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space-mermaid-writing · 20 days

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The Vamp and the Were [IronStrange]

Summary: Tony would mark the day he met a vampire that did not immediately jump at his throat. Just for once – that would be a nice change.

Relationship: Werewolf!Tony Stark / Vampire!Stephen Strange

Tags: hurt/comfort, idiots in love, angst, fluff

Chapter 10: BBQ

Stephen stepped into the cabin’s kitchen. “Do you know if there’s any tea here?”

“You drink tea?” Tony asked, genuinely surprised.

“Not really. I need it for a spell.”

“There should be some in there.” Tony pointed to the cabinets on the right and Stephen rummaged through them until he found a box of bagged tea. He couldn't read the label, but it smelled like herbs which was good enough for the spell.

He took one of the tea bags and ripped it open with his sharp fingernails, before he dumped the herbs into a mug. Without adding water, like Tony would have expected, Stephen closed his eyes to concentrate on reciting the spell. It was in Latin, which was actually quite unusual for magic, despite what all the movies tried to tell. But Latin was a universal translation language, and that made it perfect for this magic.

Stephen moved his fingers in delicate patterns and gold lines started to follow his movements. They became liquid and poured into the mug, until it was full of a steaming, golden-bronze drink.

Tony eyed it. “You could open a fancy restaurant with that trick.” He watched the Vamp down the cup. “How come you can stomach that? I thought vampires can only drink blood?”

“Magic is an exception.”

Of course it is, Tony thought. “And what does it do?”

“It’s a translation spell. So I can actually understand our host later.”

“Oh? That’s handy,” the Were said, easily switching into Italian to test the spell. “I could also have Jarvis assist you in that.”

The corners of Stephen's mouth twitched. “It still does sound like English to me. But I will automatically answer in the language that was spoken to me without noticing it.”

“That would be an instant hit on any international press conference.” Tony easily switched into Mandarin.

“It would have made my life so much easier if I had known that spell back in my surgeon days.” Stephen took the cloak from the back of a chair it was chilling on and folds it magically into a scarf he wrapped around his neck. “I’m ready to go.”

Leaving the cabin, they headed northeast. They were in no hurry and took their time, making it a leisurely walk as the forest thickened around them.

“So what is this about?” Stephen asked, meaning the invitation in the first place. It wasn’t like they knew the people they were about to meet.

“It’s a peace offering. Also an act of courtesy. Kind of like: ’hey, I acknowledge you as someone who is to trust, you can trust me too’.” Tony shrugged his shoulders. “Also there’s free food. At least for me.”

He spoke casually about it, but Stephen knew Tony wasn't one to do things without a reason. He wouldn’t give a shit about something that wasn’t at least to some part important to him. Probably another one of those Were things.

Maybe it would reflect badly on his business partner, the owner of the cabin and someone Tony obviously considered a friend, if they didn’t go.

Stephen wasn't sure how Tony knew the way, but he was walking confidently enough that he didn't question it. Jarvis didn't help him, anyway, because Tony had put his glasses in his shirt’s breast pocket and the glasses had also remained silent so far.

Still, they had been heading in the right direction, because eventually they heard music. It was some kind of Balkan pop that sounded like it was being played from an old radio or speakers.

Then the smell of smoke rose to the vampire's nose.

Well, it was a barbecue after all. Even if Stephen wasn't a fan at the prospect of fire and foreign and thus unpredictable people. It had the possibility of becoming a bad combination.

Tony seemed to notice that he tensed up and bumped his shoulders. “We can leave anytime,” he told him quietly. “Just say the word.”

The Vamp nodded as a sign that he understood, but since they had already arrived and probably been noticed it would be weird not to actually show up.

They stepped into a mossy clearing with two cabins, similar to the one they had come from. They seemed to belong to a big family, most of them outside in the night.

The grill was nothing more than a fire bowl with an improvised grate laid on top. Fortunately, it stood more on the side of the clearing away from the cabins, so Stephen could have an excuse not to go too close.

There were three men and two teenage boys standing around the improvised barbecue. The adults were talking expertly about the meat that was already sizzling, while the boys were doing their best to join in the conversation and pretend to be adults. Both were a little stocky, one built a little narrower than the other. They wore their hair short but still shaggy.

On a bench next to the grill, an elderly man sat with his hands resting on a walking stick, listening to the conversations without joining in himself.

A woman brought two children into one of the cabins, no more than five or six years old, who seemed rather tired. It was well past bedtime but they probably had bothered to stay up. Now their eyes fell shut and the smaller of the two even had to be carried.

It was one way to wear pups out.

The men at the grill looked up as Tony and Stephen approached the group, and one of them broke away to meet them. Stephen recognized him as the Were from yesterday – Tony had informed him that the guy’s name was Dayan.

“Ah, you came. Great.” He said in the same broken English. Gone was the wariness from the other day, replaced by friendliness.

“Thanks for having us,” Tony replied in what he had told was a mixture of Hungarian and Finnish. “By the way, Stephen here did some of his magic and is now fluent in your dialect.”

“That’s true,” the sorcerer added for good measure.

“Oh good. That will make communication easier. Come, I will introduce you to everyone.” He gestured to them to follow him. “If you don’t mind the question, what kind of magic do you have?”

“I’m a Master of the Mystic Arts.”

“South Asia, right?”

“Not exclusively anymore, but mostly.” Stephen glanced at Tony. The engineer obviously knew about the New York Sanctum, being there on an almost regular basis. Stephen also told him about Kamar-Taj but never said where exactly it was located.

Tony smiled at him, not seeming to be openly interested in that piece of information but certainly storing it away for later.

“My Granna used to be a ved’ma. That was what they called her anyway,” Dayan explained. They arrived back at the grill and the conversation shifted to introductions. “These are my cousins Yusuf and Zahir. And Zahir’s sons Simon and Vincze.”

The adults greeted them warmly while the teens looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“You smell funny,” Simon accused the Vamp. As a response he got a smack at the back of his head from his dad.

“Simon! Be nice to our guests,” Zahir scolded his son. “They are staying over at Marvan’s house for a while.” Zahir turned to them. “Do you guys want a beer?”

Tony accepted the offer, while Stephen declined.

“I was already wondering where Marvan was," the other teenager, Vincze, said. He seemed to be the older of the two brothers and obviously the more mature.

“Yeah, he is currently enjoying the beaches of Valencia, Spain,” Tony told him.

There were whistles from the other Weres.

“If you ever happen to look for a trade again, we got two beautiful houses.” Yusuf pointed over his shoulder to the two houses.

And just like that they bonded and clinked their beer bottles for a cheer.

Dayan gestured to the old man on the bank near the grill who was watching them. “That’s my father, Virág.”

Tony stepped to him and offered his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

You see, the stereotype of alpha werewolves was not true. Packs were family based with the parents looking out for their children and their offsprings. And as a Were Tony recognized the head of a pack when he saw them.

As a guest he showed respect by addressing him as such.

The old Were waved it off, grunting, and pointed back to the grill. Stephen wasn’t sure what he wanted to say with that, but neither Tony nor Dayan seemed offended by the lack of words.

Then Virág turned his head to the vampire and squinted his eyes. His face didn’t change, but there was something that made Stephen unsure if he in particular was welcome.

“The burgers are almost done.” The attention shifted to Yusuf. “It’s deer. We hunted it today.”

Stephen stepped back to Tony's side – who always made sure he stood somewhat between the Vamp and the flames – but still felt the old Were’s eyes on his back.

Ever since he was turned, he had avoided large groups of people – at least people from whom he had to hide what he was. And he was not sure how he felt about being here. He was glad to have Tony at his side.

The engineer was fully in his element, making conversation so that he could stay in the background.

There came a whiny howl from inside one of the cabins.

“Seems like the pups don’t want to sleep yet after all,” Yusuf commented.

“Give them five more minutes and they will be out. I saw Sara dozing off next to pops earlier.”

“Are they over their accidental shifting phase yet?” Tony asked.

“Yes, fortunately,” Dayan replied. Apparently, he was the father of the younger kids they had seen earlier.

For Werewolves, their transformation broke out when they were still children of just a few years old. For adults the shifting comes naturally, like a second skin. But for a young child, who had no idea what’s going on with their body, it sometimes was downright traumatic. Unfortunately, all puppies had to go through this. The pack was always there to watch out. That was their advantage, to work as a family and a team. And they had a lot of experience. It mostly went well and without further complications. Once the kids learned to control the shifting, they got comfortable with it. But every werewolf child went through a phase at some point in their young lives where they changed shape almost uncontrollably. It was like teething. Unfortunately, quite painful.

Dayan looked at the cabin the whine had come from. “Ah, there’s my wife Jamila.”

He took Tony and Stephen over and they met a slim woman with brown hair peeking out under a scarf she had wrapped around her head. She carried a plate with burger patties.

Another round of introductions was made, only cut short by another, older woman stepping out of the same cabin. In her hands a bowl with salad. She was small but had mindful eyes, with which she spotted the unfamiliar faces immediately.

“Ah, I was told we might have guests tonight. I hope you boys are hungry.” She noticed that Stephen wasn’t holding any beer or other beverage. “Did my son not offer you anything to drink? Where are your manners, Day’? Here, bring the salad to the table.”

Dayan knew better than to argue with his mother, so he took the bowl and followed to where his wife had taken the buns.

“No, ma’am, he did offer me a beer,” Stephen said politely.

The mother misunderstood that for his dislike of beer in particular. “Oh, I’m sure we will find something else for you then.”

Stephen doubted that. “Thanks, I’m good.”

“Nonsense. Don’t be shy, dear. There’s no need for that. We have plenty of food and drinks.”

“I’m afraid I also don’t eat.”

The sorcerer cast a help-seeking glance at Tony, but the engineer merely watched the conversation with amusement and had to stifle a laugh when the woman frowned at Stephen and asked, “Do you mean you don’t eat meat? Are you a Vegetarian?”

Another voice chimed in. “He means he is a vámpir, Maria.”

It was the father, Virág, who spoke, and the temperature dropped instantly. At least it felt like that to Stephen.

He hadn’t noticed Virág approaching them, but now the old Were was standing next to his wife with his eyes on the Vamp. His face showed the same stern expression as before.

“Step inside with me, will you.”

It was less a question and rather a command.

Tony moved, ready to step in, but Stephen signaled him not to.

“We should just leave,” the engineer said in Italian, knowing that Stephen with his spell would most likely be the only one understanding his words.

“I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

Stephen nodded before following the old Were into the cabin. There was a narrow hallway and one of the doors at the end led into the kitchen. There were dishes and leftovers from the meal preparations everywhere.

The Vamp expected the other man to be aggressive, to threaten him or at least lecture him about coming here and posing a danger to his family. He did not expect the man to get a mug out of a cupboard and then a plastic container filled with red liquid out of another. He poured some of it into the mug.

“You could have just told us what you are, boy. Then we’d have gotten you a fresher deal.”

He pushed the mug – it was dark blue with painted golden stars on the outside – into Stephen’s hand.

Sniffing at it confirmed his suspicion that the red liquid was blood. Animal blood.

He was so surprised about it, about the whole behavior, that he just blurted out, “Thank you?”

Virág just grunted as acknowledgment. He had talked enough for the night, maybe even for the whole week. He left the kitchen and thus left Stephen – a stranger and undead creature – alone in his home. The large amount of trust put in him overwhelmed the sorcerer.

He followed with slower steps.

In the hallway he met Tony, who had seen the old Were stepping out of the cabin alone, and was worried. Seeing Stephen unharmed calmed him down.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Stephen nodded. “He just gave me a drink.” He gestured with the mug, before finally taking a sip out of it. The blood was at room temperature. Not Stephen's favorite, but it was better than the frozen stuff. And since he knew he would probably get dark looks from Virág all night should he just put the cup down, he decided the drink wasn’t too bad.

“Is that…?"

“From the deer that’s on the grill? Yes, I believe so.”

“Huh.”

This was not how they thought their visit would turn out. But they didn’t complain.

“Shall we go back outside?”

“Sure.”

After that, they both felt more at ease. Stephen got no more food offered but his mug got refilled every time it was almost emptied, although Stephen assured them that it wasn’t necessary.

Tony enjoyed one of the burgers, and then another right after. The other Weres dug in as well and matched his appetite. The food went fast but there was a lot of it, in wise foresight.

Conversation came easily. Tony was no longer glued to the sorcerer’s side – still, he instinctively kept an eye on him, always aware of where he was. He was already so used to Stephen's presence that it would be weird when they were back in New York and went their separate ways in the tower and sanctum in a few days. It felt natural just to be together.

Something had shifted between them, in mutual agreement. Something solid.

Stephen turned his head and their eyes met for a moment. There was a lopsided smile on the Vamp’s face, before both of them focused back on their conversations. Still, it was good to see the ever-stoic man ease up.

Tony was discussing the pros and cons of living as a werewolf in the barren land of northern Asia. Those wild parts that officially belonged to Russia, even when little was known here about what was decided and controlled in the Kremlin.

It was highly interesting to see that this modern world still had its rural parts, that everyone agreed should be preserved as such.

Tony wouldn’t want to live here permanently, though. The lack of WiFi scared him and he was glad to have his own satellite in space that connected him to Jarvis’ server back home at all times; no matter where on Earth he was.

Right now, Jarvis was sitting in the form of his glasses in the breast pocket of the plaid shirt he got from one of the cousins. The night was cold and his typical style of clothes with a band shirt and a sweater had turned out not to be warm enough.

Everyone – besides the vampire – had huddled closer to the fire. The grill grate was taken off after all patties were finished and the benches were moved closer to use the fire bowl as a heat source.

Dayan stepped into the cabin to get some additional blankets. Unlike the last few nights, this one promised to be frosty.

Tony was offered another beer and gladly accepted.

Stephen sat down next to him on the bench, choosing the side that was further away from the fire bowl. He was the only one who was still just in a shirt, even had his sleeves rolled up.

Tony was a little envious, suppressing another shiver. His nose and lips were getting cold.

“Are you having fun?” he asked.

“A lot.” Stephen took off the cloak-scarf and wrapped it around Tony's neck. “This was a great idea. These people are very nice. Aren’t they nice?”

Those were a lot of words in a very upbeat tone of voice. Not used to that from the Vamp, Tony looked at him. The grin was still present on Stephen's face, and it was hard to see it in the flickering light of the bonfire but he thought the pupils of his eyes were dilated.

“Are you drunk?”

It shouldn’t be possible for a vampire, but he had no other explanation.

“No, but I’m probably on a sugar rush. I drank a lot of this.” He indicated to the mug in his hand, before he emptied it – again.

It took a second for Tony to understand what was happening here. Animal blood. That was like candy for vampires, like marshmallows.

Like a kid with too much sugar.

Tony laughed, and it was a rich sound. He tugged his glasses from his pocket. “Jarvis, I need a recording of thi-…” He stopped when Stephen cupped his face, looking at him in awe, before his gaze became darker and more hungry.

“You’re very handsome and I would love to devour you.”

Tony gulped by this sudden change of behavior. His shiver no longer had anything to do with the coldness of the night.

He couldn't look away from the Vamp’s enthralling eyes. He still had his hand on his glasses, but didn’t remember what he wanted to do with them. Then his mind blanked completely when Stephen’s hand on his face caressed his cheek, with a hint of sharp nails.

“Not here,” Tony managed to mutter. While he couldn’t seem to break eye contact, somewhere in the back of his consciousness he remembered that they were not alone. He senses the other Weres more by smell than anything else.

It didn’t really seem important, though.

Only Stephen was important.

“Later ‘t home.”

The vampire’s smile became sharper. “Promised.”

He withdrew his hand from Tony’s face and leaned back. Tony hadn't even noticed that he had come closer. Stephen's gaze shifted to a point behind the Were and the spell between them was broken.

Almost at the same moment a blanket was dumped on Tony’s shoulders.

Dayan had returned and started handing out more warming blankets to the other Weres as well.

Tony blinked, shaking his head to clear it. He wasn’t sure what just happened. He glanced at Stephen, who was back in his giddy mood, thanking Jamila for another refill.

And somehow Tony suddenly got jealous of a mug with animal blood, because he rather had the Vamp drunk from him. But he decided to store that feeling away to analyze it later.

Someone had brought an instrument outside as well. It looked similar to a guitar with just three strings and a more boxy shape.

Yusuf started playing and a few seconds later the whole family was singing and clapping along. It was an upbeat folklore song, one that made it difficult not to at least tap a foot along.

Listening to them, Stephen learned a weird side of the translation spell, because he heard an English version of the song. It was a mix of an analogous and a literal translation, and as a whole it made little sense. Nothing rhymed. And he wasn't sure if – should he join in – his words would be translated back correctly. So he kept his mouth shut.

But the rhythm was good and everyone enjoyed themselves.

It was a wonder that the loud singing didn't wake the pups.

Some of the Weres even started dancing. They pulled Tony onto his feet and into their midst. And Tony – all for cultural exchange – let them.

The mood was relaxed and boisterous until there was suddenly a whir as something shot through the air. It was so unexpected and fast that Stephen had just enough time to turn his head in shock but not for a sound of alarm before a crossbow bolt hit Yusuf's shoulder.

He let out a cry of pain and dropped the instrument.

There was a brief moment of shock in the sudden silence as the next bolt whizzed in. Stephen was faster, appeared next to Tony and pulled him out of the way.

“We’re under attack!”

There were shouts of swear words in various languages and several things were happening at once.

Stephen grabbed the scarf off Tony’s and onto his own shoulders after it transformed into its usual cloak form in his fingers.

Tony put his glasses on to help him identify the threat.

Dayan shifted into his wolf form right away and bared his teeth angrily before running into the night, towards the direction the bolt came from.

Zahir kept the teens from doing the same. “Go inside!”

“No, we can help!”

“Go inside! Protect the pups from the hunters.”

The boys looked scared but determined, and they finally nodded and turned to the houses. They shifted their forms anyway while rushing inside.

There were sounds of ripping clothes all around. Just Tony wasn’t shifting yet. He needed to get details first and operating Jarvis without the suit was more difficult.

“Four attackers on the north side, five more in the southwest,” the A.I. informed him, using a thermal image to show them on his glasses. “Judging by their bio scans, they are all human.”

Those fuckers had surrounded them. And all of them were armed.

“Great. Send reinforcements.”

Another figure appeared on the screen with almost the lowest body temperature Tony had ever seen. It was Stephen, which hardly stood out from the cold blue of the night. Only because he had drunk blood, there was a slight change to the background that made him recognizable.

The vampire appeared behind one of the hunters. A hooded guy with broad shoulders and a crossbow, which he snatched from his hands before he could fire another bolt. Then Stephen grabbed his head and spun it around with such force that the neck vertebrae broke.

It was nasty but effective.

Around him were the growls and howls of the wolves.

Before he could turn to another opponent, a wave of magic swept him off his feet. The cloak caught his fall and Stephen turned around searching.

One of the hunters was wielding a wand, pointing it at him.

Stephen dodged another attack and replied by conjuring a red whip that clung around the wand. “I’ll take that.” He pulled and the guy lost his grip.

Then a bolt grazed Stephen's arm and the pain caused him to drop the spell. It hurt vehemently. There must be silver in it.

Angrily, Stephen hissed at them. But there wasn’t time to attend to the wound. Instead he leaped to where the wand had fallen down.

He was a second too late. The hunter grabbed it first, and with a swirl, aimed it at the sorcerer. Stephen ducked down just as the hunter took a blow from behind and fell to the ground, unconscious. Tony was standing behind him, not looking happy about the fact that somebody dared to threaten his sorcerer.

The engineer bent down to pick up the wand he had seen the guy use.

“What is this?”

“Don’t touch that!” Stephen yelled. But it was too late. His fingers wrapped around Tony's arm to stop him just when Tony's hand closed around the wand.

It exploded in front of them in a burst of magic. And in the next moment they were gone.

________

Tag list: @jekyllhydetrash @goopierthenyou Tell me if you wanna be added/removed

#ironstrange #doctor strange #tony stark #Vampire Stephen Strange #Werewolf Tony Stark #stephen strange #marvel #mcu #strangeiron #The Vamp and the Were #spacemermaid writes

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nation-of-bros · 1 year

Note

Just because an edition of a book is written is rewritten doesn’t mean every copy is being changed. A “gender neutral” version of a book doesn’t mean the book itself no longer has any worth, nor does it mean the culture that created it is worthless. Sure, liberals are being stupid and changing certain editions of books but that doesn’t mean “Western civilization” is coming to an end or that its historical accomplishments deserve to be erased. Just because some idiot made an “inclusive” version of a book doesn’t mean you should purge centuries of creative achievement and literature.

Bro, look at the tags under my posts. There is a keyword at the end that describes the type, mostly: Flash Fiction. I use this to outline short ideas in a few sentences or words, a purely mental testing ground, mere mind games aiming for a better future.

—

But to address your objection:

Of course, the old unadulterated editions persist. However, the way it works is that libraries replace it with the new one and over the decades the old editions become fewer. There is officially no censorship in the West, but there is an extremely large amount of self-censorship (thanks to political correctness).

I myself see our current culture and civilization in general quite radically different: From my point of view, we have been completely distorted for centuries anyway, whether by the church or some secular rulers. The question is what else is authentic about our culture? I guess not much! And then there is the profound question: What are our authentic roots?

Above all, our entire view of history is bullshit from the start, cobbled together fantasy of Jesuits and humanists. And these collaborative mere fictions have spawned whole fantasy nations with their own fantasy languages and fantasy culture across Europe in modern times. When I became aware of this, my willingness to make a radical break was fanned: So instead of bemoaning the lack of authenticity and looking for the remnants of unadulterated originality in our culture that probably no longer exist, we should rather consciously decide on a new synthetic culture that combines the best according to our androphile worldview as bros.

If most of us don't see it as a loss to just let some old books full of effeminate tales to rot, then so be it. Total commitment to masculinism as a radical counter-response and correction also requires male destructiveness, the cultural wrecking ball thanks to which future generations of bros will no longer be corrupted by false or just unmanly images.

—

Most European nations are artifacts of modern times

Most nationalities in Europe are the product of sheer politics, as a ruler decided to secede along with his subjects from a larger nation. A local dialect was then artificially elevated to an independent national language. For example, Dutch is basically just a Middle High German dialect that was promoted to become its own national language a few centuries ago. But the differences are not much greater than between Bavarian and Standard German. So the Dutch identity was primarily a political thing.

Other European languages have actually been constructed. Today's Italian emerged in the 19th century as an academic work created at Italian universities, and in the course of modern media and Italian nationalism displaced the local dialects, which were clearly different; in the north, for example, much more Germanic (by the Lombards and Goths). But today people act as if all of Italy had always spoken this language modeled after a roman fiction.

In Eastern Europe it is even more extreme: The whole Slavic language family is a construction, created as "Church Slavonic" by Byzantine monks in order to proselytize the wild pagan tribes in Eastern Europe under a uniform language. Later, missionaries from Kievan Rus brought their weird language to the Balkan region, giving rise to Serbo-Croatian.

All I want to say with these examples is that culture, which includes language in particular, is a thoroughly arbitrary result. If, for example, the Turks had conquered Vienna, or if the Franks had failed to stop the Arabs coming from the Iberian Peninsula, Europe would look very different today. All churches at that time, which were mostly built on pagan places of worship, would then have been converted into mosques and the previous culture would have entered the new one at best as a substrate, just like the original language.

I think it's important that we bros recognize and understand that, so that we don't cling to the old when it doesn't fit well.

#essay #reply

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star-archer · 2 years

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Phone Tag

Summary: You keep playing phone tag with your hero-turned-fugitive lover. When you find yourself working the same mission in the same place, can your paths cross and bring you together once more?

Pairing: post-CA:CW!Steve x Agent!reader

Word Count: 3175

Warnings: brief cursing, brief mention of violence, some more melancholy (I can’t resist the angst, you guys)

A/N: This is my second submission for @pellucid-constellations love letter writing challenge. (Read my Bucky fic here.) I really hope you love it! Post Civil War, Steve’s on the run and hard to pin down. Thanks so much for reading!

⍟⍟⍟

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, distracting you from the very exhausting briefing presented at the front of the conference table. Something about Hydra, always something about Hydra, and after the year you’ve had, you were ready for a bit of a break. You pulled your phone out to glance at the screen, and felt that warm, familiar kick of giddy excitement at the name on the Caller I.D. Him.

“Something important, Agent?” Your superior halted his presentation with a frustrated sigh, and you silenced the buzz of your phone and re-pocketed it.

“Not at all, sorry, sir.” You grinned.

You loved sending Him to voicemail. Him being Captain Steve Rogers, known hero-turned-fugitive, secret lover to yours truly. He hated being sent to voicemail, always rambled awkwardly until someone, usually Natasha, told him to hang up already, her voice a cackle from the background. But his ramblings were honest, more honest than his phone calls, even at the latest hours of the night when he had you to himself. He was softer then, almost more shy. He could be honest when he knew you’d react and respond at a later time.

So you often intentionally silenced his call, opting instead to play phone tag from across timezones. He was never in the same place twice, and neither were you anymore. Maybe if you’d bother to answer, the two of you could meet up, tag-team a Hydra mission and spend the night wrapped up in his arms like he’d always promised. But maybe that scared you more than you’d admit, so for now, phone tag was the name of the game.

You exited the conference room a half hour later with a stack of manila folders, a recon mission in the Balkans, and a lower level agent chattering your ear off. It seemed fairly self explanatory, in-and-out. Your agency was making a bigger deal of it than it probably was, and you were waltzing down winding corridors with a smug look on your face knowing what was waiting in your back pocket.

—

Your bags were already packed, and you were on a flight Eastward before you could stop for a breather, however, and it was a good few hours before you got time alone again. Throughout the flight, beyond the chatter of your teammates, you looked at the voicemail notification. And, as the you chased the sun to rise again, you unlocked a hotel door room with a keycard and collapsed onto zillion thread count sheets, finally a moment’s peace to sit and listen.

You tapped the notification with your thumb and pressed the phone to your ear, allowing your eyes to slip closed with exhaustion and jet lag as you listened to the dulcet tones of that man’s sweet voice.

“Hey, it’s me… Steve. Think I’ll ever actually talk to you on the damn phone?” He chuckled. “Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know I’m alive, and I’m thinking about you. I miss you like crazy. How long has it been? Three months? Four? Jesus. War didn’t even feel this long.”

He let out a deep sigh, and you imagined him falling back onto the comfort of his own soft bed, somewhere safe, somewhere warm.

“Okay that’s dramatic. War sucked. But this sucks too. I just want to see you.”

Your stomach ached for him. It had been a while, five months actually, since you last lay your fingers upon that chest cut from marble, since you’d last snuck a kiss between headstones in a Cleveland cemetery. You’d found a few Russian operatives, and Natasha had made the set up. Only a handful of moments, lost like the fireflies between dancing tree limbs, but it had been worth it to feel his arms around you again, his fingertips through your hair and yours clenching the rigid kevlar of his suit.

“I’m in Greece, I think. Somewhere in the Balkans. Hydra mission. Sam said it’s worth looking into, so it’s worth looking into. Don’t worry, we’re being careful.”

You sat upright in your bed, nearly dropping your phone to the pillow below, and you scrambled. There were several seconds left of the call, several before someone eventually cut him off, but you’d listen later. Frantic, you grappled the buttons, punching in his contact to return the call.

Ring. Ring. Ring. You glanced at the bedside table. It was nearing 4AM. If he was there, now, he’d be asleep, or out on the mission.

“Hey, you’ve reached Steve. Leave a message.”

You sighed out a laugh, pushing off from the covers to pace, barbered carpet scratching your aching feet. “Hey, it’s me. I’m in the Balkans. I’m on that mission. I’m annoyed that your phone doesn’t have the option for texting, and I’m even more annoyed that you didn’t wake up to answer my call. It’s 4AM, you’re a hundred. Shouldn’t you be on your morning run? Anyway, call me back immediately. I want to see you. I’m at the…” You read off the stationery on the side table. “Room 704. I’ll be here until noon. Call me back.”

You clutched your phone into your hand and peered through the peep hole of the room, as if he’d listened and appeared like a magician outside your door. No such luck. You pushed off from the door and found the window. The curtain opened to a stunning cliffside view, the sea miles beyond, a vast stretch of nothingness. Just the heavy lids of your eyes, and the panic in your chest that this may just be another missed opportunity.

You rolled out of your travel clothes and brushed your teeth, staring at your phone on the countertop. And then you made your way back to the too-soft bedding for an expertly timed nap.

—

The hot sun fanned your cheeks, undeterred by the cabana umbrella and the ice melting in its glass atop your bistro table. You covered your eyes with a flattened hand, which provided some added shade, but your upper lip continued to bead with brine. Your targets talked a handful of feet away, at their own table, ritzy in linens and rings that clanked when they shook hands.

You’d poured over your book for hours, never reading a word, half-focused on the cell phone beside you, half on the tabletop beneath the Hydra-elite, under which you’d planted a listening device at the beginning of your dip into the pool. You maintained to face away from them, the clear in-ear bugged into your right hand side. They spoke in thick accents, in a language you’d wished you’d bothered to learn more of. You caught the occasion phrase, but knew the recording headed back to your own base in the States would be translated as necessary. You were only there to retrieve the information.

Kids played in the pool nearby, encouraged by their au pair while Mummy got a tan, and you found your focus zero in on them as the third child, a bit older, walked back outside from the restroom. He was lanky, in that awkward phase, and wet hair was beginning to dry in curls around his ears. He wore a white towel, emblazoned with the resorts’ logo, and he brought his hands to his chest to begin to sign.

You recognized it immediately as ASL, one of the few language that had stuck in your training. Your heart trilled with delight as the boy teased his siblings, and then sunk with panic as he turned to face you. He pointed to the device in your ear and you realized the men near you silenced.

“You speak ASL?” The boy signed, and you smiled and nodded, setting your book face-down on the table beside you. You could feel eyes on you from the nearby table.

The boy grinned and pointed at the doors. Then, he signed, roughly, “A big man inside paid me to tell you he’s here.”

Your heart rattled in your chest, and you tried to chuckle away the chill. “A big man?” You signed back, and the boy nodded. With a deep breath, you thanked him. The boy turned and went back to his family, and you made about gathering your things, though the adrenaline of an incoming encounter coursed through you.

Seemingly satisfied by the interaction, the men nearby started their conversation back up, softer than before, a low rumble in your ear, and you glanced their direction through your sunglasses as you stood from your table, flashing a polite smile as one of them caught your gaze and quickly looked away. You left your book, where the pages had already begun to soak in condensation from your glass, and the towel you’d been laying on.

The air conditioner instantly rocked your skin in gooseflesh, nearly freezing the bits of you pooling with sweat, and you let out an exhale the moment you rounded the corner and out of sight of the pool. The secondary lobby area was vast, high ceilings and guests moseying between pillars, and you ducked behind one and removed the throwing star that attached the bits of your sarong to each other. You tucked your knuckles around the two points and prepared for a punch.

At least, you were prepared until a dark hand came out of nowhere and wrapped itself around your wrist. You maneuvered around them, tried to headbutt, but your assailant ducked out of the way with a startled, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, tiger!”

Sam Wilson grinned back at you, all white teeth and perfect warmth. He ducked his head, waiting for another attack, but instead you put your finger to your lips to silence him.

Then, you put your hand to your in-ear and mumbled, “For the record, I’m using the restroom.” And heard the soft beep of the system shutting off.

Sam waited expectantly, eyebrows raised, and arms outstretched, and you sunk into his embrace. He smelled of coconut and sweat and Sam, and you could have sobbed at the rumble of his chuckle against your cheek. ”How you been?”

You pulled away with a nod, and you couldn’t help but scan the crowd over his shoulder. With every strange face came the twinge of heartache, the twinge of almost-was, of hope. “Good,” you relaxed your shoulders. “You?”

Sam gave you a knowing smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, you don’t care about me.”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “Of course I do.”

He nodded to his right, and you glanced to see the cracked door to a laundry room. The black plaque restricted access to anyone who wasn’t an employee, and your stomach flipped three or four times, imagining what could be just beyond.

“I’ve got eyes on the Hydra guys,” Sam smiled. “I’ll give you guys, what? 7 minutes?”

You shot Sam a look, but couldn’t help the smile that ached at the corners of your mouth. The wingman winked, and stepped aside to grant you access. The linoleum felt cold under your trembling fingers, and you raked them against the surface before pushing. The heavy door swung open just enough for you to slip inside, and you heard it latch behind you.

The room was white, sterile, full of the tumble of several washers and dryers doing their daily turn down services. Washing machines to the left, dryers to the right, and directly dead center, five machines down, leaning against a cart full of white sheets, was Captain America himself. Him.

He pushed off from the cart to stand, awkward, sheepish, hardly recognizable under a growing mop of hair and a full, dark beard.

“Have you always been that tall?” You cocked an eyebrow, the tone of your voice much braver than you felt.

He sucked in his cheeks and shook his head.

The two of you took slow steps toward one another, a scrape of rubber against tiled floors. You fought back the grin threatening to form, and he swung his arm until you were almost at arm’s length, and then he waited for you to take his grasp, and he pulled you in.

He was bigger than you’d remembered, a bear of a man that lumbered his frame around yours, all biceps and pectorals and hair. You raked at the length at his neck and the sides of his face, and he groaned into your neck, and you melted into him as though he were a sponge and you the popsicle in the hot Balkan sunlight.

“Did you get my voicemail?” He asked, knees bent to prop both of you against the only washing machine out of service.

You laughed at that, pressing your lips to his cheek, wherever you could find purchase without a mouthful of hair. The wrinkles at his eyes crinkled, and you kissed them before pulling away to look at him, really look at him, without all the pixels messing up the perfection of it all.

There were greens in his blue eyes, and you saw your admiration mirrored in his own gaze. Both of you laughed, realizing you were doing the same thing, observing one another, being present in the moment, soaking it in. His cheekbones remained high, unaging, and the fur around his lips sheltered the strength of his jaw and softened his fingers. You ran your fingers through it like the coat of a Labrador, and he pursed his lips into the affectionate gesture.

“You like it?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you pursed your own.

He chuckled, but you watched his eyes darken as his gaze found your lips. He licked his own, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose. You smiled and let you eyes flutter closed, and you sighed as he closed the distance with a kiss.

God, you’d missed that, the way he just gave in. Like every kiss might be his last. It was the gentle intensity of it all, the way he held you around the middle, a large hand reaching to cup your neck and face, thumb circling your cheekbone. It was the rise and fall of his shoulders as he leaned into it, deepened it. It was the press of the small of your back until your abdomens found one another, his carved from marble against your own soft edges.

His beard was the only thing you hadn’t remembered, bristly and soft all at once. It tickled beneath your nose and in the crevice of your lip and chin, but you didn’t mind. It smelled of him, and you couldn’t get enough. When he pulled away to breathe, you dove back in for more, hitting beard when he ducked for a laugh.

“I missed you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, and his large fingers tucked themselves under your sarong, a graze of skin against your own that sent your back arching.

“I missed you,” you spoke through gritted teeth, clawing at the collar of his civilian shirt. You hadn’t noticed the silky fabric until now, his best attempt at a disguise.

“I don’t have any time,” he said, and you looked up from the navy fabric to see his features fall.

You released his collar and flattened the creases against his collar bone. “If I got injured on this mission, they’d give me a vacation.” You offered it as a ridiculous solution, something both of you knew wouldn’t happen. They’d be suspicious if you got hurt. They’d go looking for him.

“Soon,” he bonked his forehead to yours. “Okay? I promise we can be together soon. I’ll have Nat plan something longer than happenstance.”

You nodded against him, feeling the emotion well. Voicemails were easier. Voicemails didn’t disappoint. The pain of feeling him under your fingertips, of breathing him in, was too much. It wasn’t fair. A soft knock from the doorway beat into your skull, your clenched jaw, your tightened fists. You pushed off from Steve, and his hold on you faltered.

His hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwined, and you led him past the dryers to the door.

“Hey,” he whispered with a gentle tug. You turned to face him, and he leant in for another Earth shattering, knee-weakening kiss. This man, this fugitive, the bane of your existence and the reason you breathe, a sponge to mop you heart that had spilled all over the tile floor.

—

He left you with several mumbled promises and a sad smile. Sam offered the same look of regret, a wave goodbye from across the lobby. You went one way as they went the other. Your mission wrapped up, bad guys on their merry way, information obtained. But the rest of the day, packing your things, the long flight home, it all took a backseat to the veil of heartbreak that lay overhead, the fear sinking into your bones that you’d never be able to be with him, never be able to touch him or kiss him for longer than a moment in time.

You deplaned to more chatter, congratulations on good work. You slipped between coworkers, ordered a ride share home. You unlocked your apartment, did a routine check for intruders, heated up a bag of rice on the stove top, pretended to eat it. Too aching to care.

You showered the sunscreen from exhausted limbs, scrubbed the makeup from your face, rinsing yourself of any essence of him, anything that could have seeped into your skin, and you tiptoed into pajamas and curled yourself under your covers. Relief didn’t find you until you heard the familiar ding of a notification. You scrambled for your phone, discarded on your nightstand the moment you’d gotten home.

1 Voicemail from Him.

You clicked play and laid back against your pillow to hear the low tenor of his voice.

“Hey, it’s me. We just landed in Wakanda. Snuck off to find Buck so I thought I’d call. I’d love to show you this place some day. It reminds me of you. Warm. Beautiful.” He took a pause, his voice low, like he’d been afraid of getting caught. “It was good seeing you today. You looked amazing. Did I mention that? You did. You looked incredible.”

You smiled at his rambling. You missed his rambling.

“I love you.”

You stopped breathing. Three words. You hadn’t said them, not to each other, not yet. You felt them, of course you felt them, but saying them aloud made them real, gave them weight, made the distance hurt more.

“I do. I love you. And I was too chicken shit to say it earlier, but I’ve been thinking it for ages. Probably since the day I met you. I love you.”

You sat upright in your bed. There were several seconds left of the call, several before someone eventually cut him off, but you’d listen later. Frantic, you grappled the buttons, punching in his contact to return the call.

Ring. Ring. Ring. You glanced at the bedside table. It was nearing 4AM.

“Hey,” he answered. There was a smile in his voice.

“I caught you,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

He laughed. “Yeah, you did.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #post ca:cw #steve rogers fic #oneshot #pellucid constellations #love letters writing challenge #loveletterswritingchallenge

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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

Text

After All (Part 3/?)

Pairing: Riff x OC Jet Girl

Warnings: Explicit Language, Racism, Suggestions of Violence

Summary: Besides, if she came back, who's to say she would even want to see him? He’d be more than willing to bet that she wouldn’t, unless it was to slap him across the face. But, if she did, he would accept it graciously after all that he’d done.

Word Count: 3600 ish.

DISCLAIMER

Please note that this is a reimagining of the film West Side Story (2021) and as a result is slightly AU.

Masterlist /// Part 1 /// Part 2 /// Part 3 /// Part 4

A/N: Thank you guys so much again for all the likes and everything. Can’t even explain how motivated I am to work on this when I see the notifications on my phone. I’m sorry this one wasn’t as long as the last (which you can find here). I planned on making this and Part 4 a single part, but the length was even longer than the last chapter, and I couldn’t resist ending this one on a bit of a cliffhanger. Plus, posting two chapters this way this gives me more time to work on Part 5. I’ve got Part 4′s rough draft all typed out, so expect the next one a bit sooner. Again, if you feel so inclined, please feel free to interact to let me know if you enjoyed this. If anyone wants to be tagged in future parts as well, please feel free to let me know. Hope you all enjoy, and have a good weekend! :)

Part Three: Rest in Peace

About 18 months later…

“‘Tis a sad day, gentlemen.”

The sound of crumbling cement, shifting rubble, and jackhammers filled the air as a crew worked on tearing down the old apartment complex a few blocks over. The New York City Committee on Slum Clearance had declared the building condemned. No one local had the funds or willingness to repair it. The inevitable conclusion was that it ought to be torn down. A new, shiny apartment complex for the stinkin’ rich was to go up in its place.

As sad as seeing the neighborhood they’d always known literally being torn down brick by brick and being replaced with something foreign and new was, there was a more upsetting scene before the young men at this given moment.

“Rest in Peace,” Big Deal bid solemnly, placing a hand over his heart in reverence.

“God bless you,” Mouthpiece added mournfully, taking off his cap that almost always covered his head, and placing it over his heart as well, “You was a fair lady, ye olde Irish Pub.”

Big Deal, Mouthpiece, and Balkan watched from the corner across the street as old man Williams handed over the keys to the Irish Pub to its new Puerto Rican owner.

“This place is goin’ to the dogs,” Big Deal declared sorrowfully. The two men acros the street shook hands, and Old man Williams left.

Mouthpiece quickly placed his cap back on top of his head. “Where we supposed to go for a drink now?” he asked. The Irish Pub had been a favorite hangout for a while, largely due to the fact that old man Williams didn’t care enough to confirm anyone’s age, and that meant fun for the whole gang.

“I guess we’ll just have to obtain our booze at the liquor store,” Balkan suggested mischievously.

“And how long ‘til that gets sold?” Big Deal posed.

A silence fell over the group as Action joined them, newspaper in hand. He looked at them curiously, wondering what they were frowning at. He followed their line of sight across the street, and frowned as well. “Boys, what happened to the Pub?” he demanded.

“Oh, you know,” Balkan replied hotly, “More of the same- people like us getting out, and people like them moving in.”

All four of the young men watched as the new owner of the Irish Pub, or whatever it was to be called now, took a moment to look around the block. He spotted the lot of them almost immediately, and frowned back at them. After making a point to stare at them disapprovingly for a moment, he quickly turned, entered the building, and locked the door behind him.

Action sighed defeatedly. “Come on,” he told the guys, nodding his head in the direction down the street. “Too late to do anything ‘bout it now. Besides, Riff’s expectin’ us.”

——————————————————————————

Riff watched from the small bedroom window as the old apartment complex a few blocks over began to tremble. Slowly, but surely, the fourth floor was disappearing from view. The roofing on the building had been torn apart and removed a few days ago. Given that it was partially caved in and in poor condition, they made rather quick work of it. They’d make rather quick work of the rest of the structure too, and eventually, it would disappear from his view entirely.

Riff had watched several buildings disappear from view over the past year or so. The whole neighborhood was changing, physically. When the New York City Committee for Slum Clearance finished with the West Side, he was sure he wouldn't even be able to recognize it anymore. All the old but familiar buildings would be gone, reduced to rubble. The people who lived there would be displaced, at least the ones who hadn’t already left. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that he and the guys were very likely going to be among the casualties of the decisions made by the fat cats in City Hall.

Of course, he never let on about this to any of the guys. They all had their own problems to worry about. They didn’t need to be reminded of the potential impending doom when they were hanging with their brothers- the Jets. They were family. And no matter what happened to the neighborhood, that fact would remain. It would be easier, though, if they weren’t all made homeless in the process.

As Riff watched the apartment complex being disassembled in the distance, he hadn’t realized Graziella had already woken up, and was gathering her things.

“Good morning,” she called to him from across the room, where she was putting on her shoes.

Riff finally tore his eyes away from the window, and turned to face her. “Mornin’.”

“I’m gonna head out,” she informed him, throwing her thumb over her shoulder and towards the door for emphasis.

“Right.” He nodded once in understanding. “I’ll see you ‘round, then?”

Grazi smiled sheepishly. “Yeah… but it may be a few days. I’m gonna be in the doghouse for a while, I imagine.”

Riff knew that was very likely. Grazi came from the other side of town. Her father was a doctor, and her mother was a socialite; both of them were individually wealthy before they got hitched. They were swimming in cash now. He remembered Grazi mentioned that her father nearly had a heart attack when she told him she was seeing Tony back in the day. Now that she and Riff were seeing each other, even if it was casual, he was fairly certain that her father would have approved of him even less. In fact, the fact that the relationship was casual almost certainly made the matter worse in her father’s mind.

“Do you want me to walk you out?” Riff offered.

Grazi shook her head. “Nah, it’s okay,” she politely declined. She headed towards the bedroom door, but stopped once she reached it. She looked over her shoulder, and playfully suggested, “Try to keep out of trouble today, yeah?”

Riff smirked. “Me? Always.”

Grazi smiled at him one last time, before leaving. She shut the door gently behind her.

When she was gone, Riff sighed to himself, and took a quick look around the room. In the corner of his eye, he saw the desk. It had stacks of papers just waiting to tumble over at the slightest bump or breeze.

As much as he dreaded the thought of it, he made himself walk over to the desk and take a seat.

His uncle had left the city to move with his aunt to upstate New York just a few months beforehand. When he did, he left his auto repair shop for Riff to run in his stead, though the old man still owned it in name. His uncle had done this under the guise of a gift, which Riff had agreed to, albeit skeptically. Riff had worked in the shop for his uncle back in the day, and he knew the job. Then he and his uncle had their falling out, and he had to crash with Tony’s family for a while. Part of Riff wanted to believe the scoundrel was feeling a bit remorseful for what had happened, and that he was just trying to make amends with his nephew before he visited the pearly gates of Heaven.

It didn’t take but a week for Riff to realize that instead, his uncle had given him one last metaphorical middle finger. The bastard.

His uncle had taken out loans to keep the place going as the neighborhood started to decline. Now those loans were in default. There were also taxes past due. When his uncle managed to keep employees for more than a day or two, he didn’t give a damn about their professional behavior, or lack thereof, while they were on the clock, and as a result of a few botched repairs (most likely from a drunken repairman or two), the reputation of the shop was in bad shape. There was also the issue of possible clientele. The few folks in the neighborhood who remained and had cars had been dissuaded from giving their business to the shop due to his uncle’s previous management tactics. The rest of the neighborhood population, which seemed to be an increasing majority, didn’t have the funds to afford cars. Even if they did, Riff severely doubted they’d be willing to give him their business. Ah, the lovely Puerto Ricans.

Still, despite all the obstacles, the fighter in him refused to allow himself to give up on it. He couldn’t, not while there was still a chance, however small it was. The Jets had supported him as well. The auto repair shop was the unofficial, but official, headquarters for the gang.

While Riff lived in the one bedroom apartment above the shop permanently, the guys knew that if any of them had troubles at home, Riff would let them crash there without a second thought. Many of them took him up on his offer, sleeping on cots with blankets in the otherwise empty living area. In fact, Diesel and Snowboy seemed to be semi-permanent residents as of late.

The guys who crashed with Riff and a few of the others who were older, or who had dropped out of school entirely, helped Riff with the little business the shop was able to bring in. And for their part, when they were on the clock, they made every effort to be as professional as they could muster. It went unsaid that while there was always likely to be stealing and other less than savory ways to obtain the funds they needed to survive, working in the shop seemed to give some of them a taste of what it would be like to make a truly honorable living. Riff included.

Now, if only he could make sense of the damn books. The sooner the shop got out of the whole with the defaulted loans and taxes, the more of a chance it stood against being condemned and turned into rubble like that apartment complex.

The sounds of one of the garage doors opening from the shop below signaled that some of the guys had arrived. Riff stood up, unashamedly eager to get away from dealing with the books for now, and headed out of the room and into the living area.

Diesel was still asleep on his cot, that much was obvious from his near boar-like snores.

Riff rolled his eyes, before leaning down and patting Diesel firmly on the arm. “Come on buddy, time to get to work.” Diesel woke with a startle, before rolling over. Out of the corner of his eye, Riff noticed Snowboy pull a blanket up and over his head across the room. “You too, Snowboy,” he called.

Snowboy grumbled something unintelligible in response as Riff exited the apartment through the front door. As soon as Riff stepped foot onto the landing overlooking the shop floor below, he spotted Action, Mouthpiece, Balkan, and Big Deal closing the garage door behind them.

“Fellas,” Riff greeted them with a smile, turning and heading down the stairs.

“Mornin’ Boss,” Balkan replied cheerfully.

“Hey, was that Grazi we seen leavin’?” Big Deal asked.

Riff landed on the concrete floor with a soft thud. “Even if it was, what’s it to ya?” Riff replied with mock irritation, though his playful tone betrayed his challenging words.

Big Deal held up his hands in surrender, and sat down on a nearby tool chest.

“Here ya go,” Action told Riff, handing him the newspaper he’d gotten him that morning. Riff nodded his thanks, before promptly opening it and taking a look. Action looked back up to the landing as Diesel and Snowboy left the apartment, now dressed but still looking quite groggy. “Ah, good morning, sunshines!” he called to them in a sickly sweet tone.

Snowboy scowled as Diesel gave Action the finger.

Riff’s eyes skimmed the first few articles of the paper, searching for anything related to the New York Committee on Slum Clearance. It wasn’t unusual for the Times to write an article or two every now and then about what the latest plans were.

“Hey Riff, mind if I take the comics?” Mouthpiece asked hopefully.

“Yeah, yeah,” Riff answered distractedly, not taking his eyes off the article he was reading. He grabbed the section of the paper requested and blindly handed it to Mouthpiece.

Mouthpiece took the comics with a child-like grin, scurried over to the nearby workbench, and hopped up on it to sit down. He leaned back against the wall, making himself comfy as he started grazing over the pages.

Diesel and Snowboy had finally joined the guys on the shop floor. Diesel popped the hood of the station wagon that had been brought in yesterday for an issue with the engine, and Balkan walked over as well to take a look. Snowboy headed over the workbench, and started looking for some tools. During his search, he lightly shoved Mouthpiece further down the workbench when he was in his way.

“I don’t know why ya bother readin’ that crap,” Action told Riff quietly, noting that the rest of the guys were distracted. “By the time anything’s in there, it’s already too late.”

Action had had Riff’s back since Tony got into trouble. While Riff didn’t openly discuss his concerns about the neighborhood with anyone, Action read him like a book.

Riff shrugged nonchalantly. “Like to know what’s comin’, I suppose,” he answered casually as he read the last few sentences of an article.

“Pub’s gone,” Action informed him plainly. “Happened this mornin’.”

Riff sighed, folded the newspaper shut, and discarded it in the nearby bin. “Ain’t that something…” he mused. He was quiet for a moment, before a brilliant thought struck him.

“Fellas, I think we’ve been workin’ too hard lately,” Riff stated. Several of the guys nodded their heads in agreement. “It’s about time we kicked back a bit. What do ya say to a good ol’ game of basketball at the park tonight?” he proposed.

There was an audible response of approval from the group.

“I’ll head out now, start spreadin’ the news,” Mouthpiece offered, dropping the comics section beside him and hopping down off the workbench. “What time ya thinkin, Riff?” he asked.

“Don’t forget to go swing by the school around lunch and tell Baby John,” Riff reminded him. “And let’s say… 6 o’clock?”

Most of the guys knew what Riff was suggesting immediately, and exchanged knowing looks.

“Hey, ain’t that when the Sharks normally play?” Mouthpiece questioned, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

Riff fought the urge to sigh. He clapped Mouthpiece lightly on the shoulder. “Precisely. It’s a free country, ain’t it?”

“Oh… oh! Right, right.”

As Mouthpiece passed him in a flash to head out of the shop, Riff noticed the comics he left on the workbench. “Come on, what have I said about leavin’ stuff lying around in the garage?” Riff hollered after him.

His question was moot; Mouthpiece was already long gone, and he exited out the side door of the shop.

Riff sighed lightly, and swiftly picked up the comics off the work bench. As he did so, he caught a glance at the other side of the page, the obituaries. It was a section of the paper Riff never bothered to read, but something about it made him hesitate. He took a second to glance over the names curiously, not expecting to see anyone notable. The shock came not but a moment later.

Catherine Thomas.

The witch. She’d been found dead in her apartment last week. She wasn’t that old… or was she? Was she sick? Roxie would know.

He froze.

Roxie.

How many months had it been since he had spared her a thought? Probably quite a few. It was odd, someone who used to occupy most of his waking thoughts now rarely seemed to cross his mind, and when she did, it was for something like her aunt kicking the bucket. The more Riff thought about it, the more guilty he felt, and when it came to her, he already had plenty of things to feel guilty about.

Riff folded the section of the newspaper wordlessly, and threw it away in the nearby bin with the rest of it.

Where even was she these days? He knew she had left for that university last year. Wouldn’t it be letting out for the summer soon? Baby John had mentioned something the other day about how glad he was about the upcoming break, but that was high school… Wouldn’t she have to come back anyways to take care of her aunt’s affairs?

“Hey Riff, can you bring me over that wrench?”

Diesel’s question temporarily broke Riff from his thoughts. Without missing a beat, he found the wrench Diesel was referring to, and tossed it to him. Riff knew that thinking about Roxie this much was pointless. Maybe that was why he hadn’t thought about her in so long.

Thinking about her only led to him feeling things, and having feelings in this neighborhood were a luxury that not many could afford, especially guys like him. Feelings wouldn’t defend you if you got jumped. Feelings wouldn’t be able to feed your kids if they were hungry. Feelings wouldn’t be able to cough up cash when Uncle Sam and the New York Committee for Slum Clearance came knocking.

Having feelings didn’t do him any good when he decided Roxie was better off without him. Having feelings didn’t make him feel any better when Tony got sent upstate.

And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder… was she happy now? Well, she probably wasn’t happy at that particular moment, with her last living relative now gone, but otherwise… He almost wanted to know. If he knew, it was quite likely the only way he would be able to confirm whether he had actually done the best thing for her when he let her go.

Riff had left a piece of himself behind with her the day he walked away, and the decision he made put a strain on his friendship with Tony. He knew Roxie must’ve hated him for it, but if she was thriving now, outside of the neighborhood, it would’ve all been worth it. …Right?

Riff shook his head in an effort to clear his mind. What he would give to just have a few moments to speak with Tony right now. Tony would slap some sense into him, one way or the other. Just another few weeks, Riff reminded himself, and he’d get his chance. He’d gotten a letter from him just last week, he thought he was going to get out sometime around the middle of summer.

Riff knew how much a month in the county jail had changed him… he couldn’t imagine the Tony he’d meet when he got released after being locked up for a year. But Riff would be there for him, whoever he was now, just like Tony had always been there for him.

“You okay?” Diesel asked him when he noticed that Riff had been lingering for a few moments.

Riff nodded. “Never better,” he assured him with a smile. He walked over to one of the two garage doors, and opened it with practiced ease. It was better to have at least one open when they were working in the shop anyway, in case anyone driving by decided to be generous and give them their business.

Riff knew he should really get to work, but instead, he took another moment, and leaned against the garage frame. He watched the street as cars passed by, and as the activity in the neighborhood started to pick up for the day.

The West Side was changing, and he’d see to it that he, and the guys, would be prepared for whatever came their way.

Tony would be back soon, and that meant things could only get better.

Maybe Roxie would come back too, but he tried not to dwell on that too much.

Besides, if she came back, who's to say she would even want to see him? He’d be more than willing to bet that she wouldn’t, unless it was to slap him across the face. But, if she did, he would accept it graciously after all that he’d done.

——————————————————————————

Dear Ms. Thomas,

Please consider this correspondence a follow up to our meeting that occurred last week. While I have given the information you presented to me the utmost consideration, I was unable to successfully convince the other members of the Board of your cause. As such, the decision initially made by the Board regarding your tuition funding still stands.

This letter serves as official notice that your merit scholarship will not be offered to you for next semester.

We understand that this scholarship was initially awarded to you due to your personal scholastic accomplishments, and we hope that is something that reassures you and gives you peace as you process this decision.

However, the Board receives many scholarship applications each semester, and unfortunately, we made the difficult decision to award the funds that were initially allotted to you to another student who was in more immediate need.

The Board commends you on your remarkable grades these past two semesters, and I want you to be assured that your enrollment with our fine university is not revoked by this notice. If you are able to pay the full tuition rate for the upcoming fall semester, we would be happy to have you return to the university’s halls in September.

I hope you have a pleasant summer break. This decision is final, but if you need any of this information clarified, please feel free to schedule another appointment.

Thank you for your time,

William Collins

Board of Trustees

A/N: Thank you for reading, and please feel free to give a like if you enjoyed. :) I plan on posting Part 4 on Monday, and will link it here when it’s available.

Part 4

Masterlist

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years

Text

Fallen Idols: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,811

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Yahtzee,” Sam grinned.

“What is it?” you asked with your head on Dean’s shoulder as he messed with his laptop. Sam wanted him to do some research, but he was playing an internet game secretly.

“The seeds aren't from around here. In fact, they're not from any tree or plant in the country. They’re from Eastern Europe from a forest in the Balkans, which is not even there anymore. It was chopped down, like, thirty years ago. Apparently, local legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan god whose name was Leshi. Um, a mischievous god, could take on infinite forms and feed from his worshipers. He could only be appeased with the blood from his worshippers. It would drain 'em, then stuff their stomachs with the seeds.”

“Okay, so how's he doing it? What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?” you wondered as you got up from the bed.

“Hm. It's as good a guess as any.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. How do we kill him?” Dean asked the important question.

“Says here to chop off his head with an iron axe.”

“All right. Let's go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton,” he said with the most serious face he could muster up.

Being back at the wax museum was mortifying, but there was a teenage girl’s life on the line. A flashlight was in one hand while you tiptoed through the museum, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Sam and Dean split up in different directions until you heard Sam whistle for you and Dean to join him. Walking over to the tallest Winchester, you noticed two signs on the door which might be where Leshi is. “CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS” and “DANGER DO NOT ENTER” hung on the door. Rolling your eyes, you broke the latch with your magic before entering the place. Dean had the axe ready to use in case Paris Hilton does show up.

The room was decorated to be like a clearing in the woods with a path leading up the middle to a white house with a wax figure of a man in a suit standing on the front porch. Upon entering, you noticed a woman tied to one of the trees, and you knew it must be Danielle. Pushing past the brothers, you barely made it to the girl before the axe in Dean’s hand went flying into the trunk of another nearby tree.

Leshi appeared behind Dean with a wicked smile before punching him multiple times in the face which caused him to crumble to the ground.

“Go help. I got her,” you whispered to Sam who rushed over to help.

Leshi flipped her hair as you worked the girls’ binds. Leshi shoved Sam as hard as she could into the post of the fake house, effectively knocking him out.

“Awesome,” she grinned.

She raised her stiletto-clad foot and stomped on Dean’s face which knocked him out. She finally turned to you with an evil smile.

“I don’t think so,” she declared as she raised her hand to use her powers to send your head flying into the tree that the girl was tied to.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you collapsed in darkness.

The sound of metal sliding against metal is what woke you up. The ground is what you saw first, and you realized from the restraints on your hands was that you were tied just like the young woman. Sam and Dean woke up not too long after you, and Leshi grinned when she realized you three were awake.

“Oh, I'm so glad you're awake for this. This is gonna be huge.”

“Super. Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss it,” Dean grumbled.

He looked over at you just as your eyes flashed blue to let him know you were going to get the ropes untied before doing the same to his and Sam’s.

“I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately. So, it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change,” she grinned as she filed her nails against the carving knife she had in her hands which was causing sparks.

“Just like the good old days, huh?”

“You have no idea. People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their faces.”

“Yeah, I guess these days nobody gives a flying shit about some backwoods forest god, huh?” Dean snapped, and Leshi stopped filing her nails with a threatening glare.

“No, not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo plant.”

“March of progress, sister,” he chuckled. Focusing all of your attention to the binds, you felt your magic dance around your wrist as they began to untie the ropes to set you free.

“For years now, I've been wandering, hungry, and scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy. But then, the best thing ever happened. Someone tripped the apocalypse, and I thought, what the hell, I'm tired of watching what I eat. I wanna pig out. So, I found this little place. It's awesome. Adoring fans stroll right in the door.”

“Yeah. But they're not your fans,” Sam tried to reason.

“So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton... whatever. I'll take what I can get.”

“You know, I gotta tell you, you are not the first God we've met, but you are... the nuttiest,” Dean chuckled. Your binds were loose enough so they fell, and you kept your hands where they were to keep up with the illusion that you were still bound before shooting your magic over to Dean’s wrist secretly to have his binds untied.

“No, you, you people, you're the crazy ones. You used to worship Gods. But this? This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans? You people used to have old-time religion. Now you have Us Weekly.”

“I don't know, I'm more of a Penthouse Forum man myself,” Dean smirked with a wink as his binds fell to the ground. He kept his hands here as well just as your magic bounced from his wrist to Sam’s.

“Maybe,” she stalked over to Dean, “but... there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, sister, but, uh... you can't eat me. See, I'm not a Paris Hilton BFF. I've never even seen House of Wax.”

“No. But I can totally read your mind, Dean. I know who your hero is. Your daddy. Am I right?” she smirked and walked over to the axe she threw into the tree earlier. “And this belonged to him. Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up.”

“Not today, bitch,” you grinned as your eyes flashed a bright blue.

She turned around just as a ball of blue magic hit her square in the face. She stumbled a bit from the impact, and Dean raced at her before tackling her to the ground. The binds on Sam’s wrists snapped, and he wasted no time in rushing over to the axe before yanking it out of the tree. Leshi punched Dean before you sent another ball of magic straight to her chest which knocked her off your boyfriend. She groaned as her healed lolled on the ground seconds before Sam brought the axe down on her neck… again… and again… and again… and then a final time. Her head rolled off to the side as blood poured from her body.

Panting, you looked over at Danielle who moaned in pain. Rushing over to her, you placed your fingers at her neck to search for a pulse. It was barely there, but there nonetheless.

“She’s alive. Barely, but still.”

“Not a word,” Dean groaned as he pointed a finger at his brother who had blood sprayed over half of his face.

“Dude. You just got whaled on by Paris Hilton!”

“Shut up,” Dean groaned in pain.

After the motel was packed and cleaned out, you and the brothers left with your bags slung over your shoulders as Dean hung up the phone.

“That was Sheriff Carnegie. Danielle's gonna be all right. She's sworn off The Simple Life, but other than that, she’s going to be okay.”

“Glad to hear it,” you nodded.

“It gets better. Sheriff's putting out an APB on Paris Hilton. That ought to be good,” he laughed as he took out his keys and opened the trunk of the car. Putting your bags inside with the boys’, Dean sighed as he looked at his brother.

“Hey, listen, I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About me keeping too tight of a leash on you. Hell, maybe you're right. I mean, look, I'm not exactly Mister Innocent in this whole mess either, you know. I did break the first seal.”

“You didn't know.”

“Yeah, well, neither did you.”

“I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most,” you sighed. Even though you had nothing to do with the apocalypse, you still had guilt for shutting Sam out when he needed you the most.

“I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but, you did kill Lilith.”

“And start the apocalypse.”

“Which neither of us saw coming, I mean, who'd have thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing? Point is, I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you. So, for that I'm sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” you added.

“Thanks,” Sam nodded as Dean closed the trunk.

“So, where do we go from here?” Dean asked.

“The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this. Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same with you and Michael and Y/N with Amara, maybe there's no changing that. But, we can stop wringing our hands over it. We gotta just grab onto whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting.”

“That we can do,” you grinned.

“Okay. But we're gonna have to do it on the same level.”

“You got it,” Dean agreed. “I say we get the hell outta here.”

“Yes, please,” you nodded. Sam and Dean were about to go their respective ways when Deans topped his brother with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you wanna drive?” Dean offered.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I could, uh... I could use a nap.”

“Hell shot gun!” you grinned before rushing to the front of the car. Both brothers laughed at this before Sam took the keys from his hand. Everyone got into the car before Sam started it and drove off.

“Next time, I’m driving,” you declared.

“Keep dreaming, sweetheart,” Dean grinned teasingly.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@sing4mejensen @essie1876 @gh0stgurl @redsalv20 @superrandomnatural @scarletmeii @babypink224221 @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo @akshi8278 @a--1--1--3 @kendlemariee @miraclesoflove @earthtokace @teamfreewillsstuff @fandom-princess-forevermore @kiwihoee @jennazeise @phantomalchemist @posiemax @22sarah08 @tricksterdean @andi-mendes-barnes

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madonna-la-cardinalessa · 4 years

Text

Another tag by my beautiful friend @tiffany-of-wales which I am glad to do finally :D

Flower tag:

jasmine; what mythical creature do you wish actually existed?

Unicorns. And I also believe that what we call mythical creatures once did exist and somewhere still do.

lavender; soundcloud or vinyls?

May I say CDs instead? I always like to have a CD booklet and like own the CD, putting it in my cupboard and say “ Look, I own this.” – not only on an online platform.

primrose; what book does everyone right now need to read?

Hmmm. Everyone? I do not think every book if for everyone but I recommend classics from Goethe, Schiller, Lessing and Shakespeare.

lunar mist; do you like wearing other people’s shirts/jackets?

I share some clothes with my mom. But if I had a boyfriend rn I would love to cuddle in his hoodies at times I think^^”

bird of paradise; what was the best thing that happened to you this month?

That I finished my bachelor’s thesis. I learned so much and I hope the work was worth it so that I pass it and get a good mark!

gardenia; what’s a promise you’ve recently made to yourself?

That I will try to get things done now that I have time during Corona.

lion’s fairytale; would you rather be the sky, the ocean or the forests?

Forests!

whirling butterflies; would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Definitely not Ö.ö

marmalade skies; do you plan your outfits?

Yes!

apricot drift; how do you feel right now?

Bored. I don’t like the current situation.

everlasting daisy; what’s the last dream you remember having?

Omg this night I dreamed sm shit, I swear. I was horse riding at night in the forests (no sane soul would do that lol) and found a deserted planetarium.

queen’s cup; what are you craving right now?

Getting a good mark on my bachelor’s thesis xD Oh, and I hope that I will be able to visit Rome this year – we had to cancel the Rome trip that was planned in a week for obvious reasons..

lavender dream; turn ons/offs?

Dangerous vibes/ being clingy and/or wimpy.

water lilly; when was the last time you cried?

Last week I think. Maybe the one before that.

lily of the valley; did the one person who hurt you most in your life apologize?

No.

winterberry; do you bite or lick your ice cream?

Depends, actually I do both.

honey perfume; favorite movie ever?

Hände weg von Mississippi (2007), Die Wilden Hühner (2006), most Studio Ghibli movies.

desert rose; do you like yourself?

Yes, I do.

snapdragon; have you ever met or seen in person a celebrity?

Yes, I did.

night owl; how many countries have you visited?

Only 5.

heliotrope; have you ever been in a castle?

Many, many times. I love visiting castles and monasteries.

creams and sky; what’s the craziest/bravest thing you’ve done?

Riding nearly every day into the woods with my high speed thoroughbred? xD Does that count? My girl is FAST.

lantana; what’s on your mind right now?

My horse Poly <3

pumpkin patch; what’s your zodiac sign?

I’m a Capricorn.

tulip; name 5 facts about yourself.

1. Even though I may look like it, I am no party girl at all.

2. Since childhood I had to deal with envy towards me which is why I never had many friends.

3. My best friend and I broke up several times – we’re both stubborn but we love each other a lot.

4. My love for history started with a documentary I watched when I was about 14. It was about vampirism in the balkan states. And it manifested with watching “The Tudors”, since then I knew that I wanted to study history – and now I do.

5. Without my friend Sandy I would have never settled down in church history during the Renaissance.

daphne; do you believe in karma?

Absolutely.

queen of the meadow; ever been in love?

Never with a person from this time period, no. I hope I will in near future tough.

wisteria; whom do you admire and why?

People who don’t spend their time with overthinking what other people might think of them.

angel’s face; what was your favorite bedtime story as a child?

The tales my father invented for me.

remember me; did you make someone laugh today?

My dog when I offered him a bit of my banana.

iris; do you believe in ghosts?

Yes.

lilac; if you could go back in time which time period would you visit?

That is hard. Renaissance Italy sure is fascinating but 17th century Europe comes to my mind more often, it’s weird.

caramel kisses; would you want to live forever? why/why not?

Maybe not living forever, But I would not mind at all staying young and beautiful as long as I live xD

primula; what makes you sad?

What mankind does to the world, to the earth to it’s creatures: plants and animals. I think we deserve to suffer and die out.

rain lily; was today typical? why/why not?

No, since everything is upside down thanks to Corona.

queen anne’s lace; who do you trust the most?

Myself.

Lady’s slipper; what did you have for breakfast today?

Toast with Nutella and fennel tea. <3.

forget me not; do you have any regrets looking back in your life?

I wished I had done more social things during my teens. I was always studying and reading with my head in the clouds. I wonder how things would be different now when I had been in relationships earlier etc.

lunaria; what’s your favorite fictional universe?

Torn between LOTR and Harry Potter.

violet; favorite tv show?

Borgia, now and always.

sunflower; share a favorite quote.

Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.

snowdrop; what does your ideal day look like?

Getting up early, go seeing my horse and take a long ride into the woods. The weather would be cold but sunny. After having a nice lunch with my mom I would relax in the afternoon and then go visiting my best friend, for dinner we would have sushi and watch a nice movie together like best friends do. When I got home I would watch an episode of Borgia to relax and then go to bed <3.

tiger lily; do you have any hobbies?

Reading, writing, history, horse riding, dreaming…..

peony; share a small random book passage that means something to you.

In Neil Gaiman’s Coraline when Coraline is about to find the last child’s soul and the other crazy old man says: “You’re too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don’t even get your name right.” I feel that sm.

tea rose; what’s something you always wanted to do but were too scared?

Partying maybe? I am a very shy person and would feel uncomfortable but I am afraid I miss something always staying at home at night.

honeysuckle; do you usually date people your age or older/younger?

Mostly about my age, but I like the guys to be older than me tbh.

sweet pea; who means the world to you?

My horse Poly.

love in the mist; best books you’ve ever read?

Actually I really enjoy Ludwig von Pastor’s History of the Popes. It may have it’s flaws but I it is really good researched and I appreciate all the notes and footnotes. Even though it’s academic literature it is still enjoyable to read.

foxglove; who is your favorite cartoon character?

Sailor Moon! If that counts as a cartoon.

magnolia; coffee or tea?

Tea, I have one right now.

crown imperial; would you rather be extremely rich or extremely loved?

Can’t I have both?

snowflake; are you a dog or a cat person?

I love both but probably more a dog person.

bell flower; what is your biggest addiction?

History.

cosmos; do you ever think about the galaxy?

Yes, we are so small, aren’t we? And yet mankind pretends to be so special and to know everything. How pitiful.

moonflower; what’s your favorite color?

Fir Green.

freesia; do you have a good relationship with your parents and siblings? why/why not?

I think so, yes.

sundrop; are you a morning or a night person?

A morning person.

poppy; have you ever dealt with a mental illness?

Yes, but I try to lock it inside.

clover; how would your friends describe you?

Calm but clever.

dandelion; do you consider yourself and extrovert or an introvert?

Introvert.

lilly; what’s something you love watching/reading but you are too embarrassed to admit you do?

In romance novels I am always waiting for the s*x passages lol xD Probably because this kind of thing is missing in my life atm xD

anemone; describe yourself in 3 words.

Astute, spiritual, special.

lotus; best memory as a child?

The holidays in Bavaria. Nothing was more beautiful.

angelonia; what is your eye and hair color?

Smokey grey, blonde.

dahlia; do you like crystals?

Yes.

buttercup; if you could change one thing in the world, what would it be?

Let everything bad for the environment disappear.

baby’s breath; what’s your hogwarts house?

Slytherin.

calendula; biggest pet peeve?

Pollution.

blanker flower; would you rather go to a cocktail party with your best friends or stay home and read a book/watch a movie with your pet?

If you read everything till now you will now – stay home with my pet and watch a movie/read a book. xD

blazing star; share a secret.

Why would I?

carnation; would you rather live longer or happier?

Happier.

petunia; who’s story is your biggest inspiration in life? why?

I stopped looking for rolemodels but try to live and be the best I can.

bluebell; do you wear glasses?

Nope.

And I tag everyone who wants to do this :D

#about me #me

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grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales · 5 years

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Serbian fairy tale: The Maiden Swifter Then Horse

A picture book of this fairy tale from my childhood

This is one of folk fairy tales recorded by Vuk Karadžić, published in his book in 1853. I decided to translate it, maybe some more over time. Just note, though I say Serbian fairy tale, as Vuk was first to record it, it can be found in several places over Balkan, because people and their stories always travel and migrate. This is how it goes, sorry if translation is bit wonky.

Tagging some folks I think might be interested in this, sorry if I bother!

@tomtefairytaleblog @slavicafire @vetrovnik @vila-ravijojla @skullchicken @amalagam @girlwithouthands @kiarazuri

Once upon a time, there was maiden not born of mother or father, for vilas (fairies) shaped her out of snow from bottomless pit upon July Sun. Wind gave her life, dew fed her ( original means breastfed her, but metaphor doesn’t work as well in English), mountain forest clothed her with leaves, and meadow ornamented her with flowers as jewelry. She was fairer then snow, rosier then rose, shinier then Sun, such that never before such woman has been born, nor shall be born.

One day, she sent out word that she is seeking husband, and that on certain day in certain place there will be race, and whoever outruns her on his horse she shall marry. In but few days did word go all over the world, and thousands of suitors arrived, including tsar’s son, such that you couldn’t choose which one was best of them all. All of them were on horses, and between them stood a maiden on her own feet.

‘‘There I set golden apple, and whoever takes it first shall be my husband. But should I get it first, know that all of you shall be struck down dead, so take care of what you are doing.’‘ Suitors looked at each other, and each was sure he will be one to win maiden, so they gossiped:

‘‘We all know that she, running on her bare feet, cannot escape none of us. One will get her, helped by God and luck.’‘ Maiden clapped, and race started. But as they run, a wings grew beneath her armpits, and she flew away. Seeing that, men started chiding each other, and riding faster, until they got close to her halfway in race.

Seeing that, maiden plucked and threw one of her golden hairs, and once it fell upon ground a great and terrible forest grew in moment, and blocked their way. Suitors continued onwards, and after some time got closer to her. Seeing that, maiden shed a single tear, and terrible rivers surged from it once it hit ground, such that nearly all of them would have drowned. Only tsar’s son continued following maiden, until he was single one left, yet maiden was too far away.

Then he called out to her, and thrice swore and begged her to stand by power of God’s name, and thus she stopped. He came nearby, and set her upon his horse, and together two of them swam on dry shore with horse. Tsar’s son turned to lead her home, and they went over mountains, her behind, holding onto his waist.

But when they passed tallest mountain, it’s tips covered by snow, tsar’s son felt easiness upon his waist, and turned around to see maiden gone!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4UUe0lDGVY

Go Hektik animation studio’s short movie inspired by fairytale, on English. Bit different but still lovely.

#slavic folklore #serbian fairy tales #balkan folklore #my work #fae #vilas

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hjertetssunnegalskap1 · 6 years

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I was tagged by @emmanette, and I’m supposed to answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs I’d like to get to know.

nicknames: I don’t have any.

gender: Female

star sign: Leo

height: 1,57 m

time: 6:20 pm

birthday: July 23rd

favorite bands: My taste in music is outdated and eclectic! Some favs are Alice in Chains, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Soundgarden, PJ Harvey, Faith No More, Seigmen, Living Colour, Skambankt, Dum Dum boys, Kaizers Orchestra, Kvelertak, Gåte, Lumsk, Valkyrien Allstars, Balkan Beatbox, Hedningarna… That’s the ones I manage to think of right now.

favorite solo artist: Uhm. That was a difficult one. I will never ever forget Nils Bech and how he lifted the Skam trailer for season 3 and the scene O Helga Natt with his song. But I have other favs, too.

song stuck in my head: The Star Wars theme, lol.

last movie i watched: «Ferdinand». I cried to it. I’m a sap.

when did i create this blog: About a year ago. I wanted to see all the pretty Skam images. I’m still new to this world of fandoms.

what do i post: I reblog things I see and like and sometimes I try to promote something I’ve written.

last thing i googled: «tyrefekting translate». Lol I often forget words in English and Google translate is sometimes helpful. I Google a lot.

do i have other blogs: No.

do i get asks: Seldom. But right after my rant about Skamfics recently, I got some.

why did i choose my url: It’s based on my old url (@hjertetssunnegalskap), and that came from a quote by the Sci Fi author Tor Åge Bringsværd: «For kunst og kultur – det er hjertets sunne galskap».

following blogs: 512

followers: 260

average hours of sleep: Around 6-7, I think!

lucky number: I don’t have one.

how many blankets i sleep with: I have a duvet, that’s it.

dream job: I would love to write so well or paint so well that I could do it fulltime. But apart from that, I’m happy with my job.

dream trip: Iceland.

favorite food: Food made with love.

nationality: Norwegian

favorite song right now: Alene by Arif has been stuck in my brain lately, and I really like it!

I’m tagging @norwegianssweethearts, @fivefireferrets, @ducklesspond, @tristealven and @tarjeistyle who I’d love to get to know better (but absolutely no pressure if you don’t want to do this) and anyone else who feel like answering these questions.

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grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales · 5 years

Note

Hey! I'm the anon from slavicafire's blog asking about Yugoslav witchcraft traditions. I;m a child of recent immigrants from the ex-yugo regions and I'm trying to reconnect w/ my roots. Could you give me a very basic outline of simple traditions that might be common from the region? Hvala puno (:

Hi anon! Glad to see somebody interested in our traditions, that is always amazing. I hope this helps you.

Disclaimer, I’m not professional. This is just stuff pulled out of my own amateur research and love for balkan lore. Anybody with better understanding please pitch in.

First, to reiterate what likely everybody told you, Slavic traditions are very variable and unique, depending on which country you are looking at. While there is obviously much similar things, not all Balkan countries have same lore. So I would suggest looking up where your ancestors are from, and then digging in research ( sometimes there are differences even between like, villages in same country, which makes things both beautiful and amazing and irritating and bothersome).

Second, I am sorry to say that information can be kinda hard to come across when searching for Balkan sources. As result of most countries being ‘’still in development’’, (at least when compared to West), decades of communist regime which didn’t care much for spirituality, big influence of Christian church and being kinda small in population, there isn’t lots of people interested in such things, at least not openly. There has thankfully been revival and rise of interest in last years but ah still takes lots of work to find like minded people. You should have some luck searching through Tumblr and Reddit.

Rest of info under cut, keep on read more so we wouldn’t bother people with big wall of text.

Now, I want to say ( in case you aren’t already aware, in which case excuse me and forgive for taking up your time) that if you do research in Serbian or Croatian for veštica you will most likely come upon fantasy books, fairy tales and such. More folkloric stuff will talk about things like selling your soul to Devil, eating hearts of your family, soul leaving your body to do misdeeds and similar. Rather interesting stuff, which could be used for interesting if little dark path, but less easy to put in practice and being generally very Christian story about evil monsters ( I assume you can’t leave your body in shape of moth so you would cut up your neighbors and relatives and eat their insides but hey what do I know, that might work for you). If you are interested in hearing about that though please send me ask again!

What I assume you are looking for, and is generally much more likely to be practiced ( today too in some villages) are činjarice and vračare. These words while literally meaning something like charm-doer/maker and similar, are more like village wisewomen, cunning folk and similar, people who practiced mixture of magic, medicine, old Slavic lore and Christian beliefs, midwifery and superstitions. If you ask your parents, grandparents, relatives and similar, I’m sure they would be able to tell you of encountering or at very least hearing about at least one weird old woman who claimed to be able to read your fortune, help with fertility, protect you against evil eye… If you ever meet such old woman, remember they will most likely be very insulted if you call them witch. Some wouldn’t even call their workings magical, and many are very intensively Christian.

So, some advice which I hope will be useful. Traditionally those women (and probably some men, though I didn’t hear of it happening. Probably happened but people don’t like talking about such things because people are dumb) worked alone. I assume one witch was enough for one village. This doesn’t mean that you can’t join a coven or work with friends and learn from others, simply that solitary path is open to you and that lots of those witches worked on their own, combining superstition, tips passed to them from others and their own knowledge and thoughts. There is no hard tradition to stick to, you can freely experiment, and don’t listen to people who say you need witch’s blood or some nonsense like that. You only need your will and heart and what works for you.

Then, remember those people lived in villages and most likely worked at farm, in fields, with cattle.. They likely lived together with their families ( unless they were of course widows with no nearby relatives or spinsters). Point is, they didn’t have fancy stuff, because they had to take acre of cows and dung and carrots, so you shouldn’t feel bad about not buying athames, wands, cauldrons and such if you can’t or don’t want. You can repurpose normal ordinary stuff around you in magical tools. As Granny Weatherwax would say, witch can use kitchen knife to do magic and make a bread. Some would argue it is still good to have separate tools for magic, or regularly cleanse and charge your cutlery so energy wouldn’t get too muddled, and that is good approach too. Look what works for you. Suggestions for tools: mirrors, candles, knives, threads,stones, scissors.

If you want to get ideas for how to incorporate everyday things in your practice, look up tag cottage witchcraft, or hearth witchcraft, which is based on idea of making your home practices in magic. Remember that you don’t need to define yourself as anything but witch, or even that, if you don’t want. Think of ways how your passions and talents could be used as outlet for witchcraft. Sing your spells, paint your sigils, however you want. Balkan witches let their craft go out through ordinary stuff too.

Research herb lore! Living in villages and near woods Slavic witches always worked closely with herbs. That seems to generally be witch thing, as herbs were for long time basis of spices and medicine. Research what herbs you can get your hands on (spices and weeds are easiest I’d say) can be used for, both magically and as teas, tinctures and similar ( remember that herbs should never be used instead of actual medication, and that you don’t need to bother with them if you don’t want to). Some starting points-generally, oak is associated with Perun, strength, protection and ancestors and was heavily respected and venerated. Walnut is associated with darkness, death, misfortune and evil witches and spirits so I’d say it would for example be good for curses. Hawthorn was used as means of protection against demonic spirits and evil creatures, especially vampires.

Research correspondences! People for example believed that certain workings should be undertaken only on certain days, such as holy days of saints, or that magic was best to be done on Friday. Water has different powers depending on day and place it was taken- frozen water or melted ice is used for spells of forgetting, but generally water is used for healing and purification, though time and place and way you collect it can charge it differently. Salt is of course as always amazing for protection and cleansing. Colours are also good start- black for death darkness misfortune, red for life and protection especially against spirits, white for purity cleansing contact with dead and positive energy and so on. Some things require really weird steps. For example to protect yourself from plague you needed to pull over yourself a shirt made by several naked old woman outside during Saturday night ( which I hope you will never need, and have serious doubts for how successful it would be)… If you are in for more ritualistic path it may work for you.

Spells, often called bajalice ( I’m not sure how to translate, except it vaguely means something like murmured song, or chant I think) were either passed down, picked from folklore, or straight up invented. They consisted of several lines and often rhymed, in fact many of them sound like nursery rhymes. Some are full of seemingly nonsenses, others call upon saints.

They also often had psychical component, a piece of paper, poppet, anything…Those were used as anchors for spell, and if you were casting for other person, closer those objects were to them spell worked better. Good luck and blessings were often in form of amulets person carried on themselves, curses often required burning object or burying it in victim’s backyard.

As with all witchcraft I’d say, sympathetic magic is one of basics. Hair, nails, blood, names, images, all those are often necesarry to work magic upon another. Be careful what is done with yours.

There is strong focus on body with Balkan witchcraft (especially hair). If you feel comfortable explore it, learn about it. Your body is wonderful and reveling in it can be very beneficial not just for magic but for your health, in flesh and mind both. Just stay away from things talking about stuff like putting menstrual blood in potions or anything unsafe. If you want to explore blood magic take care. Just cutting or pricking yourself isn’t good at all.

Look out for superstitions. Most of them contain ritualistic roots. Think and ask why they are done, and how can they be used in practice. Knock on wood for good luck or to prevent bad things, it calls out to spirits. Pinkie and index finger pointed on person is used for casting curses of evil eye variety. And so on…

You don’t have to work with dead, but as amazing zmija already mentioned, there is always something undead. Graveyard dirt is powerful. Look out for ghosts and similar creatures. If you want, try to connect to ancestors or tend to graveyards. Forty days after birth and death are when such forces are most active. Our dead are always with us, and those who have passed on often frequent and play with those who replaced them.

Treat nature well. Remember that it is full of spirits ( some of which may be similar to undead-is rusalka a water nymph or drowned girl, domovoi entirely spiritual caretaker of home or ghost of distant ancestor ). Try to connect with them, to reach out if you feel safe. Dragons, vampires, fairies ( zmey, vampies/upyrsi, vilas in english sources) were most important to Balkans, as well as creatures of wilds like snakes and wolves.

Spaces American side of tumblr would call liminal are important. Thresholds, crossroads and watermills are folklorically connected with magic a lot.

Balkan Traditional Witchcraft by Radomir Ristic from what I heard is very good book, if little awkward to read as it is translated in English. Journal for the Academic Study of Magic from what I have heard has some stuff on South Slavic magic in issue 2 and parts of it are put up online, such as The Human Body in Southern Slavic Folk Sorcery Andrija Filipovic and Anne M. Rader. Solvenska Mitologija ( The Slavic Mythology) by Nenad Gajić is great start if you want easy to understand and comprehensive list of Slavic creatures, beliefs, lore and so but I don’t know if you can find it out of Balkans. Belgrade publishing house Metaphysica also apparently has some stuff, no idea if it is good.

If you know Serbian or Croatian, I would suggest websitehttp://www.starisloveni.com/index.html, which is pagan site and also has forum (you need to be registered though). I have also found several threads of that topic on https://forum.krstarica.com/ and https://www.ana.rs/forum/ though they require digging, especially for good stuff. Site is also bit less modern. I have recently came upon https://thewitchandwalnut.wordpress.com/, a Wordpress blog of Balkan witch from Canada which seems very informative. @everett-the-mage is very awesome blog with lots of content on Croatian folk magic and lovely Etsy shop and lots of recommendations for reading.

I hope this helps at least a little! Good luck with your journey!

#slavic mythology #slavic folklore #paganism #slavic paganism #balkans

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