#romanian guns

[frogblast-the-ventcore]

[weaponsovfate]

[carbone14]

Des artilleurs allemands au canon antichar PaK 40 de 75 mm – Front roumain – Front de l'Est – Frontière soviéto-roumaine – Printemps 1944

Photographe : Heuberger

©Bundesarchiv - Bild 101I-024-3543-09

[drum-cu-naluci]

Accessorising

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Underneath The Gun – Romanian With A Glass Eye

[thecreatorexistence]

The infinite alive invisible body, and the creator of the existence NMEILIS NMEINIS ESGSEIS

[hellsbedroom]

call out my name

pairing: winter soldier!bucky x f!reader

word count: 4k

summary: as an assassin for hire, you often worked alongside the Winter Soldier. immediately after the events of CA:TWS, that soldier shows up at your doorstep needing help. and he thanks you in a very particular way

warnings: 18+, nsfw, brief mentions of violence, mild alcohol consumption, heavy petting, hair pulling (m receiving), p in v, porn with actually a lot of plot, angsty ending because i couldn't help myself, google-translated romanian

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

The frantic knocking at your front door shouldn’t be happening. Even though Hydra’s secrets had been blown open a couple days ago, your name wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Mercenaries’ names never are. So how could anyone find you?

You slow your breathing to counter the adrenaline as the knocking rattles the hinges again. Clutching your gun tighter, you throw the door open and aim into the night.

The barrel lands against a man’s chest and takes you both by surprise. You pull the gun away when a familiar pair of blue eyes blinks back at you from underneath a ballcap. His face isn’t one you ever expected to see again, especially after the carnage in DC.

“Soldier?” You’d never known him by any real name.

“Can I come in?”

“Am I gonna get killed for it?”

He glances behind him and tugs his backpack tighter. “Not if I’ve done my job.”

That’s enough of an answer. You wave him in with the gun still cocked in case it’s a trap. But after you lock the door, you turn to find him staring at you and all at once the gun is no longer necessary.

His eyes are different. You’d seen them empty, you’d seen them focused, you’d seen them angry, you’d even seen them lust-blown as he thrusted into you in some alleyway after a mission. But you’d never seen them scared.

And he is terrified.

“I need your help. I have to get away.” Vigilance strings his shoulders taut and you wonder how many sleepless nights had led up to this.

“Okay, my cover’s not blown and I’ve still got my contacts. Is the west coast far enough? Canada?”

“No. Farther.”

“London’s pretty big.”

He grips your forearms in a flash, gruffly pleading an inch from your face. “Somewhere they can’t find me.”

The intensity freezes you for a few moments before you nod. Wordlessly you cross the room and rummage through papers strewn across your desk. Identities, informants, any connections you still have. Anybody they can’t get to.

“Does Romania work?” You proudly hold up some papers with illegible scrawls. “I can get you out at dawn.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

His sigh of relief leaves you comfortable enough to grab a couple beers from the fridge. Might as well drink when it’s clear that he’ll stay the night. But when you try to hand him one, he’s staring off into space and doesn’t seem to notice. You aren’t the best at comforting people, especially not Hydra’s former war dog, but you clasp a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be okay.”

He snaps back into the moment, nodding in thanks as he takes the beer and opens it with a simple flick of a metal finger. He rubs the other hand down his face, dragging away the last of whatever thoughts had distracted him.

“Yeah.” He still stands resolute in the center of the room, even as you sling yourself into a chair. “Sorry for grabbing you. I just—”

“It’s alright, Soldier. I’ve been roughhoused before.”

“It’s actually Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name is Bucky. I didn’t know that for a long time. Hydra’s doing.” He sinks onto your couch, still weighed down by the revelation.

You immediately sit up straighter, the gears in your head trying to make sense of it. The whole story comes out with just a bit of prodding. World War Two, his capture, his fall, Hydra’s brainwashing, all of it. You sit in stunned silence through it, nodding in support every now and then. He finishes after the second round of beers and checks the magazine of his gun from force of habit. You do the same, then venture with a question itching to be answered.

“Do you remember anything you did?”

“Some of it. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t...I didn’t want to stop it.” A guilty silence follows and you hear the distinctive whirring of his metal arm as he clenches his fist.

You laugh to lighten the mood. “Hey, that’s better than me. I chose to do this shit and got paid for it.”

Bucky nods solemnly, staring down his empty bottle. Then he flicks his gaze back up to you. “I also remember you.”

“On a mission? Marrakesh was pretty memorable.”

“Yeah. But I remember us doing some other stuff, too.” A smile ghosts his lips for the first time that night.

Memories of him sucking angry marks into your neck as you writhe on his cock come flooding back, making you cross your legs. You clear your throat and try to seem nonchalant.

“I hope that’s not something the brainwashing made you do,” you joke.

Bucky’s eyes are sharp as knives as they cut across the room. “It wasn’t. And I didn’t want to stop that either.”

“Oh. Good.”

The next silence thunders with anticipation but you don’t push your luck. Instead you focus on clearing away stray dishes and papers, flitting back and forth and trying to remember how to play hostess. You cross in front of Bucky and easily lift the bottle out of his hand. But before you can step out of reach again, he takes your arm.

This time his grip is gentle, nothing like the way he’d ever touched you before. You swallow thickly and dare to meet his gaze.

“Yes, Soldier?”

The gentleness is abandoned as his mouth crashes into yours. You knock off his ballcap in a rush to card your hands through his hair, desperate to have him closer. It’s all practiced and familiar, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

His scruff burns against your jaw and then he’s kissing in its wake, lips and teeth devouring down your neck as his hands dive under your clothes to brush at your waist and hips. The skin-to-skin contact lights you on fire and you help him lift off your shirt in a flurry that’s followed by his own jacket and shirt. The fleeting moment spent apart is enough for you to catch your breath and shiver at the desire swirling in his eyes.

You collide into his chest again, wasting no time in dragging him backward with you toward somewhere, anywhere sturdy enough for support. It’s like you’re back in Mumbai or São Paulo or Kosovo, desperate to find a pleasurable release at the closest available location where he could grind his hips into you. This time it happens to be your kitchen island, a throne of granite onto which Bucky lifts you and your legs easily split, letting him settle between them and pull you so that his bulge presses just so against your core.

You're grabbing his shoulders — clutching flesh and metal — and that familiar coolness of his titanium arm curving around your back brings heat pooling between your legs. He captures your lips in an eager, fluid motion, tongue darting out to graze yours. Expert at killing, expert at kissing. The tendrils of his long hair tickle your forehead just like you remember.

With the usual haste and fervor, you grind against his solid hips in search of friction and he obliges by slipping his hand down to rub through your pants.

Soldier...you nearly moan, but stop short. You don’t have to settle for this kind of quickie. He isn’t just Soldier anymore, and you aren’t under the pressure of a mission.

“Bucky,” you murmur against his lips, grounding him to something besides what you both once were. “Bucky, wait…”

He slows down, his grip moving to your thighs, two heavy palms weighing down on you. Then he looks up slowly — his gaze could crack you in half. There’s a vulnerable tenderness in his eyes, clouded over by the bewilderment of what being Bucky once was.

“Bedroom,” you order gently.

“What?”

“Let’s do this in the bedroom.”

He has a lot of unlearning to do after so many years of Hydra control, so maybe you can help him with this one thing. You aren’t sure why you want this extra layer of intimacy, but it feels right.

Your insistence makes him wary. His eyes dart around, calculating whether or not this, too, is an attempt to capture him. Anyone could be in on it.

“It’s not a trap, I promise,” you coax, holding your hands up. “It’ll be better like this. I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t move as you slide off the island, brushing against him and letting the moment linger. You leave your eyes locked on his as you turn and take a few inviting steps down the hall, not abandoning the gaze until his doubts subside and he follows you.

The sparse bedroom is suddenly alive with electricity as you kiss him again to pick up right where you left off. Your grip dives into his hair, pulling in the way you remember makes even the stoic soldier moan. The liplock is blinding and his hands mold to your waist and hips and everywhere, keeping you close as the last of the clothes are haphazardly tossed away. Once you’re bare it’s a short stumble onto the bed and he falls on top of you with his metal arm braced in the unmade sheets.

Somehow Bucky looming over you, sinking down with every delectable muscle, is more breathtaking than the Winter Soldier fucking you senseless against a brick wall that digs into your back.

You don’t get a chance to catch that breath before his hand snakes down to toy with your clit, expertly coating it with your slick with a particular brush of his finger that he knows works so well. The gasp wracks your chest — you’d been ready for this since he admitted remembering every salacious encounter — and you almost give in then and there.

But where’s the fun in that?

Your thighs are locked around his hips and you swiftly flip on top, sitting up to settle on his lap. You’re naked, with no chance of hiding weapons, so he quickly relaxes and focuses on how new this is. Studying your form, from draped legs to raised brow. His hand lifts and you catch it in sync, bringing it up to your breast where he rolls your nipple instantly, carefully watching the arch of your back in response. Bucky is nothing if not a quick learner.

He’s hard, aching underneath you, and the tug in your core calls for the same thing. He helps lift your hips and you brace on his chest and then you’re slowly sinking down on his length to draw out the sensation.

It’s a pretty thing to watch his lips curl as he hisses out your name — your real name, not just one of your aliases — and your own sigh flies out when you reach the hilt. You take a few moments to adjust and then start rocking to an inaudible beat. Or maybe that’s your heart thrumming with pride.

It’s different this time. Everything is still eager and strong and deliciously satisfying but this isn’t just a convenient tryst. That has its time and place, like a muggy Havana afternoon after a vicious shootout. This time there’s something in the way Bucky rubs along your thighs while you lean in close, the rhythm of the thrusts keeping you just out of reach of his lips and yet leaving you anchored to those blue eyes.

He cradles the nape of your neck, watching your face morph in pleasure while the tension builds. You can’t help kissing him then and there and everything winds tighter and tighter until the climax takes you, your open mouth grazing against his as bliss washes all over. His name is a whispered prayer from your lips.

Your stuttering hips drag him into the throes a moment later and his gasp rushes past your cheek. A moan rumbles through his chest and you collapse on it, daring to smile as you breathe him in.

God that was good. The two of you still have it.

You unceremoniously roll off and into the sheets before another thought strikes. You’d never had to deal with Bucky in the moments after a good fuck. You always went your separate ways down dimly-lit alleys or out of a jungle. But here he is, stretched out beside you, with no prerogative to leave until morning.

Apparently the same thing was on his mind because he suddenly sits up and tugs a weary hand through his hair. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No.” You catch his wrist before you know what’s happening. “It’s alright, stay. You need a good night’s sleep. Getting to Romania is gonna be a hell of a ride.”

His eyes sweep over you but there’s no wariness this time. Instead he blinks slowly, giving a half-smile as he settles back down and pulls the covers up. It’s quiet for a few moments, comfortably so, and his arm brushes yours without pulling away.

“You should come with me,” he finally says, voice raspy with sleep and sex. “You need to get out, too.”

It isn’t the first time that thought has crossed your mind but it suddenly feels much more serious. A real chance to escape. Your fingers trace the sheets and mattress below, a place to lay your head that you had never really called home. Of course you have a bag packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, every good mercenary does — but are you ready to be on the run? To live your life at the whim of whoever finds you in every city?

Bucky has already dozed off beside you, his gentle breathing interrupted by furrowed brows and an occasional shake of his head. He has no choice but to run, though you doubt he’ll outrun the nightmares anytime soon.

Sleep does its job of lulling you, too, and you decide to make your choice in the morning.

***

Two Years Later Bucharest, Romania

The rusted faucet gives a weak stream of water but you still rinse off the dishes, watching stray peelings and seeds whirl down the drain. Big bowls of fruit are your staple breakfast now that you have the time to enjoy them.

The apartment is silent except for the gentle ceramic clinks, with Bucky having stepped out to the market next door to pick up more plums — the favorite household snack.

As ex-assassins, calling your arrangement “dating” feels childish. You and Bucky sleep in the same bed, fuck regularly, cook each other meals, watch each other’s backs, and take turns cleaning the arsenal of weapons. So whatever the term for that relationship is, that’s what you have. You need each other.

With the dishes clear and reading to catch up on, you step into the bathroom in the back of the apartment to grab a clip for your hair. Can’t have the locks in your way when novels await.

You hear the front door open and a smile tugs at your lips. “Ce mai faci?” you call. (How are you?)

The Romanian greeting is part of yours and Bucky’s precautions — a code for when one of you reenters the apartment, just in case. You expect to hear the coded answer: Voi fi mai bine mâine (I will be better tomorrow).

But there’s no reply. Only muted footsteps toward your kitchen.

Your heart slams into overdrive. There’s a handgun hidden under the bathroom sink and it’s cold in your grip as you level it at the door, cautiously stepping into the small hallway. No one is immediately visible but your senses don’t fail you. Someone’s there.

“Reieşi!” you spit. “Come out!”

Still no answer but a careful shuffling of feet just out of sight. You hunker at the wall for only a moment and then fling yourself around the corner, barrel first.

Standing by your refrigerator with arms warily raised is Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. You recognize him from both the news and Bucky’s attempts to piece his life together. He cocks his head in surprise — whatever intel had let him here, it hadn’t mentioned you.

But he keeps his voice steady as he breaks the silence. “Where’s Bucky?”

You don’t answer. It’s pointless to lie, since he somehow found the apartment, but you know better than to tell the truth. You can’t claim ignorance anyway — the unwavering handgun in your grasp says otherwise.

You stare back in silence and take a couple calculated steps forward while trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Despite the proximity Steve lowers his arms, correctly guessing that if you haven’t shot yet, you won’t do so without warning. Killing Captain America isn’t exactly the best way to keep people out of your life anyway.

“I just need Bucky. People are coming for him.”

That raises goosebumps along your arms. It makes sense, Steve only finding him when someone worse is on the way. You’re about to demand more answers when footsteps reach the outside of your apartment and pause, no doubt noticing the door slightly ajar.

“Ce mai faci?” It’s Bucky’s strained voice trying the code. Then he more urgently adds, “Esti in siguranta?” (Are you safe?)

“Da,” you call quietly, keeping your eyes trained on Steve. “I’m alright, Bucky. We have a visitor.”

Bucky carefully treads in, his eyes darting between you and Steve and the gun in your hand. The air stings with confusion. But eventually he crosses to you and closes his hand over the barrel to make you lower the gun, and not even your incredulous gaze changes his mind. He simply nods and runs his hand down your back. Trust me.

He pushes a newspaper into your lowered hands and you look down at the words plastered across the top: ‘Winter Soldier Bombs UN Headquarters’. The newspaper crinkles in your tightening grip. Underneath the headline sits a photo of Bucky’s face, clear as day, when it isn’t possible for him to have been there. You’d come out of hiding to vouch for it yourself.

But that wouldn’t matter, you know better. The little world that you and Bucky carved out is caving in fast.

“Do you know me?” It’s the intruder, his gaze no longer fixed on you or your weapon but on his long-lost friend.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

A pause. Steve clenches his jaw. “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

He pauses again as the comms unit crackles in his ear, probably warning of the distant commotion now rumbling up the building from many floors down. You sneak a glance at Bucky and the grim set of his mouth.

“I’ve got him here,” Steve says into his radio. “He’s with someone. Unclear whether she’s a hostile.”

He clips that last part at you, demanding your intentions as you still bristle at him. But you don’t get a chance to threaten him again before Bucky steps in front of you.

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore. Neither does she.”

“Well the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive,” Steve adds, the gravity in his voice sinking deep into your chest.

“That’s smart, good strategy.”

Bucky’s right. Special forces are always taught to eliminate a threat, not wait for heroic negotiating. That doesn’t happen in the real world when real consequences are at stake. A rattling shakes the staircase outside your apartment door, the telltale sign of heavy men and heavy guns on their way. You quickly realize that whether or not Steve is on your side, he’s a better option than what’s waiting out there.

Steve softens. “It doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

Bucky takes off the glove concealing his titanium hand, flexing the joints and heaving a sigh. He looks at you and tips another nod. Get ready. You grab another magazine of bullets for your gun.

“It always ends in a fight,” Bucky murmurs.

“That’s why we ran, you know. To try and stay away from the fight.” You cock the gun, staring Steve down. Blaming him for this situation is wrong but damn it feels right. “But when it comes to our door we have no choice.”

Steve gets agitated, glancing between you and Bucky and trying to piece it all together. “Bucky, you pulled me from the river. Why?”

Bucky stays still. “I don’t know.”

The thundering footsteps get closer, louder and louder like in every nightmare you’d had about being found. You walk to the windows, looking for any trace of the enemies no doubt rappelling down the building at that instant. There are more weapons hidden on that side of the room anyway, and you gather what you can.

“I hate to break this up,” you quip at the men behind you, “but we can’t keep standing here playing high school reunion.”

“She’s right, Buck. We have to go.”

“She’s coming with us.”

You spare Bucky a grin over your shoulder. Of course you’re going with them, but it’s good to hear him say it.

Steve steps closer, faint warnings still being yelled into his comms unit. “They aren’t looking for her. She’ll be safer away from us for now.”

That makes your breath catch. Arguing with Steve will make the oncoming fight that much more difficult. You turn, a sneer already waiting on your lips, but Bucky once again interjects. He catches your shoulders and his gaze sinks deep into yours.

“Steve’s right.”

“What?”

“They’re after me for the stuff in Vienna. You need to get out.”

“Bucky, I’m not —”

Crash! Grenades come flying through the windows, shattering the tension with shards of glass. You knock one right back out and Bucky kicks the other to Steve, who covers the blast with his shield. Bucky is two seconds ahead of you and lifts the mattress to cover you both from a third grenade tossed in. The explosion is hot against your back and your muscles tremble. With his free hand Bucky throws the steel table at the door, blocking it and buying a few minutes before the tac team can bust through.

Rappelers burst through the windows and Steve kicks one down, his gunfire raining into the ceiling instead of your flesh. You return fire to another, clipping his knee and shoulder, while Bucky yanks the third and knocks him against the wall. Two more come swinging in — your adrenaline kicks up another notch — and a scream grates your throat as you land a few good punches on the closest one. You hadn’t fought for your life like this in a long time, but it’s a skill that comes back quick as lightning.

Bucky dashes over to Steve, forcing the other rappeler out of his grip and onto the balcony with a swift knee to the chest.

“Buck, stop!” Steve calls. “You’re gonna kill someone.”

“I’m not gonna kill anyone,” Bucky grunts. Floorboards splinter under the force of his punch and he pulls out his backpack before tossing it onto the roof of the adjacent building.

You take a respite from watching for more assailants and step over downed bodies to reach him. The other backpack lands heavily in your hands and despite the chaos, the rest of the world briefly fades when Bucky drags you closer.

“Go, you have to get out!”

All air vanishes. “No. I’m not leaving —”

“Please.” Bucky’s voice is small against the rushing of blood in your ears. His iron grip pulls you toward the windows and he hands you a rappelling rope. “I’ll find you later.”

You know there’s no choice. And arguing further will put everyone in danger. You attach the rope to yourself and the balcony, still pulling Bucky with you as you back onto the ledge. Shotgun blasts at the hinges of the door across the room draw Steve away and you know this is your last blessed moment alone.

Whatever version of Bucky Barnes this is — the man out of time, the assassin, the shell of a vintage hero — you don’t care. This version is yours, and you love him.

You kiss him, hard. He returns it with fire, his hand tangling in your unkempt hair. A sad smile creeps onto your lips when you pull away and Bucky nods solemnly. One gentle push later and you drop from view.

[dolicekiss]

Golden Girl

PAIRING: Toxic Yandere!Nigel x Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni) dubcon, breath play, murder, violence, slapping, stalking (the reader), gun play, hair pulling, choking, forced oral (male receiving), forced fucking, sabotaging the reader, humiliation, degrading & praise, threats, abuse, forced fingering, breeding kink (nigel wants to baby trap reader), a completely filthy fucked up oneshot

SYNOPSIS: Going to a club in Bucharest was normal, you thought. But when bodies of the boys you interacted with after leaving the club started turning up, your vacation was put on hold. Worried whether you were the killer’s next victim — you were all over the place but what you didn't know was you'd caught the eye of a well known mob boss, Nigel Banyai and the man was willing to do just about anything to make you his.

Fourth body this week.

Found dead in the woods — littered with knife wounds like fucking red confetti. You were terrified but what scared you more was the Romanian police on your ass since all the boys ending up dead were somehow leaving links which trailed back to you.

Everytime a boy or a man was found, they called you in for questioning. Having no solid proof against you, they always released you but with a warning that they will catch you if you were behind the murders. It all became worse when you were forbidden from fleeing the country or even the city — forced to suffer in fear in Bucharest.

It angered you.

Why the fuck was someone targetting you, like this? Sabotaging you, forcing you to stay in Bucharest? It irritated you and this was not something you had looked forward to when you made plans to come to Bucharest.

You were puzzled.

Were you also on the killer’s target list? Was he going to come for you too, kill you too? Were you also gonna end up on the news like all those boys?

You made up your mind to visit the club from where this all began from.

Ever since you'd left, a bloody trail fucking followed and this was getting out of hand. Four men were dead — because they had interested with you. One had asked for your number at the club, the other had catcalled you a few days later on the street and the other two were friends who harassed you after you rejected them.

You decided to go.

In the same outfit, at the same exact time.

You entered the club — it was in a shady area but it was a fun club. Filled with escorts and strippers. It was the best kinda club, especially for a wild girl like you. As you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd of people dancing on the floor, you made it to the bar.

Plopping down on a stool, you ordered a simple martini and threw your bare leg over the other. In certain scrutiny, your gaze ran over the people. Attempting to find the person who had sabotaged you this bad. All you saw were people having fun, kissing and grinding against each other.

When your drink arrived, you took a sip and groaned in frustration. Hand drowned in your hair, gripping onto it to relieve yourself from some of the frustration.

You decided to scan the crowd once more and this time a pair of piercing dark eyes captured your attention. A blonde man, standing there, in a secluded corner. He stared at you, like he was drinking you in and the way he looked at you caused chills to run up your spine.

He was fucking gorgeous.

But his aura was prominent enough for you to notice it throughout the whole club.

You lowered your gaze and shook your head, emptying out your martini. The song changed and everyone screamed, their energy rejuvenated. You ordered another drink and then felt someone sit right next to you. It was that blonde, gorgeous with golden strands hovering over his forehead.

“First time here?”

His thick accent was delicious. You wanted to eat him because of the way he sounded and looked.

“No. Second, which is ironic because my first was fucking awful.” You spat out the venomous words, fingers tightening around the glass as you brought it to your red lips and drank a sip.

The handsome stranger scoffed at you, ordering himself a drink too. A Bourbon and it fit his taste. “Why was the first time awful?”

You sighed, leaning into your seat. “Someone is killing every boy I talk to. I'd be careful if I were you.”

It was as if you'd cracked a joke. His laugh was loud and deep, sending chills direct to your already soaked cunt. The man was straight out of some fictional book, his demeanor and looks making you act like some feline in heat ready to mate.

Too bad, you had no idea what was coming.

“Sounds like someone's got themselves the attention of a stalker.” His comment caused you still. He was right.

It could've been a stalker.

Which only heightened your fear. You finished your glass of martini and before you could order another one, the man spoke up. “Boys should learn how to take no for an answer. It would save them a lot of trouble.”

With that, he rose up from the stool and walked into the crowd of people. Your blood ran cold when your brain registered his words through the heavy bass of the music roaring through the speakers. Eyes widening in realization, you also stood up and ran in pursuit of him.

You didn't know what you were thinking, following the man that was murdering all these boys. You were afraid but you were also curious — like a cat that was about to get slaughtered because of her curiosity.

You only caught a glimpse of his blonde hair moving through the crowd and you followed him, heels clicking against the floor as you found yourself making your way outside through the back door. This exit lead you to an empty area, deserted and abandoned. The music slowly disappearing the further you delved into this area.

It was like some tight alleyway.

The smell of rain and concrete prominent.

“What a silly move. Following your stalker out here, all alone.” You heard his voice to your left and a drop of sweat trickled down your spine.

Your gaze followed from where his voice was coming from and you found him leaned against the wall, under a dimly lit lamp. Between his fingers, he held a cigarette as he smoked. You swallowed tightly and gathered your courage, the same determination which you used to track down the man who'd ruined your vacation.

You were pissed.

“Fuck do you want from me? Just why are you killing all these boys?”

He continued smoking. Dragging in puffs and squinting his eyes while doing so. Then he finished it and threw the little cigarette aside, not bothering to crush it. He took slow, predatory steps towards you, standing at a foot's distance.

Then he lit up another cigarette.

“They dared to approach what's mine.” He said, with boldness.

You let out a dry laugh. Was he fucking serious? He was a handsome man, too bad he was also delusional. You approached him, your finger extending out and pointing at his chest. “I'm not some fucking piece of land you'll claim. I haven't even met you, nor do I know you. You have the fucking Romanian police on my ass like cat after mouse.”

Your anger was bubbling up with each passing second. You didn't even care that he'd killed people — that being the least bit of your concerns. You were upset because you couldn't have fun, you couldn't roam around the country like how you'd dreamed to. It was all going down.

Because of him.

“I wouldn't speak to me like this if I were you. I don't like brats.” He said, voice dangerously low and my knees nearly buckled. You frowned and furrowed your eyebrows at him. “I don't give a fuck. You're ruining my vacation, for what reason? What did I do to you?”

He sighed, flicking open the pale packet and retrieving another cigarette. He lit it up and looked at you, as he placed it between his lips.

“You belong to me, darling.” He blowed the smoke of his cigarette into your face and you coughed out, hand flying in front of your face to move the smoke away.

Before you could argue more with him, he had his hand wrapped around your throat and forced you up against the wall. You struggled, caught off guard but you still struggled although it proved useless. He discarded his cigarette, spitting it out to the side. The man was ten times stronger than you, his rough hand clasping around your throat while his other retrieved a gun from his leather belt.

Your eyes widened in horror at the weapon.

Was he going to kill you?

Glancing between him and the weapon, you shook your head. He brought it up to your head, holding it against it. “Such a dirty little mouth you've got. I bet it can also take my gun when I fuck your little cunt, no?”

You gasped at his words.

And he took it as a chance to slide the barrel of his gun into your mouth. The metal cold and sour against your flaccid tongue, nostrils inhaling the strong scent of gunpowder wafting off it. Tears had decorated your waterline, mind registering the vulnerable situation you were in.

You tried to apologize — regretting following him but it didn't work. The words came out as muffled cries when he slid his gun further into your mouth.

“You look pretty like this.” He whispered against you, staring into your teary gaze. “I bet you've got quite the perfect cocksucking mouth.”

You tried to say something, so he retracted his gun from your mouth, allowing you a chance to speak. “Please—let me go. I'm sorry, I want to go.”

He smiled at you. “Oh no baby, you're not going anywhere. The only reason why I got the police after your sweet little ass is because I knew you'd try to escape. Try to make a run for it. How could I let that happen, hm?”

Your gaze enlarged.

So it was him who purposely did that?

This was all a part of his fucked up plan to sabotage you from leaving the country? Just who was he, how did he have this much power and why the fuck did he want you? It all came crashing down on you like a damn plane.

“Why?” You croaked out.

He sighed, still holding the gun in his thick hand. That was a question of pure foolery. Had you not noticed the way he looked at you? How possessive he was acting? Nigel’s feelings for you went past something as minor as lust. He was truly devoted to you and needed you by his side. Even if it meant by force. “When you came to my club, dressed like this,” he pointed his gun up and down at the same outfit you wore from before. “it made me want to fucking kidnap you and keep you away from everyone. Dressed like a little whore, only I deserve to see this beautiful body of yours.”

You flinched at his words.

The stranger trailed the cold and wet —from being in your mouth— barrel down to your top, as it hung by a chain over your round tits. He scoffed at the sight of it. He fucking loved how you looked in the outfit but if it was enough to give him a hard time in his pants, it was enough to give others a hard time concealing their lust too. That did not sit right with Nigel.

He was a beguiling man.

You could see it in his darkened gaze but your fear had gotten the best of you.

He used his gun to remove the loose top hanging on your tits, a hoarse chuckle emitting from his throat when he saw just how easily the glimmering fabric exposed your tits to him. Your bare chest on full display, peaks hardened to perfection. The tip of his barrel ran over your right nipple and a suppressed whimper escaped you.

“I-I promise I won't tell anyone.” Your endeavor to get yourself out of this situation was of proper amusement to him.

Nigel raised a brow. “Yeah? Even if you tell someone, no one will help you. There's no point in begging and pleading — unless you're into me taking you by force. I wouldn't mind, I fucking love breaking stubborn little girls like you and leaving them damaged.”

It was as if your heart had stopped pumping blood into your veins, your brain growing cold and numb. Obviously there was no point in begging and you tried to struggle against his frame pressed up against you, pushing him with the strength of your shoulders. It only worked as fuel to his incinerating anger.

Nigel walloped you across the face with his other hand before shoving the gun back into your mouth. Actions rough and full of vigor, he rammed it in and out of your mouth while tears furiously fell down your face. The stinging pain from the slap and the searing of your jaw was a combination you found yourself to loathe.

He stared at you, eyes sharp and pupils completely dilated. Deep down you wished that someone, anyone came in this area and saved you from the man but your brain told you over and over again that no one was coming. Your body begging to surrender to the man's abuse.

The feeling of his cold barrel on your tongue felt foreign, your eyebrows scrunching up and Nigel nearly melted at how fucking cute you appeared. Saliva sputtered around the gun, coating your chin in slick and then once he'd had enough, he pulled it out.

“God, you have it so wet, I could easily fuck you with it.” He commented, head tilted as he stared at the gun covered in slick.

You shook your head, making a meek little sound at the suggestion. Getting fucked with a gun was not on your vacation list, especially by a dangerous killer like him. He could fucking blow you up with one single push of the trigger and the idea scared you but also —excited you.

“I wanna go home.” You cried, struggling once more. Nigel took hint of how you were not gonna become pliant anytime sooner so he reached over and grabbed a fistful of your locks — covered in confetti and glitter from being in the club. There it was. Another heavy slap delivered to your cheek, this time not only did your cheek hurt but also your lips stung too.

Running a tongue over it, you tasted metal and cringed.

He'd busted your lip.

“Get on your fucking knees if you still want all your damn teeth in your mouth.” You shivered at the sheer dominance behind his chilling threat. Nodding your head at him, he forced you down on your knees and you allowed him to. Knees scraping against the hard concrete, body aching from all sides.

Nigel pulled more on your hair, tugging you by your locks against the prominent bulge in his pants. “Take it out and suck it. If you don't want me to kill you right now, you better show me just how good of a cocksucker you are.”

You cried tears of vulnerability and devastation, nodding your head at him. Nigel wasn't actually going to kill you, no. He adored you too much to do that but this was necessary, in order to make you more pliant and obedient. More bendable and easy. His cock throbbed in his briefs, enjoying the look of fear that crossed your features. It suited you well.

You'd come here with the attitude of a fucking lioness and now you were nothing but a scared little bunny, cornered and captured.

With shaky fingers, you reached for his little zipper and pulled it down. Then you slowly maneuvered your hand through the little space and felt the thickness of his cock. Rock hard and girthy, you pulled it out. It immediately slapped you across your face and the size of it left you dismayed.

How the fuck were you going to fit that into your mouth?

“I-It won't fit.” You whispered, looking up at him and when you did that, you felt the vein going underside his cock throb against your hand. You weren't gonna lie, it was a pretty cock. It's head thick, seeping with precum and almost a dark shade of pink. The rest of it was long, thick and had protruding veins going up and down. Your jaw still ached from the gun, just how badly was his cock going to destroy you?

Nigel bucked his hips forward, causing his cock to nuzzle against the side of your face, a satisfied hum eliciting from his chest. “It'll fit, I'll make it fit. Even if I have to shoot your throat open so I can fuck it.”

Panic settled in. His ability to throw such gruesome threats around like nothing terrified you. It made you wonder just who this man was and how powerful he was to have you cornered like this — without a care in the world about the law enforcements or the repercussions to his actions.

Your tongue peeked out from the folds of your lips, running over his slit in one single lick and as a response the man shuddered in your hold. His groan was loud as he stared down at you, grip painfully tight on your roots. “Don't fucking tease me, my darling. I wouldn't want to mess up this beautiful face of yours.”

Idle threats were not his cup of tea. He meant every word he said when his gaze darkened and you got to work. Lips circling around his head, taking him into your mouth and sucking on it. Tongue caressing the underside of his cock, running over the protruding purple vein.

Nigel nearly melted at how fucking tight your mouth was. Even after preparing it with his gun, fucking it thoroughly so it'd expand, he was still feeling its contraction around his cock. Wet, tight and gummy. He slipped his length past by your palate, hitting it against your uvula and then sliding it along your windpipe.

When he did that, entered such a forbidden territory, you tried to stabilize your breathing and body by resting both your palms against his thick thighs. Fingernails scraping the cotton fabric of his dress pants — eyes falling shut. You tried to ignore it, the pain you felt and how you were fighting not to gag over it.

But you did.

Ended up coughing, sputtering all over his cock and he only moaned at that. Your saliva trickling down your chin and making a wet ring around his length.

Nigel held your head firmly with both his hands and began to fuck into your mouth. Thoroughly and carefully, he pressed his cock along your tongue and everytime you made a gagged sound, you felt it throb inside your mouth.

He seemed to love how much you were struggling against him. Little fists delivering hopeful thuds to be freed but all he did was shove himself farther down your tight little throat. “Ah, fuck. I wonder how tight your cunt is going to be. Just the thought of being inside your pussy has me near.”

Nigel’s huffed out a sharp breath, his hips twitching forward helping himself breach the barrier of your throat. Tears streamed down your face and at the sight of you this fucked up, he pressed at your head all the way until his perfectly trimmed hair at the base of his cock brushed against your nose.

You tried to inhale through your nose and Nigel chuckled. His thumb and finger pinched your nose, preventing it from breathing. Your lungs expanded, desperately trying to intake any form of oxygen and when it didn't receive it, you started to punch and beat at his thighs.

Loud gagging sounds filled the air and as he fucked your throat, he let out prominent grunts of pleasure. Chest rumbling from how good you felt wrapped around him, how he forbade you from breathing. Your life dancing in the palm of his little life, completely controlling you.

“Christ, you're so pathetic like this. What was it that you said? I was ruining your vacation, huh? Try to escape me now, Darling.” His words burned you with humiliation as you punched and threw a fit, eyelids dropping and eyes rolling back to your skull. You nearly saw black, almost on the verge of passing out but he pulled out.

Only for a split moment.

To admire the trail of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. The saliva glistening around your mouth, forming small bubbles underneath the dimly lit lamp. Your short gasps echoed in the alleyway, as your lungs swelled up to take in air. Nigel found you so beautiful like this, wrecked and ruined. And the best part was that he hadn't even fucked you yet.

The fact filled him with overflowing excitement.

You could only catch your breath once or twice before he occupied the expanse of your mouth again, thrusting roughly and painfully down your throat. He caught a glimpse of the print of his cock in your throat and nearly came — hips driving themselves in aggressive and vigorous thrusts. You could tell he was close by the way his hips twitched and his balls throbbed.

“Yes. Yes— Just like that. Take it baby, take all my fucking cum. You're so good, so fucking good.”

Nigel, with one aggressive thrust, shot his load right down your throat. Barely giving you a chance to spit it out, forcing you to swallow it. When he pulled out and found your mouth to be empty, no sign of his cum, a satisfied glint appeared in his gaze.

“Good girl. You swallowed before I could tell you.”

No, you didn't swallow. He'd forcefully cum down your throat and fucked it down your fucking windpipe. Your body shivered up, feeling cold but Nigel didn't really seem to care. The man was panting like a dog, chest rising up and down while he supported himself against the wall with his palm.

His other hand still in your hair, lazily sitting atop it.

You sniffled, swallowing back a loud sob threatening to escape. There was still hope inside you, that maybe after giving him his release, he'd let you go. So you tried your luck.

“Can I go now? Please?”

His head dropped down. Eyes holding contact with your teary ones and your words made him laugh. A deep, breathless laugh ringing against yours ears. He shook his head at you as if you were a child, who'd asked a question beyond stupidity.

“You thought this was all in the heat of the moment, that I needed a pretty mouth to cum inside?” His hand reached for you, fingers circling around your arm and pulling you up on your feet. His rough manhandling caused your knees to scrape brutally along the floor, a small whimper expressing your pain.

He was glaring at you. “I own this fucking club and all the escorts that work here. I could cum down anyone's throat here, my darling girl.” Nigel leaned in closer to you, the space between the two of you shrinking and it worried you. “It is your mouth I want to cum inside and your cunt I want to fuck. The soonee you accept it the better it is for you.”

You shook your head.

There was still fight left in you.

As you raised your hand, you slammed it down on his cheek. Tears swimming in your eyes causing your vision to become a blur but the pure rage that had awakened in his eyes was something even your blurry vision couldn't ignore.

You almost immediately regretted it.

“Fine.” He muttered, “you wanna act like a brat, you'll get treated like one.”

Nigel slammed your head against the concrete wall and the newfound pain in your head fucking throbbed, increasing and swallowing you whole. The next few minutes were a blur. You could feel him roughly pulling up the mini skirt you wore, in a fit of rage ripping the material of your lace panties. Nigel hated and loved how you were dressed at the same time.

Like some little prostitute.

“I wanted to be gentle but look what you're making me do. All you had to do was be fucking still and obey me, now I'm forced to treat you like this.” His raw manipulation nearly made you feel guilty in the vulnerable moment. Brain succumbing to his words and actions of pure brutality.

Nigel hiked your leg up, wrapping it around his own waist. He brought his hand down to your cunt and smacked along the stripe, watching you flinch. The action slightly brought you back but still not enough to register what was happening.

You were dumb now.

Like a braindead puppy who'd suffered enough.

Your body gave up to him. “Look how wet your little pussy is. All this fucking act of resilience for what? Just to have a soaked cunt?”

You flinched at his words. The brutal man shoved a finger inside you, forcing it in and you cried out. Blurry vision struggling to make out the outline of his face, the hard ridges blending in with the background. He soon added another, followed by another. Pace rough and fingers curved — he slammed them upwards and made you cry out with each thrust.

“N-No.” You managed to cry out, throat completely parched and dry from all the crying. The amount of tears you'd shed had you dehydrated and you needed a crisp bottle of cold water. Only that could cure all this now.

Nigel was knuckles deep inside you and he enjoyed how your pussy clamped around his fingers, wet and squelchy. The sounds of your flesh reacting to his had made his half soft cock erect again. Standing tall and curved against his stomach. He was still being too kind, preparing you to take his cock. He didn't know how many dicks had you taken in your cunt but his was about to be the last.

Thumb caressing your swollen bud, moving it in circles. He loved the way your body twitched and moved, your face still drenched in tears as if you hated this meanwhile your hot little body had its own mind. Clenching around his fingers, nipples hard and sensitive, your hips grinding against his fingers.

“You've got the prettiest fucking cunt I've ever seen, darling.” He commented, pulling out his fingers and rubbing them all over his length. his act of lubrication of his own cock with your arousal making you cringe.

Nigel rubbed his fat head over your swollen clit, watching your face distort in one of pleasure. You cried yet you let out soft little moans of complete contentment. Your lips were agape, and your eyebrows were pinched together. It was such a beautiful sight.

“Look at me.” He commanded and this time you hurried to listen. Finding his gaze and meeting it, you blinked away a few tears and he leaned forward to finally do what he had been wishing to do.

He occupied your lips in a rough kiss, head tilting to the side. His tongue forced open your lips — although he didn't have to actually force it open. The pain in your head made you pliant and obedient, which was a result of satisfactory for him. The man was practically eating your mouth. Teeth clashing against teeth, tongue fighting with tongue, saliva mixing in together. He didn't care your mouth was stained with the salty taste of his own cum.

Nigel was a filthy fucking bastard.

While he kissed you, he stroked himself a couple of times before guiding his thick head to your hole. The second you felt the burning stretch, your hips began to writhe against the wall. Before you could struggle more, Nigel’s brawny arms slithered down to your waist and he lifted you up with ease.

Pinning you on the wall.

He wrapped both your legs around his hips and fully bottomed out inside you. Feeling each and every vein grazing against your tight gummy walls. You had the cunt of a fucking virgin, so tight and so fucking raw. He knew how virgins felt like — he loved the taste of innocence.

Though he knew you were anything but a virgin.

That fiery little mouth you had proved that he wasn't the only man whom you had wrapped around your finger just by existing. He stalked you, everytime you tried to get laid he'd eliminate the men. Kill them and make sure no one could ever lay their hands on you, with or without your consent. Without your knowledge he'd protected you against multiple men.

The man eventually bottomed out inside you, his pelvis pressed against your clit. He still had his hands pinning yours to the wall and it was beginning to hurt. You needed some sort of relief from this torture so you looked at Nigel, with a pleading look of innocence in your eyes. “My arms, t-they hurt.”

He looked at you, contemplating whether to release you or not. “Your arms hurt, yeah? You wanna rest them on my neck?”

You nodded your head when he raised a brow at you. The amount of control he had over his actions, his expressions, it was too attractive but also intimidating. A chuckle rumbled from his throat and you flinched at it, staring at him in confusion. “Aw, and what makes you think I'll let you? You have been nothing but disobedient. Your behavior has been a fit of utter disappointment.”

You were speechless. How could he be this cruel to you? A lone tear slid down your face as you accepted your faith, the ache in your shoulders growing by each second. Nigel’s heart clenched at the sight, he couldn't be mad at you anymore. Not when he was entirely whipped.

His hands slowly retracted and your head slowly rose up, staring at him. He brought your arms to his nape and circled them around it. Your hold tightened and you leaned forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

There was no fight left in you.

You wanted this to get over with as soon as possible.

Nigel found this version of yours endearing and he couldn't wait till he had completely broken you. His cock began to move inside you, in agonizingly slow thrusts and your soft whimpers slid right in his ear. He held you in his arms while he fucked himself into you, feeling how your thighs twitched and your cunt clenched around him.

“You're so tight, baby.” He slurred, his strokes going more vigorous. Hips snapping inside you and your moans delighting him to a new extent. You could feel the stinging sensation of his fingernails piercing through your skin from how hard he was gripping onto your hips, using your hole to chase his own release.

Nigel was breathless, panting like some wild animal when ravaging its prey. You were that prey and being ravaged by him was something that broke you apart. Blonde strands hovering over his forehead, he was honestly a godly sight. The skin of your back scraped lightly across the wall — whenever he thrusted inside you.

Stomach flipping and heart thumping wildly in your ears, you sniffled and whimpered from each harsh stroke. “Look at me, fucking look at me.”

And you did.

Lifting your head from his shoulder and meeting his dark gaze. The way he stared at you, it was like he had finally found purpose in life. The raw obsession in his eyes was overwhelming for you to even register. Nigel dug his nails into your skin, littering crescent moons. All the sensations — of pain, of pleasure, of the taboo this was, of everything, you were consumed by it.

“You're gorgeous.” He whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. Your heart flipped and you realized how fucked out you were because there was no way in hell you were flustered over compliments by this man.

Your hair stuck to your drenched forehead, a few strands finding residence over your cheeks too. Your lips are swollen and busted and your eyes are continuously glossing from the aggression of this man. Why did you capture his attention? Why couldn't it be someone else?

Nigel felt himself close.

So did you.

Your stomach had aggressive butterflies and your thighs convulsed, letting him know that you were near. He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. That and his thumb rubbing your clit was enough to send you over the edge. “Cum for me, my pretty. Cream all over my cock. Claim me as yours.” A loud scream tore through you, as you unraveled.

Eyes rolling back to your skull. Lips agape and the heaving movement of your chest cutting short — your cunt clenched around him and sucked him in. Desperately trying to keep his cock inside you. All this was enough to send Nigel over the cliff too. Seeing how beautiful you looked when you came all on his cock, your breathing short and little huffs escaped your lips. It was all so etheral for him.

To chase his own release, his thrusts grew relentless and he started to pound into you like some fucking animal. “I'm gonna cum inside you. I'm gonna give you a child, our child. You can't escape me, ever.”

You weakly shook your head but the way he fucked you had your body surging forward over his. You sobbed, tears of pleasure and sensitivity streaming down. Your cunt was throbbing and so was his cock, pulsating inside you. Balls hot and then he did what he'd promised you. He coated your insides white, spilling his hot seed inside your cunt.

Nigel was gasping — eyes squeezed shut and the blonde strands clouding his darkened vision. His hips stuttered, the more he came inside you. Rope after rope, enough to give you a child and you mentally punched yourself for not being on birth control. Him eliminating all the men around you made you not take the birth control anymore.

It fell right into his favor.

“You're going to milk me fucking dry, my pretty.” He growled, his own head falling into the crook of your neck. You could feel his harsh pants crashing against your sensitive skin. After catching his breath for awhile, Nigel pulled out of your cunt and you immediately arched your back — a whine sputtering from your lips.

The feeling of his cock sliding out of your hypersensitive walls made you clutch tightly onto him. Nigel held you with one hand and his body pressing into yours, while with the other he tucked himself inside his briefs and zipped up his pants. Then he also fixed you up too. Placing you down on the floor.

Your mini skirt was thankfully not ripped as he pulled it down over your ass. He tossed his jacket over your in a possessive manner. The man didn't want anyone to see you in this slutty little outfit anymore, now that he had claimed you as his.

“You're quiet.” He said, as he watched the cum leak out from underneath the mini skirt of yours, staining your legs. Nigel didn't bother to clean you up, reveling in the idea of his cum leaking out of you. You stared at him, a little braindead from what he'd done to you.

Then you swallowed, in an attempt to coat your dehydrated throat with your saliva. “Can I not be quiet? Does that bother you too?”

Nigel was surprised for a moment. He'd expected you to be silent but your sass was still there and he fucking loved it. How despite what he'd done to you, your sassy little attitude was still there concealed behind the frozen response of your brain to this situation.

He picked you up and smiled. “You're mine now. I'm taking you home.”

You didn't have it in you to resist him anymore. He'd already gotten what he wanted; you. Your face laid across his shoulder as he took you towards the open road and soon slid you right inside the passenger seat of his car. Your head leaned on the leather seat as you watched him, while he drove.

Nigel was fucking enthralled. Even if you weren't going to get pregnant, he'd make sure he's fucked you enough times to make you have his child. He didn't care if it had to be by force, he needed you. Wanted to keep you with him. Forever. In Bucharest.

[navybrat817]

His arm. 😍

[petermorwood]

How on earth did these goats get there?

*****

In reality the goats are lying on their sides on rocky ground, looking up at a crane-mounted camera. The photograph was taken some years ago, part of a series reconstructing Central European folk customs and traditions which have fallen from favour or are now prohibited.

This old-fashioned rural blood-sport was originally practiced in parts of Anatolia, Turkey, where the game was called keçi fırlatmak, and also in the Carpathian Alps of Romania, possibly imported during the Ottoman conquest. The name there was aruncarea caprei.

*****

The goats would have been coated in a strong adhesive traditionally distilled from pine resin.(represented pictorially here by darker patches of dye on the flanks) and were then thrown upwards towards a cliff or rock-face with makeshift catapults, often a primitive form of counterweight trebuchet assembled from wooden beams and weighted with rocks.

The game ended when the glue dried and lost adhesion, and the goats fell to their deaths. They were then cooked and eaten, their meat being valued like that of Spanish fighting bulls.

The meat of the last goat to fall (başarılı keçi or cea mai durabilă capră) was prized as a special delicacy and selected cuts from the legs of this particular “winner” goat were often smoked and dried into a kind of jerky.

*****

In his “Grandes Histoires Vraies d'un Voyageur le 1er Avril” (pub. Mensonges & Faussetés, Paris, 1871) French folk-historian, anthropologist and retired cavalry general Gilles-Etienne Gérârd wrote about witnessing a festival near Sighișoara, Transylvania, in 1868.

There he claims to have seen catapults improvised from jeunes arbres, très élastiques et souples - “very springy and flexible young trees” - which were drawn back with ropes and then released.

Bets were placed before the throw, and marks given afterwards, according to what way up the goats adhered and for how long. The reconstruction, with both goats upright, facing outward and still in place, shows what would have been a potential high score.

The practice has been officially banned in both countries since the late 1940s, but supposedly still occurred in more isolated areas up to the end of the 20th century. Wooden beams from which the catapults were constructed could easily be disguised as barn-rafters etc., and of course flexible trees were, and are, just trees.

*****

Gérârd’s book incorrectly calls the goat jerky “pastrami”, to which he gives the meaning "meat of preservation".

While pastrami may be a printing error for the Turkish word bastırma or the Romanian pastramă, both meaning “preserved meat”, at least one reviewer claims that Gérârd misunderstood his guide-translator, who would have been working from rural dialect to formal Romanian to scholarly French.

Since this jerky was considered a good-luck food for shepherds, mountaineers, steeplejacks and others whose work involved a risk of falling, Gérârd's assumption seems a reasonable one.

However, several critical comments on that review have dismissed its conclusion, claiming "no translator could be so clumsy", but in its defence, other comments point out confusion between slang usage in the same language.

One cites American and British English, noting that even before differences in spelling (tire / tyre, kerb / curb etc.) "guns" can mean biceps or firearms, "flat" can mean a deflated wheel or a place to live, "ass" can mean buttocks or donkey and adds, with undisguised relish, some of the more embarrassing examples.

This comment concludes that since the errors "usually make sense in context", Gérârd's misapprehension is entitled to the same respect.

*****

The good-luck aspect of the meat apparently extended to work which involved "falling safely", since its last known use was believed to be in ration packs issued to the 1. Hava İndirme Tugayı (1st Airborne Brigade) of the Turkish Army, immediately before the invasion of Cyprus in July 1974.

Nothing more recent has been officially recorded, because the presence of cameras near military bases or possible - and of course illegal - contests is strongly (sometimes forcefully) discouraged, and the sport’s very existence is increasingly dismissed as an urban or more correctly rural legend.

The official line taken by both Anatolian and Carpathian authorities is that it was only ever a joke played on tourists, similar to the Australian “Drop-bear”, the Scottish “Wild Haggis” and the North American “Jackalope”.

They dismiss the evidence of Gérârd’s personal observation as “a wild fable to encourage sales of his book”, “a city-dweller’s misinterpretation of country practices”, or even “the deliberate deception of a gullible foreigner by humorous peasants”.

And as for those paratroop ration packs, Turkish involvement in Cyprus is still such a delicate subject that the standard response remains “no comment”.

[la-guns]

An about me post that’s probably too long ♡ feat. my room ^^

I finally fully embraced my true love this year with the 80’s, and its rock/metal music scene. I’ve always loved the decade and its music, but have jumped between interests that didn’t hold me for long for most of my life. But now I’m here, and it feels right. And I can thank my dad.

He’s a metalhead. He had the classic long, shaggy hairstyle in the 80’s. I always remember him blaring his favorite Metallica and Alice in Chains albums from the garage, where he worked on cars and occasional motorcycles. He still does that.

Every morning before elementary school, he’d have the huge box tv playing music videos. My favorites were AC/DC. And while I watched, I had Pop-Tarts, but little me never had the heart to tell my dad I didn’t like them toasted when he brought them to me 😅

Growing up, he introduced me to the best classic movies from the 80’s. Back to the Future, Spaceballs, the Goonies, the Lost Boys (my dad loved vampire stuff, and I do, too), National Lampoon, Princess Bride, so much more. I grew up pure classic. And I like staying that way. It’s a huge comfort.

Now, not much has changed. I prefer 70’s, 80’s, and VERY early 90’s music (like Hollywood Vampires. I can’t do the grunge stuff, sorry! 80’s metalhead heart ♡). I rarely listen to modern music, and when I do it’s mostly for the novel I’m writing to get in the zone. I love Vlad Dracula (the historical Vlad), and have been writing a historical novel about him, and using the real facts in my research from Romanian sources (on here, I love the user @/vladdocs for info about Vlad).

L.A. Guns…the love I have for them came out of nowhere, and that kind of love is usually the best in my experience. I love their style. It’s metal/heavy rock but…in an L.A. Guns uniqueness. Bluesy, invigorating, rockin’. I wish they got to reach stadium level like Mötley Crüe.

I love the “classic” lineup of L.A. Guns. Mick, Phil, Tracii, Kelly, Steve. Love each them to bits, and miss Steve. Kelly is my comfort person, I’d say. I share common interests with him, and from what I’ve watched and read about him, I love how goofy and true to himself he is. Like he embraces his inner child, and I love that. He’s a cutie pie for sure, but his personality is what gets me most. He’s not afraid to be bold with what he likes (like pirates! I LOVE pirates. My dad raised me on Pirates of the Caribbean, and I love the overall history of pirates). Sometimes I wish I could just talk to Kelly about graphic design. That’d be so cool. I’ve been dabbling in it since middle school, and am now going to college for it.

So, my room is my safe space and I like to really have it just scream me. It’s full of original stuff, down to the cassettes, magazines, ‘89 Mötley concert bandana, and magazine pinups. The only original thing I DON’T own is the shirt. It’s a reprint. I love it all so much, and I’m still getting more. My favorite piece is the original Cocked & Loaded vinyl signed by the classic lineup ♡

The bands I love most are L.A. Guns, Mötley Crüe, Cinderella, Dokken, Danger Danger, Def Leppard, KISS, AC/DC, Billy Idol (got to see him in May!), Bulletboys, Poison, Van Halen, and so many more it’s a lot 😭 ♡

This definitely isn’t everything about me, but it’s a taste of the main part. I’d love to get to know others who love the 80’s scene. My inbox and dm’s are always open for polite chat. ♡

[queerasfact]

Did you known that the first person to hijack a plane was a gay palaeontologist?

When the Romanian army marched into Transylvania at the end of WWI, Franz Nopcsa - a Hungarian aristocrat - made the decision to flee. He didn’t have the necessary papers to leave the country, but he was able to use forged papers to get him a chartered flight to the border. Halfway there, he pointed a gun at the pilot, and demanded he fly all the way to Vienna, where they landed safely. The Romanians invited Franz to return in 1920 to work for the Geological Institute in Bucharest.

Learn more

[volturiprincess]

which are the kinks of the romanians?🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Their Kinks

A/N: The much anticipated request, I just combined the 4 since they were basically the same thing. I changed some things since I am not much up to date with the "new" things and I kid you not I was a majority of the time like this 😳🤯🫣😂 (like wtf I wrote this🤣). Enjoy💙

Warning: MINORS SKEDADDLE!

Again let's not beat around the bush here 

Little fuckers are kinky, how could they not, they been around for a while, they seen things and now that they have a mate they need to try out these things on them 

In this case let's hypothetically say you are shorter than them (sorry to anyone who is over 5’7, in this world you are short for now)

When you are around them, they tower over you, Vladimir at any chance will pin you against a wall roughly and have you right then and there 

Stefan will slowly guide you to the bed and well all hell breaks loose as soon as that door closes 

When you first had sex with them, the way your mouth dropped at the sheer size of them, how the hell are they going to fit?

There matching smirks did not help easy your worries 

Since at the time you were still human, they tried to hold back on you but once there in, all common sense went out the window for them and for yourself 

They love how little you are when you are under them or how little you look riding them 

They like to tease you when you have your hands wrap around them (“Look Stefan she needs two hands so she can stroke me” “Adorable”)

Praising won't be missed with them, considering its 1 vs 2, they will make sure to tell you what ‘a good girl” you are and “Your doing so well doll, I know you can take more of my cock”

As said before they been around for a while now, they seen things that left them flabbergasted 

Vladimir was the one who decided to spicy things up a bit more during sex (like what they do to you on a daily basis is not enough)

What you thought was a weird looking bullet, turned out to be the strongest vibrator to mankind 

He would leave it on your sensitive bud and walk away for a bit (“Oh it seems I haven't feed yet, I will be back my love, but keep those pretty legs of yours open”)

Comes back to see your face so fucked up but your poor abused pussy is a mess that he will gladly clean up with his tongue

He loves to see you cum one after another until you are basically begging for a break (he of course will stop if it becomes to much)

As for Stefan he loves to have your mouth wrapped around his cock 

He sometimes pushes as much of himself into your mouth to the point where you are gagging, he enjoys the noises you make (which he for sure will miss when you are turned)

Will do a bit bondage on you so you can't touch him (such a tease) while he has his cock in your mouth 

Stefan unlike Vladimir, likes to see how much of his cum you can swallow until your stomach is basically full of it 

When they want to tease you tell you are begging for mercy, they bring out the big guns (not pun intended 😏)

Handcuffs (so you can't move or remove wha is placed on you)  so they can use certain vibrators to keep you in place and to witness the mess you will be come after an hour or…three

 When they get you as sensitive they believe you can get, then you can expect them to tease you move with just your tip 

‘Please Vlad (or Stef) I need you already” 

“Aww is our poor mate needy for our cocks, such a shame, I thought you could beg more, come on I know you can be more of a brat”

No amount of winning will get them to get them to get your way 

Until small tears spill that they push in and you and them are a moaning mess 

They will tease to tears 

And will fuck you until you cannot form any logical words or complete phrases 

They love to see how fucked up with their cocks in your mind they can leave you 

So unless you have nothing plan for tomorrow, your in it for a long night 

[king-of-men]

There's a certain class of public intellectual - the two examples I have in mind are Bryan Caplan and Freddie deBoer, who otherwise have very little in common - who is genuinely quite smart and articulate, and able to defend their positions against almost everyone they debate with (including other people smart and articulate enough to be serious public intellectuals), and who therefore come across as being Well Up There in the human tiers. And then, every so often, whether from hubris or just sheer bad luck - they'll go up against someone with Serious Brainpower and they will get absolutely fucking smashed. Bryan Caplan tried to critique Huemer's book and came out of it looking a lot like the coyote after his own steamroller has squashed him flat; FdB had the very bad luck to post about EA a few hours before the sage Alexander did, which perhaps made his post come to Scott's attention in a way it otherwise wouldn't, and a day later there was a SlateStarCodex post that took FdB's position apart entirely, thoroughly, and without visible effort.

It's like watching, say, the Romanians in WWII going up against late-war Russians: These armies are visibly roughly the same thing, they both have tanks and machine guns and a reasonably up-to-date officer corps, it's not like bolt-action rifles against spears and shields. (That would be a normie trying to argue with the likes of Caplan.) And nonetheless one of these armies is about to cease to exist as a serious military organisation.

And nonetheless both bloggers are multiple tiers removed from the average human! I will give Caplan the win against everyone he's ever debated except Huemer and Alexander; and of course most of those people are still people literate enough to actually come to his attention, far beyond any possible effort of a normie Reddit poster; and even Reddit posters (in politics discussions, that is) are (generally) at least capable of reading a few hundred words and posting some moderately grammatical sentences in tangentially-relevant response, putting them easily in the top 50% of humans.

I get kind of used to reading Scott Alexander (quite aside from anything else, he just posts a lot!) and that makes it easy to forget just how much of a mutant superman he really is. And then you watch fairly heavyweight writers like FdB get casually flattened, and you go "Oh, right... born under a red sun."

[militarymodeller]

Nr.318, The Sd.Kfz 222 Leichter Panzerspähwagen.

The Sd.Kfz 222 Leichter Panzerspähwagen (light armoured reconnaissance vehicle) was a four-wheeled drive armoured car built by Horch and armed with a 2cm light autocannon and co-axial MG34 machine gun.

The Sd.Kfz 223 command variant removed the autocannon and added radio equipment with distinctive aerial frame.

Seeing action in all theatres of war in which German forces participated it was also fielded by Romanian, Bulgarian and Nationalist Chinese armies.

[doudouneverte]

Back to Home | Chapter two: Trapped

*not my GIF*

Chapter summary: You just had to go in and go out but nothing go well with you and your powers. In their universe, your moms learnt what happend to you and start to worry but Morgan seem to have a plan.

Pairing in this chapter: Natasha Romanoff x Teen!Reader; Avenger x Teen!Reader; Doctor Strange x Teen!Reader; America Chavez x Teen!Reader; Peter Parker x Teen!Reader; (variant)WandaNat & family

Note: in this chapter and for the rest of the serie all sentence between [...] are translate from sokovian/romanian and all sentence between (...) are translate from russian.

Warning: i use google translate so if you speak russian or romanian don't hesitate to let met know if there are errors

| chapter one | serie masterlist | chapter three |

[Earth 616 - Avenger Tower, 15 minutes before you enter the lab]

"So, if I heard correctly, you want to bring her back and let her join the team again?" Tony asked Steve.

A few minutes earlier, Captain America had ordered a meeting; almost all the Avengers were here except for Clint and Thor. The topic of this meeting? Wanda Maximoff. Since what happened at Westview, nobody could contact her, and it's an understatement to say they were shocked to learn she almost killed a teenager to find her nonexistent sons.

"It's rare, but I agree with Tony here. She almost kills a child." Sam said.

"Yes, but we need to be honest; she was the most powerful Avenger, and with Thor, who went with the Guardians, she's the most powerful human on this planet." Steve replied.

"Yeah, but I think you don't know what that mean. We enrolled her after all the Ultron because she wanted to change, but now, she is what we all feared in Sokovia. A powerful witch who killed a super soldier and another Captain Marvel in another universe, and she didn't use her own body. What do you think she can do to us if we upset her?" The billionaire said. And Natasha scuffed.

"You don't mind when it comes to Thor," she replied.

"Because Thor is an avenger who's almost born to protect the earth." he argued.

"She is an avenger too." the woman countered.

"She WAS." Tony spoke harshly. "She was still an avenger after what she did in Westview, but she stopped to be one of us when she did what she did to a fucking SIXTEEN-years-old girl."

"Listen, Tony, we all make mistakes before we become avengers." Bucky said this time.

"No, it's totally a different story, Bucky." The falcon interrupted his friend, "You, you did what you did before and after you decided to be good persons. But she did all the bad things after she became an Avenger." he explained. Honestly, it was understandable, they were afraid. The old Wanda, who tried her best to make up for her past with Hydra, the same who had a pretty romance was gone now. Vision, maybe—

"She did that because she lost all the people she loved," the Black Widow replied. "I'm not saying her actions are justified, but I dealt with death; I don't even know how you could bring me back. But what I'm saying is that I know why she did that." she said. "If it was Pepper who died this day, what could you do?" she asked.

"Don't play this game with me, Romanoff. I know how to deal with death." Tony replied.

"That's why you hated your father." Natasha said, and the billionaire started to be angry. He wanted to argue, but he was stopped by the IA.

"Boss, it seems there is an intruder in the lab." Friday announced.

"Can you tell me who they are?" he asked.

"The facial recognition doesn't work, but judging their clothes, it's Miss. Maximoff." she said, and everyone looked at each other totally shocked. Why would she come here? And precisely in the lab?

Without a word, they all made their way to the lab. Tony equipped his new suit; Steve grabbed his shield; Bucky, his knife; Natasha put her widow bites on her wrist before grabbing a gun with Sam and Banner, was ready for green code. The lab's door slid open without a sound. When they were ready to arrest whoever was in front of them, they heard you say proudly. "Oh yeah, I did it."

"Oh, and what exactly did you do?" Tony asked, and his voice surprised you. You quickly reassemble your widow bites before turning around and facing the Avenger.

"O der'mo (oh crap)," you mumbled. "Uh, wait, guys, I’m not here to fight or anything." you said, and their only answer was to hold up their weapons to you. And you thought it couldn't get worse; you saw red magic around your hand; your eyes turned red; but you were oblivious. Iron Man wanted to blast you, but your magic reacted in time, and a red whip sent him away against a wall. "Sorry," you said. But you knew they'd not accept your excuse.

Captain America threw you his shield, but you unconsciously stopped it and sent him back, thankfully, he didn't end up like Captain Carter, the shield just hit his head and fell on his buttocks. You didn't have to apologize this time; the Winter Soldier attacked you. He was too fast to use your magic without hurting yourself, so your body moved itself. All the training sessions with him and your mom in your universe seem to have taken control of your body, and you easily put him down.

You were just on your feet again, and Sam and Natasha started to shoot you. They definitely saw that you were not an ordinary teen. Your magic activated himself again and blocked the bullet, giving you a relief sight, but the bullet abruptly changed her direction to the two Avenger. "No! Stop!" you yelled, and the bullet just fell to the ground. Okay, there was definitely a problem with your magic, but you didn't have time to think about it before the Falcon rushed to you. It was not a surprise when you knocked him out beside Bucky, but what was surprising, at least for the Black Widow, was that you used her special move. She engaged the fight, but she was more careful than her teammate; she was winning when your magic decided to not listen to you again and a powerful red wave of chaos magic sent her crashing onto the opposite wall.

You watched what you did; did you just win against the Avenger? Wow, it was certainly something you would tell to—. Your body collided with a wall brutally, and you instantly passed out. You forget the Hulk.

------

[Earth 717 - Avenger Tower, two hours after your disappearance]

Heavy footsteps could be heard in the lab; they didn't need to ask Friday, they already knew who they were. The door opened to show an angry Natasha and a worried Wanda. "Where is Y/n, Morgan?" the Russian asked, but the teen didn't find the courage to face her. "America? Peter? Where is my baby girl?" she asked again, but this time she couldn't hide her cries.

"We lost her," America said lowly.

"What do you mean by saying you lost her?" Natasha said. "She's a teenager who wears a fucking scarlet suit; how can you lose her?" she added, obviously angry by the response of the older brunette girl. Wanda couldn't keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks.

"Hey, Natasha, please calm down; we will explain," Peter said softly, and your moms did.

After they explained what had happened on the mission, the Sokovian was officially falling apart, and the Russian was afraid but so angry. "How can you lose her in the multiverse?" she asked.

"The time machine exploded before I could close the portal, and I was sent to another universe too. When I came back, Morgan told me what happened, and I searched for her for an hour and a half, but I couldn't find her. Even if I focused on her. I was sent to some universe where there was a Y/n, but they were not the right." she admitted.

"We need to find her." Wanda said for the first time, she was unstable visibly very worry.

"Hey, it's okay, my love?" Natasha asked, but her wife shook her head.

"I can't feel her, Natasha." she said, and Natasha seemed to understand. "I don't know if my little angel is alright. I can't feel her." She cried harder. "I can't feel her," she repeated. "Why can't I feel her?" she asked her wife, but the redhead didn't have an answer. It was something Natasha didn't fully understand, since when you kicked Wanda's belly for the first time, a bond was created between you and your mama. You were always able to feel the other, even if sometimes you hated that it was reassuring you, when you developed your power at five years old. Your moms don't stop being avengers until you were ten, so during the five years you used this special bond to make sure she was alright every time she left.

"Don't worry, Auntie Wanda. I may have a solution to locate her wherever she is." Morgan announced, and everybody looked at her and seemed to wait for an explanation. "I made her new widow bites since she broke the previous. And I decided to add a tracker who worked in the entire multiverse. That's mean when she will use them, I will be alert." she explained, and it seemed to low your mom worries a little.

"Thanks, you Morgan," Natasha said, and the girl smiled,

"Of course, auntie Nat, she's my best friend too. I will do anything to find her," she assured them. "But for now we can't do anything more. I’ll call my dad and see if he can help me, and America will alert Strange." she said, turning to Peter. "Peter, you'll bring Khrono and the red Goblin to the cops." she said, and he nodded.

~~

"How is it even possible to lose her?" Tony asked her daughter, and Morgan sighed.

"Honestly, I don't know; it all happened too quickly." she said.

"And how are they?" he asked.

"Not good. Auntie Wanda didn't stop crying; auntie Natasha called Yelena and Kate to inform them. Wanda should call Pietro soon," she explained.

"And how are you?" he asked again.

"I don't know. I'm angry at myself for not being able to save her." she replied, and some tears started to fall on her cheeks. "But I need to be strong, because when Pietro comes he will bring Luna, and I will need all i have to not let her miss her cousin." she said, and she chuckled.

"We'll be here this night," he said, and she smiled, "I love you Morgan." He added,

"Me too, dad, more than 3000." She said, and they both chuckled.

"Yeah, more than 3,000," he repeated before hanging on.

"Who was it?" Pepper asked when she entered the bedroom.

"Morgan," Tony replied, and the blonde woman frowned her eyebrows.

"Is she okay?" she asked worriedly, but her husband nodded.

"Her yeah, but they lost Y/n on their last mission," he confessed, and Pepper almost fell apart, but Tony caught her before. "Hey, it's okay. We will leave in one hour, Morgan needs me to help her." he said, and the tall woman nodded.

~~

In Ohio, Melina was on the couch in front of a picture of you. She took it when you celebrated your seventh birthday there, you pleaded for an entire week to convince your mom, but it was worth it; it was one of the best birthdays you had. Your grandma was too focused on your face in the picture to hear Alexei came back until he sat beside her and wiped a tear with his thumb. She looked at him, and she cried. He didn't say anything; he just let her use his chest for support.

After a moment, she raised her head and looked at the frame and at him, "They lost her." she said, and immediately placed her again against his chest. She didn't see it, but she felt it, the Red Guardian was crying as well.

~~

"But how? I mean, we all know she's reckless and she's started a rebellious phase, but how can it be possible?" Pietro asked. He just came with his daughter, Luna, and with Yelena and Kate.

"You're sure you search everywhere?" the blond asked America. With all the time she lives here, her accent slowly fades like the twins'. The brunette just nodded, and everybody sighed. Kate sat next to Wanda and gently rubbed her back.

"It's okay, we will find her." she said. The brunette was always optimistic when it involved you, but for the first time she started to doubt.

'Morgan was in her lab, she was working on the last details for your new widow bite, when her phone rang.

"Miss. Stark, Y/n try to call you." Friday informed her, and the teen picked up the phone.

"Hey, Y/n/n, are you okay?" she asked, but you didn't reply; you just sobbed, and she immediately worried. "Y/n. What's happening?" she asked, more anxious this time.

"We fought again," you replied, and she sighed. "Can I sleep in the tower tonight?" you asked shyly.

"Yeah, of course. You know you don't have to ask; the door is always open." she replied.

"Thanks, Morgan." you said quietly.

"Always." she said, and after that she hung on. You were in front of the tower in less than ten minutes, and she greeted you with a tight hug while you sobbed against her chest. "It's really that bad?" she asked, and you nodded. She led you to the kitchen when you told her everything.

"I don't deserve them." you concluded your monologue.

"Don't say that you were just angry. I say awful things to my dad when I'm angry too." she reassured you.

"Yeah, but you never said that he didn't deserve to be a dad," you said, and you chocked with saliva at the memory of your mom's face when you said that. "I really hurt them this time. Most of anything or anyone. I'm sure they started to miss their time with the Red Room and Hydra when they didn't have to raise a girl like me." you added. Morgan stood up to hug you.

"Don't say that. We both know you don't mean it." she whispered to calm you.

"And if I mean it," you said. She tried to protest, but you stopped her. "You should see their faces. I'm a bad daughter." you added and started to cry again.

"Shh... Just go take a shower and sleep, and we will talk about it tomorrow," she said, and you nodded. You left the kitchen, and Morgan just stared at you. She started to think about a plan to cheer you up a little.'

Knocks on her door bring her back into reality. "Hey sweetheart are you alright?" Pepper looked visibly concerned.

Your best friend cleaned up the tears that fell because of the memory, "Yeah, don't worry, mom. It's just that... all this stuff, I don't know what to do." she admitted, and the tall woman received the message and hugged her.

"You'll find a way to bring her back like you always have since the last three years." her mother whispered in her ear. "I'll stay with Wanda; your dad should be here soon," the blonde woman informed her, and she started to leave but was stopped by the voice of the teen.

"Mom?" Morgan called her, and Pepper looked at her, "I love you." she said, and her mom smiled.

"I love you too."

------

[Earth 616 - Avenger Tower, the next morning]

What's left of the Avengers was in the kitchen, where there was a tense silence. They were all reflecting on the previous night, when everything had happened so quickly. Some footsteps let them hear them and enter the room; it was Doctor Cho. "I finished patching up her wounds; I don't know how she could fight when she was stabbed in the abdomen. She's young but pretty strong." she said, and she picked something up from her pocket. "I don't know if you want this, but I think we shouldn't throw it." she added, and let the widow bite on the table. "I changed her clothes, and we moved her into the special room like you wanted. I'll leave, but I should be here tomorrow to check her injuries." she informed them and left.

All eyes were now on the weapon on the table. Only one question was on their minds: who are you? They exchanged looks before looked at the redhead. "So, nobody wants to talk about it?" Sam broke the silence.

"What do you want to talk about? That a mysterious girl found a way to enter the tower without alerting Friday? Or the fact that she wore the same clothes as Wanda? Or the fact that she has the widow's special weapon?" Tony asked sarcastically.

"And if we talk about the fact, she easily laid down five Avengers?" Bruce said, and everyone glared at him. "What? If I wasn't here, she would escape." he added.

"You knocked out a poor little girl." Bucky said.

"A girl who can knock out two super soldiers is not 'a poor little girl'." The big man said.

"Talking about it." Steve said, and everybody looked at him. "Do you know her, Natasha?" he asked, and all the men looked at her.

"Yeah, she fought like a widow," Sam added.

"No, she didn't fight like a widow." Natasha said, and they were confused. "She just fights like me," she added.

Bucky wanted to talk, but Friday cut him off. "Mr. Stark, Doctor Strange is here." she announced, and everyone was confused. Why would he come here suddenly. Tony didn't have the time to ask the IA why he was here before the sorcerer appeared in the room. But he was not alone; there was a boy in a blue and red costume and a girl with a jean vest; they knew the girl but not the boy.

"So, where is she, Spider-Man?" Strange asked without even acknowledging the other adults.

"We're happy to see you too, mister magician," the billionaire said. And, Strange finally noticed everyone.

"Nice to see you alive, Stark, but I thought Miss Romanoff was... you know?" he said, and Natasha just sighed.

"And who are they?" Steve asked while pointing at the two teens.

"I’m Peter—uh, I'm Spider-Man," Peter said.

"Oh, the little spider boy who plays the hero in New York." Sam said, and the other avengers looked at him. "What? You don't watch the TV." he added, and the boy nodded shyly

"And you?" Bucky asked the brunette girl.

"I'm America Chavez." she replied.

"Okay, but what are you doing here?" the blonde super soldier asked.

"The boy said someone wanted to talk to me, and this person should be here." Stephen explained.

"So, the little teen who broke into my tower and knocked out the two super soldiers was yours?" Tony asked, but the sorcerer frown his eyebrows.

"What, don’t you know her?" Natasha asked, and he shook his head.

"We didn't tell me her name, but if she's here, I assumed she was a new recruit." he replied.

Sam wanted to talk, but the IA spoke again. "Avengers, the mysterious girl is awake," she informed them. They didn't waste any time and walked to where you were. For everyone, you just looked lost in this room alone, but for Steve, something seemed familiar.

You looked at the group and noticed Strange, "Hey doc." You greeted him, and before he could reply, you noticed America, well, a young America. "Oh, I didn’t see that coming." you said, and the ones who were in Sokovia looked at you, shocked by your words. "O naiba, încep să vorbesc ca unchiul Pietro [Oh crap, I start to talk like Uncle Pietro]." you mumbled to yourself.

"What did you say?" Steve asked, and you looked at him. "What did you say before you spoke in another language?" he repeated.

"Oh that? Oh, it's nothing, don't worry. I say that sometimes when something happens. Mama says it's a family thing." you said, and you lowered your head at the memory of your mama.

Tony cleared his throat and brought you into reality. "I think we all want to know who are you and what you want." he said.