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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

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happy Valentines day, me lovie! you better feel all the love im mentally giving you! we dont really celebrate it but if you do, hope today you fell x1000 loved than usual if its possible. 'you made a tie from scratch' yeah its a gift for a friend. 'I FELT SO BAD THAT MY GRANDMA HAD TO DO THAT' ig she wasnt feeling that bad bc she did it for you and (i hope) she loves you. im sorry for your dressmaking elective( i liked them at school. 'i was really tired cos i was overthinking about my assignments' oooh im so sorry for you poor girl TT im glad its ok. or was ok. hows it? 'there was unfortunately no place to bury' cities suck when it comes to these things. 'BECAUSE IF ST PETERSBURG CAN GET 30 DEGS WTF' 1) its not the north-north so the climat is more continental 2) idk what about you but i feel global warming strongly💀 its literally hotter. while in my childhood the snow in my hometown started to fall in the beginning of october, now its nearly november? its like a BIG thing. 'now you believe in science /:' ?? 'people like veiny hands on men' 1) not only 2) i like your talented hands on you, veiny or not. 'society makes me questions things about myself' our society is VERY questionable itself so? maybe we all need to make IT question itself. it has too much fetishizm about everything. when a mere part of humans body becomes not just an instrument for living but an object for filthy jokes and sexulizing? its awful. i want to talk about how beauty dont exist and all TT guys we wanted to be more open-minded and get rid of stereotypes but weve gone wrong way ig TT 'DO PART TWOS WHEN IM SO AGAINST THEM' i said if you want to! you absolutely dont have to. 'if you knew of my stark' did you forget how i literally requested the part with caraxes TT 'who’s the actor?' danila kozlovsky. you dont get it rn but i cringed SM when i found out TT he used to be a popular young actor, the most handsome. but now he makes pure cringe and acts bad TT 'force myself to be confident enough to share them' omg i didnt even know you can draw??? you totally should share EVERYTHING you want. They keep talkin’, I keep walkin' yk? itzys not lying. ensaymada looks good. im so sorry for what it did to you TT hope today you feel alright? 'I DONT GET IT' i dont know how to help you further TT 'you didnt even say anything!' im sure i did TT but ok if you dont like doctor who im not gonna foce you to watch it. im not cruel yk 'AEMMA WOULS SO BE HIS SUPPORTIVE BESTIE' #aemma and daemon chaotic besties x #vissy and yn mom besties. i believe my truth. im blind to anything else. 'i would be so sad if i knew you were a lonely eternal being' yk its literally doctor who.... i have a heartbreaking dw idea but i know no authors TT nvm. youre such a precious lovely cutie🥺 thanks for all love you give to me TT im luvluvluv you<з 'rhaenyras a baby' i said BACK then TT like when the first daemon died and all TT was rhae a baby? was aemma alive?... 'theres only one daemon and thats me' HFJJDJ how presumptuously of him esp when the daemon yn loved, was married to and waited for is the old daemon I (was he first? i dont remember). 'aegon would take it worse' no but in this case itll be even worse bc hed be completely alone. hed have noone to share this news and his feelings with... like yn is occupied with daemon, aemonds in disbelief, royal family is another thing so hes alone. alone with his broken heart, with his shock and with his alcoholism( i can imagine one (1) night vissy take daemon to event so yn have a spare night and she go to the bar it all started in to see her pretty boy. and by the end of his shift hes drinking and crying and screaming telling yn how he loved her and needed a couple of words from her but she was too busy with dae. 'if we make it past p5' its already 3 and you had so many plans... 'its like smth you say when you wanna manifest' oh cute. love learning the stories behind some media things. 'im interested' i was supposed to write it here but ive no symbols TT so stay positive! have a good day! be my valentine! take care! luv u<з

VALENTINES DAY IS A CAPITALISM PLOT BUT HAPPY HEARTS DAY

happy Valentines day, me lovie! you better feel all the love im mentally giving you!

what if i dont

we dont really celebrate it but if you do, hope today you fell x1000 loved than usual if its possible.

i dont celebrate it either but thank you <3 i appreciate it <3

'you made a tie from scratch' yeah its a gift for a friend.

AW THATS SO SWEET

'I FELT SO BAD THAT MY GRANDMA HAD TO DO THAT' ig she wasnt feeling that bad bc she did it for you and (i hope) she loves you.

?????????? SHE NAMED THE CAT PUTOL FOR US?????? HAHAHAHA HELP????

im sorry for your dressmaking elective( i liked them at school.

i remember waiting for that year to end so badly because i HATED every day i had to go there

'i was really tired cos i was overthinking about my assignments' oooh im so sorry for you poor girl TT im glad its ok. or was ok. hows it?

its fine i felt super stupid cause i had no idea what to do and my head hurt and i was ont he brink of tears and i did myself a favor and escaped n wrote a pedro pascal fic to feel better. i didnt i hated it. i thought it was so unfunny and bad so i was SO T_T to touched and happy to wake up to so many people saying that they laughed so hard because of it T_T

'there was unfortunately no place to bury' cities suck when it comes to these things.

cities = L

'BECAUSE IF ST PETERSBURG CAN GET 30 DEGS WTF' 1) its not the north-north so the climat is more continental 2) idk what about you but i feel global warming strongly💀 its literally hotter. while in my childhood the snow in my hometown started to fall in the beginning of october, now its nearly november? its like a BIG thing.

NO UR SO RIGHT it used to be so aesthetically warm #goldenhour during 8am here, you could stay in the sun and get a tan. NOW 7AM SUNLIGHT BURNS ITS FUCKING CANCER ITS HORRIBLE

'now you believe in science /:' ??

HAHAH COS U WERE LIKE 0 deg is fine when i was like ITS SCIENTIFICALLY FREEZING POINT /: HAHHAAH

'people like veiny hands on men' 1) not only 2) i like your talented hands on you, veiny or not. 'society makes me questions things about myself' our society is VERY questionable itself so? maybe we all need to make IT question itself.

it has too much fetishizm about everything. when a mere part of humans body becomes not just an instrument for living but an object for filthy jokes and sexulizing? its awful. i want to talk about how beauty dont exist and all TT guys we wanted to be more open-minded and get rid of stereotypes but weve gone wrong way ig TT

ur so right. but based on this one tiktok i watched where she was a criminology major, she talked about how everything sexualized that isnt sex organs are fetish so and it really made me go, she gotta point cos a child i never understood what it was about boobs or butts? its social conditioning. ig humans just kinky and L

'DO PART TWOS WHEN IM SO AGAINST THEM' i said if you want to! you absolutely dont have to.

but i love you 😡

'if you knew of my stark' did you forget how i literally requested the part with caraxes TT

i did 😗🍵👌 #signs of aging

'who’s the actor?' danila kozlovsky. you dont get it rn but i cringed SM when i found out TT he used to be a popular young actor, the most handsome. but now he makes pure cringe and acts bad TT

WAIT OMG FR I LOVE DANILA HE WAS ONE OF THE REASONS WHY I LOVE RUSSIAN NAMES BECAUSE HIS NAME IS LITERALLY 'FEMENINE' AT LEAST TO ME COS AGAIN SPAIN AND FEM SPANISH NAMES END WITH A WAIT WHY IS HE CRINGE NOW T_T i watched him in vampire academy and i LOVEEEEEDDD the film, it was such a shame they never continued and apparently the new series is SO BAD so bad that they changed danila's character who is russian to someone english, and i saw a post talking about how integral him being russian was for his character T_T so HAHAHAHAHA RIP

anyway mayhap you think its cringe but idk i love stuff like that HAHAH brb im gonna go look for vampire academy stuff AHAHA

ok im back its mixed with the tv show so i couldnt find much

'force myself to be confident enough to share them' omg i didnt even know you can draw??? you totally should share EVERYTHING you want.

T_T im trying. i have drawings on my instagram so if you want to see them theyre there

They keep talkin’, I keep walkin' yk? itzys not lying.

queens

ensaymada looks good. im so sorry for what it did to you TT hope today you feel alright?

ngl im thinking about eating one right now and my body said NO now i feel like puking T_T

'I DONT GET IT' i dont know how to help you further TT

it be like that

'you didnt even say anything!' im sure i did TT but ok if you dont like doctor who im not gonna foce you to watch it. im not cruel yk

T_T GIVE ME AN EPISODE AN EPISODE NUMBER GIVE ME IT AND ILL WATCH IT YOU WHINY BABY

'AEMMA WOULS SO BE HIS SUPPORTIVE BESTIE' #aemma and daemon chaotic besties x #vissy and yn mom besties. i believe my truth. im blind to anything else.

YOUR TRUTH IS SO CANON

'i would be so sad if i knew you were a lonely eternal being' yk its literally doctor who.... i have a heartbreaking dw idea but i know no authors TT nvm.

you can tell me. i know the doctor well enough to write it if i wanted. all i need is those 3 episodes [crack knuckles]

youre such a precious lovely cutie🥺 thanks for all love you give to me TT im luvluvluv you<з

'rhaenyras a baby' i said BACK then TT like when the first daemon died and all TT was rhae a baby? was aemma alive?...

ah ok HAHAH. idk we'll see how everyone reacts. nah yn is her second wife. daemon karate chopped rhea like the rat he is cos hes a man bOOO ok NVM NVM I WANT READER TO HAVE A RELATIONSHIP WITH AEMMA SO NO SHE IS DAEMONS FIRST WIFE THE ONE AND THE ONLY <3

'theres only one daemon and thats me' HFJJDJ how presumptuously of him esp when the daemon yn loved, was married to and waited for is the old daemon I (was he first? i dont remember).

i made him the first. i did breath research and i think he actually is the first and if he wasnt stfu he was. and YES this man is as audacious as it can get. he got it twisted. though to be fair, he IS the daemon I reincarnated so he's technically also not wrong he IS the only one that matters

'aegon would take it worse' no but in this case itll be even worse bc hed be completely alone. hed have noone to share this news and his feelings with...

brb going to change my mind about who yn ends up with

like yn is occupied with daemon, aemonds in disbelief, royal family is another thing so hes alone. alone with his broken heart, with his shock and with his alcoholism

watch me make the yn and the aegon pipelines real

( i can imagine one (1) night vissy take daemon to event so yn have a spare night and she go to the bar it all started in to see her pretty boy. and by the end of his shift hes drinking and crying and screaming telling yn how he loved her and needed a couple of words from her but she was too busy with dae.

HELP. ok. im going to add that.

if we make it past p5' its already 3 and you had so many plans...

SHUT UP. let me finish this fic in 5 parts dammit T_T

'its like smth you say when you wanna manifest' oh cute. love learning the stories behind some media things.

HAHAHAHAH you know that married member in BigBang? Taeyang? apparent his wife did that too so the more you know. a lot posters in the ph used those two things in posts haha

'im interested' i was supposed to write it here but ive no symbols TT

HAAAHA ok

so stay positive! have a good day! be my valentine! take care! luv u<з

im hungry. i hope you also have and will continue to have a good day <3 i love you take care of yourself

xxx

#slavyanskiyahui cutie #anon ask #my beloved anons #modern!daemon anon #ask #modern!daemon nonnie

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years ago

Text

cold heart, warm hands (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 1/2

First off, I haven’t played a Call of Duty game in years. But, I remember crushing on Ghost back in idk?? 2010? Anyway, glad to see he’s getting the white boy of the month treatment. Glad we’re all totally NORMAL about him. Feedback is definitely encouraged and appreciated :)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader!Assassin

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Fic warnings: angst, injury/bodily harm to reader + some hypothermia, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing/explicit language, knives as metaphors for sexual tension, reader is lowkey feral (I am channeling my inner Princess Monoke), slowburn, the inherent eroticism of catching feelings while running for your life, touchstarved!ghost, bonding, (there will be smut/porn in part 2) i needed a light plot because I cannot function without it, all the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person.

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, though no other descriptors are used. Author isn’t well-versed in other languages, they’re just a sucker for Slavic mythology. Reader’s undercover code-name is “volchitsa” which translates to she-wolf (or bitch-wolf) in Russian.

Summary: Lt. Ghost is tasked with the extreme mission to extract code name “volchista” from her undercover mission in St. Petersburg. They briefed him on what little they knew of you, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality.

READ ON AO3 || 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is how it begins. You are a girl made of snow. You carve a pretty smile from the ice. You flatter the diplomats. You trick them. They believe you can be melted and molded. You impress the headmistress of the school. You trick her, too. A man from America comes. They replace your ballet with ballistics. You suspect they offer money to your family, your school. They roll your tongue until you can call upon any accent and shape around any language. When you’ve impressed them or pleased them, they give you tasks, and you carry them out with little question of who at the top of the pyramid pulls the strings. You are better with bullets than you ever were at ballet.

You thaw, in pieces, until the girl from the snow is a shadow, a puddle, a glistening drip of an icicle from the rooftop. They give you a name. A point of contact. A promise of extraction once intel is gathered. You don’t merely go “undercover.” You go underground. You enmesh yourself. They call you a wolf and release you among the pretty, bronze-polished sheep. After all, this is what your training was for.

Only now it’s finally time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Three years undercover?” Ghost says, reviewing your file, “you sure we can trust her?” He glances at your old photo. Pretty thing. He suspects that’s why they assigned you to rub elbows with high-ranking military officials and defense contractors. Three years is a hell of a long time to be someone else.

Price says, “I know you’ll make the right call if you think she’s compromised.”

“Naturally.” Ghost replies gruffly. He checks the intel for your rendezvous spot. A cemetery at the edge of the Vyborgsky District. At the stroke of midnight. How morosely dramatic. He’ll be a ghost in a graveyard. Is this Price’s attempt at humor? He considers asking Price why he’s not sending someone else out. Someone who shows their face in case some nosy do-gooder comes up asking questions. He shakes the thought from his head. It’s a stupid question that he already has the answer to.

Price selected him because the target, codename volchista, is one of the most dangerous operatives in the country. If anyone can take you down–if things get nasty–it’s him.

“You’ll be going in dark on this one until you reach the border,” says Price.

“Not a problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s gray everywhere you look. Storm clouds loom over St. Petersburg and block the starlight. Gray and dark gray tombstones. The barren trees appear like black skeletons in the night, like echoes of lightning. Your breath mists gray in front of your lips. A family of gray moths dance around the ground-level lamps. The air tastes like impending snowfall, brisk and sharp on your tongue.

You check your watch. Three minutes until midnight. There is no one here but you. You are alone, with the gray ghosts, and the gray tombstones, and your gray, foggy breath.

The hair at the nape of your neck prickles.

Your knife flashes silver in the gray. Your blood roars in your ears. And you pivot like a dancer, like an acrobat, lethal and light on your feet. The resounding clang of your knife meeting another reverberates through the silent, empty cemetery. You lurch your body forward. You assume your cover is blown and they’ve sent this masked man to kill you. He matches your momentum and avoids your strike. You snarl. He is big but not as clumsy as you hoped.

A gloved, strong hand grabs your wrist, “steady on, volchista.” Their accent deepens their voice to a rough and pleasant burr. It’s like drinking whiskey. You stare at him. Only your contacts know your code name.

You say, “Lev sent you.” You pause. “You’re early.”

“If I'd known you’d try to skewer me, I’d have been punctual.” He slowly releases your wrist, though what little you can see of his gaze is dark and wary. Lev told you nothing beyond the meeting spot and where he stashed your equipment. It was safer (or so he said). He could’ve at least mentioned your point of contact would be wearing a costume so you wouldn’t assume it was an assassination attempt. Your eyes scan the graveyard, unable to shake the sense of paranoia that slithers around your spine. Whenever something felt too easy, you got anxious.

“Sorry.” You respond without expression. “Let’s go.”

You’ve walked these pathways hundreds of times. You know them in the dark, you would know them blindfolded. None of Petrovich’s men bothered you when you went to the cemetery. Though, they were never far. You incline your head faintly toward the familiar tombstones, to the names you’ve memorized as a game to keep yourself sane during these past three years of espionage.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder. Skull-man is walking eerily quietly behind you despite the bulk of body armor you can tell he’s wearing beneath his white, camo coat. His hood is drawn up over his head. Probably to hide the mask.

“What do I call you?” You ask once you’re close to the church.

“Ghost.”

You laugh softly. Although you will never see Lev again, you wish you could. You wanted to praise him for such a stupid, funny joke - setting up your extraction in a cemetery with a man named Ghost. You come to the church door where Lev has stashed your supplies. He’s left the key for you beneath a snow-capped rock. You kiss its cold, metal teeth in farewell before sliding it into the lock. The old, oak door creaks beneath your palm.

Ghost watches your back, checking behind you before you both go inside. The air smells of incense and candle smoke. The effigies on the altar glow with ethereal, flickering light. You crouch onto the ground and start tapping your knuckles to find the hollow floorboard. Lev said it would be about ten paces from the entrance.

Rap, rap, rap, rap. A flurry of snowflakes drifts across the mosaic, stained glass windows. You knew you tasted snow in the air. You idly wonder if the snow will feel different once you’re home again. You wonder if everything will be different considering the intel you gathered about Petrovich and all his followers.

Ghost asks, “why’d they give you the name she-wolf?”

Your smile is a knife.

You say while looking up at him; “I used to bite a lot during my training.”

Your knuckles find their treasured spot. You jam your knife into the edge of the floorboard, wiggling it, and it gives underneath your pressure. You tug on the backpack, holster your pistol and knife and hide your face in a scarf. You pull the rest of Ghosts' equipment out with a small gruff. The keys to the snowmobile parked in the shed outside bite into the soft flesh of your palm. You and Ghost will ride to the next point. And God willing, you’d make it over the border before anyone noticed you were gone.

Ghost, silent beside you, stiffens.

“Shit.” You hiss. You duck sideways, throwing yourself into the space between the worship pews. Ghost crouches into the one next to yours. The door to the church swings open. There is a burst of cold air and snowflakes and bright, roaming flashlights. With your back pressed against the hardwood and knife in hand, you glance across the aisle to Ghost and wait for his lead.

He signals the number three with his fingers. You nod. You track the lights as they move through the church, elongating shadows, and bouncing from the pews and pillars. Two have moved to the side of the church. A single target is walking down the main aisle. They’re trying to pincher you. Could it be Petrovich? Or were you betrayed internally? Or were they police officers? You hadn’t gotten a good look before hiding. Ghost’s entire body is taught like a loaded weapon. You feel it in your own spine and shoulders. The familiar, tense coiling. The single and narrow simplicity of setting a task and then completing it. You are going home. And nothing and no one will stop you.

A voice calls out in Russian. “Petrovich is looking for you. It’s too late for prayer. It’s time to come home.” It sounds close to the doorway. You roll onto your stomach and signal to Ghost: ‘Enemy’. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to assume he doesn’t know Russian after being assigned to a Russian-Evac Mission. You make a mental note to ask him what he knows (if you both survive). He tells you to ambush right, then signals the go-ahead.

You wiggle beneath the pews, getting behind your target, and crouch-walk toward him. You stay low and silent. From this vantage point, you can see they’re Petrovich’s bodyguards. They aren’t wearing tactical gear or body armor. They’ve got flashlights and pistols holstered at their hips. They aren’t expecting any sort of fight. You almost feel bad for them. Almost.

You are a deadly viper hidden in the grass, a wolf stalking her prey, an arrow finding its mark. Your knuckles tighten around the grip of your knife. The church is dark, save for the flickering candlelight, and the blue-white shine of their flashlights. You slam your boot into the back of your target’s knee, causing him to crumple. He grunts, in surprise and pain, and that is the last sound he creates because your knife lodges into his carotid artery. A warm gush of blood covers your glove, and it arcs upward, splattering and spraying onto the fine stonework when you dislodge the weapon. You kick the rolling flashlight aside and run on quick, crouched feet toward the door. You don’t even bother to check if Ghost is alright. You assume he is. If not…well…you’ll claw your way out of Russia yourself. There is no returning to this place.

The man at the doorway is panicking. He wildly waves his flashlight around the church while holding his cellphone to his ear. You snatch his wrist in a bruising grip and drag him toward you. He shouts. Your forehead smashes into his nose. His cellphone clatters to the ground. Your knife finds purchase through the thick fabric of his turtleneck. The gray sweater blooms deep, dark crimson–nearly black in the low light. He moans, you shove him aside and pick up his phone. He’s calling Petrovich, but the line hasn’t connected yet.

Ghost is suddenly before you. You meet his eyes. There’s a splatter of blood on his white camo hood. Your chest heaves with exertion, and the adrenaline of combat floods your senses until you are woven within it. If you don’t shake off Petrovich, then your extraction becomes thousand times more difficult.

You grab the bodyguard by the root of his hair, jerking his head back, and snarl into his face. “Tell Petrovich you’ve found me. Tell him I’m coming home.” You say in Russian.

“Traitor.” He spits blood at you. You haven’t removed your knife from the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You twist the blade a little. He grits his jaw from screaming. Prideful to the end. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the dark, hulking shape of Ghost with his knife in his hand.

“Last chance.” You warn. “I will feed you to the wolves.”

“I am dead either way.” His eyes flick to Ghost behind you. “He will kill you.”

You are uncertain if he is talking about Ghost, Petrovich, or someone else. You don’t care to ask. You click the bright red ‘end’ button on the call screen before it connects. Wordlessly, coldly, you yank your knife from his shoulder and spear him below his jaw. A torrent of blood gushes over his sweater, and your wrist and hand, and onto the shiny wood. He slumps, on his knees like a man in prayer, and you shut your eyes briefly. You take no pleasure in the killing. It was either them or you. Wolf versus sheep. It was survival. A singular question tightened around your neck like a noose. Who betrayed you?

Ghosts’ voice is low from somewhere over your shoulder. “What’d he say?”

“That I’m a dead woman.”

He shrugs his massive, bulky shoulders. You can’t ascertain how much of it is him and how much is his gear.

You sheath your knife. “Petrovich will come looking for me.” You nudge the fallen bodyguard with your boot. “No use hiding them. We need to leave. Now.”

He extends his hand, “keys.”

“Who said you were driving?” You scoff.

“I’m the one taking point.” He says. “You’re the escort. I drive.”

You drop the keys into his waiting palm. You simply don’t have the time to argue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You get an impression of his true size when you’re perched behind him on the snowmobile. Your arms encircle him (as best you can), your cheek is pressed against his broad and muscled back, and the cold wind cuts through your scarf and bites your ears and nose. It’s dangerous to drive in the dark, but you have no choice. No alternative. You must take a risk with the dark forest full of birch trees and lonely pines to avoid the checkpoints at the borders.

Ghost is, at the very least, efficient. Your stomach swoops each time the snowmobile crests over a small hill and the vibration of the motor purrs beneath your legs. The world is a blur of grayish-white. Snowflakes and branches whip past your field of vision. You force your eyes to remain open, as snowflakes crystalize on your eyelashes, and try to keep watch of your surroundings.

You release a soft “oof,” when the snowmobile jolts over a hill and freshly fallen snow crashes over you and Ghost like a wave. The trees start to thin. Your fingers tingle inside your gloves from your lack of circulation due to how tightly you're holding onto him and the overall icy chill in the air. You suspect you’re about an hour from the second point. Possibly less, you hope, with how fast Ghost is driving.

A whirring sound, like a beast waking from its slumber, rises above the rushing wind. You twist your spine to look behind you.

You yell above the engine and the wind, “fuck me.” Above the treetops, a helicopter is risking the storm, its searchlight roaming through the forest. Only one man is hunting you. Only one man is desperate enough to send a helicopter in the middle of the night with little visibility.

“Ghost! We’ve got company.” You shout.

“That was quick.”

The snowmobile banks with a hard left turn. You bury your face in his shoulder blades to protect yourself from the sharp wind. You recall the map Lev showed you. You memorized the route to the second point. Something tugged at the corner of your mind. The helicopter’s searchlight scanned the thick, snowy landscape. It will catch up to you soon. Ghost weaves through the trees, but they provide little cover.

It’s dark. It’s snowing. The helicopter is faster than you. These are the facts.

If you stop, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding you. He sent a helicopter; you have no doubt in your mind that he also sent out snowmobiles and ATVs. The darkness is your best cover.

If you continue, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding the safe house. The only silver lining is that Petrovich doesn’t know who you work for. He doesn’t know you have help. He might assume you’ve been kidnapped. But, what if Petrovich thought you were dead? He wouldn’t chase after a dead woman.

You say, “Ghost, I have an idea. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

He grunts.

“We need to crash the snowmobile.”

“You’re mad.” Is it the wind filling your ears, or does he sound a little…impressed?

You squeeze your fingers around your wrist when Ghost takes another sharp turn. You suspect he’s double-backing and confusing your trail while avoiding the oncoming helicopter.

“My other plan involved a sniper rifle and blowing out the searchlight. However, seeing as we don’t have a sniper, I’m going to plan B.”

“Crashing our only means of transportation sounds more like Plan-fucking-Z to me.”

“You have a better idea?!” You snap.

You continue, impassioned, “the storm will cover our tracks. We can walk the rest of the way. Petrivoch’s men won’t follow us if they think I’m dead.”

He mutters something under his breath. It’s too quiet for you to hear.

“Find a good place to stop with tree coverage and I’ll do the rest.”

“Jesus.” He grumbles.

You wait for the inevitable argument. The discussion about how the snowmobile could outrun the helicopter and whoever else might be pursuing you. You brace yourself, drawing counterarguments inside your head, preparing yourself as you have your whole life. The pine trees thicken, and the snowmobile gradually slows. His back is tense. You wiggle your tingly fingers inside your gloves. You slide your arms away from his solid, firm midsection and scoot to the edge of the seat when the snowmobile finally stops.

Ghost twists around, looking at you, his eyes fathomless beneath the mask.

“Your plan. What is it?”

You tell him. It involves tipping over (or crashing) the snowmobile, lighting it on fire, ripping pieces of your clothing and burning other remnants to imply that whatever was left was eaten by wildlife.

You peel off your bloodied gloves, “it’s not a perfect plan.”

“It’s bloody insane is what it is.”

You shrug, “and yet you agreed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the picture of mental stability, now am I?” He tears one of your shirts between his hands. You work quickly and silently in tandem. The helicopter is searching the less forested areas. It’s loud enough to hear, though you can’t see it or its spotlight through the thick evergreens. You tie together several pieces of fabric and shove them into the gas tank. After it detonates, although the helicopter won’t be able to land nearby, Petrivoch’s men will likely find the remains before dawn.

You reach under your shirt, toward your collar, and your fingers encircle the charm on your necklace. You tug. The thin golden chain snaps. It was your first gift from Petrovich. A symbol of your loyalty - false as it was. You hold it aloft and the tiny eagle charm glitters above the flickering flame of your lighter.

“I hope I am there the day they burn you.” You whisper with the trees, and the cold snow, and your silent Ghostly companion as your witness. You drop the broken necklace. You light the edge of the fabric. The smoke singes your nostrils and your eyes water. You run toward the trees and don’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Ghost put as much distance between yourself and the snowmobile before its explosion. Your muscles strain, your skin glistens with sweat, and you are hot and stuffy beneath your warm clothes. The pace he sets is brutal. You push yourself to keep up, never complaining, though your mouth tastes of copper from how many times you’ve bitten your lower lip. The storm rages and covers your tracks.

“The storm’s getting worse.” You say. You’ve never endured in silence for this long before. Not since your youth, you think. The howling wind cuts between you and him, dragging snowflakes in their wake.

Ghost barely glances at you. “Hadn’t noticed.”

If you squint, he blends into the world. A white-and-gray Grim Reaper here to collect your soul.

“Were you going to kill me in the church?” You ask. You remember how he approached you and the bodyguard. His cold lethality. The silence that shrouds him. His eyes were dark, too far to discern what emotion lay within. He doesn’t answer, but he does look over at you. You are mirrors of another. His face is covered by his strange, macabre mask. Your face is covered, in a heavy scarf, your eyes visible through the slit in the fabric. You speak through your eyes. Nonverbal. Expressive. Weighted.

You tilt your head slightly to the side as if to say ‘well?’

You wonder if he smiles beneath the mask. You wonder if he smiles at all. He turns away and checks his compass. For several minutes only your crunching footsteps and the wind screaming through the branches keeps you company. You don’t think Ghost (and by proxy the US government has betrayed you) but you aren't certain. Not until you have some type of proof or motive. The only people who knew about your meeting location were Lev, yourself, and Ghost. You know you didn’t slip up. And you’ve been in this field for too long to chalk Petrivoch’s appearance to coincidence and dumb luck. Someone is compromised.

You glance sidelong at Ghost through your snow-covered lashes. He’s big, he’s strong and efficient. You’re not a person who doubts their abilities and you’re not an idiot. You know a losing fight when you see one. In close-quarter combat, his reach is longer, and if he pins you then it’s over. If you plan to incapacitate him–it’ll need to be an ambush. It’ll need to be quick. You store the thought away for later. You’re not going to ambush him in the storm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snowstorm starts to ease, and he’s forced to admit that your plan to torch the snowmobile might’ve saved them. There’s a chance that the weather made it impossible for the helicopter to keep pursuing. However, he won’t know until sunrise. Either he’ll have Petrivoch’s men on his ass or it’ll be smooth from the safe house to the border. He prepares himself for the worst. Petrovich isn’t a man who gives up easily. Price’s file on him was stacked. Although most of the intel you gathered undercover was on a need-to-know basis, he knew the man was powerful, controlling, and deranged. A dangerous cocktail. It gives him all the more reason to wonder if you’ve been broken and brainwashed by Petrovich. But the thought holds little water. Your behavior has been motivated by survival. You handled yourself with extreme grace and brutality in the church. Price said you were good. He didn’t realize you were that good. The takedown of your target was effortless and clean. A thing of beauty, really. You function well under pressure. And you smile often for a woman trained to be a covert assassin. You’re nothing like he expected.

He announces, “we’ll take a break here.”

He watches you drink from your canteen. Your face glistens with sweat before you wrap yourself back up in your scarf and hat. You pack your canteen with snow and store it away, but he notices your hand flinch near your knife, the brief tenseness of your shoulders. He scans the darkness for threats. He meets your eyes with an unspoken question.

Your breath fogs in front of your mouth, hazy, obscuring your gaze from his for a moment. When the mist passes, your eyes are cold and narrowed, and you look like you want to skin him alive.

“I didn’t give Lev everything.”

His brow furrows, “what’re you telling me for? I’m not your superior officer.”

Your gaze softens imperceptibly.

“Someone ought to know in case Petrovich is still hunting me.”

“You don’t need to bargain your worth to me, she-wolf.” He says plainly. “I’ve got my orders.” He’s not sure what game you’re playing. And he doesn’t rightly care. Once you’re across the border, you’re someone else’s problem. Whatever intel you have, or don’t have, it doesn’t concern him. His only concern is making it out of this tundra with you alive. You adjust the straps on your backpack and nod, signaling with your hand that you’re ready to move.

The blue-black sky lightens, and stars fade from view. Tiny, blackbirds flit through the air. The terrain flattens. He recognizes this location from the map. The safe house is over the hill. It was a less straightforward route than if he had the snowmobile, but at least you��ve made it. He keeps checking your six–part of his job–and scanning the open sky for threats. The snow crunches underfoot.

He says, “we’re almost there. Come on.” He jogs ahead.

Something cracks under his foot. He spins, looking for you, and discovers you’re a few paces behind. Your arms and legs are spread akimbo and when you meet his eyes, there is controlled panic, and he can practically hear the gears turning within your mind.

“We’re on the lake.” You exclaim like it’s a brilliant revelation. “I remember seeing it on the map!”

The storm must’ve covered it. Fucking hell!

“There’s a USB in here.” You strip your backpack from your body and slide it easily across the hidden ice. “It’s more important than I am.”

Another crack reverberates beneath him. He’s hyper-aware of his size and the dangerous risk of getting wet at this temperature.

“What’re you doing?” He beckons with his hand while lowering his body, “this way!”

“Yeah, yeah, working on it.” You take a tentative step forward. Despite the logical distance, it feels like a chasm has split you from him.

“You need to get low.” He’s on his stomach on the ice and the next crack vibrates beneath his gut. “Spread out your weight.”

You nod. You start to crouch, but lady luck isn’t on your side. The ice ruptures. The crash, your yelp of alarm, and the splash of cold water are like a pike driving through his eardrums. He army-crawls toward your flailing arms. Your gloves scramble for purchase on the flat, slick ice as your head disappears underwater. Ghost unintentionally shouts your name.

He grabs you, pulling you up. You sputter and gasp, water saturating your scarf that’s peeled partially away from your face, and revealing your wild, stricken eyes.

“I’ve got ya.” He says, “I’ve got you.”

You cling to him and kick your legs underwater while he lifts you out of the ice trap. Your shivering body crawls across the ice alongside him, though he tracks your sluggish movements and rapid breath. He needs to get you to shelter immediately. The second you’re clear of the lake, he crowds you into his arms and lifts you in a fireman's carry.

You protest weakly through chattering teeth, “I can walk.”

“This is faster.”

He trudges up the short, small hill while carrying you and both backpacks. The sight of the safe house is like fucking salvation. It’s a squat, modest little wooden cabin. He can spot a chimney sticking up from the roof. If it doesn’t have wood, then he’ll start burning furniture. He needs to get you warm before you drop into severe hypothermia. The cold wind cuts across the air like a cruel cosmic joke. Draped across his shoulders, he can practically feel your desperate, galloping heart against his back.

“Stay awake.” He commands, voice brusque and sharp.

“Aye, sir.” You mumble.

“That doesn’t sound awake to me.”

“Fuck you.” You say this time, with more emphasis, more feeling.

He grumbles. “Atta girl.”

He shoves open the front door with his shoulder, kicking it closed, and deposits you in front of the cold, empty fireplace. You’re trembling worse than earlier, but you’re lucid. You tug your wet scarf off of your face and struggle to unlace your boots. Unfortunately, there are no logs beside the fireplace. He huffs. Plan B then. The cabin is a single, large room with the kitchen and sitting area sharing the space and a door that presumably leads to the bedroom or bathroom.

Ghost grabs one of the wooden stools and uses his tactical knife to hack a small divot in the wood so he can snap it with his foot. He breaks the stool into pieces, shoves them into the mouth of the fireplace, and starts the fire with his emergency fire starter kit. He shoots a glance over his shoulder to you. You’ve managed to get your boots and socks off, though the rest of your clothing appears to be a challenge.

Ghost shoves your trembling hands out of the way. He yanks your zipper down.

“O-oy!” You shout with surprise and indignation.

He says, “arms.”

You relax your shoulders, and he tugs the heavy coat off your body. Wordlessly, you lift your shaking arms, and he pulls the drenched mess of your sweater over your head. Your shirt and tank top comes next, then your sports bra, until you're naked from the waist up in front of him.

Your toned stomach muscles clench. A mapping of scars decorates your skin like battle trophies. If this was any other moment–he might’ve taken a second to appreciate the solidness of your form, the shape of your tits, the honed lethality of your biceps and forearms and stomach. There’s nothing waifish or delicate about you. You’re a weapon of flesh and muscle and hot blood. Your eyes focus on some spot behind him, and the firelight reflects and shifts in the depths of your dark pupils.

You lift your hips and (with his help) drag your soaked pants and underwear off your body. He does not think about your thighs or your calves. He removes a blanket from his bag and drapes it across your legs. The key to overcoming hypothermia is gradually warming the body. He strips himself of everything but his mask and underwear and sits behind you–bracing his knees around your legs and caging you with his body heat. He shucks his gloves off and gently rubs his palms along your freezing arms. The fire crackles before you. The knobs of your spine and the curve of your shoulder blades press lightly into the planes of his naked, muscled chest. You’re weirdly quiet.

“No cheeky comment?” says Ghost.

You blurt, “Lev’s the traitor.”

Ghost blinks.

“Enlighten me.”

“You saved me, not the USB.”

“USB means fuck-all to me. I don’t want you dead, she-wolf.”

You laugh weakly. A full-body tremor wrecks through you. He can feel it across his entire chest and straight to his groin with how he’s got you melded into him. His hands slow. He can feel each individual ridge of the scars on your arms. He can feel the fine, thin hair along your forearms. Your wrist bones and knuckles are the only fine-boned, delicate piece of you that he can touch. He glances down at the sleek musculature of where your neck meets your shoulder.

Unless he chops more furniture, the fire isn’t going to last long, but it should be enough to get you stable. That’s all that matters.

~~~~~~~

Between the fire raging in front of you and Ghosts’ solid heat at your back–your skin tingles as it regulates temperature and your circulation returns. Your eyes drink in the muscles of his thick thighs, braced on each side of you, and the peek you get of his black-and-white tattoo when his arms move. He hasn’t stopped touching you. His hands travel up and down your arms, to your wrists, and shoulders. How come you never noticed how big his hands were? A flush of warmth burns at the nape of your neck. You feel like you’re being surrounded by a large, jungle cat. And it’s tempting to close your eyes and melt into his warmth. You’re at the safe house. You’re almost home. It wouldn’t be so terrible to sleep, would it? Ghost would keep watch. He’d look out for you.

“Talk.” Ghost orders. “You’ve gotta stay awake.”

“About what?”

“I don’t care.” He huffs. His voice is warmer, as close as you are, and it drips like honey and vibrates across your back.

“I memorized names in the graveyard to keep sane.” You say, surprising yourself with the confession, your secret little game. “I can recite those.”

“Do it then.”

You stare into the flames until your eyes start to water and repeat their names. They were your first ghosts before you met this one. You numbly scratch at one of your scars. You repeat the names again. Ghost isn’t rubbing your arms, but he’s still touching you. His large, calloused palms have settled. One is on your hip, the other is clutching your shoulder and that arm squishes into your breasts. Your back is snug against the hard, muscled planes of his chest. He’s holding you?! You’re not sure why this realization comes as such a surprise. He’s sharing his body heat. There’s nothing tender or romantic about it. You’re his mission. Yet, this is the first time in three years that you’ve allowed non-transactional physical contact. Usually, if someone touched you, it was because they wanted something (or you were manipulating them to get what you wanted). Ghost’s motive isn’t ulterior. It’s transparent. He wants your continued survival. That’s it.

“You got quiet again, she-wolf.” He says with a breathy edge to his tone. “Better not have fallen asleep on me.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m awake.”

To add to your point, you wiggle your toes beneath the blanket. At least, you no longer feel like an ice popsicle, but you selfishly want to stay here–in the warmth, muscled solidness of Ghosts’ body. You close your eyes momentarily and try to absorb this moment into the fibers of your being, your essence, and your bloodstream so you can remember it on the cold, lonely nights ahead. Ghost’s breathing deepens. You only notice because of the proximity of his ribs to yours. His thumb glides along the raised bumpy edge of a scar near the end of your clavicle bone.

You say slowly, “that one was from Petrovich.”

If he wasn’t wearing the mask, you would feel his breath on your skin. His touch withdraws. He rests his palm on your forehead, checking your temperature before his hand glides below your jaw and registers your pulse with two fingers. Everything he’s doing is clinical and tied to survival. Yet, that doesn’t explain the slowness of his movements. It doesn’t explain why his touch lingers below your chin. Your pulse jolts and your breath hitches. His chest rumbles against your back in a low, deep hum.

“We need to change our route.” You say with Ghost’s thumb and two forefingers loosely wrapped around your throat. “Lev betrayed me. And he knows my exit plan. We need to find an alternative to the border.”

Ghost says, “then we better move before we waste any more daylight.”

His hand recedes from your jaw, and you are bereft of its soft pressure and warmth. Ghost stands up. And you twist your spine, drawing the blanket over your chest, and allow yourself the very selfish and human privilege to see him half-naked. As expected, he’s a fucking massive specimen of virility. You bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of his broad muscled chest, his strong biceps, veiny forearms, and capable hands, the cut of his v-line into his waistband, and the trail of dark hair that travels down from his belly button. Your eyebrows lift in surprise and appreciation. You don’t mind the mask hiding his face because his body is fucking spectacular.

He pulls his shirt over his head. You watch unashamedly at the play of muscles as they ripple across his chest and flex. The low-burning fire snaps loudly and sends a flurry of sparks up the chimney.

“Careful,” His eyes spark behind the mask, “you’ll drool on my nice blanket.” His tone brightens with gentle teasing. Somehow, the sound of his voice like that, deep and teasing, is hotter than the sight of his abs.

You smirk. “See, I thought you were cute until you got cocky about it.”

He scoffs. “Cute?”

Ohh, you found a little nerve. How delicious.

“Cute.” You affirm and say no more. You dig through your backpack and procure your last set of clothes. There’s no room for shyness or modesty in an active combat situation. Sure, no one is shooting at you. But that reality can change real fast. You shimmy your underwear and pants over your hips and quickly pull your bra over your head like the house is on fire. You feel Ghosts’ gaze on you. And it blazes like a hot brand across your skin. Forget the fire, the shared body heat, the blanket, all you need is a few seconds of Ghosts’ undivided attention, and you are burning up.

“Here, take this.” You underhand toss the USB to Ghost. He catches it effortlessly.

“Why?”

“In case you fail your mission, I don’t want to fail mine.” You open the closet door and pull a mothball, musty-smelling coat from the hanger. Your clothes drying in front of the fire need a few more hours before they’re wearable. Those are hours you don’t have.

“Lost faith in me already, have you?” says Ghost.

It’s your turn to scoff. “Hardly.” You level him with a serious gaze, “I’m trusting you with it, Ghost.”

He says, “Riley.”

“What?”

“My name. Simon Riley.”

Your heart stutters inside your chest. You weren’t expecting him to give you anything in return, let alone his name.

“Okay, Simon.” You smile tentatively, “let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #reader insert #simon ghost riley reader insert #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x reader #fic: cold hands warm heart

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hornystiel · 2 years ago

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ok ok i was tagged by @chapeldean @faithdeann and @pointyearedelvishprincling (thank you for tagging me lovelies!) so i might as well do it already haha

rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to get to know better.

name: svetlana or just lana

star sign: aquarius

height: 156 cm/ 5'1 ft

time: 14:32

birthday: february 6th

favourite bands/artists: ghost, hozier, scorpions, lord huron, phoebe bridgers, radio company (yea), порнофильмы, ic3peak

last movie: bring it on. yay for cheerleaders

last show: banshee. oooff this one is great.

when did i create this blog: yesterday was 9 years since i created it :)))) i'm old

what I post: destiel, spn, bits and pieces of other interests (art, architecture, games, languages, nature etc)

last thing i googled: the haserot angel

other blogs: nope we post everything on here and die like men

do I get asks: sometimes and i'm extremely happy every time

following: 167

average hours of sleep: 6-8

instruments: can't

what im wearing: tshirt with bunnies doing three wise monkeys thing, grey lounge pants with barbie logos

dream job: at this point i don't even know but smth that'll combine the quiet moments and me being the center of attention lmao. idk maybe at some museum in a pretty city because i love art in any form and know how to get people interested in listening to me

dream trip: painful subject since i dunno if now it'd be possible at all but since we're talking about dreams? european cities (sweden esp because sana and ireland because mel and aoife <3) and new zealand. here in russia every time i visit st petersburg is my dream trip :')

nationality: russian

last book i've read: ok ok i suck at reading books these days so i'll just say i was rereading Carnival Oasis AND finally read Death by Stereo by aoife! (i'll give the feedback later but for now it's AAAAA)

top 3 fictional universes i'd like to live in: middle earth (lotr my beloved i also want to marry both eowyn and eomer don't judge), star trek (space and the ability to fuck with government more), studio ghibli verse (i can't chose a movie i just want to be there, travel, eat pretty food and get a (relatively) happy ending)

tagging (no pressure at all i think most of you have already done it <3)

@sobernatural @caskarass @emeraldcas @marlborocas @hexbait @limbel @blanket-cas @dualityofcastiel @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @theyarebothgunshot @achillestiel @goatiel @faithdeans @demonlandline @florenzim

#about #tagged

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

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Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acosf countdown #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #a court of mist and fury

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lesbian-deadpool · 4 years ago

Text

New Surroundings

Part Two Of Two: “Glad To Be Home.”

Part One

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,975

Warnings: Lil bit of sadness + grief, talks of brainwashing, flashbacks. It’s pretty much just fluff.

Request: Yes! For anon for donating to BLM!! Thank you so much!

Summary: Maybe you can restart.

A/N: Idk. I thought this was p good.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Booming laughter surrounded the space around you.

Peter had run up to where you "fell", asking worryingly, if you were okay. Along with Natasha. As you slowly sat up.

The spider's panic soon turned into relived chuckles, joining you in laughing at the situation.

With a few deep breaths, your laughter died down, allowing you to gaze up at the joyous red-head above you.

***

Natasha hovered over you, her cheeks visibly hurting, thanks to the smile you had put on her face. Her eyes closed with how hard she was laughing.

She had to be the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

She was.

She was swaying side to side, arms struggling to hold her weight, while those beautiful sounds flowed from her mouth.

Unable to handle it anymore, Natasha flopped down beside you on the cushiony bed. Covering her face with her hands, as the giggles still poured out of her.

"Are you-?"

"We were supposed to be having sex!" she managed to get out, making you laugh yourself. "But you had to go and say that!"

Chuckling harder still, you reached over and grabbed Natasha's hand. The Russian taking initiative and threading your fingers together.

You turned your head to the side, watching your girlfriend pant away.

The only things going through your mind at that moment being:

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

You couldn't wait to laugh with her for the rest of your lives.

***

The sun shone in her bright auburn hair, green eyes twinkling in happiness.

She had your entire attention.

Natasha saw the way you were looking at her, with a smile on her face, she cocked her head and softly asked, "What?"

You shrugged.

"You're stunning."

And she only got mere beautiful, if that was even possible, with the light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"Really? Well-"

"Uh, guys?" Peter waved. "I'm still here."

You chuckled at the teenage boy's words, turning to face him, as you pushed yourself up from the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," you said, ruffling his hair, "Don't worry. You're pretty, too."

"Really?" Peter asked hopeful, while you and Natasha laughed softly.

"Yes, Peter," She nodded, patting his shoulder in assurance. "You're very pretty."

The smile that took over the boys face was full of joy and stayed that way as you lead the way back into the compound.

***

It was a few months later when the next memory like that rocketed into your mind.

You were busy cooking in the compound kitchen. Just some simple burgers for you and Peter.

The others could feed themselves.

You would have made Natasha one if she hadn't been out on a mission for the past month.

Peter was drolling on about his homework, it boring him beyond belief. Nodding along to his words, hoping to find something that could help him.

Then it hit you.

***

The streets of New York were relatively calm, considering the time of day. And you were enjoying your quiet stroll, with Natasha by your side.

The red-head was talking animatedly about a story of Clint accidentally rolling off of the roof of his farmhouse, and almost giving Laura a heart attack.

You couldn't take your eyes off of her lips.

The way she smiled as she spoke about her best friend.

You swooned at every little giggle she made. You couldn't believe how much you were acting like a schoolchild, with a silly crush.

But you just couldn't help it.

Natasha had some sort of spell over you.

And here you thought that Wanda was the witch of the team.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?" you asked, shaking yourself out of the daze she had you in. "What's up?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uhh... yeah! Clint thought Laura had gone into labour, with how much she was screaming."

"Y/N," she said blankly, "I said that five minutes ago."

"Oh..."

"What were you thinking about?" Natasha asked with a smile.

"Um. Nothing."

"What were you thinking about?" she repeated, pushing your shoulder gently, still making you momentarily step to the side though.

"Nothing," you insisted.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. C'mon! Just tell me! I won't say anything to anyone, you have my word."

You said nothing, only shaking your head with a smile, and moving your eyes to look up at the sky. To avoid looking at the persistent Russian, now walking backwards in front of you. As she held onto your arms.

"Y/N, please!"

"Oh my, God. Are you begging? Do you really hate being out of the loop that much?"

"There's a loop? Who else knows?"

"No one, Natasha!" you laughed.

"Then what is it?!" she exclaimed happily, "Just tell me. I'll get it out of you, and you know I will. So, you might as well just tell me now."

Natasha stopped you in your place, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

You sighed, knowing what she said to be true.

So, you told her.

"I was thinking about you."

"Me?" she wondered, "What about me?"

Shrugging, you continued, "I was thinking about how cute you were, and how much I loved seeing you smile. I was thinking about how you have reduced me into a school kid with this overwhelming crush I have on you. Literally, everything you do or say makes me swoon, and think "how can someone be so perfect?", Natasha."

Natasha gasped as you spoke, looking into your eyes with this soft wondrous look, that you hoped you were reading right.

"I was thinking how much I wanted to kiss you. And maybe one day be lucky enough to love yo-"

You were cut off by Natasha grabbing onto your shirt with one hand, and bulling you down into a bruising kiss. Her other hand finding its way in between the strands of your hair. As yours flew down to her waist, pulling her in closer.

Yeah...

That was a pretty amazing first kiss.

***

"Why is Spanish so hard?"

You were brought back into the present by Peter's words. Looking down, no longer cooking the burgers, now in the middle of assembling the burgers.

Well, at least you were still productive as you had a flashback.

You just hoped you hadn't missed much that the kid had said.

"I don't know, kid," you said, glancing over your shoulder, "Maybe it's because you're trying to learn a whole other language."

"Yeah..." he said, almost bashfully.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Placing his meal in front of him, you placed your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Pushing him gently. "These things take time. I just wish I could be more help."

"It's not your fault," he said through a mouth full of food. "I'm glad you're here to help me. I just wish that Miss Romanoff was here, she's really good at languages."

And it was then that you were harshly reminded.

Natasha wouldn't be back for another five months.

"Yeah. So do I."

***

Raindrops splatted down upon your leather-clad shoulders. The weather wasn't so bad, just gloomy and drizzling, the perfect setting for your current situation.

Staring at your old friend's gravestone.

Daniel Petersburg.

"I'm so sorry, Dan. I'm sorry that I wasn't there. I'm sorry I wasn't at your funeral."

I'm sorry that I can't remember you since the army.

You knew that it wasn't your fault. Not really. It wasn't your choice to get captured and tortured so much that you couldn't remember the last eleven years. Your mind was a dark cavern when you thought about those years.

"And I'm so fucking sorry that I haven't come to see you sooner."

"He forgives you." You looked over your shoulder, to see the person who spoke softly to you. Smiling easily at the red-head. "He was like your brother, of course, he forgives you. He wouldn't even want your apology."

"I know," you said, taking one last glance at his grave. Before you turned to face Natasha, "So, you're finally back then."

"Why? You miss me Y/L/N?" she asked, with a teasing smirk.

"Of course I did," you said sincerely, "I... I've remembered some things since you've been gone."

"Really? Like what?"

"Many things." You took a step closer to her. Gazing into her emerald green eyes, feeling like your soul was pouring into those iris'. And you couldn't find it in you to care. If, that be the case. She could have your soul. It was hers. It always has been, always will be. Just like your heart. "I remembered the team, how I did basically adopt Peter."

Natasha laughed shortly at that.

"But mostly. Mostly I remembered you."

"Me?" she asked, hopefully.

"Of course you. I remember our first kiss. The time we almost froze our asses off, when Tony accidentally locked us out of the tower. Almost all of our anniversaries. Our first Christmas, together. The dreaded fight of '15 that made us break up, for a few months. I remember how much I missed you during them... but none of that compares to how much I missed you when I was on that mission," you list off, enjoying Natasha's reactions as you did.

"You remember the mission?"

"Yes- Well, some of it. There's still so much of my life that I need to remember." You looked up into the dull sky, watching as the gloomy clouds slowly made their way from above you, revealing the calm blue sky in its wake. "There were maybe two years, where I remembered everything. Or almost everything."

You took a deep, calming breath, before continuing, "During those two years, they tried to brainwash me, but it didn't stick. They're persistent bastards I'll give you that. Throughout those two years, I remembered every day. The pain. The way that my mind felt like it was slowly melting. Like fucking ice cream. But the thing that made me hold on as long as I did- That made my mind hold on," you corrected, "Was you."

Natasha's eyes were swimming with tears as you spoke. A few threatening to spill overboard, with your last statement.

"Every day- Every fucking second, I thought of you. You were like my lifeline. I lived through every moment of our lives together. The good. The bad. All of it. Over and over again."

The grass underfoot squelched lightly as you took another step towards her. Now close enough that you could reach out slightly and take her hand in yours.

Which is exactly what you did.

"You kept me alive."

Your heart broke when Natasha sobbed out softly. Squeezing her hand in yours, as she wiped away her falling tears.

But still, she let you carry on. Sensing that you weren't finished yet.

"Now, as I said before, I don't remember everything. Hell, most of it's still dark. But, I do remember how you made me feel. How much I loved you." You took her other hand, and pulled her even closer to your body, barely a few inches between the two of you now. "I can't promise you that I'll remember everything any time soon. I can't promise that I'll ever remember everything. But if you'll have me. I'd like to be in love with you again. Like basically hitting the restart button, while I watch the memories of my life play along with it."

You both got a little chuckle out of your analogy.

"So, what do you say?"

"I think you're delusional if you thought I would ever say no," Natasha replied, wrapping her arms around your neck, and pulling you into your first kiss, for almost seven years.

Love flowed through your heart and soul, spreading into every crevice of your being.

With that kiss, you thought only one thing.

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

***

Permanent Tag List:

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU #fics for BLM

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jealousofthetea · 4 years ago

Text

St Petersburg (late)

This is a pretty Serious episode - very high stakes, Arthur is upset and stressed which is an unacceptable state of affairs.

PS If you haven’t already read John Finnemore’s Farewell Bear Facts for this and the other episodes (or if, like me, you last read them in 2014 when they were posted) then you should check them out! Here (x) is the entry for St Petersburg, you’ll see the others in the sidebar. Also here (x) is the post he made when it first aired.

Anyway, as he says in the Farewell Bear Fact - how Douglas and Martin react to the goose strike is soooo different from how it would have been a series or two earlier. Douglas trusts Martin when he says he can handle the landing - and is right to do so, because Martin doesn’t panic and in fact does a great job! And also Martin didn’t take offence at Douglas’s offer to take over, with its clear implication of ‘because I’m a better pilot.’ Growth! As individuals and of the relationship! We love to see it.

- A nice hot cup of coffee mug is a thing that exists, right? Presumably?

- Tbh I had never given much thought to the experience of Carolyn and Arthur during the goose strike and emergency landing until reading @sircarolyn‘s post just now but god. A real bad time for everyone huh! And then. AND THEN! They have to deal with (what they think is going to be) the end of their company, AND they have to sell the plane to - and just generally talk to and be around - fucking Gordon Shappey. Whom I assume everyone begins wanting to murder as soon as they first hear Arthur’s reaction to hearing he’s coming.

- “Douglas will sort it out. He’ll think of something clever, like he always does.” I think it would terrify me to have someone with that much faith in my abilities. Especially at a time when I didn’t have a solution to the current problem. Also, I enjoy the meta level of John Finnemore being the one to say these lines like “don’t worry. We all know how this show works by now.”

- “Obviously everyone’s br- ...no, he’s not brilliant!” and then [panicking noises], “I’ve never seen him like that.” >>>>:( - that’s me looking at Gordon Shappey.

- Free lunch for the hero pilots! But not like, a good lunch.

- Ah, Arthur’s accents. Those and his cooking, both legendary. Martin knows doesn’t know about football but he DOES know about cricket. Because *I* don’t know anything at all about cricket, idk if knowing the names, ages, and...retirement statuses(?) of the two cricketers mentioned is basic or advanced cricket knowledge?

- Gordon stops pretending to be nice and reasonable... I don’t think we knew before this why Douglas left Air England, did we?

- Douglas is going to do something clever and save the day after all! Love him refusing to tell them what’s happening, just making them trail after him, going “ask yourself why”.... Loser. Loves to be dramatic.

- “Do you find you have rather sticky fingers?” This whole sequence of the three of them enacting their plan and taking him down is GREAT. Call backs to Arthur at the beginning and to the gin <3

- “There you are then. Exactly what I said all along.” aka “I know what I’m doing, guys. This is a sitcom!”

What a good episode.

#cabin pressure #fandot listenalong 2020 #m

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delicatebluebirdruins · 4 years ago

Text

Shadow and Bone

This will contain spoilers (duh) some names being forgotten and its going to get long and some context less chaos

I hope i got the image ids right

Episode one (23rd April)

- ahh so the Fold= Dark Island form VoDT but with less summoning of monsters?

ID: Ben Barnes holding onto the wheel of a boat

- Many smol beans

Brief interlude with Nausicaa Valley of the Wind

Episode 1 cont. up to midway episode 7 (24th)

- magical brown trouser time my good sir

- buddies!!

- they’re not going to leave Alina alone to her existential crisis are they?

That tent looks like a circus tent to me and I have no idea why

- hmm hello completely innocent fallen branch

me: turns to sis and asks if we can we take brief intermission for this headbanger (which we did)

Turns out our brief intermission for the song was useless because after pressing play again it started buffering

we were talking about it and Dad misheard it as shaggy bone

Imagine the darkling but in pastels and black lace

- how the flipping heck can you fake bleeding light

- do you want to get lost Alina?

On Ben Barnes beard: 50% hot damn and 50% fight me (the way he tilts his head in this makes us want to hit him in the jugular)

Episode 3

- ooh look at the stag

- i love the bathroom

- damn Nina

- I wish Alina had time to get some magic tips but oh well

- replays Ben Barnes saying Moya Tsarieta twice

- how?! (Look I told you there was going to be bits where the context is tricky to pin point)

- i love the goat

- oh Jesper

- blue and gold is a great colour combination

- about the dinner scene: if this were me it would be the very rare time I stand up for myself

+ I want to add a small thing about the food taster... one is dream job/ i like him/ and imagine a taster eating something and it goes down the wrong way

- yes Jesper hug the goat- and

ID: a man with his thumb up gif from The Hunger Games; with him saying “nice shooting sweetheart” but I couldn’t find a gif of him saying it

- true north? I am never going to be free of bellarke am I?

- oh that hurts

Episode 4

- “our saint has arrived to late” 🤧

- ohh the stag is so pretty

- horses!!!

- time for a heist- i love this goat

- aww wishing fountain bonding

- the darking is growing on me

- i love Mikhail and Dubrov

- I love what we get to see of Nadia and Marie and Kaz and Inej and Jesper and basically everyone

- i love a heist (this isnwhat the hobbit should of been but you know with more dragons

- Mal is baby

- poor Nina

- ah ha a vicious cycle against the Grisha and Fjerdan

- I thought Arkens reaction was a bit odd

- oh Alina sweet heart- flashback time

- the map room is a aesthetic- using Aleksanders own words against him

That shot of the two of them is great

- poor Alina

- yas queen

- oh the stag!

- oh the machine gun; Mal poor buddy and of course flashback time

- i knew she was going to get the scar removed

Episode 5

- poor Mal

- Nadia is me

- Genya is amazing

- hi David and great minds think alike Alina (i had the same expression on my face when they were flirting)

- oh the creepy masks had a purpose

- “you’re not Ivan” you don’t say

- aand height difference... this first kiss is kind of weird to me

- oh Jesper you flirt

- I’m sorry firey people you’re going to be outshined

- Inej is so beautiful

- Dima?!?!

ID: two people from a scene in the Anastasia Musical the song My Petersburg

- what is the librarians dudes problem?

- Genya you badass... poor Marie (does Alina learn about this?? It would probably be forgotten just like her causing the death of her fellow mapmakers)

- I love the costumes

- Tofin (Idk his name) we don’t know you sorry you’re dead

- oh the kissing

ID: a gif showing two people kissing

- and him giving her the flowers is kind of cute but where did they come from?

- *pinched nose* I hate cryptic messages Baghra... holy shit... i mean I kinda knew he was immortal but still holy shit

- oh Kaz... Inej! Collect your bloody knives

- *snorting* The crows being sent to kidnap Alina and Jesper just watching her climb into the getaway carriage will always be hysterical (i personally would be laughing and thats why anything involving stealth is off the cards for me)

Episode 6

- rest in pieces Arken

- Alina broke Inej

- I love Ivan (remember the thing i said about forgetting names/ getting them mixed up? This is it.. I love Feydor a lot more than Ivan but they are both so cute together)

- my heart will go on starts playing?

- i like that horse statue in the background

- i love the beach... look at those waves... the wet look is great

- you done mess up Alina but also cool

- Mal is burly squid

- “burly squid” wheezing nosies

- now hug

- Kaz I love the cane

- “I see you now” aww

- I knew they were going to snuggle... those cute laughs

- the alarm clock though... i knew Inej should have taken the knife... i love Jesper... poor Inej... clever boy Kaz

- does it hurt? Mal? Does it hurt?

I have a habit at picking at things that hurt and well fictional characters aren’t safe from me wanting to poke something painful

- ride OR die bitches

- aand more height differences... getting very close there guys... Matthias please don’t let her fall.... they are kind of cute

- David through a book... 😂 they carriage jacked the Darkling

- David raising his hand is me... but damn it

- Alina is amazing... please remember you’re wearing the ring... Mal is best boy

- “adorable” snorting noises

Episode 7

- horsey!!!

- ahh the return of the VoDT hair (see first gif)

- Luda is familiar...

- yikes

- poor Aleksander being turned into a pincushion is not a great time

- poor Luda

- holy shit

- rock and hard place

- fuck off Baghra

- he wanted to help 😔

- ah so its like the hollow from Charmed

Image ID: gif from the og Charmed with text saying “ohhh she’s a demon!”

- this shot is beautiful... ah so I guess this could have been what happened if Caspian resurrected the White Witch... i guess

- hi stag.... oh okay 😔 poor Stag poor Mal

Flashbacks to Cinderella and Snow White (the one with Krisien Sterwart) natually it follows along with Snow White

- *squishie noises* poor Jesper... we love you Jesper but please stop talking to Inej just in case she sews her finger to the wound

- i love the crows and i love the chat about the crows

Buffers

The next day (25th) episode continued

- David looks so sad

- personally I would downsize the fold just as reminder of it

- that looks like that hurt

- I love Milo and Jesper 💖

- don’t look at it Alina... Genya is right that colour is horrible... tell her off Alina... poor Genya

- I think Jesper had fun playing a guard

- I knew the Darkling read the letters

Sister: why does he look like Tom Ellis right now?

- oh Mal

- blow dart... lol Kaz

- Milo!?! Oh the bullet you clever boy Mal

- i like the tent... he’s not wrong... we want to play with that dangly bit... oh the angst

- I thought you looked older (idk context)

- I love the outfit but couldn’t the necklace be anywhere else?

- “no mourners no funerals”

- I love the music

Episode 8

- I don’t trust that opening

- me too Crows, me to... how could you not know who Milo is

- I love Nina and Matthias so much... they are so pretty... I am not a fan of taxidermy... oh his name is Feydor sorry we kept getting you mixed up

- God damnit Kirigan.. a not so sneaky Mal... the honorary Crow... pick a side already darkling... Sun Queen?... did anybody notice her being tied down?... Good Mal and good Inej

- Jesper is amazing... so much death... bad bitch Zoya... I love Inej kissing the knife and nailing the Darkling with it... head shot... hello buddy??... this music though... badass Alina... fucking Ivan... holy shit and of course music is amazing

+ brave Kaz

- Inej and Alina bonding time... hugs? No hugs ☹️

- he offered her his hand 😞... Inej wants to hug... finally some hugs... Zoya has grown on me... i love Kanej (is that the ship name)

- Matthias oh no buddy... hill house flashbacks

- i love Jesper so much... Nina going “someone say heartrender??”

Image ID: someone turning around and raising eyebrows at camera

- Kaz saying “she’s a saint” made my heart happy

- I doubt the Darkling is dead...... i was right

- well shit/ coolness of making shadow monsters follow you (please let there be a flashback for this)

Bonus

+ imagine of Matthias and Nina decide to sleep rather than get food and were caught cuddling by the Grisha... I thought of this as I was getting into bed that night and i got up ran to my sister told her my thought she found the idea funny then went back to bed

+ people who own trains are evil?? Looks at snowpiercer

Bonus: the soundtrack is on spotify and itunes

Image id: someone bobbing along with headphones on

#shadow and bone netflix #ellie watches #spoilers #long post

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leeenuu · 4 years ago

Note

What do you think will happen if there is (hopefully) a series 3 for detective anna? hopefully, Anna and Yakov will finally get their happy ending :)))

i find it very hilarious that u are asking me this bc i rarely understood what is going on this season. dude i know only one thing and that is that i don’t know anything. and that is with every show that i watch. my thoughts are like 75% clowning and 25% swearing. 😂😂 but i'll try to guess, tho i'm pretty sure none of this is actually gonna happen.

1) anna’s relative (tatyana, i think was her name?) who had a brief encounter with anton will stick around after anna’s kidnapping to help the rest of the fam and thus, having more chance meetings with anton. i’m pretty sure they’re gonna have a love line but i hope anton is not gonna rush into it, like with polina and we all know how that ended. (tho the hypothetical progress of this relationship depends on the time jump which i'm pretty sure is gonna happen)

2) yakov is gonna be hella depressed but also very determined to find anna. i mean, the man basically waited five years to see anna again, he definitely is gonna do everything he can to find his love of his life. but being so focused on anna's search, he forgets to take care of himself, so anna's fam makes sure he's ok and basically adopting him into the family. (that last one is a personal preference bc i rlly love anna's fam and yakov's scenes)

3) anna is most probably gonna be pregnant bc i'm certain that they were resting quite a lot b4 the wedding and if it didn't happen last season, then it has to happen now but then again, this is a scripted show with its own logic. i don't know how long the time jump is gonna be. personally, i would like the time jump to be very smol, say like a couple of weeks bc i don't want my sweet summer child to be with that fckin bitch for very long. tho there's always a possibility that is gonna be like a year so anna has a baby to look after and mb skryabin has her convinced that it's their child or whatever?

tbh, i didn't understand the whole "guillaume" thing (or i didn't try to understand xd). but i got that skryabin believes in catharism and the almighty wikipedia told me that cathars didn't get married, tried to avoid getting children and that to escape this evil world, they killed themselves. so basically i have no idea what "guillaume" might do.

also idk where they could be, definitely not in zatonsk. like are they gonna go abroad, to france? (the show def has no budget to film abroad and we're in a pandemic but if it's a countryside filming, then they can do it at home)

also (2) if anna is gonna rescued, then either skryabin escapes (thus becoming the big bad of the season, just lurking in the shadows) or is gonna get his brain blown out and that means we need a new villain to ruin anna and yakov's happiness. or skryabin could hypnotise anna to forget yakov and her family, so the season is basically anna trying to remember her memories. honestly, the opportunities are endless. but the sooner anna is rescued the better. i don't want no rapey stuff, writers, so jot that down.

4) when anna and yakov finally get reunited, i think they're gonna get married as soon as possible and this time they're gonna have a bit smaller wedding, like in a chapel.

also, since i didn't watch the final on yt (which means no autosubs), did yakov get a divorce from nina or did he get free bc nina "died"? if he didn't get a divorce, then the wedding is gonna be on hold once again. but i think that won't stop them from living together bc originally they were planning to go to paris together.

5) i'm pretty sure nina will pop up again. most probably trying to kidnap her son but honestly i rlly-rlly want her to rescue anna. like just give me this pls, after rescuing her, she can go back to being her good old bitchy self again.

now for the troubling thought. i tried to enhance that newspaper that nina had, just so i could have a understanding what month it is and this is what i got with my nonexistent photoshop skills:

look at that red box. the first half i couldn't read out but the second part i read out "1896 года". s2 began in spring 1894 and ended somewhere at the end of 1894/the beginning of 1895 so that paper would suggest that anna has been missing for a year. but i find it highly unlikely bc why would a st. petersburg paper talk abt it after a year and it's the cover story as well and the article title is something like "zatonsk's drama in the house of writer mironova". if anna was missing for a year, i think the title would be different. or ofc maria could've written a story abt it (but i think not). then again, i could've photoshoped it too much so that to me it seems like 1896.

anyways, thanks for the ask <33

#detective anna #анна-детективъ #answered

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tavi-hayes · 5 years ago

Text

practice challenge ~ journey to the palace

((whoopwhoop, idk how i managed to write this (given it’s quite long and i usually never ever write stuff this long) also please excuse me again for any spelling/grammar errors i try. alsoooo thanks to these wonderful girls: Bethia @h-hart, Kat @clara-choii and Pia @brookelynnsanders!))

It was silent at work today. The only sounds were the flipping of pages and the ticking on keys of a computer, followed by a frustrated sigh occasionally.

“Maybe we should get some more flutes?” I said, “they’re not that expensive and they won’t take up a lot of space here.”

Lola, being distracted by her laptop, showed no sign that she had heard what I just said.

“Helllooo, Lo are you there?”

“Huh, what?” she ran her hands through her hair as she looked my way.

I lifted the catalogue to show her the flute page.

“No Tavi,” Lo leaned her head on the back of the chair, doing the accounts must have tired her. “We already have flutes, and no one is ever interested in them. They have been here for decades.”

I rolled my eyes, “maybe that is why no one is interested. They look grim.”

Lo refocused on her laptop, and I flipped another page of the catalogue.

Oeh, the bass guitars. My favourite part.

I ran my finger over the page, paying a lot of attention to each one.

There were electronic bass guitars, but also the semi-acoustic ones. Some were very modern-looking with the brightest of colours, while others go for more of a vintage look.

I don’t know if I would ever be able to part with my own baby. The bass guitar, that I now owned, had been eyeing me every day since it had arrived in the store. It had been love at first sight.

But it was such a big investment and I just didn’t have that kind of money.

A part of my earnings was needed for us to make a living, pay the rent and do the groceries for example. And the other part that wasn’t needed for that, entered our savings jar.

We had been saving money since the day my dad was put behind bars. For whatever reason those bars had been in St. George. Freaking St. George.

The province didn’t even have direct borders with Denbeigh, Ottaro was right in between.

That made a simple, but still long, car ride impossible. Not taken the problems that come with the snowy climate into account.

That same climate also caused issues for our only transportation option.

Denbeigh’s climate was hard to predict at times. It could be a beautiful day with sunshine and a clear sky, but then you wake up the next morning to a thick layer of snow.

And because those snowfalls could happen in at least 8 out of 12 months, a lot of planes got cancelled in those months. The only airport anywhere near Winnipeg was privately owned. So the owners could literally ask the prices they wanted for the plane tickets. And boy, they were only focussed on making a profit.

For a simple family of Fives, those prices were unpayable. Hence why we had been saving money for 6 years now, still nowhere near able to pay for tickets. My mom would need a ticket, Daniel and I would too, and we just can’t leave little Aria and Arlan. My dad should be allowed to see them as well. That’s means we already need the money for 5 tickets. But if we include Daniel’s family, with his wife and little Melody, then that would equal 7 tickets.

So yeah, I would never have been able to buy that bass guitar.

Until Lo had a brilliant idea. They would give it to me as my birthday present for the upcoming 10 years. At first, I couldn’t accept that kind of gift, knowing it would have been a huge investment for the Wood family as well. But they insisted, hinting that they would get an employee discount anyway since you know Mr Wood owns the place. So, the price dropped, and they ignored me, so I had to give in and accept. It was the best gift I had ever gotten.

The stores door busted open, “GIRLS!” Gina’s voice took me back to earth. “they’re about to do the draw!”

“What draw?” apparently Lo shared my confusion.

Gina rolled her eyes and grabbed Lo’s laptop from the table. “Wait, I was working! Save it, save it!”

The laptop was put right on top of the catalogue I had just been looking through. Lo ushered over as well.

“Let me just,” Gina had opened an internet page and started typing in the website address of Winnipeg’s number one news channel, WTV. Such an original name.

The news anchor, some middle-aged woman with very fake looking blond hair, appeared on screen. “What is she wearing?” Lo asked, disgust and confusion both showing on her face.

“A track suit, it’s part of her image,” Gina unmuted the laptop, the crow-like voice of the woman filling the room, “now shush, I wanna hear this.”

“… Cameron Porter has been selected for the Illéan national ice hockey team. The star of Winnipeg’s very own ice hockey team, the Winnipeg Belugas, will accompany the national team to the world cup, taking place later this year in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Last week’s draw concluded that Illéa will have to face the German Federation and New Asia in the group stage. The national team’s training will start next week.”

Lo and I shared a look, “this is what you wanted to see Gina?”

“Since when do you care about ice hockey?” I asked, this was something new.

“Urgh, you guys are intolerable,” she silenced us with her finger.

“… and now we will switch to the royal palace in Angeles, to watch the live draw for Prince Arin’s Selection.”

The draw, of course that was what had sparked Gina’s interest. For some unknown reason, the entire Selection had slipped from my mind.

Nevertheless, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Nerves. Looking over to my friends, I noticed the tense looks on both of their faces. Lo’s hands were clasped together, while Gina’s had disappeared in the pockets of her cardigan.

“Welcome,” some weird voice-over called.

With that the camera focussed on the prince.

“Urgh,” I rolled my eyes.

Lo poked me in the side, laughing, “oh Tavi your distaste is showing.”

“I don’t understand how you can hate someone who is that good looking. I mean have you seen that jawline? Perfection.” Gina had had a crush on the prince for as long as I had known her.

I rolled my eyes again, “I don’t hate him.” The drawing began before I had time to explain myself further.

“From Allens … Idalia Moretti.”

“He doesn’t look very happy,” I couldn’t help but comment, “or comfortable.”

Gina sighed probably annoyed that she couldn’t listen to the show properly, “his engagement was called off not that long ago. That is a pretty hard thing to deal with.”

“Yeah, I see, it’s so hard that he’s having a Selection. Shouldn’t he like get over the other girl first?”

My friends ignored me.

“From Angeles … Emily Rose White.”

This thing was going to take forever. I just wanted to look at the catalogue again, not at that prince, “he’s making me feel uncomfortable, just by watching him.”

Again, no response from either of my friends.

I took that as a sign to remain silent, knowing very well my friends wouldn’t reply anyway now that their eyes were locked on the prince.

“From Dakota … Brooke Lynn Sanders.”

Gina let out a breath she was holding, “okay now is Denbeigh,” she took our hands in hers, “fingers crossed it’s one of us.”

Her hand palms were sweaty, she must really want this.

“From Denbeigh … Octavia Hayes.”

We were all silent for a minute. Then Lo started screaming, Gina joining her. “Oh my GOODNESS!”

“Tavi! You’re going to the palace! You’re going to meet the prince!”

“Yeah,” I was absolutely lost for words. Meeting the prince hadn’t been the first thing that came to my mind, hell it hadn’t even been the second or third thing.

The first thing I thought was: I’m one step closer to getting my dad out of prison. I will be in that freaking library day and night looking for the book that is going to help me. There must be something somewhere about a second opinion on a court order, or something else to annul the judge’s decision.

“Ohhh, I’m sooo jealous of you right now. You are going to meet the prince! And there’s a chance he will fall in love with you and you’ll have beautiful babies.” Gina pulled on one of my curls, it bounced up and down as she let go of it.

“Uhm, I think that particular chance can be redeemed to zero.” I bit my lip, not even in my biggest dreams had I imagined my name would be drawn.

“Tavi, listen. I know you only applied for those laws books, but you need to be friendly to the prince if you want to stay,” Lo insisted, “or else you will be eliminated.”

“And I have to interact with him?”

“There are girls who would kill for a chance of even being in one room with him,” Gina took over, she sounded very serious suddenly. “You’ll meet him that’s for sure, and if you actually try you might make it far enough to earn a date. Just at least try to be nice, okay?”

“Just don’t insult him,” Lo added, “or his family, or the country. Okay, don’t insult anyone.”

The way my best friends were looking at me brought me right back to the good old school days. That was exactly the way teachers had looked whenever I had done something naughty. Which had basically been at least once every day.

“Do you promise?” Lo asked when I didn’t respond.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try not to insult anyone.” I sighed, this is going to be so much harder than I thought.

All of a sudden a lot robot-like voice yelled “BREAKING NEWS”.

It just scared the living shit out of me. We turned as one towards the laptop again.

On the screen was that fake blond woman in her tracksuit again.

“Prince Arin just completed the draw for his very own Selection. Some famous girls will be joining him at the palace. Our very own province will be represented by Octavia Hayes. You might have heard of her, given that she is some meekly Five. But her father’s name will ring a bell. Octavia’s father is Caspar H., a dangerous convict in prison for murdering Winnipeg’s beloved mayor Wilfred Wallis. He might have very well passed the criminal gene onto his daughter. Not only is she definitely not a good representative for Denbeigh, but the lives of the royal family might all be in danger.”

“Damn it!” Stupid news anchor. Why couldn’t they just stay out of my family’s business. Now the entire country will be aware of this. My dad’s arrest did make the headlines of some newspapers when all that had gone down. But that had been 6 years ago and I had hoped no one would remember that.

But now it was out in the open. Again.

It didn’t even matter that my dad was innocent. He had already been suffering for it by being locked up far away from our family.

“Tavi,” Lo put her arms around me, “that’s just bullshit, no such thing as a criminal gene exists.”

Gina joined our hug, “you can’t take anyone seriously who wears a tracksuit on live TV.”

*** Couple of days later ***

Dear dad,

My name got drawn for the Selection, I’m going to the palace and meet the prince. Some palace person is coming to pick me up anytime now so I can’t write a lot. Plus, if the mail has already arrived then you will have to wait another month before you get this anyway.

I asked Daniel if he could start writing a monthly letter as well, maybe he can even add a little picture of Melody so you can see her for the first time. He said he will take care of mom, Aria and Arlan as well. Molly will just cook dinner for more people, which she doesn’t really mind doing. At least that’s what she said.

Anyhow I will write to you from the palace.

Lots of love,

Octavia

Zohl wzw, R’n hxzivw. Tlrmt gl gsv kzozxv, z dslov mvd vmerilmnvmg dsviv R wlm’g pmld zmblmv. Ovzermt nln, vhkvxrzoob mld gszg rg urmzoob hvvnh orpv hsv’h gibrmt gl orev ztzrm. Zmw dszg droo gsv xlfmgib gsrmp lu nv. Droo R gfim rmgl zm lfgxzhg? Zxxliwrmt gl DGE R’n tlrmt gl hozftsgvi veviblmv rm gsv kzozxv, yvxzfhv lu blfi ‘xirnrmzo tvmvh’. Yfg gsv kvlkov dsl olev blf droo zodzbh yvorvev blfi rmmlxvmxv, vevm ru gsv dslov xlfmgib hvvnh gl gsrmp lgsvidrhv. Qfhg pmld gszg dv nrhh blf wvziob. Zmw R droo gib vevibgsrmt R xzm gl tvg blf ivovzhvw. Qfhgrxv zodzbh kivezroh.

*** At the airport ***

The car journey all the way from Winnipeg to somewhere in Sota had lasted for ages. Even though I hadn’t really been aware of that, since I fell asleep as soon as they closed the doors behind me.

A frustrated voice had woken me up, “can you please stop drooling all over the leather upholstery?”

My eyes flew open, saliva was indeed smeared on the seat. I quickly wiped it off my face, where it had been present as well. “Sorry,” I mumbled, I then realized we had arrived at the airport, I quickly opened the car door and jumped out.

What I immediately noticed was the rain puddle I had landed in. My shoes and socks were soaking wet. Great.

“Maybe you should try to act more lady-like?” the driver said with a very disapproving tone, looking me up and down. He had already taken my guitar case out of the car and was about to put it right onto the wet street. I quickly grabbed the case out of his hands, clutching it close to my body.

The driver sighed, “there’s the entrance to the airport. Inside it will be clear which directions to follow.”

I made my way towards the entrance he had pointed at when I heard him mumble to himself, “why did I had to drive a barbarian?”

As I turned around, the car’s engine had been running again. I wasn’t sure if he could see me, nor I did I really care. I showed my middle finger to the car anyway. Asshole.

Never had I seen an airport before. It was freaking massive, people walking in all possible directions. Some carrying luggage with them, others with balloons that read “we missed you” or “welcome home”.

One day, my fam and I will be waiting at the airport, carrying one of those dumb balloons around. Coming to pick up dad.

I snapped out of my daydream by someone tapping me on my shoulder. “Miss Hayes, please come with me.”

Nodding, I followed the person not really having another choice since I had no clue which way I had to go. Maybe this is some insane kidnapper.

My heartbeat increased; did I just make a stupid mistake?

“Only one girl has arrived so far. You are to wait for the others before you can board the plane.”

Okay, no insane kidnapper then.

Unless.

This is a complete setup created by his crazy brain.

Panic filled my body, damnit how will I get out of this situation.

Okay, if I just push the person onto the floor, that will give me a chance to run for my life.

One.

Two.

Three.

I took a deep breath in, ready to make the push. But at the last minute the person side stepped which caused me to lose my balance. He looked at me in a very funny way, “please take a seat, the flight attendant will come get you in a few minutes.”

My cheeks turned very very warm, the redness might very well have equalled the red colour of a traffic light.

Trying to calm myself down, I slumped down into a chair. Yikes, only now became I aware of it again. My socks were still wet and cold. Sigh.

After taking a few deep breaths in and out, I noticed the other girl.

“Oh hey, you’re also a Selected?” I started, realizing it wouldn’t be a bad thing to talk to someone.

She turned towards me, “I am Brooke Lynn Sanders, but just call me Brooke please!”

Not knowing what else to do, I waved at her a little awkwardly. “hi Brooke, nice to meet you. My name is Octavia, but please call me Tavi.”

“Nice to meet you Octavia. Did you have a good journey?” I could already tell she did have the lady-like manners I had been lacking.

Oh god, I couldn’t possibly tell her about the drooling situation, so I decided to stick to a vague answer. “Yeah, it was alright thanks. What about your own journey? Which province are you from?”

“My send off from Dakota was a bit bumpy but I am here now. I wish they would have let me take the train though...”

Another girl arrived, also looking very much like someone the prince could end up with. Compared to these two, I was more of a rag doll.

Pushing my feelings behind that wall deep inside me, I waved her over, “oh yeah hi, please join us.”

We chatted some more for a bit, until Haven arrived.

The way she was walking, the only person I had seen walking like that was Long-Beard Logan, the homeless guy who could often be found near New Wave Records. He walked the same way, but he had one wooden leg.

Then Haven opened her mouth, a weird voice coming out, “hi.”

I noticed Brooke shared my confusion, “uhm hello?”

She took out her phone and typed something, it read ‘I’m Haven’.

My confusion hadn’t ebbed away, “are you alright?”

She typed some more, ‘yup:)) just got a bad cold! what are your names?’.

As a response to that we all introduced ourselves again. These girls didn’t seem to be that bad, hopefully the other Selected at the palace were the same. But the chance of that being true was small. Also, why did I care what the other girls were like? I wasn’t there to make friends, with them or with the prince. I had applied for the thing I needed most. Access to the royal library.

“Have you guys ever been on a plane before? This is all very new to me.” I admitted, trying to ease the nerves that had been building up inside me ever since my name had been picked in that draw.

Brooke had a very strong opinion on planes. Private planes more specifically.

Which came as a shock to me. The private plane part. I didn’t know what I was thinking but taking a private plane had never crossed my mind.

In the meantime, Brooke started talking about the CO2 emissions.

“How else would we get to the palace without having an endless journey? It’s not like there’s a teleportation device, right?” I said a little more vicious than I intended. The higher castes used planes all the time, if anyone had a cause in the destruction of our planet it was definitely them.

Brooke definitely had thought of it all, as she mentioned the outstanding quality of the Illéan train system. Clara chimed in to agree with her.

I decided to not mention my exact thoughts about the higher castes, given the fact that I had promised my friends back home not to insult anyone. So I just nodded my head, “yeah okay I understand your point.”

We were able to board the plane shortly after that. Brooke sat down in a window-seat and Clara nestled herself in the seat next to Brooke’s.

I took a chair on the opposite side of the plane, trying to create some sort of privacy for myself without being rude.

Haven sat down in the seat next to me and smiled at me.

The entry door closed; I could no longer contain my nerves. “Here we go I guess.” I tried to calm my breathing, but it didn’t really help. I tried to think of my family back home in Denbeigh, didn’t help either. I heard my dad’s voice in my head, it was like he was actually talking to me, “You are a strong girl, the flight will be over before you know it. Octavia, you can do this.”

A weird sound whisked my dad’s voice away, I looked over towards the source of the sound. It was Brooke choking on her drink. “Please don’t die,” I said. Her dying here would be a shitty start to this whole adventure. Besides, Brooke actually seemed like a nice person.

She coughed, “I am – I am trying.”

Haven mentioned her sibling, how they were close and stuff. She then asked if we had any siblings ourselves.

This provided me with the perfect distraction. I turned towards her, “yeah, I have three siblings. One older brother, a younger sister and a younger brother as well.”

Normally I would never share such personal information with someone I had just met but talking about them was the distraction I so desperately needed from this whole plane situation.

The others talked some more, but I just realized the one and only thing that would get me through this.

Music.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna listen to some music.” I said as I took my earphones out of my bag. “Haven would you like to join?” I asked her politely, given that she was sitting right next to me and it would have been quite rude otherwise.

She smiled at me and nodded, so I handed her one of the earphones. “I do have a very mixed taste in music so you’re in for a treat.” Maybe I could even make her listen to our own music, you know casually extending Five Whispers’ audience.

As a reply, Haven winked at me, “I love a girl with mixed music taste.”

Oh who would have thought, I had something in common with another Selected. I too liked people with a diverse music preference, since music says so much about a person. The quote ‘You are what you listen to’ was on one of the walls of New Wave Records music store. It was also my own personal life motto.

Clara and Brooke continued chatting, but I didn’t listen anymore. The music had taken a hold on me and it had only released me from its grip when the plane hit the ground in Angeles.

#selectionoc #practice challenge #fic

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aslaugfarsaelt · 5 years ago

Note

Be nosy : 1 2 3 6 7 9 12 17 48 29 22

1. What’s your sexual orientation?

If I knew 😅 I've dated only guys so far but my first love was a girl. I'm not sure. Now I don't have feelings for anyone and my libido isn't alive at all so it's hard to tell.

2. What are you obsessed with right now?

Hm. Probably The Witcher books and series but only as escapism.

3. Ever done any drugs?

No. I afraid to try because I know I'll get addicted easily.

6. Describe your dream home.

For now I guess that would be a flat with a kitchen, one bathroom and one bedroom. Maybe no living room, I don't think I would use it. Dark grey curtains, full-size mirror, white or so furniture with silver/metallic decorations. I don't even need a desk, just a coffee table, maybe an arm-chair. A bookshelf. White walls, light grey floor. A balcony for smoking. I need it to be light but almost empty.

7. Who are you jealous of?

Particularly no one. I'm not sure for such word in English, but in Russian we have "white jealousy". It means being jealous of something or someone but in very gentle and light way, like you would like to have something too but you don't want that person to be left without it. In this way I'm jealous of people who have energy and desire to do or create something, who are alive.

9. Do you watch porn?

No. My libido is dead and even if it wasn't, porn is mostly violent, it makes me nauseous.

12. What’s one of your fantasies?

About me and my life? To move to St. Petersburg, to find my will to live. To be calm. I dream about silence and peace.

If it's about just fantasies, then I have one from yesterday. I imagined modern au Geralt and Jaskier from the witcher like a crossover with Sherlock BBC. That moment from season 4 when John saw Mary after her death. Just imagine Geralt talking to dead Jaskier.

I cheated on you, Jaskier. That girl smiled at me. That's what it was, just a smile. We texted constantly. Remember when? Every time you left the room, that's when. When you were feeding our daughter, when you were stopping her from crying. That's all it was, just texting. But I wanted more and I still do. I'm not the man you thought I was. I'm not that guy. I never could be. And that's the point. Who you thought I was is the man I want to be.

Jaskier is staring at him and suddenly there's bright smile on his face.

Well then... Geralt of Rivia, - Jaskier laughs. - Get the hell on with it.

Jaskier smiles one more time, with all his love for Geralt and then disappears. The room is empty. Geralt doesn't see him anymore.

Shit, it breakes my heart in pieces.

17. Are you angry with anyone right now?

No, only if with me and my disability to live my life.

22. Tag someone you think is hot.

This guy from TikTok lol. I had a little crush on him. My friend says he is a compilation of all my crushes but with a bigger nose 😂

29. What’s the most overrated movie?

Idk, I didn't watch movies for a way too long. Maybe Knives out? I wasn't impressed that much.

48. Describe your ideal partner.

Oh shit. I have absolutely no fucking type. Honest, kind, with a good sense of humor. Sounds typical, yeah. I have a thing for arms and veins, so that would be nice too 😅 I like people taller than me which is quite easy, I'm around 5'5. I need someone understanding and caring. I'm that myself but I clearly can't take care of myself, only of others. So I need someone to take care of me while I do that for him or her. Someone to talk and be silent with.

#about me #witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #sherlock bbc #modern au

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atimefordragons · 5 years ago

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[ T S E S A R E V N A ... ]

My incomplete audition for Gem Quest, didn’t have the time to participate properly, let alone finish my audition from all the other groups (yeah, I don’t know what time management is and have no idea how to pace myself).

“В небе далеком горит звезда, | In distant heaven star shines Не одинока и не одна | It's not alone and not the one Каждый себе выбирает путь | Everyone choose their own way И она не даст свернуть | And star won't allow them to turn Не закрывай глаза | Don't close your eyes Смотри она ведет тебя.. | Look, it leads you...”

- Звезда (Dima Bilan ft Anna Belan)

Real Name: Yekatrina “Katya/Rina” Anatolyevna Raevskaya

Age: 26

FC: Alia Bhatt

Species & Class: Dragonborn & Mage-Knight

Guild: Moonstone

Description of In-Game Powers: (what their fantasy species lets them do, basically, and all the associated drawbacks)

A dragonborn is a cross-bred species, born from the bloodline of either a human or an elf, and a Great Dragon (highly evolved, ancient dragons that can cast spells, and shit, and even speak the human tongue). Because great dragons are rare, most dragonborn are second generation or later. In the case of Tsesarevna, an ice dragon and a human (not a first gen).

Dragonborns have a natural affinity for magic, particularly elemental, even more specifically for the element of the dragon type whose blood they inherited, in the case of Tsesarevna, frozen water related magic, ice, frost, snow.

Place of Birth: Saint Petersburg, Russian Federation

Appearance: (optional textual description/notes of wardrobe, features not represented by fc, etc)

Places Most Likely to be Found In-Game: Level 20 - A Midwinter Night’s Dream (I see what you did there Ayz) and Level 38 - Murias Pass (the snow reminds her of home, ya know. The cold never bothered me anyway), also sometimes Level 39 - The Dragon, but she’s technically stuck on that level because she refuses to kill the Dragon, issa zaldrīzo ānogar.

Current Inventory:

History Book: The Dragon King Festival

Strongest character trait: eurovision knowledge Confidence (in herself and some others)

Strengths: Katya is almost surprisingly determined, it contradicts with the rest of her “I’ve never had to work hard to get what I want in my life” type personality, but she is persevering and stubborn, when she wants something, she won’t stop until she gets it. Which in her real life was never very difficult getting.

Weaknesses: Where to even start? Spoiled Princess Brat (she has never not gotten what she wants in her life, and it shows), impatient, impulsive, not exactly a team player (I mean, she is now, but that shady shit she pulled back when she first started playing kinda got her a rep), arrogant, prideful, kind of a bitch (doesn’t really think of it as a weakness, but ya know, it’s hard to make friends), dragon obsession (refuses to kill dragons, even in order to advance the game, got herself and party members killed early on in the game ‘cause of it), kind of an adrenaline junkie, and reckless af. She doesn’t really consider the consequences of the game, wholeheartedly believes her dad, fam and connections in the real world will get her out soon enough, so has no problem running head first into fire (”I’m too hot to die in a video game”).

Player Stats: (on a scale of 1-10, 1 being the weakest, 10 being the strongest. try to balance it out!)

STRENGTH: 9

DEFENSE: 7

CHARISMA: 3

PSYCHE: 5

WILLPOWER: 9

CAUTIOUSNESS: 2

AGILITY: 5

ENDURANCE: 7

INTELLIGENCE: 8

LUCK: 4

Personality: “Haven’t you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch before?”

Haha, yeah, but mostly, she’s just a massive nerd. She’s such a fucking nerd. Bitch learned Quenya and Sindarin just for kicks, and her own amusement. Literally no one else in her irl circle even fucking knows what those two things are (Elvish tongues in Tolkien).

As the baby of a two large families, and the only daughter of a Russian oligarch, Katya is incredibly spoiled, and very much self-centered. Something of a downplayed celebutante, she is not quite as present at every single high society, high fashion event in Russia, or elsewhere in Europe, she only goes to a handful. And really only for the free stuff, she loves stuff. Katya maintains a somewhat disinterested high social status, as she is the daughter of a major industrialist, and friends with other, higher profile wealthy Russian heirs and heiresses, and there are benefits (so many), but she isn't quite interested in attaining spotlight or attention. However, she also perceives it as something that is just naturally part of her life. She uses a lot of hand gestures when speaking, and tends to give off a naive-princessy vibe who seems to think the world revolves around her. Which, to be fair, it does in her house -she does know that it doesn’t actually, but ya know, can’t quite turn off that bitch, I’m a princess mindset.

“I don’t skate through life... I walk through life. In really nice shoes.” - Alexis Rose (Schitts’ Creek 3.04)

Notably, she speaks with a vocal fry when speaking English. She says “like” a lot, has a bit of a condescending tone, but, she like, does care. About a lot of stuff, but also humanity in general. Spoiled baby she may be, she does have a moral compass, and was amongst the public figures who signed an open letter against the Saint Petersburg Anti-”Gay Propaganda” bill (it’s some bullshit about “protecting” minors from “non-traditional sexual relationships”). She believes in doing the right thing, that the goal of any organization or even person should just be to decrease the net suffering of humanity, but also, she is a super proud Russian. Very anti-american, thinks they’re all stupid, always says shady shit in Russian whenever she runs into americans online. However, it’s not like she’s a fan of United Russia (Putin’s party), they’re right-wing nutjobs, she does not like them. Her main political party is A Just Russia, who are much less then left than her (officially, they be centre-left), but they’re the only ones (of her favoured parties) who have seats in the State Duma (the lower house of the Federal Assembly, Russia’s legislative body - the Duma is like parliament, or congress, I think, I don’t really know what congress is tbh, house of representatives maybe? Idk, the place where Nancy Pelosi is charge, equivalent to that). Katya also supports Patriots of Russia, a socialist, left-wing party, but they only have seats in regional parliaments, and only one seat in the Federation Council (similar to the senate, the upper house of Russia’s legislative body). There’s also Russia of the Future, but it’s not been formally registered yet. In the 2018 election she voted for the communist party’s candidate just for kicks (it’s different in Russia, there’s was zero possibility of Putin losing, come on, grow up).

As a side note, if this helps with the explainary-stuff, I basically envision her as a slavic-desi cross of Alexis Rose from Schitts’ Creek, and Gina Linetti from Brooklyn-99, also this hindi song; Sheila ki Jawani. The song is basically about owning the fact that you’re super sexy.

Biography: Katya is half-Russian, half-Indian, born to a Russian father, industrialist (and oligarch) Anatoli Ivanovich Raevsky, and an Indian mother, activist and journalist Mishti Syeda Khan. Her parents eventually separated, though technically are still married, when she was about 14, and her mother moved to Manchester in the UK, while Katya remained in Russia with her father. Katya is from a large family, on both sides, and at the time of her birth, was the first baby to be born in quite a few years (the elder cousins were like tween-teen, too old be constantly coddled and cuddled, and too young to make babies), so she was hella spoiled by everyone. The problems her maternal family had with her mother marrying a non-Muslim white boy? Well, we still hate him, but look how cute Rina is.

Despite the... complications between her family members - the whole religion/marrying a shada (white) boy thing, not to mention that Mishti herself is like agnostic at “best”, in general, as the baby, Katya (or Rina as her mother and maternal family call her), get along - well, okay, there’s always the shady auntieji’s, and bullshit drama, but like, that’s just brown families yo. We like that. We’re all 100% those bitches (see ya at Eid Nanu [grandma], ya messy bitch). While there is some distance between Katya and her mother, metaphorically and literally, she really does look up to her mother and her work, and followed in her footsteps, studying journalism at Moscow State University, and moving on to work at Известия (Izvestia), the “national�� paper of Russia, formerly the state newspaper of the Soviet Union. Currently, she’s a glorified fact checker, and maintains the website with a handful of other colleagues. She’s also authored small “puff pieces” for Nedelya (a weekly Friday section about leisure actives, culture, that kinda stuff).

Katya is not exactly an avid gamer. She likes games, but it’s not like a 24/7 thing, whereas she is 24/7 thinking about like ASOIAF or Stars Wars (fuck you JJ, you were supposed to destroy the Sith R*ylo, not join them), not to mention Eurovision. Anyone who thinks Eurovision only lasts for a week is a fake fan, and anyone who thinks it’s a one day thing is an american. Ziben ziben ilulu motherfucker. Anyway.... she prefers immersive, high fantasy worlds, she likes the story and plot, so her types of games are The Witcher and Dragon Age Series, Elder Scrolls, that sort of thing. She doesn’t put in daily hours, ‘cause she got other stuff to do, but will dedicate weekends to leveling up her characters in order to accomplish quests and missions quickly and not waste time to get to the story cut scenes. She hates, hates, hatessss microtransactions and those stupid fucking mmorpg phone games which are literally just farmville repackaged with a dragon or an orc; FUCK YOU. What a fucking waste of time, quit advertising as having a plot and story, or cool character customization, ‘cause you don’t have any of that you basic ass bitch!

Gem Quest was regifted to Katya by a coworker, who had gotten it as a present, but didn’t have a VR set (of course she had one, she’s rich, and also she needed it to play Batman: Arkham VR - she’s still waiting on a game that’ll let her make out with Nightwing while playing as a custom character). She got a bit of a bad rep (understatement) in the beginning of the game. Katya hates being stuck because she doesn’t have enough exp or whatever, so she always levels up in the beginning of a game before taking the time to fuck around and do whatever, which, in the case of Gem Quest, means teaming up is the easiest way to do that. So, whenever a party member was holding them back from leveling up, she would straight up kill them in order to move on. She killed her own irl friends, to be fair, she doesn’t do that anymore, that was just in the beginning, but ya know, the rep of being that bitch kinda hard to get of.

G.’s announcement didn’t particularly freak out Katya. Whatever kind of evil Kaiba Corp execs bullshit he was pulling didn’t matter, he still had a body out there in the real world, and there’s no fucking way her dad would let die in a fucking game. There’s perks to being Oligarchs in Russia, and even if she did die in-game and was unable to return to reality, wherever G. and his real body were, motherfucker will die in excruciating pain. Polonium-210 ain’t pleasant, and the Novichok series is so much worse.

Relationships: (OPTIONAL, fill out whenever you want to)

Silverwing - rn. Anastasia “Anya” Gagarina (fc: Anna Belan), a fellow moonstone, and real life friend - well, the younger sister of an ex-boyfriend whom she still gets along with (the sister, not necessarily the ex).

Inferna - I don’t really have any plotting ideas, but Inferna’s whole; “It’s very important that I am both cute and powerful” is so relatable (to me and Katya xp)

Enthroned -

Morningstar -

Extras/Trivia (aka unnecessary information):

Her mother, and thus maternal family, are from Kolkata, in the state of West Bengal in India, thus making Katya fluent (relatively) in Bengali as well (well, a dialect of it - West Central, you’d think as an actual Bengali person, I’d know the proper name of it, but nope. Idk, shudobasha maybe, but I think that’s for people from Dakha, which is in Bangladesh, not India. Whatever. Not like my dad will check this and be disappointed in me.)

Apart from her native Russian, Hindi, and Bengali, she speaks English, and Japanese (100% learned it because she’s a weeb), as well as the fictional languages; Quenya, Sindarin (and can use the Tengwar script to write them), High Valyrian, Mando’a, Dovazhul, and Klingon. As a teenager she also created a dictionary for ancient “Black Speech”, an in-universe constructed language in Tolkien’s legendarium, but her version is not canon, so it doesn’t count - she’s also forgotten a lot of it. She was a baby, she still has the hard copy she made somewhere in the Raevsky Manor in Saint Petersburg.

After graduating from MSU, her father bought her, her own apartment in the Kudrinskaya Square Building in Moscow, adjacent to the ones he owned already, which she had lived in when she moved to Moscow for school.

Katya’s family is religiously mixed (well, she’s the one who’s mixed), her maternal family are largely Muslim, some Hindu (very few though, like, you can count them on one hand), and her paternal family are either Orthodox Christian or atheist (usually depending on how long they were alive and how into the Soviet Regime they were). Katya’s parents are agnostic (Mishti), and atheist (Anatoli), Katya herself is also atheist, but sometimes she’ll say she prays to the Seven or R’hllar, or Lord Jashin, or some other made up nerd ass religion (’cause she that bitch).

But for real, she can be a real bitch about religion. The Soviets got a lot wrong, but banning religion was not one of them <- so she says. She gets super pissed when someone brings up religion during a politics chat, that fake shit should have nothing to do with running a country.

hates starbucks with every fibre of her being, it’s such an american staple and the first time she saw one in Russia, she nearly had a heart attack.

Will die mad about:

The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker; the fuck was that bullshit? We trusted you JJ!

the garbage show’s gaslighting and murder of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Queen of Meereen, The Prince who was Promised, The Unburnt, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Shackles, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Mother of Dragons.

Hrithik Roshan still being so fucking hot (he’s 45, please like chill a little, holy fuck)

Catarina de Lurton dying

Former american politician John McCain constantly saying “Russia is a gas station masquerading as a country” - bitch, we’re a thousand years old, how’s your 250 year old failed experiment of a garbage nation going?

Freud.

Links:

Playlist

Urstyle Collection (aesthetics, and other shit)

Social Media

#gem quest #katya raevskaya #audition #my edits #clara's edits #mine #incomplete #writing #graphics

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alleyskywalker · 5 years ago

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Ekaterina/Catherine S3E3

I’ve been behind on these write-ups and watching the show for RL reasons, mostly, But I’m back with all my opinions, lol.

SPOILERS

@mildredmost

The pretenders plots are progressing without anything too exciting going on, especially in Pugachev’s, although Catherine has become convinced that a foreign government is behind him. She has also become obsessed with figuring out weather Elizaveta is really Empress Elizabeth’s (illegitimate) child. Although, it’s kind of unclear why. Her claim would be more legitimate, but legitimacy was only worth so much, and the chances of her having incontrovertible proof that would sway the nobility is pretty slim.

Catherine is also sill holding on to Potemkin – even if it means going South with him. He, in turn, really-really wants to be able to actually do stuff, and I can’t blame him really.

Catherine really wants another child and it’s pretty clear she’s looking to replace Paul in the succession (though we kinda already knew that already from the last season.) (Interesting, from a narrative bias observation perspective, that when Peter had this kind of thought it was framed as reproachable and terrible, but with Catherine it’s framed as like…not very nice but totally understandable.) I do find it a little odd that Potemkin seems to be defending Paul, at least occasionally, this season to Catherine, whereas last season, during about this same timeframe, he was pretty openly laughing at him with her.

Speaking of Potemkin, him selling the island Catherine had given (wanted to give him?) as a present to get a whole shit ton of money for clearly his own projects is def a power move lmao.

To deal with his debts, Andrey now has to work as a treasury clerk. He’s clearly pissed about it lol, but he’s also avoiding Natalia, who is a bit distressed by this. I’m not quite sure what is the cause of this – he tells her he doesn’t have time anymore, but that’s pretty clearly bullshit.

Speaking of Natalia, I’m still not sure what game she’s playing. She finds out from Andrey that Pyotr and Sophia are still in Petersburg even though they had been told to leave, because Sophia still holds out hope of seeing her and Paul’s son who was taken away from her (as promised). She finds them and promises to arrange a meeting and asks Sophia to write to Paul asking for help but also says that she has influence with Catherine (doubtful). IDK if she’s hedging her bets here or what, but this entire thing is suspicious.

As terrible as she is, you do get these glimpses of Natalia where you can see why people find her really charming and stuff. She’s taken interest in Nelidova, who is sharp and witty and trying to make her way in the world. (There is def some real femslash bait here guys.)

With Nelidova, it’s interesting to observe her characterization development. They’ve definitely gone for the manipulative/seductive ambitious type, but not necessarily like….an antagonist of Natalia’s sort. Which does jive at least some with her historical self. She doesn’t seem to have much religiousness/piety in her even though that seems to have been a large part of her connection with Paul, but I suppose the theory here is that she was faking a lot of that. (And they’ve, like, gone out of their way to emphasize that she’s a good actress.) Which…what a sad-sad interpretation choice, but ok. (Also…I’m a little meh on the acting of the girl who plays her, but in her “worst” scenes I wonder if this is somehow intentional actually, because they’re the kind of scenes where you think she’s putting on an act most. But idk.)

Nelidov’s little park scene with Paul was an interesting mix of awkward-tense-cute.

And my fave scene of this episode! Denis asks Paul to give his opinion on an essay Denis has written re: limitations of autocratic powers in the monarchy/constitutional monarchy. Paul trolls his at first by basically saying word-for-word to him what Denis had said when criticizing Paul’s play manuscript. It gets Denis really riled up before he realizes lol. It’s very-very cute. And Paul is actually pretty interested in what Denis has to say in this essay. Also, this scene demonstrates a pretty unexpected level of trust between them. Not just that they both respect each other’s opinions, but Denis is pretty scared that if the wrong person finds his draft, he could be arrested. And given Paul’s position and the specific subject matter, it’s a pretty huge show of trust that Denis is certain that Paul will keep his word a secret. This ship has more and more potential all the time.

#Ekaterina #catherine (2014)#catherine s3 reaction post #ekaterina tv #spoilers #op

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ruby-red-inky-blue · 5 years ago

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29 questions

tagges by @crazy-fruit and @cats-and-metersticks and @leaiorganas, thank you ladies! I’m glad you thought of me :) (sorry this took me forever)

1. How are you? the last couple of days have been super stressful (no thanks to my procrastinating arse) and I didn’t sleep and hydrate enough so I’m in a very weird place physically today ^^ but apart from the, um, slight slip-up self-care wise I’m pretty good actually! Hope you’re all doing well, too!

2. What would you say are your talents? restraining myself from making a dumb self-deprecating joke I’ve got a good ear for languages, and on good days a way with words, like I can say what I mean concisely and to the point, and I can tell dumb stories in a way that makes people laugh. I do pretty neat calligraphy, I can knit quite well (but very slowly), I can do intricate braids on my hair?

3. If you had the chance to start your life again, would you take it? … on some days, I might say yes, but no. No, it’s all a learning curve, and while there are lots of things I kind of wish I had in my life, I’ve been super lucky overall.

4. Which language would you like to speak instantly? Russian, goddamnit, I’m so annoyed I couldn’t continue my course!! Also Spanish because that’s another language I’ve wanted to learn for a really long time. Also idk Gaelic or something super niche just because.

5. Where would you like to be right now? In my parents’ garden in the big beach chair with a good book and zero responsibilities, or at the public pool in my home town. Or, in no particular order, some lonely beach in the Mediterranean or a little town on some coast, or idk I’d really like to be back in St Petersburg for a few days. I’m always up for a trip to Prague. Also I’d like to just go and sit by the river with a beer and a bunch of friends, but I have choir recital today so that’s not happening *sigh*

6. What name would you give yourself? ugh, this is hard, I don’t know! I used to not like my name when I was younger, but I’ve got used to it over time and there is a tidbit about it that I really like. But idk, I would have probably picked some older German name (not like, Ingeborg or something, just something that was common in the first half of the 20th century, idk why. Maybe just gone with my second name instead?)

7. What is something you’re currently learning? honestly this one threw me for a loop… I feel like I’m not currently learning anything, and that might be why I’m feeling kind of unaccomplished right now.

1. List your current WIPs!! hey, thanks for the call-out, it’s still the same ones as in 2017. I know

I The World Through a Scope II The Running Kind III Young Folks IV under starry skies (we are lost)

V Spiel ohne Grenzen ( a new-ish one!)

“Come Home” is also not technically finished but I feel like I’ve left it at a good place so idk. Might come back to it, might not.

2. What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever written?

genuinely can’t answer that, so here are a few lines that I am still super proud of:

(Once, they were going to die together, on a bright white beach at the end of a world. She hopes that, once they really go, it will be like that.) - Beinahe

On a whim, in front of an empty glass of tequila, in a crowded bar with sticky counters, he offers a beautiful woman his life. - Asphodel Meadows

Oleg discovered women were still smiling at him in clubs, which was a comfort.

After a while, he began to smile back, and found it felt like a start. The start of forgetting, if nothing else. He’d been waiting to forget. - a future

“Have you come for me?” he asks, faintly, and something like a tired smile pulls at his lips.

I should be surprised, perhaps, but I am not.

“No,” I say very quietly, and think not yet. Not yet.

But soon.- from the wrong side of the river

They should be so different, shouldn’t they – the well-respected influential son of some wealthy mid-western family and the orphan from across the border – but in many ways, they really aren’t.

War does that, Cassian muses, it takes and it takes until the people in it are all the same. - The World Through a Scope

(also, I am happy to say, quite possibly the entire Chapter Fifteen of that story, which I used to be SO at odds with. I think I love it now.)

3. What are some of your current goals as a writer?

first of all, being a writer who actually writes would be fantastic ^^ other than that though, I really want to get better at consistent plotting, instead of just thinking *hey this would be cool* halfway through. I love books that tie neat knots with stuff mentioned at the beginning and i want to be able to do that. I also still feel like I struggle with the passages that are not dialogue, and action of any kind is super hard for me, I would like to get better at that too.

4. What first inspired you to write fanfiction?

My first fanfiction was for Sherlock, and I was following John’s blog that they actually created as a companion for the show, so i was essentially handed a format and just had to go from there.

5. What’s your favorite thing to cook for dinner vs. what’s your favorite meal to eat out?

well, dinner in Germany is usually something like salad and an open-faced sandwich, we have the big meal for lunch except for like, big holidays. So my favourite dinner when I was a kid was scrambled eggs or omelette on some fresh dark bread with parsley and some salad, and honestly, it’s so simple but it’s still amazing. For eating out, um… either Italian, like a risotto dish or pasta or a really good pizza, or a good curry. Or like a really fancy hamburger with sweet potato fries.

6. What would your dream house be like?

Not too big, with nice big windows, some exposed wooden beams, some nice natural-looking flooring (we have stone tiles made to look like wood and they’re the bomb). I want a little garden (like, I want a garden but I’m horrible at gardening so…), i imagine lots of lavender and herbs and tomatoes and berries, and the rest just wild flowers because I don’t feel like lawn mowing ^^ Also, a fireplace would be a must.

7. How do you like to start a story?

I like to just jump right in. My writing has become increasingly… idk, cinematic? If my texts feel like the start of a movie, I’ll be satisfied. I also want the first sentence to be just a really pleasing sentence, which doesn’t always work. Like, I don’t need for it to be deep, just like a phrase that might be the beginning of a poem. For example, here’s the first sentence of the first proper chapter of a YA book I really liked as a teenager (roughly translated from German by yours truly):

Somewhere over the Atlantic, she was woken by the silence.

8. What’s the biggest thing that convinces you to read the second chapter in a multi-chapter fic?

If I can recognise something in the fic that I like to focus on myself in that fandom, like a character trait or a conflict. Good dialogue will also keep me hooked, but mostly the first one.

9. What fic are you currently obsessed with (any fandom, reading or writing), if any?

Not currently reading anything, which makes me very sad but honestly I have way too much going on as it is. (The last fic I read that I really liked was a modern X-Men AU that was told entirely through text, it wasn’t always a hundred percent in-character to me, but it was super entertaining and very sweet, plus I’m weak for that sweet sweet text format). Not as obsessed writing The World Through a Scope or The Running Kind as I want to be (I am determined to try and finish those before I go on my exchange year), but still very much obsessed with the idea of continuing Spiel ohne Grenzen tbh.

10. Describe your perfect Saturday!

Getting up around eight-thirty-ish, making myself coffee and a nice breakfast, sitting down to write a bit, making some lunch, walking around the historical old town, maybe having an ice cream (and/or another coffee), maybe a museum, then seeing a movie and having dinner and a drink with my friends.

11. Metaphors or similes?

Metaphors are so much better, but so much harder, so I think I use similes much more. Should work on that.

1. What is the first fandom your read fanfic in?

… I’m not actually sure, I found out about fanfic via Sherlock or Doctor Who though, so probably one of those.

2. What current WIP are you reading that you are most excited for an update to?

again, see above, sadly currently not reading much, and when I do, i usually filter it by finished so I don’t get sucked in for *too* long. Though there was an unfinished Miss Fisher’s Murder Mystery fic that I really enjoyed.

3. What is your favourite trope to write about?

Are modern AUs a trope? Is slow burn a trope? Are weird organised-crime and/or undercover plotlines a trope? Because all of those.

4. What book are you currently reading?

*cries*

5. What streaming show are you currently obsessed with?

THE. AMERICANS. Foreverandalways. (not technically a streaming show but still.)

6. Do you have anyone beta or edit your work before posting?

I wish I did, but no.

7. What is your favourite book to screen adaptation and why?

Das fliegende Klassenzimmer, hands down. It added a really cool historical context that the book didn’t have before, which added a lot of interesting layers to the side characters.

8. Is there a fandom you thought about writing fanfic in but never did?

Tons, because I plunge into an obsession with every second movie I watch ^^ So there’s usually one or two character studies I could churn out per fandom that I think about for a while, but those are usually to like entertain me on the bike ride to uni and don’t usually amount to enough to be written down.

9. Post your favourite story you have ever written.

STAHP TRYING TO MAKE ME CHOOSE EVERYONE I like most of my stories, honestly. I write them because they’re what I would have liked to read, and some I’m not super happy with when I post but they tend to grow on me over time.

10. What is your favourite holiday and why?

Third Advent, right in the middle of Christmas time; carols galore, handmade biscuits and tea with family, Christmas markets, anticipation, mulled wine, possibly some snow, but not the total panic of not having things ready for Christmas Eve. It’s festive but not stressful, it’s perfect.

11. What is on your wishlist to write next?

THE DAMN GDR AU. God I wish I would finish my WIPs faster.

tagging… @spacepandar, @skitzofreak, @pingou7, @callioope, and @cats-and-metersticks, @leaiorganas and @crazy-fruit again if you want to

Questions:

1. What is a detail in a piece of art/a text that you like that you really admire?

2. Is there an idea that you really liked but had to discard because you couldn’t get it to work?

3. Is there something fandom-related you would like to be able to do (i.e. I’d like to be able to make gif sets but can’t)?

4. What is a skill you’ve aquired through fandom work?

5. Do you think anyone can learn to create great art, or does it take talent?

6. Do you prefer AUs or in-universe? Why?

#yay i got tagged in something

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