#sorry for being a mean ukrainian good night good night

[itsagrimm]

What is a Russian Character and How to write them

As @sarapaprikas-blog and I were working on this post, we noticed a gap of knowledge and public perception that we want to address. Plenty of characters get labelled as Russian in media without necessarily being Russian. On the other hand the Archetypal ”Russian” character often does not mirror the realities of being Russian. We are to talk about that.

What is Russia?

Russia is a country. It is the largest country in the world with over 140 million inhabitants, stretching over 11 time zones. It is often seen as the successor state to the Soviet Union, which in itself was the successor state of the Russian Empire. The Soviet Union and Russia do not have the same borders or government. However, modern Russia draws a lot from its history as the largest and dominant part of the Soviet Union. Before the Soviet Union, the area was governed by the Russian Empire. The Russian Empire, as the name already indicates, was imperialist. The history as an Empire with massive expansion, colonies and conquering different people, is arguably the biggest reason why modern Russia is as big as it is today.

What is Russian?

There is a difference between the language Russian, the ethnicity Russian, and the nationality Russian. In English the difference can be made out only by context. 

Who is Russian?

As aforementioned, there is a difference between Russian (Россиянин) meaning citizen of Russia, and ethnically Russian (Русские). The term Russian (Русские) usually refers to ethnicity, indicating a person who has Russian roots. Russian (Россиянин) implies Russian citizenship, regardless of ethnicity. Thus, a Russian can be someone with Russian citizenship, but not all Russian citizens are Russians in the ethnic sense. Also, not all ethnic Russians have Russian citizenship or live within Russia.

Ethnic-Russians are an East Slavic people. Obviously, they mainly live in Russia. But there are also large communities in Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Belarus, Latvia, Lithuania, and other countries. The traditional religion among Russians is Orthodox Christianity. The main language is Russian.

The country Russia is home to more than 190 ethnicities, including indigenous and autochthonous people, leading to a variety of languages, religions and practiced cultures. So, someone who holds a Russian citizenship, has ethnic Russian heritage and / or speaks Russian, can look very different than the cliche Russian bond girl or evil-doer indicates. That also means that those who get labelled Russian can live very different lives. Writing a Russian character gives you a lot of room outside of the prevalent stereotyped depictions.

Who is not Russian?

Simple - those who say they are not Russian, are not Russian.

Who are Slavs? What is Slavic? 

The slavic people are a variety of people, ethnically Russian people are part of that group. However, there are a lot of other ethnic groups that are Slavs without being Russian e.g. Poles, Sorbs, Czech, Ukrainians, and many more. Slavic is the corresponding adjective to Slavs. It is often used to describe the indo-Slavic language group. Slavic is also often used to describe the collectively perceived similarities of Slavic peoples' culture. However, that can be misleading and get’s often orientalised as not everything from Eastern-Europe or Russia is slavic.

Russian vocabulary Да - Yes Нет - No Привет - Hi Здравствуйте - Hello Как дела ? - How are you? Хорошо - Good Пожалуйста - Please Не за что - my pleasure  До свидания - Goodbye Пока - bye  Увидимся - See you later Хорошего дня - Have a nice day Простите - I'm sorry. (Plural or honoured addressee) Помогите, пожалуйста. - Help me please. (Plural or honoured addressee) Доброе утро - Good morning Доброй ночи - Good night. Добрый день - Good day / afternoon.

Pet names in Russian About pet names. They are either masculine of feminine . Please don't use words like darling, kitten, baby, pretty, sweetie, little one, little fox, etc. as they sound really strange in translation to native speakers. Pet names are common for close ones (family, close friends, spouses). Sometimes primary school teachers call students by affectionate names. Also sweet old lady may call you ( Дорогой/ Дорогая). But outside of that nobody calls each other by pet names, only using names because Russians are very reserved and private people in general. Gender neutral pet names: жизнь моя - my life солнце мое - my sun or my sunshine  ты мое все - you my everything. лучик - sunray. мое сокровище - my treasure.  мое золотце - my gold or sweetheart. моя любовь - my love. ты моя радость - you are my joy. ангелочек - Angel. прелесть моя - my precious.

Queerness and gender-neutral speech in Russian Being queer in Russia is hard as queers face oppression. Because of that, there is limited to no public discourse on how to adapt and diversify the language to include queer and especially non-binary identities. This is a problem as the Russian language is extremely gendered and expresses a gender binary in near default. While gender neutral pronouns in Russian exist, it's harder to use them in real life as the neutral pronoun “оно” is mostly associated with things or animals and not living humans, similar to the English “it”. Often words generally do not have gender neutral alternatives.  However, one way we suggest for a more gender neutral speech is to avoid most explicit gendering as the flexible syntax in combination with using plural pronouns in Russian allow for more gender neutral speech. For Example: Я люблю их всем моих сердцем - I love them with all my heart. Расскажи мне о них! - Tell me about them.  Дай им время- give them time. Я горжусь ими - I'm proud of them.  Они сделает это сами  -  they do it themselves. Read more about queerness in Russia here: one two three four

Russian swearing                             In Russia, swearing is considered a sign of rudeness and poor manners. Use accordingly. Also, as mentioned here, Russian syntax and inflection are different from English. Meaning one word can be a whole sentence. We punctuated every swearing that is technically a whole sentence and therefore can stand on its own grammatically. Блять - fuck Пошел нахуй. - fuck you  Хуй - dick Пизда - cunt Мы в пизде. - we are fucked / “We are stuck in the cunt.” Ебать - fuck Ахуел. - are you/they crazy?! Это пиздец. - this fucked up Мудак - asshole  Завали ебало. - shut the fuck up Сука - bitch Черт - damn Непизди. - stop fucking lying. / Cut your bullshit. Пиздобол - Person who lies a lot/ Don't lie  Мамку твою ебал. - i fucked your mom (mostly used by middle schoolers, here in grammatically masculine gender.) Заебись. - holy shit (could be bad or good depend on situation) Похуй! - I don't fucking care. Навешать пиздюлей - to beat up someone. Срать тебе в рот -  To crap in your mouth. Ты ебанулся. - Are you batshit crazy. Заебал. - I'm sick of you. Жопа - ass. Иди в баню. - soft version of Иди нахуй.

Explanation of the Russian Naming System & Patronyms

The Russian naming system consists of three main elements: first name, patronymic and last name. Name: This is the first name given to a child at birth. In Russia, the names are chosen by the parents or relatives of the child. Names can be both traditional (Alexander, Anna, Ekaterina) and modern (Sofia, Victoria, Yaroslav). Patronymic: this is the second name, which reflects the child's origin from his father. Some cultures in Russia also use the mothers name. The patronymic name among Russian people arose in the 10th - 11th centuries and was used infrequently at first, but became widespread around the 16th century. It is formed by adding the suffix "-ovich" or "-aries" to the father's name. For example, if the father's name is Ivan, then his child Ivan or Ivanna will be called Ivan Ivanovich or Ivanna Ivanovna. Last name: This is a family surname that is passed down from generation to generation. It is usually assigned at birth and does not change without special circumstances. Surnames can come from various sources, such as profession, place of residence, origin, or personal characteristics. As a result, a person's full name consists of a first name, a patronymic (if applicable) and a last name, for example: Ivan Ivanovich Petrov.

How to respectfully address a person in Russian. In Russian there are two ways to address someone. Using the polite you (Вы) amd using the formal you (Ты). The choice of mode depends on how well you know the other person and whether you are superior or inferior in terms of age and social position. If you know the person's first name you refer to them by first name and patronymic. For examples: Борис Юрьевич, Ваши рабочие отлично справились с ремонтом- Boris Yurievich, your workers did a great job with repairs. Adults never address a person by name, only by surname or patronymic unless the addressee gives permission to address them in an informal manner. Regulations of most military require their members address each other in formal you( Вы ); subordinates address commanders as товарищ (comrade) + rank , while higher ups address subordinates by military rank and surname. Example: [Colonel to Sgt. Sidorov] Сержант Сидоров, ко мне! Sergeant Sidorov, front and center! [sgt. Sidorov to colonel] По вашему приказанию прибыл, товарищ полковник! Reporting for duty [lit. arrived at your (pl.) request], comrade colonel! Military men sometimes use same forms of address, albeit in singular, in friendly conversation. Example: Сержант, дай сигарету. - Give (sing.) me a cigarette, Sarge. Military hierarchy in Russia You can find useful links here. One Two

#könig #sarapaprikasblog #nikto #call of duty 3 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #creative writing #nik cod #nikolai belinski #cod #cod modern warfare #gromsko #call of duty #gromsko cod #sobiesław kościuszko #grimmwriting #sebastian krueger

[unhonestlymirror]

I really don’t mean to come off as rude or mean nor am I intending to harass you, this is just a genuine question; why do you constantly tag your posts with Hetalia? I’m with you with the whole russian propaganda stuff, but this isn’t a political show it’s a satire with often very inaccurate information from a Japanese guy’s perspective. Unfortunately many fans are going to go with canon material over real world history in relation to Russia and other characters.

Again, I’m sorry if this came off as rude or dismissive of your views, that was not my intention. You’re free to ignore this. Have a good day/night.

You're not coming off as rude or mean.

Because:

There are more than 40 000 000 copies of that inaccurate satire worldwide. Plus, unofficial copies, merch, and anime. "Very inaccurate", btw, is a very soft term for what he draws, and the fact he doesn't draw Ukraine or Belarus anymore only proves he realises that as well.

Imo, political shows are more satirical than hetalia.

Japanese people proved to know about Ukraine and Belarus muuuuuuuch more than Himaruya. Their law about life imprisonment for insulting the Ukrainian flag proves that.

What's more dangerous, hetalia is very fucked up only when it comes to Eastern Europe. Which allows people from other countries to suggest everything there is true.

People genuinely say my countries are russian sisters while russia kills my people. Since Grand Dutchy of Lithuania.

People genuinely should not underestimate a prorussian manga, which was being spread among teens and children. It's a good tool for raising people who will excuse any russia's war crime. Look, people genuinely don't care about russia officially financing HAMAS, bombing of Syria, occupation of Georgia, invasions of Qazaqstan, I am pretty much sure they are responsible for Armenia genocide as well, and, of course, occupation of Baltics, Belarus and Ukraine.

I am not gonna give up just because many people still prefer this manga. Just like people didn't give up while being occupied by hitler. I will not give up until it's worldwide shameful to glorify or excuse russia.

You can't have a physical deoccupation without cultural and linguistic deoccupation. Belarus is a good lesson to us all.

Thanks, you too.

#hetalia #hws ukraine #aph ukraine #hws belarus #aph belarus #hws lithuania #aph lithuania #russia is a terrorist state #russian propaganda

[medicinemane]

I don't expect you to read all my tags on that last post, but just know that it's a very very bad thing that will do a lot of damage, not just to Ukrainians but to the environment

I think most of you can understand the kind of damage destroying a major dam would do, and that's what's been done. There's no other word for what russia's done than terrorism... they've been doing that by bombing civilians for months, but... the sheer scale of this...

I tend to not share too much about Ukraine despite following it every day because I don't want to overwhelm people. I'd rather have supportive people who don't know every detail than burnt out people but... this is very bad

You have no idea how much I'd love to hear this is somehow a fake video but... I just don't see how... how that's pulled off. I'd love to be taken in here and be spreading a lie if it meant this wasn't true

I just need people who aren't following the war in Ukraine to understand that russia has caused a massive disaster... I just kind of need that understood

I don't want to cause anyone to be hopeless or anything, I just... I want to make sure people understand why this war is so important and the kinds of things that are at stake here. This isn't some territorial dispute, this is an army that routinely commits terrorism, not just here but in places like Syria, and the scale they're of terrorism they're willing to commit is... it's inhuman

Leveling cities, causing disasters like this, and they're in control of a nuclear power plant

All I'm saying is two things

The first is if you support Ukraine, great, that's all I want. If you don't... I really hope you'll look at that video and consider what destroying a damn like that means, and if we can have a country like that doing whatever it wants

The second is to understand that supporting Ukraine means supporting military aid to them. As a pacifist, even I understand that the only way to end this war is to give them the weapons they need to defend themselves and end it

Sorry... I meant this to be like a paragraph, but this is just very upsetting to me. I worried about it during the Kherson offensive, but I'd forgotten to worry about it for a long time... and then.. then here it is

I hope you all have a good night. I hope... I hope everyone in this world is as safe as they can be right now... that not just the people but all the animals who'll be effected by this end up being as safe as possible

Take care

#this is just very very upsetting news; and I'm not even effected by it #I said on the tags of that video and I'll say it here #I'm in the allegory of the cave #the horror I see is just the shadows of it on my cave wall #..and I'm glad... I don't think I could deal with the real thing... my home in the path of that and I have to leave? #people around me who I care about always being at risk? #...the only difference between us is I got lucky and just have Canada and Mexico for neighbors; and they don't keep bombing me #it's shadows on the wall for me; but even the shadows are... unbearable... unforgivable #there's no group that's subhuman; but there are people who through their actions make themselves subhuman #and I hope we can put them on a very fair trail some day; because a fair trail is more than enough to show what they did #you don't need to rig it when someone's actually guilty; you just need to present the facts and... just look at the things they've done #well... gonna check my dash; then I'm off to bed

[hjellacott]

To my Ukrainian friends, we will meet again

My live-in landlord's family in the UK are all Russian-British. From them I've learned "good morning/night", "hello", "delicious", "thank you", "please", "sorry", "how are you?", "cheers", "tea", "coffee", "okay", "yes", "no", and of course, "vodka". From them I have learned selflessness and kindness beyond anything I've known in strangers. I have learned Russian manners, Russian hospitality, and been welcomed with open arms, a foreigner, into a loving Russian community.

I knew nothing of Russians before I came here, but I had a lot of prejudice based on the TV and film. How beautiful it's been to see they were so, so wrong.

Now when I think of Russians I think of barbecues, laughter, hugs, of people bringing me food they've cooked for no reason, of unexpected gifts, and above it all, of an overwhelming sense of family away from my country and my home. These strangers... they've become my family. And when I see them now, them elderly, me, young, I realise I will one day leave and spend the majority of my life without seeing them ever again, and my heart already aches. They've become a massive part of the story of my life, and occupy a large part of my heart, and I am so going to miss them.

We faced the Ukrainian war together as a community. We sat in sorrow, we prayed for their friends and their families in Ukraine, and I learned what Ukraine means to them. I heard them speak of Ukrainians like brothers and sisters, I heard how attacking them was akin to attacking your own family, I saw their pain, their anguish, their worry and their anger and outrage at their own country, and felt their pain in my own veins. I felt my heart break when these good people started being afraid of being seen as Russians. When they began to feel shame on their own roots, and to lose jobs for being Russian, and to suffer the angry, deprecating glares from the world.

We spent the first few months of the war contacting their friends and relatives in Ukraine. Desperately trying to reach out and find how they were and where they were, finding text messages no longer working so well in their side, and hearing from them stories that made our hearts hurt. Similarly, we contacted their Russian family and friends, and saw how brainwashed they were. Those who realised the truth of the matter answered short texts "we can't talk freely, but you know how our hearts hurt", and those who didn't began responding less and less.

We've followed every day of news with rapt attention. Every day it felt like we were going to hear of a friend or a relative dying. And even though I don't personally have friends or family in Russia nor Ukraine (well, now I do in the later), I felt for the people who had become my family, and were bracing themselves to lose their loved-ones. Whenever we heard a city had been destroyed beyond recognision, they'd stop to tell me their memories of such cities, so I could see in my head how beautiful they were, hear the music they played, and almost see the theatre, ballet, and culture that once kept those cities well alive. They made me feel the gravity of what was being lost, like nothing else.

At last, we managed to bring Ukrainian friends here. We've hosted them, protected them, accompanied them and supported them the best we could. I've made new friends I will never forget.

Tomorrow, some of them will return to Ukraine. We bid goodbye with tight hugs knowing we may never see each other again, but also knowing they have work to do in Ukraine. They're going to fight like hell for their homes. They thank us for our hospitality but above all, for the new friendships. For the love. For the beauty they've seen with us. As they put it "it's so incredible that in the darkest of times, we met the most wonderful people". I'm going to choose and view it like that, while I already miss them and suffer in dread for what they're going back to.

In the darkest of times, we met the most wonderful people. We made new, wonderful friends. But we also witness their resilience, their strength, their light. And I know in my heart, they'll shine again. They will win. And when they do, I hope we meet again.

I hope we will meet again.

#Ukrainian war #ukrainians #russians #russia

[songbirdmusicnc]

Do You HAVE to Sing?!?

My "baby" brother (now in his 30's) used to get so annoyed at my singing around the house. There he'd be, minding his own business, playing Madden on his Sega Genesis (dating myself!!!), and then suddenly out of nowhere, I'd come bellowing out of my room singing some huge opera aria just as loudly and dramatically as I could. It drove him NUTS!! He used to say in total agony, "MUST YOU SING!?!??!" Of course I'd look at him out the corner of my eye and grin with that little mischievous smile that so many kids have when they just know they were up to no good. 😏 

Well, the truth is, yes--I must sing. I had to then, and I still have to until this day. "HAVE" to!?!? Yes. Have to. Have to, and wantto...forever. 

When I was growing up in the public housing system of San Francisco, CA, there was nothing outside of our apartment that you could call inviting. We were in a poor neighborhood, steeped in drug addiction, all sorts of crime, violence and despair. Most families that lived on our housing complex did the best they could with what they had. While many of them were elderly, a good number of them were families of a decent size, all the way up to ten in one apartment. That would have been us, the Buchanan's. 

I'm the seventh of nine children. My parents are both from Kansas. My father having also spent some of his childhood in Arkansas and Missouri, they were both mid-westerners with no grid at all for big-city life. A long story more suitable for another time would reveal that eventually, after five children, the seven of them up and moved to San Francisco in 1972, starting a new life in an urban area that was not only unfamiliar to them, but in some ways downright scary. But, they lived there for many years and I came on the scene in 19...eh-ehmm... Never mind those details. But, from the time I was three months old until I was 23 we lived in those housing projects. And in all the darkness and trouble that the neighborhood brought, I was given one gift from above that would change my course: a voice.

Singing has always been to me something to be associated with God. Through singing and studying music starting as early as 9 years old, I was (from my perspective now that I'm older) rescued from a dead-end journey to nowhere and exposed to some of the most incredible talent you can find worldwide, hands-down. All because God gave me a voice. Singing songs and engaging in competitions and taking classes and learning instruments and learning how to conduct an orchestra at age 11--all these things pulled me out of the destitute surroundings I lived in and exposed me...well it exposed me to the world. There I was, only 14 years old, singing in Italian, Latin, French, German; later adding Ukrainian, Russian, Hebrew and Spanish. No one in my neighborhood was doing this; I can safely say this, knowing that my involvement in this kind of music sort of made me....a little peculiar to the other kids, to say the least. :) I still remember being nine years old, singing in the church choir of about forty elderly men and women whose repertoire consisted of age-old Negro Spirituals and baroque-like oratorios. Why? Because my voice was too big for the children's choir, and none of the teenagers wanted me in their youth choir belting out opera tones when they're trying to rock, clap and shout to the latest Gospel tunes of the day. So, there I was sandwiched between more silver-, blue-, and purple-gray hair than you can dream of, occasionally being slipped a peppermint candy by one of the grandmas who felt sorry for me falling asleep at our late Tuesday-night rehearsals. The voice I had was unique and it opened some doors, while closing others.

All of this had meaning, though. There was a reason for my experiencing such things. Firstly, I realize that it kept me from the nearly inevitable fall into the dangerous and hopeless street life that plagued so many young people in my neighborhood. Secondly and most importantly to me, God made me a shining light for many people who were incredibly wealthy, and therefore practically altogether unreached. I opened my mouth to sing, and the tears would flow. Nothing I was doing; God was singing through me, loving on folks, and those precious people who needed the love of God just as much as anyone else, got to feel His presence in a way that deeply moved them. I clearly remember how in some cases what they felt reminded them of their upbringing in the Church--leaving them with an unshakable sense that they needed to somehow connect with their spiritual heritage again. This is priceless stuff right here.

So, to answer baby brother's question, YES! I MUST SING! And the reason for Songbird Music LLC's existence is not to somehow pump up my own ego or magnify my own ability; heavens no. Since its inception in 2003, while I still lived in California, I was looking for singers who felt they had a personal responsibility to preserve, protect and enhance their instruments for the longterm--never damaging it, always learning to work with it and keep it healthy for decades ahead. I'm still on that journey; I feel there are so many out there who love what God gave them, but need help keeping it.

My homepage has Psalm 104:33 in its header, which reads: "I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have my being." I want this to be the hallmark for every student of mine: that they sing to the glory of God, and they do it well....forever.

-Sharine Buchanan Owner, Songbird Music LLC

Sharine Buchanan is the Owner of Songbird Music LLC. She earned her Bachelor's of Arts degree in Music with High Honors from the University of California at Berkeley, and her Masters of Music degree with an emphasis in Vocal Performance from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music (valedictorian). She lives in North Carolina's Wilkes County, the foothill of the Brushy Mountains, where she relocated in 2013 to join an international ministry, faithfully serving her pastors in music and various aspects of their ministry. To inquire about studying voice with Sharine, email her at [email protected], or call 510-220-4077.

Check it Out! “O Del Mio Dolce Ardor” by Gluck

https://youtu.be/CSb0E_X6DA4

#opera #vision #dreams #purpose #desiny #San Francisco #Bay Area #UC Berkely #SF Conservatory of Music #voice lessons #singing #Gospel #ccm #Gluck #arias #soloist #psalmist #professional lessons #online education #homeschooling #homeschool #teachers #North Carolina #zoom

[soccer-fanfiction]

Chapter 10: In Which Wijnaldum Goes Too Far

This is set when the Netherlands advance to the Round of 16 of the Euros. Based on a moment between Wijnaldum and Ake.

WIJNALDUM was on his tandem bike again, pedaling through the streets of Amsterdam. He passed flower markets, cheese markets, and the like.

He looked back and saw the empty seat behind him. That belonged to Van Dijk, who was still not with him. He continued pedaling. Van Dijk was not his problem now. That position was occupied by a different one.

The quietest lad on the team.

The animal lover.

Ake.

He had defended. Went down with Bournemouth with faith. Came to Manchester City and went through the most exhausting campaign in decades. And still, when he was called up for the Netherlands, he had gladly accepted.

Wijnaldum still couldn’t wrap himself around why it had all gone so wrong earlier…

The referee blew his whistle, symbolizing the end of the match. Wijnaldum, as the captain, whooped with joy. The Netherlands were through. They had made it to the round of sixteen.

“We won!” he exclaimed, hurling himself on Ake. Ake, though, hadn’t responded, or even hugged him back. His gaze followed the cameras and reporters, waiting for them to leave, before dropping Wijnaldum.

“AAH!” Wijnaldum glared at Ake. “What did you do that for? This is supposed to be a happy moment!”

Tim Krul joined in, squeezing the two in a hug. Ake didn’t respond until Krul and Wijnaldum began chattering away.

“This is great!” said Krul. “We’re going to the round of 16!”

“I know!” Wijnaldum distanced himself from the goalie. “Ake seems grumpy, though. Don’t know why--everything’s fine!”

“Don’t you dare say everything’s fine.”

Wijnaldum and Krul whipped their hands around. Ake stared Wijnaldum down. He had his hands on his hips, but his deep brown eyes were vacant. He definitely wasn’t pleased with Wijnaldum, though.

“You humiliated me,” Ake continued. His gaze grew steely as he went on. “In front of more than 30,000 fans. You said I came off the bench for a reason. You said I couldn’t defend the team.”

Wijnaldum gulped. “I meant that by--look, you conceded 2 goals! Versus Ukraine, for Christ’s sake!”

“And have you done much better?” Ake yelled. “You were in midfield--defensive midfield, no less! You lost 7-2 versus Aston Villa, 4-0 versus Manchester City, 3-0 to Watford! Watford!”

Wijnaldum stood up. He placed his own hands on his hips. “Look, Nathaniel,” he said. “You are a defender. You play defense. And that equalizer was your fault. Your fault alone.”

The Ukrainian boss approached, followed by the media. Wijnaldum paid no heed to them and went on.

“If you think I’m being harsh on you, Nathaniel Ake, then forget it,” Wijnaldum continued. “I have a skipper, and he bollocks us in front of thousands of fans--live! He’s told me I didn’t track back! Me telling you you were placed on the bench because of this can hardly compare!”

“Gini--” Ake whispered. The whole Ukraine team was staring at the situation now.

“There are no excuses, Nathaniel! You can’t take criticism, and do you know what we call people who can’t take criticism? Petulant! Hypersensitive and petulant!”

The world seemed to freeze for a moment. Ake had turned away from all this, but as soon as Wijnaldum had said “hypersensitive” he turned his face. Fresh tears were streaming down his face, and his emotionless eyes now echoed with pain. Wijnaldum’s mouth fell open in shock.

“You never did care, did you?” Ake managed to rasp, before a sob escaped. The Dutchman ran into the locker room, faster than anyone Wijnaldum had ever seen. A straggling reporter snapped some pictures, but swiftly deleted them after Krul’s warning glare.

“Not cool, Wijnaldum,” said Yarmolenko. “You really embarrassed him there.”

“I swear I have never seen a face so sad.” De Boer shook his head and approached the midfielder. Wijnaldum gulped, as he knew he was in trouble now.

“You, Wijnaldum, have shamed the armband today.” De Boer stared at Wijnaldum. “I’m disappointed in you--very disappointed.”

“I know,” said Wijnaldum. He silently prepared for the inevitable.

“I’m not going to yell at you--yet,” said De Boer. “You seemed worried enough.”

“I am.” A new sense of shame washed over Wijnaldum. He had never felt so guilty, not even after pranking Van Dijk and scaring him for three nights.

“I know, Wijnaldum. Just-” He clasped his hand. “Just find him, Wijnaldum. Please.”

And now Wijnaldum was still trying to do that. But it had been a whole hour. And he still couldn’t find him. And he had searched every place. Except one…

“No,” he panted. He pedaled furiously towards the spot. “Nathan Ake, please don’t tell me you’re where I think you are.”

But he was. Because as soon as Wijnaldum braked the bike, there he was. Nathaniel Ake sat at the edge of the dock, the salty sea air whipping in his face. As soon as he turned to face him, Wijnaldum knew he had gone too far.

Ake was still upset, with tears. That was exactly what Wijnaldum had expected. What he didn’t expect was what came out of his mouth. “I’m a failure.”

“No you’re not!” Wijnaldum replied automatically.

Ake turned his back on Wijnaldum before continuing. “You said so yourself. You said I was pathetic.”

At that moment, Willemse immediately wished he could swallow his words. “Nathaniel Ayeke, I am so sorry--”

“Don’t say you’re sorry! You told me off in the face of thousands of Ukrainians! You said it! You said I was worthless!”

Now Wijnaldum wanted to shoot himself. Here he was, trying to comfort a teammate, and the same one now hated him. And the worst thing was that it was all his fault.

“Look, Ake,” he said. “I did something wrong, and I meant those words. You can sometimes take things too seriously. But I didn’t mean to hurt you like this or embarrass you in front of the whole Ukraine. You are not worthless. You supported teams when the chips were down with your head up. If anything, I’m being an idiot.”

Wijnaldum sighed and turned his attention to the setting sun, before feeling an arm around him. Ake was crying, again.

“Great,” Wijnaldum muttered. “Here we go.”

“Gini, don’t beat yourself up like that,” said Ake. “I can’t stand seeing you do that.”

“Well, I have to!” Wijnaldum yelled, louder than he’d meant. “I hate seeing you cry! It’s like seeing Van Dijk cry but only with dreadlocks and hurt eyes!”

At that moment, the tears stopped falling. “You think I have hurt eyes?”

Wijnaldum didn’t know what to say, but luckily he didn't have to say anything, because Ake hopped onto the seat of the tandem.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning it around. “The coach’s probably waiting for us.”

Wijnaldum got in the front seat, and soon they were cycling down the roads of Amsterdam. They stopped at a flower market to look at some bulbs, and Wijnaldum took that as the opportunity to apologize.

“Ake,” he began, “I’m sorry. I said that to you earlier, Nathan, but this time I really am. I never thought I would hurt you this way.” A tear slipped down his face. “You’re just like Van Dijk. You’re both easy to hurt but it’s hard to realize it, and I can’t stand watching you like that.”

Ake turned to face Wijnaldum. Instead of a tearful expression, though, he was dead serious. “That wasn’t because of the wording.”

“What?” Wijnaldum’s mouth hung open in shock. He blinked, as if still trying to process this new information.

“You’re right about what you said, Gini. I am a very sensitive person, and the eqalizing goals were my fault. And you said that to my face.”

“So--”

“My problem,” Ake continued, “was that instead of having a notion of privacy and yelling at me in private, you gave me what was supposed to be a behind-the-scenes bollocking in front of 30,000 fans and the Ukraine squad.” He glared at Wijnaldum. “Do you know who I was in front of? Ukrainians. They are racist, Wijnaldum. I’m Nigerian, do you know how I felt in front of them? It was mortifying.”

Wijnaldum was speechless. All that croaked from his mouth was a raspy “Do you forgive me?”

Ake turned away from the counter. He was holding an elegant orange tulip--a variety Wijnaldum identified as a parrot tulip. He held it out to Wijnaldum. “What do you see?”

“Well,” Wijnaldum stammered. “Your arms are holding out a gorgeous orange parrot tulip in a terracotta pot.”

Ake chuckled. “Do I look like one to hold a grudge?” He handed Wijnaldum the tulip.

Wijnaldum beamed. “You do forgive me, don’t you?”

“I hate grudges,” Ake chuckled. “One condition, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Next time you want to bollock me, save it for the locker room, okay?”

Wijnaldum laughed. “Okay. But what about the tulip? In case you’re wondering, I’m hopeless when it comes to plants. Lovren and Salah are the plant experts.”

Ake fingered a tulip petal. “Dunno. I could give it over to De Ligt at Juventus.”

Wijnaldum shook his head. “Forget it. Morata’s allergic to tulips. They wouldn’t survive long with Ronaldo around, though.” He hopped on the bike.

Ake laughed and climbed on the bike. He placed the tulip in a basket. “Good point. He may mistake the bulbs for new footballs.”

The two continued pedaling. Both of the Dutchmen were silent, until Ayeke mumbled, “You know what?”

“What?”

“Keep the tulip. It’ll remind you of Liverpool. And promise me one thing, okay, Gerorgino?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever do that stuff again, okay?”

“Definitely not.”

The two laughed and rode off into the Amsterdam sunset.

#euro 2020 #georgino wijnaldum #nathan ake #dutch national team

[nkp1981]

Christmas and New Year Eve 2025/2026

They had all agreed on to meet and celebrate New Year’s Eve in Prague.

Joe and Nicky had arrived around Christmas, where they used the opportunity to be a couple on Christmas vacation to the fullest by eating good food, visiting their old stomping grounds, going down the narrow streets hand in hand being like silly teenagers, who had been left home alone and spending plenty of time in the bed.

As they walked down The Charles Bridge the clock struck twelve, they decided to take a break and looked out on the Vltava. “Merry Christmas, Habibi!” Joe said in Arabic and took Nicky’s hand, which he started to caress. “Merry Christmas, Mi Amore!” He replied in Italic with a smile and leaned into his shoulder. ”I got something for you!” Joe said and took out a bag of figs from his pocket together with some honey. “You incurable romantic.” Nicky replied with a big smile, when he saw the figs. “Remember our first Christmas as friends back in the small inn in Alexandria?" Joe wanted to know. "Yeah, we talked all night even though I'm not sure we understood each other completely since we still were trying to understand each other." Nicky replied with a laughter in his voice. "I think it was that night, I fell in love with you, because I had never seen anyone eat figs like you did with such a delight, so I thought that it was a good idea to do it again.” Joe admitted and handed him a fig. “It is, but how can me eating figs like a wild man be the reason why you fell in love with me?” Nicky wanted to know and tilted his head. It was something he did when he wanted an answer from Joe. “You looked lovely, but it also had to do with that I probably for the first time in my life could be myself without anyone telling me what to be instead of what I wanted to be!” Joe replied and took the last fig in the bag. “I felt the same way that night and I’m so grateful, that the feeling hasn’t disappeared that we still are together and still have time left in the world.” Nicky said and took the fig, he was handed. “You look just like in the inn!” Joe said laughing when fruit juice started to run down Nicky’s face. “Thanks! So, how did you get it through the custom?” Nicky wanted to know. “Well, I just used the concierge service, but I have to say, he didn’t listen when I ordered them.” Joe replied a bit disappointed that the figs were not as ripe as he had wished for. “Doesn’t matter. It is the thought that counts, and I appreciate it!” Nicky said and gave him a kiss on the cheek before he handed him a packet. “This is excellent craftsmanship, that I’ve seen in centuries. Where on earth did you find it?” Joe wanted to know when he saw the dagger and started to examine it closely. “I’m not telling!” Nicky replied with a secret smile. “Just wait till we get back to the hotel, then I’ll get the information out of you!” Joe said as he pulled Nicky in for a kiss. “Then you better put in an effort, because as you know, I’m not easy to get any information out of!” Nicky replied in a teasing tone and gave him another smile before he started to walk again. “Oh, there will be no doubts about that!” Joe said as he took his hand once again, while they talked on the way back to the hotel.   

Andy and Nile didn’t have the same quiet Christmas as Joe and Nicky had. They had been on a mission to take out an Ukrainian arms dealer, who in a desperate attempt to get out of the warehouse had fired a rocket launcher at them, which made Nile throw herself over Andy to shield her, while the rocket flew over the head of them hitting some parked cars behind them. “Told you to stay back at the hotel!” Nile said as she sat up and looked at cars, who were burning. “And miss out of all the fun? I haven’t had this much fun in years!” Andy replied sarcastically and reloaded her gun. “We two have very different definitions of fun and besides I think the boys prefer to see us both in one piece instead of a million!” Nile said and looked towards the arms dealer, who was running for his cars. “You may have a point there. Can you hit him?” Andy wanted to know and looked towards the man. “I don’t have Nicky’s rifle skills, but if you can deal with the big one over there, I may have an idea. Wait for my signal.” Nile suggested and Andy nodded, so when Nile went to the left, Andy waited and when Nile made the signal, they both hit their targets at the same time.

“I could really use a cold beer!” Andy said, when Nile sat down next to her. “Me too, so Merry Christmas!” Nile replied, when the bells could be heard in the distance. “Merry Christmas. Let’s get out of here and find that beer before the police show up. I don’t feel like talking to them or spending the night in a cell.” Andy said and the women walked in the other direction away from the police.

They found a small pub who still had open and sat down in a corner with their cold beer. “I have to say that the Europeans make better beer than the Americans.” Nile concluded and looked out on the snow that had started to fall. “Nah, the best beer in the world, you get in Thailand. I’ll show you one day.” Andy promised with a smile. “I’ll keep you to that promise, Andy. I can’t believe it has been two years since we last saw the boys.” Nile said and drank her beer before making a sign to the waitress to bring another round. “They are still the same. That’s the good thing about them, but I think that when we have celebrated New Year’s Eve, you should talk with Nicky about getting some more sniper training. He is the best teacher.” Andy suggested and took another beer. “It has been on my mind, but I’m also thankful for all the training, you have given me, Andy!” Nile replied in a grateful tone and found the cards in her pocket. “Don’t mention it, kid, but you do know, that you are gonna lose all your money, right?” Andy said and took the cards. “One day I will win it all back.” Nile replied in an optimistic tone.

When the women left the pub in the morning, Nile got a text from Joe. “The boys wish us a Merry Christmas and have reserved hotel rooms for us, but what does he mean with that I shouldn’t let you alone with the dynamite?” Nile wanted to know. “I might one time have blown up a hotel room, when I tripped over a box with dynamite and accidentally had a candle in the hands.” Andy replied and shook her head over that Joe had promised not to mention it again. “Seriously? What was a box of dynamite even doing in the hotel room in the first place?” Nile wanted to know. “Joe and I had picked the box up for a job and while we were waiting for the rest to show up, we started to drink some Turkish homebrew, we found it in the cupboard. We might have gotten a bit drunk, and when we heard noises, well one thing leads to another thing and the rest, you can guess.” Andy explained and made a mental note to have a talk with Joe about gossiping.

A couple of days later the women finally found the bar, Joe had told them about.

“Andy? Nile?” Nicky shouted from the stage and started to wave excitedly over seeing them. “Is he drunk?” Nile asked, when Nicky returned to signing. “He decided to start celebrating New Year’s Eve, when Samoa went into the New Year!” Joe explained and shook his head, before he hugged them. “He is your choice not mine.” Andy said, when she hugged him again. “I know it and I’m not even sorry.” Joe replied with a smile and looked at Nicky while making a sign that he should join them. “How long have you been bald?” Nile wanted to know. “Sadly, I’m not immune against lice. When we saved a couple of children, they all had lice and what was worse, but they are safe now, which is all that matters. My hair will grow out again.” Joe explained and caught Nicky, who tripped over his legs and landed in his arms laughing. “Seems like I keep on falling for you!” Nicky said in a cheesy tone and patted Joe’s cheek gently with a smile before kissing him. “As I said your choice.” Andy repeated and started to distribute the drinks between them. They talked for hours and drank even more. “I promised Nile to take her to Thailand, where you get the best beer in the world.” Andy said, when she took another beer. “That is not correct, Andy. The best beer in the world you get in Ireland, and I will show you.” Nicky said, but when he reached out for another beer, he fell off his chair and ended up on the floor laughing. “I better help him with finding a bed.” Joe said and offered Nicky a hand, who somehow had rolled over on his stomach and looked at the karaoke machine. “No, you have slaughtered enough ABBA for one night. So, I’m gonna give you the same choice, I did in the desert a long time ago: walk or I will carry you.” Joe said in a commanding tone, which did the trick. “See you tomorrow.” Andy said as the last thing, before they parted for the night. “Should we find another party?” Nile wanted to know, and Andy nodded. Before they ventured out into the night.

When they returned to the hotel room Joe helped Nicky down in a chair, so he could take off Nicky’s boots, before he kicked off his own boots. Then he went into the other room to remove the duvet from the bed, when a pair of familiar strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind pulling him near Nicky. They stood like this a bit, before Nicky turned Joe around, so he could look at him. “Remember when you danced with me in the bombed-out bar in Brussels right after the war?” Nicky asks and lays his forehead against his shoulder, brown hair brushing Joe’s nose. Nicky then takes Joe’s right hand in his left and presses closer to his neck, the scratch of his stubble making Joe close his eyes, letting memories wash over him. “You had found an old record player under the bar, who barely could play the record. You smiled, when you heard the lyrics of the song and we danced to it, even though I’m a terrible dancer,” Nicky said and Joe was ready to protest, but Nicky placed two fingers on his lips and he stayed quiet, lost in the depths of his blue eyes and the kiss that followed. “Can we do that again?” Nicky begged, and Joe didn't even blink. “Of course.” Joe finds the song on his phone and presses play, taking Nicky’s hand in his reverently, Nicky’s body fitting perfectly against his as they begin swaying lazily, two hearts beating in sync. when they reach the chorus, Nicky whispers in his ear in Arabic, “Yusuf, you make me the happiest man alive, Habibi.” And they share another kiss as the sun rises.

my creation

#marwan kenzari #yusuf al-kaysani #joe #nicky #nicolo di genova #luca marinelli #yusuf x nicolo #joe x nicky #nile freeman #kiki layne #andromache the scythian #charlize theron #the old guard

[excelxiors]

love isn’t supposed to hurt; boreo; 2.8k

my second boreo fic since the first one got nice feedback!

tw// child abuse and violence

He had been hit. I wasn’t used to seeing Boris upset; he generally took it surprisingly lightheartedly when his dad hit him, laughing it off and telling me “Is okay, Potter! He loves me.” He would assure me that his father would apologize for the abuse, and that it would all be okay tomorrow. That he didn’t know how to show his affection, but that he loved him nonetheless. But he looked upset then, and hurt. A dark bruise was already forming on his eye, his nose was leaking a constant stream of blood, and he was limping. The pain he was in was palpable. I felt sick just looking at him, and seeing tears in his eyes was almost enough to make me cry. He never cried.

He had made me stay in his room that night, begging me to remain quiet while he went to deal with his father. I could hear his dad yelling. Russian, or Ukrainian maybe. I couldn’t tell the difference back then. I heard Boris speak back, and then a bang and a scream. Mr. Pavlikovsky’s cane against Boris’ face, and then what I can only assume were his boots against Boris’ curled up body once he was on the ground. I could hear Boris screaming, and I quietly begged whoever would listen to make it end. The sounds of the cane and Boris’ screams and the volatile Russian were enough to make me panic even before I saw Boris. After what felt like hours of hearing Boris scream and whimper in pain through a closed door, I saw him. The blood on his face and the tears in his eyes and a bruise that obscured almost half of his face. He limped towards the edge of the bed, where I had been sitting and failing to ignore the sounds that were coming from the house’s first floor, and collapsed onto me. His breathing was heavy, his blood stained my shirt, and he was shaking violently. A panic attack. Boris was usually the one to comfort me, stroking my back through my nightmares and wrapping his arms around me when I cried. I took a page out of his book and grabbed onto him, squeezing him in the way that had always been comforting to me. “Shhh, shhh,” I whispered. “You’re okay, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“Is not okay, Potter.” Boris sounded awful, the words coming out in between jagged breaths. “I cannot breath.” His blood had completely soaked through my shirt, and his tears were beginning to create a wet spot as well.

“You’re right, it’s not okay. I know. What he does to you is not okay, Boris. But you will be. You’re going to be okay, Boris. You just need to breath.” I echoed the things Boris had said to me in the past. That what happened to me wasn’t okay, but that I would be okay. I didn’t believe any of it when he said it to me, but it seemed appropriate now. Boris was still shaking, so I held onto him tighter. I had never seen him cry like this, never seen him such a mess. “Breath with me Boris. Listen.” I took long, deep breaths, holding them in for a couple of seconds before letting them out. He didn’t lift his head from my chest, but I could feel him breathing. “Good, keep doing that.”

“I should not cry,” he choked out. “He hears me cry he will just beat me more.” His breathing had slowed a bit, but it was nowhere near normal and he was clearly still distressed.

“He’s gone, Boris. He left. I heard him go.”

“Yes, but sometimes he does not go. I cannot get into habit of crying, Potter. I don’t want him to hit me more.”

I had never heard Boris admit that he didn’t want to be hit. Nobody wants to be hit, but Boris usually played off his father’s abuse with such casual nonchalance that the admission was startling to me. “Come live with me, Boris. You can stay at my place as long as you want.”

“You know I cannot,” Boris sighed. “I can stay there when he’s not here, but he will not let me leave for good.” He looked up at me for the first time since he’d come into the room. The blood from his nose was still running, down his lips but also smeared on his face from his time against my shirt. His eye looked almost swollen, and the bruise was getting darker. He looked as if he had been in a fight, and I must have visibly reacted because he smirked at me, crooked teeth and all before asking “That bad, Potter?” He was still crying, but he had calmed down enough to crack jokes, which came as a big relief to me.

“We should clean it,” I said. “Your nose, I mean. And your face.”

“Okay. Just one more minute, Potter.” He put his face back into my shirt, wrapped his arms around my neck, and stayed like that for a little while. He was trying to control his breathing, I think, and after a bit of silence he looked back up at me and said “Lets go.”

I walked with him to the bathroom, him leaning heavily on me and my arms around him. The hall was dark, and the house seemed eerily quiet now without hearing Boris crying and his father screaming. “Do you have any washcloths?” I asked, sitting Boris down on the closed toilet seat.

“Probably not. We have nothing here,’’ he answered. “Check the cabinet, maybe?” He was right. There were no washcloths in the cabinet, and also nothing in the cabinet at all.

“Nothing.”

“Figures.” He laughed a little, then rubbed his hand under his nose, smearing the blood there all around. He looked at his hand afterwards and moaned “It still is not stopping. Do I put my head back?”

‘Uhh, no? I think tilt it forward to get the blood out.” I really didn’t know, but the thought of the blood going down Boris’ throat from his nose didn’t seem good. “Here.” I pulled off my shirt, already ruined from Boris’ blood, and put it under his nose. When he tilted his head forward, blood started to flow in a steady stream, dripping onto the shirt but mostly covering his lips and chin. When the blood finally stopped flowing, I stuck the clean and dry part of my now completely blood covered shirt under the tap, getting the fabric wet. “Put your head up now,” I told Boris. “We should probably clean it.”

“Give it to me, Potter.” He held his hand out, and I gave him the shirt. He rubbed the damp fabric on his face, moving the blood under his nose and on his lips around until it was mostly gone. “Good?”

“Yeah, I guess.” There wasn’t much we could do other than clean up the blood and watch as Boris’ bruise darkened. He said no when I suggested we just call the police and get his dad arrested, because like me, he would have had nowhere else to go. He was worried that they’d deport him or stick him in foster care, and I couldn’t blame him for being afraid. “You should probably change your clothes. They have blood all over them.” While my pants were clean, Boris’ were covered in splatters of blood.

“Here,” he said, pulling off his shirt and pants and handing them to me. We were far beyond the point of being embarrassed around each other, but Boris hugged his arms around his chest anyways, like he was cold and trying to warm himself. I could see the bruises on his side now. “I think maybe he broke a rib,” Boris admitted. “It fucking hurts.”

“You should go lay down,” I told Boris. “Try not to move around too much or lay on it weird, though. I’m gonna go throw this stuff in the wash.”

I walked Boris back to his room, his weight on me in a way I wasn’t used to. He was a good head taller than me, but I’d always assumed he was light simply because he was so thin. He didn’t feel light, though. He felt like dead weight, and finally getting him into his room was a relief. He sat on the edge of his bed, then took a deep breath before slowly leaning back until his head was on the bed but his feet were still hanging off. “I’ll be right back,” I promised. “Just try and relax.” Boris gave a noncommittal groan that I took to mean yes, and I went as quickly as I could to the small laundry room down the hall, picking the dirty clothes up from the bathroom floor and counter. I didn’t know how to get blood stains out of clothes, so I just stuck my shirt and Boris’ shirt and pants into the machine with some detergent.

I had hoped Boris would have put some clothes on, but once I got back to his room I found him exactly as I had left him. Naked except for his underwear, laying on the edge of the bed. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked him. “You should at least get under the covers.” The winters in Las Vegas were colder than I thought they would be, and Boris’ house didn’t have much in terms of heating. The two of us had spent many nights sleeping on Boris’ bed, our limbs tangled together to keep warm. Boris didn’t answer, and he didn’t move, so I kicked my pants off and got under the covers of his bed as best I could. “Boris, come.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto the bed, until his head was near mine. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t want to make you worry.” He got under the blanket with me, and I wrapped my arms around him. His skin was cool to the touch and his ribs jutted out. It was a sickly reminder of how malnourished he actually was, subsisting almost entirely on a diet of beer, vodka, and bread with sugar. “I should not cry in front of you, Potter. You are easily upset and I do not want to bother you with this. I’m sorry.” He sounded panicked, like he couldn’t control what he was saying.

“Don’t apologize, Boris. He treats you horribly. You don’t have to lie to me and say it’s okay, or lie and say he actually loves you.” I was stroking his back now, where his spine stuck out more than it should have. “This house doesn’t have clean water, and you don’t have food, and it isn’t because he can’t afford it. It’s because he doesn’t care. You deserve better.”

“He is trying his best, Potter. He loves me.”

“No, Boris. He isn’t. He can leave for weeks at a time if he wants. Fine. But leaving you here with nothing to eat and then coming home only to beat you isn’t his best. That’s not love. He spends all his money on vodka, and he leaves nothing for you.” I was getting upset. I had seen the way Boris lived, and despite all of his proclamations that it was fine, I got a strong and distinct feeling that it wasn’t. “I know you don’t want to get hit, Boris.”

“No,” he admitted. “I do not.” He seemed on the verge of tears again, his breathing getting heavy. He sounded as if he was trying to hold back sobs for a minute, but he wasn’t very successful. I could feel the sobs wrack his body, starting all at once and not stopping.

“Shh, relax.” I rubbed his spine some more, and hugged him closer to keep him warm.

“I can’t.” He seemed to be in the midst of another anxiety attack. He had just calmed himself down less than 20 minutes before, but his anxiety was back full force. I heard him trying to do the deep breathing I had showed him before, but after a minute he said “Is not working, Potter. I’m going to die, I think.”

“No you’re not,” I promised.

“It hurts so bad.” He was crying, and his hands rested above the hand I had on his ribs. I continued to stroke his back with one hand, and interlocked our fingers with the other. We laid like that for a while: my left hand rubbing Boris’ spine and my right clasped hard in his. He was squeezing it tight, the way I used to squeeze my mother’s hand when I was afraid. She was gone now, but I could remember the feeling of her hand on mine, comforting me. Boris never had anyone to hold his hand when he was afraid. I don’t think he ever had anyone to love him, not truly.

“Boris,” I said quietly, like I was telling him a secret. And maybe I was, but it was one I was pretty sure he already knew, at least to some extent. “I love you, you know.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t seem so sure. For Boris, love was violence. The only person in the world who should have been obligated to love him treated him like shit, and he undoubtedly conflated that treatment with love in his head.

“Yeah. And I’d never hurt you. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. You shouldn’t have to get beat for it or starve for it. Stop making excuses for him, Boris.”

“Is so hard, Potter,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I know.” He had stopped sobbing, but there were still tears in his eyes. “I just want you to know that you don’t deserve that, Boris. You don’t deserve to be treated the way he treats you. You deserve everything good in the world.” I paused, and took my hand off his back to wipe the tears from his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, and you deserve nothing but happiness.”

“That would be nice, eh? If we got what we deserved, your mother wouldn’t be dead and I would be back in Indonesia. The people there were so good to me, Potter. Here? They look at me funny and don’t listen to what I say.” He had told me before about his time in Indonesia, converting to Islam because of his love for the people there. His Islamic name: Badr al-Dine, an homage to the full moon.

“But then we wouldn’t have met. I miss her every day, Boris, but meeting you was the one good thing to come out of all of this. I couldn’t do this without you.” I looked at him, then. Blood dried around his nose, a massive bruise covering nearly half of his face, his gaunt features and crooked teeth. He was beautiful in a sort of starving way, like there was always something more he needed.

He smiled at me, and said “I am glad we have met, though the circumstances were not the best. You are all I have here, Potter.”

We didn’t move that night, staying nearly naked under the covers. We kept our bodies pressed to one another to stay warm, though I took more caution than usual due to Boris’ suspected broken rib. I watched him as he slept, delicate and beautiful in a way that probably would have made him self conscious had he been able to see how he looked. His dark eyelashes against his almost sickly pale white skin, his bony limbs, and the delicate rise and fall of his chest. His breathing had finally evened out in sleep, and his anxiety had probably tired him, as he passed out shortly after we finished our conversation. I didn’t sleep much that night. I spent the hours mostly watching Boris and making sure that he was okay. He didn’t wake up from any nightmares like I usually did, and didn’t toss and turn in his sleep at all. When I did sleep, I rested my head in the crook of Boris’ neck, thanking a nameless higher power for bringing me to Las Vegas when it did. Out of anywhere in the world that I could have ended up, and at any time in history, I was fortunate enough to exist in the same place and time as Boris Pavlikovsky, and that was a privilege. Knowing and loving Boris was possibly the greatest thing that every happened to me. I sometimes can’t help but think he deserved someone better than me, someone who could have truly loved him without hurting him at all, but I also can’t help but think that there is nobody in the world who could have loved Boris more than I did then.

read on ao3

#the goldfinch #boreo #theo decker #boris pavlikovsky #fanfic

[stolethekey]

if we make it past december (everything’s gonna be all right)

for @capcountdownchristmas!

read on ao3

December has rapidly become Steve’s least favorite month.

December is the start of winter. It means wind, snow that somehow finds a way to soak even the most bundled-up person’s socks, and a bone-chilling cold that bites at the very foundation of humanity’s collective soul.

At least, that’s what Steve’s Californian first-grade teacher used to say.

He didn’t mind it so much as a kid, back when he could bundle up with his mom in front of the fireplace and they could bask in its warmth, finding comfort in blankets and hot chocolate and each other. It was fine, back then – but then Sarah Rogers died right before Thanksgiving, which meant Steve’s first Christmas as a legal adult was spent alone, staring incessantly into the flames while he stubbornly refused to admit that he maybe should’ve taken Bucky up on his offer to spend the night at his house.

It was, somewhat literally, all downhill from there.

Bucky fell off a train in the Alps, surrounded by snow so bright it hurt to look at. Steve watched him fall, then promptly nose-dived a plane into the ocean and spent the better part of a century frozen in a block of ice.

Suffice it to say: he’s had enough cold for a lifetime. And December brings nothing but cold and people celebrating a holiday he hasn’t found joy in in seventy years.

So it’s only natural, really, that his first December out of the ice is spent in relative restlessness. It’s natural that, when Fury sends out a volunteer request for a stakeout that starts December 10th that features an “indefinite length of time – could go into Christmas”, Steve jumps off of his couch and heads directly to Stark Tower.

He fully expects to be the only one there, but as he turns the corner and steps through the door he sees a certain redhead perched on Fury’s desk, leafing through a stack of papers.

It’s hard to say who looks more surprised as they take in each other’s presence.

“I – um, hi,” he stutters, trying not to appear intimidated by his two companions. “I just – I’m here for that stakeout assignment?”

“Oh,” Natasha says, her eyebrows raised slightly. “Wow. Really? You know it’s probably going into Christmas, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I mean, I knew that was a possibility. That actually – um, that actually kind of makes it more appealing to me.”

She tilts her head slightly, a curious, searching look in her eyes. Steve shifts uncomfortably, well aware of her uncanny ability to read people.

“There’s always an assignment near Christmas,” Fury says from behind the desk, and Steve looks at him, grateful for the excuse to look somewhere else. “But Agent Romanoff is the only one who ever takes it on. The volunteer request is simply a formality – most people know they aren’t expected to take it.”

“Well, I guess I never got the memo.”

Natasha studies him. “Most people have Christmas plans.”

“I don’t,” he says shortly. Then, in an attempt to appear more amicable, he follows it up quickly with, “But now that I’m here, you can take this year off. Spend some time doing your own Christmas thing.”

She shrugs. “I don’t have a Christmas thing.”

“Great,” says Fury, with an air of general impatience. “Then you can do it together.”

The assignment is fairly simple – a routine stakeout at a surprisingly nice campsite. Their target is a Ukrainian mobster whose drop-house is apparently a cabin at the edge of the campsite, and as the two of them trudge into a neighboring cabin and drop their bags on the floor, Steve casts a cursory glance out the window.

“That cabin looks completely empty,” he mutters.

“I know,” Natasha says, carrying a few grocery bags into the kitchen. “It is. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t have to be here for as long as we probably will be.”

“So we just – what, we just wait until someone shows up?”

She glances at him. “Never been on a stakeout before, huh?”

“Well, not like this,” he says, almost defensively. “Not that I’m complaining, but you’d think they’d have a more precise time period for the drop.”

“I thought you wanted it to go long.”

“I do, I’m just making a general comment on the inefficiency of it all.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, and Steve feels inexplicably as if he has disappointed her.

“Why do you always do these assignments, anyway? Wouldn’t it make more sense for people to rotate by year, or something?”

She shrugs. “Like I said, everyone else makes plans for the holidays. They have people to reunite with, friends to spend time with, family to see. I don’t.”

“You have friends. Clint’s your friend.”

She gives a short laugh. “Clint always has plans.”

“With whom?”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks up at him, a familiar guarded expression on her face. “People who aren’t me.”

“Right,” Steve says uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

Natasha sighs as she places the last loaf of bread on the counter and shoves the empty grocery bags into a cabinet. “It’s okay. He invites me every year, but it’s not – I don’t want to intrude on his time with them. We spend most of the year together, anyway. Plus, American Christmas really doesn’t mean that much to me. So I don’t mind taking on a little extra work while everyone else is celebrating.”

“Right,” Steve says again. “That makes sense.”

“What about you? Why did the great Captain America decide to spend his December holed away in a cabin, waiting for a mobster to stop by?”

He hesitates, but as he meets her eyes he can tell that she’s already figured him out. She knows why he’s here – she’s simply giving him a chance to tell her himself, to set the parameters for the rest of their conversations here.

He doesn’t know her, not really, but for some reason he knows that she’ll respect his boundaries. That if he decides to bluff and make up some excuse about spending his holidays doing good for the world, she’ll shrug, say “fair enough,” and won’t bring it up again.

She knows exactly why he wanted to work– he sees that. He also sees that she’s perfectly okay with however he wants to play it. It’s a strangely comforting realization, if a little unexpected, and maybe that’s why he makes the choice that he does.

“I don’t like Decembers,” he says, toying with the hem of his jacket. “My mom died in the fall, and that winter had some of the hardest months of my life. Plus, Bucky died in the snow, I was in a block of ice for a couple decades – ”

“And Christmas isn’t exactly joyful when you’re alone,” she supplies softly.

Maybe she’s guessed even more than he thought.

“I wanted a distraction.”

“A distraction,” Natasha repeats, a small smile toying at her lips. “I think we can handle that.”

They do their job, of course – the drop-house is always being watched. But their cabin’s location makes it fairly easy to ensure that their target is under constant surveillance, and there is plenty of free time to be had, given that their mobster friend chooses to never show his face.

The days are filled with board games and gentle music, thanks largely to Natasha. Steve notices fairly quickly that she has a striking intuition for his emotions – when he wants to be left alone, she’s nowhere to be seen, but when he starts to get restless, Settlers of Catan appears under his nose before his thoughts even have a chance to start spiraling.

She’s good at small talk, he learns. Good at filling the silence with words that would be trivial were it not for their ability to keep an ever-approaching despair at bay.

He hasn’t had this type of companionship in…well, decades, and he’s surprised that it doesn’t make him more uncomfortable. They barely know each other, after all, and it should be unsettling that she can read him as easily as she does.

For some odd reason, it’s not.

She accommodates him as easily as anyone ever has, providing him with companionship when he needs it and leaving him alone when he doesn’t, and the next few weeks pass in surprising comfort.

The days aren’t happy, exactly, but they’re not entirely full of pain, either. And that’s an improvement.

“Hey,” Natasha says one evening, sprawled across the floor in front of the fireplace. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

Steve pauses, looking up from his copy of Crime and Punishment. “Huh.”

She hesitates, then flips over onto her back to look at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you really believe in God?”

His brow furrows slightly in confusion. “What?”

“It’s just – Christmas is a religious holiday, you know, so I just got to thinking about it, and back when we first met, on that jet, you said that there was ‘only one god.”

He chews his lip slowly, letting the book drop into his lap. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “I guess I was always taught to as a kid, and I’ve never really thought about it. But I’d like to believe that there’s something or someone out there that’s watching over us, at least.”

She hums.

“Do you?”

She gives a hollow laugh. “I don’t know that it matters. The gods have never cared for people like me.”

He looks at her, staring up at him from her spot on the carpet next to a bowl of popcorn and a glass of mulled wine, and something clicks.

“Maybe not,” he says softly. “But there are people who do.”

Something changes in her expression at his words, and as she holds his gaze a strange feeling starts to form at the bottom of his stomach.

He coughs. “That reminds me – I got you something.”

Her brow furrows as he slips a bookmark into his book and disappears into his bedroom. When he emerges, a wrapped box in his hand, she shakes her head.

“I – um, I didn’t – ”

“I know,” he says, smiling slightly. “You don’t need to.”

“I can’t accept that,” she protests. “Not if I didn’t get you anything.”

He rolls his eyes and tosses the box in her direction. “Open it.” Then, more gently, “Friendship is not transactional.”

A curious expression flits across her face at the word friendship, but she takes the gift without further complaint and slips a finger underneath the wrapping paper.

“Oh,” she breathes as the wrapping paper falls away to reveal a small, black pouch. “Steve – ”

“It’s flameproof, bulletproof, the whole nine yards,” he explains as she flips it over to reveal an hourglass, emblazoned in fiery red. “I have one, too. I keep – I keep the things that mean the most to me in it.

He hesitates. “I just figured – we all have something we really treasure, and nothing in our lives is safe. You can tie that to your belt, stick it in a pocket, it’s a way to keep something with you, you know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, tracing the hourglass with a finger. “So, if I put something inside, the only way it gets destroyed is if I die, basically. And maybe not even then.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to be that morbid about it, but yes.”

She studies him for a moment, then grins and sits up. “Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.”

Her grin fades into a softer smile as she reaches for her wine, beckoning at him to do the same.

“Look at us. Two loners, doing okay on Christmas Eve.”

“Doing more than okay on Christmas Eve.”

“To us,” she declares, raising her glass. “For making it through December.”

They clink glasses, and as the blend of wine and holiday spices hits his tongue, Steve feels a sense of warmth start to spread over his shoulders.

-

The stakeout ends almost as quickly as it starts. The mobster shows up on the day after Christmas, they take him down before he even has a chance to draw his gun, and by 4pm on the 27th, the two of them are back at SHIELD headquarters, debriefing complete.

Steve is on his way to the elevator, actually looking forward to returning to his apartment, when he hears someone call his name.

He turns to see Natasha jogging down the hallway toward him, a slip of paper in her hand.

“I have something for you,” she announces, coming to a stop in front of him. “Consider it a late Christmas gift.”

“I told you, you don’t have to – ”

“But I did.”

“Natasha, really – what you did for me this December is more than anyone could ask for.”

The words fall out of his mouth before he really has a chance to think about them, and a blush creeps steadily up the sides of his face as he waits for her to ask what he means.

Instead, her expression softens. “You did it for me, too. Whether you knew it or not.”

He barely has time to process her words before she shoves the folded slip of paper into his hands. “Just take it.”

Steve unfolds the paper to reveal a sequence of numbers, written in black ink. “What’s this?”

“My phone number.”

“I have your phone number.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You have my work phone number. Which I sometimes do not use, depending on my mood, the time of day, and the general urgency of the incoming message. That’s my personal phone number.”

“I didn’t know you had a personal phone number.”

She winks. “I don’t.”

“Right. Okay.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “If you ever need anything – food, a bowling partner, someone to beat you at Catan – just let me know. Seriously. I know what it’s like to be new here – in this world, I mean – and feel like you’re completely alone. So use that.”

“Yeah,” Steve says faintly. “Okay.”

“Also, you should ask out your neighbor.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Natasha pats his arm, as if to say, don’t worry, you’ll get it someday, and gives him one last smile before turning and jogging back down the hallway.

Steve turns back toward the elevator, a smile making its way onto his face. He looks down at the slip of paper again, and notices a few words scrawled hastily underneath the phone number.

Congrats on making it through the worst month! It only gets better from here :)

Steve steps into the elevator. As the doors start to close, he slips the paper into the small pouch tucked away in his jacket pocket, wondering if she might be right.

#my mcu fics #my fics #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #captain america countdown to christmas #romanogers #capwidow #stevenat

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Tortured Souls. (6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Summary: Y/N Stark is being chased and accused of a crime she didn’t commit, what happens when the person behind all of this possesses her very own face.

<<

(Gifs go to their rightful owners.)

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5,400

Compound.

Steve was in the main living room with Sam watching the game when it went to the commercial and a Break News red sign appeared.

The reporter started to talk about the game so Sam stood up and walked to the kitchen to grab more beer in the fridged. “The SHIELD building in Washington has been invaded a few days ago, our reporter Samantha is in the local and will tell us what happened.” Sam stopped his tracks and walked back to watch the television.

The reporter was in front of SHIELD's building in Washington D.C, the lady told about how a dozen workers died in an invasion that occurred in an attempt to free a prisoner.

A picture of Artem appeared on the screen. “The prisoner is called Artem Melnikov, he is a Ukrainian that the Avengers and Shield’s agents got in an old HYDRA’s base in the middle of Russia. As you may know, Hydra is a militaristic and science division of the Nazi and was created by the German Baron Wolfgang von Strucker. Strucker isn't alive anymore and SHIELD told the world that neither Hydra was, but the event in years prior showed how a few important people of SHIELD were related to HYDRA organization. 

The last information the world received was of James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier.” Steve crossed his arms. “Barnes was accused to kill the king of Wakanda T'Chaka and a lot of other victims over the years. The man was the very own friend of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. Our sources don’t know where Barnes is right now but the last time he was in the public eyes was in a court where the judge declared him innocent. Could it be possible to Barnes be behind all of this?” Sam shook his head, people didn’t know shit about Bucky and yet everyone loved to call him the bad guy. 

“Our sources managed to grab a few footages of the night of invasion here on SHIELD, the young woman clearly is Y/N Stark, daughter of the billionaire Tony Stark also known as the Iron Man. Apparently it doesn’t matter how much money do you have, children will always try to take their parents' attention, right? Back to you Trevor.” She said and Steve wanted to punch the TV.

Sam put the TV in mute and scratched his scalp, “Godamn it, now her face is plastered around the country.”

Steve nodded and took a deep breath. “We knew it was going to happen, how Fury let that leak?” He asked pissed.

Sam shrugged and looked at the TV that showed the victim's pictures and their relatives crying at the funeral. “Maybe he didn’t, you know has other people inside there that are important, and I don’t know… Maybe it was one of the victims’ relatives that wanted revenge and then,” He pointed to the TV. “That happened. Do you know where Stark is?”

Clicking his fingernails against his knees Steve darted his eyes to Sam. “He said something as grabbing some evidence in Turkey, I don’t know what.” He looked at the television again and an old lady was crying and yelling asking for justice.

Sam felt bad about the scene and knew Steve was feeling the same. They were Avengers and their work was to bring justice and hope. “We better call him.”

The game got back but neither of them had the head to watch it. “He probably knows by now.”

Tony.

Tony was flying through Turkey and went to meet one man he had hired to find some old documents.

He met the man in a cafe, he was in a hurry so he spoke with the man and grabbed all the information when his phone vibrated.

It was your name and a set of small alive videos of random News Programs talking about you. He sucked his breath and cursed Fury for letting these pieces of information leak that way. Tony touched the device and told the men his job was done and the money was on his account.

He got back at the hotel he was staying and opened his suitcase at the floor stepping on it making the Iron Man armor mold perfectly on his body.

He flew through the windows heading back to the States specifically to Washington searching Fury. ‘Nick Fury is calling sir.’ FRIDAY announced. 

Tony answered and before Fury could answer Tony was yelling at him. 

“Calm down! I didn’t give them her information, neither Everett.”

“Well someone clearly did, so what you don’t know about your people whereabouts or sources?”

“I’m sorry but whose daughter is being hunted?” Tony rolled his eyes. “Where are you?”

“Flying to Washington, I need to talk with you personally.”

“I’m not there, are you on a jet or in your armor?”

“What difference that makes,” Tony asked annoyed.

“Can you stop playing and tell me, if you are in your armor come to Logan in Utah, surely your armor will find the coordinates, you can also track this call if it makes it any easier.”

Tony argued a bit more but ended agreeing to his request and flew through Logan-Utah, he saw Fury there and landed outside a cafe that seemed empty, Fury probably sent everyone away saying he would have some government confidential meeting.

Tony kept using the armor but without the face part. “This brings me memories.” Fury scoffed and entered the place, Tony following behind.

Fury sat in the secluded booth and Tony sat in front of him, it had pancakes and coffee above the table. “This is how I’ll die? You’ll poison me? Or is just some sort of truth elixir that will make me tell you my deepest and weirds secrets, do you want to know how was the night I lost my virginity? Urgh, it was gross, do you know that-” Fury’s face was serious and clearly annoyed by Tony’s words. “Maybe you don’t.”

Fury sweetened his coffee and started to drink and Tony did the same. “I called you to say that I wasn’t the person that leaked Y/N’s information. Not anyone I know either, I said she would be in home confinement and I wouldn’t sell private information to the media. You know I keep my promises!”

Tony drank his coffee and stared at Fury’s wondering.

“All of them?”

He sighed. “Tell me one goddamn time I had lied to you or broke a promise.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Listen I’m trying to save Y/N okay? How come you can’t believe she is innocent on this?”

Fury rubbed his face. “Stark, you haven't been around in that world much okay?! The majority of your life you’d spent in parties and ignoring everything important surrounding you. And as you may remember we get betrayed in that world, a lot. I’m sorry she is your daughter. You know I consider her as a friend too.” He said.

“Let’s be honest, do you think she would do that with us? You know her since she was 13 years old for God’s sakes, actually was that sneak eye of yours that made her start in that crazy world, if you hadn’t praised her skills, and she stood at home or safe and sound avoiding this life she probably wouldn’t have to go all kamikaze in Russia.” He said clearly pissed you had chose that life.

Fury rubbed the brow as if to ward off a headache. “Oh come on, when I first saw her she was beating your ex-bodyguard ass in a boxing ring in the middle of the living room.” He pointed. “I wasn’t the one that inserted her into that life, we both recognize she would go after them with or without the knowledge I helped her build. She is a great agent, one of the best actually. But just because we all care about her it doesn’t mean that she feels the same.“

Tony ate a few bites of his pancakes and was tapping a foot under the table, very annoyed about the topic. “Then what? Are you saying she is guilty and is trying to screw our lives by selling Hydra our information?” His lower lip quivered. “Not my Y/N. I’m sorry you had a lot of disappointments in your life, I did too, but I’m sure she isn’t guilty. And you should too.” Fury nodded, he knew Tony would say it.

Fury took a sip of his coffee and shared a silence questioning his next words, he didn’t know if he should say it and help you even somehow indirectly. “I found something, on the footage on the night of the invasion in D.C I used a mixture of two programs and,” He grabbed a small blue device out of his big coat and opened the video, Tony scoffed and opened his mouth ready to say he had seen the videos hundreds of times but Fury cut his words. “Shut up and watch it,” He played the video and then Fury clicked in a few words on the side of the screen, then the video froze and when Fury zoomed it the left side of ‘your’ face was sort of blurry, it wasn’t the cameras since Shield use A1 technology, it was something out of it. “I analyzed other random people with the same illumination and hour on the cameras but none had that weird effect on their faces.”

Tony took a deep breath and smiled. “Great now you are on our side, took you long enough.” He let a relaxed puff of air and enjoyed his pancakes, it wasn’t easy to use the fork with the ‘iron hand’ so he took it off.

“I still don’t trust her.” Fury said.

Tony placed the fork on the plate and swallowed the bits that were in his mouth. “Really? You just said it wasn’t her, what other reasons do you want?”

“She is smart and makes the best tactics, she might have contracted someone just to put us exactly where we are.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You know what, you think you are so intelligent and forward of everyone else's but you are just crazy. This isn’t a movie Fury, what can’t you just believe her?”

Pinching his nose Fury tried to find a good reason to make Tony open his eyes. “Because people aren’t victim’s Stark, people are psychotic and you know her parents had a record of drug use, maybe her mother had used and it had hit her brain inside the womb and with that transforms her in a sociopath or psychopath. You know this happens.” Tony's brow furrowed completely mad at his words.

Tony gnashed his teeth in the mention of something so insulting. “You are an idiot for saying those things, you like to believe you have control of everything while she is just a young girl being incriminated by something she did not commit!” Tony's voice was raising in each word. His hands trembling.

“You are right, I didn’t mean in that way.”

“Send me that version of the video, it will help me with the judge and with the whole court process.”

Nodding, but with a tightness to it, like he was holding back from saying something else. “Speaking about it she won’t be able to stay at home confinement much longer, I will go to the Compound later to talk with her.” Fury said and finished his coffee, Tony kept quiet eating his food which made Fury sense something was wrong. “She is there right?” He asked.

“Y/N? I don’t know we are not really intimate right now,” He answered quickly and chewed the last of the pancakes pushing the plate further in the table, Fury shook his head knowing Tony was hiding something. “What?” He tried to play coy.

“She isn’t." Fury shook his head. “I do all in my power to help you two and this is what I receive?” He spoke throwing his hands up.

Tilting his head to the ceiling and letting out a heavy sigh Tony stuttered before finding the right words. “I’m serious I don’t know if she is in the Compound, we fought because of her stupid decision and I’m not really staying at home or going in the Compound,” He moved his hands to his armor.

Fury studied his face. “You know I can read all your facial signs right? Where is she?”

Tony shook his head and looked at Fury’s ‘device’ above the table. “Isn’t you that have her anklet coordinates?”

Fury rolled his eyes. “Stark, Y/N is a criminal and I’m putting my head in the middle of the crossfire to help even though I don’t believe her innocence in all of this.”

Tony rolled his eyes and propped his left arm on the table propping his head on his hand.

Fury saw his annoyed face and felt angry about how Tony always get annoyed when he didn’t get what he wants like a spoiled infant.

“Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe! So if you truly consider I’ll lose my job and my whole career to make you happy you’re really really wrong.”

“Fury, all I ask is for you to hear her out, okay, please! She is the girl that saved your ass in that mission you went with. She is the girl that helped Nat when she started having anxiety. She is the girl that spent six whole days in the hospital when Sam got into a coma. Do you think she will be the one that will sell information to HYDRA? And besides that, she really cares about Steve and… and the other guy, which both had suffered by HYDRA. Do you truly believe she is guilty? Search the truth in your heart.”

Fury squeezed his eyes. “‘The truth in your heart’? Why the hell you said that? Is a t-shirt or something?” Tony gave him the look of ‘come on’. “I want to believe in her, Tony. But what if she is guilty and in the end, she will go away with them and leave us behind? I can’t risk my career out of a friendship.”

“What is more important reputation and people who care about you?”

Fury scoffed. “Are you reading those help-books she bought for you?” Tony laughed, Fury did too. “I’ll talk with her, let’s see if she can convince me.”

Y/N.

You had set all your clothes and a few research items in the room, you looked around the place and did almost every possible thing.

It was dark outside and Bucky hasn't got back yet. You started to create scenarios in your head where he regrets the almost kiss and are running away scared that you’ll confront him about it.

Jordan was with Barsi and you had made sure that the place would be a safe place for animals, you surely could use some love now so you placed a pair of boots on your feet and walked out the place searching the separated spot where the dogs and other animals should be.

Five minutes more into the woods you found what you were looking for.

It has big shelters one for each type of animal, normally the cats found a way out and the sneaky creatures entered in the dog’s one but it was cool since they got well with each other.

The dogs were really calm, normally when someone got closer they would make a huge mash of sounds. You opened the outhouse and found what you weren’t looking for.

Bucky was sat on the floor with two dogs laid close to him with their heads in his lap, the others were quiet sleeping and looked really comfortable having him around.

One dog barked when saw you making all of the others too, Bucky got up in seconds like you were some sort of threat. The babies came running and you pet every one you could reach, Bucky placed his hands in the pockets of his pants and cleared his throat. “I fell asleep.”

“I noticed,” You laughed, “It’s late already, I wanted to see them again and since I found you, do you wanna eat something? I mean you had been out around... five hours, at least.”

“I lost count of time. It’s pretty awesome what you did here.” He referred to the animals.

You looked around seeing the big place had space for each one of them. “Yeah, I mean is sad the fact that I have to do so, but I adore seeing the pure joy on them.” He made a confused look. “I mean the fact that someone has to save them from bad people, stupid people who hate them.”

He nodded. “People are stupid.”

Jordan appeared in the outhouse holding a big dog food bag. “Oh hey.” He said, you thought you heard Bucky scoffing but it was probably something else. “Is time for their dinner.”

You looked at the big barrel where food has always been inside. “I thought their food stood here.”

“It does but I just got back from town with a few new bags, the old ones were almost empty.” He placed it in the floor and walked out of the place, he looked behind and saw you stopped there looking at the dogs that were more than happy to see Jordan. “Uau, I didn’t know the famous life made you lazy, help me get the rest princess.” Jordan joked and you rolled your eyes laughing.

You walked out and found the pickup truck. You got one bag and walked inside, Bucky got the food separating it in the plates helping in the process. “The cats have eaten already?”

Jordan separated the food with a perfect portion for each type of dog and nodded at Buck's work. “No, neither the horses. You can go there, but be careful with the yellow one, she just got back from surgery.” You nodded and walked out of the place, you shook your head to Bucky which he understood the meaning since he followed you.

You opened the place and saw the cats running around playing with their toys when you grabbed their food they started to meow all together making a huge mess. “Surgery?” Bucky asked trying to not trip on them.

“Maybe is castration, or something else…”

“Castration?”

“Yep, I make sure all of them get castrated. I hate the number of abandonment it has already so we don’t need to make it bigger. My point is if everyone castrated their cats and dogs, it wouldn’t have so many lost babies out there. I mean I know I help them here and in every state money can allow me, but it isn’t the same thing for them. They are supposed to be the 'man's best friend’ so having just one owner isn’t the same.” A one-legged kitty was amazed by Bucky’s pants.

He laughed and grabbed the poor things in his hand. “I agree.”

You scratched the kitty's chin and took her out of Bucky's chest placing the food pot in front of her face. “Good.”

Bucky was amazed at the animals there, he surely knew about the shelter you had in NYC. “How did you asked Tony to do those things? With the animals I mean.”

“Well, since being a Stark I’m what people can say 'filthy rich’ so rather than spending my money in plastic surgery or fancy clothes and a possible contract with famous people to get me 'Hollywood famous’ too,” You laughed at the ridiculously. “I rather spend with what truly matters. Animals, kids, countries where hunger and thirst is a strong characteristic… I just try to use the pros and power of money on things that truly matter.” Bucky swore his heart was beating even faster.

When all was done, you and Bucky got back to the dog's place.

The two of you helped with anything that Jordan needed an extra hand with.

And when it finished Bucky excused and got back to the house.

You kept brushing the horses with Jordan, who had a grin splattered on his face. “What?”

He shrugged “Nothing.” He replied with a smirk.

“Come on.” You tried.

He looked out the barn looking at the patch that leads to the house.

“He is jealous, of me and you.”

You shook your head and kept paying attention to your current task. “He is not.”

“Come on. He had been staring at me the whole time like I was about to pick a gun and shoot you two.”

You laughed and shrugged. “He is just being cautious… he, he is of the world that me and Tony live in.”

“He is the Winter Soldier. Of course, he is of that world of yours and Mr.Stark.” You widened your eyes, you didn’t suspect him to recognize Bucky. “Don’t worry, I know he was a victim of all the torture he had been through. And you know me, I won’t call the cops or anything.”

You calmed down. “I think it would be no use. He was declared innocent by the judge and he is a free man.” You finished brushing the third horse and changed their water.

Jordan finished grooming the last horse and walked away to wash the brush and his hands. “So nothing to worry about then.” You caressed the horse for the last time and walked to wash your hands too. “But I’m serious the way he looks at you and the threatening way he looks at me says something. What? You two had dated and it didn’t work?”

“Not quite. We are good friends and… and I don’t know I got injured on a mission and he sort of blocked me out of his life.”

“Hmmm, I assume the injury it was bad.”

“Someone shot me.” He widened his eyes, he knew how to use a gun but yet it was sort of unknown to him. “But I’m here aren’t I?”

“So what, you two will keep liking each other and will be silent about it.”

“What? Wait what do you think I like him?” You played innocent.

“Well, first of all, I don’t believe my friend would ever come back here with some guy that seems really nice and just be friend with him, and also the fact that you are talking about him with that sparkle in your eyes.” He pointed at you.

“Jordan we are in the middle of the night in a barn, the “sparkle” can be the lamp above our heads.” You pointed your fingers at the five bigs lamps it has there.

“Nah, I know that spark. It just appears when you truly care about someone.”

“What are you? A novel writer?” He laughed.

“All I’m saying is that even spending years away from me I know you too damn well to be able to recognize when you’re liking or loving someone.”

“Okay love is really a strong word.” You put emphasis on the really part.

“You don’t love him?” He asked teasingly.

“Of course, he is my friend.” He gave you the look. “Come on I have a lot of guy friends. Actually, the majority of them are men.”

Jordan walked closer to your reach and dried his hands on a cloth and handed it to you. “Okay, so you look at all of the majority of friends the way you look at him?”

You let a sigh, he wouldn’t let the subject go away. “Not all of them.”

He nodded. “And that is why you’re blushing and avoiding to go back there?”

He was right, yet the last time you had seen him was years ago. “Excuse me, I spent five years away from your life. Is that inconvenient for me wanting to know more about you?”

He laughed. “Either way the way he looks at you it definitely says something,” You two walked out of the place and closed the door. Your emotions were screaming. “How do you know that?”

He looked at you and spent a few seconds trying to find the best words. “Because he looks at the same way I used to.”

You blushed, you had felt a small crush on him, but it was when you were just a mere kid and the idea alone of being close someone emotionally gave you bad memories about Raza. “Oh come on,” You bumped his shoulder with yours.

He laughed and nodded but spent some seconds looking at you, like he was reading every trace in your face. “Whatever you say but the way he looks at you it clearly states something. And I don’t have any idea what happens in that SuperHero universe you live in, but he would be good to you. I mean he is here right? And the way he looked at me when I entered the house it gave me chills. The guy had literally a gun aimed at me.”

“You were with a shotgun yourself. And besides nothing could give you chills Jordan.”

“Oh, one thing does scare me.” You kept quiet and wondered what he meant. “A angry Y/N.”

You laughed and remembered the number of times you two had fought when you were younger. “Surely!”

“Okay. So go back there to your 'only friend’ guy and… I don’t know, find something to talk about.”

“He surely will ignore me,”

“Make him pay attention then.” He said and kissed your head and hugged you. “Good night, troublemaker.”

“Good night, firefighter.” 

Both titles were nicknames you two received, you because you would enter anyone house if you thought an animal was hurt, and Jordan because once he literally ran into a house on fire to save an old lady, which made Happy really mad about his job as your bodyguard.

And as a joke, Tony placed him to watch out for Peter.

Bucky.

Steve had called Bucky ten minutes ago to put him inside what was happening in the real world. 

Steve told about your information that leaked and he asked if Bucky had grown the guts to talk with you. He answered yes and told him about Jordan.

“Who is Jordan?”

“Apparently an old friend, they are taking care of the animals now. I think he likes her.” The talk went on until you entered the house, you saw Bucky was on the phone and it surely was someone you knew.

But you let it be and walked around going to grab some water. Bucky gave you the phone and you saw Steve’s name on it.

Steve explained that the information had leaked but Fury assured he wasn’t the responsible for it.

He also explained that Clint and Tony were going after some evidence to help in the process, you asked about Natasha and Vision. He told he hadn’t seen Natasha in a week and Vision was okay as always, he didn’t tell anyone about your whereabouts.

                                 …

Bucky started to make a dinner since he likes to cook you wouldn’t interfere with it, actually it brought good memories when he cooked and you two spent the time talking.

He was just placing the past inside the boiling water. “So what had you done in the months where we weren’t close?” You asked.

“I got a few missions, it was okay.“ He answered, you gave him a beer, even knowing he wouldn’t get drunk but at least would make the ‘talk‘ more equal. “You?“

“Well, everything became a terrible soap opera, then I moved out of the Compound, I don’t know if you’d noticed.“ He lowered his head, of course, he did, suddenly he came back from a mission in Siberia and you weren’t there anymore. “Then one day Fury appeared in the door of my apartment saying I was being arrested for leaking private information… and well here we are.“

“Do you have any idea who can be behind all of that?“

You shook your head in a silent ‘no’. “I’m glad the majority of my friends believe me, thank you for believing in me, Buck.” You reached his flesh hand squeezing for a few seconds.

He smiled making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Sure, you’re my friend and I know you wouldn’t do this type of thing.”

You smiled completely delighted that he gave you his breathtaking smile after so long, but the subject was something that was stealing your rest. “Steve almost believed them, you saw how he was when he watched the footages.”

His forehead furrowed. “You know that punk, but the important thing is that he raised his hand.”

You let a heavy sign and took a couple of sips. “I know it’s stupid and I had a huge luck having so many on my side, and Sam apologized and everything but… I still feel like you guys don’t believe me. Tony, I get it, he is the father figure and wants the best for me, but what if he is doing that just to protect the idea of me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m his best friend, daughter for all effects, but, what if he is just trying to prove to himself that I won’t be a failure in his life?”

Bucky felt in the same way with Steve. “Tony really loves you, you’re the only family he has.” He said and felt a punch in his throat. Only family because I killed the rest of it. He thought.

The following hours you two settled in a comfortable conversation like all the rest didn’t matter. He talked about the new things he remembered and even brought the little notebook he used to note the things his mind got back.

You smiled and felt happy having your friend there again.

You two cleaned the mess in the kitchen and got ready for bed.

When you finished your shower Bucky got his and you sat on your bed reading his note-book, with his permission of course.

You worshipped reading his memories, loved his messy handwritten and adored how he placed a few pictures here and there to make it more sense in his mind.

He walked out of the shower and gave you a goodnight smile. “Bucky. You don’t have to sleep at the end of the hall.” His faces blushed, he didn’t expect you to realize he was trying to create a barrier between the two of you. “You can sleep in the others, or here if you want too.”

Bucky had nights and nights filled with nightmares, and it wasn’t awkward for you two sleep in the same bed, it had occurred thousands of times over the years. Didn’t matter if it was his nightmares or yours, didn’t matter if it was in a small hidden place in dangerous missions nor if you two passed out after watching something on your laptop.

It was normal for him, he even believed the soft mattress wasn’t too soft with you in there. But then you two had been self-conscious with each other in the last weeks. Would it erase all the years of building trust you have accomplished with him?

“Okay, I will just make sure everything is locked.” He answered after questioning himself and walked downstairs.

It has happened before. And the mattress was huge and he probably would face the other side of it.

Bucky was pacing downstairs he saw if everything was okay dozen of times, and walked back to your room. He knew he loved to feel you beside him when he wakes up sweating his fear out. He likes to see your peaceful face and hear your heartbeat beating in a certain rhythm. He took a deep breath and walked back to the room.

There you were laid already but the notebook was still in your hands, Bucky thought it was adorable, you probably knew all the letters there by heart. He laid on the other side and darted his eyes everywhere in the room.

You closed the book and placed it on the nightstand after a few minutes. You turned the lamp and moved your body so you were facing him. “Good night, Bucky.” He looked at you and answered softly.

"Good night, Y/N."

                                 …

After a few turns around he eventually got asleep until he felt something somewhat heavy on his metal arm. It was you supporting your head on his shoulder and your arm was over his torso.

You always liked the cold feeling of metal against your body, the contrast it made on Bucky’s warmth. He looked at the scene and smirked, your mouth was slightly agape so he knew you wouldn’t wake up easily, he moved his flesh arm and grabbed your hip calmly pulling your body above his.

You moved sleepily adjusting your body above the new heat, for Buck’s sake you were really tired so the new position didn’t alert you.

Bucky caressed your hair and fell asleep rapidly feeling somehow protected with you above his chest.

Before his slumber could take him fully, he whispered a soft. “I love you, doll.”

                                 …

>>

I’m sorry if the mention of animals shelters it’s very personal, BUT I love animals and if you don’t, what is wrong with you? (If I was Tony’s friend/daughter I surely would make hundreds of shelters.)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader

[bountyofbeads]

Ukrainian leader felt Trump pressure before taking office

https://apnews.com/b048901b635f423db49a10046daaf8a8

News on #Ukrainegate and #ImpeachmentInquiry is coming fast and furious. Below is new information as of this afternoon. 👇👇🤔😱😱

Ukrainian leader felt Trump pressure before taking office

By DESMOND BUTLER and MICHAEL BIESECKER | Published October 2:23 PM ET | AP | Posted October 23, 2019 |

KYIV, Ukraine (AP) — More than two months before the phone call that launched the impeachment inquiry into President Donald Trump, Ukraine's newly elected leader was already worried about pressure from the U.S. president to investigate his Democratic rival Joe Biden.

Volodymyr Zelenskiy gathered a small group of advisers on May 7 in Kyiv for a meeting that was supposed to be about his nation's energy needs. Instead, the group spent most of the three-hour discussion talking about how to navigate the insistence from Trump and his personal lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, for a probe and how to avoid becoming entangled in the American elections, according to three people familiar with the details of the meeting.

They spoke to The Associated Press on condition of anonymity because of the diplomatic sensitivity of the issue, which has roiled U.S.-Ukrainian relations.

The meeting came before Zelenskiy was inaugurated but about two weeks after Trump called to offer his congratulations on the night of the Ukrainian leader's April 21 election.

The full details of what the two leaders discussed in that Easter Sunday phone call have never been publicly disclosed, and it is not clear whether Trump explicitly asked for an investigation of the Bidens.

The three people's recollections differ on whether Zelenskiy specifically cited that first call with Trump as the source of his unease. But their accounts all show the Ukrainian president-elect was wary of Trump's push for an investigation into the former vice president and his son Hunter's business dealings.

Either way, the newly elected leader of a country wedged between Russia and the U.S.-aligned NATO democracies knew early on that vital military support might depend on whether he was willing to choose a side in an American political tussle. A former comedian who won office on promises to clean up corruption, Zelenskiy's first major foreign policy test came not from his enemy Russia, but rather from the country's most important ally, the United States.

The May 7 meeting included two of his top aides, Andriy Yermak and Andriy Bogdan, the people said. Also in the room was Andriy Kobolyev, head of the state-owned natural gas company Naftogaz, and Amos Hochstein, an American who sits on the Ukrainian company's supervisory board. Hochstein is a former diplomat who advised Biden on Ukraine matters during the Obama administration.

Zelenskiy's office in Kyiv did not respond to messages on Wednesday seeking comment. The White House would not comment on whether Trump demanded an investigation in the April 21 call.

The White House has offered only a bare-bones public readout on the April call, saying Trump urged Zelenskiy and the Ukrainian people to implement reforms, increase prosperity and "root out corruption." In the intervening months, Trump and his proxies have frequently used the word "corruption" to reference the monthslong efforts to get the Ukrainians to investigate Democrats.

Trump has said he would release a transcript of the first call, but the White House had no comment Wednesday on when, or if, that might happen.

After news broke that a White House whistleblower had filed a complaint about his July 25 call with Zelenskiy, Trump said the conversation was "perfect" and that he had asked his Ukrainian counterpart to do "whatever he can in terms of corruption because the corruption is massive."

During the call, Trump asked Zelenskiy for "a favor," requesting an investigation into a conspiracy theory related to a Democratic computer server hacked during the 2016 election campaign. Trump also pushed Zelenskiy to investigate Biden and his son. Trump then advised Zelenskiy that Giuliani and Attorney General Bill Barr would be contacting him about the request, according to a summary of the called released by the White House.

Within days, Giuliani flew to Madrid to meet privately with Yermak, Zelenskiy's aide who was in the May 7 meeting.

Trump has denied that an investigation of Biden was a condition for releasing military aid as a quid pro quo. But on Tuesday, the senior U.S. diplomat in Ukraine at the time, Ambassador William Taylor, starkly contradicted the president, saying that Trump had demanded that everything Zelenskiy wanted, including the aid and a White House meeting, was conditional on a public vow that he would open an investigation.

Taylor also detailed multiple previously undisclosed diplomatic interactions between Trump's envoys and senior Ukrainian officials in which the president's demand to investigate the Bidens in exchange for American aid was clear.

The continued flow of high-tech U.S. weaponry is seen as essential to the survival of the Ukrainian government, which has been mired in a long-running civil war with Russian-aligned separatists in the east of the county. In 2014, masked Russian troops took control of Ukraine's Crimean Peninsula. Russia later annexed it, provoking Western sanctions against Moscow.

In a joint Sept. 25 news conference with Trump at the United Nations in New York, Zelenskiy denied he felt pressured to investigate the Bidens.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to be involved, to democratic, open elections of U.S.A.," the Ukrainian leader said. "We had, I think, good phone call. It was normal. We spoke about many things, and I think, and you read it, that nobody push it. Push me."

Trump then chimed in: "In other words, no pressure."

Before Zelenskiy was elected, however, a public campaign to initiate investigations into the Bidens was already underway.

For weeks, conservative media outlets in the U.S. had trumpeted unfounded accusations that Biden, the Obama administration's top envoy to the war-torn former Soviet republic, had sought the removal of the country's top prosecutor in order to stymie an investigation in Burisma, a Ukrainian energy company that later hired his son to serve on its board.

Both Trump and Giuliani made public comments and tweets referencing the Biden accusations, with the president's lawyer suggesting in a Fox News interview on April 7 that the U.S. Justice Department should investigate the matter.

One day before Zelenskiy's May 7 meeting with his advisers, the U.S. State Department recalled Ambassador Marie Yovanovitch, a career diplomat with a reputation for combating corruption. Yovanovitch had been the target of a sustained yearlong smear campaign by Giuliani and his associates.

When Trump called Zelenskiy on July 25 to congratulate the Ukrainian president on "a great victory" after his Servant of the People party won control of Ukrainian parliament, Zelenskiy downplayed his discomfort.

"The first time, you called me to congratulate me when I won my presidential election, and the second time you are now calling me when my party won the parliamentary election," Zelenskiy said, according to the rough transcript. "I think I should run more often so you can call me more often, and we can talk over the phone more often."

*********

Ukraine Knew of Aid Freeze by Early August, Undermining Trump Defense

Top officials were told in early August about the delay of $391 million in security assistance, undercutting a chief argument President Trump has used to deny any quid pro quo.

By Andrew E. Kramer and Kenneth P. Vogel | Published October 23, 2019 Updated 2:41 PM ET | New York Times | Posted October 23, 2019 |

KIEV, Ukraine — To Democrats who say that President Trump’s decision to freeze a $391 million military aid package to Ukraine was intended to bully Ukraine’s leader into carrying out investigations for Mr. Trump’s political benefit, the president and his allies have had a simple response: There could not have been any quid pro quo because the Ukrainians did not know the assistance had been blocked.

Following testimony by William B. Taylor Jr., the top United States diplomat in Ukraine, to House impeachment investigators on Tuesday that the freezing of the aid was directly linked to Mr. Trump’s demand for the investigations, the president took to Twitter on Wednesday morning to approvingly quote a Republican member of Congress saying neither Mr. Taylor nor any other witness had “provided testimony that the Ukrainians were aware that military aid was being withheld.”

But in fact, word of the aid freeze had gotten to high-level Ukrainian officials by the first week in August, according to interviews and documents obtained by The New York Times.

The problem was not a bureaucratic glitch, the Ukrainians were told then. To address it, they were advised, they should reach out to Mick Mulvaney, the acting White House chief of staff, according to the interviews and records.

The timing of the communications about the issue, which have not previously been reported, shows that Ukraine was aware the White House was holding up the funds weeks earlier than United States and Ukrainian officials had acknowledged. And it means that the Ukrainian government was aware of the freeze during most of the period in August when Mr. Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani, and two American diplomats were pressing President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine to make a public commitment to the investigations being sought by Mr. Trump.

The communications did not explicitly link the assistance freeze to the push by Mr. Trump and Mr. Giuliani for the investigations. But in the communications, officials from the United States and Ukraine discuss the need to bring in the same senior aide to Mr. Zelensky who had been dealing with Mr. Giuliani about Mr. Trump’s demands for the investigations, signaling a possible link between the matters.

Word of the aid freeze got to the Ukrainians at a moment when Mr. Zelensky, who had taken office a little more than two months earlier after a campaign in which he promised to root out corruption and stand up to Russia, was off balance and uncertain how to stabilize his country’s relationship with the United States.

Days earlier, he had listened to Mr. Trump implore him on a half-hour call to pursue investigations touching on former Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr. and a debunked conspiracy theory about Ukrainian involvement in the 2016 hack of the Democratic National Committee. Mr. Zelensky’s efforts to secure a visit to the White House — a symbolic affirmation of support he considered vital at a time when Russia continued to menace Ukraine’s eastern border — seemed to be stalled. American policy toward Ukraine was being guided not by career professionals but by Mr. Giuliani.

Mr. Taylor told the impeachment investigators that it was only on the sidelines of a Sept. 1 meeting in Warsaw between Mr. Zelensky and Vice President Mike Pence that the Ukrainians were directly told the aid would be dependent on Mr. Zelensky giving Mr. Trump something he wanted: an investigation into Burisma, the company that had employed Hunter Biden, former Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s son.

American and Ukrainian officials have asserted that Ukraine learned that the aid had been held up only around the time it became public through a news story at the end of August.

The aid freeze is getting additional scrutiny from the impeachment investigators on Wednesday as they question Laura K. Cooper, a deputy assistant defense secretary for Russia, Ukraine and Eurasia. This month, Democrats subpoenaed both the Defense Department and the White House Office of Management and Budget for records related to the assistance freeze.

As Mr. Taylor’s testimony suggests, the Ukrainians did not confront the Trump administration about the freeze until they were told in September that it was linked to the demand for the investigations. The Ukrainians appear to have initially been hopeful that the problem could be resolved quietly and were reluctant to risk a public clash at a delicate time in relations between the two nations.

The disclosure that the Ukrainians knew of the freeze by early August corroborates, and provides additional details about, a claim made by a C.I.A. officer in his whistle-blower complaint that sparked the impeachment inquiry by House Democrats.

“As of early August, I heard from U.S. officials that some Ukrainian officials were aware that U.S. aid might be in jeopardy, but I do not know how or when they learned of it,” the anonymous whistle-blower wrote. The complainant said that he learned that the instruction to freeze the assistance “had come directly from the president,” and said it “might have a connection with the overall effort to pressure Ukrainian leadership.”

Publicly, Mr. Zelensky has insisted he felt no pressure to pursue the investigations sought by Mr. Trump.

“There was no blackmail,” Mr. Zelensky said at a news conference earlier this month. He cited as evidence that he “had no idea the military aid was held up” at the time of his July 25 call with Mr. Trump, when Mr. Trump pressed him for investigations into the Bidens and a debunked conspiracy theory about Ukrainian involvement in the hacking of the Democratic National Committee in 2016.

Mr. Zelensky has said he knew about the hold up of the military aid before his meeting in Poland on Sept. 1 with Mr. Pence, but has been vague about exactly when he learned about it. “When I did find out, I raised it with Pence at a meeting in Warsaw,” he said this month.

In conversations over several days in early August, a Pentagon official discussed the assistance freeze directly with a Ukrainian government official, according to records and interviews. The Pentagon official suggested that Mr. Mulvaney had been pushing for the assistance to be withheld, and urged the Ukrainians to reach out to him.

The Pentagon official described Mr. Mulvaney’s motivations only in broad terms but made clear that the same Ukrainian official, Andriy Yermak, who had been negotiating with Mr. Giuliani over the investigations and a White House visit being sought by Mr. Zelensky should also reach out to Mr. Mulvaney over the hold on military aid.

A senior administration official who was not authorized to speak publicly about the issue said on Monday that Mr. Mulvaney “had absolutely no communication with the Ukranians about this issue.”

Ukrainian officials had grown suspicious that the assistance was in jeopardy because formal talks with the Pentagon on its release had concluded by June without any apparent problem.

In talks during the spring with American officials, the Ukrainians had resolved conditions for the release of the assistance, and believed everything was on schedule, according to Ivanna Klympush-Tsintsadze, Ukraine’s former vice prime minister for Euro-Atlantic Integration.

But by early August, the Ukrainians were struggling to get clear answers from their American contacts about the status of the assistance, according to American officials familiar with the Ukrainians’ efforts.

In the days and weeks after top Ukrainian officials were alerted to the aid freeze, Gordon D. Sondland, the United States ambassador to the European Union, and Kurt D. Volker, then the State Department’s special envoy to Ukraine, were working with Mr. Giuliani to draft a statement for Mr. Zelensky to deliver that would commit him to pursuing the investigations,  according to text messages between the men turned over to the House impeachment investigators.

The text messages between Mr. Volker, Mr. Sondland and the top Zelensky aide did not mention the hold up of the aid. It was only in September, after the Warsaw meeting, that Mr. Taylor wrote in a text message to Mr. Sondland, “I think it’s crazy to withhold security assistance for help with a political campaign.”

After being informed on Sept. 1 in Warsaw that the aid would be released only if Mr. Zelensky agreed to the investigations, Ukrainian officials, including their national security adviser and defense minister, were troubled by their inability to get answers to questions about the freeze from United States officials, Mr. Taylor testified.

Through the summer, Mr. Zelensky had been noncommittal about the demands from Mr. Volker, Mr. Sondland and Mr. Giuliani for a public commitment to the investigations. On Sept. 5, Mr. Taylor testified, Mr. Zelensky met in Kiev with Senators Ron Johnson, Republican of Wisconsin, and Chris Murphy, Democrat of Connecticut.

Mr. Zelensky’s first question, Mr. Taylor said, was about the security aid. The senators responded, Mr. Taylor said, that Mr. Zelensky “should not jeopardize bipartisan support by getting drawn into U.S. domestic politics.”

But Mr. Sondland was still pressing for a commitment from Mr. Zelensky, and was pressing him to do a CNN interview in which he would talk about pursuing the investigations sought by Mr. Trump.

Mr. Zelensky never did the interview and never made the public commitment sought by the White House, although a Ukrainian prosecutor later said he would “audit” a case involving the owner of the company that paid Hunter Biden as a board member.

Mr. Giuliani has said he had nothing to do with the assistance freeze and did not talk to Mr. Trump or “anybody in the government” about it. “I didn’t know about it until I read about it in the newspaper,” he said in an interview last week.

*********

White House Aides Feared That Trump Had Another Ukraine Back Channel

Senior national security officials grew concerned about Kash Patel, a colleague who had previously been involved in Republicans’ efforts to undermine the Russia investigation.

By Julian E. Barnes, Adam Goldman and Nicholas Fandos | Published Oct. 23, 2019, 1:37 PM ET | New York Times | Posted October 23, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — Senior White House officials suspected that a colleague whom they viewed as a political partisan was ferrying documents about Ukraine in recent months to President Trump, effectively creating another back channel to him that could warp American policy, according to congressional testimony and interviews.

Colleagues grew alarmed after hearing that Mr. Trump had referred to Kashyap Patel, a National Security Council aide who figured prominently in Republicans’ efforts to undermine the Russia investigation, as one of his top Ukraine policy specialists and that the president wanted to discuss related documents with him, according to people briefed on the matter. Mr. Patel, who is known as Kash, is assigned to work on counterterrorism issues, not Ukraine policy.

The contents of the documents were not clear, nor was it clear how Mr. Trump got them. Typically, aides prepare policy briefings for presidents that several agencies sign off on in a highly controlled process. But Mr. Trump has adopted a much more freewheeling approach, taking in unverified information from sources both inside and outside the White House and seeking out and promoting assertions that fit his narrative.

Any involvement by Mr. Patel in Ukraine issues would mark another attempt by Mr. Trump’s political loyalists to go around American policymakers to shape policy toward Kiev. It was separate, two of the people said, from the irregular, informal channel led by the president’s lawyer Rudolph W. Giuliani and Gordon D. Sondland, the American ambassador to the European Union, that is the subject of House Democrats’ impeachment investigation.

Friends of Mr. Patel dismissed the concerns among senior national security officials as conspiracy theories by Mr. Trump’s critics. The White House declined to comment.

House impeachment investigators are scrutinizing Mr. Patel’s actions as well, the people said. The investigators have asked witnesses about Mr. Patel and are trying to determine any role he played in the shadow foreign policy Mr. Trump was conducting as he pushed the Ukrainian government to incriminate his political rivals by announcing investigations into them.

Fiona Hill, the National Security Council’s former senior director for Eurasian and Russian affairs, testified to House investigators last week that she believed Mr. Patel was improperly getting involved in Ukraine policy and was sending information to Mr. Trump, some of the people said.

Ms. Hill grew alarmed earlier this year when an aide from the White House executive secretary’s office told her that Mr. Trump wanted to talk to Mr. Patel and identified him as the National Security Council’s “Ukraine director,” a position held by one of Ms. Hill’s deputies. The aide said Mr. Trump wanted to meet with Mr. Patel about documents he had received on Ukraine.

Ms. Hill responded by asking who Mr. Patel was. While the aide from the executive secretary’s office did not state explicitly that Mr. Patel sent the Ukraine documents to Mr. Trump, Ms. Hill understood that to be the implication, according to a person familiar with her testimony.

Mr. Patel’s apparent communications with the president prompted Ms. Hill to raise concerns with her superiors, including John R. Bolton, then the national security adviser, that Mr. Patel was meddling outside of his portfolio. As early as May, Ms. Hill had begun discussing with colleagues her concerns about whether Mr. Patel was running a shadow effort on Ukraine at the White House, according to four people briefed on the discussions.

Two other witnesses in the impeachment investigation, Mr. Sondland and George P. Kent, another State Department official, testified that they had not encountered him in their work, according to people familiar with the inquiry.

Mr. Patel joined the National Security Council in February and began getting involved in Ukraine matters in April, as Mr. Giuliani pushed the Ukrainian government to discredit evidence against Paul Manafort, Mr. Trump’s former campaign chairman. It was not clear who hired him.

Mr. Patel was previously best known as a lead author of a politically charged memo released early last year accusing the F.B.I. and Justice Department leaders of abusing their power in the early stages of the Russia investigation. The memo was widely dismissed as a biased argument of cherry-picked facts, but it galvanized Mr. Trump’s allies in their attacks on the special counsel’s inquiry and consumed Washington for weeks.

Mr. Patel worked at the time as an investigator for the House Intelligence Committee under Representative Devin Nunes of California, who ran the panel when Republicans had control of the chamber. Mr. Patel’s efforts to discredit the Russia investigation made him a minor celebrity in conservative circles but a divisive figure on Capitol Hill.

As an intelligence committee aide, Mr. Patel helped investigate the theory that Ukrainians were responsible for spreading information about Russia’s interference in the 2016 presidential election. Mr. Trump has returned to the accusation of Ukrainian meddling repeatedly in public and private conversations.

On the National Security Council, Mr. Patel first worked with officials in a directorate called International Organizations and Alliances that was devoted to advancing American interests at the United Nations and on human rights and other international issues.

Some National Security Council aides questioned whether Mr. Patel’s experience as Mr. Nunes’ investigator was relevant to overseeing American policy toward the United Nations, a person familiar with his hiring said.

Under Mr. Bolton’s watch, Mr. Patel was later given a more senior role in the counterterrorism directorate. That fit more directly with his background as a onetime federal counterterrorism prosecutor, but some officials said Mr. Patel was promoted to a senior director position unusually quickly.

Mr. Patel’s role as an investigator for Mr. Nunes is highlighted in a book by Lee Smith, a conservative journalist, set to be published next week. The book asserts without evidence that the so-called deep state of career government bureaucrats and members of the media embarked on a grand scheme to thwart Mr. Trump from being president.

Mr. Nunes hired Mr. Patel because he “knew the nature of the enemy,” Mr. Smith wrote.

“I hired him to bust down doors,” Mr. Nunes said in the book.

The memo that Mr. Patel wrote as a House Intelligence Committee aide focused on the F.B.I.’s use of a dossier of explosive, unverified claims about Mr. Trump that Christopher Steele, a former British spy, compiled in 2016 for a Democratic-funded research mission. House Republicans long ago seized on the dossier as evidence that the Russia investigation was tainted, to little avail.

As part of their inquiry, House Republicans looked into whether Mr. Steele relied on sources from Ukraine for his research and whether the former American ambassador to Ukraine, Marie L. Yovanovitch, had ties to the research firm that hired Mr. Steele.

Ms. Yovanovitch was a casualty of Mr. Giuliani’s efforts in Ukraine as well; she was recalled from her post in the spring as Mr. Trump became convinced she had disparaged him, a charge she denies. Mr. Nunes, Mr. Patel’s former boss, has long accused her of speaking out against the president.

But Ms. Yovanovitch said that one of her bosses told her she was being ousted even though she had done “nothing wrong,” according to her testimony.

*********

Chaotic scene as Republicans disrupt impeachment deposition

By MICHAEL BALSAMO and MARY CLARE JALONICK | Published 2:57 PM ET | AP | Posted October 23, 2019 |

WASHINGTON (AP) — Republicans brought House Democrats' impeachment investigation to a halt on Wednesday as around two dozen GOP House members stormed into a closed-door deposition with a Defense Department official. Democrats said the move compromised national security as some of them brought electronic devices into a secure room.

As a series of diplomats have been interviewed in the probe, several of them detailing President Donald Trump's efforts to persuade Ukraine to investigate a political rival, many Republicans have been silent on the president's behavior. But they have been outspoken about their disdain for Democrats and the impeachment process, saying it is unfair to them even though they have been allowed to participate.

"The members have just had it and they want to be able to see and represent their constituents and find out what's going on," said Ohio Rep. Jim Jordan, the top Republican on the House Oversight and Reform panel. That committee is one of three leading the investigation, and its members are allowed into the closed-door hearings.

Jordan said things were at a "standstill." And after several hours, a handful of members remained in the room. The deposition with Laura Cooper, a senior Defense Department official who oversees Ukraine policy, was temporarily on hold.

Democrats deny that Republicans are being treated unfairly, noting they have had equal time to question witnesses and full access to the meetings. But they said the lawmakers — several of whom do not sit on one of the three committees — had compromised security at the closed-door deposition. The interviews are being held in what is called a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, or SCIF, which is a totally secure room where members can hear classified information.

Several lawmakers leaving the facility said that some of the Republicans had brought their cellphones, even though electronics are not allowed. All members of Congress are familiar with the protocol of the SCIF, since they are often invited to classified briefings, and there are several such rooms around the Capitol.

Lawmakers described a chaotic scene. Rep. Debbie Wasserman Schultz, D-Fla., said she had just walked into the room when the Republican lawmakers blew past Capitol Police officers and Democratic staffers. The staff member who was checking identification at the entrance was "basically overcome" by the Republicans, she said.

"Literally some of them were just screaming about the president and what we're doing to him and that we have nothing and just all things that were supportive of the president," Wasserman Schultz said.

Sen. Lindsey Graham criticized his Republican colleagues for the tactic, calling them "nuts" to make a "run on the SCIF."

"That's not the way to do it," he said.

The Republicans decried that the deposition was happening behind closed doors and said Americans should be able to read the transcripts of any interviews being conducted as part of impeachment.

Democrats have promised to release the transcripts when it won't affect their investigation, and House Intelligence Committee Chairman Adam Schiff has pushed back on the criticism of the depositions.

Schiff said in a letter to colleagues last week that "the majority and minority have been provided equal staff representation and time to question witnesses, who have stayed until the majority and the minority have asked all of their questions - often late into the evening."

Several Republicans appeared to be tweeting from the secure room. North Carolina Rep. Mark Walker tweeted: "UPDATE: We are in the SCIF and every GOP Member is quietly listening." Georgia Rep. Buddy Carter wrote that "my Republican colleagues and I just stormed the impeachment hearing room and finally got in."

Arizona Rep. Andy Biggs retweeted some of his colleague's tweets but followed up with a clarification: "All tweets sent out when I'm in the SCIF are being transmitted to staff for publication," he wrote.

The standoff came the day after a top U.S. diplomat testified that he was told Trump withheld military aid to Ukraine until the country's president went public with a promise to investigate Democrats. Democratic Rep. Ted Lieu of California said Republicans didn't want to hear from Cooper because they were "freaked out" by what William Taylor told lawmakers.

"They know more facts are going to be delivered that are absolutely damning to the President of the United States," Lieu said.

As some members remained in the room, Rep. Steven Lynch, D-Mass., said Democrats shouldn't call security to remove the Republicans because it would be "theatrics."

"Just having members hauled off, even though it might give some people great pleasure, I think we just have to handle it in a better fashion," Lynch said. "Hopefully with some deliberations cooler heads will prevail."

Associated Press writers Alan Fram and Padmananda Rama contributed from Washington.

*********

Indicted Giuliani Associate Ties Case to Trump

The connection was made as two associates of Rudolph W. Giuliani pleaded not guilty in federal court in Manhattan.

By Nicole Hong and William K. Rashbaum | Published Oct. 23, 2019 Updated 2:35 PM ET | New York Times |

Posted October 23, 2019 |

One of the two indicted associates of President Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani, on Wednesday tied the case to the president himself, saying that some of the evidence gathered in the investigation could be subject to executive privilege.

The unusual argument was raised by a defense lawyer in federal court in Manhattan as the two associates, Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman, pleaded not guilty to federal charges that they had made illegal campaign contributions to political candidates in the United States in exchange for potential influence.

Mr. Parnas and Mr. Fruman have become unexpected figures in the events at the heart of the House Democrats’ impeachment inquiry, having played a role in helping Mr. Giuliani’s efforts on behalf of President Trump to dig up information in Ukraine that could damage former Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr., a prospective Democratic challenger.

Mr. Giuliani has denied wrongdoing but has acknowledged that he and the two men worked with officials in Ukraine to collect damaging information about the American ambassador to Ukraine and other targets of Mr. Trump and his allies, including Mr. Biden and his younger son, Hunter.

Edward B. MacMahon Jr., a lawyer for Mr. Parnas, said the potential for the White House to invoke executive privilege stemmed from the fact that Mr. Parnas had used Mr. Giuliani as his own lawyer at the same time Mr. Giuliani was working as Mr. Trump’s lawyer.

Mr. Parnas and Mr. Fruman were charged earlier this month with concealing the source of political donations in order to advance their own business interests and the political interests of Ukrainian government officials. Mr. Trump and Mr. Giuliani were not named in the indictment, although prosecutors are also investigating whether Mr. Giuliani broke lobbying laws in his dealings in Ukraine, according to people familiar with the inquiry.

Prosecutors say they have gathered a large volume of materials as part of the ongoing investigation, pursuant to more than a dozen search warrants. Mr. MacMahon asked that the government use a special team of prosecutors to review the evidence, saying Mr. Parnas’s relationship with Mr. Giuliani indicates some of the materials may be protected by attorney-client privilege or executive privilege.

“These are issues we need to be very sensitive to,” Mr. MacMahon told a federal judge on Wednesday. “I’m not telling you I know how to resolve this.”

He told reporters after Wednesday’s hearing: “I don’t know any more about how to invoke executive privilege than anyone else.”

An assistant United States attorney, Rebekah Donaleski, said during the hearing that the government was already using a “filter team” to review which materials should be privileged and shielded from prosecutors. She said prosecutors would discuss with the defense team whether there was any basis to invoke executive privilege.

“We are attuned to those concerns,” Ms. Donaleski said.

Prosecutors have conducted searches of email and social media accounts, as well as of electronic devices and more than 50 bank accounts, she said.

Mr. Parnas and Mr. Fruman, immigrants from the former Soviet Union who became American citizens, were arrested on Oct. 9 at an airport in Washington, D.C., with one-way tickets to Frankfurt. They each face four criminal charges related to violations of campaign-finance law.

Prosecutors also have linked Mr. Parnas and Mr. Fruman to an attempt to recall the United States ambassador to Ukraine, Marie L. Yovanovitch, who had become a focus of criticism from many of Mr. Trump’s allies.

House Democrats last month opened an impeachment inquiry investigating whether her removal was connected to Mr. Trump’s attempt to gather damaging information in Ukraine about Mr. Biden, who is a leading candidate for the Democratic presidential nomination.

#ukrainegate #ukraine #trump scandals #trump administration #president donald trump #president trump #trump news #top news #white house #whitehouse #impeach trump #impeachment inquiry now #impeachthemf #impeachtrump #impeachnow #impeachment #impeach45 #trump cult #trump crime family #trump crime syndicate #trump corruption #trump collusion #national security #national news #house intelligence committee #pentagon #republican politics #politics and government #us politics #politics

[guerritosporecitos-blog]

The white door opened with the hinges squeaking. I looked there with Josh sweating like hell. I stood up to hug him. I honestly thought he was going to leave like he has been joking about this whole time.

It's been hours since I had seen him and he was finally at out some step. I fell asleep and he was in his bed too.

But when I woke up two hours ago, I didn't see him anywhere.

I couldn't text obviously, so I just had to wait.

I actually asked Lynn, the lady at the front desk who was a massive friend of his, and she said that she did see him pass by a few minutes before six in the morning. It was about nine in the morning now.

He had our bags in his hands, the ones we've been using before that day for school. I grabbed mine beaming.

I opened the top and thank fucking God my chemistry notes were just fine. I use these to help me cheat my quizzes. Just stuff it in a cutout eraser and done. Flip it and hide it.

I flipped in my math sheets. Now for Algebra, I wouldn't need it, but maybe it would help every once in a while.

"How is everything not damaged by the water?"

He quit searching around his leather bag staring me in the eye. "I'm sorry?"

"From the sewer, I mean."

"Oh, " He ran a sweaty hand in his sticky hair. " I actually know another way around, that's how my gun has been undamaged before that day."

"Then why didn't you tell me about that one?"

His eyes moved to the ceiling, thinking of how to put it all lightly. "Your body just isn't at that, build?"

I knit my eyebrows feeling around my arms. "I can lift a few pounds."

"Oliver, I wouldn't count five to be enough."

"I mean, in PE I could swing a bat and have the ball go eight yards." He looked down my body and I could see his teeth show while he tried to smile, calling it out as bullshit.

"You should stay a nerd."

I rolled my eyes fishing around. I wanted to know if I had everything. Nothing behind.

A blue pencil pouch with three zippers dividing my markers and highlighters from glue sticks and away from the pens, erasers, and pencils. 0.5 binder just for my Ukrainian language class, three inches for all of my subjects, periods in order.  And a good luck charm. I was just going to take out the school workouts working on before and toss it in the trash. Cleaning my bag out.

"Did you have something wrong with your neck this morning?" I turn my head over to him, hair flicking out my eyes.

I felt around my chin, collarbone, and neck. I didn't find anything. "No?" I started from the left moving to the right.

That's when I found the bump. I poked, moving it around at it rolled up. Then moved its only self.

His eyes widened while I just sat there not knowing what to do. My face was draining from color with a heart going over the speed limit.

I gulped down my anxiety standing up.

I was rushing and tripping to the bathroom mirror. I turned my head in different angles for the best position to view this. I shook in fear backing away.

"Just, lay in bed and I'll find my box cutter. I think I already know what it is." He was already up to be looking around the room.

"Wait, you'll be doing surgery on me?" I mean, he's smart but he doesn't have a medical degree.

He looked around the floor, his pockets, and even nightstands panicking. "Josh, it could just be a wart, we could go to the hospital close by if it's that big of a worry!"

"Those don't move! They just, grow!" He had all drawers moving back and slamming shut, worried to death, shaking, and sweating again. "Where is it?!" He turned to search around. He exhaled when he finally found something that would do for him. He jogged grabbing the knife off his stand after looking around again. I shook my head backing up to the wall; he grabbed my arm pulling me to my bed and I stood my ground in fear. "I promise, I only want to see what this is."

"You don't know what the fuck you are doing!" I refused to lay in bed so he pushed me up the wall I was already against. I fought back but it was like pushing a wall of bricks. I couldn't push him off. "Get the fuck away from me!" The blade slides out. I whimper about moving the farthest I could.

Then he's cutting my neck. I bit my lip down gripping the ends of the door frame.

His whole face was dropping watching me cry out in pain. "I know, Oliver, I do, but please don't move." I looked in his eyes while he was concentrated. "I almost got it." He used the knife as a spoon bringing out a squirming creature. "Shit!" He jumped back watching it flop around the floor, just dying there. I joined him away from the premature big. He was up to the shower, the over side of the blood. I was jumping over the mess with a wasp, bumble bee, what the fuck ever holding down my bloody neck. "You see. Think about this next time you argue with me. Because just as for now, I probably saved your life. Twice. Both times you were arguing with me. In that forest and right now."

He exhaled. "I couldn't help out Jenna but I got you out of that car. I'm doing some good."

"Wait, "I ignored the blood dripping to the floor and sliding down my arm. "you know about Jenna?"

"Of course, I know about Jenna." He tore off the toilet paper to hold up my neck. "How else would I have magically come to your rescue?" He stood back crossing his arms.

"I- but how?" I could see he was getting impatient, but so was I.

"You are arguing with me again."

"It's been almost five weeks of me wondering. Why can't I know?"

"Oliver, arguing. I think and said I had enough of it."

"But I-"

He pressed a finger to my lips, I smacked it away. "Just clean the damn blood, patch yourself, and flush that parasite down the toilet. Right now that's all that matters."

"You can't fucking make me! I shouldn't go by anyone's rules just because they saved my life! What is the meaning to save a life of you'll just control it and make the life feel useless!"

"Now you're being overdramatic. All I did, was cut your neck."

I looked at my puddle with the bee who stopped moving. "But why won't you tell me how you knew."

He rolled his eyes walking out of the bathroom. "Just clean the blood and I'll make your breakfast."

I huffed opening up a cabinet for towels. I found one green and ugly, deal. I set that on the sink. With toilet paper, I dropped it in the bowl flushing it down. I cleaned the floor watching it stain. I exhaled finding a rag, getting it wet, and scrubbed the red. I heard eggs boil rolling my eyes. Eggs I would eat because they aren't fertile, yet he loves to point out my hypocrisy for it. I worked my arms on the tile floor.

Josh walked in munching on the plain cookies we made two nights ago.

I looked up with a small smile. "I really think I would need stitches."

"I'll take you in then. It does look bad."

"Don't fucking worry me." I stood up gathering the two towels.

"I just told you the truth, was that not what you wanted?"

I pasted him with my hair hitting my shoulders, being sassy about it. "Don't manipulate this."

"Don't argue."

"You are talking too, Josh." I set the rag down on the top and wrapped a towel around like a scarf.

"I'm just responding."

"Well, " I crossed my arms, sitting on my bed, crossing my legs. "maybe I'm doing the same."

He clenched his jaw. To keep preoccupied, he was cleaning off his knife.

I shrug one shoulder heading out the door.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"To the um, hospital?

"Oliver, they'll have to ask for your name."

"I could bleed out!"

He stood up walking to the bathroom. "I could help you!"

"Josh, I think you should stop being paranoid and let me do what I know is right for me."

"If us two can walk in here so could soldiers!"

"Joshua, I'm bleeding! They have free health care around here, I know they do. Take me to the hospital or I'll fucking head there myself!"

He shook his head getting the knife. "They make one move and we'll be living outside in a cave." I hopped off the bed with a wide smile.

"I sure it'll be fine."

It was hard to explain to them what had happened to me. They shamed Josh for doing this without a license, but a good defense was saying we didn't have time. I was laying in bed with curtains around me. Another patient, I think he was hit by a car, was on my right, but there were curtains covering my view.

Here we had free health care, I was just lying to stay alive, but I won't complain about the bonus.

They also had a few cases this. Not much, only six to total, but to know parasites have moved to humans.

The bee Josh cut out left a scar around my back. Hard to see with the tattoos but it's there.

They only wanted me to stay a night to see if I'll be well, sleep okay, and if my pain is just for a short period before they hand down medicine.

Turns out they came around three months ago but no one has been alerted. Every one of them was from the city, so with the next week, they will close the gates off to keep everyone here safe.

We don't know how they came to be all of a sudden, but they exist.

I asked a load of questions, I thought it could be a great report.

"My neck fucking hurts."

"I know, " He sighed looking down. "but I did the best I could do."

"No, I'm actually really thankful. Honest. It's just hell to have, this. And the unnecessary wires making it hard to move around."

"They are needed."

"Well, yes but still. They couldn't spend more time on making it teleport than making man-made viruses?"

"You're the brilliant one here and you pick to complain rather than to be a know it all?"

"I feel like we haven't meant."

"We did, you're just confusing. You want to study during our plans with Jordan and then you complain when you get a chance."

"I'm just in pain. Let me study and moan."

"Maybe I will leave you behind one day."

"You didn't today."

"Because you spend a little to too much time on a computer. Walk outdoors and talk to us all. I have to shoot people to spend only an hour with you."

I sat up raising an eyebrow. "So you wish to spend more time with me? I thought you hated me?"

"I never said I hate you, you can just be an idiot."

I gaze down my legs. "That's fair."

We had a little silence between us, but I wanted to speak when I was upset with him leaving.

"You should go to bed. You are in pain and you need a night to relax."

"What? No! Please don't leave."

"Oliver-"

"Well, what if you were right and there are shoulders from Seven here?" I wasn't convinced but I didn't like the idea of being alone.

"Oli-"

"What if!"

He exhaled nodding along. "Fine. I'll stay. But we won't talk, won't speak, just sleep. I'm tired too." I nodded moving to my side.

Now, I don't think I'm hunted down, but the thought of being alone somewhere I don't know about does scare the shit out of me.

Today was, a day. He went back to Seven for our school supplies and did homemade surgery on me.

I'll slap him one day for the pain.

[maldreamery]

Night reflections (16 April)

Not to be an anti-feminist bitch, but everyone has a freedom of speech, so... Haven't you ever thought that sometimes all this hype of protection of Muslim or Asian women, especially by Western women goes way to far? I mean, when white women talk about freedom from some religious canons for Muslim women, etc., they don't really mean THAT freedom. What they actually could mean by that definition is the environment they've grown up in, and which is considered maximally liberal for them? You know, America being a panacea for all hurt and offended. How can these women (or both sexes) define what's better for women, who've been living in another culture for all their life, and which they perceive as normal (keep in mind, I don't talk about uncivilized, dreadful traditions like child marriages or ritual sterilizing, which must not be tolerated by any culture and morality). What I mean is that these women from Middle East or other Asian or African countries are treated with sorrow like they escaped hell (some of them actually did, and I have no right to include them here). Some of these women who actually came to the West to pursue their dreams because they could not afford it in their motherland, are not someone who you should feel sorry about. I think some of these women are actually proud of their cultural heritage, though they may not tolerate a government or regime. And it doesn't mean that every white woman has to shout about how brave this woman is. This "white sorrow" (excuse me, if this offends anyone, not meant to though) is not a blessing for them. This "patriotic women unity of all races and etc." may seem ridiculous sometimes... You know the saying: "I was your age, you never was mine"? Well, something similar may be applied to this as well. We have never been in each other's shoes, so how can we know, what other women think about their past life in different country, different culture? Remember, there are still prejudices and stereotypes about eastern cultures (I'm Ukrainian and I'm personally really irritated about foreigners whining about terrifying Chornobyl, when it's actually safe now, but no one really cares, cause stereotypes are comfortable), and many people were raised on them. So, basically, when we, white women, dare to sympathize women of different race or religion, I feel like we treat them miserably. It's not what female unity is about. Repeat once again, they are just my thoughts, and they are not aimed to insult anyone; and, if it unfortunately happened, I'm truly sorry). Everyone who's in the same time zone as me - have a good night💜💜

#intersectional feminism #liberal feminism #culture #women #black women #asian #middle east #respect #Feminism #Asian women #Middle East women #unpopular opinion #unpopular thoughts #unpopular post

[kiriss-crisis]

Just a POV on colorism from a Mixed Race woman

Warning: this is long so either read it all or don’t read it at all else you will get me wrong haha. Non-native english speaker btw.

First of all, I despise all type of replacement of a ethnic character by a person of a different ethnic group. All type. Unless it’s for a REALLY great actor/actress, because quality matters more than looks. I needed to start with that. Because I get upset when a black character becomes white (*cough* Lavande Brown *cough* (even though I can’t even remember if she is described in the book so yeah but she did go from black to white in the movies) and the excuse for that was lame). But same when Valkyrie went from a white blondie to a light-skinned black women, or is she mixed? I don’t even know. Both things don’t make any sense. Make great characters of each ethnic group and let them be played by talented actors they look like.

Now let’s get to business. What I don’t like about this new trend of making videos about colorism is that it has become a way of some women to dish other women. Is it teaching people or bashing? “She is not even that light” I read once and I was like “that’s very borderline”, as if that was supposed to be an insult. If you hate colorism, don’t use it against these people. Don’t give credit to their so called light-skin, dear, don’t sound like an idiot for that. But yeah, that’s the problem. I see more rage and hate instead of teaching and loving yourself, as cheesy as it sounds. I think this matter and how it is handled unfortunately doesn’t trigger the right reaction. Here is why:

I also heard that mixed race people don’t get bullied for being lighter. Well, read me please so you know. I took that to heart because people totally dismiss that it does exist. Small tiny example, everytime I go back to Guadeloupe, I’m called a “stuck up” or “arrogant” and other names just for walking with my cousins in a shopping mall. Why? Because as mixed girls, we have to be those stuck-ups-who-think-they-are-better-than-black-people. Yeah right. I live with my black mother, dark-skinned and I love her and respect her deeply because she cared more for me than anyone has, including my idiotic father. How could I even think of myself better than her just because I was born mixed? This is ridiculous! But I know some idiotic light-skinned and mixed girls do that... To me, they have no respect for their parents and who they partially are. Anyways. Back to my mother. I wanted to be like her. Not because she is black or something, because she is my mother, she is gorgeous, she is courageous and she is black too and because of who she is on top of that, she makes black so freaking beautiful. Black, as any other race, is beautiful when people of that skin color have a beautiful heart, a beautiful face yeah, a great style, a brilliant mind or talent. The color is just another thing they have, it’s not everything. There isn’t a race that needs to be less represented, there are people who set an example and who need to be on the spotlight for that. And those doing the wrong thing who shouldn’t be seen until they learn.

Now, something else. In the USA, mixed-race is still a pretty new concept because of the old and stupid one-drop rule. No matter how mixed you were, you were black. That was it. And that is the real problem. Another thing: as a mixed woman, I’ve been careful with saying I’m mixed. Because people wanted me to say I’m black. Yes, I’m not making this up, but whenever I said I was mixed, I had to be sorry and add that was “also” black to prove that was not rejection (it was being me, including all of my heritage). And that was from white and black people. But when black people wanted to reject me, I suddenly was white. That’s the struggle some mixed-race people go through sometimes. We all struggle with who we are and how we are perceived unfortunately.

NOW, yes. That doesn’t excuse the colorism we see everywhere. I just wanted to highlight that both sides go through some shit. Being mixed looks pretty in theaters and all but in everyday life, it can also be confusing. Because you spend your lifetime, after figuring it out, explaining that no, you’re not black, no, you’re not white, no, you’re not asian, no, you’re not indian etc. You’re not only one of those actually. And you have to be careful to be politically correct. But you are mixed, a blend. And that doesn’t mean you feel you can take advantage of that or feel superior. Heck no, if you are mixed and love your parents, you want to embrace all of it. But yeah, it’s fine beside that, just like it’s fine being black.

Also, it is stupid for some people to raise mixed-race folk above because, yes, I acknowledge it’s been done and it’s freaking ridiculous. And reductive. Some mixed-race people are stupid, ugly, awful, talentless and certainly don’t deserve to be said any different because they seem to be a new trend. I’m sick of these girls being like “I’m going to find a white/black man so I’ll have mixed kids” (yeah, used to hear that on a daily basis here). It’s not a game. It’s not fun. You’re talking about making a person, hello? I feel weird when people say “oh you’re mixed? That’s why you’re pretty!” No, I’m pretty enough because my mother is gorgeous and I took after her and my also gorgeous Ukrainian grand-mother. My dad is ugly lol, I’m sorry but it’s true. Should I have looked more like him, I would have looked bad, that’s it. So people need to stop with that legend of mixed-race people looking more healthy or whatever. It’s no ultimate human thing. I said it: some are stupid, mean, ugly, useless (I sound rude but hey, we all know some people are like that lol) and that’s the case for every race, every ethnic group, every group of humans.

Finally now, colorism is a problem within the black community itself as some of them do value lighter tones of skin more. At least, where my mother was born, it is a problem. That’s the challenge. But I’m pretty positive it is changing. And if I’m in the middle of that, by the way, it’s not because I’m trying to be black, sympathetic or anything, remember I have a black parent. I’m “part” of the community through her. Now it doesn’t make me just black at all. But how can you totally cut me from the community she is a part of? It looks kinda hard to me. But on that, I might be wrong, I’m still trying to figure this one out. Maybe that’s because actually, in our case, our community is more our country so that makes it possible? Well she is a proud black woman though haha.

Anyways. How about making peace with yourself and becoming the example, the role model you wish you had as a kid? Don’t waste time being angry or even salty. Here, something positive: you saw the problem so make it better because you most probably can. And people will be thankful for it.

Good night!

#colorism #black people #mixed race #mixed #white people

[voidsettle]

Summer Junction: Small Balkans

                                                                                                       May-June 2018

Chasing the last-August experience of a region-wide country run, we started planning for our next trip, something southern this time. We wanted some history from the old towns, scorching heat of the sun over bright sea, and long vistas of the mountain ranges. Montenegro became the basis for the plan. But why settle for one if you can have more? We were going wild.

Sveti Stefan, Budva, Montenegro

Full 2 weeks were spent in careful preparations. We were throwing in Hungary and Serbia before and Bosnia and Croatia in between. The original plan grew from a tour around one country to five, some of them added (almost) against our wills. We had to fly through Budapest - our airlines had rather cheap tickets to the destination city. From there, it was hit-and-miss travel by every kind of transport you'd imagine. Bus? Plenty. Car? Repeat the hitchhiking experience. Train? Make it two.

First Stop: Budapest, Hungary

Fisherman's Bastion over Danube, Budapest, Hungary

Arriving at Budapest, we had several hours - it was but a short stop before the night train to Serbia.

Whenever I'm in Budapest, there are three things I'm looking forward to: enjoy the vista from the Fisherman's Bastion, visit Szechenyi Thermal Baths and have a taste of Hungarian Tokay.

Last time when I was in Hungary, I got lost somewhere in Pest and ended up deciphering another tourist's instructions in German (which was mutually poor but delivered fun experience nonetheless). This time I finally got to creating a mind map of major sites and attractions. No that I can definitely find Budapest Opera if left at the central train station, but a can guess the general direction at the very least.

Fun at Fisherman's Bastion

Besides, the good thing about traveling on your own (without a guide and a group of whiny tourists tagging along) is that you achieve the level of liberating enlightenment never to be experienced in your own country. It usually takes several days for this skill to kick in. I was all the more surprised as this expanding feeling bubbled in my chest as I descended into Budapest subway.

While in Budapest, you absolutely must visit one of the thermal baths, the relaxing and soothing experience best after a long walk around the city.

I personally prefer the ones in Szechenyi Park because of the sheer scope and variety - inside the pavilions, under the open sky, cooling, warm, hot - whatever you heart desires. Just visiting one by one will take around 2 hours, so better come with some spare time on your hands.

I must say, the Hungarian capital was truly underestimated by me. I definitely plan on going back and add a couple more to-dos to my usual itinerary: visit the Opera, roam through the halls of National Gallery, have a slow stroll on Margaret Island, and taste much more local delicacies.

What to see:

Fisherman's Bastion

Matthias Church

Gellert Hill and the Citadella

Hungarian National Gallery at Buda Castle

Hungarian Parliament

Szechenyi Chain Bridge and its tongueless lions

Margit hid (Margaret Bridge)

Ruins of the Fransciscan church on Margaret Island

Szechenyi Thermal Bath

What to eat:

goulash (thick paprika soup/stew)

libamaj (goose liver)

fried duck

chicken paprikas with dumplings

halaszle (fish soup with paprika and tomato sauce)

langos (basically fast food)

kremes (cream cake)

somloi galuska (biscuit with custard)

chestnut puree

kurtoskalacs (vanilla and citrus pastry)

Tokay wine

palinka (fruit brandy)

Second Stop: Beograd, Serbia

View on the junction of Sava and Danube from Belgrade Fortress, Beograd, Serbia

First things first, a cry of pain to Serbian trains: they are immensely, unbelievably hideous. But such fun!

Truly, after Ukrainian railroads I believed I've seen it all - oh how thoroughly mistaken I was! The compartments are shabby and worn out, nearly everything is torn or broken, just on this side of usability, the wall facing the passageway is made of plexiglass delivering a (not so) beautiful view of your sleeping face to anyone happening to pass by. And the cherry on the top: they have four (which is standard for Ukraine and, I believe, most of Eastern European countries) and six (?!) seat compartments. Preordering the tickets, we were so curious that we couldn't miss the opportunity to travel in a six seat one (aside from it being slightly cheaper).

Three floors of the six-seat compartment on a Serbian train from Budapest

What it meant on practice was literally three floors. The first of which basically was a seat standing on the floor (when sitting, my knees were before my eyes), and the last had only around half a meter to the ceiling. Basically no storage place. It was truly scary sleeping both on and underneath these seats.

I keep wondering if we got lucky that the two middle seats were (obviously) non-functional, so we only had two other poor unfortunate souls to share this sorry excuse of a compartment. On the other hand, the experience was so bizarre and unique that I couldn't keep myself from laughing hysterically. Not sure any of my companions comprehended my mirth.

On the brighter note, Beograd is one of those cities that don't care the least for you as a tourist. One day is pretty much enough to see everything there is to see, the major attraction being, of course, the Belgrade Fortress with its rich history protecting the city (thus the clash of architectural styles), vast park area below leading your eye to the joint of Danube and Sava rivers, and quaint winding passages that lead to different courts, half-hidden castles and fortifications.

Beograd Fortress

Lost somewhere in its area, I caught this wonderfully serene moment of pre-summer heat hammering down the irregular stone-paved trails, deafening crickets and the dizzying smell of grasses and red poppies (that are all over the place, magical beyond belief).

The city shows itself. Walking from the fortress down Knez Mihailova Street, you find yourself at the National Museum. A little to the South, ruins left after the NATO bombing stay proud in the middle of the bustling city. And then there's the Cathedral of Saint Sava, quite the monumental construction to mark the grand aspirations of Serbian nation. It is one of the largest churches in the world, and one that is still being built, starting in 1935. That tells you something about the nation.

If you don't have much time, take the round tram #2 to see all the major sites in city center. You'll miss something, for sure, but it's a good way to start your acquaintance.

And don't forget to get yourself familiar with the people - they're quite the friendly type. My friend's shoe tore at the most inopportune moment, and we were looking for something that'd help keep it together. Asking in one of the shops where we could buy glue, the owner not only told us how to get to the closest place but he personally walked us there. At yet another instance, a woman we asked directions from spent quite some time (and probably missed her bus) to make sure we know how to get to the Cathedral of Saint Sava. Using Serbian and gestures; pure incomprehensible joy.

What to see:

Beograd Fortress

Knez Mihailova Street and the pedestrian area

Ruins of Yugoslav General Staff from 1999 NATO bombing

National Museum (with one if not the largest Impressionist painting collection in Europe)

St Mark's Church

Cathedral of Saint Sava

Church of Saint Alexander of Neva

What to eat:

cevapi/cevapcici (regional delicacy, variations met throughout the Balkans - basically grilled meat in flatbread with chopped onions)

kajmak (cheese)

Karadordeva snicla (meat stuffed with cheese)

sarma (meat rolled in sour cabbage leaves)

musaka (potato and meat casserole)

ajvar (vegetable side dish)

pljeskavica (meat in flatbread)

cvarci (fried pork rinds)

rakia (fruit brandy; do you start noticing patterns yet?)

Third Stop: Underground Train and First Glance at Montenegro

Ruins of Bedem Castle, Niksic, Montenegro

Unlike traditional tourists, we decided to take a whole day off sight-seeing to indulge in traveling at its utmost. Moreover, the whole detour to Serbia was solely for the purpose of catching this train: Beograd, Serbia to Bar, Montenegro. We wanted to get our hands and eyes on mountains as soon as possible - and boy, did we get our fill!

If you get a chance to travel from Belgrade to Montenegro by train, by all means do. You won't regret a moment of it.

Train Beograd, Serbia - Bar, Montenegro

Actually, before the trip, I had my doubts: spending the whole day sitting in train, with nothing but observing natural beauties for over 10 hours; I thought we'd be bored to death by the end of hour 2. I didn't factor in the underground traveling - all in all, after spending the lion's share of the trip counting and noting the time, our route amounted to nearly 200 tunnels and almost hour and a half under ground in Serbia alone.

The longest tunnel is nearly 5 km long. I even counted the speed of underground travel - approximately 15 mph, a lower speed due to the danger of high mountain travel. Curiously, in Montenegro, the speed in tunnels was considerably higher, even though we didn't manage to uncover the reason.

One more thing to note is the considerably higher quality of Montenegrin trains. Compared to that taking us from Budapest to Beograd, this was nearly comfortable. I don't know the reason, but air-con was only available in one carriage (coincidentally, the one we were in), and it wasn't shying away from its function. I was freezing by the end of hour one, and went out in search of something to warm up. In other carriages, people were clustering by the windows, catching air, vistas and smoking.

Smoking right under the sign 'Smoking prohibited'

Thus, I anchored myself in the buffet car (calling it 'restaurant' wouldn't do; they offered no food) with a permanent cup of coffee before me. This was my little yet unforgettable time - the amalgam of beautiful mountain ranges flashing by outside the window, hot coffee and a cozy book that I prudently brought along. Light chatter of the trainmen fought with cigarette smoke in the air, the rattling of the train creating snug and quaint ambiance.

We arrived to Podgorica after sunset. The first glance at Montenegro delivered the unique feeling of living on the roofs - the room we were staying at had an exit right near the red shingles of the neighbor house. While I was having cup of tea before bed, a woman casually strolled on top of the roof nearby to hang the clothes to dry.

Despite the status of the capital and the largest city in Montenegro, Podgorica more often that not creates the feeling of a medium-sized deeply provincial town. Hidden behind the mountainous hills, far from the seaside, the city doesn't enjoy the influx of tourists during summer seasons but also boasts a warmer climate in winter.

And so we followed the route inland, leaving the Adriatic for the last part of our journey. My friend, the terrifyingly stubborn woman, woke me up at 4 in the morning to catch the train to Ostrog.

If I was to advise for Ostrog, I would not. And I'm unlikely to repeat the experience in the future.

Ostrog, Montenegro

That was one of a hellish trip for me - high up in the mountain, hides a Christian Orthodox church shrine. Sounds better than it is in reality. Well. It does look nice, I must admit - the chambers cut out in the sheer rock and all. But I'd argue not worth the effort put in.

Given I'm not religious and a late-sleeper, the way up the mountain trail early in the morning thoroughly irritated me. My mood didn't better at seeing how the 'religious' folks arrived right by the entrance in buses and cars - the hypocritical bastards. I guess we had a fight with my friend, who is much more loyal toward Christian religion and keeping faces. The things we give away.

Besides, the timing was really off - the vistas from high up the mountain are pretty bland early in the morning. The angle of the sun was just not right. The whole place in the morning looks like a refugee camp, with dirty mats and plaids for those willing to spend the chilly night on the monastery grounds. The whole place feels weird.

Camping outside the Ostrog monastery, 900 m above sea level

I was much more cheerful as we were leaving the damned-- I mean, sacred place.

By this time, we were at our basic premise: high in the mountains, half an hour by car to our interim destination, several hours before anything goes the way we need,  and a choice between astonishingly hideous weather and heavy backpacks. There was that trip to Crete where we were basically blind and death from the wind, cursing the moment we decided to go through the mountains on foot.

Our fallback is hitch-hiking fellow travelers to take pity on us and give us a lift. This time, we were picked up by a nice couple from Belarus who brought us right to Niksic. Unexpectedly, the city appeared more interesting than we imagined. I loved the ruins of the local castle. At one moment, the atmosphere was distinctly medieval - the lush green pastures outside the half-preserved walls, the grey grim limestone and delicate, full of color flowerheads taking over the reign in this place. That glimpse of centuries long gone sent a shiver down my spine, and was gone as fast as it appeared.

Bedem castle, Niksic

Today, the castle ruins serve as a concert hall for the local youth - naturally, the larger part of the stone is covered in graffiti, and we've met a couple of sturdy young boys at the foot of the castle, unloading what looked like heavy sound equipment boxes. We had to sacrifice half a bottle of water as an entrance fee.

After an ice-cream and a meditation over the neat and apparently old cemetery, we headed for the bus station to catch a ride to Sarajevo. And, oh, did our adventures only begin!

The same way as I was rumbling about Serbian trains - one should be aware of the buses in Montenegro.

The worst part? Not enough seats. The bus we got was tiny, more like a minivan. We were forced to take our bags inside and to stand the whole way to Bosnia (2.5 hours to the border, same to Sarajevo). I wasn't even trying, sitting down in the aisle as soon as we started off. I got through the first hour alright, catching a casual conversation with a guy from Albania sitting beside me. And then the air stopped circulating (at least where I was sitting), and I don't remember most of the way to the Bosnian border.

I got a seat somewhere along the ride. When we arrived in Sarajevo, I was so tired that it was nearly blissful - I don't think I was the slightest bit worried when we got the message from our to-be host that we couldn't be accommodated at their place that night. Fortunately, we caught decent free Wi-Fi in the middle of the Bosnian capital. Last thing I actually remember from that day is reconciling with my friend over the religious matters and thinking before falling into darkness that nothing could surprise me during this trip anymore.

Descending the Ostrog mountain, panorama dipped in morning haze

What to see:

Sahat kula, Podgorica (clock tower)

Ostrog (take this up at your own risk, and, by gods, do not go on foot, you won't be getting out)

Church of Sv Vasilje, Niksic

Bedem castle, Niksic

What to eat:

prshut (dried meat)

cevapcici

pleskavitsa/roshtil (fried and grilled meat)

sopsky salat (vegetable salad with cheese)

ribla chorba (fish soup)

Negusi cheese

meat burek with yogurt

sarma

Vranac (red wine) and Krstach (white wine)

Niksicko beer

desserts: baklava, tulumba, shampita, vanilice, padobranci

Fourth Stop: Two Pearls of Bosnia and Herzegovina

Breakfast at panorama over Sarajevo, Ispod Grada, Bosnia and Herzegovina

For Sarajevo, I was really hyped even before the trip. The primary reason was, of course, the history of this place. Point of focus: the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie triggering World War I. Time: June 28, 1914, 10 in the morning. Place: Latin Bridge.

As I was fangirling over the epic episode, I should also mention the sheer delight of this city. Sarajevo is filled with the distinctly Turkish ambiance (visiting Istanbul three months prior, I could not ignore the similarities between the two cities) - and yet it's a European capital. It has the tiny street teahouses with old men chatting and smoking their days away, muezzins shouting early in the morning, heavily clothed women and bubbling Eastern bazaars. But it also has eclectic architecture, Mediterranean cobbled streets flowing down the mountainous hills to the Miljacka river, and 15th to 19th century Christian churches. Starting at the White Fortress crowning the city, we roamed down the winding streets to the river bank, than had a real breakfast in the labyrinth of Bascarsija (I'm ashamed I still cannot pronounce that) and then made a stop for coffee at Cajdzinica Dzirlo.

Cajdzinica Dzirlo and it's host

I don't usually give personal opinions of places to eat - they change to fast, and TripAdvisor still does it better. But this one is the number and a renown site of its own - people who know Sarajevo will surely know this little teahouse in the city center. Take all the best things you want during your tea/coffee time, and you get this place.

Splendid drinks with plenty of choice. Ambiance and atmosphere supported by great view. Perfect location near Bascarsija. Most welcoming, authentic and fun host.

You feel as the dearest of friends not a random tourist. This place is a must for a perfect trip. I'd come back to Bosnia just to visit here again.

Besides, it's here that I fell in love with Bosnian coffee (a direct take-away from the Turkish coffee of the Ottoman Empire). I was already fond of the Turkish way to drink black thick coffee. In Bosnia, it is served with a sweet refreshing sherbet (ideally; more commonly, it's a glass of cold water) and a bite of Turkish delight on the side - perfect combination for a hot day.

As a side attraction, I learned how to serve and drink Bosnian coffee. Coffee is made in cezve and served along with another cezve of hot water. First comes adding the water to the coffee and some light stirring. Then coffee creme is carefully gathered from the top and put in the kahve finjani, a tiny porcelain cup in a metal stand. Coffee is poured in afterwards, resulting in a cup of strong, fragrant and relaxing marvel. A sip of coffee is alternated with a gulp of sherbet - I don't think I ever had a better drink.

Combined with the elevated view of the city center and the flocks of pigeons pirouetting around the roofs, this was the experience that ultimately summed up Sarajevo and this whole vacation for me. Yet the Bosnian adventures continued. Walking around the city and gaping at the listed attractions, we were caught in a dreadful storm. It rolled down the mountain tops in low black clouds, rumbling and growling as a wild animal and then pouring down in ice beads the size of a fingernail.

Latin Bridge before the storm ensued

Me and my friend, we have this weird thing we do on the photos, arms and legs spread around in a semblance of a six-pointed star. We do that once per every new city we visit, and, due to the plan, Latin Bridge was the designated site for Sarajevo. We failed spectacularly though, taking cover from the hailstorm on the tram stop for nearly half an hour.

As the storm subsided and turned into regular heavy rain, we plodded through the streets, knee-deep in murky, chalky, coffee-and-milk colored water, ultimately happy. The traffic was hideous, we missed our train, wet head to toe (I literally poured water out of my shoes) - yet I don't remember a better time from this trip. Besides, we caught the best cevapcici near the bus station - and they were prepared lighting-fast, we were shocked at the speed. Sitting in the bus (finally comfortable) taking us to Mostar, we were languidly enjoying the slack feeling of being prepared for anything coming our way.

Mostar old town and Stari most, view from the minaret of Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque

If you get a chance to walk around Mostar at nighttime, enjoy the lightwork, the cozy streets and the coolness of the evenings near Neretva.

Compared to Sarajevo, Mostar is tiny, one of those exclusively tourist destinations that have one major attraction, a couple of minor sites and plenty of ambiance beckoning huge crowds year after year. In a way, it resembles Kazimierz Dolny but with the whimsical quirk of Turkish and Southern European minutiae framing the singular character of the town.

Naturally, the crowds flock on and around the Old bridge, the main site of Mostar. As for me, the narrow painfully cobbled streets (do try to wear shoes with thicker soles) outcharmed the bridge.

Neretva river and panorama of Mostar from Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque's minaret

There is a choice of cozy hidden gems: the Crooked bridge is less famous but instead drowning in greenery. The beach under the Old bridge gives the ability to dip your feet into Neretva (the water is freezing, we nearly got cramps while hastily taking photos - but it's clear and wonderfully refreshing under the blazing sun). The garden of the Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque offers enchantingly picturesque view of the river and small houses under red roofs, transforming the town into an artist's paradise.

It's also possible to get up the minaret of Koski Mehmed Pasina mosque, an activity I believed to be forbidden for non-muezzins, non-Muslims and (even more so) females. The spinning stairs inside the minaret are entertainingly narrow, the balcony on top offers a grand view. And the mere fact of being in a half-prohibited place was enough to pleasantly tickle the nerves and positively reinforce the experience.

What to see in Sarajevo:

Bljela tabija (White fortress)

Zuta tabija (Yellow fortress)

City Hall

Latin Bridge

Bascarsija

Sebilj

Old Orthodox Church

Cathedral of Jesus' Heart

Orthodox Cathedral

Gazi Husrev Bey' Mosque and Bezistan

Taslihan

Lunar clock

Old Synagogue (Museum of the Jews of Bosnia and Herzegovina)

What to see in Mostar:

Stari most (Old bridge)

Crooked bridge

Koski Mehmed Pasina dzamija

Karadoz-begova dzamija

Mostar Peace Bell tower

What to eat:

cevapi

meat under sac (veal or lamb cooked under special lid)

cufte (meatballs)

duvec (vegetable stew)

drasak (pea stew)

ajvar

somun (flatbread)

ustipci (fried dough balls)

Bosnian coffee (and I cannot stress this enough!)

salep

serbe (sherbet)

ajran (salty yogurt drink)

Fifth Step: Dubrovnik, Croatia

The walls of Dubrovnik, Croatia

Dubrovnik is another historic town heavy on tourists, and for a good reason: it's gorgeous. The beauty of city walls unparalleled, Dubrovnik is truly the pearl of the Adriatic sea. The preservation of the old town is worthy of praise, on par with old Tallinn. But that's it - talking about Croatian people, they're quite the unwelcoming type.

To get from Mostar to Dubrovnik, one has to cross the Bosnian-Croatian border tree times. In and out, and in again, and all in just under two hours. And the border guards stamp your passport every time.

The tension of Croatians runs high. From our hostess to most waiters, locals don't seem friendly at all - a surprising fact given the contagious amicability of Bosnians. The prices in Dubrovnik are also considerably higher while coffee is considerably worse (although, to tell the truth, after Bosnia, every cup of coffee I had was so-so at best).

Yet, despite the ranting, Dubrovnik truly is a city with its own character. The first impression was: stairs. The whole Balkan region is like that, built on the hillsides, streets narrow and oftentimes only suited for pedestrians. Dubrovnik is the quintessence of the concept. The hills it is built on are indented with stair-streets, and the road for cars winds and twists, curling in circles through the city like a giant snake. To get from point A to point B, it is easier to clamber up the stairs. Besides, one gets all the best views that way.

Stradun with the belltower of Franciscan monastery, Dubrovnik, Croatia

The old town is enchanting. The narrow streets tightened in the restrains of smooth stone are cool and soothing at sunset. Dark green shutters emphasize the rhythm of the delicate houses. Our early evening in Dubrovnik was drowning in pinkish haze, enchanting and amorous, and the screams of seagulls cluttered up the slowly darkening skies.

The city was built by Venetians, the fact completely obvious to anyone remotely acquainted with architecture. Lacking the tell-tale canals, Dubrovnik instead becomes the labyrinth of tiny streets, a photographer's wet dream at every turn. Stradun, the major street, is full of tourists, day or night, but the back streets are shatteringly quiet as the night falls, almost to the point of feeling haunted.

Panorama of Dubrovnik from city walls: red roofs and Franciscan belltower

The city transforms by the daytime. The blistering sun reflects from the smooth surfaces of the white stone and hits you from all sides: it truly is scorchingly hot. The city walls bring no relief; even the sea breeze is but a short refreshment.

A hat, a bottle of water and a sunscreen are obligatory items on the walls of Dubrovnik anytime from April to October.

But oh the vistas the minute details! Walking around the whole old town and observing how it was built and how it lives from the height of the walls, one is immersed in the history of the relationship between Venetians, this great seapower, and the Balkan region, the focus of their constant conflicts with the Turks. Catching glimpses of inner yards and narrow streets, it is easy to imagine how people lived several centuries ago - as it seems nothing changed much.

The city walls are full of tourists, naturally; a different experience is provided by fort Lovrijenac to the west of the city. Not only it gives a different perspective of Dubrovnik, but is also more spacious as a fortification and is closer to nature (the gorge under its walls lets the imagination run free and create hidden grottoes and caves full of wonders, treasures and sunken ships).

Dubrovnik is surely a city one must visit. If time permits, it's good to have a swim in the Adriatic sea, enjoy the famous Croatian beaches, get up to the fortress on the top of the hill to catch a glimpse of the whole city, and indulge in the rich history. But overstaying your visit is not wise when the much more hospitable Montenegro is just in a couple of hours drive down the coast.

What to see:

old town

St Francis church

Large Onofrio's Fountain

Dominican monastery

crkva Svetog Spasa

Sponza Palace

Orlandov stup

Mala Onofrijeva Fontana

Rector's Palace

St Blaise church

St Ignatius church

Church of the Annunciation

city walls (Bokar, Minceta, Saint John, Buza gate)

Fort Lovrijenac

Lokrum island

Carska tvrdava

What to eat:

raznjici (meat skewers)

zagrebacki odrezak (stuffed veal steak)

lignje (squid)

salata od hobotnice (octopus salad)

crni rizot (cuttlefish risotto)

manestra (soup)

zganci (polenta)

palacinke (crepes)

rozata (creme cake)

Malvazija (dessert wine)

Coming Back to Montenegro

Crkva Svete Klare/Svetog Antuna, Kotor, Montenegro

Planning the trip, it's important to have calm days mixed into the mass of those full of mad activity.

Herceg Novi was our first in the row of more relaxing experiences, a good choice with its lush green streets cascading down the mountain to the Bay of Kotor and the quaint atmosphere of a pre-tourist season. A comparatively young city, it still bears the scars of Venetian dominion, flaunting the old fortress, dark and grey and heavy over the light touristy air of the coast resort.

According to the newly established tradition, I got a day off the trip to catch up with my friend from work who moved with his family to Herceg Novi couple of years back. The rest of the two days were submerged in a daze of slow breakfasts, warm days that tasted like strawberry and tepid waves licking away the tiredness of the feet.

What to see in Herceg Novi:

Citadella

Forte Mare

Crkva Svetog Jeronima

Church of Holy Archangel Michael

Sahat Kula

Kanli Kula

Kotor old town, view of the Fort of St John

For the next day, we picked our speed up, cramming in Kotor and Tivat, and a circle trip around the Bay of Kotor. I still have my regrets about not being able to make a stop in Perast and pay respects to the famous island Our Lady of the Rocks.

The good thing about Kotor is that, although there are many things to see, they are all clustered together (like old well-preserved towns tend to do) - you only need a day to see it all. The only exception is the Fort of St John - probably the main attraction of Kotor, not counting the old town itself.

The streets of Kotor old town

The popularity of this place is primarily based on three things: its age (including historic and militaristic value starting from VI century), the magnificent views it gives from the top over the Bay of Kotor, and its sheer size (it's one of the most significant fortifications of this type in Europe, with 4.5 km long walls).

Kotor may lack the posh sumptuousness of Dubrovnik and the green curvy coziness of Mostar. Yet it is definitely its own thing, a small intimately built town in the clutches of grey stone with sultry air of tiny squares with towering churches and cathedrals, with palaces on every step - Kotor feels like a museum.

What to see in Kotor:

Gurdic Gate (South Gate)

St Triphun's Cathedral

The Drago Palace

The Pima Palace

The Buca Palace

The Palace Bizanti

The Sea Gate with the Tower of Town Guards

The Clock Tower

Duke Palace

Arsenal Building

Crkva Svete Klare/Svetog Antuna

Crkva Sv Nikole

Crkva Sv Luke

Crkva Sv Mihaila

Karampana

The Grgurina Palace

Crkva Sv Ana

Svete Marije Koledate

North Gate

Kotor's Castle of San Giovanni

Church of Our Lady of Health

Fort of St John

Dancing Girl Statue with a view of Old Budva

We spent the night in nearby Tivat - not a historic but resort destination, a city full of luxurious hotels and yachts shimmering off the competing degrees of splendor. As the high season didn't start yet, the city was immersed in a sluggish slumber.

Budva, on the other hand, as the major tourist hub of Montenegro, was boiling and lively, offering a bit of everything. UNESCO-protected old town neighbored fashionable boutiques and giant malls. Quay was full of restaurants offering meats and seafoods of all sorts, narrow streets of old town offered cozier cafes and confectioneries. The beaches, both in-town and on the close-by 'Hawaii' island, beckon with warm transparent water and hidden caverns ready for relaxation or exploration.

The old town of Budva is comparatively small. Half a day is enough to explore it - but the best part about it is the many cozy back streets, dead ends and cubbies that tell their small stories and beckon you to rest and observe the world around.

There is a small street that always has cats pooling under one of the windows - obviously a feeding place. An inner yard of Citadela features a cafe under bright white umbrellas - the perfect combination with old stone, deep blue sea and the green vines to create the true Mediterranean feel. One of the buildings has an old library turned posh restaurant with displayed models of the famous ships.

I've found my favorite cozy little place on the thick wall of the old town near Ricardova Glava beach. A small square surrounded by churches used for concerts and often featuring weddings. A quaint corner of the earth that caught my attention as a street musician was lightly plucking guitar strings for a mellow, sweetly sorrowful melody interweaving into the song of the wind. I go back in my memories to that place - hot crude stone behind my back, sun and seagulls over my head, and fresh warm breeze in my face.

The second day was completely dedicated to exploring the beaches of Budva. The beaches of the tourist zone are sandy; the old town has pebbles.

One of the beaches on Hawaii island, Budva

Seeing Ricardova Glava for the first time, the scene catches one off guard: people are bathing in the clear waters of Adriatic sea right under the rough walls of the church dating back to 840 AD built of darkened pebbles and whitened mortar, battered by time and seawinds. The narrow walk from Ricardova Glava to Mogren beaches conceals a set of hidden gems - from Dancing Girl Statue (one of the symbols of Budva) to the rugged, indented mountain walls on one side and the rocky coast on the other, open-air vista of the sea and Hawaii island, leading to the ambitious route over the rocks and boulders to yet another viewpoint of the city.

And then there's the Hawaii island. Boats take turns to drop off locals and tourists alike on the island full of beaches suited for every taste, with cozy lagoons and hidden grottos.

Best to take the boat that makes a detour to Sveti Stefan - the most luxurious island in the vicinity of Budva, completely covered in medieval red-roofed white-stoned houses and requiring a permit just to get in, people roaming from the coast to the town walls during low tides.

What to see in Budva:

old town

Citadela

Ruins of a Roman church

St Jean Baptist church

Church of the Holy Trinity

Church built in 840 AD

Former St Sara church

Poet plaza

Roman grave

Ricardova Glava (beach)

Dancing Girl Statue

Mogren beaches

Hawaii (island of Sv Nikolai)

Crkva Sv Nikolai (Hawaii)

island of Sveti Stefan

Zipline near Durdevica Tara Bridge, Montenegro

Our last day was decided beforehand.

Everyone going to Montenegro advises to take a tour of Tara canyons. True, the nature is absolutely worth seeing - although I'd prefer taking my time at certain places not rushing as the guided tours do.

I don't know if it's typical of this mountainous region, but that day was rainy, getting us wet from time to time. Durmitor actually got me soaked through to my bones - it's usually chilly here, and the rain made its contribution. But the nature is breathtaking - the dark, nearly black pines, the incredible ravines of rugged sharp stones and brash winds, the sweeping rivers of boiling, madly foaming water, the weak bushes clinging to the tiniest cracks and crevices, and gradually fading off to give way to the bare rocks precipitously piercing the high skies.

Zipline across the Durdevica Tara Bridge actually allowed to experience the void first-hand.

Tara canyon, Montenegro

Forget the 'short line is as good as the long one'. No it's not. It's short - meaning that it takes nearly half of your time on the zipline away from you.

The first moment was quite scary due to the push at the back I got from one of the guys who geared me up - but the anxious thoughts of my-god-there's-five-hundred-feet-of-nothing-under-me were almost immediately swept out of my head by the sheer rapture of damn-I'm-flying-and-it's-so-beautiful. That's something to experience by yourself, no one will be able to translate it to you accurately.

The final adventure was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Summer snow is an occurrence I've never yet experienced in my life - that is, before this trip. Hail is not that common but it happens from time to time (there's one in my memory from when I was around 7, where the hails were the size of a child's fist). But the one we encountered on our way back from the Montenegrin black forests was unprecedented - not only it was accompanied by strong wind and showers but also covered the ground in freezing white blanket, the strangest sight among the rich, plentiful wild greens. The trip back was soothing and distressing at once, with the soft rocking of the comfortable bus on the winding mountain roads and the rapid rapping of hail over the roof.

Big Finale

The Hawaii Beach, Budva, Montenegro

Coming back to Kiev, I was firm in my belief: best trips happen when you plan everything yourself, encounter a bunch of weird and fun adventures and meet challenges head-on. This Balkan tour reconciled me with my turbulent self: the bad things, the good things - it's worth saluting everything that comes our way. What's a trip without obstacles; what's a trip that tells you nothing about yourself, people you travel with and world around you? Cheers!

#balkans #budapest #hungary #beograd #serbia #podgorica #ostrog #niksic #montenegro #sarajevo #mostar #bosnia and herzegovina #dubrovnik #croatia #herceg novi #kotor #tivat #budva #tara

[rose-of-pollux]

The Skull Cove Lighthouse Affair (MFU fic), part 1 / 4

Part 1 of my annual Halloween fic!

Title: The Skull Cove Lighthouse Affair Rating: PG13 (for action/danger) Chapter summary: After a heavy fog strands Napoleon and Illya at an old lighthouse converted to a bed & breakfast, the duo find themselves in the middle of an otherworldly mystery from a hundred years ago. Notes: This version of the fic (cross-posted to AO3) is light slash; if you prefer reading gen, there is a gen version on ff.net.

                                     Act I: A Foggy Night in Maine

Illya scowled as the fog thickened as he drove along the cliffside path upon the Maine shores.

“This is exactly what we do not need,” he muttered.  “If it gets any thicker, I would be concerned of going off the road.”

“That would be a bad thing, given the Atlantic Ocean being right there,” Napoleon said, trying to navigate with a map and a flashlight in the front passenger seat.  “According to this map and feedback from our trackers, we should be approaching Skull Cove.”

“…A welcoming name, it is not,” Illya deadpanned.

“Well it was intentional—the cove was the sight of so many shipwrecks until the lighthouse was built—some even after,” Napoleon said, now reading from a tour guide.  “When ships eventually rerouted to other ports, the lighthouse was closed and fell into disrepair until about ten years ago, when it was converted to a bed and breakfast.  …Hey, maybe we can stop here for the night; I’d rather sit this fog out than try to drive through it.”

“As would I,” Illya said. “Just where is this lighthouse?’

“Well, offhand, I would say it’s that great big light in the fog over there,” Napoleon said.  He paused, marveling at the light—specifically, the bright blue shade of the light.  “Must be neon or something.”

“Mmh,” Illya grunted, not sounding impressed.  Nevertheless, he was eager for a rest and drove in the direction of the light. Eventually, the lighthouse itself came into view; Illya parked alongside the other cars that had been parked there already.

“Skull Cove Lighthouse Bed and Breakfast,” Illya read off of the sign.  “I hope they have some sort of fixings for dinner, as well.”

“If not, we have our rations,” Napoleon assured him.  “And I brought extra--thankfully, I planned ahead in case we did end up with some unintended delays.”

Illya looked to him in relief.

“I could kiss you.”

“Oh, please do,” Napoleon said, eagerly.

“…You are shameless,” Illya chided.  “But I can’t deny you when you have asked so nicely.”  He kissed him as they walked the pathway to the front door.

Napoleon grinned and kissed him back before they entered the lighthouse.  The main room at the base of the structure was both a lobby and a dining room, with a kitchen walled off separately.

“Quaint,” Napoleon commented.

“And I see food,” Illya added, in approval, as he saw a young man serving salad to two young women, a man in his 30s, and a slightly older businessman at the table.  The young man seemed to be trying to chat with the two women; one of them seemed to be completely uninterested in what he had to say, but the other was clearly egging him on.

“Junior, leave those ladies alone!” the middle-aged desk clerk chided him.  “We have new guests, anyway!”  He looked to Napoleon and Illya and acknowledged them with a nod.  “Good evening, Boys.  I’m James Hawthorne, proprietor of this establishment.  You’ll have to excuse my son; those two young ladies are fresh off the boat from Italy, and they’re turning the boy’s head. Now, then…  I presume you two are here for a room?”

“That would be why we are here, yes,” Illya said.

“Well, you boys are lucky—you’ve got the last one,” Mr. Hawthorne said.  “We don’t have that many rooms here in this old lighthouse—not that we usually need any, since most folks stay just for a night because of fog banks like this.”

“What do you do in the off-season?” Napoleon wondered.

“We also run a ski lodge in the winter in Colorado,” James Jr. said.  “Can I take your bags up to your room?”

“Just this one, please; we’ll keep the rest with us for now,” Napoleon said, handing over his overnight bag; the rest of their luggage contained sensitive equipment—things they weren’t going to let out of their sight for a moment.

The younger Hawthorne shrugged and did as he was instructed as his father handed Napoleon and Illya the keys.

“You can sit down and have dinner with the rest of the guests,” he said, indicating the small, circular table.  “The ladies and Mr. Fusco are passing through, like you.”  He indicated the businessman, who was grumpily eating, clearly wanting to be elsewhere, but had been stranded by the fog.

“And what about that gentleman?” Illya asked, indicating the man in his 30s, who was eating with one hand and perusing through an untidily-scribbled notebook with the other. “What’s his story?”

“That’s Lawrence Schuler, self-proclaimed ‘Chronicler of the Unexplained.’  He’s… an eccentric feller,” Hawthorne said, diplomatically. “He’s been here for a few days now, eager to catch a glimpse of the ghost ship and write about it.”

Illya froze, his expression fixed upon his face.

“I’m sorry—the what?” he asked, as Napoleon let out a sigh.

“One hundred years ago, before this place had electric lights, a particularly bad storm doused the light in the lighthouse tower on Halloween night, and a merchant ship went down off the coast, taking most of the hands with it,” Hawthorne said. “They say that ghostly activity increases around this time of year—and it culminates with a sighting of the ship, the captain, and the crew that perished that night on Halloween.”

“…Halloween starts tomorrow at midnight,” Napoleon realized.  “Well, thankfully, we’ll be on our way by then.”

Illya exhaled and nodded, decidedly against dealing with the unexplained and otherworldly after the few run-ins with them that he and Napoleon had in the past.

“It’s quite a sight, I’m told,” Hawthorne said.

“I, ah…  You haven’t seen it?” Napoleon asked.

“Well…  To tell you the truth, I’m a mite nervous about seeing it,” Hawthorne admitted.  “My son and I usually don’t stay the night.  Even if Schuler will be here, we won’t be.  The place already has a chill tonight.”

“Well, maybe we can go up to the light and warm up there,” Napoleon mused, as he signed the register.

“The light?” Hawthorne asked.  “That light hasn’t worked in years; they don’t make wirings like that anymore—been meaning to have a new one installed for the aesthetic, but we never seem to get around to it.”

Illya slowly facepalmed as Napoleon’s eyes widened, recalling the light he had seen outside.

“But… I could have sworn I saw…”

“Was it a bright blue light?” James Jr. asked, coming back down the stairs.

“Yes, it was,” Napoleon said.  “I don’t suppose--”

“You saw the ghost light, Mr. …Solo,” the young man said, quickly glancing at Napoleon’s signature on the register to get his name.

“Who saw the ghost light!?” Schuler asked, looking up from the table.

This prompted the two Italian girls to roll their eyes as Fusco determinedly ignored the nonsense as Napoleon gave a sheepish wave to Schuler.  Schuler immediately got up, drew a chair to the spot between him and one of the Italian girls, and practically begged Napoleon to sit there and talk about what he saw.

Illya grumpily sat down opposite Napoleon, between Fusco and the other Italian girl; though he ate the food, he was still vexed at Schuler grabbing Napoleon’s attention away from him.

“Is there even a point to this discussion?” he asked.  “Napoleon likely was merely seeing things in the fog—it is late, and we are tired after a long day.”

“Illya’s right,” Napoleon said.  “I really don’t know what I was looking at—come to think of it, I’m questioning if I saw anything at all.”

“Illya?” Schuler said. “A Russian name?”

“Yes, I was born in Moscow—but I grew up in Kiev,” Illya replied, glad to turn the conversation away from ghosts.  “My mother’s side was Ukrainian.”

Schuler stared for a moment and took out another book of notes.

“What year were you born?”

“I was born in 1933. Why?” Illya asked, his eyebrows arching suspiciously.

“Hmm… a stretch, but it could work if she had married and had a child late!  That means you’d be the perfect age!”

“…For what…?”

“To be the son of the lost Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov!” Schuler said.  “One of the many theories is that, after her family was executed, she escaped and lived the rest of her life incognito—perhaps even in Ukraine! You could be a Romanov!”

Both Napoleon and Illya stared at him now.

“…Well, it is a stretch, as I said,” Schuler admitted.

“Stretched so far, it snapped,” Illya said, darkly.  “Is this what you do for a living?  Going around writing your own stories about unexplained incidents?”

“Oh, this stuff sells,” Schuler said.

“I’ll bet it does,” Napoleon mused.

“But all of this research I’ve done—all the hours spent doing interviews and reading old accounts… It’s time I witnessed a bizarre happening firsthand, and here is my chance to do so at last!” Schuler said. “Mr. Solo, you have to tell me what it is you saw!”

Napoleon shrugged and continued to explain that he could have seen just about anything—or nothing—in the fog.  Illya just shook his head and resumed eating, content knowing that they would be out of here in the morning and could distance themselves from this oddball.

“Mi scusi, Signore…”

Illya looked up, glancing at the Italian woman next to him.

“You said you are from Russia and the Ukraine?” she asked, her accent thick.

“Yes, but I will state here and now once again that I am not a Romanov,” Illya insisted.

“No, I didn’t think you were,” she said, through a laugh. “I wish to ask a question.  You have been in America… how long?”

Ah, so that was it—a new immigrant, seeking advice from a fellow immigrant.  Illya was sympathetic to that.

“I was in the UK first,” Illya said.  “I attended Cambridge.  And then I worked in Berlin for some time; I was transferred to New York in 1960.  So, I have been here ten years.”

“Ah,” she said.  “…Do you miss it?  Russia and the Ukraine?”

Illya paused.  He glanced across the table at Napoleon, who had zoned out listening to Schuler’s ramblings, his chin propped on his hand as he looked very, very bored indeed.  Despite himself, Illya smiled.

“Not anymore.”

The young lady smiled.

“Your amore?”

Illya nodded, blushing slightly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Si.  My little sister and I could see it as you came in,” she said.  She indicated the other young woman, who was now flirting with James Jr. again.  “I am Lotte Rigassi—that is my sister, Gina.”

“Illya Kuryakin,” he introduced himself.  “And that is my partner, Napoleon Solo.”

Lotte did a double-take at the name.

“Is he supposed to be named after--?”

“Yes,” Illya smirked. “When I was transferred 10 years ago, it was to help him on an assignment.  It was meant to be temporary, but…”

“Amore?”

“Amore,” Illya agreed.  “I ended up staying just to be with him, and I never once regretted it.”

Lotte nodded.

“Gina and I, we have not been here long enough to find our Special Ones yet,” she said.  “We were born in Sicily just after the war; very little was there for us.  My parents, they encouraged us to come here—instructed me to look after Gina.” She sighed, shaking her head as Gina continued to flirt with James Jr.  “She wants a Hollywood romance like she sees in the movies.  Trying to convince her to be realistic does nothing. Perhaps she is afraid of not finding someone.  …Sometimes, I am, too.”

“I had resigned myself to living the rest of my life alone, as well,” Illya said.  “But then I met Napoleon.  There’s hope for you yet—both of you.”

Lotte nodded.

“Grazi,” she said.  “For your kind words of encouragement.  I will have hope--”

She was cut off as the windows in the lobby and dining area suddenly burst open, sending a chill wind through the rooms—and in the wind, a ghostly wail was carried through the air. And the mist from outside inexplicably began pouring in through the windows, creeping across the floor and refusing to dissipate as fog normally would.

“What was that!?” Napoleon demanded, getting to his feet.  He then indicated the bizarre behavior of the fog.  “And what is this!?”

“Ghostly activity,” Schuler said, his eyes positively shining.  “This is it—this is exactly what I came here for!”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Illya said.  “But it could very easily be some local teens’ idea of a prank to try to get some laughs.”

He felt his pocket for his Special out of habit; Napoleon also did the same, and the two partners headed out the door, aiming to determine exactly what the source of this bizarre problem was.

#Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #the man from uncle #napollya #mfu fic #The Skull Cove Lighthouse Affair