#mutually assured destruction and recognition of the self through the other. an ''it was always meant to end like this'' type deal

[neonscandal]

Neon, do you mind, if I ask your opinion on this post https://www.tumblr.com/hxhhasmysoul/729291653862621184/i-disagree-with-his-isolation-being-self-imposed ?

Mainly I don't agree with this post, but what do you think?

Also, sorry if I'm wrong in calling you "Neon". I don't mean to be rude. Can I ask, what to call you?

No need to apologize! I love that you guys call me Neon, I enjoy it. The thought that someone wants to refer to me by a name when they address me is really endearing, I don't know if that makes any sense. Neon, Scandal, Randall, whatever else you come up with - all are perfectly fine by me. 💜

GOJO

Regarding OP, there were some parts I'd say were maybe a little off base? but ultimately up for interpretation; however their characterization of Gojo is largely accurate, in my opinion. A few things here and there that I wasn't sure what they meant (like Kannon? but I know I make so many grammar/spelling mistakes in my rants so I get it).

Everything after the ATLA quote, in particular, is pretty rock solid. The section re: Gojo's isolation and comparison to Kageyama Shigeo is really interesting but, in my opinion, not quite apples to apples when, in universe, we've seen other examples of this extreme isolation caused by strength with Kashimo, Sukuna, and Yorozu (well, she tried, search Yorozu in link). Considering this, I wouldn't say it's a happenstance of Gojo's personality even though we can understand how it was cultivated within him specifically. There's also an inherent difference between socialization and being intrinsically understood which is what Gojo yearns for.

I say off base above but that's not the right sentiment. This poster has personal IRL experience that informs a bit of their interpretation in the section Gojou vs Megumi but that doesn't invalidate their opinion. If anything, it probably provides a greater, more authentic insight that other viewers, myself included, do not have access to which they don't necessarily have to disclose. This isn't an on par comparison but helps to explain what I might be having trouble articulating. I recently shared a video about listening to queer people about queer coding in media. That can be extended to other identities and experiences wherein the overarching idea is to listen to people who have experienced or are X, whatever X is, because their insight informs the validity of what they see in a character through coding, symbolism, pattern recognition, etc. So I don't outright disagree with them, I just lack understanding which is okay and doesn't, in any way, take away from their assessment but should perhaps temper my own.

Canonically, I think some bits in that section weren't entirely accurate, though

According to Gojo's recollection, he started to tell Megumi about killing his dad but Megumi cut him off having written his father off some time ago. Re: Megumi's recollection, he'd already tuned Gojo out anyway. I've said it a few times but maintain that this will boomerang back in a way that hurts so we're in agreement there.

I can't say this is based in canon so I'm calling that out now but the only thing that I do outright disagree with is as it pertains to Gojo "forgetting" he was fighting Megumi. Readers shouldn't always be influenced by the observations of characters in the story because even they are watching the story unfold. I expect some grand scheme/plot coming to light.

Re: Six Eyes + Limitless vs. Ten Shadows, knowing their mutually assured destruction, if Gojo were really worried about a reckoning, he could have just not told Megumi that that was even a possibility. Megumi is so unmotivated and, perhaps, insecure that I doubt the thought would have come to him at all so intimating that information had another purpose. Hell, at this point I guess we've seen it, no?

Even though I love Gojo as a character, I largely echo similar sentiments, I just don't proffer them as harshly (given the setting of the story) or, perhaps, I lightly romanticize or provide context for the "why" which softens or glosses over it. Like, even in the lovey dovey post I made listing out all of the saddest things about SatoSugu, I mention that Gojo prioritizes evening the score with Toji as opposed to avenging Riko in that deliberate order. Gojo is no angel and my affinity for him doesn't preclude me or anyone else from identifying his flaws and less than altruistic motives.

As I've said previously, I don't particularly care about other people's interpretation of a character or story as it doesn't impede my enjoyment. Subsequently, OP's fan/fandom inspired hate of a character was a bit outside my experience as perfect strangers won't taint something for me out of pure hateration lol When I first started reading it I was like... oh, brother.. it's gonna be one of those so I wouldn't be surprised if other people have trouble acknowledging their accuracy just because they let the intro sour their ability to read/learn/listen.

TL,DNR: Despite OP's very clear disdain, they objectively made accurate points that could help to temper other people's interpretation of Gojo's character who over idealize him.

Put down your pitchforks, you can keep your soft Gojo head canons and the like (and I'll keep mine ✨). But if you're interested in accuracy, the above is my opinion.

Fans and antis alike have a tendency to project way too much on Gojo which is funny because, as that writer pointed out, he exists within the context of this story. What you love, what you hate are still symptoms of the societal conditions that created him. He doesn't exist in a vacuum and he's not the only character who is flawed but, man, does he attract as much hate in fandom as he does in universe. Isn't that a microcosm of a phenomenon?? Still doesn't detract from the validity of OP's assessment of him.

Gojo is an impudent, selfish, awkward brat whose naivete allowed him to gamble on the fate of the world when he was a kid. He lost the one person he felt he connected with/understood and carved out a "master plan" befitting a 17 year old long into his 20's wherein even his good deeds carried the shadow of an ulterior motive (mind the title for the off the wall-ness of some of those theories..). I wish I could find the tumblr post where someone called him a lameass loser because that, too, was spot on and I feel like I reblogged it enthusiastically. We love him in spite of this. I still sympathize and identify with him which probably says way too much about me, actually 😅

SUKUNA

While this is a starkly shorter section compared to the above, I focused on Gojo since I think that was namely where your question was focused; however, OP made a really stunning observation regarding Sukuna and Uraume in comparison to Gojo and Ijichi which I totally missed.

But Uraume never seems worried that Sukuna might act erratically towards them because his mood is unpredictable. When they meet for the first time in the modern era they are both so genuinely happy to see each other. Sukuna immediately offers them words of reassurance. He always praises their work and their efforts even when Uraume themself is not happy with their performance. They totally just vibe with each other, like when the go mean girls on Yuuji when he breaks out of the ice. Sukuna is a mean, violent, murderous asshole. But the one person he appreciates has absolutely no doubt about it.

That is a solid hint of Sukuna's humanity that betrays his villainy. Here I thought he was just getting interesting in these last few pensive chapters where he's coming to terms with why he's been so insistent about belittling Yuji! Meanwhile, Uraume was the first indication.

Thank you for asking, anon. I'm sorry if I disappointed you but maybe the "spoonful of sugar" as relayed here helps from presumably one Gojo fan to another. I'm curious to know what you may have disagreed with (I don't take issue either way). Just because I'm unbothered doesn't mean other people's opinions don't influence my own so I'm always down to read your thoughts!

[cidnangarlond]

unfortunately "there is a light that never goes out" goes and it will be the backing track to eris and zenos at near death and dying. there is lore with them I haven't talked about but know that if I think about that scene with that song with THEIR lore I do start crying. and I don't know why

[starwarsnonsense]

Top 10 films of 2019

Here’s my very belated top 10 films of 2019! Note that this is a list of films that were released in the UK theatrically in 2019, meaning it includes certain releases that would be considered to belong to 2018 by others.

Honourable mentions: Joker, Hustlers, Booksmart, A Private War, Fighting With My Family

(And don’t worry - Little Women, 1917 and Uncut Gems are all already on my list for 2020.)

Look out for my most anticipated films of 2020 list, coming soon!

With that out of the way, here’s my list (in ascending order)! Do share your picks in the comments!

10. The Irishman (dir. Martin Scorsese)

This is clearly the work of a master filmmaker with much on his mind. In telling the story of Frank Sheeran, Scorsese is telling the story of a man who makes his trade in violence. Instead of elevating Frank as a hero or a figure of glamour, he’s consistently shown to be rather pathetic. He stumbles into the role of hitman for various factions of the criminal underworld, and sticks to it seemingly because it’s what comes most easily to him. The violence enacted by Sheeran is inane and routine, with no thought given to the personal cost until it is far too late. The final 15 minutes of this film show a life petering out with a whimper, laying bare the indignities of old age and the cold, empty horror of enduring it with no company besides your own regrets. The Irishman is a portrait of a life lived badly, and in the hands of anyone besides Scorsese it could have been dry and tedious. Instead, the filmmaking is incredibly assured and the editing is whip-sharp (in Thelma Schoonmaker we trust), making it a pleasure to watch even with the lengthy runtime. 

9. The Farewell (dir. Lulu Wang)

The Farewell is a personal story about a young Asian-American woman (Awkwafina) struggling to reconcile her heritage with her current situation and values - specifically, she is tested when her grandmother is diagnosed with cancer and the wider family make the decision to hide the truth from her. The Farewell does a fantastic job of generating empathy for all the different perspectives and positions in play, but it’s truly anchored by Awkwafina’s amazingly nuanced and tender performance - basically, anyone who’s ever loved a grandparent should leave this feeling incredibly moved and inspired. The themes of The Farewell are both specific to the Asian-American experience and general to anyone who has struggled with maintaining bonds over a vast distance, whether physical or cultural. Lulu Wang is an exciting new voice in cinema, and I will watch her career with great interest.           

8. Pain & Glory (dir. Pedro Almodóvar)

Almodóvar is one of my favourite filmmakers, and one of the reasons I love his work so much is its wild diversity. My favourite from him is The Skin I Live In, a film that could not be more different than Pain & Glory. This is a small, very personal film telling the story of a middle-aged director (Banderas, clearly playing a version of  Almodóvar himself) who’s struggling with his legacy as a filmmaker and the increasing privations attached to middle age. Suffering in the present, Salvador finds himself retreating into memories of his childhood - particularly of his mother (Penelope Cruz) and his first crush. The childhood sequences were where the film really sung for me, perfectly capturing the sun-dappled glow of reminiscences of childhood. And the ending, where  Almodóvar truly shows his hand, is delightfully mischievous and the perfect cap on this very personal picture.

7. Once Upon a Time in ... Hollywood (dir. Quentin Tarantino)

This is a slice of life movie, but while that might call to mind ‘kitchen sink’ dramas, this is unabashedly a ‘slice of life’ movie about Hollywood and the mythology that has developed around it. It’s meandering and feels rather aimless for the bulk of its runtime, but that’s kind of the point. It’s exactly what the title promises in that it recaptures what life was like in a very specific time and in a very specific place - it’s an idealised, loving depiction of the Hollywood of the time, with the movie stars, flawed and fading as they are, cast as heroes menaced by the drugged-up hippies poised to dismantle the status quo. It ends in the fashion you’d expect from Tarantino, but here I found his revisionist approach to history remarkably poignant and effective. Film is a magic medium, with Hollywood serving as the ultimate dream factory - it feels completely right that Tarantino would attempt to use celluloid to right one of the great tragedies of Hollywood history.

6. One Cut of the Dead (dir. Shinichirou Ueda)

I went into this with no expectations whatsoever - and what a treat it was! One Cut of the Dead is easily one of the funniest movies I’ve seen in years, taking what initially seems like a trite concept (a crew is filming a zombie movie at a desolate location ... only to discover that the zombies are real!) and twisting it in a truly ingenious way. The comedy is very broad, but it is consistently delightful and always manages to avoid becoming crass - the movie even has some really sweet family dynamics at the centre of it, which gives it some real emotional heft. The success of this film is heavily reliant on a major twist that occurs part-way through, so the best advice I can give you is to stay as far away from spoilers for this one as possible - go in blind, and you will be amply rewarded for your faith.

5. Midsommar (dir. Ari Aster)

I went into this film with reservations, since I wasn’t a huge fan of Hereditary (by the same director), which I found to have extraordinary moments but iffy execution overall. This movie, however, wowed me. While marketed as a freaky/arty horror film, the director has described it as a fairy tale, which is the level on which is spoke to me. Midsommar follows Dani (an incredible Florence Pugh), a young woman who has suffered a terrible loss, as she travels with her boyfriend and his friends to a pagan festival in the Swedish countryside. Dani is painfully isolated, and her grief is hers to shoulder alone since her boyfriend is un-receptive and entirely unprepared to help her. Over the course of the film, destruction and creation are conflated in ways that are both beautiful and horrific - this film spoke to me on a profound level, and the way it ended gave me an incredible sense of catharsis. This won’t be for everyone, for I found it to be a deeply special film. Let’s all raise a toast to the imminent, and much welcome, reign of Florence Pugh.

4. Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-Ho)

Parasite is that rare film that more than lives up to the massive hype surrounding it (you don’t get more hyped than winning Best Picture at the Academy Awards!). It’s hard to write about this film without spoilers, since so much of the joy of Parasite lies in discovering what the hell is going on. This is an ‘upstairs downstairs’ movie for the 21st century, where the downstairs people have fierce designs on the lives and pleasures enjoyed by their social superiors. The rich people here are not vilified, though they are depicted as vapid and shallow, perpetually searching for new ways to fill their lives with meaning. Their struggling counterparts from the rough side of the city are struggling only to get by - their lives too hard to allow time for such indulgences. This is a film about the fantasy of social advancement, and the power that dreams have to hold us in thrall to hopeless ambitions. It’s masterfully directed, acted and designed, and it has been extremely gratifying to see it receive such widespread recognition.

3. Marriage Story (dir. Noah Baumbach)

I was always going to see this (hey Adam Driver!) but I was entirely unprepared for how great Marriage Story was. Easily Baumbach’s best film, Marriage Story is a masterclass in acting and character writing - it’s fiercely intelligent in how it constantly forces you to reassess what you’re seeing and where your sympathies lie. Does Charlie seem like an oblivious, navel-gazing asshole? Sure, but he’s also confused and vulnerable and thrown entirely off balance by his awakening consciousness of his wife’s dreams and ambitions. Nicole is self-effacing and self-denying, as so many women are, which makes her emerging confidence and newfound sense of direction incredibly satisfying to witness. In the second half of Marriage Story, Driver’s Charlie undoubtedly takes the spotlight - it’s clear to me that he becomes the focus largely because he continues to flounder as Nicole finds her footing. Baumbach, wisely I feel, is most interested in his characters when they’re lost, struggling to be better but barely understanding what that means. Even if you don’t sympathise with Charlie by the end of Marriage Story, I can promise you will come away with a thorough understanding of him thanks to Driver’s extraordinary performance. Superlative work, all round. (It’s also, just for the record, the only film of 2019 to make me cry.)

2. Portrait of a Lady on Fire (dir. Céline Sciamma)

This is the 2019 film I am most excited to see again (it’s coming out in a week in the UK - I’m so excited!). Sciamma’s film is an incredibly moving and deeply beautiful love story, depicting how a female artist in 18th century France falls in love with the woman she has been covertly employed to paint. Portrait is very much a film about the act of looking, and in many ways it’s the ultimate female gaze film - it’s all about women looking at women, as depicted by a female filmmaker. Gazes are political as much as they’re romantic - here, our two heroines drink each other, aware of exactly how dangerous and forbidden their mutual intoxication is. The woozy thrall of their relationship is exquisitely conveyed through the cinematography and direction, and the final shot - which I won’t spoil - is an all-timer that serves as an exquisite coda to the entire film. This is a truly superb film, and I’m still incensed that it received no substantial awards recognition. Let’s hope it goes down in film history as the masterpiece it is, yet another omission proving the limitations of the Oscars as a metric for great art.

1. The Favourite (dir.  Yorgos Lanthimos)

This completely wowed me, and against all the odds it stuck with me as the best film I saw in 2019 - it features a trio of magnificently compelling female characters (played by Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone) operating at the court of Queen Anne (Colman is Anne, Weisz and Stone are courtiers), and is laser-focused on the shifting sands of the power dynamics between them. The script is savage without sacrificing poignancy, witty without ceasing to be emotionally honest. And while I’ve seen some react to this film as a comedy (and it certainly has laughs, most of which are tightly packaged with shock), for me it was very clearly a drama about the inscrutable and complicated relationships that exist between women. Specifically, it is about how those relationships run the gamut from sincere affinity to ruthless manipulation. This is a spectacular movie, visually and thematically rich in every frame, and it also has the best use of an Elton John song in 2019 (sorry, Rocketman!).

Fly away, skyline pigeon fly, towards the things you’ve left so very, so very far, behind.

[alfred-braginsky]

#35

RusAme + “About the baby…it’s yours.” || AO3 LINK ||This fic was not supposed to be as serious as it turned out. I got a few requests for this prompt and this was under the angst prompts, so this is def angst. This is with my headcanon in mind that nations can have regular children. If they have them, they won’t be a personification or anything like that, they’ll be a regular mortal human. Even if they sleep with other nations and conceive with them the baby born from that will still be human not a nation.

Historical and pregnancy inaccuracies like skjdnsjd idk what tf I’m talking about. I’m getting both information stuff from google and Mad Men so lmao please excuse any inaccuracies.

Warnings: war, mentions of sexual content, brief mention of abortion, scene where someone throws up. Tense political climate and off screen death. 

Feel free to send asks about this headcanon or fic if you have questions. Also Alfred is trans.

+++++

Mass celebrations happened at the end of World War II. The world was no longer on the brink of self-destruction but now transitioned into an age of mutually assured destruction. Whatever ally ship was held between the United States and Soviet Union had fizzled out once the Axis Powers had been defeated and divided.

Alfred and Ivan were content with the ally ship. It gave them the excuse to be in close quarters with one another without arousing any suspicion. Late nights ‘strategizing’ with constant lunches and dinners that often ran late. There was a war happening but to Alfred and Ivan it was merely background noise.

They would start arguing towards the end of an Allies meeting resulting in the meeting ending early and the rest of the nations leaving them all alone in the conference room to hash it out.

As soon as they heard the click of the door sound throughout the room Ivan relaxed the gloved hand that squeezed Alfred’s throat. Their eyes full of feigned annoyance and rage had softened into blissful admiration and need. Alfred was the first to press their lips together in a desperate and heated kiss.  

Ivan lifts Alfred and hoists him onto the massive mahogany conference table, Alfred wraps his legs around Ivan’s waist pulling him closer. They’ll have to be careful this time, last time they broke the table and had to come up with some excuses and bruises to match. Alfred let out an amused huff of air from his nostrils at the memory.

This would be the last time they would see each other for a while. With the war over, and Germany divided, their responsibilities almost tripled with having to rebuild a war-torn Europe. They clung to each other, trying to memorize how the other felt. They couldn’t stay long after they finished, their bosses would wonder and the possibility of them finding them together like this, kept them from lingering.

Alfred left first, to his surprise finding Arthur and Francis having a small chat. Both of their eyes shifted over towards the disheveled looking American. Francis gave Alfred a quick wink, brushing Arthur on the shoulder and left the lobby.

Arthur’s eyes followed Alfred, noticing his hair had a few strands pointing in all different directions and the bruises on his throat that was just barely covered by his collar. There was calculating and judging looking in his emerald eyes with each step Alfred took.

“I would be careful if I were you.” He warned. The words were without malice but still reminded Alfred of when Arthur lightly chastised him for things when he was little.

“I’m not afraid of him, he’s all talk.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change taking a casual sip of his tea.

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” Alfred didn’t indicate any change in his stance now that he know Arthur knew.

“See ya at the next meeting.”

[text break. Beware mobile readers] 

A few weeks pass and Alfred is weighed down with the stress of the duties of what it took to rebuild after a massive war. It wasn’t his first massive war, but something had changed since the first one took place. He had changed and so had his nation.

Exhaustion and fatigue seeped down into his very core. He was always running off somewhere, always had a meeting to attend to. It was starting to get to him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until a sudden wave of nausea crept up on him in the middle of a meeting between those who occupied West Germany.

Alfred stood up abruptly and excused himself rushing off as he felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. He almost doesn’t make it to the bathroom and rushes in and empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

[text break. Beware mobile readers] 

A line of drool strung down from his lips as he gasped for breath.  The slow realization happened and hit him harder than that German tank did in ‘44. Shit.

This was the worst time for this. This wasn’t his first rodeo he knew exactly what was going on with his body. However, this was his first time with another nation. He didn’t know what to expect and would be stupid to ask anyone and let them know that he was vulnerable at a time where he was considered a world superpower.

Would this baby represent a state of his? How would that even work since it was half Ivan’s and therefore half of the Soviet Union.

In the middle of his thought process came a knock on the door. His head shot up and he stood up making his way over to the sink and quickly rinsing out his mouth. The knock came again.

“Alfred? Are you alright?” a familiar voice came from the other side of the thick door.

“Yeah.” although not sounding too sure.

His head couldn’t stop from spinning about this happening at the worst time, and with the worst person he could think of. Political tensions were high.

The Soviet Union and the United States were at the brink of war. How would they even go about having this child, let alone rising it? They were far too busy and supposed enemies. The baby would be damned from its birth if Alfred and Ivan had to decided to claim it. He couldn’t put it through that.  

Ivan could never know, not that he ever sees him so he could never tell him. A hand instinctively moves over his abdomen. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he could do.

He loves Ivan. They will never have a future together, but he longs for a life they could have together if things were different. In another life, this is something that could have been possible. But now, during this arms race, and fighting over West and East Germany, this was something that was never supposed to happen.

“Alfred, let me in.” the voice came again, and against his better judgement, Alfred did.

Arthur stood there, his face pinched with a soft worry, quickly let himself in and locking the door behind him the bathroom big enough for them to fit, but small in size so it wouldn’t be comfortable.

Alfred stood there with a serious look on his face, his typical goofy grin wiped clean off.

“What the hell was that? You can’t just walk out of a meeting like that in front of everyone who matters I can’t belie–”

“Arthur.” Alfred’s voice was firm and heavy, Arthur raised an eyebrow at the seriousness of the situation.

“I’m pregnant.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise, yet still believed his words. Not even Alfred is stupid enough to joke about something like this. The silence didn’t last long.

“Does he know?”

“I just found out.” Alfred knew all the signs at this point, he didn’t need a doctor to tell him what he already knew. It was dangerous to let anyone know. The less people knew the better. Even telling Arthur was a gamble.

“What do you plan to do about it?” Arthur pulled out a cigarette and offered it to Alfred. Alfred shook his head and instead Arthur put it in his own lips and lit it. Smoke filled the room, and smell gave Alfred some comfort.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged.

“Whatever you decide, do it quick and be discreet.” Arthur took a drag and blew it out after a few seconds.  "You’ve been away too long. Stiffen that upper lip and come back to the meeting.“ Arthur clapped Alfred on the shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze before exiting.

Alfred was left with more thoughts about what to do. If he should tell Ivan. What he should tell Ivan.

His hand runs over his semi flat abdomen.

Fuck.

—-

Months pass and it was starting to get harder to hide his growing stomach. He got a new bomber jacket a few sizes too big to keep it baggy and hide what was hiding underneath. Only Arthur knew, and the doctor he was paying very well to keep it under wraps.

He hadn’t seen Ivan since their meeting in the conference room. Today they would be meeting in West Germany about how the former country of Prussia was being treated. The Soviet Union would be in attendance as they were the subject of the meeting.

Alfred’s chest tightening and his mouth was dry at the thought of seeing Ivan. There’s no way he wouldn’t notice. Hell, he’s pretty sure every nation he’s encountered knew, but had the information squared away for a time in the future when they could use it.

From the moment Alfred laid eyes on Ivan blue uniform his heart stopped beating and let out a soft huff of air as he felt a kick from his inner walls.

The more time passed on, the less Alfred knew what to do about it. The recognition in Ivan’s face when their eyes met just made everything that much more real.

Alfred averted his gaze and swallowed the lump in his throat and took his seat next to his boss right across from Ivan. Prussia seated next to him looking defeated and Ludwig seated between Alfred and Arthur with a fake confidence.

Ivan trying to catch his eye the entire meeting, but Alfred couldn’t look at him just yet without feeling an immense amount of guilt. To tell him or not. The next time they were scheduled to see each other was in another few months, right around the expected due date. It would be risky.

The meeting ended and they all shook hands on the agreed upon regulations and standards. Really, it was all formality none of them planned on changing anything.

When Alfred and Ivan clasped hands there was a note left between Alfred’s fingers written in Ivan’s handwriting. Ivan gave him a small genuine smile. Alfred smiled back although more nervous than anything.

They left and Alfred excused himself. This goddamn thing made him want to pee every 5 seconds. He closed the door and locked it behind him and opened the note.

'Meet at the apartment’

Ah, yes, the apartment. The apartment they shared with one another in Manhattan. It was empty for most of the year but discreet so that they could meet without anyone knowing what they were up to. Even hotels were too risky these days.

Alfred mingled a bit more with the previous Allied powers and then headed out to meet Ivan at the apartment. His stomach was in knots, his hands shaky.

When he got there, he hoped Ivan wouldn’t already be there, but he was. The man was sitting on the couch with paperwork he had been given earlier, cross legged, hat and jacket removed for extra comfort.

Alfred felt like a stranger walking the lion’s den with a secret hidden from someone he cared for. Ivan smiled when he spotted him and got up to greet him as Alfred shut the door behind him. Alfred’s center of gravity was completely off since he entered the 2nd trimester, walking normally was a bit of a struggle for him and something he hoped no one else noticed.

Ivan slid his hands around Alfred’s hips and pulled him into a kiss. Alfred melted into it, it’s been so long, and he’s been so needy he practically moaned into Ivan’s lips.

He missed him so much. He missed being this close to him. His scent, how his body never seemed to feel warm, his scars that told a story of survival.

"You shouldn’t eat so late, podsolnuk. Although, I suppose there is more of you to hold.” he whispered against the crane of Alfred’s neck. Alfred shuddered at the breath against his throat. He wanted Ivan so badly.

The bubbling anxiety seeped through his entire body the more Ivan explored his body. Alfred moved his hands to Ivan’s and stopped them in their place. Ivan lilted his head in confusion.

“I can’t. I just stopped by.”

“What is wrong? You are not yourself. You are quiet.” Ivan’s voice laced with a soft concern, his fingers moving under Alfred’s chin to have the man look at him. He sees guilt and like he has something to say.

“Nah. Just tired. I really have to go.” Alfred slides out of Ivan’s hold, refuses to look back to see Ivan’s hand stretched out with a look of hurt so blatantly on his face.

He hates his cowardice. He’s supposed to be brave. The fucking hero, but he can’t even tell the man he loves something so important that pertains to him.

—

1948

Alfred had taken bullets to muscle and shrapnel that ripped into flesh. He’s had his organs ruptured, bones shattered, and limbs cut off. None of that compared to the pain that labor brought. He hadn’t told anyone. It had been a few days before he was scheduled to have another meeting with the previous Axis and Allied powers. It wasn’t ideal but at least it was before and not during the meeting.

He didn’t tell Ivan. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was too risky. It would make Ivan too vulnerable, an added weakness in a time where war could break out at any moment and could be used against him. It could be used against them both.

During the last stretch of his labor he could barely process anything from the pain and the drugs. A nice Twilight Sleep minus the sleep. Because of his body which was constantly healing and trying to push out any toxins or foreign substances the morphine and scopolamine didn’t do much for him. It blocked out about 45% of the pain but the rest of it. Well, he couldn’t even remember his own name. And he was alone. No support whatsoever. Just like always.

+++

Alfred was so exhausted from the 2 day labor he had passed out almost immediately after the baby was born. He woke up the sound of a soft lullaby in a language he could barely understand in this disorientated state.

'Spi, mladenets moy prekrasnyy, Bayushki-bayu–’

Alfred sat up at the song and familiar voice. He’s heard that velvety voice sing to him like that before, but he can’t quite translate the words in his head; it was too exhausting.

His eyes blinked open as he sat up his stomach deflated. It felt as if something was missing. It always felt like this afterwards. He was always alone, but not this time. Spotting a figure in the corner of the room with his legs crossed and a bundle in his arms as his face held a soft fondness, something he hadn’t seen before almost paternal.

“You’re awake.” he hadn’t noticed the singing had stopped.

“Wish I wasn’t.” The baby was still here. Alfred didn’t know whether to be furious or relieved.

“How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?” Alfred averted his gaze from the bundle in Ivan’s arms. He knew once he saw that baby it’ll be all over for him. It was him and Ivan in one human being. One mortal human being.

“You think so little of me. You don’t think I have known? I have been giving you space, but you did not think I would be here for you?” Ivan’s voice had some hurt in it, but nothing to indicate he was angry.

“I didn’t want to tell you. I wouldn’t even be involved if I didn’t have to be.” Alfred let out a forced chuckle.

“I understand. I just…. I wanted to see him before he was sent off.” Ivan’s voice carried a heavy sadness. It was understandable. They all wanted this for themselves.

“We’re not allowed any semblance of a normal life.”

“Da, I know…but we can pretend for just a moment.” For once, it’s Ivan who is the idealistic optimist. The one who clung to hope and believing in the goodness in humanity and the world instead of Alfred.

Ivan stood up and brought the babe to Alfred, Alfred took the bundle into his arms and brought it close to his chest.

“About the baby…it’s yours.”

Ivan cracked a smile as he wrapped an arm around Alfred.

“I would still be here even if he wasn’t.”

“He?”

“Yes. I call him Alexei.”

Alfred chuckled, “You can’t give him a Russian name right now. Plus, his new family will name him, give him a fresh start so he’s not tied down by us.”

Ivan nodded in agreement. “He will live a normal life. He will not be cursed.”

Alfred leaned against Ivan as he watched the baby in his arms sleep. He took in all his features. It would be the last time he would see him.

—-

1971

The Vietnam War was in full swing and Selective Service has decided to draft men who were born between 1944 and 1950. Alfred was just as busy as he was during the last war, and the war before that, and the war before that. It seemed there was always another war to fight, another country to save with democracy.

Ivan was still the enemy. The Soviet Union was the enemy. And Alfred and the United States were enemies to the Soviet Union. This war was messy and complicated. The last war alongside a reluctant Im Yong Soo was a disaster. Stalemate leaving the bitter and metallic taste of blood in his mouth from the soldiers they had thrown into it in the name of stopping communism. It was a pointless fight with too many lives lost to make any kind of statement.  

So how was Vietnam any different? Alfred’s bones ached and his head constantly hurt. Meeting with Ivan has become more and more difficult over the years. He barely sees him. Things were becoming dangerous and it wasn’t worth it. History will settle someday. And they could be together. But not now.

They had sent him down to Vietnam and work along with the new soldiers that had arrived. Everything was wet and hot, constantly sweating as they lived among the dense trees and rivers. It was a beautiful country. Alfred hated to see the scars that war left behind.

He wished he was here under different circumstances. Sitting in the endless fields eating slices of mangos looking up at the vast sky the stars. He’d turn to his side and see a pair of gorgeous and familiar violet eyes.

Ivan.

His daydream was erased by the realities and carnage of war. The sound of muffled bullets that made it past the sunset and resounded throughout the thick jungle.

They were expecting a new company of fresh wide eye soldiers. Soldiers he was in charge of training and making sure they were ready to die for their country whether they were willing or not. Alfred waited in his tent until his Lieutenant popped his head in and informed him of their new boys.

The draft was not something he was fond of. Snatching up young men and sending them to fight without their consent was something that made Alfred sick. If someone wanted to die for war they could, but it shouldn’t be forced upon them, especially in a war like this. He was afraid of another stalemate, another war where both sides lost too much for anything worthwhile.

Alfred got up dog tags rattling with each step as he caught a glimpse the group of 80 soldiers lined up waiting for orders and orientation.

They look younger and younger with each war and the soft spot inside Alfred only breaks more with each baby face he sees.

The oldest seems 22, if that, and the younger ones are 18. Some of them look proud and ready. Most of them looked terrified. No doubt brought here against their will to fuel a cause that didn’t directly involve them.

There’s nothing special about this group. Just another group of boys he has to send off to die. Almost nothing special.

His blood ran cold when he spotted it. He saw a pair of familiar eyes. Violet eyes. He couldn’t breathe. The sandy blond hair that peaked through his army issued green hat.

“What’s your name, soldier?” he tried not to let his voice crack.

“Alex Brooks, sir!” the boy saluted, and stiffened. Brooks. He supposed that’s the family he ended up with.

Alfred wanted to throw up. Alex. The name was too similar to the name Ivan suggested almost 21 years ago.

‘I call him Alexei.’

Fuck, no. He would be this age right about now. Those eyes are unmistakably his father’s. Eyes he hasn’t seen in almost 2 years, but he could recognize them anywhere.

Alfred was silent for a moment and the soldiers looked at him expectantly.

“At ease, Brooks.”

Brooks put his arm down.

“The rest of you, go pack your shit up and get settled!” He shouted and got a resounding 'Yes, sir!’ from the group.

He had the sudden urge to write to Ivan. Alfred didn’t want to know where their child ended up when he gave him away, but Ivan was adamant about keeping tabs. He probably knew and might have pulled some strings to get him into Alfred’s company knowing that once Alfred realized who he was, he would keep him safe.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off the young boy. Seems like that even during this dark situation in history the young man is bouncing around and making quick friends with the soldiers in his company. That bright grin that lit up the entire camp, just like him. He could see the way that he moves and the way that he speaks and his mannerism. It was like seeing himself and Ivan in this whole other person.

But he was also his own person. He had lived a whole life Alfred couldn’t even dream of and it added a flair to his personality. He was a better person than him. A better person than Ivan. This young man could make something with his life after the war. He could live the life that he and Ivan could never hope to have.

This boy is his son. His and Ivan’s flesh and blood. The little bundle that Ivan sang to in his native tongue hoping to instill some semblance of his culture into him. He remembers how soft his head was and the new baby smell that would perpetually be ingrained into his brain.

And here he was. Twenty-one years later in an army green uniform a rifle that looked so out of place. He would have thought the family they sent him to live with would have prioritized education and he would have been in college and been able to avoid the draft. Or maybe there was a patriotism he inherited from him that made him volunteer. Whatever it was, he was here, ready to throw his life away for to spread democracy under the guise of freedom.

War was always the same. And now he’s got a little boy to look after. Damn Ivan. It wasn’t just his boy but the boys of thousands of families. And now he was responsible for their lives.

But he couldn’t afford to think about that now.

He had a war to win.

2019

The world had changed in way Ivan and Alfred never expected. Things between them were better, no secret meetings, no 10-minute fucks where all they wanted to do is stay and hold each other but couldn’t.

They had a house together. They couldn’t live together, their duties required them to live in their own respective countries, but they could spend time together there without fear.

Alfred would wake up in the morning and see Ivan’s sleeping face. They would kiss each other good morning and complain about morning breath. They’d have breakfast together and go on a walk for groceries or the park or wherever the day took them.

Once every six months they would have breakfast at a coffee shop. The shop used to be owned by an older gentleman, but he retired and now it was run by his granddaughter.

The man is there every day with a cup of tea and that day’s newspaper finishing the crossword and cutting out the cartoons.

Alfred and Ivan would grab a booth in the back and ordered some coffee with some of the best pie they’ve ever had. They would have idle chats but would always watch the old man in the corner of their eyes. The old man with kind violet eyes and white hair that was once blond with youth.

They would finish their coffee and pie and the man would bid them farewell. Alfred and Ivan were always prepared for the day when they would come to the shop and he would no longer be there. That was the burden of being nations. It was the curse of immortality. They walk back to their shared home together and dinner was oddly silent on the days they visited the coffee shop.

A few years later they would visit his grave every year on his birthday. They would leave him a bundle of sunflowers.

“I hope he was happy.” Alfred whispered as he leaned against Ivan. That’s all Alfred wanted for him. Vietnam came and went, he found a wife, had a few children and they had a few children. The typical circle of life continues and the man had lived a full life with people who loved and cared for him.

Ivan’s lips curved into a sad smile.

“Da, I think he was.”

[chaniters]

Phantom

Awan Cormac, post Rebirth, meeting Ortega once more at the Rangers HQ! 

Introducing his villain persona, PHANTOM. Thanks, @kruk-art for lending me your character again! :D

Enjoy! 

________________________________________

PHANTOM

________________________________________

Looking around for a clean cup, you find plenty, though they are all new and impersonal. There's no trace of the old ones, chipped and personal, and in Ortega's case, the one that you had given him. Did someone throw them out when they moved?

It's been 7 years. Of course, they've moved on. The thought brings a mixture of sadness and relief.

"If you want some Coffee, it's going to cost you!" he says beaming a smile

"I'll pass... you know I'm cheap," you say keeping a straight face.

"Oh believe me I do... come over already!" he motions for you to follow.

You go through the corridors behind him. This is so wrong! Being back at their new place. Why... why did you ever return? You're not one of them and you never will...You should run. Tell him you had something bad to eat and leave. You should…-

"Here!" he stops and opens a door for you.

His office. You're still in time... you could just...

"Take a seat man!" he says pointing at a small sofa... there's a tray with some pastries... and two mugs with hot chocolate.

No... you shouldn't be doing this... you shouldn't...

And there are churros.

“I got some churros, I know you like them and…”

But you’ve already walked past him, sat down. You are completely focused on dipping your churro in thick chocolate. He chuckles shaking his head and takes a seat as well.

"You know, I never understood how you kept in shape back then" he comments. He has that fond half-smile. "You eat like there's two of you"

"Neither do I... maybe all the running from psychos with laser guns and evil robots had something to do with it" You speak between bites... it's exquisite... This is the best you've had since that mission in Spain when you stopped at the bar in Madrid. You were fresh off your training and full of questions and your handler told you to order whatever you wanted just to get you off her hair for a few minutes. Then she had to basically drag you out of the cafe.

He takes a sip of chocolate... and your gaze freezes on him.

It's the very same cup. Crap... your

"Y... you kept it," you say, stuttering

“Wha…?” he asks

You point at the cup. He puts it down and looks at you.

“Of course I did… Sidestep gave it to me.”

He extends a hand, taking yours. You let the churro inside the chocolate as he presses your fingers slightly.

“I gave it to you. Sidestep is dead”

“I still see him,” he says letting go. “He’s just grumpy, as he always was”

“That’s… not… “ you can’t finish that sentence. You realize not everyone’ has moved on. He hasn’t. You can see memorabilia of your past self all across the office. There’s even a shelf behind a glass… full of relics... It’s like he’s living the past.

Shit. There are a few seconds of silence… more than enough to be awkward.

And then he changes the subject. He was always better than you at these things. Soon enough you are devouring the churros and pastries along. He laughs. He talks about the past, without mentioning Sidestep again. Makes you laugh too. You say he looks good, that you’re happy to be here with him, sharing some sweets once more. He takes it as a flirt and escalates by comparing the churros to something else and makes you blush and wish the earth swallowed you. You deflect, but it leaves both of you longing for more, like always.

He planned the whole evening. You go to the cinema, watch a new movie. Animated, about a hero who encounters different realities and versions of himself. You don’t need that. There are already too many versions of you lose in this reality alone. You own regene self. Your puppet, walking around in your name. Your villain persona. Your past self, engraved in everyone’s mind. Especially his.

Again the superhero theme in the movie he chose. He hasn’t moved on past your death at all. He wants you to  become your old self again. And you can’t… you can’t turn back time and erase your scars. You are heading towards mutually assured destruction. What will he think once he figures it all out? You’re not one of them…

He won’t want anything to do with you. You are the black and white, dissonant in a colored world. Perhaps It was better when he didn’t know you were alive… You were meant to protect humans. Your disguise was never meant for you to believe yourself one of them. That is where you failed.  

You’ve certainly not protected Ortega. He’s been tortured all these years by the death of a friend that doesn’t even really exist. And he wants to be much more than your friend. And you…

You want it too, more than anything.

You suppress the contradicting thoughts.

Whatever finally happens between you, you’ll help him move on.

It’s the least you can do.

………………………………………..

Mortum was dead right on design...

The extensible nanomesh cloak swirls theatrically as you reach the window, leaving a trail of fog behind you through its small smoke machines.

With the addition of the silent thrusters, you appear to glide in the night. Phantom is really a sight to behold. And you’ll play the part literally tonight.

The window is open, so it only takes a simple push to create an opening, and you hop inside.  You’ve been here before, so you know your way around. The hallway… the guest room… You are careful not to step where you know the boards will creak, revealing your presence.

You glide through the last part, opening the door with the utmost scare.

Your target’s asleep, as you expected.

Good.

Without a single sound, you take the magnetic cuff from your inner pockets.  

“Once it hits the target, it automatically binds them with titanium grade bindings” Mortum explained. You hope he’s right, or this will be a very awkward encounter.

The thing is shaped like a small disc, with a pair of buttons.

He stirs in his sleep, his chest facing up. Good, it’s almost as if he’s asking for you to do this.

You place the disk atop his chest. It sticks to his skin, with a small hiss of air suction.

He opens his eyes, groggily at first...  And then they fix on you, with a sudden moment of terror, followed by recognition.

And you press the button.

He attempts to incorporate, his senses warning him about the danger...

“SSCHCLACK!”

Metal tendrils extend everywhere from the circular device stuck to his chest, binding his arms and legs. It looks awfully uncomfortable, you’re glad they didn’t have any of these terror devices back at the farm.

“What in the hell…” He fights it, but the metal tendrils extend everywhere, and finally pull his arms together, behind his back, and his legs end up bound to each other.

Defeated, he falls on the bed struggling like a fish out of water. He glares at you.

You stand unmovable, your cloak swirling in the air, and fog filling the room. You must look ghostly and terrifying right now…

“Good evening Charge. Is this a bad moment?” You let out a few laughs, which isn’t hard because this is actually funny in a very twisted kind of way. And, hey, that’s you these days. Twisted.

You turn off the for generators with a flick of your wrist. Enough smoke already.

“Phantom! How did you…”

“I disabled your security systems Charge. It wasn’t difficult. I wonder how do you expect to stop me when your own house is such an easy target” Really. You could have just walked in and killed him. Not fun at all.

He lets out a powerful discharge. It doesn’t break the bindings but reminds you this won’t stop him indefinitely.

“Hijo de puta! Get this thing off me! What the fuck do you want?”

“I want what’s in your safe. The one behind that painting” you state. Better to go all about the business and not prolong this unnecessarily.

“What? Why? THere’s not even that much money in there! Do you think I’m rich pinche pendejo? I’m still paying debts, idiot!”

“Really? Because I know there’s something there that could be worth a small fortune” There are so many ways you could have found out, you should be safe from suspicion back as Awan.

He looks puzzled for a moment. And then he understands.

“No! No way!”

“Yes, way!. Tell me the access code. It will make this whole thing faster”

“Never! Go to hell! Vete a la chingada!!”

You laugh.

“You honestly think your old safe is going to stop me when I’ve robbed banks?”

He spits on you. “¡Púdrete!” he adds finally.

“I expected you to be a better loser” you sigh, clearing the spit from your mask. “Whatever, I’ll open it myself.”

You turn and remove the painting, some old picture of a farm. You hate farms. And then you begin working on the safe, connecting it to your wrist computer. All the while Ortega keeps yelling profanities from the bed.

“CLACK”

The door opens.

And there it is. You pull it out.

Your old gun. Sidestep’s old gun.

You turn to him showing him your prize.

“Put that back you fucker! You’ve got a problem with me you take it out on me! THat’s…”

“You know, you say you’re paying debts, and you keep a lot of memorabilia that could be worth so much all around this place. I’ve studied it well…”

“THat’s mine you psycho! It’s part of my fucking life! What the hell would you know about that?!”

“I know I could have killed you for the safe codes. You should put your priorities in order ranger. Sidestep is dead, after all” you say tapping his hair with the gun as you leave. He screams and yells, and you hear a loud thud as he falls from the bed trying to slither his way to you.

You glide away, trough the streets.

……………………………………………..

You hurry to the elevator. It’s on the news already, and you’re really worried.

Did you overdo it? Of course, you did, as usual. You should have left things as they were.

You get off the elevator and walk to his office passing the kitchen. Steel is there.

“He’s at his office,” He tells you, from the opposite end of the corridor. “And he’s completely out of it, see if you can talk to him”

“Will do. Thanks!” you stride through the corridors, and knock once you reach his door.

“Go Away” he yells.

You open it anyways and come through

“I said go awa...! ” he stops, as he sees you.

“Hey, it’s me… Are are you ok?” you say. It feels odd. To be the one asking. This isn’t how it always goes.

He’s teared up. And he’s got a remote control on his hand. The TV is on, and you can see Mia Ochoa reporting on how Phantom stole and sold Sidestep’s original gun on the Dark Web to an unknown collector for 1.5 million dollars, mocking the Rangers once more.  

The remote sparkles in his hands, his electrical power acting up under stress.

You approach, hesitantly… and hug him. You wonder if you’ll get a jolt… but he seems to calm down and hugs you back.

“I couldn’t… couldn’t stop Phantom” his arms hold you tight, his voice trembling. Fuck you definitely overdid it. He’s already traumatized by your death and now you pull this... You are hopeless trying to understand humans. You should just... “I’m sorry... He took… he took it…”

“It’s just a gun,” you say

“It’s not… It’s… It’s your gun. The real one!”

“That’s not mine Ricardo. Sidestep is dead. I buried him”

“No, he isn’t! You’re here!”

“I WAS Sidestep. Not anymore. I choose to be myself. Not him.”

“But…”

“I’m alive. I survived. Isn’t that what counts? He’s just a memory… let it go”

It takes a few moments before he physically lets go of you.

“Mierda… I… I guess you’re right.”

“I am?” you ask surprised. Is this actually working?

“Yes, pendejo. I’m thinking I got too attached to your old stuff… when you were...”

“... you don’t have to say it”

“You get me”

“Yep… “ when you were dead.

He plops down on the sofa.

“Thanks,” he says leaning back. “I’m still pissed. That money should have gone to you“ he says pointing at the TV which is showing a cash icon for the sale for 1.5 million “

It takes all of your acting skills to keep a straight face. “Well… yeah, it could have helped, but … Just let it go Ricardo, ok? It’s a stupid gadget. And I don’t need it.”

He rubs his face, then looks at you. “Since when are you the grown up?”

“I don’t know Ricardo, and it's fucking scary… so please let’s not do it anymore?”

You manage to make him crack a smile this time. “Alright, deal then.”

“Also, talking about scary… You should get rid of all this!” you point at a lot of your old stuff all around his office. “It’s hella creepy” you add as you fall on the sofa by his side.

“Shutup,” he says jokingly, punching your arm.

“Ow… I mean it You know, I could help you sell it. I think I remember what most of this shit is… Is that a piece of Quasar’s positronic brain?”

“You bet… “ he sighs “I’ll think about it… “.

And then he holds your hand… and you made the mistake of being too close, and he kisses you…

It takes longer than you’d want to regain control, but you make do, manufacturing an excuse to leave… but before that...

“Hey, I’ve got something for your office!” you say

“Huh? Really?”

“Yep! Here!” you hand him a small box.

He opens it… there’s another cup there. Just like the one you gave him back then. You had to pay 300 dollars to get the exact same, but you did.

“What the… “ He smiles, surprised “Is it my birthday or something?”

“No asshole. That’s for me to use the next time you have churros and chocolate, obviously!” you say closing the door behind you.

______________________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.