect has basically died out, she can’t exactly google translate. But she begins to suspect something’s up when Quynh stops dead in her tracks after she walks in on Booker singing something while making breakfast, as Nile sits at the table, enjoying everything, which leads to Quynh disappearing, and quiet laughter coming from the bedrooms. After a confrontation, he admits he didn’t want to teach her French, at least not for a while, because he wanted to have the ability to tell her how he feels about her through singing ancient French love songs, without her knowing, promising himself he’d teach her his language, when or if the day ever came that he could tell her in words.

I’m so sorry it’s a bit long, but this just popped in my head, and I know you’ll do wonders with this, if you decide to do it. No hard feelings at all if you don’t!

Thank you so much, you’re an amazing writer, you capture the voices of the TOG characters so well — I always smile when I see your name pop up with a new BoN story on AO3!

Thank you for this wonderful prompt, darling! I have absolutely run with it. I will write the snippet prompts eventually, but this one grabbed me by the throat.

Read on Ao3 Here.

...

After fifteen years with the Guard, Nile has a pretty good handle on just about any language you could think of.

Nile can give a eulogy in Spanish, ask for directions in Pashto, negotiate a weapons deal in Russian, woo a honeypot target in Italian, con a businessman in Greek, and navigate trade in Arabic. She can read, write, and speak Ancient Greek (circa Nicky and Joe's era) and is passable in several dead languages from the Steppe and Southern Asia. She's decent at Mandarin, getting pretty fucking good at Vietnamese, and doing her damnedest to learn Hindi. (It's  a struggle.)

The one language she hasn't picked up yet is French.

It isn't for lack of trying. Her grasp at French is enough to not get her killed, but most of her practice has been with Quebecois or the dialects spoken in Morocco. Basically, if she spoke French in France, they would laugh at her, and her comprehension isn't great

"When Booker comes back, he'll teach you," Andy promises. "He has the most modern French between the five of us. It will do you better to learn from him."

"That doesn't do me any good in the interim," Nile points out.

"He'll be back any day now," Andy says. "Trust me, he'll crack soon."

...

Nile gets to their most recent safehouse late after a long night of schmoozing. She hates long cons, hates that some of humanity's evil can only be taken down with espionage and not brute force.

Her feet are killing her. These sky high boots make her ass look amazing, but her leg muscles regret every life choice she's ever made.

The TV is on, even though Joe and Nicky are supposed to be on recon. With Andy and Quyhn in Istanbul following a lead (to keep a grouchy Andy off of desk duty for a weekend), Nile's senses are on high alert.

She enters carefully, gun drawn.

"Don't shoot," Booker says, hands up. He smiles slightly. "I would have messaged, but I don't have your latest code."

"I still have the Nokia you gave me," Nile points out. "Andy could have told you that."

"Maybe I wanted to surprise you."

"You definitely have too much of a death wish for someone who can't die."

Booker doesn't have a comeback for that. Nile holsters her gun.

"Hug me, you sneaky bastard. It's been literal years."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He crosses the room in two strides and steps into her waiting arms.

When they collide, it knocks the wind out of Nile's lungs. Breathing is irrelevant anyway, when she's in Booker's arms.

"I missed you, asshole," Nile says into his shoulder, probably getting makeup on his dumb denim shirt.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry that I did not visit sooner." Booker rubs one massive hand over her back. "Your feet probably hurt. I should let you get changed."

"One more minute."

Later, when Nile has had time to change into an oversized t-shirt and Nike shorts, her wig back on its mannequin head, Nile sits down with her feet in Booker's lap and grills him for information.

"I got sober about five years ago." Booker rubs her feet without hesitation, well-trained from centuries with Andy. "I haven't had a drop since."

Nile nudges his chest with the foot he isn't massaging.

"I'm proud of you. It can't have been easy."

"It wasn't." Booker bats her foot away. "It was worth it, though. You deserve a better teammate - you all do. Besides, I don't need to spend the rest of my immortality intoxicated. Six thousand years is a long time to be drunk."

"So what have you been doing since?"

"I spent a lot of time Journaling, processing my emotions. I worked in several literacy programs across the world, staying long enough to help but not too long." Booker shrugs. "Safer that way, I guess."

"Did you bring me pictures?"

"Of course. I have no clue how you keep finding film for Polaroid knockoffs though. It's twenty-thirty-five."

"I have my ways." Nile makes grabby hands in his direction. "Pictures. Please tell me there's pictures of you holding cute children you're teaching to read."

"Of course there is." Booker finds the envelope in his bag, careful not to dislodge her.

The tiny gesture is so fucking heartwarming it hurts.

"I have training in literacy coaching in English and French, so I've worked just about everywhere."

The photos are fucking adorable. Nile flips through them with glee, enjoying the tiny humans and huge Booker sharing textbooks and screens. One little girl in particular pops up in several.

"That's Adelaide," Booker says when Nile holds one up. "I stayed in Port Au Prince for almost a solid year, because I couldn't bear being another to abandon them. When she was adopted by a family in the church, I decided it was time for me to come home myself."

"That reminds me. You're back, which means I finally get to learn proper French."

Booker hesitates.

"Come on, Book, I know you have the qualifications." Nile retrieves her feet so she can kneel by his side on the couch. "You promised. Andy promised. No one else will teach me."

"Nicky hates French," Booker points out.

"I know, and everyone else is too stubborn. They all want you to teach me." Nile fidgets with his rolled-up sleeve. "I want you to teach me."

One good bat of her eyelashes later, and Booker finally agrees.

"Fine, fine, I will teach you French."

"Yes!"

"Eventually. For now, you need rest. Andy will insist on a stupidly early call tomorrow."

...

Six months later, and Booker hasn't said three words to Nile in French. He uses it on jobs, with Joe and Andy, when he talks to himself, but not with her.

They end up in Calais for three days, longer than expected, and Nile bugs him to go out with her.

"Come on, you can teach me in the field. I can practice." Nile pokes him in the arm. "You can laugh at my shitty attempts to use your language, and then you can correct me. Fun and educational!"

"I have too much to do, Nile. I have to make sure this program runs properly, or else we can't get on that plane." Booker waves her off. "Go read something. We have more books than sense here."

"That's not hard, when you're dumb." It's petty, infantile, but it gets Booker to smile and that's enough. "Fine. Don't think it's the end of this, though. You promised to teach me."

"I know, ma cherie, and I will. But for now, entertain yourself."

Nile grumbles. "I am forty-one years old. Don't act like I'm a child."

"I know you aren't a child. However, you are being a brat, so shoo."

"Asshole."

Nile pokes through the books in Booker's latest pile and fishes out something newer and trashy. Brainless. It'll do.

(And if she gets him to throw couch pillows at her by doing dramatic readings of the worst bits, all the better.)

...

Booker has been back in the fold for almost a year.

"Booker, you promised."

A year, and Nile is still just as shit with French - except for the curse words. She knows a whole stable of curse words now.

"Ask Andy."

Nile huffs. "I've been asking Andy for almost sixteen years, Booker. She says you'd be the best one to teach me."

"I don't know about that," Booker says, frowning.

"You're the French one."

"They've spoken French since it was invented."

Nile sighs. "Forget it. I'm going for a run."

She slides her ancient Nokia into her armband and pulls on her sneakers. A run will clear her head.

He doesn't say anything when she leaves. Nile tries not to take it personally.

They're in Istanbul, following up on the lead Andy and Quyhn have been chasing down. They're going to the Hippodrome in the morning, but for now, Nile has the evening to herself.

Why does this whole French thing piss her off so much?

(Nile isn't an idiot. She knows why.)

Maybe she'd be less irritated if he hadn't started singing recently.

It's nothing too obvious, just little snippets of old-sounding songs in a version of French that is either impossible for her to spell, too old for Google Translate, or both.

Nile turns a corner, mentally marking her distance as her feet hit the pavement.

Maybe she wouldn't care as much if Booker sang when the others were around, but he doesn't. It's just when it's the two of them.

Booker is asleep in the armchair by the time Nile gets back. She pokes and prods at him until he's awake enough to shuffle back to the bedroom.

"We've got a long day tomorrow." Nile shakes him gently. "Don't fall asleep in your boots."

"M'good," Booker says, then mumbles something incomprehensible in French.

"Goodnight, Booker."

"Bonne nuit, ma cherie," Booker says.

Nile can figure that much out.

...

The next morning, Nile wakes to singing and the smell of breakfast. She pulls on a hoodie and shuffles out of her room, scarf still on because fuck it.

"G'morning," she says, muffled by a yawn. "Coffee?"

Booker pours her a cup as she sits at the table. Before she's done with the coffee, an omelet appears before her.

"You are the fucking best." Nile digs in, content to enjoy the moment.

Good food, good company, and surprisingly good singing.

Nile is halfway through her omelet, Booker still be-bopping around the kitchen singing, when Quyhn and Andy get in from their morning run.

Both freeze in the doorway before Booker can notice, but Nile watches their minds race.

"Good morning," Nile says.

Quyhn whispers something in Andy's ear, and they walk quickly back to their bedroom.

Booker seems to realize they're there about the moment quiet giggling comes down the halls.

Nile didn't realize Andy could do anything other than chuckle gruffly these days.

Booker blushes bright red and his eyes go wide.

"Booker, your breakfast," Nile points out before it can burn.

"Fuck." Booker rescues his omelet. "I should go talk to them."

Nile stands, hemming him into the kitchen.

"Why are they giggling, Book?"

Booker refuses to make eye contact, but Nile doesn't back down.

She's been a mercenary for a decade and a half. She's faced down gangsters and serial killers and oligarchs. She can handle pinning Booker down with a glare.

"They, ah..." Booker rubs the back of his neck. "They speak French?"

"I know they speak French. Why were they giggling?"

Booker finally makes eye contact.

"They're love songs, Nile. I've been... I've been singing sappy shit from my youth, because I knew you wouldn't understand."

"That's why you wouldn't teach me."

It isn't a question, but Booker nods anyway.

"I was scared," he finally admits. "Scared for you to know."

Nile wants to say something meaningful. Wants to sweep him off his feet, wants to kiss him stupid, wants everything in the world.

Instead, she steps back.

"We have a job to do. Tonight, if you want to, if you're ready, I want you to translate your songs for me. Then we can talk, yeah?"

"I-" Booker nods. "Yeah. Yeah, that works for me."

She turns on her heel to go get ready for the day, leaving Booker in the kitchen staring after her, baffled.

...

Later, blood and mud spattered and healing from a sizeable fall from a horse, Nile limps into her bedroom. She manages to get most of her layers off and into a basket to see if they can be salvaged, but her ribs are still healing so bending too much is out of the question.

Getting her bra off is an Olympic event.

Booker doesn't knock until after she's showered.

"Come in."

"I brought you... well, the translations." Booker holds out a new-feeling leather journal. "I wrote down all the ones I could think of. You can read them, and I'll just-"

"Sit," Nile says before he can escape. "Please, stay."

Nile reads, connecting words to tunes he's been singing for weeks.

They're sappy, fond, romantic, saucy. Nile enjoys peeking up at Booker to see him blush almost as much as the love confession she's holding in her hands.

When she reaches the end of the lyrics, Nile crosses the tiny bedroom and looks Booker in the eyes.

"Booker?"

"Yes?"

"Are you ready to teach me French?"

Booker nods, blushing. "If you would like, ma cherie."

Nile finally kisses him. "I would like that very much."

[hawkbucks]

16. the one where anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin as well. I just imagine MIT tony falling asleep and rhodey drawing a dick on his face which also appears on Bucky aka the winter soldier one of the most deadly Assassins

This really got away from me. Somewhat angsty? Idk hgjfkdls I go from talking about a dick on Bucky’s face to… well, a certain date. It sorta ends happy.

The Asset stares blankly at the concrete wall in front of him, shoulders stiff and knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the steel slab they have the audacity to call a bed. He breathes in and out, in and out, long, deep lungfuls of air. The taste of ice still lingers on his tongue, and there’s a chill in his bones that aches.

His Handler circles around him, hands clasped behind their back as they relay the details of his mission. “Do you understand?” they ask, snappish, barely glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes. He isn’t important enough for direct eye contact; he’s learned that a long time ago.

Before he can respond, his Handler does a double-take, looking at him with widening eyes. “What,” they start, “in the fuck is that.”

He makes no noise as they hoist him up and drag him in front of a stained mirror, their clipped fingernails digging into the flesh of his right bicep. Right in the middle of his forehead is a rather… phallic looking symbol drawn in black marker. Still dazed, he looks confusedly at his Handler, unsure if this is some sort of test.

An irritated growl rips itself from his Handler’s throat before he finds himself being shoved back into his cryostasis chamber. Before he slips back into the darkness, he picks up bits and pieces of harshly spoken Russian. Something to do with a “soulmate”? Whatever it is, he’s sure that he won’t be woken up again until that problem is solved.

Thankfully, the next time he’s up to bat, there are no phallic symbols drawn anywhere on his body. In fact, nothing appears on his skin the entire time his Handler gives him information on another mission. He’s noticed, though, that the once-clean concrete wall is now stained with mottled red, greens, and blacks. The light in the back right of the room–which flickered the last time he was here–now seems to have been ripped out, if the copper wires dangling from its previously occupied hole in the ceiling is any indication.

He can’t help but to wonder if they remember what happened last time. Or maybe they do, and they’re just desperate. It’s not like he’s going to ask; that’s a quick way for him to get disciplined for speaking out of turn.  

A manila folder is pressed into his hands. He understands what he has to do.

He sits on a rather uncomfortable plastic chair behind the counter in a convenience store. The actual cashier is conked out in the backroom, their name tag currently decorating the front of his shirt. A cheesy pop song blares from the radio sitting on a black table behind him, of which the audio quality is not the greatest.

There’s really nothing to be done as he waits for his target to come in, besides reading a battered pile of magazines sitting in a cardboard box by his feet. The top one doesn’t even seem socially acceptable to be read in public. He absentmindedly drums his fingers on the surface of the counter along with the beat of the song, reading the far away labels of Doritos bags and Red Bull cans. Out of all the places for his target to frequent…

As he studies a mole on the heel of his palm, blocky–yet elegant–writing starts to form across its surface.

Call Jan – need help for lab tmrw

His brows knit together, and he clenches and unclenches his fist, watching as the words roll and crinkle on his skin. If he sees what they write on their skin, could they see what he writes on his? Curiosity bubbles up in him like a volcano waiting to explode.

Biting his bottom lip, he reaches for a ballpoint pen sitting on the edge of the counter. He presses the cool tip against his wrist and writes. Hello. His letters are lopsided and decidedly ugly compared to the other’s, but at least it’s legible. He hopes.

Holy shit, is hastily scribbled below his greeting. All these years, and now you answer?

Yes. Sorry.

You should be! I’ve been sending you messages ever since I knew what a soulmate was, but you never wrote back! I just assumed I didn’t have one.

Something like guilt stirs at the bottom of his stomach, but his attention is drawn to that word: Soulmate?

For the next few minutes, no new words appear. He’s on the verge of giving up and scrubbing away the pen ink on his wrist before he gets a reply. You aren’t joking.

Why would I be?

I don’t know. To screw with me or something? Have you been living under a rock?

Kinda. That’s close enough to the truth.

Yeah, you must have been if you haven’t replied to my messages for the past 9 years. What’s your name?

He frowns. It changes. One day he’s Nicholai and the other he’s David. He’s been called Matthieu and he’s been called Sebastian. He doesn’t have a true, solid name. Then, one pops in his head. One that feels vaguely familiar, comforting in a way that he can’t put a finger on. James.

Cool. My best friend is named James, too. My name is Anthony, but you can call me Tony.

Hello, Tony.

Hi, James! A small smiley face appears next to the exclamation point.

The bell above the door rings, bringing him back to reality. He snaps his head up, recognizing his target’s face from the dossier. I have to go now, Tony, but I’ll talk to you soon.

He doesn’t get to see Tony’s reply before he throws the pen with devastating accuracy.

By the time he was finished dispatching his target, Tony’s messages have all disappeared. He feels a twinge of disappointment in his chest when he realizes that he never got to see what Tony said after he bid him farewell, and only God knows how long it’ll be before he’s taken back out.

He scrubs any and all traces of the ink off of his arm, not wanting his Handler to demand an explanation should they see even a faint mark. If he were to mention this soulmate of his… well, he has no doubt that what they would put him through would make him wish he never even picked up that pen.

Throwing the pen into the cardboard box from earlier, he makes his way out of the store with no more than a passing glance at the now bloodied floor.

The walls are stainless steel now, not concrete, and the lights are all a harsh white that wash the room in its fluorescence. His Handler is different–younger and crueler in the way the corners of their mouth turn up.

Instead of a folder, he’s handed some black device, molded perfectly to fit in his ear. They motion at him to put it on. With shaky hands, he does.

A voice booms in his ear, much too loud for how sensitive his senses are, but he manages to keep his face schooled. He grits his teeth, jaw clenching. His Handler looks him straight in the eye. “You keep this on you at all times, do you understand?” He realizes right then that it’s their voice that he’s hearing.

He nods stiffly, glaring up at them.  

They grin, looking almost wolf-like. “Good.”

He stops by a convenience store like the one before to buy himself a couple of granola bars and energy drinks. If this mission is going to go the way he thinks it’s going to go, he’s going to be camping at that place for a while, and what his Handler packed for him can barely be considered food.

His Handler also doesn’t seem to keep that close of an eye on their wallet.

“I know you took some money,” they say, although they don’t sound that annoyed.

He rolls his eyes, picking up a small bag of chips. He can’t exactly reply, not without a microphone. As he walks to the checkout, a pack of pens catches his eye.

Without hesitation, adds it to his basket.

Hello, Tony, he writes over his pulsepoint, sitting in a tree next to a craggly, old street. Underneath him lies a motorcycle, covered up by the bushes. The night sky above him is a gradient of hazy blues and blacks, with the only light being provided by the flashlight he has pinned to the front of his vest.

Asshole, is all he gets back. You and I have a very different definition of “soon.”

I’m sorry.

It’s been 2 years, James. He sucks in a breath. 2 years? He’s sure that he’s been out for longer than that before, but when put it in the perspective of someone who doesn’t know who he is… Where have you been?

My job is very demanding. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.  

What are you? The President of some foreign country?

No.

A spy? An assassin? A soldier?

I can’t tell you.

Great, that means you’re some sort of super secret government spy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Can you at least tell me how old you are? I didn’t get to ask you that last time.

Using the bottom of the pen, he scratches at his temple. His age? Like his name, it fluctuates, but he settles on a number that feels right. 26.

Oh. You’re only 5 years older than me. Thank god, I thought you were like… 45.

5 years. So, Tony’s 21? I’m not.

Yeah, I know that now… so, how are you?

I’m bored. Waiting.

For what?

It’s for my job.

…Okay. I’m kind of waiting, too.

For what?

My parents. They’re out somewhere, and I wanted to surprise them.

We can talk. It’ll be less boring.

Tony draws another smiley face. Okay!

From their chat, he learns that Tony is wicked smart. He attended M.I.T, made a functioning robot, and obtained 2 master’s degrees before he was even able to drink. His best friend is in the Air Force, and he has this butler he loves like a father. He likes shrimp carbonara and refuses to touch green beans unless they’re shoved down his throat. Tony, he concludes, is utterly fascinating, and he makes that clear in all the sentences he writes back.

What about you? Tony writes after going on a paragraph-long rant about some movie series called Star Wars. (They both had to wait for some messages to disappear lest they start taking off their pants for more writing space.)

What do you mean?

Do you like Star Wars?

I’ve never watched it.

Tony’s next response takes up a good chunk of his arm: BLASPHEMY!

Can you give me your number? We need to arrange a meetup, and it gets exhausting to write.

His hand freezes. Number? I don’t have one.

A few seconds pass. Then: You can’t be serious, James.

I’m being serious.

Yeah. You’re the same guy who didn’t know what a soulmate was. I believe you.

Thank you.

You know what you can do? I’ll give you an address. You in New York?

Yes.

Good. What’s your last name?

God, he really wishes Tony would stop asking these kinds of questions. He settles on the first one that pops in his head. Barnes.

Okay. Go here–an address is scribbled across the crook of his elbow–say your name is James Barnes, and ask for Tony.

Tony what?

Tony Stark.

He drops his pen. Stark. There’s no way. Except that his Handler gave him all of the information on his target, including the fact that they have a son named Anthony, but he preferred to be called Tony. Anthony’s birth date matches up with his Tony’s age. Anthony went to M.I.T, too. Anthony reported having made contact with his soulmate 2 years ago, having previously thought he had none.

In the distance, he hears the purring of a car’s engine.

He switches off his flashlight and jumps down.

James, are you there? appears on his right palm as he smashes Howard Stark’s face in. You didn’t even say bye. Kinda rude.

He finds himself scrubbing away all evidence of conversation on his arm again, this time using boiling hot water and going until his skin is pink and raw.

Back in the base, his Handler grabs at his forearm, gripping him so tightly that the skin around their hand turns a pale white. “We know you’ve been writing to someone,” they whisper, low and dangerous. “Stop. Now.”

He nods.

My parents are dead, is scribbled over the middle of his right forearm. The glass in front of him fogs up with ice. If you’re there, I really need to talk to someone right now.

James?

Where are you?

I thought we were going to watch Star Wars together. I’ve asked, and no one’s said that you’ve visited, and I told everyone that you pretty much get priority. There are only two James Barnes that I know of: you and Captain America’s old war buddy. Were you named after him?

I liked talking to you. You can’t just pull another 2 years on me. First time I didn’t mind that much, because we didn’t really know each other, and I didn’t want to seem clingy, but I really like you, James.

It gets hard to ignore. There’s a tugging sensation in his gut every time he allows one of Tony’s messages to go unanswered. He manages to shake off the tail he has on his next mission. They must’ve assigned a more inexperienced person. Who knew they were accepting amateurs these days?

He swipes a pen from an office supply store. Hello, Tony.

You. It’s amazing how such a short word can hold so much bitterness.

I’m sorry.

What the fuck is up with you?

Has it been that long? Sure, the world seems far more technologically advanced than it did when he talked to Tony a 2nd time, but he figures it can’t be more than 8, 10 years.

It’s been 30 fucking years, James. Oh.

…I’m really sorry.

Don’t be. But he feels like he should be. Listen, I can’t write that much right now. I’m on my way to Afghanistan for a demonstration. We can try again later. Bye.

Bye. I’m sorry, again.

Sure.

TONY STARK: MISSING?

Three months later, and, for some reason, he’s still out in the field. Something his Handler–another new one–said about another target having cropped up during the tail end of his original mission.

Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the news.

Quickly, he dips into a store along the street and asks to use their bathroom. He fishes the very same pen he took from the supply store out of his jacket pocket. I have. Are you okay?

I’ve been better.

As long as–he’s cut off by Tony’s writing overlapping his own. Where are you?

In a bathroom, which is inside a store.

Smartass. Where’s the store? Give me the address.

Why?

I’m coming to see you. Right now.

What if I’m on the other side of the country?

I have a private jet… of sorts.

But by the time you arrive, I won’t be in that store anymore.

Just give me the goddamn address.

So he does. Meet me inside.

As he rifles through a rack of leather jackets that cost an obscene amount of money, he feels a tap on his shoulder.

He whirls around quickly, eyes flaring, before he comes face to face with the most expensive-looking man he’s ever seen. They don’t seem the type to be working with his, er, employers, and with that sling around their arm, he doubts they could do much damage to him. So, he relaxes. Just a little.

“Are you James?” they ask. “Please be James. I’ve asked at least 4 other guys already and they’ve all looked at me weird.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It’s me. Tony.”

WOO, I ACTUALLY MADE THEM MEET AT THE END. I was actually going to end it right after Tony leaves for Afghanistan, but I decided to let them meet ‘cause y’all deserve that after the last fill.

Tony still doesn’t know James killed his parents. He doesn’t know James is the Winter Soldier. But I had to stop or else this really would’ve… turned into its own monster.

Thank you for reading!