#if only I could always write in Russian and you could understand me without a translator

[obernice]

Сколько нужно одержимых Ванилл чтобы вкрутить лампочку?

@scarapanna @raptor1312 @itzrhymesgamers

(просто пририсуйте на холст своего Ваниллу куда угодно)

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie #memes #oh #if only I could always write in Russian and you could understand me without a translator

[nrdmssgs]

Tips to write for Nikolai (useful phrases)

Masterlist Tips to write for König (useful phrases)

AN: This guide is not meant to encourage you to start loving Russian language or culture. As much as I personally love Nikolai, I'll absolutely understand, there are people out there, that may feel bad, seeing him in CoD franchise, because of everything going on right now. This is not a call to start loving him, not a call to start describing this character as an absolute angel (he is not and never was). If seeing such a guide makes you feel bad - I'm genuinely sorry, and I'm open to a dialogue to make it better.

I tried to cover the most commonly used themes. However, it's impossible to make it short, yet all-covering. So please don't hesitate to come into my DMs with 'hey, I want Nikolai to say this thing in my fic - could you translate it in Russian for me?'. I'm always super-happy to help!

These are not my HCs, about what would Nik say, just some usefull phrases!

And the last one: Russian language uses Cyrillic letters. But I personally love to, at least try to hear, how other languages sound. So I provided translations (Cyrilic) and transliterations (Latin).

TW: swearing

Basic words, you may need for everyday chit-chat

Hello - Здравствуй Zdravstvui

Hi - Привет Privet

Good morning \ day \ evening - Доброе утро \ добрый день \ добрый вечер Dobroe utro \ dobryi den' \ dobryi vecher

Goodbye (untill next time) - До свидания Do svidaniia

Bye - Пока Poka

Thank you - Спасибо Spasibo

You are welcome - Пожалуйста Pozhaluista

Yes \ yes of course - Да \ Конечно Da \ Konechno

No - Нет Net

Petnames

Genderless (can be used, referring to both men and women, depending on relationship dynamic):

Angel - Ангел Angel

My soul - Душа моя Dusha moia

Treasure - Сокровище Sokrovishche

Sun \ little sun - Солнце \ Солнышко Solntse \ Solnyshko

My joy - Радость моя Radost' moia

Love - Любовь Liubov'

My light - Мой свет Moi svet

My happiness - Счастье моё Schast'e moe

Dream - Мечта Mechta

Little cloud - Облачко Oblachko

Little fire - Огонёк Ogonek

Precious - Прелесть Prelest'

Heart - Сердце Serdtse

Little tiger - Тигрёнок Tigrenok

Wonder - Чудо Chudo

Feminine and masculine versions of petnames (Here you can add 'my' moia for feminine, moi for masculine versions of names)

Priceless - Бесценная \ Бесценный Bestsennaia \ Bestsennyi

Divine - Божественная \ Божественный Bozhestvennaia \ Bozhestvennyi

Peerless - Бесподобная \ Бесподобный Bespodobnaia \ Bespodobnyi

Gorgeous - Великолепная \ Великолепный Velikolepnaia \ Velikolepnyi

Delightful - Восхитительная \ Восхитительный Voskhititel'naia \ Voskhititel'nyi

Darling - Дорогая \ Дорогой Dorogaia \ Dorogoi

Precious - Драгоценная \ Драгоценный Dragotsennaia \ Dragotsennyi

The only one - Единственная \ Единственный Edinstvennaia \ Edinstvennyi

Desired - Желанная \ Желанный Zhelannaia \ Zhelannyi

Golden - Золотая \ Золотой Zolotaia \ Zolotoi

Affectionate - Ласковая \ Ласковый Laskovaia \ Laskovyi

Beloved - Любимая \ Любимый Liubimaia \ Liubimyi

Sweetheart - Милая \ Милый Milaia \ Milyi

Tender - Нежная \ Нежный Nezhnaia \ Nezhnyi

The one, I can't stop looking at (lovingly) - Ненаглядная \ Ненаглядный Nenagliadnaia \ Nenagliadnyi

Incredible - Невероятная \ Невероятный Neveroiatnaia \ Neveroiatnyi

Charming - Очаровательная \ Очаровательный Ocharovatel'naia \ Ocharovatel'nyi

Dear (often said to someone, you consider your family) - Родная \ Родной Rodnaia \ Rodnoi

Sweet - Сладкая \ Сладкий Sladkaia \ Sladkii

Good one - Хорошая \ Хороший Khoroshaia \ Khoroshii

Love confessions and stuff around that

I love you. - Я люблю тебя. Ia liubliu tebia.

I like you. - Ты мне нравишься. Ty mne nravish'sia.

I fell in love with you at first sight. - Я влюбился (if man says it) \ влюбилась (if woman) в тебя с первого взгляда. Ia vliubilsia \ vliubilas' v tebia s pervogo vzgliada.

I can not live without you. - Я не могу без тебя жить. Ia ne mogu bez tebia zhit'.

You drive me crazy. - Я схожу по тебе с ума. Ia skhozhu po tebe s uma.

I wanna be with you. - Я хочу быть с тобой. Ia hochu byt' s toboi.

I think about you constantly. - Я постоянно думаю о тебе. Ia postoianno dumaiu o tebe.

You are my only one. - Ты мой (if the partner is masculine) \ моя (if the partner is feminine) единственный\ая. Ty moi \ moia edinstvennyi\aia.

I really need you. - Ты мне очень нужна (f partner) \ нужен (m partner). Ty mne ochen' nuzhna \ nuzhen.

We were meant for each other. - Мы созданы друг для друга. My sozdany drug dlia druga.

I'm ready to do anything for you. - Я готов/а на все ради тебя. Ia gotov/a na vse radi tebia.

I'm never giving you to somebody. - Я тебя никому не отдам. Ia tebia nikomu ne otdam.

Dirty talking

I want you. - Я хочу тебя. Ia hochu tebia.

I'm all yours. - Я вся твоя \ весь твой. Ia vsia tvoia \ ves' tvoi.

Your body drives me crazy. - Твоё тело сводит меня с ума. Tvoe telo svodit menia s uma.

I want to feel your touch all over. - Хочу чувствовать твои руки везде. Hochu chuvstvovat' tvoi ruki vezde.

You can do anything you want today. - Тебе сегодня можно всё. Tebe segodnia mozhno vse.

Take me the way, you want to. - Возьми меня, как ты хочешь. Voz'mi menia, kak ty khochesh'.

I want to make you moan. - Хочу заставить тебя стонать. Hochu zastavit' tebia stonat'.

Give yourself to me completely. - Отдайся мне весь (to m partner)\ вся (to f partner), без остатка. Otdaisia mne ves' \ vsia, bez ostatka.

Show me, that I belong to you only. - Покажи мне, что я только твоя \ твой. Pokazhi mne, chto ia tol'ko tvoia \ tvoi.

What do you want to do to me? - Что ты хочешь со мной сделать? Chto ty hochesh' so mnoi sdelat'?

Don't stop. - Не останавливайся. Ne ostanavlivaisia.

I want to taste you. - Хочу попробовать тебя на вкус. Hochu poprobovat' tebia na vkus.

Swearing

Fuck (as an interjection) - Блять Bliat'

Fuck off - Отъебись Ot"ebis' (to one person), отъебитесь ot"ebites' (to a group of people)

Bloody hell - Ёбаный пиздец (NOT used during sex!!) Ebanyi pizdets

Bastard - Сволочь (applied to any gender) Svoloch'

Motherfucker - Ублюдок \ уебан Ubliudok \ ueban

Son of a bitch - Сукин сын Sukin syn

Asshole - Жопа \ задница. Zhopa \ zadnitsa.

Cunt \ Pussy - Пизда (This and next one can in theory be used in bed, but i really strongly recommend you to NOT) Pizda

Cock \ Dick - Хуй Hui

Cultural extras to get in the mood

I sometimes meet this take, that Russian, as well as German language, sounds menacing or harsh. And as much as I understand, that it is subjective perception, I have something to add: you can modulate Russian speech as well as any other. You can sound like softest softie, coo and purr in Russian, if you want. Here is a good example: a guy just reads a poem, but you try and tell me, he is not straight seducing you.

Very nice perspective on how non-tourist Russia looks like. The guy travels to places, that still look and feel like USSR and somehow manages to survive. Don't mind him rambling, how good was soviet life - he doesn't mean it, he just says whatever people, he meets, would love to hear.

Another good channel to explore non-tourist Ru and some extreme weathers. Don't worry, there are no jumpscares and nothing scary happens on the videos.

Russian winter is a tricky one, because -40 С in Yakutsk can sometimes feel softer as -20 in Moscow. Humidity and wind are the keys.

No, vodka is not the only alcohol option) You can write a Ru character, that despises vodka and it will be 100% legit.

If you need domestic and interior references to Nikolais youth in soviet Ru - I can recommend HBOs Chernobyl series. An accuracy and attention to domestic details there is so great that it gets uncanny sometimes.

Stefan Kapičić does very tender and smooth version of Slavic accent. And he is 100% right to do so - it works good both for his character and the audience. If you want to hear heavier versions of Russian accent - here is a little funny video.

#cod nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai cod x reader #nikolai reboot call of duty #call of duty #call of duty mw 2022 #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mv2 #call of duty mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii

[novoaa1writes]

day 0

image source

pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader, natasha romanoff & tony stark (platonic)

summary:

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Or: Natasha wants a pet. Lucky for her, she knows a guy who can help with that.

contains: non-con dynamics, pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~3,300

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, non-con bathing, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, referenced physical and psychological abuse, discussions of administering post-op painkillers (morphine, oxycodone, anti-inflammatories, etc.)

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here, and as with every reader-insert i write, the reader is intended to be ethnically ambiguous! also, no use of y/n... i don't personally mind it much, but i understand it's typically preferred without

translation for russian terms in the end notes!

(previously named “build-a-pet”)

— —

Natasha had been on mission when she received the call. 

Burner #1—professional access. A select handful of people had the means to call it. Phil, Clint, Nick, Maria. Pepper, too. 

Burner #2—a separate, off-books agenda. Personal in nature. Accessible to none save for one individual. 

It was the second of the two that rang to signal an incoming call.  

Eyeing her target—Pavel Mikhailovich Novik, Bratyerstva head and prolific serial killer—intently through the tac scope, she brought the phone up to her ear and answered the call:

“Romanoff.”

“Gah! Always business with you, huh?” Tony Stark’s conversational—if not somewhat indignant—tone filtered through the speaker. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

Were Natasha not otherwise occupied at the current moment, she might’ve scoffed. As it was: “A little busy, Shellhead,” she muttered, shifting her aim in time with Novik’s uneven stride as he made his way across a municipal street. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you tell me what you’ve got?”

“I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking.”

He was a short, stout man. Novik, that was. Flat-footed gait, the kind that had long since ruined the arches of his well-worn shoes. Broad shoulders; barrel-chested torso. Thick dark hair cut short on his scalp and, in the case of his square-shaped jaw, removed completely—but permitted to grow to damn near cat-whisker length everywhere else. 

A wheat-link chain hung loose around his short neck; the chunky watch on his hairy wrist gleamed when it caught the light. Both solid gold.

He was dressed nicely enough in a red button-down that looked soft as satin, and charcoal black trousers with a matching blazer to boot.  

Natasha had to bite back a disapproving hum as he strode into the establishment—a pub, no less—and hoisted himself up onto a barstool with little ceremony. 

He was armed, of course, but only barely; a pistol in one inner coat pocket, a switchblade in the other. He also wasn’t entirely clueless, as evidenced by his company: a pair of stern-looking men who stood flanking him on either side, the material of their cheap polyester suits straining to contain their hulking figures, jackets bulging with poorly-concealed semi-automatic weapons. They watched the bartender like hawks as he set a clear bottle—Dębowa—and an empty glass in front of Novik before promptly scurrying away.

They turned their matching glowers away from their boss as he began to drink, surveying the small, dimly-lit pub with heavy-browed suspicion.

It was a clear message. A bit garish for Natasha’s tastes; but clear nonetheless. 

As it was, she barely had to shift herself any further to catch him in her crosshairs through a series of high, rectangular windows lining the interior of the grimy pub. 

All bark, no bite. 

A far less jaded woman might have snorted. 

A far less jaded woman Natasha was not. 

“… Long story short, we’ve made some serious progress. I want to check in, though, if you could swing by for a quick visit. We’ve only got a short window before some of these alterations are irreversible. Plus, I figured you’d want to see them.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, her pulse thrumming wild and fast beneath her skin. “You figured right,” she managed to answer, her mouth dry. It was all she could do to keep Novik unharmed in her crosshairs, her finger from squeezing the trigger. 

“So, when can we expect you?”

Natasha flit her gaze to the clock face fastened atop a tall, spindly spire on the nearest street corner, then back to Novik. “Give me six hours.”

— —

“Boss, three reports intercepted from secure, heavily-encrypted channels. All high-profile killings, all on European soil.”

Tony Stark, though intrigued, did not look up from the task at hand: himself perched adroitly along the rim of the tub, lathering your naked body in sweet-smelling soaps; you, slumped uncouthly in the cradle of the bath, glaring up at him with defiant eyes and murder in the tick of your jaw. 

“Time window?” he questioned after a pause, lowering one sudsy hand to knead at your lower belly and grinning wolfishly when you couldn’t smother a quiet whine. 

“Six days.”

“Locales?”

“Qormi, Malta; Kutaisi, Georgia; and Gomel, Belarus.”

Stark hummed in lieu of answer, a vaguely preoccupied look in his narrowed gaze. His large, calloused fingers didn’t cease their humiliating ministrations over your quivering belly, making you pant in an effort to hold back a low, guttural trill. 

“In that order?”

“Yes, boss.”

You hated him. You fucking hated him. 

“Walks like Natasha, quacks like Natasha…” he trailed off, giving your belly one last squeeze before withdrawing slightly to cup your other hip with his palm. “Probably Natasha.”

You’d only just begun regaining your strength following the latest procedure, though not nearly enough to do anything other than glare.

Stark slanted his gaze back over to you. If he was at all cowed by the force of your glower, he did well not to show it. “You’re adorable when you’re plotting my demise, y’know that?”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes.

— —

“So, how was White Russia? Eat any draniki?” Stark questioned as he settled bodily into an armchair, gesturing for Natasha to seat herself on the settee across from him. 

She did, her features calm and impassive. Her shrewd gaze flit to you once, but was quick to refocus. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“C’mon, give me something,” Stark carped, huffing petulantly. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, only the back of his head and a bit of bearded cheek, but you imagined he was probably pouting like a third grader. “For old times’ sake?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Stark quipped. “Though, I suppose I can’t say the same for Novik. He didn’t even get a trial.” 

Natasha’s placid expression did not falter. “Who?”

“You know what, I’m just gonna give you this one—”

“Generous.”

“—but only because we’ve achieved a mind-blowing amount of progress within the past couple weeks. Like, seriously: mind-blowing.”

You felt yourself shudder at the reminder. Progress, indeed.

“Oh?” Natasha queried lightly, brows raised. Once more, her gaze dipped to you… and stayed there. 

You ducked your head and averted your eyes, cheeks aflame. You’d grown accustomed to being naked around Stark—mainly because you didn’t have a choice. But Natasha… 

For the first time in years, you found yourself missing your long hair, the way you could cower behind it at a moment’s notice. Now, you were exposed. Vulnerable. 

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, though she remained silent. Then, after a beat or two— “Your progress?” she prompted.

“Right, so, here’s the run-down…”

— —

You’d tuned out for the most part as Stark began his long-winded, vainglorious speech to Natasha about his—your—successes since last they’d spoken. Much as you understood it was likely prudent to listen in, acquire a little more knowledge on what exactly he’d done to you, you’d also been there long enough to know that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyhow. 

Natasha would do with you as she pleased. Stark, too, provided Natasha was the one asking. 

In the beginning, that intrigued you. Made you want to learn more about them and their dynamic; to understand why it was what it was. You didn’t get why Stark would run, jump, and heel for the likes of her—intimidation factor notwithstanding. 

By this point, that intrigue had since dwindled, if not dissipated entirely. It was what it was; consequently, they were, too. 

You were still angry and strong-willed and a far cry from broken, but you weren’t stupid, either. Just because they treated you like a chained-up dog didn’t mean you had to gnaw off your own limbs in a desperate bid to escape like one. 

And, besides… it wasn’t often you got moments like these. Moments where you weren’t being poked and prodded and shot up with God knows what. You were collared, sure, your body riddled with all kinds of aches and pains, but none of it held a candle to the agony you’d known in days past. 

Lost in your head though you were, months’ worth of training ensured you didn’t miss the moment Natasha called you over. 

“Ко мне,” she spoke, pitching her voice just above appropriate speaking volume.

It was like someone lit a fire under your ass. The second you heard it, you shot up on all fours. Pain came fast on its heels, but you grit your teeth and bore it, swallowing down a cry as soreness shot through your hands—you flat-out refused to call them ‘paws’—like wildfire. Every heightened reflex stood on high alert. Your back, too, felt like it was on fire, spinal column alight with tenderness. 

Still, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it’d been a week back, when you awoke in observation all bandaged up and so acutely in pain, you feared it might kill you. You also knew better than to dawdle. Clenching your jaw tight, you shuffled forth on sore palms and bruised knees. Your muscles burned. 

You were grateful to feel the tip of your nose graze Natasha’s jean-clad knee, signaling a justifiable stopping point. 

“Молодец,” she praised, her voice pitched an octave (or two) higher, and you felt like singing. 

You even arched your poor, aching back in a shameless effort to attract… well, something, you supposed. Head pats, perhaps. An open-handed stroke down your spine, even.  

Damn that animal, desire-seeking hindbrain.

Fortunately, Natasha seemed to understand. Her palm met the nape of your neck, slender fingers curling their way into the mess of hair at the back of your scalp—God, but that felt divine. A mounting hum in the back of your throat was all the warning you got before—

Fuck. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut, and the sound—along with the pleasurable vibrations—stopped altogether. 

Not again. 

“Ah-ah-ah, puppy,” Natasha tutted, her free hand descending to squeeze your nose tight—effectively cutting off your air supply. And still, the other remained; combing through freshly-washed hair at the base of your skull, occasionally scritching your scalp with the tips of her blunt nails until the insides of your throat quivered and your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. It was all you could do to keep from opening right back up and giving her a nice long purr. (Which, you’d deduced, was exactly what she wanted.) “None of that.”

She was using English now, you noticed. 

And, just like that, the realization hit that she hadn’t been before. 

Now, you could… you could hear her words and understand them, and from that understanding know their meaning. Before, it was like… like hearing the words and knowing what they were supposed to mean, then acting accordingly. You couldn’t take apart the syllables, the letters in your head, not like you could with English. 

P-u-p-p-y. That spelled ‘puppy.’ When you tried to conjure the word she’d used to summon you over, there was just… nothing. A blank space. A short one, telling you you knew the approximate length of the word you were looking for, but… empty. 

Your gaze darted to Stark, who just slouched back in his cushy armchair looking immeasurably pleased with himself. At any other time, the mere sight would’ve been enough to spark some measure of annoyance within you. 

Now… Now, all you could feel was fear. 

He didn’t do that, did he? He… he couldn’t’ve. 

All the rest of it: the obedience, the meekness—that? That was conditioning, plain and simple. You weren’t exactly a PhD, but it didn’t take a genius to note down from the very start that some behaviors got you alone time in a small, dark room without food or water or sunlight for days on end, and others got you… well, not that. By a certain point, you would beg him to yell at you, choke you out, take you over his knee and spank your ass raw when you misbehaved; something, anything, so long as it wasn’t that. 2 times out of 10, he’d take you up on that. As for the other 8… well. 

But this—implanting knowledge in your subconscious, tuning it to mimic compulsory behavioral urges, all while you remained none the wiser? That was a hell of a lot more complicated than reworking your spine, or tweaking sensory receptors, or even altering your vocal tract to make that obnoxious purr. 

It was like he’d rewired your brain. 

You didn’t even notice that you’d since relented: gasped out what little breath remained and began wheezing, all doubled-over, sucking in new breaths of air like a half-drowned cat. Though, you sure as hell noticed how that rattling, restless, vibrating sensation arose in your throat with every shuddering inhale; how, on every exhale came exactly what you’d feared—that pathetic, trilling purr. The one that warmed your body from head to toe while simultaneously making you wish you had never been fucking born. 

God, but Natasha’s hands were like magic…

Your head still spun. Was it from the oxygen deprivation, or the realization that Stark had been inside your head? Probably both. 

Terrified, dazed, and overwhelmingly confused, it took you some time to re-center; tuning back into Stark and Natasha’s conversation, if only to posture yourself accordingly. You could figure out the rest later, you reasoned.

“… The spinal alterations don’t inhibit their ability to stand upright, by any means, which is the exciting thing,” Stark was saying, damn near perched at the edge of his seat—almost vibrating with renewed vigor. Weirdo. “They just enhance their natural capacity to remain down on all fours and go about their day for extended periods of time: a day, a week… hell, indefinitely! Which, for humans, would be pretty much unthinkable. I mean, can you imagine?”

Without allowing a moment’s pause for Natasha to respond (which you’d come to understand was quite typical), Stark wasted no time in steamrolling on. “‘Course, the process of transplanting new bones was rather tricky, and we had to do a couple of them more than once. Dr. Cho estimates a week—at most—before they’ve healed enough to allow for more… strenuous physical activity.”

Natasha snorted. Her hand had long stilled its pleasant ministrations in favor of resting inert at the base of your skull, slender fingers curled loosely around your nape. You felt how they twitched and tightened their grip ever-so-slightly when Stark spoke of what he’d done to your spine. “Are they in pain?” 

Funny. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought she cared. 

Stark raised a brow. “Ballpark?”

Natasha must’ve nodded, or dipped her chin in confirmation, because a beat later, Stark spoke again.

“Imagine you got ripped open, rearranged, then stitched back up,” he summed up. “Twice.”

Dimly, it registered within you to be struck by his forthrightness, though you did not dare mistake it for empathy. 

Natasha was quiet for a beat. “Sounds about right,” she said eventually. 

“It doesn’t have to be this bad,” Stark offered, though there was a curious shift in his intonation, this time; a knowing and almost resigned look in his eye that made you wonder if he and Natasha had had this conversation before.

The way Natasha’s hand twitched, blunt nails digging into the skin of your nape, was answer enough. 

“Were I their doctor, I’d be prescribing some serious pain meds,” Stark continued on dryly, making a show of tilting his head and gazing off into the distance as though he was deep in thought. “Morphine, oxycodone—“

“No.”

“—maybe a local anesthetic or two,” he mused, beginning to count them out on his fingers. “Anti-inflammatories. Anticonvulsants. Something for the anxiety, even—”

“I wanted a pet, not a vegetable.”

Stark’s lips twitched—though with exasperation or humor, you could not tell. “Do you realize how quickly even the most powerful anesthetics will metabolize through their system? They’re not human anymore, Red. At least, not entirely.”

Now, that piqued your interest. 

“Neither am I.”

“It’s different for them. You know that. You got Erskine’s serum. Some unrefined bootleg variant, granted, but that man was nothing if not brilliant. Everything he touched, he turned to gold.” Stark spoke of him—this ‘Erskine’—as though he put the very stars in the sky. You wondered if he was truly brilliant, or just insane. You wondered if for Stark, there was any difference. “As for them… well.” He gestured vaguely towards you. “They got some anthropomorphic whack job’s bone marrow.”

You blinked. You got what now?

“He has a name, you know,” Natasha commented archly, the earlier indignation having dissipated from her tone. 

“Point being—I’ve met the guy. He’s seriously unhinged.” He paused there, as if expecting Natasha to argue. When she didn’t, he steamrolled on: “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scavenge some digitized medical reports and psych evals from his time at the facility, along with anything else they could piece together after he escaped. Violently, I might add.”

“I won’t say he’s devoid of empathy, or a moral compass, because we both know that that’s not true,” Stark explained, then muttered under his breath: “Even if his senses of both concepts are seriously skewed.”

“Tony,” Natasha interjected, a note of warning in her voice. 

“Just listen, alright? I’m getting there.” Stark huffed out a sigh, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My point is that he wasn’t like that, at the start. He was no saint, to be sure, but he wasn’t like that. It wasn’t until they started a particularly ill-inspired series of ‘tests’—though I’d argue a better term would be ‘torture sessions’—to assess his healing capabilities that he really started losing his marbles.”

You head was beginning to spin. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Who were they talking about? 

“See, because his capabilities—extraordinary as they were—weren’t superhuman. They didn’t transcend healing itself, let alone make it any less painful to endure. In fact, I think they actually concluded that it was made more painful by his body’s ability to undertake those processes at such an expeditious rate.” Stark breathed out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache brewing. 

He wasn’t the only one. 

“He nearly went insane, Natasha. Joking aside, it almost beggars belief that he’s as high-functioning as he is,” Stark asserted, no longer pulling his punches. “I know you don’t want that for them.”

It was silent for a beat… Then two. 

“Fine.”

Stark promptly quieted, renewed interest sparking itself alight in his gaze. “What was that now?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

A slow grin spread across his clean-shaven features. 

“No opioids,” Natasha was quick to amend. “Nothing addictive. Just… anything that’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

Silence for a beat. Then two. 

Stark squinted at her. “You sure you and that bleeding heart of yours are up for this?”

Natasha’s grip around your nape tightened even further. “Shellhead,” she gritted out, her tone hard as weathered steel. Even the sound of it was enough to send chills down your spine. 

Stark, in contrast, was not at all similarly affected. He simply tilted his head to one side and made a show of continuing to appraise her with shrewd, assessing eyes. Then, finally: “You should try yoga.”

— —

end notes: L O fucking L

also the anthropomorphic whack job they’re talking about is logan (wolverine) from x-men, in case you’re wondering 

edit: i’ve since written a continuation of this, linked below!

translation of russian terms (with stresses bolded):

ко мне | ko mnye | “come”

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

sources:

“organized crime in eastern europe” | to be so clear, i just made up “bratyerstva” from the term “братство” (bratstvo) which means “brotherhood” or “fraternity” in bulgarian, macedonian, russian, and serbo-croatian dialects. it is also the name of a ukrainian political party (ukrainian: братство, romanized: bratstvo), but it is not an actual belarusian word. it also bears some resemblance to братва, a slang term used to refer to criminal gangs in russia and other ex-ussr states. honestly, the closest you’d probably get to an actual word with this would be the polish “braterstwo” (brahterstvo) which also means “brotherhood” or “fraternity.” (however, in some informal contexts, the term “братерство” has been used in ukrainian dialects to convey synonymous meanings.) anyway, this is a brief snippet (~10 pages) from an academic article about organized crime in eastern europe, if the precedent behind all that intrigues you. i thought it was pretty informative!

white russia | another name for belarus, though there’s some controversy/nuance to that (and big surprise, it’s got everything to do with russia). this links to an article from euronews talking about... all of that

draniki | an immensely popular dish in belarus. they’re basically potato pancakes. several other european countries have close equivalents. 

— —

next part: come, sit, stay

link to masterlist

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gnc!reader #dark!natasha romanoff #softdark!natasha romanoff x reader #stuff i wrote

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

Coming Out

Summary: Your work with Melina allows you to meet her daughter, Yelena, and as the two of you share a room whenever she visits, you find yourself growing close enough to make a confession.

Word Count: 2162

Pairing: aroace!Yelena Belova & aroace!Reader

Request: For Yelena can I request an imagine where the reader and her are sibling figures to each other. And the reader comes out as aroace to her and admits that they see her a sister figure?

Warnings: A little bit of worry about loneliness from Yelena, but that's it.

A/N: It took me a while to write this one, but I always love writing for Yelena :) the way I could write the coming out part easily because I've daydreamed about what I'd say, but didn't know how to write the reaction was a funny realisation for me though.

»»————-　★　————-««

For the past three months, you had been working on replicating an antidote to the Red Room’s mind control, under the supervision of one Melina Vostokoff. She had been a unique employer, providing you with a room, home-cooked meals, her company, and of course some very generous pay.

It's why – instead of the usual joy at a successful test run – you were filled with a bittersweet feeling, already imagining your departure from Melina's cabin and the subsequent job search you'd have to endure.

But then Melina asked you to stay on, just a couple of weeks, to pass on the serum to Yelena and see the project through to the very end. You accepted without hesitation, not least out of curiosity to finally meet the one of the daughters that you had heard so much about.

“You will be sharing a room,” Melina informed you only hours before her daughter’s arrival, “it is technically her room.”

You had no time to comment further, with the scientist sweeping past you in a hurry to prepare the space, but you managed a nod of acknowledgement. You’d put two and two together anyway; your room was the one with two beds.

»»————-　★　————-««

With cameras and tripwires monitoring every motion in a two-mile radius, nothing could ever truly surprise Melina, but the jet touching down in the Russian wilderness outside her house couldn't surprise anyone. Yet, as the cameras tracked the blonde assassin on her path, the house fell into a lull of silence – only broken by a key in the door and a “мама, I’m home!”; the sound of which caused Melina to rush to the door with an Oscar-worthy performance of surprise.

“Yelena, welcome, welcome, we have the serum for you but come in, sit down. This is Y/N.”

You waved from the corner.

Yelena smiled at you even as she was ushered away. There was an understanding in her eyes that conveyed both of your apologies – her apologising for her mother, and you for your interruption to their family reunion.

By night, things became even more awkward when, after an evening of eating and drinking and catching up and more drinking, the Red Room trainees finally decided to call it a night. Melina returned to her bedroom while Yelena slunk into yours, where she moved with abnormal quietness until you announced that you were still awake.

“That makes this easier,” she said.

“It does,” you replied.

“We have not spoken properly yet, without Melina interrupting. I am sorry for how… pushy she is.”

“That’s not for you to apologise for, Yelena. Besides, I could see it in your expressions that you’re just as used to it as I am; it’s just how she is.”

Yelena was in bed by then, the two of you turned on your sides to face one another.

“You are staying here now? Then you have it worse. I do not mean to intrude on your space here.”

“If anyone’s intruding, it’s me,” you almost laughed, “Melina told me this was your bedroom first.”

“It is a spare room. No more yours than mine. My room is in Ohio, in a house Natasha bought.”

“Then I suppose neither of us is intruding. Goodnight, Yelena.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

»»————-　★　————-««

After such a short conversation, you still knew very little about Yelena. And if you wanted to find out any more, it was already too late: the Widow was gone by morning.

You learnt later on that the behaviour was normal for girls trained in the Red Room. Melina and Yelena had spoken about preparations the night before, leaving the younger assassin free to disappear the moment she'd had adequate rest.

Despite sharing only one conversation with her, a deep sense of disappointment dwelled in your heart when you woke to find her empty bed. Maybe it had been too long with only Melina as company, but you felt some kinship with Yelena, and you wished you could have at least said goodbye.

What you didn't know then would change all that, with the plans the future held for the two of you. Or, to be more accurate, the plans Melina held. Your non-verbal communications with Yelena while Melina talked had not gone unnoticed by the older Widow. So not only had she grown fond of your presence, but she knew her daughter had as well, and what better reason to ask you to stay than for that?

The woman presented you with a list of her rationales: the need for large batches of serum, the side projects the scientist needed help on, and, of course, your proven skill as a chemist. But to both you and Melina, no reason was more important than the bond you'd built with her daughter, because (as she told you later on) ‘everyone knows that girl needs socialising’, and she'd determined you were perfect for the job.

You didn't need to think twice, accepting her proposition in a heartbeat. 

As the years passed, your working relationship with Melina only strengthened, expanding into your daily lives too when she began treating you as another member of the family, like the child who stayed home. You couldn't complain, but the highlights were always Yelena’s visits, sporadic as they may be, and the energy that came with it. For Yelena, nights spent in the farmhouse talking about menial subjects, or the work you did in the lab, afforded her a sense of calm she missed while on her missions. While for you, tales of her escapades kept your mind racing, and Yelena became the friend you'd always wanted to have: close enough to be siblings, but without the bickering that came with it.

It was on one such visit that Yelena brought up the topic that would change both of your lives forever. One you had thought about, but didn't have the words to express.

"You know what I like about you, Y/N?" was what Yelena said suddenly, her voice breaking through the hush of the nighttime quiet.

"What?" came your sleep-laced reply.

"You never ask me about my dating life," she softly whispered, "my mother does. All the time. The first thing after I'm through the door: 'Oh does my daughter have anyone special yet?'. But you never do."

"Melina asks enough for the both of us. It's never been a priority of mine, so why pry?"

"You don't want to know?"

"If you have a partner that you want to tell me about, then of course I'll listen. But we've known each other for years now 'Lena -- practically family -- so I know that if you want to tell me then you'll tell me."

In every pause, the silence started to engulf the space, stealing every word before it could even be breathed, but Yelena was determined.

"Have you ever..." another pause, "I don't know if there will ever be something to tell you. If I will ever get a partner. If I had one I would tell you! I really would! But I don't- I don't know if-"

"I get it, Yelena, probably more than you know.”

This would be the perfect opportunity to tell her, you thought, but you swallowed that idea down once again. It's too sudden. You're taking away from her conversation. There's nowhere to go if she reacts poorly. A swirl of nerves paralysed your actions until you heard Yelena shuffle over in bed, turning away from you.

It was too late, the moment had passed, and your confession would have to wait for another day.

»»————-　★　————-««

That day came many months later, on Yelena's next visit to the farm you called home. She decided to stay an extra night, giving the two of you a day together without responsibilities -- of course, you were supposed to work, but Melina excused you with a wave of her hand, telling you to go entertain yourself with Yelena'a company.

You'd prepared yourself this time, and despite the rushing fears in your head telling you 'just a little bit longer', you forged on and began the conversation with Yelena while she sat beside you on the couch.

"You remember last time?" you asked nervously, "when we talked about dating, or lack of it?"

"Oh, don't tell me, you have got a partner!" With the way Yelena's eyes lit up, you almost hesitated to say the rest. But you also saw beyond it, in the depths of her eyes that you'd come to read so well, you saw fear; it was a feeling you'd experienced many a time before, the fear and worry of losing a friend to the world of romance -- it was because of this that you knew you had to go on.

"No. Almost... the opposite actually."

Relief flooded her eyes, though she masked it with a sorrow you knew she'd been trained to show.

"I am not attracted to men. Or to women. Or to anyone else." That familiar recognition flickered in the assassin. "There's a term for it: aromantic and asexual -- aroace. I don't know if I will date; I would like to put the effort in for someone and have them care for me back, but no matter how things go, I will never be dating in the way people expect of me, because I am aroace."

You sighed, the confession finally reaching the ears of the one you wanted to tell it to, but you still awaited the reaction. Nervous eyes rose from the hands in your lap to meet the eyes of your closest confidant, searching every millimetre of her face for a clue. Gone was the hint of recognition, only to be replaced by a look you had rarely seen in Yelena: pride.

Still with words unspoken, she sprung forward, wrapped her arms around your body and pulled you close, before she finally began to whisper words of encouragement. She told you of her pride in your bravery, her acknowledgement of your fears, reassurance of her acceptance, and, most importantly to you, her recognition of the experience you'd described.

Any questioning about that recognition was promptly (and not so subtly) redirected back to your coming out. You accepted the tangents and questions and dropped the subject for the time being. Yelena would tell you when she needed to, but she wasn't ready yet. So, just like your own attempt, Yelena's confession would have to wait.

»»————-　★　————-««

For Yelena, that wait took slightly longer – not much time to question your sexuality when you're fighting for your life, you imagined. But the day still came, several visits later.

It mimicked that first night you two spent together, with you already in bed and Yelena shuffling around the room when she began to speak.

“I've been thinking…”

You hummed to let her know you were listening.

“Natasha asked me if I was a lesbian the other day, but I'm not. I'm not…anything. I don't feel anything. What you said about not being attracted to anyone, is the closest I've felt to explaining it, but it's not quite the same – I really wouldn't want to date anyone, ever, and I'm okay with that. I looked it up. So I think I might be aroace too.”

Yelena sat on the edge of her bed, facing you but with her head down and her hands fidgeting in her lap. You moved into action immediately; you rolled out of bed, took a seat beside her, and draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.

“I'm proud of you,” you told her, “and all your choices. Thank you for trusting me.”

Yelena smiled, though it fell as her eyes drifted to yours. “Does it ever get lonely?”

“It can do. Other people's opinions can make it worse. But you'll always have me, just as I always had you; we'll get through life in our own way.”

“I've known for a while,” she confessed again.

“I know.”

“I've known I didn't want to date but…that is what the Red Room encouraged – that love is for children. But everyone else falls in love, even Natasha, and I worry I am still not free of their conditioning.”

Yelena looked up at you then, her eyes full of worry and betraying the insecurity she still felt. You know then that she'd told you just as she was coming to terms with it herself, and felt your heart swell again at her trust in you. And yet, you couldn't be sure of quite what to say; you may be a scientist, but this was beyond your area of expertise.

“I think you're free to trust your gut,” you finally said, “even if it complies with what they taught you.”

There was silence as both you and Yelena settled back into your own beds, and then you continued. “Labels can change if you do. But you know what's best for you now.”

“I do,” Yelena whispered shyly. “Thank you, Y/N, and goodnight.”

“Goodnight Yelena; sleep well.”

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin@fxckmiup@wizardofstories

#yelena belova #aroace yelena belova #yelena belova & reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #aroace y/n #aroace reader #yelena belova & y/n #yelena belova & you

[blue-little-angel]

Your Chuuya x reader made me MELT! Ur writing is so soooft! Can I please request a Fyodor x male! reader with a teleporting ability? (before established relationship). You know how Fyodor's really big on God? Pfft, imagine he suddenly has a crush on this reader who is a man, so he tries to hide it because he thinks its sinful.

Buuuuut! Reader's a tease who fears nothing and nobody and knows FULL WELL that this bitch has a massive crush on him, so just to catch him off guard/make him show emotion other than '_', the reader randomly tickle-attacks Fyodor using his teleporting ability so that Fyodor can't ever get him back. This becomes more and more frequent...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

AND THEN THEY KISS-

I didn't really feel confident writing about god and all but here's what I could come up with, sorry if it sucks:'(

Anyway...

°•|Hope your day is as great as you are|•°

Fandom: Boungo stray dogs

Lee: Fyodor Dostoevsky

Ler: male! reader

I tried to focus more on self-acceptance sorry-

Fyodor was lost in prayer as usual, meditating on God's divine word. His emotions were always so subdued, focused inward on his spirituality. Nothing seemed capable of disturbing his inner peace.

Or so he thought.

With a sudden pop, a certain psychic appeared directly behind Fyodor, arms extended in a sneak attack. "Gotcha!" You yelled mischievously as fingers descended upon Fyodor's waist. To his shock, Fyodor let out an uncharacteristic yelp and convulsed from the ticklish sensation.

As quickly as he'd appeared, the troublemaker vanished again in a flash of blue light. Fyodor was left gasping for air, cheeks noticeably flushed. What was this peculiar reaction? Never before had anyone been able to catch him so off guard.

Over the following days, Fyodor found himself continually harassed by surprise tickle attacks from your elusive self. No matter how alert Fyodor tried to be, the psychic was always one step ahead thanks to his teleportation. Each encounter left Fyodor more confused and rattled than the last.

Was this strange tightness in his chest coming from irritation...or something more profound? Fyodor tried to deny the latter, telling himself such feelings for a man went against God's teachings. But being around you made Fyodor experience emotion in a vibrant, stimulating way unlike anything before.

Finally, one fateful encounter went differently. As the machievous one materialized with waggling fingers, Fyodor steeled his nerves and grabbed both the psychic's wrists before he could strike. They stood frozen, heartbeat against heartbeat, gazes locked. Something shifted in that electrified moment.

Slowly, hesitantly, Fyodor leaned forward until his dry lips pressed against soft lips. To his amazement, you kissed back with fervor. The Russian's lips were dry but they teased like blood..but also had a floral sent, tasting more like sour fruits.

All of Fyodor's doubts melted away in the sheer joy and completeness of that moment. Perhaps God's love was more nuanced than he knew...

Fyodor was left reeling after that intimate exchange with you. As he retreated to his quarters, he sunk to his knees in prayer - but found no answers, only more questions swirling in his mind.

His whole life, Fyodor had defined love and righteousness through a very narrow lens, as prescribed by the theology of his childhood. But being with the cocky psychic had stirred emotions that defied all he once knew. There was an innate purity and rightness to the feelings, unlike anything sinful or forbidden.

Over several nights of introspection, Yokohama's rat slowly came to understand love in a new, expanded way. God's domain encompassed far more nuance and complexity than any church or doctrine. Divine love embraced all people equally, without distinction of gender, orientation or identity. Who was Fyodor to decide whom God could or could not love?

Perhaps what really mattered most was the dignity, compassion and devotion present between two souls. Fyodor saw all those virtues in his bond with the reader. Their connection felt divinely ordained, a blessing rather than transgression.

From that epiphany, Dostoevsky emerged with a profound sense of clarity and peace. His faith had evolved to embrace life's rich ambiguities, not shrink from them. And he was ready to offer his heart fully to the one who helped open his eyes - if they would accept him in return. A loving God smiled upon such unions, Fyodor felt certain now deep in his soul.

#lee!fyodor #ler!reader #bsd x reader #bsd tickle #boungo stray dogs #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #male reader #tickle fluff

[lovemelikerealpeopledo]

Lucius Spriggs is a nobleman HC

my personal hc which i love with all my heart and soul and which seems so real to me is that he is from a noble family. my judgments are based on the behavior of the character in certain situations, and i hope that there are those who also think so.

first of all, let's remember that Lucius knows how to write, can read, and draw beautifully (whatever his drawings are). as far as I know, not everyone could get an education at the beginning of the 18th century (when the series takes place). the ordinary working class had no access to education, and the ordinary family never had books, and no one exchanged letters. even clerical work was available only to those who had money or connections (most often family). for example, in the Russian empire (I am from Ukraine and studied its history), only the children of wealthy citizens or nobles could become clerical officials and any other workers that were in any way connected with writing and papers. to get such an education, one had to either hire personal teachers or attend boarding schools (lyceums), where education costs a lot of money.

the working class never had access to education and even those who lived in the cities rarely knew how to read. such luxury was available only to wealthy merchants, family business owners or doctors, who also did not come from ordinary families. education needs money. much money. and so it has always been.

even if we assume that Lucius learned to write, read, and draw on his own, it still seems unlikely. how? tell me how many of you learned this on your own. to start reading, you must at least learn how letters are read. if his parents are ordinary workers, then they most likely could not even write their own name (they would not need to). and Lucius was able and very legible.

second, his behavior. Lucius is squeamish about blood, does not like to work, and most likely simply does not even know how to do any difficult work. looking at him, I see a man who has never worked and never did anything himself. even household chores seem to him incomprehensible labor. it seems that he will not survive on the street for a week if suddenly he does not have a penny in his pocket. it’s just that a boy from a working-class district cannot be such a kid glove, because in those days children were attracted to real work from the age of 10 (sometimes even earlier). if so, then a Lucius who is at least 17 should be able to do a lot of menial work, and not shirk even the simplest task.

i would also like to remember that Lucius is not inclined to communicate only in obscenities and simple sentences. he can speak in hints, express his thoughts, and formulate sentences. he understands people well, and even with his free attitude to love and sex, he fucks anyone just for the sake of sex. this and much more speaks volumes about his level of education.

also, let's remember how back in the first episodes he was able to tell where to go based on his knowledge of the weather. believe me, a cat man has never been to school and has not been to the sea, he will not know this. to understand such things one needs knowledge in geography, biology, and astronomy. such knowledge is given only in lyceums or colleges.

Lucius, I think, left the house after learning that he was engaged to some noble lady or that his wedding was already planned. such marriages without the consent of the newlyweds themselves were not uncommon in those days among noble families who thought only about purity of blood, status, and wealth. for him, his own freedom is clearly higher than material wealth, therefore this is a completely expected step for him.

call me weird or challenge my headcanon but I can't shake the idea that Lucius Spriggs is a runaway aristocrat from an unwanted marriage.

#justice for lucius #lucius spriggs #ofmd #our flag means death #hc #what if #i mean for real

[game-set-canet]

could I have cute clingy giggly tipsy Andrey after getting back from celebrating a win? Love your blog

You're on my mind

Pairing: Andrey Rublev x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: Maybe i had a little too much fun writing this imagine 😂 i hope you like it as much as i do! thank you for your request 💕also: English isn’t my first language, so I’m very sorry for mistakes!

* Y/N = your name * Karen Khachanov has an almost four years old son named David

MY MASTERLIST

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

It’s almost 1 a.m. when your phone vibrates on the couch table. You suppress a yawn as you try to reach your smartphone without moving too much under the blankie.

It’s a message from Karen. You raise an eyebrow and open his message: »We’re heading back to the hotel. Are you still awake?«

You sit up on the couch and start typing: »You’re already coming back? Did something happen?« and send it together with a second message – the answer to Karen’s question: »Yes, I’m awake. David is asleep since half past seven.«

You volunteered to look after David, so the boys and their teams could go out and celebrate their first double title in 2023. Usually you would join them in their celebration (which are always kinda legendary to be honest) but you have an important paper to write - due to Tuesday – and unfortunately your boss isn’t very patient.

It takes Karen only a few seconds to reply: »Good. We will be back in about 30 minutes and i’ll come and collect my son and you get your wreck back«

»My wreck?!?!«

»Well…Andrey is a bit drunk.«

»A bit?«

»You will see« the symbol under Karen’s name pops from “online” to “offline” and back to “online”, Karen is typing again: »And Andrey begged me for the last 5 minutes to tell you that he really really loves you and insisted that I’m a bad friend if I don’t tell you this.«

You shake your head and sigh: This means your boyfriend is clearly drunk. And a drunken Andrey is really special.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

You just finished collecting all your things (your smartphone, the laptop, some papers from work) when you hear the hotel room door click. In the doorway stand Karen and Andrey - or more precisely: Karen stands and supports Andrey.

“Oh my god, how much did he drink?!”, you whisper-shout – careful not to wake up David who is sleeping in the next room.

“Y/N!”, your boyfriend's face immediately lights up in a bright smile, “Y/N!”

Andrey frees himself from Karen and comes - walking in a surprisingly straight line - towards you to hug you tightly: “I missed you, baby.”

A part of you wants to point out the fact that they were away for only about three and a half hours, the other part of you can’t help but smile against Andrey’s chest while you put your arms around his waist: “Yeah, I missed you too…tell me, how much did you drink?”

“Not much!”, he shakes his head vigorously. You feel him falter because of it, and he would certainly have stumbled if he hadn't held on to you.

You pull a doubtful face and give Karen a questioning look. The older one shrugs: “He is right. He didn’t drink much…definitely less than usual…I don’t know why he acts like that.”

Andrey shoots Karen a uncomprehending glance and hugs you even tighter now: “I just missed her.”

You sigh silently and try to release his arms from you: “Andrey, I need to talk to Karen for a second, okay? Would you please sit down on the couch for a moment?”

At first, it seems like he might want to protest, but then he energetically plops down onto the nearby couch. In the next moment, he wraps his arms around your thighs, burying his face in the fabric of your t-shirt against your stomach, muttering something in Russian you don’t understand.

You blink in surprise before placing your hands on his shoulders – accepting the fact that he seems to be very clingy right now.

Karen leans against the commode next to the door, taking off his shoes but looking at you as you start to speak: “As I already texted you: I put David to bed at half past seven. He ate a bit but didn’t have much appetite.”, while speaking, your fingers automatically start playing with the tips of Andrey's hair. You tilt your head from one side to the other, “And…well, I don’t know…maybe David gets a cold or something? He was very sleepy the whole evening and got a bit cold?”, by now, your hand is running through Andrey's hair.

“Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right. I thought the same when he didn’t want to get up in the morning…well, we will see.”, Karen sighs loudly before he smiles at you, “Thank you for looking after David, Y/N.”

You return his smile and wave your hand in a dismissive gesture: “No need to thank me! He was really well-behaved - as always. And I even managed to finish my work, which I just need to submit tomorrow.”

Andrey murmurs softly, disapproving the fact that you stopped stroking his hair.

“Good good”, Karen nods down to Andrey, asking half-joking half-seriously: “Should I help you putting him to bed in return?”

You suppress a laugh: “No, I think we are fine…I text you if I need any help.”

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Against your assumption, it's quite easy to get Andrey out of Karen’s hotel room.

He has his fingers intertwined with yours, holding your hand as you wait for the elevator. Andrey's hotel room is just one floor down but leading him through the staircase in his condition seems unnecessarily risky to you.

The elevator doors are closing behind you, when Andrey squeezes your hand and beams at you: “Y/N, I love you!”

You chuckle softly and nod as you press the button for the sixth floor: “Yeah, you already said that 30 seconds ago and a minute before and before and before.”

Suddenly Andrey is standing right in front of you: “Yes…but I love you a lot, so I have to say it many many many times.”, he bends his head and covers your face with lots of little kisses.

“I see.”, you can’t help but start laughing while you stroke his left cheek with your hand.

With a soft ding, the elevator doors open on the lower floor, but Andrey doesn't move - a deep crease forms between Andrey's eyebrows as he furrows his brow: “Don’t you love me?”

You look at him with wide eyes, completely confused: “Of course I love you, why are you asking this?!”

“Because you didn’t say it back.”, he pouts, reminding you of a little puppy being denied a treat now.

You close your eyes for a second: “Andrey, I said it back the first five times.”

"Yes, but don't you love me the sixth time?"

“I love you more than I can put into words, okay?”

“Okay.” he nods, beaming again.

Luckly your hotel room is only a few steps away. You are searching in your handbag for the key card, which is a bit complicated because you can only use one hand since Andrey refuses to let go of your other hand.

The door unlocks with a soft click and while you are fumble for the light switch, Andrey starts speaking again: “Y/N, I lov-“

“Andrey!”

*** *** *** *** *** ***

You guide Andrey to your bedroom, decided to skip teeth brushing and all the other things since it’s already half past two and you are supposed to be at the airport at ten a.m..

Sleep is definitely more important now.

“Andrey, honey, can you please take off the clothes?”, you ask while throwing your handbag on the suitcase and unlocking your phone to set the alarm.

You are completely focused on your smartphone, so you don’t notice Andrey stepping in front of you. Suddenly you feel his hands fumbling at the buttons of your blouse.

You lift your head and stare at him: “What the hell are you doing?!”

“You asked me to take off the clothes!”, your boyfriend giggles while continuing to open the buttons – or rather tries to because his fingers are way too uncoordinated for it.

“No!”, you look at him with disbelief, “I asked you to take off YOUR clothes!”

“No, you just said ‘the clothes’”, his giggling turns into laughter.

“Fine, Andrey, honey, can you please take off YOUR clothes?”

“No.”, he replies giggling.

“No? Why not?”

He looks you deep in the eyes, his grin has something suggestive: “It’s much more fun when you do it.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a serious look: “Andrey, take off your clothes and go to bed!”

“No, you have to do it!”

“Andrey. Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

“No, you have to do it!”

Your voice has a sharp undertone: “Andrey! It’s almost two a.m. Please we have go to bed, we have to get up in a few hours, I’m tired!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t want to be annoying!”, hesitantly he reaches for your hand, “Please don’t be angry with me!”, suddenly the puppy-expression is back on Andrey’s face.  

Your facial expression softens, and you give his hand a soft squeeze: “I’m not angry, Andrey. I’m just tired, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods slowly before letting go of your hand and pulling the sweater over his head.

It took Andrey only three tries to open his belt and after another five minutes he’s finally lying next to you in bed.

Although it’s dark in the bedroom you can feel Andrey’s eyes on you.

You know what he is about to say something but this time you are faster: “Andrey, I love you.”

You move closer to him and put his head on his chest.

“I love you too, Y/N.”, you can almost hear his bright smile.

And a drunken Andrey is really special. And you love him.

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev

#Andrey Rublev x reader #Andrey Rublev x you #Andrey Rublev imagine #Andrey Rublev fanfic #Andrey Rublev fic #tennis imagine #mira's imagine #my writing #my imagine #tennis imagines #tennis fic #tennis fics #tennis fanfic #tennis fanfics #tennis fanfiction #tennis fanfictions

[short-black-diamond]

Hi!! This is my first time requesting but could you please make a Wednesday x male reader angst? The reader is an outcast but also a direct descendant of his family like Goody Addams.

wait so which outcast type should I take? Oh, I know!

I ain't seein' no male witches here!!!

Okay bro, hopefully this is going to be legendary!

Wait so that I understand it. You want me to write about someone who has a connection to his greatgreatgreat-something relative, right? If yes, then I'm writing it like that! I hope I got it right. If not, I'll just write it again.

Also I think I'm trying to make this more funny than angsty but we'll see. also you are going to be russian because I said so. Also because I can speak a bit of russian. Your name is Alek Ivanovich, to keep it simple. Okay?

Here's all the foreign words:

ai = y without w, tixo = quiet, cabaka = dog, ras = on, dwa = two, tri = three, chiteri = four, pyat = five, da = yes, ya ne xatchu = I don't want to, ti krasivaya = you are beautiful (when reffering to women), dusha = soul, eto kto? = who is this?, moy drug = my friend (when referring to men), blyat = shit

again, i did not proofread

---

"I'm a witch, Addams."

"What the hell did you do to my son?!", a nameless mother shrieked. You wore a hoodie, and your hair covered your face. Your hands were in your pockets. Your parents stood behind you. You sat on a wooden, too light coloured chair and next to you sat your bully- no, your victim.

"He was simply testing my patience, sooooo....", you trailed off and did jazz hands towards the fucker who dared to approach you. The guy himself looked like a failed experiment. One eye was bigger than the other, the mouth reached form one ear to the other, hair gone, nose like Voldemort and the rest of his body...well, let's not talk about it, yeah?

Your mother surpressed a chuckle while your father only sighed deeply. The headmistress herself was also dead serious, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing any minute. You were a weak man in situations like this. situations where it felt like being at a funeral and you not being able to keep your shit together.

"Mister Ivanovich, I hope you know how serious this situation is, because of where you peop-..."

You raised your eyebrows. Ooooh, what will she sayyyy~?

"Because of your family's heritage.", the woman stated, satisfied with her answer. You snorted. Your father slapped the back of your head.

"Ai, papa!"

"Tixo!", he only hissed and you mumbled something under your breath.

"My son, Alek, might be like this because of the puberty. You know how it is, dear. Boys fight all the time and-"

"This boy is not like the others, Mrs. Ivanovich, and I hope you know it. Alek is...special in his own way.", the curly haired woman started. She took a folder with a good load of papers from a drawer and gave it to your father.

"Alek is a good student at heart. But fights like this are sadly not uncommon. And your son is always involved in this."

You could feel the steam and heat radiating from behind you to your right, where your father stood. Hopefully he won't explode today...

Your mother was also taking a look, and that's when the other woman chimed in. "But what will happen to my dear Tommy!? Who's going to turn him back?!"

You smirked. "Relax, he's going to be back to his normal self when he gets his true love's kiss. You know, like in the fairytales." The woman looked like she wanted to kill you, but before that, you couldn't hold it anymore.

"BWAHAHAHAHH, you really thought about him having to kiss somebody?! Please, it's the 21st century!", you exclaimed while you wheezed and rung for air. Sparks were already flying around your father, and your mother patted her beautifully round nose. "A-Alek, please turn this poor boy back."

You sighed. "Mama, please, I'm having fun-"

"I'LL GIVE YOU FUN! GET BACK HERE, YOU CABAKA!", your father roared and a firework errupted in the headmistress's office. You were running away from your father, the headmistress was crying for help when the office caught fire and your mother sighed tiredly.

"ras dwa tri, turn back thee. chiteri pyat shest, stop this jest!", she mumbled, and everything got back to its original place. You got dragged back to your seat, your bully was back to his own self and ran away with his mom, and the office wasn't burning anymore.

The only thing which was not alright was your dad. He was still fuming. "What I wanted to say...", the woman sat down on her chair again after she examined her precious kabinett,

"was that Alek might be better off in another school. Nevermore, to be exact. There are people like him-"

"You mean outcasts?", you frowned. You had your fun, now you were serious.

"Alek...", your mother said and squeezed your left shoulder.

The woman behind the desk coughed to hide her embarrassment before continuing. "If you put it that way...then yes. And I'm sorry for you, Alek. You are one of the best students this little itty-bitty school has ever had. It's a shame that your peers like to poke at you."

"Evermore...wasn't it where we have met the Addams?", your father spoke suddenly, and you flinched.

"Oh my, da! We have to contact them! How long has it actually been since we last saw them? At your graduation?", your mother spoke and all of a sudden, everybody's mood lifted, yours excluded.

Wait, new school? What school? I hope it's not a boarding-

"And for your information, it's a boarding school.", the woman sitting in front of you said.

Why did I jinx myself?!?!?

---

"Papa, ya ne xatchu." "I don't care. Get in the car."

And right after you sat down, your father began speaking. "Why do you always have to make a mess, son?! Wherever we go, you use your magic to curse somebody! Stop it!"

"...yes.", you answered with a grumble.

"And that boy- what did he do to you?!"

"He was making fun of me.", but it was only half the truth.

"But you're still not allowed to use your magic, Alek!"

"He was pushing me to it!"

"What could he have done to make you use your magic?", your mother's calm voice called. You could clearly hear her sadness.

Your mother was a beautiful woman, who never failed to make friends in places she's never been before. She always managed to help you whenever you struggled with something.

And now, you felt like crying. you wanted her to hold you, but she was sitting next to your father and you were sitting alone on the other side.

"He...was making fun of us witches, of all the other outcasts or monsters- he was making fun of us unhumans!"

The ride was silent and suffocating then. your mother was stroking her round nose again, which you loved, but you got your father's boring straight nose.

"there was also another thing....", you began as you recalled being in a fever-, or lucid- like dream. You somehow got in contact with a person you admired. Dima Ivanovich.

He was the greatest witch you've ever found out about, and you dedicated your life to that man. He might have been a jerk, a klutz and always in for dangerous activities, but he also risked his life for defending his family, he treated his wife with the upmost respect and he tried his best to make life easier for the next generations.

"I got in contact with Dima Ivanovich."

Your mother's breath hitched and your father glared at you. "He told me to act. I would've kept my head down, but he lifted it. He also lifted my hands. I could feel his presence, papa! You should have-"

"ENOUGH WITH THIS SHIT! I HAVE TRIED FOR YEARS AND YOU WANT TO TELL ME THAT HE JUST CAME TO YOU FOR YOU TO STAND UP TO YOUR BULLIES?! PAH!"

Was...was he for real?

"Sorry that he helped a relative in need of pretection and defense instead of money problems."

"What did you just say-"

"Seriosha, Alek, enough already!"

You hated when your mother yelled. "Dima had a good reason to step in and protect our poor son!"

He only looked out of the window.

"...Sooo, tell me about Nevermore. Or the people you met there.", you asked after a few minutes in hopes of getting at least some of the nonexistent background information you had about your parents. And to make the ride less boring and long.

Again, to your surprise, your father answered. Normally, it would have been your mother, with your dad nodding along, but oh well. "Nevermore is a magical place. Back in the days when I was your age, I was the sporty guy. We played football, exercised and sharpened our skills, and also had many events. Your mother and her best friend at the time, Morticia Addams, these two were the fencing captains."

"Oh, how I'd love to meet her again! I'm sure she'd be just as beautiful as she was when she was a teenager!", your mother gasped, and smiled.

"But mom, you are the most beautiful here!", you spoke, but she just shook her wavy locks. "No, no, son. I am not pretty. Just look at my nose, or my skin! I look like my own mother!"

"First of all, ti krasivaya. Second, baba yaga is also pretty. Otherwise, dad wouldn't have married you, would he?"

And also this time, your father said something. "I don't know why you are still so insecure. You are the most beautiful witch, the most beautiful woman and the most wonderful dusha I have ever met."

"Aww, Seriosha...that was good to hear."

"Yes papa, you should speak to her more often like that! and also teach me the art of flirting!"

For the first time this week, your father laughed. And it was saturday. You were proud of yourself.

---

"Sooo...this is it? Looks old in my opinion.", you said as soon as you stepped out of the car and stretched. Your mother was looking around and then she screamed. You and your father were ready to throw hands and cast spells left and right when all that happened was your mother running towards a woman with long dark hair in a tight black dress. The other woman was also screaming.

Why are women always yelling when they see a familiar face??

"Papa, eto kto?"

"Morticia Adda- GOMEZ, moy drug! Idi suda!", your father yelled and nearly floated towards a middle aged man who could loose some pounds.

Welp, guess it's just me then-

And there, you saw a girl step out of the -like your father's- old fashioned, black vehicle. Your dad's car was a dark wine red.

She had twin tailed, braided heir, and she was also not that thrilled to be here. She also watched the interaction, but with more disgust than curiousity. Both of your dad's were now dancing with each other, each in their traditional way.

Make a friend...

So, you strutted to her, but stayed a little more than five feet away from you. You didn't reach out your hand, for she didn't look like she'd like to even acknowledge you.

"My name is Alek Ivanovich. I guess our parents knew each other very well back in the day. what's your name?"

"My name is Wednesday Addams."

"Cool. Why are you here?"

"Attempted murder."

"what?"

"What, you don't-"

"You didn't get the job done? Tsk, tsk, tsk."

And now, the girl gave you her attention. "Excuse me? Then why are you here?"

"I was experimenting with my bullies. Say, why did you "attempt" to murder somebody?"

'Did you say 'attempt' with a special undertone just now? Are you making fun of me?', she thought and her brows furrowed a little.

"They were messing with my little brother."

"Ah yes, nothing's more important than family. but why kill? Didn't you want to make them suffer a little?"

"I put two bags, each filled with a number of piranhas into the pool they were swimming at the time. Not enough, but still good when in school."

"Nah, I would've...I dunno, maybe cursed them that they'd have constant constipation...or, uh...turn them into unsightly things, like I did with my last victim..."

As you were deep in thought, Wednesday studied you. You were not like the other kids. You didn't give her a freaked out expression.

'You...are you trying to start a competition?' With the way you were making ideas on how she could've done it better, she felt a sharp pain in her pride.

But why did she feel like this? Why did she feel like she'd have to better her antics? Just because she spoke to someone who maybe understood her?

"What are you, Ivanovich?"

"I'm a witch, Addams."

---

The get-to-know with principal Weems, a tall and very---suspiscious looking woman, you and Wednesday had to part ways.

"Wait, can I get your phone number?" "I don't use phones."

"Aw, blyat. Then what do you use for communication?"

"My cristall ball." Ah-you remembered. Her mom gave her a suitcase with it inside. No, you didn't take a peek when she opened it.

"I have one too! Although it's so small that I can fit it into my pant pockets."

You relished the moment her eye twitched when you said pant pocket. She could only hope that her blazer and skirt had pockets.

But instead, she asked another question. "How did you make it so small?", and her eyes were a little big. You huffed.

"Magic. Bet you wish you could do it as well."

"Curse you."

"I did, and now I'm here."

---

"Ivanovich."

"Hah? Oh, Addams, what's up?"

"Hide me."

"What-"

"Wednesday! Come here!", Enid, Wednesday's roommate called and you could hear her squeaking sneakers in the hallway.

And with using your magic, you turned the girl behind you invisible. Enid arrived right after Wednesday was turned transparent.

"Do you need something from her?", you asked politely. Enid gave you bombastic side eye as she looked around.

Maybe it's her first time seeing a witch?

"Uh, no. It's just, Wednesday had removed the coloured stickers from her side of the room. Which I put on!"

"When it's her side of the room, then she can do whatever she wants. And you should know by now that she doesn't really like colours."

"Still, she should've asked me first! I could use them for something else, you know?"

"Yeah, understandable."

"Anyways, have you seen her?"

"I can sense her soul near us, but I cannot see her, Sinclair."

"Why do you have to talk like that."

"Because we are not a body but a soul. We have a body. We are souls living in bodies."

"...o...kay...? I...I'll look somewhere else.", and with that, she dissappeared.

Wednesday started speaking. "How long will this spell last?"

You could see her again. "When the affacted person starts speaking."

She stared at you for a long time and you surpressed a chuckle.

"There's something I wanted to ask you, Wednesday. Did you also get the feeling that Enid doesn't really like me? For whatever reason?"

"She doesn't like witches because she got dumped by one. I wonder why."

"Welp, sucks when she hasn't even fully become a real werewolf. Also did you pull those stickers away because you really didn't like it or because you wanted to spite her?"

"Both."

"Haha."

---

(2.1k) "Weems said you'd be stopping by. So, what are you guys? Alto, soprano, or just loco?", Bianca said after you and Wednesday went to her choir group to maybe join.

The other kids giggled while you sighed out of your nose.

The person by the nearby piano which you noticed only now pressed a button and a tone was heard. Wednesday opened her mouth.

You heard nothing except some glass breaking.

"What was that?", Bianca asked.

"A tone only cabaki can hear, cool!", you complimented.

Wednesday allowed her mouth to lift 0.01 %.

"...and...and you, Ivanovich, what about you?"

At the siren's question, you started to sing Polina Gagarina's "Lullaby". Your voice fitted the song perfectly and you loved singing it.

After you were done, the students one by one started clapping, and in the end, everyone clapped. You were bashful, to say the least. Too bad Bianca was not having it.

"So you're one hell of a singer. Did you use some of your witch powers for that?"

Instead of wanting to punch her, you decided to bite back. "I could say the same to your 'Siren'-voice."

"Why, you little-"

"What happened here? I heard glass breaking, and then a beautiful singing voice!", Weems interrupted and you smirked at the short haired girl.

"Nothing,", she only hissed.

---

"Woah, these are some cool powers, Xavier!"

"Thanks man!"

"You guys are too loud."

"Oi, I'm just complimenting him-wanna be friends?"

"Sure, why not?"

Whoah, Xavier might be the second teenager in this school who actually respected you, the first one being Wednesday.

Wednesday was drawing what could be identified as a gilloutine, with Enid's head poking through the hole. The blade was halfway through and blood spurted out of Enid's neck. Enid herself had a terrifying expression.

If the real Enid saw this...

"Uh, n-nice work!" "You don't have to compliment me on everything, Ivanovich."

"Uh, okay!"

"How do you two know each other?"

"Our parents." "To be more detailed, our parents actually were friends and also attending this exact boarding school. And, well, they seemed to be pretty good friends. But I still don't understand this whole hyde thing, and one of our students being dead and then reappearing as if nothing happened."

That gave Xavier and Wednesday a little time to think, while you thought that you messed up the mood. again.

"Sorry for ruining the mood..."

"What? No, What you said was actually something to think over. Wednesday was there when the guy died, but him being there the day after? either someone's trying to mess with your head, or the person doesn't like you.", the artist said.

Wednesday only had another unreadable expression on her face.

"Um...can I take a picture?"

"What?"

"Of your painting- Oh! Y-yours as well, if you're okay with it, Xavier!"

"Sure thing man."

"But Enid's getting killed."

"I like the strong colours-"

"It's mostly red-"

"And the way you could draw her face in detail is so pretty-"

"She's literally screaming in agony while she's getting beheaded-"

"I don't care, Wednesday. I like your work. Now can I take a pic or not?"

"...are you okay?"

"Are you?"

"Heheh.", Xavier chuckled while Wednesday only looked at you again.

___

Hey, how was that love? I wanted to make this longer because...I dunno. I just thought this could be nice to start with a sweet beginning and then the story getting darker, you know?

I will for sure do a second part!

Anyways, please write how that was and pls explain it to me again, but in more detail because I'm stupid :p

Read you in the next post!

#wednesday x reader #wednesday angst #wednesday show #wednesday #wednsday addams #Wednesday x male reader #wednesday x male!reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x witch reader #reader angst #i dunno i'm not good with angst #wednesday x reader angst

[russiantapo4ek]

“I like how you draw Rusame, but as a US citizen I will never accept it, bcuz Russia is a terrorist who unleashed a war with Ukraine, it offends me. Russian is wild (???? what 😂) ofc I prefer Usuk more, u now?“ - wrote to me a dude who retweets patriotic American quotes about “freedom“ and mute evidence that Trump is an agent of Putin. Dude, first of all, for what purpose did you write to me about this, given that I deeply don't care about your opinion with preferences, while you so directly assure how terrible Russia is spreading propaganda (let me remind you that there is propaganda in US too, it has always been, especially nothing it does not differ from the Russian one, do not try to deny it, I know what I'm talking about, I once visited my aunt and listened to American political programs for the sake of interest, should I say how much outright nonsense I listened to, my ears almost withered ...) a retweet was made on your page about Trump as about a Russian agent, and do you willingly believe that? Dude, you're 27 years old, you're two years older than me, and you have the mindset of a 14-year old teenager who believes in all sorts of conspiracy theories and other nonsense from the Internet without any logical evidence. Is Trump an agent of Russia? Really?! Where do such conclusions come from? Election 2016? Does anyone else remember them? Why not Obama then? Not John Kennedy? Btw, he was suspected of fictitious collusion with the Communists only bcuz he wanted to improve relations with the USSR, he was not killed bcuz of suspicion, but your state sources will never reveal the truth about the true motives for the assassination of the president. Why only Trump? Does the American community still believe in this? Well, then I have no more questions for you 😂 is it more like paranoia to see the participation of Russians in everything (as some of you still like to call us “commi“, which we have not been for a long time) in the elections bcuz Russia wants to destroy America? Omg…Dude, I don't support the war, don’t support Putin, but that doesn't mean that I think that the US government is a bulwark of justice, it's far from it, I won't list what terrible things the White house did with other countries, including Yugoslavia/Iraq/Syria/Vietnam, and I don't want to talk about how hypocritical the US treats Russia and after that you claim that there is no propaganda in your country, but only the truth is being told? You know, in Soviet Union, they also believed everything that was said on TV, but the country was isolated, people believed everything that Stalin, Brejnev, Gorbachev said, we did not broadcast anything Western (Russians usually learned about Disney, Tom and Jerry, Looney Tunes and others foreign cartoons after the collapse of the USSR, American delegation often visited Russia, importing a lot of her production, spreading high crime in the country, instead taking away our scientists, Soviet equipment, including the resources of a weakened country). Why ,of all the things that America has done to my country , do I not consider all of America terrible , unlike you ? (Damn it, in the 90’s Russia was literally dying dude, my country could have died if not for humanitarian support, and even after all the hell Russia went through, still wanted to get closer to the US, but the US, oddly enough, was in no hurry to reach out in response…) Were Americans isolated from the world like Soviet Russia ? No. So where does such a superficial judgment about Russia come from? Dude, pls don't provoke me into a polemic with you, you've got the wrong address, I have no desire to continue this meaningless chatter with you, you still won't understand a damn thing from what I've written, bcuz your horizons are limited only by what you are told through liberal channels. They will tell you that every Russian comes home riding bears and that it snows all day in the country, you will believe it without any doubt. Bcuz based on what you wrote to me under the post with art, you think with the logic of the TV 😂

my conclusion: ❌🧠❌->🤡

(guys, I banned this clown, unfortunately, I don't want to show what he wrote, bcuz I deleted all this shit from the comments under my art, you can read my entire answer above, I think adequate people who don't think like him will support me)

Honestly, I still can't understand what he attributed the irl policy with Hetalia to?😂

[esmealux]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @mulderscully ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

My profile says 56, but considering 32 of those are one-shots that have been gathered in Feels Like Home, I feel like the real answer is 24.

What's your total ao3 word count? 457K - but again, 32 of my works count twice, some of them three times (those that are both in LWTD and FLH), so the actual number is less. Feels Like Home is 223K words though, so more than that 💀

What fandoms do you write for?

Just Lucifer (but I have been toying with the idea of writing something for RWRB, if inspiration should spark at some point)

Top five fics by kudos:

Living with the Devil (isn't always Hell on Earth)

Feels Like Home

Mummy's Workplace: The Guided Tour

Take Me With You

Spouses Without Benefits

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! The nice ones, at least. I don't respond to Chloe or Eve hate 😇

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, I don't know, maybe Going Through Hell? I think it ends on a hopeful note though. I generally end angst on a hopeful note. Or write plain fluff. I do have a drabble in my drafts that is very angsty and does not end with hope though (Sox can confirm that).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't feel like I've written a fic with an ending yet 💀 I mean, there was Living with the Devil but it technically isn't finished because it continues in Feels Like Home. But Feels Like Home will definitely end happily.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, no. I felt rather unpopular when I introduced Eve in Feels Like Home though. And people aren't shy of hating on Eve and Chloe as characters, meanwhile Lucifer is always just a "poor baby" or a "silly man." I've had people comment that they like me and Sox' version of Chloe in Feels Like Home more than they like her on the show, which I guess is supposed to be a compliment? But I don't think I want that kind of compliment from people who think Chloe is a bitch on the show tbh...

Do you write smut?

Yes. Very much so.

Craziest crossover:

I've never written a cross-over.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not in this fandom, no. At least not as far as I know.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have, actually. Someone translated Rejected at the Pearly Gates to Russian, but I lost the link ☹️

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Hahaha yeah. I have (:

Like 90% of what I've written since I met Sox has been co-written.

All time favorite ship?

Deckerstar, my one and only.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've got a Copenhagen AU sketched out that I reeaaallyyy want to write, but I have to finish Feels Like Home before I fully throw myself into that project. Also, I'm not sure many people but me would want to read it lol

What are your writing strengths?

Hmm, I think I'm good at writing dialogue? And understanding the psychology of the characters and their relationships.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Having English as my foreign language 🙃 No, but seriously Not Knowing Words is the most frustrating part of writing for me. And not just not knowing the words, but also not knowing how to string them together.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Depends on the language. Naturally, I could write as much Danish dialogue in as I'd like, but very, very few would understand it. I could do German too, with a bit of help from a dictionary. And I've watched enough Norwegian and Swedish TV to be able to write dialogue in those as well. I have written Lucifer dirty-talking in French, but I barely wrote any of that myself; a kind soul translated it for me. Generally, I think it's fun to incorporate other languages!

First fandom you wrote in?

Twilight. When I was 10 😅

Favorite fic you've written?

Feels Like Home, my beloved.

tagging @my-crazy-awesome-sox, @superlc529, @moonatoms, @mightbeawriter, @wendeckerstart and anyone else who wants to do it!

#tag games #on writing

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers

Tagged by @numinousmysteries! Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

493,156

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files, pretty much exclusively.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps

Ripper Weather

She's Beauty, She's Grace

Between Sorrow and Bliss

Someday Your Child May Cry

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do if someone has a question, or if someone comments on the way I've written something in a way that makes me feel like I should explain the choices I made (biggest example was a commenter on BtDaFL who seemed to be viewing the story through a modern lens without taking the time period into account). I wish I did respond to every comment but honestly I get so in my head about it that I end up paralyzed most of the time. But I absolutely read every single one and return to them frequently, especially when my self-confidence is ebbing.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably the short prompt where I gave elderly Mulder pancreatic cancer?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of mine have happy endings but By the Dim and Flaring Lamps was probably the most unambiguously happy since everyone who dies in canon- Melissa, Samantha, Ahab, Bill and Teena Mulder- are all alive and well at the end of it.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? There was some out-of-the-corner-of-their-mouth sniping about Pequod (not to my face), but it was clear that person didn't understand how character arcs work. Someone sent an anonymous message that BtDaFL was boring, but lots of people find historical fiction boring.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Only if it fits into the plot of the story, and only if I can make it match the overall tone of the fic.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have one short Doctor Who crossover on AO3. I also have a Harry Potter crossover where William is a wizard and a wizard friend of Scully's secretly adopts him when she finds out Scully gave him up because she recognizes the phenomena happening around him, but that's never seeing the light of day while I'm still alive.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to the best of my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked if they could translate one of mine into Russian but I'm not sure if they did or not.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Always gonna be MSR.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

That ballroom dancing lessons one is languishing and I doubt I'll get back to it anytime soon, mostly because I have no idea what the rest of the plot was going to be.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, plot, and distinct original characters, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not very good at making my words beautiful or lyrical. I'm in awe of authors like @aloysiavirgata, @leiascully, and @slippinmickeys whose styles are so fluid and lovely. I feel like mine is often very matter-of-fact and clinical.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've had to do it once or twice.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote something about The Land Before Time when I was in elementary school, long before I knew what fanfic was.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably But Always Together.

Tagging @leiascully and @mldrgrl if they haven't done it yet!

#talking about writing

[nekoannie-chan]

Secrets chapter 4: The Beginning or the End of Everything? Part III

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC, Brock Rumlow X OFC.

Word count: 1052 words.

Summary: Sometimes keeping secrets can be dangerous or a heavy burden, which is what Kathleen has been doing for years. She will also be in charge of guiding Steve Rogers into this century; meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be looking for a way to kick-start the Avengers Initiative by integrating her as one of the superheroes, but that won't be the only danger they face.

Warnings: None

A/N: After long time working on this longfic, I finally post it. If you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too. Secrets masterlist. Previous chapter. Next chapter.

𝟸 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒽𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇

 It had already been two years since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., and her missions so far have been successful. At the moment she was in her office reviewing the proposal for the Insight Project, the board of Directors had rejected it. She didn’t understand the reasons. Everything seemed in order. She sincerely preferred to do that over the other missions. He knew she helped people by stopping those criminals, but that didn't mean she liked being on some missions. She preferred to do office work or go on some missions with Brock.

Despite everything, she was still checking everything related to the project. According to the manuals and protocols, everything was in order; therefore, it didn't make sense that it had been rejected... Unless it was for monetary reasons.

Fury entered the office with a folder, and without saying a single word, she turned to see it. She knew that it could only be something too important, so much so that the rest of the missions would be postponed until further notice and the personnel would participate more. She took it and began to leaf through the content, but she didn’t understand well what it meant. In truth, she began to believe that it was a joke by Nick, although she was no longer a little girl to laugh at the jokes that Nick used to make.

"An hour ago, some Russian tankers sent us these photos; I need you to analyze them; you have less than two hours; it's urgent, as it can't fall into the wrong hands," Nick ordered her.

Kathleen nodded and got to work. She also called Cameron; she would need some help. Together they managed to get the results in less time than she required, but she could not believe it. He was most likely dead; no one would resist even those conditions and probably not even the magnitude of the impact; it was the ship, but she was not so sure if he would be in there. The best thing to do was to send someone to check and, if possible, get what was left and try to recover it because if any of the enemies did it before them, they could try again to replicate the serum or use it for some experiment, and that meant more problems.

Now more questions popped into her head. How would they break the news to the world? What would happen now? Would they examine the discovery? Should she worry?

Probably, there would be a memorial or some ceremony to thank him for his service or something, she didn't even know why she was worrying about the situation, she just had to do her job.

It was three in the morning when Nick Fury's phone rang, and he immediately answered to receive the news that Captain America had been found, or at least his frozen body. Under those conditions, they could not be sure if he was alive or not, so he gave precise instructions: they had to get him out of there and take him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities in New York so that the doctors could take care of him and he would be submitted to some tests before telling anyone else since he didn’t want rumors to spread to the population.

He knew who was the perfect person for what was coming, plus it would be easier to know what was really going on, although he was sure she would not give any statements to the media, so they could prepare whatever was necessary.

A few minutes later, he spoke to Kathleen to assign her to the mission, which was simple: to be present while they took the Captain out of the ice to try to read his mind and thus be able to corroborate if he was alive, as well as to be by his side during the transfer and the doctor's examination, and in case he was alive, she would have to help him adapt to the present time.

Kath's mobile phone rang, she mumbled something unintelligible, and she wanted to continue sleeping, but if Nick was talking directly to her on his personal mobile phone instead of his work one, it was really something exaggeratedly important. She moved Brock so she could answer; she had lost count of the times they had been together.

Although they weren't in a romantic relationship as they had agreed, they had repeated that night of the mission several times, sometimes at her place, sometimes at his apartment. Although neither of their feelings had changed.

Even Brock was thinking of trying to have a relationship after a while, to convince her, although first, he had to find a way to keep her safe.

She got up and dressed as quickly as possible to arrive on time as soon as she heard the news. She left a note with a vague explanation for Brock to see when he woke up; she still had to go through some documents with Fury so they wouldn't have any problems since it was something secret and no one could find out that they had found it to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.

She opened a portal to get to the place where they found him as quickly as possible. She gave the documents to the Lieutenant, they had already taken him out of the ship and were preparing everything to take him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities, although Kath didn't know which ones, so she had to hurry, otherwise, she would have to give explanations to Fury.

Someone tried to stop her, but she practically threw the document Nick had given her and went up to the ship with them. She couldn't perceive much, not counting the noise of the others' minds; she had to concentrate. She couldn't have Cerebro with her; she didn't want anyone to know she had him, so she had to think of something different to see if she could catch any thoughts.

She reached over and put a hand in Steve's hair; it still had some ice in it; however, she had no idea how they had gotten it out of there, and since it wasn't completely thawed, she started to pick up some slow and vague thoughts that meant he was alive.

Ꭲꭺꮐꮮꮖꮪꭲ:

@saiyanprincessswanie  @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad

@navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke  @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940  @tenaciousperfectionunknown  @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae  @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes  @sapphire-rogers​ @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose​ @hallecarey1​  @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @mylifeispainandiloveit​  @writingshae​ @alexxavicry​ @azulatodoryuga​ @daemonslittlebitch​  @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @jtargaryen18​  @chaoticcollectivenightmare​ @endlesstwanted​

#Secrets #Steve Rogers x OFC #brock rumlow x ofc

[josefavomjaaga]

Hi Josefa!

I've been scrolling through your stuff on Eugene and the impression I'm getting is that he was mediocre??

Of course, that's probably not all that is to him but he seems to be rather normal if anything so much so that I may not recognise him if he ever appeared in front of me. Is he just someone that is overshadowed by the more powerful personalities? Or is there something else to it?

Although reading about his sweet family life is pretty cute 🥰

Hi and thank you for the Ask! 💖

And I think you got it perfectly right. As a matter of fact "mediocre" is precisely the expression Joseph Bonaparte used for him in his memoirs (and if there's ever been an expert on mediocrity, it's Joseph). According to Joseph's friend Miot de Mélito so did Napoleon himself at the beginning of the Empire. In the "Mémorial de Sainte Hélène" Napoleon phrases it differently by saying that the only thing that made Eugène special was a certain balance in his character: He knew what he could do, and he did it. That already sufficed to distinguish him from plenty of others.

Eugène clearly was not a genius like Napoleon, not a romantic or tragic hero like Murat or Lannes or Ney or Junot, not even an imposing general like Davout or Soult. He was your regular run-of-the-mill guy, Monsieur What's-his-face, washed up by events to a rank he would otherwise never have occupied, like all of Napoleon's family, but - unlike Napoleon's brothers - very aware of this and trying to do his best to merit his position.

That's why I can relate to him much better than to the more prominent figures of the era. People like Lannes, Soult or Murat, let alone Napoleon, will always remain a mystery to me precisely because they are heroes and thus have so little in common with me. I fail to truly understand how they "tick". But somebody whom his stepfather's maelstrom has pulled, without his own doing, possibly even against his own will, out into a churning ocean and who now desperately tries to keep his head over water with the bit of force he has - that is something I can understand.

As to his "legacy" (or rather lack thereof) - some is due to the fact that his family pretty much was swallowed up by others over the next generation. His older son died without issue, the younger became a kind of prince consort to a daughter of the Russian tsar. Eugène enjoyed some prominence during the Second Empire, but as the Second Empire and Napoleon III have a pretty bad name in history, I'm not sure if that did him much good. I understand his name was all but forgotten in Northern Italy until recently.

During the Empire, at least up to 1809, this may have been much different. But with 19th century historiography focusing on the Napoleonic legend and the "big events", the role that Eugène may have played in the eyes of many contemporaries can barely be detected anymore. There's only the occasional hint of his high position, like the panic of Oudinot's ladies when they are suddenly to meet him, or the confusing rumours in the army in Austria 1809. Kérautret in his biography of Eugène emphasizes that Eugène, up to the birth of the "Roi de Rome", indeed was the only high functionary with a unique title. There's plenty of ministers and "grand officiers", plenty of marshals, a bunch of kings - but only one viceroy. And that's how Eugène is usually referred to in contemporary writings. The Viceroy. The second-in-command - or at least that's what some people may have read into it. If you add that, from all of Napoleon's family, he was the only one to govern the territory entrusted to him to Napoleon's satisfaction (well, as much as Napoleon would ever be satisfied with anything) and that he at least had some reputation within the army, him being seen as the future of the empire gains some credibility.

Because you do not consitute a stable empire (or any other state) through people like Napoleon (or Murat, or Junot, etc). For that, you need the stuffy, trusty second and third-in-line workers. If you want something to last, you want boring, reliable, grey.

But, coming back to Eugène, the one thing he really had going for him, the one thing that I first noticed about him, was his amiability. From contemporary sources up to the preface of volume 9 of Napoleon's "Correspondance Générale", everybody seems to agree that he was one of if not the most lovable figure of the Napoleonic saga. In historic sources, it's almost like another title: "Davout, the Duke of Auerstedt, Masséna, the Prince of Essling, Soult, the Duke of Dalmatia - and the prince Eugène. Such a nice guy!" 😁

Sorry for rambling so much - I'm always so excited when somebody notices "the boy", despite his lack of colourfulness. 😁

Thanks again for the question!

#napoleon's family #eugene de beauharnais #asks

[roachemoji]

Stranger Things - Season 3 thread 03 01

LETS GO GIRLS!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay okay okay starting off strong 1984 i see you i see you all these bald men are so sweaty and shiny and exhausted looking.

OH THE VFX BUDGET WENT UP BABBBEYYY OH LOOK AT THAT SHIT THATS COOL AS FUCK

So El isnt the one who opened the gate OG?? Really sick that they needed that much power to do it only forit to backfire and some little girl could do it with ease - OUFH SORRY TO THE BITCHES WHO JUST GOT EXPLODED

i understand why the bald men are sweaty and exhausted looking

SO WHY DO THEY WANT TO GET IN THERE SO BAD!!!!! OH THIS IS THE RUSSIAN PLOT PART YEAHHH

is this like ....... wanting to win the coldwar type shit??? because we're past the space race and into the 80s.... (<- guy who doesnt know much about this specific subject of history tbh)

EL LOOKS SO GOOD - fucking hate seeing them kiss im so sorry it makes me so uncomfortable - FEELING REAL HOPPER THOUGH LIKE ITS ICKY but also damn KING GIVE UR KID SPACE

i fucking LOVE THE shift in colours in this season !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LIKE ITS SO BRIGHT I LOVE IT!!!! AND STEVEEEE!!!!!! AND I FINALLY GET TO MEET ROBIN!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh this movie is foreshadowing some shit i can feel it. labesq SHIT!!!!!!! AND THEN THE POWER GOING OUT!!!!!!!!!!! this means things my brain is too small to make proper connections

OH SHIT LITTLE ME!!!!!!!

YEAH SEE Lost smoke monster !!!!! somethings thers i just know it

"im not gonna fall in love" "ok"

JOYCE MY BELOVED

booOOOOOBBBBBBBB!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DUSTIIINNNNNNNNNN

<- guy whose just REALLY EXCITED TO SEE THEIR FAV LITTLE MAN

GIRLIES WHO ARE WE LOOKING COOL FOR IM -

thought it waas gonna be gay forgot Billy existed

HOPPER IS ACTUALLY A FUCKING INCEL IM CRYING ITS BEEN LIKE 20 MINUTIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! KING OH MY GOD SHUT UP rooted for you but nah youve really always been like this

A Heart to Heart? What is that? <- man whose never been shown compassion???? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DONT KNOW WHAT THAT IS shut up

ngl tho me n hopper shaking hands how to you approach people about things without people helping you write shit out word for word

this entire board roOM REMINDS ME OF THE BEGINNING OF SEASON 2 OF FARGO - but she a woman TYPE SHIT AKSHJD

Nancy is. trying so HARD and girl i am so sorry

HIS GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND THE WAY HE TALKS ABOUT HER <3333

Steve. i got nothing to add he just. wow

ROBIN I LOVE HER I L OVE THE PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS ON THIS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!

Its romantic <- jealousy

Its gross <- somehow not jealousy tho sorry

Its bullshit <- jealousy

BRO ARE HE LLO WHAT PIED PIPER SHIT IS HAPPENING???? CRYING AT ALL THE LITTLE CGI GUYS LOOK AT THEM ALL!!!! THEY ALL HAVE LITTLE WHITE FEET THO???? THOSE ARE. exploding. theyre exploding. :(

ENOUGH OF HIM I DONT WANT TO SEE HIM I WANT TO SKIP THROUGH HIS MOMENTS I ACTUALLY HATE HIM SO FUCKING MUCH IM IN. PAIN. LIKE. OU GH. THE. SECOND HAND EMBARASSMENT IS? PAINFUL I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE HIM I HATE HIM IHATE HIM PHYSICALLY GAGGING

LUCAS AND MAX mAKE me so happy and MAx is still transmasc coded in my heaRTTTTT

DUSTIN BABY IM SO SORRY YOURE HAVING A MY CANADIAN GF MOMENT BUTSHES MORMON AND FROM UTAH

SHOWING MomEnts of Joyce being so happy and gENUINELY IN LOVE WITH BOB JUST HURTS SO MUCH HE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD. RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE

oh now we have shit with MAGNETS and the spaceship space race cold war babbeyyyy

DISEASE RATS!!!!!!!

HOPPER ASHING ON HIS FACE KING????? OW?????????????????????

This is so uncomfortable bro my dad did this to me once and it was horrifically misguided on his part and he was making some wild ass assumptions about my relationship with certain people and oUGADHADKAJSHAKSJH this isthe season of second hand embarassment and its PAINFUL

MIKE IS JUST MA KING IT WORSE PLEASE SHUT UP I OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I KEEP PAUSING IT BC I CANT HANDLE THIS

HOPPER H ELLO ????

IM

THIS IS

BRO THIS fucking entire season is gonna be so fucking painfULLLL STOP STOP STOP like the. BROOOOO stop stop stop whose got a link to a breakdown of the family dynamics between everyone and how fucked up everyone is i cant even put thi sinto words im just losing my mind hopethis makes sense

SORRY DUSTIN I !!! GOD. PICKING UP RUSSIAN SHIT INSTEAD OF HIS GF SORRY

i literally cant handle this weird Billy fucking Milfs arc and i cant even begin to stress how much i fucking hate it and him. I have literally no room in my heart for that piece of shit

im SORRY to KaREN WHEELER THOUGH LIKE DAMN GIRL your mariage is in shambles and you really want to be fucked by THIS GUY ?

HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IDIOT FUCKING GET ATTACKED BY FERAL DISEASED RATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CALLING ALL RATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

KILL!!!!!!!!!!!!

i know he fucking dies but iM GONAN LOSE MY MIND DOES HE GET FUCKIGN KILLED BY STOPP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP THIS IS SO FUC NNY YEAHH HYEAHHH BABEY FUCKING GET HIS ASSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

#bo posting #stranger things #st #live blogging #AHHH OEADSKJH FUCKING EAH BABEY YEAH YEAH YEAH

[writer-of-random-things]

On Muddy Trenches & Middle-earth

I recently finished All Quiet on the Western Front for school and my only thoughts are: A) I should have never gotten emotionally attached to a war story, and B) the book made me understand The Lord of the Rings so much more. I know Tolkien stated the the LOTR was never allegorical, and so it may be; but meaning there is. So obviously, I'm going to write about it: how the 'lost generation' is reflected in Middle-earth, the beauty of comradeship, and maybe most importantly, finding hope in the darkest of times.

Paul Baumer, the protagonist of All Quiet, was goaded by his schoolteacher to enlist for WWI only to find out its realities as everything he loves gets destroyed. Although this is very different from Frodo's story, the emotion, the trauma, and the comradeship both of these characters went through is something that will be remarked on time and time again.

When people talk about Tolkien, WWI, and LOTR, they most often draw the connection between the Dead Marshes and No Man's Land. After all, the Dead Marshes are described as such:

"They all lie in pools, pale faces, deep deep under the dark water...grim faces and evil, and noble faces and sad. Many faces proud and fair, and weeds in their silver hair. But all foul, all rotting, all dead."

Meanwhile, No Man's Land in All Quiet is described as:

"Thus we stagger forward, and into our pierced and shattered souls bores the torturing image of brown earth with the greasy sun and the convulsed and dead soldiers who lie there--it can't be helped--who cry and clutch at our legs as we spring away from them."

The land is barren, people are dead. And the protagonist of both stories have to trudge through the wasteland without looking back. Furthermore, All Quiet Chapter 9 has Paul stabbing a French soldier in a fit of panic, only to have to watch him slowly die. Paul laments:

"Comrade, I did not want to kill you...we always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that our mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony--Forgive me, comrade, how could you be my enemy?"

This is quite similar to Sam's reaction when he sees a dead soldier; Tolkien writes,

"It was Sam's first view of battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad he could not see the dead face. He wondered where the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil at heart, or what lies and threats had led him on the long march from home; and if he would rather have stayed there in peace."

The above connection was first brought to my attention in Tolkien in the Twenty-First Century: The Meaning of Middle-Earth Today by Nick Groom, though I selected the quotes myself. Yet that is not all. Before we delve into the beauty of Sam and Frodo's friendship, I want to focus on Chapter 10 of All Quiet, where the soldiers get to guard an abandoned village (with lots of food, no less!) and continue to cook while shells are falling amongst them. They take refuge in a dugout, where they have a feast. Why is this important? Because the dugout is basically a hobbit-hole. A hobbit-hole is cozy, with food and warmth; the ideal of an idyllic home, even if the rest of the world is going to shambles. @moonlightredfern said it best, in a reply to this post. It's a testament to all the cold and miserable days, dreaming of a better time where everything is nice and cozy. It's deciding that the simple joys are worth risking your life for--indeed, that such tiny moments is what makes life worthwhile in the first place.

The same sentiment can be applied to friendship. Tolkien himself said that Sam was "a reflexion of the English soldier, of the privates and batmen in the 1914 war, and recognised as so far superior to myself". Sam's humble origins in the Shire brings into mind a scene of Paul's thoughts when he encounters Russian prisoners:

"They ought to be put to threshing, reaping, and apple picking. They look just as kindly as our own peasants..."

Like the soldiers, Sam could've stayed a gardener for the rest of his life; he comes from the same simple origins they do. Despite all the odds, they both go into battle; more importantly, they both rely on comradeship. And that makes all the difference. For both Paul and Frodo, friendship is what makes their battles bearable. Take Chapter 5 of All Quiet, when Paul is cooking a goose with his friend Kat:

"...we have a more complete communion with one another than even lovers have. We are two men, two minute sparks of life; outside is the night and the circle of death. We sit on the edge of it crouching in danger...in our hearts we are close to one another, and the hour is like the room: flecked over with lights and shadows of our feelings cast by a quiet fire."

Friendship is the flame that keeps out the dark. Gollum only became the creature he was because he was alone while the ring slowly corrupted him. But Frodo had Sam. And Sam would not have grown as much as he did, would not have been a brave as he was, without Frodo. The same is for Paul; when the only thing he has left--his friend Kat--dies, Paul says, "All I know is that Militiaman Stanislaus Katczinsky is dead. Then I know no more." Without friendship, life sparks out. In its fragility, maybe, lies its beauty: that moments and memories between two people are as magnificent as life itself. This connection, in a way, is one of the most important things in both stories.

Finally, I want to touch on my favorite chapter in All Quiet, and its connection to the ending of The Return of the King. In Chapter 7, Paul returns home, only to find out that nothing was the same as it was. Everybody treats war as a glorious thing when Paul has seen what it really is. He feels lost and disconnected:

"I...say over to myself: 'You are at home, you are at home.' But a sense of strangeness cannot leave me, I cannot feel at home amongst these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there is my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself here. There is a distance, a veil between us."

For refrence, let's just compare this to Frodo's lines near the end of RoTK, shall we?

"But I have been hurt too deeply, Sam. I tried to save Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me."

I don't think I have to explain this much. It speaks to the lost generation of WWI veterans as a whole; after all the pain and torment, battlefields filled not only with blood but also broken dreams, how does one pick up the threads of an old life? It makes sense, then, that both Paul's and Frodo's stories do not have a 'satisfying' ending that readers would like to see. Instead, they portray the reality of trauma and healing--or rather, the absence of it. Yet both tales are not devoid of hope. Paul states that all his experiences would be worthwhile if he could make sure that nobody could experience what he has again:

"A word of command has made these silent figures our enemies; a word of command might transform them into our friends...I am frightened: I dare think this way no more...I will keep them, shut away, until the war is ended. My heart beats fast: this the aim, the great, the sole aim, that I have thought of in the trenches; that I have looked for as the only possibility of experience after this annihilation of human feeling; this is a task that will make life afterward worthy of these hideous years."

In addition, hope has been pervasive throughout the entire LOTR trilogy, even when fear and despair have the upper hand. Hope is not a passive act; it is a decision of will, a choice of a small, unsurprising hobbit that said, "I will take the ring, even if I do not know the way." It is symbolized in Sam carrying Frodo up Mount Doom, of Eowyn and Faramir overcoming their past troubles and finding each other, of a group of people that saved the world because they dared to try.

I think the most important thing to keep in mind when comparing All Quiet on the Western Front and The Lord of the Rings is that they are two works with different purposes, yet their authors lived through similar circumstances. The thematic motifs of friendship, hope, trauma, and violence are still relevant today. Perhaps Paul's hope for the future, as well as the Fellowship's determination to see the quest to be end, can be summarized by the oft-repeated words of Gandalf:

'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo. 'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for us to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'

#lotr #tolkein #tolkien meta #frodo and sam #all quiet on the western front #im westen nichts neues #look I just wasn't expecting a book I read for school to hit me this hard okay #I think this calls for a lotr reread

[hehehehehenrik]

waaah hi!!! how do you draw old men??!! (and since you ar taking art reqs could you draw my termina oc??!! https://artfight.net/character/3925636.isko)

Heyy, hello!! Finally someone get to the ask box, thanks a lot, love contacting with people through internet y’know. Okay first of all here’s you’re guy just being clueless himself. Do the proportions and face in my way a bit, hope it’s ok, and made pompadour smaller because I’m not sure how to make hair physics on the bigger one?? Sorry 😔

And now to the question, which I really like, ‘cause I honestly don’t know? It’s the way my hand draws, it just that I’m being into old men’s for, idk, 4 years perhaps and I fucking can’t draw anything else lol. Like seriously, now I think that young face without wrinkles looks incomplete and now that 11 yo kid looks like he’s fucking 20 or whatever, thanks God I’m not drawing kids that usually haha.

But anyway I can say few things that helped me understand something. Obviously the way persons face getting older is rooted in the genetics, they life style, health, etc etc, but I singled out some main wrinkles in different age, I usually see it in anime so I call it anime technique haha, here’s the visualization:

I use it as a base wrinkles when I’m not sure about more unique details, pretty good way to handle it I think.

But the most important is to form the visual library in the brain, idk if that phrase is used in English art community, but in Russian it means to look at a lot of photos of things so that you wouldn’t need to look at the references, you have them in memory! For that I use Pinterest, just looking at actors, musicians, any other old people with a lot of photos of them and analyze the way their wrinkles goes.

Oh and also fun fact, let’s call it that, my mom once said that the most accurate way to understand the persona age is not by looking at their face, but it’s by looking at their neck and arms. The skin sags at neck no matter what, as much as I know, and hands also getting more dry and thin, also veins is more visible, while face wrinkles and skin sags different from person to person ‘cause genetics, health and other things.

And also a gray hair is pretty important, but this shit is even more personal and unique, some people may get first gray hair in the 20s, and some may not have a single strand of them at 40s at all! So yeah in that thing the best way is to read some medicine articles about it, and of course remembering the context of character background and life, yeah.

I can’t say many things about making unique wrinkles because there only two way that I do it; first, the character model or art already have all the needed details so my work is just to mimic it as close as I can(the way I drawing Caligura yeah); second, I just made it up based on the face silhouette I imagine character to have, in that case I just use my brain visual library(Domek moment because by some reason there barely any wrinkles in the game sprites and his portrait? Even thou the portrait description says that he’s face have wrinkles the way that it looks like he had the frown all his life, my brother in Christ, when person frowns a lot he’d get forehead wrinkles first of all! But nope, Domek don’t have any of it, ok?? And yeah I usually do the forehead wrinkles based on that fact of character).

Yeah, idk if there anything more I can say, nothing useful anyway so yeah thanks for the question and request!! (Ask box always open so feel free to write thing folks, I don’t bite. Usually.) Byee!!

#the fuck am I supposed to tag it #uh #hehenrik talks? #let it be it I guess