#let me level with everyone: you are not moving to Europe

[baravaggio]

Been seeing some of the worst immigration advice of my life over the last few days

[heartsforvin]

Hi!! id love a hurt/comfort type fic. maybe reader hears Vin saying reader is too clingy or sees him flirting with someone else and they have a huge fight but make up at the end (i hope this makes sense lmao) <3

TOO CLINGY

thank you for the request !! i hope you enjoy <33

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort, cussing, arguments, use of pet names, lmk if i forgot anything !!

summary: you overhear vinnie tell one of his friends that you’re too clingy, which results in an argument between the two of you

the night was going just fine until you overheard your boyfriend say something that completely ruined your mood.

you and vinnie were out at one of your guys’ friends house for a little get together. it’d been a bit since everyone got to hang out, so you decided to all get together again.

you were standing off to the side, chatting with one of your friends while vinnie was not too far from you, talking to his.

you don’t know how this subject came up, seeing as you could only hear parts of the conversation over the music.

when you did though, your whole body shut down and you just felt like crying.

“yeah lately she’s just been extra fuckin’ clingy, i don’t know what it’s about but it’s getting old real fuckin’ fast.��

anxiety ran through you faster than ever, and all you wanted to do was go in your room and hide from absolutely everyone and everything.

the only reason you’d been so clingy lately was because vinnie’s been in paris for a few days, not being able to see him.

so yeah, you’d say you have a pretty good reason.

pushing past people in the crowded house, you make your way to the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it before going over to the sink.

you grip it harshly as you try to hold yourself together.

splashing water on your face you hear a knock come from the door behind you.

“occupied!” you shout, hoping whoever on the other side can hear through the loud noise.

when another knock came soon after you groaned and shouted again, only to be followed by an all too familiar voice calling out your name.

“let me in, sweetheart.” his voice, although a shout, sent instant serotonin through you.

you open the door just enough for vinnie to see your eyes, head barely peaking out.

“see, ‘m fine.” you say as if you didn’t just almost cry over his words.

vinnie though, knows you better than that. “let me in, please.” he says, just enough for you to hear.

opening the door wider, vinnie steps inside and shuts it behind him. you go to sit on the closed toilet seat while vinnie leans against the door.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, breaking the silence between the two of you.

sighing, your head is in your hands as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to let a tear slip.

you feel a hand on your knee and that’s when you move your hands from your face and see vinnie is now eye level with you.

“i heard you,” you say, making vinnie’s brows furrow. “heard what you were saying to adam and jett.”

vinnie sighed when he finally realized what you were talking about. he thought he was far enough out of earshot for you to hear.

���baby i— no, don’t try and excuse this, vinnie!” you shout at him.

vinnie stands and backs up, giving you space even though it’s a small space.

“i’m not gonna fuckin’ give you an excuse!” he shouts back. “maybe it’s true! maybe you have been a bit to clingy lately!”

you just sit there, taking his words in as he shouts at you. hearing it a second time is just as bad as the first.

he hasn’t been too busy lately up until he went to paris, so the two of you did spend a lot of time before then.

still didn’t excuse the fact that words hurt. clingy or not, you just loved spending time with vinnie.

“i haven’t seen you in days vinnie!” its just a screaming match at this point, hoping no one can hear your words to each other.

vinnie sighs as he rubs his hands over his face, listening to you speak. “you’ve been in europe for days, vin! sorry i’ve just wanted to spend time with my boyfriend.”

vinnie rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “you won’t leave me alone for five fucking minutes!”

his voice gets more stern which only spurs on tears faster. you want to let them spill, to let every tear that you have out, but you won’t.

he was right, you have been kind of up his ass lately, not letting him be. that’s only because he’s spent all his needed time in europe, now it was your time with him.

“all i want is five minutes to myself,” he sighs. “even when i stream, you’re standing right there, breathing over me.” he tells you.

your eyes become watery and suddenly you can’t hold them in anymore and you just let the tears fall.

with your head in your hands again, you silently cry as your body shakes, vinnie watching this all unfold.

“i’m sorry i just miss you!” you scream at him through your cries, voice straining as you do. “all it ever is, is work, work, work. i just want five minutes with you!”

vinnie gets down to your level again and places his hands on yours. he hears you, truly does, but you need to to understand one thing.

“this is my job, baby. you know this,” he says. “you think i like working, going out of the country this much?”

he does, don’t get him wrong, but he also loves to be home with you.

however, when you’re always up on him when he does come back from a five to seven day trip, that’s when he get irritated.

you shake your head at his question, he wipes your tears with the pads of his thumbs, making you smile.

you kiss his hand when he moves them to your cheeks. “there’s that pretty smile.” he says.

“i’m sorry for yelling, i just get so frustrated sometimes,” vinnie sighs. “i love you, you know that.”

you smile weakly at him. “i’m sorry too. i just miss you so much when you’re not with me, and when you finally are, i just like to be with you every second.”

vinnie caresses your cheek and smiles at you. “i know, sweetheart. you know i love our time together, but some things you do have to let me do on my own.” he chuckles.

you reciprocate with another smile, but finally leaning in to give him a proper kiss. tears are still on your cheeks, so he wipes them away as the two of you share this cute moment.

“are we good now?” he asks, pulling you up off the toilet seat.

you hug him tightly, nuzzling into his chest as his arms wrap around your waist.

“we’re good.” you smile up at him.

he kisses you once more before opening the bathroom door and the two of you join the others again.

hi hi !! thank yo for the request again !! i hope you loved it !!

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @sturnioloshacker , @khackerr , @bernelflo , @louloulemons-blog , @leqonsluv3r , @kriissy4gov , @kayleighh , @slvthrs , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @hallecarey1 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @khxna , @skye-44 , @jpg3 , @eddieslut69 , @miilzzy ,

[femoso-seben]

Humanoid Monster

Part 1, Part 2, Next

Graves followed Mother Maia as she got everyone fed and clothed the babies. The wit was other humans, most of them worked with the infants. Most of the older children begin to pack up and head out.

“Where are they going?” Graves asks as Gaz and Soap follow the herd of children.

“School.” Graves gives her a shocked expression before nodding and following her.

“Maia,” a woman walks in.

“Ruth,” Mother Maia nods.

“We have a new one.” Behind Ruth was a small vampire girl, she was pale and small. Mother Maia sighs and walks closer to the child.

“She’s blind and her drinking fangs were pulled out,” Graves froze and moved closer to the child, his blood boiled, who would do this? Who would hurt a young child?

“Who brought her in?”

“I don’t know she was left there,” Mother Maia sighs and she covers where her eyes should be.

“Alright leave her to me until the other vamps come back then they can figure out the story.” Ruth nods and walks out, her hooves clicking on the ground.

“You're going to let children figure it out—”

“Not all children trust humans, not all children trust other monsters,” Mother Maia interrupts picking up the shaky child. the little girl’s mouth begins to water as she smells human, but as her mouth opens her fangs clearly broken off. Vampires’ fangs don’t grow back.

“How do you feed her?” Graves asks. This was his kind, though he has no love for others not of his blood, and even if their his his level of love is low, for the monster runs on strength and power. Graves couldn’t help but pity this pathetic thing.

They walk into the kitchen and she reaches into the blood bank refrigerator and pulls out a blood bag, type O. Type O is the most palpable for vampires, it wasn’t offensive or overly tasty just nourishment. The little girl begins to babble her words foreign.

“Все в порядке, пей из этой соломинки,” Mother Maia said in Russian. Graves stiffened, this Mother knew Russian, was she originally from Russia? Maybe that’s how she knows Makarov.

“How do you know Russian?” Graves asks leaning against the door. The little vampire sucks greedily for the blood.

“Switzerland teaches other languages, it’s a point all the nurses, and orphanage workers know at least two languages for communication.” Mother Maia said before walking over to the phone and calling her counterpart.

“Abraham,” she calls, “Yes I need one of the older vampires, Dimitri to come back we have a new fledgling.” Mother Maia set the child down at the dining room table.

“Why do you wear a veil?” Graves asks. She looks over the outline of her head twisting to him.

“I’m disfigured by war, these children seem enough horror let them not see another one.”

——————/\———————

Soap crouched down with the other werewolves, all of them trying to beat him at arm wrestling. “Ye’r gaun doon,” Soap laughs as all the young werewolves fail to beat him.

“What’s yer opinion o' Mither Maia,” all the werewolves stop and turn to him.

“Why do you care?” Liam asks, as the alpha of this pack Delta.

“Is she a guid mither ” Soap asks. Liam looks around before sighing.

“You don’t like her,” Liam said with a smirk.

“She’s a vicious killer, she kills oor kind —”

“She kills you, not us. We aren’t soldiers,” Liam growls his fangs shown. Soap glares at Liam and leans back in his seat.

“How come dae ye defend her?” Soap asks. The pack growls and storms off.

“Don’t mind them,” Soap looks up to take the ancient dragon Abraham, a legend in the monster community one of the elder dragons. “They were raised by her Liam especially, he was a runt and she spent her time raising him.

“When did she stop being the pale death?” Gaz asks from across the room, his feathers covered in glitter and glue random colorful duck feathers glued to him. Abraham stroked his beard before sighing.

“She was coming from the Americas and went through Alaska to get to Europe. Meet up with a human PMC and continue to Switzerland. With her daughter.”

“She has a daughter?” Gaz asks.

“Priscilla,” Gaz from, and his jaw set angrily. “She also had a small pack of baby werewolves with her, pack Delta. She was disfigured by a werewolf that tried to kill the pack.” Soap felt his blood run cold.

Pack Delta looked strong healthy a good squad of boys that make fine soldiers. Who would try to kill them?

“So they were her first pack?” Abraham nod.

“Then as other werewolves came in they found allegiant to different packs. Werewolves are the biggest military population most were outcasts.” Soap nods, werewolves are notorious for having strict rules for soldiers and regulations to become a soldier.

“How old is Mother Maia?” Gaz asks standing up but small harpies cling to his arms giggling as if this was all a game. Gaz picked up one of the harpies girls.

“She is rather young in human age, ask Priscilla, she knows the most about Mother Maia.”

“How come dae ye ca' her Mither Maia?” Soap grumbles like an annoyed puppy.

“It is only natural we give respect to each other. I have the name of Grandfather. She is very respectful she protects her children and so do I,” the old dragon said smoke smoldering from his mouth an obvious threat to these soldiers. He went back to his Victorian pipe smoking calmly.

——————/\———————

“Why does everyone respect her?” Gaz asks.

“Who knows,” Soap grumbled.

“Let’s hope the others have information.”

“Alright men,” Laswell said sitting around the table.

“Mother Maia is disfigured,” Graves said.

“Priscilla is her daughter,” Gaz added.

“The Harpy?” Ghost grunts out. Gaz nods.

“One of the wolf packs was with her before they arrived in Switzerland. She moved in from North America through Alaska through Russia to Switzerland.” Soap adds in.

“Gaz will you ask Priscilla about this Mother Maia.” Graves asks.

“Alright, I have flight training later this day, Ghost what did the Gargoyles say?” Gaz asks.

“They stonewalled me.” Soap sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Why is she… so mysterious?” Laswell mumbles mostly to herself.

“Who knows.”

——————/\———————

Gaz looked at Priscilla who was wrapped up in a blanket as the night was cold. The small harpies flapped their wings hard in the air trying to fly higher and higher. Gaz promises to give the highest flyer a daring race in the air.

“Priscilla,” Gaz walks closer keeping one eye on the little chicklings, the other on Priscilla. She was a very beautiful young woman.

“Yes?” She said her accent was the very Hispanic accent.

“How old is your mother?” Priscilla frowns and thinks about it.

“She’s only a few years older than me, I’m seventeen and she’s twenty-seven.” Gaz eyes widen.

“She’s that young?” Gaz's mouth fell open.

“We harpies age slower so the age difference really looked grande but she isn’t that much older than most of us.” Gaz nodded and then another thought came into his mind.

“Why did she become the Pale Death?”

“To protect us, we were hunted so Sue hunted them back.” The further he learns about Mother Maia the more she becomes a saint. It was so fucking creepy.

“How did you two meet?”

“I was kicked out of my nest after my wings were ripped off she picked me up and that’s it,” Priscilla said as the younger harpies began to fall out of the sky Gaz went to catch everyone before they got hurt.

“Your mother,” Gaz said as all the chicklings ran to Priscilla and hid in her blanket for warmth. “Did she ever hurt you?” Priscilla said quickly but her tone was unusually shaky not due to the cold but to nervousness.

“You're scared of her.”

“She can be intimidating and harsh but she never hurt us.”

Gaz nods. Mother Maia isn’t all that saintly.

_______

Taglist: @kkaaaagt, @kaoyamamegami, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

[canirove]

Rúben Dias Imagine | four

Author’s note: This is a request from Wattpad. They asked for an imagine with Rúben where you are a Real Madrid supporter and he still teases you about losing against City this season. Hope you like it and thank you for reading! 💜

Masterlist

"Meu amor, have you seen my iPad's charger?" Rúben asks. "I can't find it anywhere."

"I still can't believe that someone as organized as yourself and who travels so much, struggles so much with unpacking" I chuckle.

"Maybe because I'm constantly traveling and packing and unpacking takes too long?" 

"Then don't complain about not finding things" I shrug.

"I didn't complain, I just asked. Anyway, have you seen it or not?"

"Nope. When was the last time you used it?"

"Last Wednesday before the Champions… sorry."

"Uh? Why are you apologizing?"

"I've mentioned the Champions League game."

"And?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.

"I know it still hurts."

"It doesn't hurt, Rúben" I laugh.

"It's just the two of us, you can tell me, you know?" he smirks.

"It doesn't hurt. Besides, I knew we were going to lose, so" I shrug.

"But you got your hopes high after the draw in Madrid, didn't you?" he asks, resting his forearms on the back of the sofa.

"Maybe a little bit, yeah. Anyone would have. But I was still expecting to lose. This year we suck, and you've sadly been playing really well."

"Sadly" he laughs. "But are you really sure, meu amor? Didn't you expect another remontada?" 

"Did you? You didn't sleep well those days" I tease back.

"I asked first."

"I didn't, no. Since the moment they said we would play against you if we made it to the semifinals, I knew that was it. I told you, remember?" 

"I still don't believe you."

"Then don't, I don't care" I shrug once again. "Now go find your charger, you are distracting me and I have to finish this" I say, nodding towards my laptop.

"Changing the topic, uh? That's because losing still bothers you."

"Dear God, Rúben" I say, rolling my eyes. "Did you wake up extra annoying today or something?"

"It was a tough defeat, I get it."

"Rúben…" I sigh.

"4-0… that's a lot these days. And you are Real Madrid, you know."

"Everyone has moved on from that game, why can't you do the same?"

"Because thanks to that game, I'm going to play the Champions League final!" he smiles.

"Yeah, and hopefully lose it."

"So rude, meu amor. I'm your boyfriend! You should be happy for me."

"Maybe if you stopped teasing me about last week's game, I would be happy for you. That's small team mentality right there, you know?"

"What?" Rúben laughs.

"Focusing more on your rival losing than on your own achievement is small team mentality. We've lived rent free in your mind since last season when we beat you in six minutes, we've been all you've been able to think about. Real Madrid, Real Madrid, Real Madrid."

"That isn't small team mentality. That's wanting to do better, to keep improving."

"Because we are the best team in Europe?" I ask.

"If you were, you would be in the Champions League final. But you aren't, we are" he smirks.

"But we've won it… let me check. Oh, yes. fourteen times. And you and your team have… none! Zero!"

"Yet."

"Even if you win this year, you won't be at our level, meu amor" I reply with a teasing smile.

"Whatever" he says, rolling his eyes and moving from the back of the sofa.

"I still remember last year's game, what a night that was. Look, I even got goosebumps just by thinking about it!" I say, showing him my arm. "Thank you for the penalty, by the way."

"Yeah, that game. I was gutted after what happened, and where were you? Celebrating with your Madrid friends."

"But the next day I flew back to Manchester and I was here with you, making you your favourite dinner and watching your favourite movie with you to cheer you up. What did you do for me after this year's game? Oh, yes, annoy the hell out of me" I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"It isn't the same and you know it. You are just a fan, I'm a player. This is my job, and I sucked at it last year. I wanted to redeem myself and I managed to do it."

"And making fun of me was part of your redemption?" I say, raising my voice.

"I just wanted to lighten the mood."

"Then take me out on a date somewhere I like instead of behaving like a jerk! I never made fun of you for your penalty. Never!" I say, getting up from the sofa.

"You did a minute ago."

"Because you are behaving like an idiot! That's why!"

"What?"

"You can tease me nonstop about what happened the other day, but when I do just a bit with what happened last year, you get mad."

"Because it isn't the same, I already told you" he says, crossing those big arms of his over his chest.

"It is equally annoying!"

"It isn't."

"It is!" I insist.

"Wait, where are you going?" Rúben asks as I walk past him.

"To bed."

"Already? What about dinner? And what about what you had to finish on your laptop?"

"I'm not hungry anymore. And I can finish it tomorrow."

"Meu amor…"

"No!" I say, threatening him with my finger. "Don't meu amor me. And you are sleeping in the guest room tonight"

"What?" Rúben laughs. "I have a game tomorrow night, I must rest!"

"You should have thought about that before being an idiot" I say, walking into our room.

"C'mon, meu… ouch! What are you doing?"

"Giving you your pillow so you can at least sleep" I say after hitting him with it. "You don't deserve it, but…"

"Wait, are you seriously gonna make me sleep in the guest room?" he chuckles.

"Yes, I am. Good night, Rúben" I say, closing our room's door with such force that it trembles.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Wait, you argued about what?"

"I know, I know" I sigh. "But he's just being so annoying about it. You guys won against my team, cool! Let's move on, you still have a final to play, you know?"

"He's just happy after what happened last year. He was really gutted, you know? His team lost a Champions League semifinal because of him, and it was against Real Madrid, which besides historically being the best team in that competition, happens to be your team."

"I know, he told me. And I get it. But at the same time, that should make him feel better. He lost against the best team, my team, the one that makes me happy. It wasn't all that bad."

"But for us that point of view isn't that easy to understand" Bernardo says over the phone.

"I guess, yes" I sigh. "Anyway, I should probably go upstairs, I don't want to get cold after my run."

"And you should also apologize to him, he's probably leaving already and I need him focused for the game, not thinking about a stupid argument."

"That too" I sigh again. "Thank you for the talk, Berni."

"You're welcome. That's what friends are for" he says before hanging up.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Holy shit, Rúben!" I say, taking my hand instinctively moving to my heart. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Sorry."

"What are you doing standing there?"

"I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

"I wanted to give you this" he says, showing me the bouquet of flowers he was hiding behind his back.

"Tulips?"

"Your favourite flower" he smiles. "But these are yellow."

"I know, I have eyes."

"Yellow means I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

"About what happened last night. I know I was too annoying, that I should have stopped teasing you."

"Yes, you should have. But I also overreacted a bit, so sorry about that. Did you manage to sleep?"

"Yeah, don't worry" Rúben smiles. "Do you accept my flowers, then?"

"I do. Thank you" I say, walking towards him and taking them. "Is this why you weren't home when I woke up?"

"Yep. You don't know how hard it is to find yellow tulips in Manchester" he chuckles.

"I love them."

"And I love you" he says, caressing my cheek. "But you better go take a shower, you stink."

"Thank you" I reply, rolling my eyes.

"If it is a quick one we can cuddle a bit before I have to leave. Will you be at tonight's game?"

"I will" I smile. "I love you, Rúben."

"And I love you too. But go take that shower, I'll find a nice vase to put the flowers in."

"Look at him. He wins against Real Madrid once and gets all bosy" I smirk, rolling my eyes.

"Wait until I win that Champions League" he replies with a matching smile. "Now go shower."

"Yes, meu amor" I wink, Rúben laughing and holding a bouquet of yellow tulips being the last thing I see before walking into the bathroom.

[mercurygray]

Hii Merc, could I please request #11. "the lover in the sky" for Fred and Brady? Thank you <3 — @shoshiwrites

Thanks for letting me take my time on this one, @shoshiwrites! I hope you don't mind Fred's having...a bit of a crisis.

There was a shiver in the air.

Fred hefted the empty coffee thermos into the back of the jeep, grateful that it had been a busy day and the thing was mostly empty. She was glad she'd thought to bring her tanker jacket, earlier - the warm one with the good zipper that fit nicely over her uniform coat. Summer was still cool, and night out on the tarmac cooler still. She'd left Ken and his crews with fresh coffee, the last of the day, and now it was time for home, and bath, and bed.

"Fred!" Lieutenant Brady's voice came up out of the rising dark. "What brings you out here?"

"Passing out the rest of the coffee. Ken said it was going to be a long night." She paused, and followed his eyes in the direction of the plane, Brady's Crash Wagon in large friendly letters on the side. (Everyone had heard that story, about how he'd brought the thing in from Greenland on no wheels, and they'd renamed it shortly after.) "I could ask you the same thing."

"Checking in on her," he said with a smile. "Looks pretty good, doesn't she?"

"I wouldn't know," Fred admitted with a good-natured shrug. "I've never been inside one." Not even for a little barnstorm, she wanted to add, before someone starting laughing about the absurdity of working at at airbase and never having actually been inside a plane. City girls don't take plane rides at county fairs - and Clubmobile women take boats to Europe.

Brady, however, wasn't laughing. "Do you want to?" he asked, sincere as anything. She snorted, and then realized he was serious, and shrugged in assent. "Are your fellows all done inside, Herb?" Brady asked, shouting under the belly towards the mechanic and his box of tools.

"It's your ship, Lieutenant," Herb said. "I'll leave the stairs out, for when you both need to come back down. You got a flashlight? It's getting mighty dark out here."

Brady waved his and Herb nodded and let them be, Brady steering her towards the tail of the plane and the hatch with its folded down stairs. "Here, you'd better take this," he said, handing over the flashlight, warm from his pocket. "Once you get up top, go along the gangway and watch your feet."

"Don't you want to go first?"

He shook his head. "Ladies first," he said, and waved her on forward.

It was dark, here in the tail of the fort, the only light the two large panels in the sides with their machine guns standing at the ready. She fumbled for a moment with the flashlight until it finally turned on, the small beam casting here and there over the inside of the plane. It felt like being inside the attic of an old house, seeing the ribs of the aircraft jutting out of the walls at regular intervals, the panel of the floor creaking as she made her way around the guns and the bubble of the turret and its enormous oxygen tank, carefully passing by a chair and radio to an even smaller gangway, and passing between an enormous empty space. "Bomb bay," she heard Brady say behind her. "Careful there, there's a step up past the turret. Go left once you're up there."

The step up was over a large opening that must have led to the nose - the light was slightly better down there. Fred hoisted herself up and tried not to move anything, flipping the flashlight off to appreciate the scene in the last bit of light from the sunset. All of this to put a piece of metal in the sky.

Brady climbed up into the right-hand seat, pleased as anything. "How on earth do you manage all of this all at once?" Fred said, trying to make sense of the buttons and switches, each with a name and label more arcane than the last.

"It's just practice," he offered, "A lot of flight hours. And there's a checklist we go through when we start - fuel levels, pumps, ignition switches. Then we pump and prime the engines and start them one by one. Put your hand here," he said, gesturing to the handle between the two seats. "When we're ready on the runway for takeoff, you'd push this forward -" his hand closed around hers on the double-handled throttle - "and away she goes."

She felt strangely powerful, her hand gripping the bar of the throttle, empowered by the feeling of his hand on top of hers. "So," he said. "What do you think?"

Fred looked out the windows once more. Around them the airfield was deep orange and purple, the sun nearly finished setting over the distant tops of the trees. They weren't all that high up, here in the cockpit, but it was still somehow both wonderful and strange to see the field from this height, and pick out the lights just starting to come on in the distance, the pairs of headlights winking and swerving out of the gates.

"Amazing," she said, her voice full of emotions she didn't know she had. All of this could go up into the sky, and fly and fight and come back down again. Day after day, week after week. Hundreds of men, in hundreds of planes, all of it part of one vast, uncountable effort, beautiful and yet terrible in its beauty.

She looked over at Brady, sitting sideways in the copilot's seat, one foot dangling over the door below, and didn't even have time to think about what was happening before he'd leaned over and kissed her right in the middle of her laughing lips.

Time stopped for a moment, and for a bare second it was only the two of them in the dark, breathing together, lips warm.

"You look so pretty now," he offered, almost breathless. And then his smile fell, and the light went out of his eyes. "Fred, please, say something."

There was pressure behind her temples, a high whine between her ears, a magneto that wasn't powering on. Words failed to connect. "…I think I need to leave."

She didn't quite know where she was going - she'd left the flashlight up front with him. She stumbled down out of the cockpit, taking the easiest route out and launching herself out of the pilot's door onto the dark ground below, the asphalt jarring her knees and eating into her hands.

Somewhere behind her she heard him call her name in the dark, but she was starting the jeep and fumbling it into first, hands shaking against the wheel and feeling like her whole heart was about to burst in her chest the same way she had in the cockpit, filled to the brim with the thought of all that love and all those lovers in the sky.

Her heart was still pounding when she parked and made her way back to the Clubmobile, leaning her forehead against its smooth, safe metal side. It's against the rules. This is against the rules. He kissed me. John Brady kissed me.

And the loudest, strongest thought of all - no one told us at training what to do when you don't know if you don't mind.

[sad-eyed-lady-of-the-paperbacks]

Thoughts on 2.1

After taking Book I to give us a lot of straight-up exposition, infodump style, Dostoevsky now drops us right into the action with a TON of characters. It’s a lot, so let me give you a quick refresher on the characters in order of appearance.

Pyotr Alexandrovich Miusov

He will be referred to in the coming chapters both as Miusov and as Pyotr Alexandrovich. Remember that this is a cousin of Dmitri’s mother, Adelaida Ivanovna née Miusova, so he’s from a very noble family. He’s the guy who found out that baby Mitya was being neglected, got partial guardianship of the three-year-old, but then left Mitya to be passed around by other relatives while he went back to Europe. He’s a 40s and 50s liberal who spends most of his time in Europe and likes to brag about that one time he almost fought at the barricades in Paris (not the ones from Les Misérables—this was yet another rebellion with barricades about a decade later). He’s also an atheist and engaged in a never ending lawsuit with the monastery.

Pyotr Fomich Kalganov

Yes, we already have two Pyotrs, but don’t worry, he will mostly be referred to as Kalganov. He’s given a lot of description here, so you might think he’s important. He does show up again later, but he’s really a minor character, and often cut in adaptation. He’s kind of in a limbo right now, trying to decide what he’s going to do with his future. The fact that he’s friendly with Alyosha reflects well on him.

Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov

Will be referred to mostly as Fyodor Pavlovich. This is the Karamazov dad, The Worst Guy, the one whose idea this was to have this meeting, ostensibly to settle his dispute with Mitya, but as we saw at the end of Book I, both Alyosha and Mitya are apprehensive, believing that he really is just in it for the lolz.

Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov

Will be referred to as Ivan Fyodorovich, or just Ivan. This is the quintessential middle child, the quiet one, the studious one. Alyosha’s full brother who he hasn’t managed to get close to, who lives with Fyodor and at least appears to be getting along well with him.

Maximov

He’ll never get another name I don’t think, and like Kalganov, is going to disappear after these chapters but then pop up later. He is a landowner too, so he should be on equal footing with Miusov and Fyodor. He’s not part of their group, and won’t be present during the meeting with the elder. He’s a silly little guy, a bit of a buffoon himself but unlike Fyodor, he’s not really trying to be.

And then there’s a monk too.

Ok so. Some thoughts.

Dostoevsky isn’t the kind of writer who describes the weather just for the sake of it. The beauty of the day and the surroundings (the magnificent monastery flower garden) is significant. It contrasts starkly against all the human nonsense that is about to go down.

“Miusov, with whom [Kalganov] was for some reason meanwhile living, was tempting him to go abroad with him, to Zurich or Jena, to enter university and pursue his studies there.” (P&V) Here we see the anxieties over these Europhile—and especially Francophile—40s and 50s liberals corrupting the Beautiful Russian Youths™️.

Never paid attention before to Fyodor’s carriage lagging far behind Miusov’s. Fyodor truly does embody the things that were backwards and cruel and bad about old Russia. A despotic landowner who hoards wealth at the expense of everyone around him. Meanwhile, a man like Miusov fancies himself enlightened and progressive, charging into the future, consuming and adorning himself with new ideas and concepts, but because he’s not actually willing to examine himself or make changes beyond the surface level, he’s really no better.

The scene with them all encountering the beggars outside the monastery is so good. Kalganov feeling moved to do something, being laughably ineffective (giving one ten kopek coin to one beggar woman out of a whole crowd and telling them it’s to be shared equally??) but sincere. But then he’s embarrassed to be the only one who cares.

Miusov is a little perturbed not to be greeted with any pomp and circumstance. He expects some honour to be shown for the fact that he’s an important landowner and Fyodor just gave a big donation to the monastery. This is notable, because he will go on to judge the monks for greeting and honouring one another in a way he sees as performative.

Maximov is also a landowner, and although he’s being a bit of a buffoon and is not as important a landowner as Miusov, the stern contempt with which Miusov addresses him is rude. We are especially made to perceive Miusov as being unnecessarily rude here, because even if he’s annoying, Maximov is harmless; he has “sweet little eyes” and “a honeyed lisp”

Also the whole conversation about the words just:

I don’t know. It was funny in my head.

The monk says that the Father Superior “humbly” invites them to dine with him, but the commanding way the invitation is given somehow contrasts with that, to me. (“In his chambers at one o’clock, no later.” —this feels very commanding.) It’s just an odd juxtaposition.

The tension between Fyodor and Miusov, with Fyodor constantly goading Miusov and expertly pushing all his buttons, and Miusov constantly threatening to leave, is just peak comedy. I would watch a sitcom of these two if I could stomach Fyodor.

Miusov is very concerned with behaving decently and properly, but not with being kind. He just radiates judgement and this feeling of superiority. As soon as Maximov is out of earshot, he remarks out loud that he is “a most obnoxious fellow.”

I wish we could get a live Ivan reaction to all of this. He’s so quiet and has just completely faded into the background of this scene.

The very interesting phrasing re “Dmitri Fyodorovich does not yet exist.” (McDuff)

“von Sohn” was a murder victim tried in the St Petersburg Circuit Court in 1870 (so a bit of an anachronism for the 1860s, but we’ll allow it) and was much discussed and all over the newspapers. You can look at this as Fyodor is basically referencing something scandalous from the Russian tabloids, which Miusov of course is far too sophisticated to concern himself with, so him telling Fyodor “Well, maybe so; you’re an expert in such things” is a diss. 

I need to do a whole post to talk about the narration. Even though we have a narrator character, we also will sometimes slip into the POV of one of the characters. Right now the scene is partly being filtered through Miusov’s gaze. So when we read things like this:

A thin, silent little smile, not without cunning of a sort, appeared on the pale, bloodless lips of the monk, but he made no reply, and it was all too clear that he remained silent from a sense of his own dignity.

(P&V)

we have to take it with a grain of salt, because this is the Miusovian lens, not necessarily objective reality. This is further highlighted by the last sentence of that paragraph, which says “Miusov scowled even more.” And then, driving it home even further, we have the next paragraph:

“Oh, the devil take the lot of them, it’s just a front, cultivated for centuries, and underneath nothing but charlatanism and nonsense!” flashed through his head.

So maybe the description of the monk’s smile really is accurate, but it’s also possible that there is no cunning in that smile, and that Miusov is just projecting his own sense of dignity onto the monk. Maybe the poor monk is just super uncomfy because these grown men are bickering in front of him like this! We don’t know! But this is super brilliant because it gives the effect that the narrator only knows about this scene through Miusov—perhaps Miusov is the one he interviewed in order to find out what went down at the monastery. Again, all of these choices serve to imbue this novel with the visceral sense of realism that it has.

Fyodor with his innuendos and implications of impropriety, which he only highlights further by denying. He keeps toeing the edge, never going so far that he can’t act innocent when Miusov calls him on his antics.

There are so many rumours and hearsay about what happens in the monastery, making it hard to know quite what’s true, which is really interesting. This thing about the elder Varsonofy beating people with sticks is one example. I remember that on my first read, my gut impulse was to just accept it, even though it’s coming out of the mouth of Fyodor Pavlovich—not exactly a trustworthy source. When the monk denied it, I said “yeah right.” And who knows what the truth is, but I think my own readiness to accept it reflects a lot on my own perspective, just like Miusov’s perceptions of the monastery reflect who he is. The fact that I accept without question the absurd image of an elder just jumping up and beating people with a stick for no reason reflects my own propensity to believe bad things about religious leaders, which in large part is because as a group they don’t exactly have a spotless rep when it comes to harming people, whether with harmful teachings, financial exploitation, or outright abuse. And I didn’t reflect on that before, but I think that’s really interesting.

So them’s my thoughts on 2.1. Now onto 2.2. Oh boy, I sure hope no one acts up and clowns on the whole thing and embarrasses Alyosha :D

[imabillyami]

Who are the moots you'd love to meet irl?? 😆

I‘m gonna lead with a bit of an explanation of how things worked for me in the past, just to put it into context a bit:

I’ve formed some really great connections via tumblr over the past 15 years (oh my god I can’t believe I’ve been here for about 15 years 😭) in many different fandoms and I’ve met up with a lot of current or former mutuals in that time, some of whom are now my closest friends irl.

I know that’s not for everyone, but for me it’s always been easier to form connections online first before taking the plunge into real life meetings and friendships. I’m not great at connecting with or getting to know people I meet in my day to day life, so doing it online has always been my preferred way and feels safe in a way. I’m not very good at talking to total strangers or at first impressions, so knowing someone from talking online already gives me that extra level of security and courage.

Some close relationships have never progressed past the online stage cause either I wasn’t comfortable or the other person wasn’t and I respect that and so did the other people involved.

Whenever I’ve met up with someone it’s never been about ‘oh this is a friendship dealbreaker to me’, but always been a ‘this feels organic and feels like the natural progression and logical next step in our friendship’. And sometimes it was just a ‘you’re gonna be there? oh cool, me too. let me know if you wanna meet!’. That being said I also have online friendships that have lasted for almost 10 years and are still going strong that never involved anything but texting.

But yeah. In my experience it’s never been awkward and I’ve never had a weird silence with anyone I’ve met up with. Simply because it was based on long term conversations and/or good vibes we’ve shared before. I’d also like to think that once you really get to know me like that, I’m just very easy and comfortable to be around.

So yeah. I’ve traveled with (former) moots, I’ve visited people (after having met up at conventions and concerts and in other settings previously -> remember: always meet in a public setting with plenty of people around first, just to be sure and for your own safety), I’ve had people visit my home, I’ve spent birthdays and Christmases and vacations with them. It’s how I have friends all over the world these days anywhere I go basically.

My longest lasting friendship that started on tumblr as an online friendship and survived offline to this day/ has been going strong for 10+ years now. We don’t live in the same country, but I’ve visited her, she’s visited me, we vacationed together and I met her husband, kid and all her extended family.

I met my best friend through tumblr as well, working on a fan project/managing a fan account together for a couple of years. Again, not living in the same country, but we meet up whenever we can, we traveled and had plenty of incredible experiences together over the years and other than that we video-chat and text a lot.

I even met my local bestie (though she recently moved away from here) via fandom/tumblr. We talked online a bunch, met up at a couple of conventions and she ended up helping me find an apartment and a job and opening her home to me for a while where I live now. I’m seeing her for Christmas.

And that’s just three of the amazing connections I formed here.

So this being said, I know the kind of amazing relationships that can come from tumblr and sharing fandom experiences and the same interests. But I also know that different people have different boundaries, so I’d never wanna pressure someone into meeting me or would react badly if they said they didn’t want to. I’m very much an introvert, some would even say a hermit these days, but I become a situational extrovert when I’m around the right people.

Just putting that out there, so the people I’m about to mention don’t feel awkward about it or feel any need to ‘let me down slowly’ or something like that.

I’m European-based and lots of the people I’d love to meet are on different continents, so that’s always a but difficult.

I recently met up with someone from the Wrestling fandom at Bash in Berlin and we had the best time, but that was a bit easier, cause they are European as well.

And I met up with a moot/friend from Brazil once when we were both in Paris at the same time. But that’s currently the only way for me to see people from other continents, cause while I traveled and explored a lot in my early 20s and had a job that supported that lifestyle, that’s not the case anymore. So yeah. Meeting people is more of a theoretical thing at the moment.

Anyyyyway. Long ramble you didn’t ask for. But I like putting things into context, so there are no misunderstandings of any kind.

That being said I have a bunch of people/moots who are really dear to me and who I’d love to meet one day.

@taydaq for sure, cause she’s one of my favorite people and an absolute sweetheart. Same goes for @shanie - we connected and it’s been so lovely for a long time now. @mahi-wayy for sure, cause we just click and I know we’ll get along like a house on fire.

And for some of the more recent connections that I feel have potential of growing closer and getting to that point I’d probably add @afterdarkprincess and @harmshake to that list.

There’s definitely a couple more people I can think of, but it all depends on what time and conversations will bring to the table really. And it depends even more on what people are comfortable with. Cause the last thing I’d ever wanna do is overstep or disrespect someone’s boundaries.

I apologize for how incredibly long this is. But I feel like by now y’all know that that’s what you’ve signed up for with me 🫶

Anyway, thanks for the great question anon! I wasn’t expecting someone to be interested ngl.

Have a nice morning, day or night wherever you are in the world 🫂

[grandhotelabyss]

Thoughts on Trump picking a writer as VP?

I haven't read Vance's book, so I don't know if he's a good writer, but I've heard it's a reasonably effective memoir, written mostly before he had this level of political ambition.

I just read his personal essay about his conversion to Catholicism today. I am cautious around writing that proclaims its humility and thereby forces me to search for its will to power; this is why I proclaim my will to power and allow you, but only if you want, to discover my humility, my debility, my "male vulnerability." Other than that, the essay is most moving and persuasive where it refutes the simplistic materialism of the likes of analytic philosophers and Sam Harris, and where he details his real spiritual experiences (I believe him). His critique of the left's superficially compassionate but actually cruel attitude toward the poor ("like sympathy for a zoo animal") is also exactly right. But I find it overly solemn, anxious, barely concealing the abandonment of his natal Protestantism for its plebeian or peasant quality—no less part of his desire for acceptance by an elite than was his earlier atheism. I was raised in plebeian or peasant Catholicism myself, on the other hand, which has nothing at all to do with the authorities he cites, like René Girard and St. Augustine. I look slightly askance on adult converts drawn in by the theology and morality. It has always seemed to me that the point of Catholicism—and I mean this much more religiously and much less blasphemously than it sounds—is the architecture and the incense, the barely sublimated sex and the eros of death. But I also love, as an outsider, the reckless, almost doom-seeking individualism of certain strains of Protestantism, some of them laundered as atheism. Since these seem to me to be the point of America, I am wary of overly intellectual Catholics and social democrats, their philosophies literally reeking of the over-crowded warrens of 19th-century Europe, moralistically tut-tutting about it. His second long quotation from Augustine gives me a chill, not in a good way. "[I]n his own affairs let everyone with impunity do what he will in company with his own family, and with those who willingly join him," our theologian jeers. Yes, Bishop, that's the American dream. Why not be a climate-doomer de-growther flinging soup in a museum with an attitude like that? The solution to poverty is abundance.

Possibly more significant for practical purposes, however, is Vance's tie to the literary-philosophical network around the Silicon Valley dissidents: Yarvin, BAP, and their associated publications and social media presences. (This is a good time to revisit James Pogue's Vanity Fair piece on the new right from 2022.) As Walter Kirn observed yesterday, that makes this election different from the last two. The last two were organized around the force of Trump's personality as he tried to hold together a fraying and fracturing Republican coalition of "provincial capital" (the proverbial boat dealer), the (mostly but not entirely) white working class, and the old Reagan Republican business constituencies of defense and energy, even as finance defected to the Democrats, while entertainment, academia, and intelligence pursued total war against their almost undefended reactionary enemy. The belligerent entrance of Musk and Andreessen into this election on Trump's side as representatives of big tech, with Vance as the political figurehead of big tech's literary and philosophical vanguard wing, makes it a much more even and generally significant contest: a true class war between incumbent and emergent elites. Literature has played no small part in this class war, as so many now widely-read writers and thinkers, love them or hate them, have resigned from the old left-liberal consensus. I don't mean to sound excessively neutral on the subject, but I belong to neither of the contending classes, and neither is at all democratic. I'm still not totally sure how the emergent elites' values are connected to a downbeat puritanical Augustinian Catholicism either, but since it seems to have everything to do with the aforesaid René Girard, we are still in the realm of literary theory if not literature.

In any case, the service of literature to any political faction or project should be the taming of its worser tendencies and the opening of its members to dialogue, irony, sympathy, and fresh perspectives. I will be told this is too idealistic.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 18

summary: Char, Nat, and Steve go on a mission to an abandoned HYDRA base and make a harrowing discovery.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: all the feels. all the emotions. all the angst. I know I'm doing the MOST with character development and slow burn and this plot we're building up to, but just stick with me okay! thank you for reading, let me know what you thinkkkk!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

“Your mission briefs are in the folders.” Maria Hill gestured to the small stack of manila envelopes marked ‘classified’ in front of her before clicking a button to begin a three dimensional holographic presentation. “The objective is straightforward and this is not believed to be a combat mission. Your goal is to assess the base and retrieve any potentially valuable information pertaining to HYDRA’s resurgence and future plans. The base has been abandoned for years now, or so we believe.” 

Natasha, Steve, and Charlotte sat around the sleek conference table, their attention focused on the display shimmering before them. The room was dimly lit, the lights turned down to enhance their view of the hologram.

"As you can see, the target location was heavily fortified when it was previously occupied," Maria explained, her voice calm and authoritative as she rotated the display with a wave. "We don’t know how many of those security measures remain in place, or if they’re still monitored at all. Our objective is to gather as much intel as possible without triggering anything that would tip them off that we’re on their trail."

Steve nodded in agreement, his expression serious as he surveyed the holographic map. "We'll operate with caution," he remarked, his tone measured. "We won’t draw unnecessary attention to ourselves."

“I appreciate that, Cap, but you’re not the one I want to hear that from.” She raised an eyebrow in Charlotte’s direction. 

Chewing on the end of her pen, Charlotte didn’t notice at first. When she felt the eyes of the other two land on her, she pulled her eyes away from the hauntingly familiar insignia on the outside of the building in front of her. “What? Me? What would I do?”

“Crash a quinjet. Almost blow yourself up. Have a subconsciously triggered psychotic break and try to kill everyone in the vicinity.” Maria shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Hey,” Charlotte held her hands up defensively. “I haven’t given you any reason to think I’d do the last one.” 

“Bucky Barnes might disagree.” She folded her hands across her chest. Her tone was always so even, impossible to detect if her dry sense of humor was showing or just her pragmatic, no-nonsense work tone. 

Leveling a glare at Maria that didn’t phase her one bit, Charlotte sat back in her chair and mock bowed. “You have my word, I will try my absolute darndest not to lose my mind and rain hellfire down on half of Eastern Europe.” 

“Much appreciated.” The smallest smirk tugged at Maria’s mouth before she moved on. 

Charlotte listened intently, her mind already racing with strategic possibilities. Jokes aside, she knew this mission was crucial, not only for gathering vital intelligence but also for proving herself as a capable member of the team. This was her first official mission as an Avenger. She knew the reasoning behind both Steve and Natasha going with her, despite it just being an intelligence mission, was multifaceted. First, there was a possibility that the base was still in undercover operation and they would be walking into a trap. Second, there could be an alarm system in place that would alert any remaining HYDRA forces of their breach and draw them into an ambush. Finally and least pleasantly, Charlotte knew that she was somewhat of a loose cannon. Although she’d proven herself with the attack on the compound, she hadn’t worked in an organized mission format before and she was going to a place with significantly traumatic ties to her past. This wasn’t the facility where she’d been held, but entering any HYDRA territory at all was bound to bring back dark memories. Having two of the most seasoned Avengers with her would be to protect her from everything waiting for them, and to protect everything else from her.

Forty five minutes later when they’d walked through the interior renderings, the terrain map, and the mission plans ad nauseum, Maria concluded the brief and excused herself. 

“You ready for this?” Nat elbowed Charlotte as they stood to head towards the locker room.

Rolling her eyes, Charlotte tucked the manila folder under her arm. “How can I not be with Agent Hill’s heartwarming vote of confidence?”

Steve strode up between them as they crossed into the hallway. Putting his arm around each of their shoulders, he joked, “You’ll be just fine. You’re with two veterans here.” 

“Hey, don’t make me sound old, Rogers.” Nat shoved his arm off of her shoulder and pointed a warning at him. “Let’s not forget I’m the youngest one here by many, many decades.” 

“You ever think they put two of the oldest on a mission with you to keep an eye on you?” He grinned. Nat simply flipped him off and pressed the elevator button to bring them back upstairs to the residential floor. 

When they reached the common room, the chaos of dinnertime greeted them. “Perfect timing, grab a plate,” Wanda called out from her position behind the stove, serving herself what looked like lasagna. They jumped in line, grabbing and filling a plate before joining the rest of the team at the table. The aroma of marinara and freshly baked bread filled the air as the team settled into their unofficial assigned seats, like every other night.

"So, Cap, did Maria give you any more gray hairs?" Sam quipped, raising an eyebrow as he shoveled a steaming forkful into his mouth and immediately winced.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "She tried, but I think I've still got a few years left. Charlotte, on the other hand…she took the brunt of it."

Across the table, Wanda turned her attention to Charlotte, a concerned furrow marring her brow. "How are you feeling about the mission, Charlotte? Nervous?"

Charlotte flashed a reassuring smile. "Nervous? Me? Please." She spread the pasta around on her plate, learning from Sam and letting it cool down. “I think you’ll remember that I was born without the ‘self-preservation’ part of my brain. Well,” She held up her wrist, the thin metal bracelet jangling as she wiggled it. “Born, programmed, whatever.”

“Why was Maria giving you a hard time?” Calla frowned. She’d been joining them for dinner almost every night since she and Sam had finally gone public with their relationship. 

“Maria,” Nat answered for her. “Was reminding us all to keep a low profile, Charlotte in particular. She pointed out that Char hasn’t exactly done that, lately.” 

“Then she proceeded to give examples,” Steve added, fighting his grin as Charlotte rolled her eyes. “It was difficult to contest.”

“I’m feeling a little victimized.” Charlotte reached for the basket in the center of the table holding the rolls.

“So did I when you tried to rip my head off.” Bucky deadpanned, tugging the bread basket just out of her reach. “Both times.”

Pausing, Charlotte met his gaze as she stood, leaning over the table towards him. “Cry me a river.” She plucked a roll out of the basket in front of him, returning to her seat. “You better hope I don’t find the HYDRA secret to brainwashing or you’ll be doing my bidding all day, every day, Barnes.” 

Bucky cocked his eyebrow and ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. Steve, knowing all too well that the look on his best friend’s face meant nothing good, chose that moment to chime in. “Charlotte will do just fine. It’ll be an easy intelligence mission and we’ll be right back here in two days. Just try not to miss us too much.” 

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of the usual good-natured jabs, tossed rolls, and laughter that felt too lighthearted for Charlotte, knowing she was walking straight into the belly of the beast she’d so narrowly escaped from in just over twelve hours. When the dishes were done, lights were flicked off, and bedroom doors were closing, Natasha caught Charlotte’s arm before she disappeared into her room.

"Charlotte, you're more than capable of handling this. Just trust your instincts and rely on your training." She gave a warm smile and a reassuring squeeze. “Try to get at least a little sleep tonight, okay?”

“Deal. Thanks, Nat.” Charlotte did her best to return Natasha’s warm smile, knowing all too well she wouldn’t be sleeping a single minute that night. 

________

The locker room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the overhead lights as Charlotte meticulously checked her gear. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of her suit, double-checking the straps and fastenings to ensure everything was secure. The night had been agonizingly long as sleep continued to evade her. Part of it was her nerves, the way her stomach writhed and twisted just thinking of stepping foot into a HYDRA base again. Part of it was fear of actually falling asleep and finding herself in the midst of an all too familiar nightmare, waking her in a cold sweat. Some of them got so bad she didn’t know if she’d have the balls to step onto the Quinjet if she had one. 

So she just didn’t sleep.

When her alarm had finally gone off, it somehow felt like a mercy from her own thoughts in the dark doom. She was up and out the door in less than a minute. By the time Steve and Natasha joined her in the locker room, she was almost fully suited up.

As she worked, her mind raced with the same thoughts that had kept her up all night. Thoughts warning her that this was a mistake. That she’d narrowly escaped with her life and freedom and to go back into enemy territory was to make a gamble with both. Taking a deep breath, Charlotte forced herself to push aside her doubts and fears. She knew she couldn't afford to let her emotions get the best of her, not when so much was at stake. Although this was a relatively low octane mission, the implications were heavy. Gathering information on HYDRA could prevent future attacks, stall their plans for growth. Today’s mission could be the catalyst to prevent everything she’d lost sleep fearing. 

With a final glance in the mirror, Charlotte straightened her posture, meeting her own somewhat bloodshot green eyes in the reflection. They looked more confident than she felt. Good. I can play a part with the best of them. Her hands absently patted down her body, feeling for the guns holstered on her hips and thighs, the belt fully stocked with tech. 

“Takeoff in ten, Char.” Nat called over her shoulder before leaving her alone in the room. 

Giving her a half-hearted two finger salute, Charlotte watched her disappear fully before bowing her head. She wasn’t sure quite where she stood on religion, but in that moment, she prayed to anyone who would listen to just let her make it out again. Whatever awaited them, she could handle it so long as she made it back to this place with these people. So long as she made it back home. 

“Hey.” A low voice snapped her out of her stupor. She opened her eyes to see Bucky, hair tousled and messy, eyes looking as sleepless as hers, standing in the doorway. He wasn’t dressed for an early morning workout, instead wearing dark sweats and a hoodie. 

“Hey,” She took a step towards him. “You look like hell.”

“Good morning to you, too.” He scowled. “I’d ask if you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but something tells me you didn’t sleep at all.” 

“What tipped you off?” Charlotte grit her teeth. 

“I didn’t hear you wake up in a panic.” Bucky didn’t break her gaze. 

Pausing, she shifted her weight, folding her arms across her chest. “You can’t have a nightmare if you don’t sleep.” 

“You need sleep to be at your best today. If you’re foggy, if you miss something today ––” 

Charlotte cut him off, holding a hand up as she moved to push past him. “Look, if you’re just here to lecture me, I’m really not in the mood for  ––”

“I’m not.” Vibranium fingers gripped her waist just above her belt. Setting his jaw, he met her eyes again. “I just wanted to say…just be careful.” A moment of quiet passed between them. “You will be okay. You’re out, and you’re never going to be trapped again.”

From the ever-so-slight break in his voice, Charlotte knew he was talking to himself just as much as he was to her. She also knew it couldn’t have been easy to drag himself out of bed at the ass crack of done to come get touchy feely. It wasn’t lost on her. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” Her words came out breathless. Seeming to realize his hand was still on her waist, Bucky let go. Charlotte caught his hand in her own and gave it a squeeze as she offered a faint smile. “I’ll see you in two days.” 

“See you in two days.” 

________

As the Quinjet sliced through the dark skies en route to Eastern Europe, the atmosphere among the trio was surprisingly light. The hum of the engines provided a steady backdrop to their low conversations, the cabin dimly lit. The sun had finally come up, driving away some of the ominous thoughts of the night along with it. Charlotte was again absently checking her gear when Natasha, sitting across from her, leaned back in her chair with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So, Char, are we gonna talk about when you and Barnes disappeared in New York?” Natasha’s voice was teasing, her smile knowing.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, so first you want to cockblock, and then you want to gossip.”

Steve, looking over his shoulder from where he was maneuvering the jet, raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, was there a need for a cockblock?”

“I guess we’ll never know.” Charlotte shrugged.

“Oh, come on!” Nat nudged her chair with a boot. “First it gets all tense and awkward during the game, then you disappear to ‘get another drink’,” She made air quotes with her fingers. “After which, Barnes mysteriously also needs a refill. You’re gone a few minutes, you both come back flushed with a disappointing lack of messy hair or undone buttons.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, if we’re calling out cockblockers, Sam was the one who interrupted in the first place.”.

Steve, now so invested he’d switched the Quinjet to autopilot, turned around in his seat.. "Sam interrupted what, exactly?"

"I mean," Charlotte flushed with a laugh. "I don’t know. Bucky was about to kiss me, I guess—"

Natasha interrupted, her voice triumphant. "Ha! I told you, Rogers! Pay up. Fifty bucks."

Steve chuckled, holding his hands up in defeat. "Alright, alright. You win."

Curiosity gleamed in Natasha's eyes as she turned her attention back to Charlotte. "So, that’s a far cry from your usual interactions. How do you feel about it?"

Charlotte shrugged nonchalantly, waving them off. "I don’t know, we were both pretty drunk."

Natasha and Steve exchanged a knowing glance before Natasha spoke up again, her tone more serious. "Come on, Charlotte. We know there's something between you and Barnes. You two wouldn't be at each other's throats as much as you are if there wasn't something deeper there."

Steve nodded in agreement. "Nat's right. No one can deny the tension whenever you're in the same room. Have you ever noticed how there’s always someone ready to jump between you two?”

“Yeah, we thought it was to keep you two from tearing each other apart, but maybe it’s actually to keep from tearing each others’ clothes off.” Nat winked, causing Steve to shake his head. 

“Fuck…off…” Charlotte laughed, swatting at Nat’s feet, propped up on her arm rest. 

“Ladies, please.” Steve waved a hand between them, mock breaking up the spat. “Listen, for what it’s worth, and don’t tell him I said this…Bucky wasn’t that drunk last weekend.”

Charlotte sighed, her playful demeanor fading as she grew more introspective. "It's just... confusing, you know? I don't even know where to begin."

Natasha leaned forward. "Well, for starters, Barnes is not the easiest to read." 

“That’s for damn sure.”

Steve nodded in agreement. "But don't underestimate him. Bucky's a good man, Char. He just needs someone who's willing to get past the walls he's built around himself."

Looking down at her hands, Charlotte shook her head before meeting Natasha’s gaze. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on with him. Us.  It’s like... one moment, we’re just roommates, teammates –– whatever. Then, we’re talking at two in the morning because we both had nightmares and we’re bonding over this shared trauma bullshit. Then he’s jumping my ass like he hates me. Then we’re almost crossing a line we’ve never even approached, and the next, it’s like we’re right back to being roommates.”

Natasha’s expression softened. “It’s tough with Bucky. He’s been through a lot, and sometimes, he struggles with letting people in. Even those he cares about deeply. Trust me, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t get so…aggressive.”

Steve nodded, his face serious now. “Nat’s right. Bucky does care about you, Charlotte. Maybe he’s just trying to protect you — and himself — from potential pain. I mean, if he doesn’t know where you stand then he’s not likely to put himself out there at all.”

Charlotte listened, her brow furrowing. “I get that, I really do. But it’s just so frustrating feeling like I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. How am I supposed to even figure out how I feel when it’s like we have four different relationships happening at once?”

“Well,” Steve shrugged. “Which relationship do you want to stick?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Rogers.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you ask your bestie and report back to me, hm?”

“Buck and I don’t really talk about things like this.” He chuckled. 

“What do you talk about? Medicare? Viagra?” 

“Not viagra.” Nat pretended to check her nails, this time sending Steve’s face into a full blush as he turned back around to take the controls. When his back was fully turned, she held her hands up, miming a significant length between them as she winked. 

“Oh, gag me,” Charlotte stood up from her chair and stalked towards the back of the jet. 

“Don’t ask me, ask Barnes!” Nat called after her disappearing figure. 

Flipping her off over her shoulder, Charlotte was thankful Nat couldn’t see her grin.

________

The icy winds howled outside the decrepit structure that once served as a HYDRA base, nestled deep in the forests of some country Charlotte had never even heard of. Its walls, blanketed by a thick layer of snow, muffled the sounds of the harsh environment outside. The Quinjet was stashed just outside the treeline, cloaked in stealth mode. 

Steve, Natasha, and Charlotte approached the entrance with practiced silence, their movements precise. They were thankful for the quickly falling snow covering their tracks as they walked, finally reaching the entrance. The door was ajar, hanging crooked on the lower two hinges, swinging gently in the frigid breeze. Aside from the whistling wind, the creaking of the door was the only sound across the eerily silent clearing. Nat shot Charlotte a sidelong look, one final check to make sure she was okay before they crossed the threshold. Nodding, Charlotte fell into line behind Steve as they stepped out of the elements and into the dark building. A thick layer of dust swirled up from the ground as their boots disturbed it.

“Looks like no one’s been here for years,” Steve whispered, his shield ready as he peeked inside the shadowed hallway. “But stay sharp. We don’t know what’s left behind.”

Natasha nodded, pulling out her compact field device. “Charlotte, you’re with me. We need to find the main server room. There’s a good chance they left data behind, not expecting anyone to come back to this hellhole.”

Charlotte nodded, ignoring the way her stomach turned as she followed Natasha, her hands hovering above the pistols holstered on her hips. This building was hundreds of miles from where she’d been kept, but the interior similarities were uncanny. From the smell of gunpowder and antiseptic to the haunting emblem stamped on every door, the only difference was the lack of lowlife psychopaths crawling the place. The hallway was lined with old propaganda posters, the edges curled and the faces faded. Every step they took kicked up a new symphony of dust, dancing in the beams of their flashlights. She fought to stay present, stay in the headspace of an Avenger on a mission rather than a terrified girl in way over her head. Pretend. Play a part. Be like Natasha. Her breathing evened out as she forced herself to observe Nat, to catalog her every move. The slight bend to her knees as she crept forward, the way her head swiveled from side to side as she cleared each room, even her heart rate, faintly perceptible through her armor. As Charlotte tailored her own movements to those of Natasha, she felt her own heart rate slow. Mimic. Emulate. That’s what she was good at. That’s what would get her through this.

Reaching the server room, the door creaked as they pushed it open. Charlotte tried not to cringe at the loud noise, the fear that it would awaken some long dormant evil in this place. Inside the room, rows of ancient computers and servers hummed with a surprising flicker of life, the green lights blinking in the semi-darkness.

“Looks like we’re in luck, electricity hasn’t been cut off here,” Natasha murmured, setting up her device to interface with the HYDRA technology. “Char, keep an eye on the door. I need a few minutes here.”

Charlotte positioned herself by the doorway, her senses heightened. The silence was oppressive, filled only by the distant whir of outdated machinery and Natasha’s steady breathing as she worked.

Minutes stretched into an eternity. Charlotte’s thoughts drifted to Bucky, to both of their sleepless nights. She wondered if he’d been on missions that took him back into the belly of the beast, if he’d been as terrified as she was. 

A soft beep from Natasha’s device cut through the silence. “Got something,” Natasha announced, her voice a mix of relief and urgency. “There are references to a new base of operations, coordinates embedded in an encrypted file. I’m downloading it now.”

“Good work, Nat,” Steve’s voice crackled over the comms, ever vigilant. “Wrap it up. I don’t like how exposed we are here.”

As Natasha hurriedly collected the last pieces of data, Charlotte felt a shiver that wasn’t from the cold. It was the realization that this mission, seemingly quiet, was just the precursor to something much larger. They were on the brink of uncovering a resurgence that could threaten their fragile peace. She’d told herself she just had to get through this mission, to quell her fears for today, and then she could breathe. This data…the trail to a new base, the source of the attack…this was far from over. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine and she prayed Natasha didn’t notice. 

With the data secured, they retraced their steps, making their way back towards where Steve was positioned at the entrance. As they emerged into the final hallway, the biting cold seeped through the broken door, washing over them with a sobering chill.

“Let’s head back,” Steve said, his voice resolute. “Good work you two. We need to get this to SHIELD.”

With the data secured and the team poised to leave, a sudden, inexplicable intuition halted Charlotte. "Wait," she said abruptly, her voice echoing slightly in the now silent corridor.

Steve turned, his brow furrowed in concern. "Charlotte, we need to move. It's risky to linger."

"I know, but... I remember something," she insisted, her voice threaded with uncertainty. Her mind was flickering with disjointed memories, not her own but somehow familiar—whispers of conversations overheard from her past.

Natasha looked concerned. "What is it?"

"There’s... a basement. Hidden. I'm sure of it. They mentioned it once, back when I was being briefed on potential locations to track Buck––the Winter Soldier to. They thought he might try to target the smaller bases when he got free. They were especially concerned with beefing up security for this one…this place was important, not just a random outpost."

Steve's tactical mind battled with his protective instincts. "We don’t have much time," he warned, but his gaze softened. "Make it quick."

Nodding, Charlotte led them down a forgotten hallway, her eyes scanning for any sign of a concealed entrance. Her hand brushed against the wall, and she felt a subtle, almost imperceptible seam. Pressing against it, a portion of the wall gave way, revealing a narrow stairwell spiraling down into darkness. Both of them covered their mouth with their arms, avoiding the cloud of dust and debris that flooded the air.

"Good call," Natasha murmured, lighting the path with her flashlight as they descended.

The air grew colder as they reached the basement, a small, shadow-filled room that reeked of secrets long buried. Along one wall, files and documents were preserved in sealed cabinets. Natasha quickly began sifting through them, her hands skilled and efficient. Charlotte did the same across the room, making quick work of the folders there.

Charlotte’s heart thudded painfully as she pulled out a dust-covered file marked with a stark, black HYDRA stamp and the words "Winter Soldier Projekt." 

Breath catching in her throat, Charlotte opened the dusty file with trembling fingers. She skimmed for only a few seconds before slamming it closed, heart pounding. The contents––the little she saw–– were chilling. On the first page alone, there was a detailed log of the original experiments conducted on Bucky during World War II, complete with photographs and medical reports. Considering the folder was at least two fingers thick, the thought of what else was contained in those pages made her want to vomit. She turned her attention back to the cabinet and found another two folders marked with the same project name. 

“Find anything?” Nat crossed the room before her eyes landed on the folders in Charlotte’s hand. "Oh, shit…this...this could be the parts of his past he's still trying to piece together."

Charlotte’s expression was grim. "He deserves to see this. Whether or not he reads it is up to him.”

Silently nodding, Natasha grabbed a stack of files she’d deemed important enough to take and turned for the door, Charlotte right on her heels. With the additional files secured, the gravity of their discovery pressing down on them, they ascended back to the ground level. The mission had been a success, but had unearthed more than they had bargained for, casting a shadow that would follow them back home. 

"Let's get out of here." Steve said again, his voice firmer this time, an edge underlying his calm as he read the expressions on both women’s faces.

As they emerged into the gray, sunless day, the German landscape bleak and unwelcoming around them, Charlotte felt a mix of triumph and trepidation. They had retrieved crucial information, hadn’t been intercepted or ambushed, and yet…this felt like they’d taken a massive blow. The emotional implications, especially for Bucky, loomed large—her heart ached for him and the pain he’d face when they got back. 

They quickly and quietly ascended the ramp into the Quinjet, taking their seats as Steve took them out of enemy territory. When they were safely soaring above the clouds, Natasha motioned for him to let her take over. “Take a look at what Charlotte found.” Her grim voice caught his attention.

​​Steve shifted in his seat, the low hum of the Quinjet the only noise as he turned and faced where Charlotte was seated. He noticed the tight set of Natasha’s jaw, the unusual tension in her shoulders. Charlotte sat looking equally somber, eyes glassy,  a thick file clasped tightly in her hands. The atmosphere was thick with a kind of urgency that made his stomach tighten.

"Steve, it’s about Buckyt," Charlotte said quietly as she handed him the file. Her eyes were shadowed, suggesting she’d already seen the horrors it contained.

Taking the file, Steve felt the weight of it, not just in physical terms but in what it represented. He opened it slowly, almost hesitantly, the pages filled with dense text and black-and-white photographs that made his stomach convulse. As his eyes scanned the documents, detailing operations and experiments carried out during the war, his expression darkened.

He paused on a photograph, a stark, haunting image of Bucky strapped to a chair, machinery and wires surrounding him, protruding from everywhere imaginable. Bucky hadn’t even liked the doctor when they were kids, so this…Steve’s hands trembled slightly, the image hitting far too close to home, a vivid reminder of his failure to protect his friend when he needed him the most.

Natasha watched him closely out of the corner of her eyes, her voice softening. “We had no idea about some of these details. The depth of what they did—”

“It’s monstrous,” Steve interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. He continued flipping through the file, each page turn revealing another layer of the nightmare Bucky had endured. Reports of prolonged exposure to mind-altering techniques, physical endurance tests, and surgical manipulations filled the pages.

Closing the file abruptly, Steve looked up, his eyes clouded with pain and anger. “We shouldn’t be reading this. Not before he does…I mean, fuck,” His uncharacteristic swear jarred Nat and Charlotte. “I mean, do we even show him this? Or does this just set him back? He’s worked so hard, he’s finally been getting past some of the nightmares…I just––”

Charlotte reached out, her hand briefly touching his arm in a gesture of support. “It will be hard. Really fucking hard. I…I would want to know, though.”

Steve nodded slowly, the resolve setting into his features. “We’ll leave it up to him, give him a choice. We owe him that much.” He let out a slow breath as he put the files into an empty seat next to Charlotte.

As the Quinjet cut through the clouds, the cabin was filled with a tense silence, broken occasionally by the soft clacking of buttons and the murmur of the aircraft's systems. Charlotte sat near the communications array, her fingers absentmindedly tapping against the metal surface, her mind racing with the weight of the files just a foot away from her. The atmosphere of the ride home was a far cry from the ride there, laughter and jokes felt impossible at the moment. They hadn’t even called back for the mission report, putting it off as long as possible as they debated whether or not to submit the files to SHIELD’s official records, where they’d be available to everyone in the organization. When they could ignore the comm requests no longer, Steve finally gave in.

"Patch through to Maria Hill," Steve instructed Charlotte, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

Charlotte nodded and quickly set the frequencies. A moment later, Maria's voice filled the cabin, clear and commanding. "Report, team. How did the mission go?"

"We secured the intel we were after," Natasha replied, glancing at Charlotte with a hint of concern. "But there's something else, Maria. It's about Bucky—files from his time with HYDRA during the war. They were hidden in a basement, in a concealed wing of the base. Charlotte located it. These files are…we’d like these to be handled with the utmost discretion."

There was a brief pause. "Understood," Maria responded, her tone turning somber. "Standard protocol dictates a full briefing with all operatives. However, I'm aware of the sensitivity of this information regarding Sergeant Barnes."

Charlotte’s voice was quiet but firm as she joined in. "Maria, I think it might be best if I briefed him privately first. This is personal and could be quite a shock. He trusts me, and it might be easier for him to process this with someone he's close to. Of all of us…" She glanced at Steve, praying she wasn’t stepping on his toes. “I understand this. What this will be like. I would want to be able to process it privately, maintain some dignity.”

There was another pause, longer this time. "I understand the delicacy of the situation," Maria finally said. "You have the go-ahead, Rossi. Brief Barnes privately. Depending on his reaction and the relevance of the information, we can decide how to proceed with the rest of the team. You have official clearance to classify the information until then."

A collective breath was let out across the cabin.

"Thank you, Maria," Charlotte said, her relief palpable even through the static of the comms. 

“Stay in stealth mode, we’ll see you when you get back. Good work, team.” Maria signed off, all business as usual.

Steve sat back, concern etched on his face. "You okay with this, Charlotte? It’s a heavy burden and Bucky doesn’t have a history of reacting…well to difficult information.”

She took a deep breath, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees. "It needs to be me. There’s a level of…shame that comes with finding out what was done to you. What you couldn’t stop. As much as he loves you, both of you, it will be harder to hear from you. Me? I’m already a walking reminder of his past. I understand it better than anyone. If he gets mad, I can take it, but…it needs to be me.”

Steve nodded, giving her a faintly reassuring smile as he turned back to the control panel.

For the remaining hours of the flight, the Quinjet soared through the sky, carrying its crew and their heavy cargo of secrets back home, each member lost in their own thoughts about the implications of their findings.

________

It was early evening by the time they touched back down at the compound.

Steve and Natasha had given Charlotte reassuring nods as they left her alone in the locker room, holding the files and steeling herself for the hardest conversation of her life. Deciding that waiting would only make it worse, she set off to find Bucky without even changing out of her uniform.

The final rays of sun streamed through the windows of the training room cast long shadows as Charlotte entered. The sound of punching and the rhythmic thud of a heavy bag swinging greeted her, slightly echoing in the large space. Bucky, his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, was relentlessly driving his fists into the bag. He paused, breathing heavily, as he noticed Charlotte standing in the doorway.

"Hey, you’re back,” he greeted, a small smile fleeting across his lips. “Glad to see you made it out and didn’t shit the bed,” Noticing the seriousness of her expression and the file clutched in her hands, he grabbed a towel, wiping his face as he walked over to her. "What’s wrong?"

“Hey, Buck.” Charlotte shifted, the file almost feeling heavier in her grasp. "It’s something we found at the base. It’s about... It’s about you. From during the war." She offered it out but he only stared at it.

Bucky's demeanor shifted as he read the label, the lines of his face hardening. "Who else has seen it?"

"Nobody, Bucky. I found it, and I’ve kept it safe. Only glanced through it enough to know it’s important, and personal." She met his gaze firmly, conveying her sincerity. "Even Steve didn’t feel right reading it. It’s been with me since I found it."

He nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the file then back to her. "And if I decide I don’t want to know?"

"That’s completely up to you," Charlotte reassured him softly. "We’ve classified it from SHIELD. This is yours, Bucky. Only yours. You don’t ever have to read it if you don’t want to."

Bucky took a deep breath, the internal struggle evident in his eyes. After a long moment, he reached out and took the file from her. "Will you... stay?"

"Of course," she replied without hesitation, her voice gentle, albeit a little breathless from her own nerves.

They moved to a corner of the room where a small bench sat. Bucky took a seat, Charlotte settling beside him, close enough for support, yet giving him space to breathe. He opened the file slowly, his eyes scanning the first page, the photos paperclipped in. As he flipped through, his body tensed with each page turned, the horrors of his past laid bare in black and white. She knew in her bones that the glassy look in his eye meant he was reliving hell right in front of her.

Charlotte watched him, her heart aching with each crease that formed on his brow, each slight twitch of his jaw. It wasn’t difficult to avert her eyes from the file, knowing that the information contained there was not only deeply personal to Bucky, but highly likely to fuel her own nightmares. When he finally closed the file somewhere around the halfway mark, his eyes were glassy, his face pale. His body was rigid, as if bracing against a storm. Abruptly, he stood up, the file slipping from his hands and fluttering to the floor, papers scattering across the floor. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, and then he crumpled in front of a trash can in the corner, his body convulsing as he vomited violently.

Instantly, Charlotte dropped to her knees by his side, her hands tenderly holding back his hair, rubbing absently up his back. She stayed close, unafraid, as he shuddered with the force of his reaction.

When the waves of nausea finally subsided, Bucky shifted, leaning his back against the cool metal of the wall. Charlotte turned beside him, her hands trailing across his shoulders, tugging him towards her. Bucky leaned in, his body trembling as silent tears began to stream down his face. With a gentle but firm touch, she pulled him closer, letting his head rest against her chest. His arms wrapped around her waist as his shaking intensified.

Charlotte held him tightly, her hand soothingly stroking his back, creating a small sanctuary against the rest of the world. They remained there on the floor, the only sounds in the room being Bucky’s soft cries and the muffled sounds of the outside world going on as usual, unaware of the pain only a wall away. She didn’t even feel the tightness in her muscles from sitting in one place for so long, didn’t feel the hard floor beneath her. All Charlotte felt was the warmth from Bucky, the damp tears soaking into her skin beneath her suit, the shaking of his body against her. 

She lost track of how long they sat there. Lost track of her hunger and time and the rest of the world. As far as she was concerned, her world was contained within the four walls of this room. There wasn’t a force on Earth that could take her out of it.

[infinitehyperfixations]

Europe's Most Wanted Thief

Part 2 of Ribbons and Steel

Ribbons and Steal: Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Piotr faces the aftermath of his first interaction with Maya Durand and learns more about Europe's most wanted thief.

Story Tags: Slow Burn, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Language (mostly Wade)

Word Count: 4.6k

POV: Piotr

Note: Sorry that I haven't updated in a long time! 2023 was not a good year for me but I'm hoping that this year is better!

Comments and Reblogs are love!

Piotr prided himself on his ability to keep a level head in the most aggravating circumstances. He thought it was one of his best qualities. Everyone could rely on him to stay calm in the worst situations. He believed that there has to be at least one person that keeps their composure and Piotr was always more than happy to fill that role.

However, someone else would have to take his place as the “calmest person in the room” while Piotr dealt with his current predicament.

Piotr seethed as he glared at the opened skylight that Maya Durand had escaped through in the museum’s banquet hall. The thief had left the perfectly in tack window ajar as if to mock him on his failure. His outraged thoughts drowned out the police sirens and shouting reporters beyond the entrance doors. He could barely hear NTW’s frantic muttering as she tried to release him from the chain-like prison Maya Durand trapped him in. Only a couple of minutes had passed since her escape and the burning anger inside Piotr worsened with every passing second.

“Piotr!” NTW yelled in his face to pull him out of his furious haze. “I have been calling your name for the last minute!”

NTW nodded, deciphering Piotr’s muffled words as an apology while she tried to pull the cloth off his mouth.

“Anyway,” NTW huffed as she yanked on the tight fabric on his arm, “I was trying to tell you that the Professor is fine. He is currently trying to distract the press outside with Mr. Levine.”

Piotr only grumbled at the thought of the press finding out what happened with Maya Durand. It was inevitable that the X-Men, X-Force, and Wade would learn of the events that transpired but Piotr wanted to talk to them first before they saw it on the news. Piotr was nearly drowning in dread at the thought of Wade finding out before he returned to the mansion. The X-Men would forget about his fight with Maya Durand eventually, but Wade?

Piotr would never live this down.

NTW continued to tug on every strand of fabric with no avail. Piotr was grateful that she tried but even he could barely move in the cloth’s steel-like grip.

“Jesus Christ this shit is way too strong for me to take off,” NTW wheezed, rubbing her reddened fingers. “I think we’re going to need Logan’s claws to get you out of this.”

Before Piotr could think of an alternative plan, the fabric tangled around his body loosened fast enough for him to lose his balance. Piotr’s surprised yelp warned NTW to jump out of the way before he fell flat on his face with a loud bang.

While laying face down on the cold floor, Piotr reflected on the past few months - peaceful and uneventful months that now seemed like a distant memory - and wished he hadn’t taken them for granted. Staring at the scarlet silk that had bound him to the floor moments before did not help to extinguish his anger whatsoever. It only fueled his desire to catch Maya Durand and wipe that devious smirk off her face. He could already tell that the next few months would be the most infuriating of his life, but there was simply no way around it. One way or another, he was going to be the one to put that snarky thief in chains.

When Piotr did not immediately stand up, NTW cautiously stepped closer to him.

“You okay, Piotr?”

“I’m fine,” Piotr muttered, his voice muffled by the cold marble floor.

“You don’t sound like it.”

“I promise I am perfectly fine.”

NTW watched as Piotr stood up, letting the rest of the red fabric fall off of him. Every single piece pooled around his feet except for the one small piece that landed on his shoe - the one that Maya Durand wrapped around his head to keep his mouth shut. The image of Durand’s stupid smirk plagued his thoughts as he snatched up the cloth. With a sneer on his lips, Piotr shoved the material in his pocket for Hank to analyze in his lab. With any luck Hank might be able to figure out why Durand’s fabric was strong enough to hold him down.

Before Piotr could make his way to the museum’s entrance, James Levine threw the doors open to escape the hoards of reporters, flashing cameras, and shouts from police officers that tried to keep the rowdy crowd at bay. The Professor, who looked just as exhausted from dealing with the police and journalists as Levine, closely followed him.

"I see that you were released from Maya Durand's trap," James Levine said when he ran up to Piotr and NTW. "I was afraid that I was going to have to tell Miss Ba to get her briefcase."

Piotr and Ellie looked at Levine inquisitively and then at each other.

"Briefcase?"

"Yes, my toolkit, Mr. Rasputin," Miss Ba's cold voice came from behind him.

Piotr flinched at the sound of her voice before he quickly turned around to meet the assistant's harsh gaze. He wondered if she had the power to teleport because he had no idea how she managed to sneak behind him. Her face seemed to be permanently fixed to an unimpressed frown that wouldn't allow the mere emergence of a smile.

When Piotr finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact with Levine’s assistant, he noticed a large black briefcase she was holding at her side. His discarded suit jacket was draped over her arm, large enough to engulf her small frame.

“As Mr. Levine’s assistant, I must be prepared to protect him and his assets under any circumstances,” Miss Ba explained as she reached in her pocket to grab her ringing phone. Her frown deepened as she glanced at the screen. “That includes a visit from Europe’s most wanted thief…and a call from his relative whose diamond was just stolen.”

Miss Ba excused herself before answering the phone call. She kept the phone almost a foot away from her ear, the woman’s enraged screams audible even as the assistant moved to the opposite side of the room. If she was affected by the woman’s degrading shouts, she did not show it, her face as impassive as ever.

Levine sighed as he watched Miss Ba step aside. “I knew my aunt was going to be in hysterics when she found out about the diamond, but I thought I would have at least an hour to prepare.”

NTW looked up at a banner that advertised the Devil’s Treasure exhibit. “Your aunt owns the diamond?”

“Yes, I convinced her to lend it to the museum.” Levine ran a hand through his dark hair as he glanced from Miss Ba to the open skylight and the crumpled pile of red fabric in the middle of the floor. “I told her that the Devil’s Treasure would be safe and that no one - not even Maya Durand - would dare to attempt to steal it with an X-Man present.”

Levine glanced at Piotr hesitantly before clearing his throat.

“I guess I was wrong.”

Piotr clenched his hands as he took in a deep breath. Levine’s words only made his mood worse. He was an X-Man, he should have been able to stop a thief that controls fabric. He allowed himself to underestimate his opponent, a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating when it came to Maya Durand.

“Who is Maya Durand? How do you know her?” The Professor asked, turning his wheelchair to face Levine.

Levine barked out a laugh, but his amusement quickly faded as he looked between the others’ puzzled faces.

“You’re kidding right? Maya Durand? Europe’s most wanted thief? The woman that has become every billionaire and politician’s waking nightmare? You’ve never heard of her?”

Levine’s astonished look grew when the three mutants shook their heads. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that Piotr couldn’t make out.

“Of course they never heard of Maya Durand,” Miss Ba chided, somehow appearing next to Piotr without him noticing her. She narrowed her eyes at the X-Man as she handed her phone to Levine. “If they did, they might have actually prevented her from stealing the Devil’s Treasure.”

“Nyza,” Levine warned before extending his arm out apologetically. “Please forgive Miss Ba, she can be very…blunt at times.”

“No offense taken,” NTW said, giving Nyza a harsh glare.

Nyza Ba rolled her eyes before she moved closer to Piotr, holding out the jacket on her arm with an irritated look (which seemed to be her default facial expression).

“You may want to put this on,” Nyza suggested, gesturing to his shirt with a nod of her head.

Piotr nearly popped a blood vessel when he looked down at the state of his dress shirt. The seams were ripped open, the fabric was littered with tears of various sizes, and he was missing several buttons. It was a miracle that his shirt was still on his body. Even with his jacket, he would look like he had jumped through a paper shredder.

Just like his dignity, his clothes also fell victim to Maya Durand.

Once Piotr took his jacket, Nyza made her way to a nearby table, brushing aside the remnants of the ruined plates and champagne glasses to set her briefcase in its center . The latches of the briefcase clicked as the assistant opened it.

Piotr gawked at the sight of the neatly organized contents inside of the briefcase. There was a small collection of large, razor sharp knives, two pairs of hedge clippers, and various firearms with extra ammo clips next to them. Piotr realized that this must be the toolkit that Levine spoke of earlier. He grimaced at the thought of them using the knives and hedge clippers to cut him out of the trap.

“What’s that?” NTW asked, pointing at a gun with a small compartment filled with some sort of clear fluid underneath its barrel.

“A mini flamethrower,” Nyza said nonchalantly. “My sources say that Maya Durand has an intense fear of fire.”

Levine’s eyebrows knitted together as he sneered, “I told you to get rid of that.”

To Piotr’s surprise, Nyza’s face paled at the sight of Levine’s hardened gaze and her eyes grew wider as he towered over her small form.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Nyza mumbled, reaching inside the briefcase to disassemble the weapon. She carefully disconnected the gun’s fluid compartment and tucked away the parts inside the briefcase.

Once she was done, Levine pulled out a tablet from the bottom of the briefcase. While he turned it on, Nyza closed the briefcase and moved to stand behind her boss, her normal judgemental look quickly sliding back over her features.

“I have Nyza keep a tablet with all of the information we have on Maya Durand. She has become quite a problem in Europe.”

Piotr reminded himself of the briefing the Professor gave on James Levine and his company on the way to the gala. While the company did produce machinery for medicine and entertainment, Drake Industries was primarily a tech company that specialized in security and weapons. It would not surprise him if the company had extensive records of criminals across the world.

“I wanted to ensure that local authorities knew whom they were dealing with if she showed up,” Levine explained, turning the tablet toward the mutants.

Piotr peered down at the tablet, which was currently displaying a mugshot of Durand. Much to Piotr’s displeasure, her signature smirk was firmly in place as she stared defiantly into the camera. The Professor gave Piotr a stern look as he tried to hide his frown at the sight of the prideful and mischievous glint in her eyes.

As he looked away from the infuriating picture, Piotr’s gaze fell on Levine’s face. There was a ghost of a smile on his face as his finger ran over Durand’s cheek. What unsettled Piotr even more was the way he was looking at her as if she was his next meal. His eyes wandered over her features with a possessive desire and longing that made Piotr’s stomach churn.

Weird.

“You may have this if you wish to pursue her,” Levine said, dropping the strange demeanor as he handed the tablet to the Professor.

“Don’t worry,” NTW asserted, nudging Piotr with her elbow. “We’ll make sure she’s put behind bars.”

Nyza scoffed at NTW’s promise and quickly silenced herself after receiving a harsh glance from her boss. Before NTW could make a scathing retort, Levine interjected to ease the tension in the air.

“It worries me that she has made an appearance in the states,” Levine stressed. “It may mean that she’s bored and wants to cause trouble here. If that’s the case, she is likely to make another appearance soon.”

Piotr nodded sharply. He was going to make Maya Durand regret crashing the gala. He would be the reason her obnoxious grin fell as he put her behind bars.

“Then she will have to face me the next time she shows her face.”

“And we will get that diamond back,” NTW promised.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but the Devil’s Treasure is long gone,” Levine chuckled lightly. “By now Maya Durand will have given it to the person who hired her for the job.”

The sound of Levine’s ringing phone took away his attention. Groaning, he pulled the device from his pocket and looked at the three mutants apologetically.

“I’m afraid I will have to deal with my aunt now. Nyza has made arrangements for your car to pick you up discreetly behind the museum so you can avoid the press. I wish you the best of luck catching Miss Durand.”

Before turning to take the call, Levine nodded to each of the mutants, his gaze lingering on Piotr for a fraction longer than the others before he strode off, his aunt’s screeching following him as he headed for the museum door. Piotr tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, but something was…off about Levine. If stories from the other X-Men were anything to go by, people like Levine almost always had an ulterior motive when they involved themselves in the mutant world. And besides his involvement with mutants, it was odd that Levine didn’t seem upset about losing the multi-million dollar diamond to Durand. Piotr would have to keep his guard up.

“God, I am so glad that I’m not him right now,” NTW muttered as she and Piotr watched the door swing shut behind Levine. With a significantly colder nod to the group, Nyza Ba quickly followed her boss out of the museum, briefcase in hand as the door swung shut for the second time, leaving them alone in the event hall.

“You will wish you were when we see Wade back at mansion,” Piotr grumbled.

The Professor rolled his eyes, although the slight quirk of his lips hinted at his amusement at NTW’s pallid expression. While they followed the Professor to the museum’s rear exit, Piotr started to mentally prepare himself for the harassment he was going to receive from the X-Men and, much to his displeasure, from Wade. He knew NTW could withstand some playful jabs from the X-Men but he was certain he was going to have to take the brunt of Wade’s teasing so she wouldn’t send him through a wall.

For the sake of his sanity, Piotr hoped he was wrong.

-----

The car ride back to the X-Mansion was deathly silent. Piotr and Ellie turned off their phones to have a little bit of peace before they returned. Both of them refused to look through the tablet’s information on Maya Durand so they wouldn’t have to think about what had happened. The incident was surely on every single news channel by now. Even though Piotr did not have any social media profiles, he knew he couldn’t hide from the flood of tweets and memes of the ordeal with his students and Wade around. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had at least a hundred memes and videos about his fight with Maya Durand from Wade waiting behind his phone’s black screen.

When they finally arrived at the mansion, the X-Men were waiting for them in the foyer. Their quiet muttering came to a sudden halt as they stepped through the door. Most of them glanced between the members of the haggard group hesitantly, clearly not wanting to provoke any lingering emotions from the gala. Logan, on the other hand, stood front and center with an amused grin plastered on his face. The X-Man seemed as if he was anticipating some form of entertainment. He did not have to say anything because Piotr knew exactly why Logan was giving him that look.

Piotr closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he released a deep sigh. “Where is he?”

The rapid footsteps from the hallway at the top of the staircase behind the X-Men gave him his answer. Wade bounded to the top of the staircase, waving his phone in the air with a wide smile on his face. Piotr’s frown deepened when Wade took notice of his ruined dress shirt.

“Damn, she really did fuck up your over glorified hall monitor ass, huh?” Wade chortled, sliding down the arm of the staircase with Nathan marching down the steps to follow him. “I cannot believe you got your ass handed to you by a person who controls fabric.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” NTW snapped while her hand formed into fists.

Wade simply ignored her and continued on with his jests. “Just be thankful that you don’t have Twitter because they are having a field day with this selfie of you and Maya-”

“Selfie?” Piotr interjected as his rage from the fight suddenly came back to him. “Show me.”

The sight of the selfie that Maya had taken of them when he was stuck in her trap made his blood boil. The Devil’s Treasure rested casually in her free hand, which was propped carelessly on his shoulder. Her glimmering eyes, perfect teeth, and victorious smile that shined brighter against her red lipstick only made his mood worse. Of course she looked gorgeous while Piotr was tied up with a tattered shirt.

Piotr clenched his fists tightly, “She is going down.”

Before Wade could say anything else, Nathan snatched his phone from him, sending him a harsh glare. He didn’t budge at Wade’s demands to release his phone. Piotr was reminded vividly of a parent taking a toy away from a misbehaving toddler as a punishment.

“You have been talking about this for hours,” Nathan seethed, putting Wade’s phone in his pocket. “I’m tired of hearing about it and I’m sure the Big Guy here is too. Besides, I bet she would kick your ass too.”

“You are no fun,” huffed Wade. “She would never beat me! I would just slice her little ribbons in half!”

“I wouldn’t underrate Miss Durand’s powers, Wade,” The Professor chastised, holding up the tablet that Levine had given him. “According to this, she’s a professional.”

Professor X motioned for all of them to follow him to the large council room that they used for meetings and debriefings. In the center of the room was a grand round table with enough seats to sit the X-Men and X-Force. The massive TVs on each wall of the room displayed different news stations that were all discussing the same thing: Maya Durand. Titles slowly crawled across the bottoms of the screens. Piotr read Breaking News: Maya Durand Strikes in the U.S., Maya Durand Steals The Devil’s Treasure, and X-Man Fails to Stop Mutant Thief before forcefully pulling his gaze away from the screens.

The Professor slid the tablet to the center of the table as everyone took their seats. The device’s screen flickered for a moment before it projected a hologram of Maya Durand’s file for all of them to view. Her mugshot was at the very top of the file. Her perfect smile taunted Piotr as if she was telling him to catch her if he can.

Her basic information was in print below her photo, which Piotr stubbornly ignored as he focused on the text. He felt as if her picture was watching him amusingly as he read what little information the file had. Her exact age was unknown (it said she was in her early to mid twenties), no known family, no known aliases or allies, or anything about her life before she became a thief.

The details that her file did have were of the crimes she had committed, her services that she offered to the highest bidder, and information on her mutant powers.

“This has absolutely nothing on her,” NTW grumbled as she scanned the file.

Scott let out a low whistle as he read aloud her criminal charges, “She’s wanted by Interpol for multiple counts of burglary, assault, theft, espionage, grand theft…everything, and a whole lot more.”

“Who cares about a couple boring charges?” Wade threw his hands in the air as he glared at Scott like he had grievously insulted him. “Homicide and manslaughter are way cooler and you know it!”

Piotr quickly read through her charges to fact check Wade…and he was right. She had not killed anyone, at least not in any incident listed on the file. Piotr wasn't sure if this information made him feel better or worse about the thief. He decided to chalk up this oddity to Durand being too proud to get her hands dirty and label her as the absolute worst person he had ever met.

“That is little extreme… I have fought people that want to kill all mutants,” Piotr reminded himself. “Maya may not be worst person but she is very high on list.”

Scanning through the rest of her file, Piotr came across a section that listed her skillset. Piotr rolled his eyes at the Master Thief at the top of the list. He wondered if Maya had gotten her hands on the file and put that in there to inflate her ego. Her file also stated that she was a chameleon - a master at hiding in plain sight. The way that the file described her abilities made Piotr wonder if she was almost as good as Mystique. On top of that, the file claimed she was a master escape artist as well. He read the brief description of the few times she was sent to prison and her increasingly elaborate escapes. It seemed that no prison could hold her - at least for long.

“Piotr, I think I know why Maya’s fabric was strong enough to hold you down,” NTW said, pointing at the section on her file that listed her mutant abilities.

Mutant Powers:

Fabric Manipulation

Fabric Creation

Material Identification and Application

“Material Application?” Piotr read allowed with a perplexed tone.

“I’ve heard about this ability!” Hank divulged with an intrigued look. “Some mutants have the ability to copy elements of certain materials to another object without changing it physically. A copy and paste power to put it simply.”

Piotr reached inside his pocket for the cloth he had taken from the museum and placed it on the table. He peered down at the fabric inquisitively, running his fingers over the soft silk before handing it to the scientist.

“She was able to make her fabric as strong as metal with this ability?” Piotr questioned, almost impressed by her ability.

Hank examined the material in his hands before pulling at it to test its strength and elasticity. The fabric stretched easily, not showing any visible signs of stress. It didn’t even tear when Hank ran his sharp claws against it.

“Yes, I suspect that her fabric may be as strong as steel,” Hank hypothesized, keeping his eyes on the fabric, “but I will be able to tell you more tomorrow once I’ve taken a closer look.”

The Professor glanced down at his watch, realizing how late at night it was before backing away from the table. With a wave of his hands all of the TVs in the room turned off as he made his way to the door.

“Maya Durand may not look like a big threat now, but I fear this is only the beginning. Judging by her reputation, her jobs may put people in danger,” Professor X cautioned, his face drawn as he looked at the mutants still gathered around the table.

The Professor met Piotr’s gaze levelly for a few moments for a few moments before addressing the group at large.

“Piotr, I’m trusting you to be the one to stop her.”

Before anyone could object, Professor X held up his hand to keep everyone silent. Piotr caught Logan rolling his eyes with an unimpressed grin on his face. He vaguely heard Logan muttering about how this was going to go for Piotr and judging by his tone, the clawed man was betting against him.

“You can count on me,” Piotr nodded before stealing a glance at Maya’s mugshot. The Professor was giving him a chance to deal with the thief himself like he had trusted him to handle Wade, and Piotr could not let him down. “What happened tonight will not happen again.”

“Good,” The Professor let out a satisfied hum before turning to the door. “We’ve all had a long night so I suggest that you all turn in for a well earned rest.”

Piotr and NTW remained in the room while the rest of X-Men, Nathan, and Wade followed the Professor. Wade opened his mouth, no doubt to make an obnoxious quip, but Nathan roughly grabbed him by the ear before he could form a single word. Wade released a flood of insults at Nathan as he pulled him out of the room.

Once Wade’s screeching voice was far enough away, Piotr released a deep sigh as he rested his hands on the table. NTW slumped in her seat as she glared at Maya Durand’s mugshot.

“She’s not even here but it feels like she’s mocking us.”

“We will get her,” Piotr reassured her. “I have plan.”

NTW peered at him questionably, “And what is your plan exactly?”

“We wait until she strikes again,” Piotr decided. “She is practically ghost. No use finding her until she is hired for next job.”

NTW’s puzzled look grew, “So what do we do in the meantime? Twiddle our thumbs and hope she makes an appearance soon?”

Piotr shook his head as he pulled the device closer to him from the center of the table. He felt as if Maya Durand was standing in front of him with her mugshot only inches away from his face. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her alluring mischievous eyes were like an addictive toxin that fueled his need to put her behind bars.

“While we wait, we learn as much as we can,” Piotr asserts, narrowing his eyes at Maya’s picture. “We will not underestimate her again.”

“Not the best plan, but it's the only one we’ve got,” NTW said listlessly, before sliding out of her chair. With a yawn on her lips, she made her way to the exit to go to bed.

Piotr chuckled at her blunt (yet true) assessment as he settled into his chair. He had a long night ahead of him, but he could not think of any other options that would end in anything besides frustration and embarrassment. Besides, his experience had taught him that good things always come to those who wait.

And he would wait for a century if it meant he would be the one that put Maya Durand behind bars.

-----

Tag list: @master-sass-blast @sadstonewrites

[lindszeppelin]

Okay here are my thoughts on what just recently dropped. I will not subject anyone on my timeline to reading it if you don’t want, so I’m not tagging anything and I’m putting it behind a read more so you can scroll on. But since people want to keep gaslighting us about what’s going on, then I’m gonna stand up for Austin and speak my mind.

So, photos of Austin and Kaia in Paris dropped early this morning. People are claiming they were from today. The earliest known account that posted those pics on Instagram were from 9 hours ago at 2am my time. France is 6 hours ahead, which would have made that morning time around 8am when the sun is up. Clearly these pap pics were not taken in the morning hours and they are not from today. You can’t refute the weather and the sun not being up lol.

But diving deeper. Let’s start with this. Kaia posted to her story a few days ago a vid of her backstage at a Ben Harper concert. Clearly it was not from that night because from what I recall, she posted that story early in the morning. Looking at Ben Harpers current tour dates, he was in Germany on the 1st and Paris in the 3rd.

So from this it would make the most sense she was at the show in Germany. Since everyone was up in arms about her being there like it was 100% fact.

And speaking about Germany, let’s dive into that little nugget. People are suggesting that based off of some Instagram location feature that if you look at Austin’s Instagram, it says he was in Germany. I’m debunking this one right now as not being a valid piece of evidence to throw at the wall. Because if this were accurate, then why does it say that Kaia is still in the US when clearly she’s in Europe?

If people are saying this is 100% accurate then why does it still say she’s in the US when she’s not? Looks like that piece of the puzzle has been written out from the narrative, I wonder why.

Moving on from that and getting back to these recent pictures, Kaia appears to be brunette. We can all see this. It’s not magic and it’s not rocket science, we can all clearly see that she is not blonde. Let me explain something to you guys, as a professional hairdresser that has worked in the industry for years. She dyed her hair all over honey blonde back in the 18th. She posted a selfie to her story yesterday still looking very much so honey blonde. When you bleach hair, it will not darken, the brassy undertones get revealed. When you bleach hair, you always tone your clients hair to the desired undertone of blonde they wanna be. As Kaia is a natural brunette, like level 5, her hair would have yellowish-orange undertones. Her hairstylist then toned her hair with a honey golden gloss. Toner is Demi permanent and usually will start to show signs of fading after a few weeks, and by fading I mean that those yellow-orange brassy pigments of the hair shaft will start to show itself again. Therefore, at that point you’d need to touch up with another toner at the salon.

In these pictures, her hair is brown. It’s not blonde. It’s not brassy. It’s not bleached except for her ends, which is the old hairstyle she used to rock while she was growing out her bleach job from the pandemic times. You cannot refute something as factual as science and chemistry when it comes to hairdressing. You wanna say that she just slapped some brown dye over her hair? That’s not how that works. A corrective coloring service takes a lot of time. Going from blonde to brown is a delicate process and it often times takes more than one session to get the desired effect. This is her natural hair color in these picture. This does not have the flat appearance that boxed dye gives, and does not reflect a Demi permanent brown put over bleach blonde hair. This is her natural brown hair.

This honey blonde looks the exact same tone, and it is not dark nor is it brassy. The lighting may deceive your eyes, but my trained hairdresser eyes can tell you it is the same blonde tone. Also, her baby hairs are not the same between the blonde pics and the brunette pics.

I will not have people acting a fool and saying she dyed her hair back to brown. People can have impulses and dye their hair and then do it all over again, but her hair in these paris pictures is not peofessional demi permanent color (because no sane hairdresser would use permanent. its more damaging) and this is not box color.

Now, let's talk about the timeline here. People are suggesting these pictures came from today, wednesday the 5th. I already debunked that earlier on with the weather. But let me give you guys some more concrete proof that you cannot refute.

A fan FROM paris, who lives there, saw these pictures and commented that the Gucci store they were walking infront of said that the Gucci store was coming soon. As someone who is familiar with the area, she commented that store had already opened in the winter time...in 2022...in December. and with a simple google search she is right.

I blocked out her name and other users for privacy. pappiaustin doesn't really need the privacy as she puts herself out there lol.

and here is the proof. this is just one article of many i saw that spoke about it. apparently it was massive news in France. This specific shop is the same one where apparently Kaia and Austin were suposedly near, the Costes Restaurant on Saint Honore.

I think i made my point that these pictures are NOT from today. So if that Gucci store wasn't even opened until December 20th 2022, then lets go with the theory these pictures of them are from that time.

Austin had wrapped Bikeriders early December. He was back in LA for the runway show at The Wiltern on the 8th. And then he wasn't seen again since he flew to NYC for SNL around December 13th.

So that gives us a window of a few days to work with when they could have flown from LA to Paris. It wouldn't be that far of a stretch considering I also heard a rumor that Lisa from Blackpink and Peter, a guy who works for Celene (i think hes the creative director) was also supposedly with Austin and Kaia around these Paris pics, although there are no pics to even confirm that anyway.

So this timeframe makes sense to me. If we wanna run with the notion that some members of Celene were supposed to be at this dinner with Austin and Kaia in Paris then it makes sense since they were just at his fashion show on the 8th of December. And it was around this time that Austin would have shaved his facial hair for SNL. So it checks out to me.

Here are some of the pics in question for those that have not seen them.

Now I wanna add one last tidbit before I end this post. Because i've made myself and these points very clear. Remember, Kaia posted that selfie of her showing off her celene necklace yesterday. then these pap pictures came out. This is not the first time that Kaia has posted selfies like this before a batch of pap pics get released to make it seem like everything is copacetic.

remember back in may, when Austin had some bikeriders tattoos on his arms as they were seen walking the dog. people were confused why he had the tats on, as he was supposed to be in New York for something that we still cannot confirm with 100% certainty what that business was for. but people were saying those dog walking pictures were not recent at all, mostly for the simple fact that his tattoos were gone very quickly the next time he was papped after these pictures were dropped.

So she has now a history of doing this not once but twice. we have to take people for who they are when they show us their patterns. and this is clearly her pattern.

IN CONCLUSION: they are not in paris, they were but back in december 2022, kaia seems to be in germany, and austin still is nowhere to be seen officially from any real source. last we saw was that flight attendant picture from a lufthansa flight but i said my peace on that.

please use your brains. and do not keep drinking the kool aid. do your own research.

PS. I ALSO wanted to post THIS, from a kaia news account, that clearly has some kind of information to prove that austin is NOT interested in marrying kaia. so to all you idiots that were saying austin proposed to kaia in germany, blah blah blah, no.

/RANT

[nordic-language-love]

I have a day off today, so I’m ducking in to tell y’all a little bit about how things are going!

I’ve taught my first classes! Most of them I’ve had another teacher assisting me, but yesterday I did my first solo class. It was... okay lol. One of the boys disengaged the moment I said I don’t speak Japanese so they have to speak English, and proceeded to yawn audibly through all activities and pretend to be asleep when spoken to (which I put on my lesson report form, so the regular teacher will hopefully tell him off haha).

On that note... Japanese kids really are like any other kids. Everyone said to me before I went, “ohhh I bet Japanese kids are so well-behaved and respectful!” I can assure you they are not lmao. Some are, others are little terrors.

I’ve had some really wholesome moments. The other day during one of the younger classes this one boy (~3 years old) was mostly a little terror, running around all the time and hiding in the corner. But then during story time he sat in my lap and directed me to hold him. Then later in the lesson he went and hid in the corner again, so I went over to him and asked if he was okay. And he just snuggled into me, so we spent the rest of the class like that.

So far 4-5 year-olds are my favourites to teach. You can be so fun and silly with them! Sure, they don’t want to sit down and do things, but I’ve found some useful hacks already (pro-tip: if you let them rub things off the whiteboard or draw a shape for answering questions correctly, they’ll suddenly be very, very attentive)

I enjoy this kind of teaching a LOT more than teaching on italki. The lesson prep I have to do is minimal and all time outside of teaching is my own, basically. Not to mention it’s much more active and I don’t spend my life hunched over a desk!

Speaking of free time, I spend most of it studying languages and it’s awesome!

My Japanese level is definitely improving. My speaking not so much, but my comprehension for sure. The kids do speak Japanese in class, both to each other (obviously) and to me, and I’m rapidly getting used to certain words and speech patterns.

I can also now more or less get through interactions at train stations and konbinis! I even managed to ask a police lady for directions the other day (go me being so panicked about being late for my train I didn’t even care that my Japanese was broken af. Literally like, if I don’t at least try to speak Japanese rn I’m going to miss my train and be late for my classes)

I’ve learned that despite being in the country, active studying is really important. I’ve not learned anything through pure osmosis; I’ve only learned through active studying and then having the immersion reinforce it. So yes, my level is improving because I’m in the country and surrounded by the language, but I have to put in the effort first.

Also, the general level of English in Japan is not high. I’ve been spoilt by travelling around Europe where I can usually find someone who speaks broken English well enough to help me if I’m stuck (or if not then I can communicate in broken French/German/Spanish), and coming to Japan and being lost at a train station and literally not being able to communicate is a HUGE motivation to get good at the language quick!

I LOVE Yamagata! There was a snowstorm the day after I moved in and I feel like I live in a winter wonderland. I can see the mountains almost everywhere I go in the city. It’s not a busy city, and every train ride makes me feel like I’m in a Studio Ghibli movie. I love it I love it I love it.

I also love the dialect here! It’s easy to understand and it’s kinda musical!

My personal supervisor (PS) is awesome and has been super helpful. I’m so grateful! A lot of people from my training course have said that their PSs haven’t given them much/any orientation, whereas mine helped me set up my internet and a Japanese bank account as well as went over my schedule with me and ensured I did at least a week of teaching with someone else in the classroom before I was on my own.

I’ve only met 3 of my colleagues, but they’re all nice. One of them lives in my block and we’ll teach together for two days next week. Another of them loves the snow and the cold as much as I do, and I think we’ll get on super well.

My flat is tiny. It’s basically one room! But it has loads of storage space and being as small as it is means it’s super easy to heat (which is fortunate, because it was -10ºC the other night).

The tap water tastes great! In Nagoya it tasted so fucking weird I couldn’t even drink it. But here it’s awesome.

I’m enjoying trying new things! I’m going through all the different candies/chocolate brands at konbinis and supermarkets and I’ve hardly had the same thing twice since I got here (including bento). This is super different to how I was in the UK, where I was stuck in a routine and knew what I liked and didn’t want to go out of my comfort zone.

So yeah, I went from crying and wondering if I’d made a huge mistake the first 2-3 days of being here to absolutely thriving less than a month later. I’m so happy right now, truly living my dream, finally able to flourish and grow in a way I always knew deep down I could.

[soundsandnoises]

Concert review: Billy Talent with Snayx in Great Hall, Cardiff and Troxy, London

(17/06/24, 20/06/24)

Sometimes one finds themselves in a certain mood and takes a look back, takes stock of sorts... Maybe I was tired, maybe I was feeling a bit unattached (again)… It dawned on me that I have been listening for Billy Talent for over 15 years. Some would say, it's nothing, because they've been fans for longer, but I think 15 years is quite impressive. Especially that this band seems to be a good constant in my life. People and things come and go, they change, you change, circumstances change... Taste in music changes... And yet, I have always find ways to connect with BT's music, sometimes more, sometimes less (being in a certain headspace doesn't allow you enjoy things as much as you would like, at times). They have been a good omen of sorts, a lucky charm.

When I moved to another country, half way through Europe (it seems now like a lifetime ago) I don't think I considered myself brave. I never really was. I remember being, scared, overwhelmed, because things were not going the way I thought they would. Reality was hitting hard and the plan wasn't working. The simple act of kindness got me into BT's show in The Garage in London. It was sweaty, it was brutal, it was all emotions. But what I remember the most is how impressed Jon was when I told him I just moved, on my own. He called me brave for taking such a leap. It stuck with me. Their kindness always does.

All these years later, their music is such a wonderful outlet. I will repeat it like a broken record: it's cathartic.

All these years later they are still the lucky charm. Their music hitting me like a dump truck on reverse. Drenched in sweat, out of breath, flooded by emotions I laugh, I cry, I forget for a moment about the outside world as the setlist takes me on the journey and it's not The Shire anymore.

There's something special no matter how small or how big the venue when from every throat comes out the song, strong as a bell, every word sung like it's a Sunday choir, ringing through the space.

It seems that in Great Hall I was just so filled with joy to be there, to be able to see Billy Talent again, my face must have radiated like Marie Curie after discovering radium. Not exactly right reaction when you scream the words to the 'Devil in the Midnight Mass', but I was too overjoyed to contain it. Even 'I Beg to Differ (This Will Get Better)' struck a different chord than usual – it seemed in that moment I channelled Agent Mulder [from X Files] and in my head appeared 'I want to believe!'. Who wouldn't want to believe that it indeed gets better? Also there must have been someone cutting onions around, because my eyes got watery (very curious case)…

One of my favourite (and it looked that my taste aligned with the rest of the crowd) – 'Try Honesty' roared through Great Hall like a lion on the prowl. And yes, of course, I was tempted to sing the wrong lyrics: 'Forgive me father, I shoot your mother' is definitely not it, but it has been somewhat an iside joke for years. Should have made the poster. I would be funny. Maybe.

'Surrender', 'Tears into Wine' and 'Saint Veronika' shifted the mood towards more vulnerable state (just like heavy with meaning 'Nothing to Lose', especially with Ben's speech about not giving up and 'we want you here', 'it's better with you here' reasurrence).

Togetherness and unity of the crowd was so present as if it were an entity, hovering above people there, gathered to let go off the negativity and recharge the good energy to the maximum level.

'Reckless Paradise', 'Surprise, Surprise', 'Viking Death March' reminded everyone that it's a punk rock show – so no slowing down (unless there's someone down, then we help them up and carry on)! These songs (along the likes of 'Ghost Ship of Cannibal Rats') show perfectly that Billy Talent, however greatly underappreciated, is the voice of the generation. Not afraid to address current issues, challenge political views, tackle climate change, etc.

The anthem of them all: 'Red Flag' is waving as vividly as all these years before, when I saw them for the first time. And still, I scream these words at the top of my lungs. And no matter how many times I have seen Billy Talent live I get emotional just as if it was the first time. Feelings overflow.

Just like they did in Troxy. Only few days after Cardiff show, but it brought such a different vibe for me.

Maybe it was all the catching up with people I have met 10 years, 2 years ago... So many of us connected through this band: some local, some international fans. A lifetime ago and yet it seemed we've only just met; picked up where we left off, like we've known each other all our lives... Connection through music is such an amazing thing.

Or maybe it was lack of sleep? Well it was something. Also: one's brain is a funny organ. So, when I walked (well, speed walked) through a carpeted (!) Troxy's floor trying to reach front row and not seeing my friends, my mood skyrocketed.

'I'm in the crowd, but I'm all alone...' - this line had been a thorn in my side for quite some time, an arrow piercing the heart. And in Troxy my defences were down, my armour slipped. My eyes filled with tears as soon as first chords of 'I Beg to Differ' started.

'(…) if your will is strong. Enough under pressure. As time goes on, this will get better (…) Don't you surrender.'

Ah, yes.

Good, old 'Line and Sinker' distracted my brain from completely disappearing down into the rabbit hole. How great to scream it out loud. Crowd in Troxy did not disappoint and like a battering ram the song went throughout the venue's walls.

How could I know that this time I couldn't hide and the anguish would shoot to the surface like a volcano. Like acid reflux is gathered and went up my throat as Ben talked about meaning behind 'Nothing to Lose' and song itself becoming so much more than they ever intended. I belted out (it wasn't singing at that point) the lyrics as I bawled my eyes out, choking on every word. Letting it go in a song. Lonely heart gasping for comfort. Exhausted from beating out of sync. So much of it that it poured over half of 'Rusted from the Rain: 'You hung me like a picture, now I'm just a frame...'

What a whirwind. The response from the crowd was so mighty, so strong, craving more and giving it all in return (again going all in and hard that the show had to be stopped due to injury/someone fainting).

I recovered enough to laugh a little when 'Diamond on the Landmine' was called a deep cut. I mean... there are others that would be more deserving of that name, but I'll take it. Deep cut or not – every single words sounded through Troxy like an explosion.

Drenched in sweat, united by the band onstage, wrapped in gratitude for these precious moments we, the fans, raised our voices like weapons. Invincible together.

Cheering to the solos, singing guitar parts, clapping in and out of rhythm, following the “ooohs”, singing along. And laughing, because Ben's:

'I don't understand why you don't like the AC in this country. You push the button and you're comfortable.' doesn't really get old. I still remember his cheerful rendition [around 15 years ago in Poland] as he exclaimed in strange awe: 'The roof is sweating' as the droplets kept on dripping at sticky and soaked in sweat crowd, then just laughed so hard about it.

All of us just screaming in hopefull affirmation, screaming and letting it go, if only for a moment. The good omen. The saving grace. Lucky penny, that's never glued to the ground. Billy Talent always deliver a powerful show: sweat, tears, emotions flying high. And did I mention that they're the sweetest people? To carry on with BT related puns: when you go to BT show it's like you're hanging out with all the right people (I'll walk take myself out now, but hey, who doesn't love a cheesy pun?).

Oh, and no awkard minute or two away in the shadows pretending that the show has ended, when there's at least one song for the encore. All in one go, kicking ass to the very last song (or rather killer combo: 'Red Flag', 'Fallen Leaves').

Great Hall/ Troxy setlist:

Devil in the Midnight Mass

This Suffering

I Beg to Differ

Afraid of Heights

Ghost Ship of Cannibal Rats [GH]/ Line and Sinker [T]

Perfect World

River Below

Nothing to Lose

Rusted from the Rain

Try Honesty

Pins and Needles

Surrender

Tears into Wine

Saint Veronika [GH]/ Diamond on the Landmine [T]

Reckless Paradise

Surprise, Surprise

Devil on my Shoulder

Viking Death March

Red Flag

Falling Leaves

Also few words about Snayx, who definitely understood the assignment and indeed warmed up the crowd for Billy Talent. Cranked it all up to the maximum volume, they were at it like there's no tomorrow. Even though they've had a hell of a journey from Brighton to Cardiff they were unstoppable and their punk energy, paired up with gritty lyrics and elements of dance and rave made the crowd move to the music. Uncompromising, fast paced rock with the attitude.

[new-berry]

Okay there is some delulu under here. NUFC mad rambles .. like regular rambles, not special stories.

So people who don’t follow NUFC they are in a PSR hole, well they should be out of it now as they have sold two players Minteh to BHA (meh) and Elliot Anderson (sad!) to Wolves.

When they were trying to find a way out of the hole they apparently offered Anthony Gordon to Liverpool. Fell over for the fee and the player they wanted. It may be reserected depending on what happens in the rest of the window. (Let me say: I would be sad. But I was also sad over David Batty and Alan Shearer and dude… there have been plenty. I will be sad about Triopier in probably the next six weeks. I’m sad over Callum Wilson.)

Although the in no order, rose coloured glasses: a common comment is “wouldn’t AG feel betrayed / not supposed by club/ just seen as an asset. “ and actually I don’t think so. For one, the person who broke the story is someone who has interviewed him before.

Personally I think they would have gone to him and asked his if he was to be traded where would he pick?

Becuase he’s a lifelong Liverpool supporter. Like, I won’t stand in Bruno G’s way if he gets offered Real Madrid. It would suck if AG went to Liverpool I hate all teams that aren’t mine, but I would get over it and look at left wingers. I’m for anyone who gets their boyhood club. And I know that he has said in the past he needed to get out. But the Everton situation was poisoned at the end and he’s coming back an England international and a success. Like not with his tail between his legs.

I think it shows they know how valuable he is.

Also Isak to Chelsea, as long as we don’t fall for getting their offshoots dumped on us (we have Conor Gallagher at home he’s called Sean Longstaff) if they were going to pay 170 mill well, yeah. We can get a striker for that.

The thing is I get what people are really pissed about. We have all this money (let’s not front: Newcastle’s owners could fill St James with money and backstroke Scrooge McDuck style around it) and we can’t spend it.

Chelsea are owned by a hedge fund (which means they also have buckets of gulf money) but they have an “academy” which had about twenty branches and an industrial complex of players. Man City also an academy assembly line, it’s why NUFC is trying so hard to restart its academy. But I mean.

Can we not pretend that PSR is anything but protecting some clubs that have been earmarked as the favourites. Like it’s embarrassing to pretend it’s to protect some clubs from themselves or that it’s about a level playing field.

anyway, my other complaint is the injuries of last season continue to fuck us. Like Callum Wilson would have been moved in to a preferred club for him (don’t even say Saudi unless he wants cash, for one NUFC have to jump through hoops to sell there and for a second the “buy anyone for huge money” was as much a marketing ploy as anything else. They were the new gas station in town who offered rates 10 percent below everyone else to get you in the door.

They are not paying 150 mill to take Casemiro and Antony (the gross Man Red one) anymore. ) probably one of the slightly lower list Spanish or Italian clubs (where people who actually watch those leagues say he would be an adequate fit).

But he has to prove fitness. And Jamaal Lascalles probably would have gone to Betis but hey he’s injured. It’s just… transfer season sucks. But like it’s gets easier and you will always have new favourite players. You just have to do it every season, to mangle the Bojack quote.

But having to do it when the club has literal buckets of cash because man red has lots of international fans and it’s important for them to be in Europe so the super league doesn’t get successfully resurrected? Ug.

Everyone other club in England actually doesn’t want to be a supporting player to the victory myth of clubs that think they deserve it more.

It’s good that fans are passionate about keeping certain players. But the opposite of love is indifference (as another song goes). And the Prem can make as many rules to protect the sky six as it likes, but then you are piping cheering in. And wondering why kids these days would rather play Fortnite. / grumpy old lady rants.

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 161 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: cutting the Kolkwitzia amabilis (also know as beauty bush?? apparently?) in my garden.

I think it was the right move to keep the story as they envisioned it. Covid was a massive event that nobody could have foreseen in this detail (like, we knew there's the danger of more zoonotic diseases due to humans and animals living so close to each other on such a grand scale, but like not when and how exactly it would be). It was very unfortunate to be timed so close, but as they said: writing and some of the production happened before the pandemic. There was no way they could have taken this into consideration during production. And as far as I know, a lot of people found TMA during the pandemic and it kept them company during lockdowns.

ALEX: "We will of course continue to provide content warnings in the show notes for every episode, and we advise everyone to check these even if customarily you don't." Me, being like "I don't need content warnings! I've walked through 30 years of my life with a few horrible things and I never needed content warnings for any of the 450+ horror movies I’ve seen, and that number doesn’t even include horror TV shows or short stories". Also me, after the show "Uhhhh, maybe there is something to content warnings..." Don’t be me, check the content warnings, take your time.

The new logo looks really cool, but I miss the old one in the YouTube videos. That smoke effect just doesn't work that well with the new logo. Also I think the logo was a bit of a spoiler, as I immediately suspected the tapes might be Web.

MARTIN: "Sorry, sorry; Tim wanted to surprise you, and –" TIM: "Snitch." Oh god, this is harmful to Martin on two levels... Number one: Jon still "hated" him back then. Jon didn't seem too happy about the surprise. So Martin's alarm bells go off and he tries to protect himself from potential angry Jon fallout. And then number two, Tim as well "attacks" him (even if he only meant it teasingly, it did sounds a bit on the annoyed side). But you know that's the thing with some situations like this, social anxiety, bullying... You start to get hyper-vigilant and hyper-reactive to the emotions of others as a defense mechanism. Recognize danger before or when it's already rising to keep yourself safe.

MARTIN: (hmph) "Well – I preferred going out for ice cream anyway." I talked about this before in discussions about Jon's and Martin's age and I think Martin's birthday is sometime between May and early September. That's at least the ice cream season in Central Europe. Of course they cooould have gone to a dedicated ice cream saloon at any time of the year (how are those doing financially in winter? I've always wondered about that...), buuuut let's look at the timeline. I still think Gertrude died in March and not in May and that thing in MAG 25 was an error and at first done to give the statement even more fuckery. So our Archives team started in Spring 2015 (maaaybe early Summer, if you want to keep May a possibility). Martin has already had his birthday before they celebrated Jon's here. Jon's birthday is sometime between Summer 2015 and Spring 2016 (cause then they're been working in the Archives for a year). And on July 29th 2016 the Archive was attacked by Prentiss and Sasha died. That would also kind of mean that Martin is older than Jon and I love that idea because I think Jon hated that XD (Aside from him already thinking Martin's older than him because Martin also cheated with his age...)

SASHA: "Yes, you were there!" MARTIN: "You had – rum and raisin, and taught us all about emulsifiers." Also part of the defense mechanism of hyper-vigilance. Trying to remember everything. Also rum and raisin? Jon really tried to push the I'm old-image.

ELIAS: "Knock knock." Who is it, Mr. Spider. It's Mr. Bluebottle. And he's brought you a cake.

ELIAS: "He didn’t have to. Nothing escapes my notice, and I like to keep an eye out for this sort of thing." I had a boss like this once xD Whenever someone brought pastries, he was immediately there! He has unintentionally built himself a small reputation around the office. He once told me, he of course knows about that, but one time he did not immediately jump at the chance and then there was nothing left for him. So he will keep up with being known as the sweet-tooth who's always the first, otherwise he might miss out xD

ELIAS: "So, how old is the birthday boy?" JON: "Uh – thirty-eight." SASHA: "Liar." And by assuming he just made himself 10 years older, we have his actual age!

EVERYONE: "Happy birthday, dear –" TIM, SASHA, MARTIN: "– Jo-on." ELIAS: (simultaneous) "– Archivist." Smug, disgusting, grooming bastard...

JON: "If I wish for you all to go away, do you think it’ll work?" T__________T

JON: "You know that there’s a lot of tannin in tea as well?" In black and green tea, yes, but only after letting it steep for more than 2 minutes.

JON: "Hang on, have you been recording this?" [CLOTHING RUSTLING.] TIM: "Oh! Yeah! I – just thought it might be nice, you know, something to look back on when we’re all old and sick of each other." T__________T Especially that coming from Tim... Also Tim doing the hidden tape recorder thing here...

MARTIN: (gentle) "Hey." JON: ""Hi." So the breathing sounds and these two words were the first thing I heard of them after MAG 160. And I was so relieved to hear that Jon's still Jon.

MARTIN: "I don’t know. It’s not like there are days to count, anymore, (sigh) all the clocks are stopped, and…" Glad it came up here again, cause that's vital information and I wouldn't have caught that the first time around cause I didn't listen to the trailers.

MARTIN: "Well, just as well I don’t remember my dream." JON: "I do." MARTIN: "What?" It's pretty dark, but it's humor, I’ll take it!

MARTIN: (trying) "Bit of a hideaway?" JON: "Or a prison." MARTIN: "..Yes. Still, better than outside." More of the Martin-tries-to-salvage-the-situation-at-least-a-little-bit and Jon-is-unable-to-see-any-hope-or-other-positive-views-whatsoever... It does make so much sense for both characters.

JON: "Y-Yes. It – It doesn’t want to harm me." MARTIN: "And me?" JON: "I won’t let it." Hell yeah! Also a bit of a first glimpse of Jon-being-a-demigod

MARTIN: "Jon, it’s not your fault." JON: (sharp) "Martin, can we not do this again?" T__________T God, this episode...

JON: "I’m just – I’m mourning a world I killed –" MARTIN: (overlapping, placating) "I know –" JON: (increasingly fervent) "and we’re all trapped in its rotting corpse!–" MARTIN: (strict, end of discussion) "Enough, Jon." Oh god, Jon sounds as if he's about to cry any second after that "rotting corpse" and Martin is losing his patience a bit there. I get it, he doesn't want Jon hurting and it’s frustrating.

That is such a twisting-the-knife move to actually have a tape wherein Gertrude warns about... everything! I mean, we see how much is destroys Jon.

GERTRUDE: "They do not rule our world, but they do exercise considerable power, which they generally manifest in the form of monstrous beings that spread further fear – or, incarnations, those humans who have willingly, though not always knowingly, chosen to take on the power of these entities." God I LOVE how the music picks up at "or, incarnations"! I think it’s the same track as in MAG 9, when the Lightless Beast knocks on the door! Cause that part of the music picking up also really got me in MAG 9.  Ahhh, I miss the S1 tracks...

GERTRUDE: "I’ve managed to keep the Archives in a state of chaos for decades, as I believe his plan would benefit from their organization. But I leave that to your judgement." Come to think of, is this actually the first time we hear that it was not neglect, but fully intentional to keep the Archives in such chaos?

GERTRUDE: "A place… (she sighs) A place that will often demand a high price from you." That sigh and that pause. So it did nag a bit on her? Sacrificing so many people?

GERTRUDE: (overlapping) "Do you know the gas main, a little way out in the tunnel?" LEITNER: "I do." GERTRUDE: "I need you to move it." Ah yes, more foreshadowing! We already heard about that gas main in MAG 68. And about Gertrude using gas mains to blow up places of Beholding in MAG 53.

GERTRUDE: "If my guess is right, the Church’s ritual should be collapsing any time now, so – immediately." Hmm, so that is probably the second to last recording of Gertrude. I wonder why she didn't talk about her theory of the single-entity-rituals might be doomed to fail anyway.

JON: "Can you imagine? If we’d had this?" MARTIN: "But we didn’t, did we." JON: "No –" MARTIN: "So there’s no point in dwelling. (heavy breath) John, I – This isn’t healthy." Aw man, there are times I've been so much like Jon. And there's no way around it, you just can't help it in that moment.

JON: "Healthy? I am an Avatar of voyeuristic terror, who unquestioned craving for knowledge has condemned the entire world to an eternity of torment; healthy i-isn’t – i,it’s not –" First of all: Theater kid... Second, I think it was totally necessary for us as audience that Jon spoke out loud how exactly he thinks that this was all his fault.

MARTIN: "It just – It hurts me to see you wallowing like this." JON: (snapping) "Well, some of us weren’t able to cut ourselves off from the world before it ended." Hmmm, it is so hurtful, but also feels so real. Jon saw it as... an accusation? Like, and now Martin says, he's feeling bad because of me because of course everything is my fault, but maybe if Martin had been there just a little bit before all of this, maybe it wouldn't have happened! (Dwelling again...)

MARTIN: "That’s not fair." JON: "No, it’s not; I’m – I’m sorry, I just – (large shaky breath) It hurts." Martin having a quite reasonable approach. He knows it's not Jon's fault. He knows, the general period with Peter wasn't what caused this (Cause later we hear he very well feels conflicted about his choice in the panopticon). There is no one else at fault but Jonah Magnus.

MARTIN: "A way to stop this, a way to turn the world back!" JON: (softer) "Do you really think there is one?" MARTIN: "Well, if there is, it’s not in here, is it?" Hmmm, Martin's definitely right there... But I can also understand Jon's wish to stay at the cabin. Even without that supernatural cabin-makes-them-want-to-stay-because-it-seems-safe...

JON: "No, it’s – (sigh) I love you, I just – (inhale) I need more time." AAAAAAAAAh <3

MARTIN: "Hey – Hey, when did you start recording?" JON: (confusion) "I – didn’t. I only brought one, and I’ve been using it to play the tapes." MARTIN: "Oh. (sigh) That’s not a great sign." JON: "No. No, it’s not." A bit in conflict with the trailer because Jon addresses the recorder about exactly that... Oh hang on, I guuuuuuess we could possibly see the trailer as happening after this? There is nothing that would contradict it, is there? Especially Martin's "You still… (sigh) Feeling it, seeing everything?" could be seen as reference to the conversation in MAG 161. Earlier, in the first scene of Jon and Martin it sounds like Jon describes his "seeing all the terror outside" as if he's laying that out for Martin for the first time. I wooould say it could possibly be due to the nature of Martin being a bit bewitched by the cabin (like not noticing tea is not!tea), buuuuut this doesn't work with Jon's confused reaction right here in MAG 161. (Also, I'd say it’s not necessarily a bad sign, as it indicated that there is indeed something that it still wants to hear!)

@a-mag-a-day

[alexbkrieger13]

I know this story might upset some powerful people in the football world. You’re not supposed to talk about this side of the game. But I have to tell the truth.

Everybody knows the image of my former club, Lyon. 

Eight Champions Leagues. 

The best players from every country. 

It’s one of the most successful clubs in football. Jean-Michel Aulas, the president, has invested a lot in the team, making fair pay and good conditions for players just as big a priority as winning.

Being from Iceland, I always dreamed of playing in the biggest leagues in Europe. When I turned pro, I literally told my agent, Dietmar, “Wolfsburg and Lyon. I want these.”

I played four great years at Wolfsburg, then in the summer of 2020, I moved to Lyon. And while I was there, I did live out my dream. I’ll never forget the feeling of winning the Champions League. Scoring in the final and winning the title with Lyon was one of my proudest moments in my career.

And then I got pregnant.

It was March 2, 2021, when I realised. I told my boyfriend, Árni, that I was running a bit late, but I thought I’d be starting my period soon. He asked if I wanted to take a test, but I was like, “No, no, no, I feel it.” Another day went by, and we were like, OK, that’s weird. So that evening when I came home from training I took a test. You’re supposed to wait two minutes, but in one the results were there — two blue lines. I was definitely pregnant. 

At first, the only thing I felt was happiness, but then reality hit me. 

Shit. How is the team going to react to this?

In Europe, for a long time it just hasn’t really been a normal thing for a player to get pregnant. There’s been progress, but the culture is still the culture. So when I saw the pregnancy test, it’s like of course I’m so happy. This wasn’t planned, but I knew I was with the person I wanted to start a family with, and I didn’t think for a second that I wouldn’t have my baby. But in the back of your mind, you still feel like you’re guilty of something. Like you’re letting people down. 

It was all really nerve-wracking. So when I told the team doctor, we decided together to keep it secret. The doctor told the physios at that time in Lyon, and they were instructed to monitor me and help as needed — which they did — but to keep it a secret as well. I was only about five weeks pregnant, so it was still really early, and we had important games coming up. I felt a lot of pressure to find the right moment to tell the girls, so they wouldn’t be affected by it. So a month goes by, and I keep training normally. 

Then the PSG game comes around. Jean-Luc, the coach at the time, came up to me in the warmup and asked how I was doing because the day before the game, we were training on that pitch in Paris, and I threw up three times. I felt horrible. So on game day, when Jean-Luc asked if I could sub-in at halftime, I had to say no. And that’s not me — I would never. But it was just too much.

I knew I had to tell my teammates the truth. I felt that in this club, at this level, if I couldn’t train 100% then I shouldn’t be training.

So about a week later, I told everyone. We were sitting in the locker room, the whole team. The director, staff members, physios, they were all there. And I just said I’d been feeling sick the past few weeks because, “Yeah…. I’m pregnant.” It was funny to see their reactions because some of them were so shocked. I think there were a lot of mixed emotions — when a player says she’s pregnant, it’s a special moment, but it also comes with quite a few unknowns.

I think once it really sank in, everybody was so happy for me and super excited. But they naturally had a lot of questions because I was the first person in the history of Lyon to get pregnant and with the full intention to come back and play. 

Dietmar told me the director was surprised but happy for me, and arranged a meeting with us, where we discussed the next steps. The doctor said I should stop playing at this point. Also, several people on the team had gotten COVID, and it was continuing to go around. I was worried about what could happen if I got it. I didn’t know how that would affect the baby. I just wanted to carry out the rest of my pregnancy at home in Iceland, where I could understand the doctors in my native language and be around my mom and my partner and my family. So we asked the director, and he said yes.

But I wanted to return to Lyon after giving birth. I was very clear about that. I believed that being the first player ever for Lyon to return from pregnancy would be something we could all celebrate together. 

So the team signed off on my plan, helped me with the paperwork for the insurance, and I flew to Iceland on the first of April.

As soon as I’m up in the air, it’s almost like a weight has been lifted. I had been carrying so much stress and tension in my body trying to figure out how to break the news. When I landed in Iceland, it all just melted away.  It was like, OK, I can breathe now.

For a while I just had so much else going on, I didn’t have time to think or be concerned about my salaries from the club. I didn’t have any reason to think anything would go wrong.

Until I didn’t get my first paycheck. All that was deposited was just a small percentage from social security.

To be fair, there was a lot of logistical stuff to deal with, so I didn’t think too much of it. Probably a clerical error. But, I checked with the other players just to be sure. 

They were paid, right on time. 

Then I missed another. So I’m like, Hold on. I called Dietmar, and he wrote to Vincent, the club director. There was no response, so my agency reached out again. Then, we sent formal letters.

When Vincent finally responded, he apologised for two of the months I was missing, and said I would get paid for those. But for the third month, he says something about how they’re going by French law — meaning, they don’t owe me anything else.

I said to Dietmar, “No that’s not right, they should be going by the FIFA rules.”

These rules were pretty new, but I vaguely knew about them because of a random conversation I had with some players one day. This was before I got pregnant. I remember we were all talking about kids, and everybody was like, “Yeah, there’s no security for us.” And I specifically remember Jodie Taylor was sitting on this table, and she said FIFPRO was working on pregnancy and maternity leave for professional footballers. I thought that was cool, but I really didn’t dig deeper at the time.

Now, I’m thinking, What even are my rights??? 

It’s not a position you expect to be in, especially with a team like this. 

Dietmar kept pushing the issue, telling them, “Hey, still lacking salaries.” But we’d get no response. The players’ union in France became involved, and then FIFPRO. Weeks turned to months. Still no full paycheck. 

Lyon refused to give a clear answer on what the criterion was that was being applied. Finally, Dietmar told Vincent that FIFPRO was going to fight this at the FIFA level. 

Vincent said: “If Sara goes to FIFA with this, she has no future in Lyon at all.”

She has no future in Lyon

I couldn’t wrap my head around that. I was just shocked. And I’ll be honest, I was hurt. The whole situation made me feel crazy. How could any team get away with this?

There wasn’t going to be a discussion or negotiation. Vincent completely shut it down.

So, I’m in Iceland. Pregnant. And now I’m thinking, Wait, did I just lose my job?? I was seriously angry. 

This should have been the happiest moment of my life.

All I wanted was to enjoy my pregnancy, and work my ass off to come back to help the team and the club. 

But instead I felt confused, stressed, and betrayed.

I don’t know, maybe they thought, She’s just going to Iceland to go on vacation. But I was training like a maniac during my pregnancy. Once I got over the nausea, I felt really fresh. I hated not being able to play football, but I could still run, and I could swim. I was working with a strength coach every day, which I paid for myself….  I had to pay for everything out of my savings. I took a lot out, and I wasn’t sure I was going to ever get it back. That’s not a good feeling, especially when you’re starting a family.

And all this time, I still had a bunch of regular questions going through my head about being a mom, like how will I manage doing both, being a professional and being a mom on this level??? Training while breastfeeding? How’s it going to be when I’m back in Lyon with my family?

I was trying to focus on the things I could control, trying to listen to my body. Trying to feel good and trying to just, in a way, enjoy the pregnancy. There were positive moments too, that I’ll never forget. I looked forward to every check-up to see the little hands on the ultrasound and listen to the baby’s heartbeat. In those moments I’d tell myself, I’m forgetting everything. I’m completely letting go and living in this moment. 

But I could never completely forget. Because it’s hard enough coming back after pregnancy at this level, and moving abroad where there is no family around to ask for help. 

In the back of my head, I can’t stop thinking, I have no future at the club. 

Does that mean that I’m not going to play the next six months, that I’ll just be kept in the freezer for the rest of my contract?? 

The worries just kept piling up. I felt like shit. One night I said to Árni, “Maybe I just have to quit.”

When I’d first told the club about my pregnancy, they seemed very happy for me and said they’d do everything to support me, and I believed that. But now, I wasn’t so sure.

From the first of April, when I came to Iceland, until August, I didn’t hear from anyone in the front office or the coaching staff. I was still in close touch with some teammates, as well as the doctor and the physios, just personally. They were all good friends of mine. But the club never formally reached out. No one checked to see how my training was going, how my pregnancy was progressing. 

Then one day, amidst all the craziness … I went into labor. 

It was the most amazing, indescribable feeling, becoming a mom. You feel like a superhero after a birth like that.

I flew back to Lyon in January of this year with Árni and our son, Ragnar. 

And I have to be completely honest, a part of me wanted to come into the club and just tell everybody how angry I was for what they had done and leave. 

But I told myself I would go back and do everything at 110%. I was like, I will show you guys how fit I will be. I was ready to just play.

But that didn’t work out how I planned.

Training was different when I got back. I was treated differently.

The coaches, including Sonia, had reassured me that they would help me and fight for me to get everything that I would need. 

But I was being asked — no, told — all sorts of things, like not to bring my baby with me on away trips. They said it was because it could really disturb the players on the bus or plane, if he cried the whole way. I shook my head and told them I’m not signing anything like that. This was while I was still breastfeeding, and he was so small and so dependent on me. If they wouldn’t budge on this, I couldn’t attend the away games. 

In the end, it was decided that they would give me and Ragnar two away trips to test it and see how it would go. I shook my head again! I wasn’t comfortable with him being “tested.” I wasn’t going to put myself and Ragnar in that situation. The understanding between us just was not there, and I felt that. They always made me feel like it was a negative thing that I had a baby.

Meanwhile, FIFPRO was still trying to get me my full wages from the period when I was pregnant, via the FIFA tribunal. I couldn’t help but think the case was having an effect on my relationship with the club. 

Vincent said in a meeting with me, after I got back, that he still didn’t understand it, but that I had every right to do what I needed to do, and they had every right to defend themselves.

The president also walked into the room while I was there. It was the first time he had seen me since I had returned with my baby. He didn’t even greet me, didn’t look at or acknowledge Ragnar. But Vincent had just reassured me, five minutes before, regarding the case, that “it wasn’t personal.” After that moment, with the president, it was clear that it was.  

I told Vincent, “Yeah, I have every right to defend myself because there’s a contract telling me that I have the right, and there’s a law telling me that I have the right.”

He just shook his head and said that they were going by the French Law, and they were sticking by that. 

He said that it wasn’t personal, only business. 

I asked him about what he said to Dietmar, how if I went to FIFA then I wouldn’t have any future in Lyon. 

He said he didn’t say that, and it was the coach, Sonia, who decided she couldn’t see me as a future player in her team.

I was so exhausted from all the fighting. It was clear that, regardless of what was said, the essence was true: As a new mother, I didn’t have a future with this club.

They were going to make it impossible.

We got the decision from the FIFPRO lawsuit in May. 

The club was ordered to pay me the unpaid salaries — the whole amount I requested and exactly what I was owed.

Lyon requested the grounds of the decision, which one normally does if one is intending to appeal. And once we got that, we could really read how FIFA analysed the case and arrived at the conclusions. 

They talked about the “duty of care” of the club, that there was no contact with me during my pregnancy. No one was really checking on me, following up, seeing how I was doing mentally and physically, both as an employee, but also as a human being. Basically, they had a responsibility to look after me, and they didn’t. After Lyon received the grounds, they decided not to appeal.

I was entitled to my full salary during my pregnancy and until the start of my maternity leave, according to the mandatory regulations from FIFA. These are part of my rights, and this can’t be disputed — even by a club as big as Lyon.

That’s why I’m writing this. The victory felt bigger than me. It felt like a guarantee of financial security for all players who want to have a child during their career. That it’s not a “maybe,” or an unknown.

Ragnar is almost a year old, and we’re in a great place as a family. I’m at Juventus now, and I’m very happy.

But I want to make sure no one has to go through what I went through ever again. And I want Lyon to know this is not O.K. 

This is not “just business.” 

This is about my rights as a worker, as a woman and as a human being. 

I’m very hopeful about the women’s game. There’s a lot to celebrate. The facilities? The investment? The level? The fans filling up the stadium? We’ve come so far. That’s undeniable.

But the reality is, when it comes to the overall culture? There’s a lot more work to do.

We deserve better.