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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

The Unawesome Assumption

Characters/Pairing: Awesome Trio (Denmark, Prussia, and America), with America having an obvious crush on Romano and established Gerita. If you squint, there might be mild implications of one-sided Pruita and Prumano. Also mentions of Spamano, but that’s pretty much all in America’s paranoid brain. (Note that America does rant about the idea of Spamano in an anti-ish way, but it’s based on jealousy. I have nothing against Spamano shippers.)

Summary: The Awesome Trio is enjoying a day out at a carnival when America gets a phone call from “Little Italy” and acts strangely during the call. Believing that “Little Italy” is his brother’s boyfriend, Prussia warns America that Italy is off limits and gets a response he wasn’t expecting.

Rating: Teen for some crude sexual humor, cursing, and mentions of violence

Word Count: 1971

Notes: Credit to @bitchapalooza for the idea of what the Awesome Trio would do when hanging out together, including some specific details that got mentioned in this story. This will be posted on my AO3 account soon, if you’d rather read or comment there.

America took a bite of the snack he had just purchased from the carnival booth and made a satisfied noise. “Damn, these things are good. I swear, deep frying an Oreo just makes it better.”

Denmark grinned at him. “Try dipping it in that huge Slurpie you’re holding.”

America dipped his deep-fried Oreo into the Slurpie, took a bite, then closed his eyes and moaned in a way that was, quite frankly, obscene. “Holy shit! It’s like a flavor orgasm in my mouth!”

Prussia laughed at him. “You like having orgasms in your mouth, Al?”

America’s face turned red as Denmark joined in on the snickering too. “Shut up, dude! You know what I meant!”

Prussia reached over and ruffled America’s hair fondly. “Of course we do, kiddo.” America wasn’t really a kid anymore, but he was younger than Prussia and Denmark, and not just in physical age. And as far as Prussia was aware, America had never been in a relationship or done anything that would involve orgasms in his mouth. Maybe he just wasn’t into people that way, Prussia mused.

America rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you guys want to do next?”

Denmark glanced around. “It looks like there’s a petting zoo over there,” he said, pointing with his index finger. “That could be fun.”

“I’m up for it,” Prussia agreed. They’d already done most of the rides anyway, and seriously, who would pass up the opportunity to pet a cute farm animal? Not Prussia.

America nodded too, and they all started heading towards the petting zoo, which was a fair distance away from the deep-fried Oreo booth. Right after they finished up their deep-fried Oreos, an old-fashioned song began to play. Old-fashioned as in more than 50 years old, but still played often enough that most people could recognize it from the first line.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore

Prussia looked around in confusion, wondering what could have been playing a Dean Martin song over carnival music and kids running around and screaming with delight. “Does this place have an Italy-themed booth?” Prussia wondered aloud.

“I think it’s coming from America,” Denmark replied. When Prussia glanced at him, America was scrambling to retrieve his cell phone from his jeans pocket and trying to shift a giant inflatable alien he had won at the bottle shooting booth into his other arm at the same time. In the process, his cell phone bounced out of his pocket and fell to the ground, but the screen didn’t crack. Denmark swooped in to pick up the phone before America could bend down to get it.

His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he read the contact name on the screen. “Little Italy is calling you?”

America scowled, face flushing just as red as it had earlier when Prussia had been teasing him about his accidental sexual innuendo. Prussia felt a strange, foreboding sense that something just wasn’t right. “Give me back my phone, Denmark.”

“Sure.” Denmark handed the phone over. “Wouldn’t want to keep little Italy waiting, huh?”

America shot Denmark an irritated glare as he answered the call. But as soon as Italy started speaking to him, America smiled fondly and took a few steps away so he could speak to Italy without Denmark and Prussia overhearing everything he said.

“Well, that was weird,” Denmark said.

Prussia’s eyes narrowed as he watched America talking to Italy. “Ja, it was.” America had a lot of customized ringtones for his cell phone, and it made sense that he would have one for Italy. But Prussia had never heard America’s phone ringing with a love song before. And America’s demeanor was strange too. Prussia had spent a lot of time around America, and he wasn’t normally this quiet. He smiled often, but it was a big, bright grin, not the small, almost shy smile on his face now. Did America have a crush on Italy? If he did, Prussia couldn’t really blame him. Both of the Italian brothers were cute, and Italy was especially sweet and adorable. But Italy was Germany’s boyfriend. Everyone knew that. America knew that.

America giggled in response to something Italy said. “Aww, Vene, you worry too much! I doubt I’m gonna get sick from the carnival food. But if I did, I wouldn’t mind having you nurse me back to health. I know you’d take great care of me.”

“Dude. Isn’t Italy dating your little brother?” Denmark whispered in a worried tone of voice.

“He is,” Prussia answered, nearly growling out the words. “And if America keeps talking to him like that, I’m gonna have to beat him so badly he won’t be able to walk for the next two weeks.” America was clearly picturing Italy “taking care of him” in more than just in a medical way. He was flirting with Ludwig’s boyfriend, and that was an incredibly stupid thing to do right in front of Prussia. Gilbert would protect his baby brother with his life, and he would not allow anyone to hurt him by attempting to lure Feliciano away. Not even one of his closest friends.

America talked to Italy for a couple more minutes, but Prussia didn’t overhear anything else he said, other than the goodbye that was way too affectionate for a friend. America hung up the phone and walked back towards Denmark and Prussia with a content expression on his face, and Prussia immediately began to question him.

“What the fuck were you just doing?”

America’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I answered a phone call?”

“We saw you trying to flirt with Italy over the phone,” Denmark explained. “Your attempt was so cheesy I doubt it was effective, but it was also really obvious. Iceland’s puffin could have picked up on what you were doing.”

“What? Dude, that’s crazy! I don’t like Vene that way.” America wheezed with phony laughter, and he shifted his gaze around like he always did when he was attempting to lie. America was a notoriously horrible liar, and that’s why Denmark and Prussia usually got the beers for Alfred if they wanted to hang out in the US and drink together. America might have an excellent fake ID that said he was 21, but no bartender would believe Alfred when he showed them his ID with such a guilty expression. And Prussia didn’t believe him now.

“Listen, I don’t care if you’ve got some silly little crush on Italy,” Prussia told him. “That’s something you can’t help. But you can’t talk to him like that ever again. Italy is off limits.” Gilbert thought he was being incredibly reasonable, given the circumstances. The fact that America wasn’t lying on the ground bleeding was a goddamn miracle.

But apparently, America didn’t see it that way. He scoffed and put his hands on his hips. “Off limits? Why? Because you’ve got a thing for him? You can’t claim dibs on a person, Gil. That’s not how it works.”

“What?! No, this isn’t about me!” Why the hell would America even think that?

“Oh, I see. This is about Spain.” America’s lip curled into a disgusted sneer, but before Prussia could interrupt to correct America’s bizarre assumption, he continued, launching into a tirade against Prussia and Spain. “I guess he’s your real friend, and I’m not! It doesn’t matter how I feel, because Spain has a permanent claim on Vene just because he’s known him for longer. Well, you know something, I think you’re full of shit! And I think it’s up to Vene who he wants to be with! Maybe he wouldn’t want to be with the guy who fucking raised him from the time he was a toddler! But guess even considering that makes me the crazy one!”

Prussia was aware of some nearby humans turning to stare at them in surprise, and many of them seemed almost as shocked as the lady who guessed people’s ages had been when Denmark told her his real age. But he was pretty startled too, because America was much more bitter than he had been expecting. Prussia was also startled by the realization that his righteous anger had all been based on a ridiculous misunderstanding.

“Really, Spain too?” Denmark murmured. “I don’t get it. Is Italy emitting some kind of magic love pheromones or something?”

Prussia shook his head without taking his eyes off America. “He wasn’t talking about Italy. He was talking about Italy’s brother. Romano.”

America’s face cleared in understanding. “Oh… oh! You thought I was talking about North Italy! No wonder you got so mad at me!”

Prussia nodded and chuckled a little, at both himself and the situation. “You didn’t exactly help when you started calling him ‘Vinny.’ I thought that was short for Veneziano.”

“No, dude, that’s based on his human name, Savino. I started calling him that back when we lived together.” America sounded pretty damn nostalgic, and Prussia felt a little silly for assuming Alfred had been talking to Feliciano. He’d sounded nostalgic about the 1920s before, but Prussia had assumed it was just a friendship thing.

“Did you come up with the Little Italy thing around then too?” Denmark asked.

“Yeah.” America smiled, and his eyes went all soft, like he was staring at the world’s most adorable kitten. “It’s not just ‘cause he’s little compared to me, though he is. It’s ‘cause most of the people who lived in those neighborhoods were from his part of Italy. It would feel pretty weird to call North Italy that.”

Prussia rolled his eyes as all three of them started walking towards the petting zoo again. “Right, and we’re supposed to believe you don’t have a crush on him?”

“I don’t!” America insisted. “I swear.”

Denmark snorted. “Okay, then why’d you pick that song to be his ringtone?”

“Well, it mentions Naples. It’s a nice song, and it reminds me of Romano. Honestly, you guys should’ve known I was talking to him based on the ringtone alone.”

Prussia exchanged a smirk with Denmark. “He knows where Naples is, but I bet he couldn’t locate either of us on a map.”

“That’s not true! I know for a fact that Prussia is East Germany. Denmark is directly to the left of Finland and right above Norway.”

Denmark burst into a fit of raucous laughter, and Prussia did too. America sounded so confident about Denmark’s location even though he was completely off, and it was hilarious.

America pouted as they all got in line behind a group of children. “You guys are mean.”

Denmark shoved America’s shoulder playfully. “Cheer up, Al. We’re just teasing you a little.”

“Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about with Spain,” Prussia added. “I mean, sure, he might go overprotective on you if you try to date Romano, but I don’t think he’s into him like that. So, you’re in the clear there.”

For someone who had denied having a crush on Romano twice in the past few minutes, America looked incredibly relieved that Spain was not going to be romantic competition for him. But then, the guy running the little petting zoo announced that the next person in line would get a chance to milk a goat, and Denmark pushed past multiple children to the front of the line, so Prussia naturally turned his attention to that. The man running the zoo had a flabbergasted expression on his face as Denmark ran up to him and the goat, and both America and Prussia found it hysterical. This carnival was turning out to be one of the most awesome things Prussia had done in a while, and he was glad he got to hang out with his friends today and make entertaining memories like this one.

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nautiscarader · 4 years

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kim/ron 20

Smutember day 20 - Adrenaline rush

Kim/Ron, E 2.1k

(Ao3)

If you liked my story, here’s a Ko-fi link if you’d be so kind ❤️.

==================

Just a moment ago, everything was okay. Kim laughed at Ron's joke, keeping her eyes at the horizon and hands on the yoke. And then, she was falling through the air, with Ron next to her.

In the last minute of their doomed flight she tried to see why all of the controls of the small private plane went haywire, and when she realised there was no way she would be able to land, she told him they have to jump.

She was holding her boyfriend's hand as she felt air blowing through their hair, like they've done a hundred times and then, and just when she wanted to pull her cord, she heard a scream, and saw Ron's arms flailing in the air, pulling his cord for nothing.

If she had pulled her parachute open, he would be falling away from her at nearly full terminal velocity, with no chance of catching him even with her grappling hook. Kim spread her arms, and looking only at him, she manoeuvred her position to let the wind steer her towards him.

She would not dare to look down. She knew they were getting to the ground faster and faster, fifty meters every second.

Ron reached his hand, and the second she felt his fingertips she pulled him towards her, and only when his arms tightened around hers, she pulled the cord, praying they were high enough.

They didn't collide with the ground. They were alive. She saw her boyfriend's face through tears, and only then she looked down at the green treetops of the Amazon, approaching them with significantly slower speed.

- I got you. - she whispered, her voice breaking. - I know, KP. I know.

Another reassuring noise came from Rufus, sticking his head from the pocket in Ron's jacket.

For the first time in a long, long minute, Kim breathed in the air whooshing around them and exhaled it with a sigh of relief.

- We're off course, though - she noted, looking around - We might have to land on that plateau. - I trust, you Kim. Also, try not to flinch around... Now.

Kim tightened her grip just when she heard a distant explosion when their plane with the rest of their equipment collided with the ground.

The two looked at each other, exchanging wordless thoughts.

- Ron, Rufus, brace yourselves, this might be hard landing.

Shielding him from the impact, she let her body take the majority of force, hoping the leaves of the bush she was aiming at would do the rest. A second stretched into infinity again, as she waited for Ron's voice, and when he finally spoke, she did something she wanted to do for a long time.

- Kim, I'm fine, are you-

His voice drowned in her mouth when she pulled him into a salty kiss, as tears began overflowing her eyes. At least for now they were safe.

- Uh, Kim, we're no longer falling to our deaths, you can let go now. - Never. - she spoke through tears - I'm not letting you go ever again.

============================

With all their limbs intact, the two started thinking of a plan how to get back onto their track. They were, after all in the middle of a jungle, one of the densest in he world. Kim's heart sank when she tried contacting Wade, as it would seem her Kimmunicator took one for the team.

The two spent the first hour walking around the rocky plateau, hoping to find some place of shelter there. The sun was setting down, and if they could find a place to set up a camp above the treetops, instead of on the ground, they would at least be shielded from wild animals.

An optimist would call it a cave; a realist, a slightly deeper hole in the rocky wall they were encircling. But at least it gave them the shelter, and a place to rest and ascertain their situation. Kim sat on her folded parachutes, doubling as beddings, trying to gather her thoughts, still racing through her mind.

- Okay, so, our equipment is gone, and we have no way of contacting rest of the world. We know where north is, shame we don't have a map... - We do! - No, Ron, I told you, the GPS isn't working, so- - No, a map!

Ron waved a thick, pocket-sized, battered book at her, and watched as her face brightened.

- Admittedly, it still has Czechoslovakia in it, and Germany is divided into three pieces, instead of two, so I don't think it-

Once again his voice died down when Kim's lips crashed with his as she nearly toppled him to the ground, peppering his face with kisses.

- Ron, you saved ut! Did you manage to bring anything else? - Er, I have some snacks. - he smiled, much to her surprise - The vending machine was dirt cheap... - Ron, you are always so considerate... - she cooed and toyed with his hair. - Well, I knew we might need it here, I mean, I gotta balance the diet of the fruits here with something slightly less healthy...

Kim smiled at him, and the two burst into laughter, listening to the soft crackling of the campfire. Her hands coiled around him, feeling the soft material of Ron's parachute underneath them, and as she pressed her body against his, something clicked in her brain, and she broke their kiss so she could undo her shirt.

- Ki-Kim?! - Ron stuttered, unable to trust his eyes - No-Now? Here?! - Ron, I-I can't wait... - Kim spoke in low, breathless voice, one she herself couldn't fully recognise, as her hands dug into his shirt - I-I have to know if you're alive...

In the corner of her eye, she saw Rufus giving them a contemptuous looks before he stuffed his earplugs in, and ran towards their only remaining backpack to give the two a bit of privacy. He will get over it, Kim thought. He always does.

She concentrated back on her boyfriend, and let out a gasp when she felt his hands doing a bit of work on her cargo pants, though with the heat growing between her loins, she knew she would do it much, much faster than him. She stood up and in one fell swoop she disrobed herself, before doing the same to her baffled lover, finally letting their naked bodies collide.

- Kim, I don't- - No talk, Ron. - she shushed him. - Later.

She straddled him, and as their lips met once more, she finally felt her lover between her legs, and that he was as much into her spontaneous, wild plan as she was. For a split of a second, she thought of his mouth on her sex, of the long and delicate foreplay Ron was spoiling her with almost every night; the sight of his blonde hair above her tiny red bush and her fingers in them...

And then she impaled herself onto his cock, bypassing all of that. Her loud, primal cry echoed around them, and Ron could swear that it made a group of birds fly away from a nearby tree, though he couldn't be sure, as all he could concentrate on was his radiant girlfriend bouncing up and down on his cock with a mad gleam in her eye he didn't expect to see, especially here.

Kim didn't want his tenderness and gentlemanly behaviour. She wanted ruthless, rabid rutting she knew he was capable of, though from the wide-eyed stare he was giving her, she had to jump-start him into that mood. Her hips and legs worked overtime, coating his manhood with more of her juices that in turn only allowed her to speed up her frantic bounces.

Their lips met in quick, aggressive kisses, short enough for the to let them breathe in their shared musk and heat with much needed air they were expelling, though Kim was doing it to a much bigger degree, fully justifying Rufus' earplugs. For a short moment Ron was glad, as her carnal moans and wails, cried into the night would surely repel any animals.

But as their spontaneous love-making continued, his voice slowly began rivalling hers, as his cries and grunts raised and harmonised with hers. His grip on her thighs tightened, fulfilling Kim's deepest desire to be as close to her lover as possible. Though the two never looked away from each other, in a split of second before the bliss consumed them, they saw the familiar sparks in their eyes, and as Ron pulled her against her, and onto his cock, Kim came, dragging him with her. But her initial cry was nothing compared to the series of high-pitched moans in quivering voice that reverberated against the rocky walls with each portion of his warmth Ron spilled inside her.

The two rocked their bodies together, as if competing against each other in some invisible race, fuelling their carnal desires.

A solid minute later, when Kim has calmed down, Ron massaged her backside, still shivering from the waves of orgasm, as well as the gentle breeze of chill air that was quickly combated by the heat from their love-making. Their lips met again, in a much longer, languorous, sensual kiss in which Kim explained in lengthy, silent details how much she needed him.

- So, do you think I'm alive? - Ron asked with a slightly croaked voice, trying to sound composed and cool. - Mhm I don't know. - Kim smiled - I think I need some more pro-OOF!

She yelped when her lover toppled her to her back, making sure that her head would land on his open palm first, as he slid the other, useless parachute for her comfort. Before Kim knew, her legs were on his shoulders, and the same man, who was surprised by the sight of her naked breasts a few long moments ago was now happily pounding her with a smirk on his face.

Kim let out a loud, unabashed "YES!" and let their bodies mingle once more. And as he exerted his dominance over her, first by mate-pressing her, and then taking her doggy-style, Kim had a sudden epiphany. This is exactly how they should have been doing it.

How it should be done at all...

Sure, delicate bedsheets were nice and all, but doing it in the wild, underneath a starry sky, has awoken a very primal part of her mind. True, they have done it in the park during jogging one time, and there was that incident in the changing booth in the mall, but those couldn't compare to this... Before she would let Ron climax again, though, she swiftly rolled to her back, temporarily losing the precious connection with him she regain at once when she closed her legs behind his back, locking him inside her again.

Their eyes met, and another, loud scream filled the air around them when they reached their shared peaks. And as Ron's seed continued to flood her womb for the third time, their moans and cries joined the sounds of the mating season around them, as the night was still very young for them.

==================

A long while later, they cuddled against each other, wrapped in their parachutes working as blankets. Ron was peppering Kim's shoulders, watching as she did the rudimentary math with Ron's pencil (he always carried one). She giggled when his mouth reached a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and turned towards him to give him another kiss.

- You want more? - Nah, I think I am all done for tonight. And for entire week, honestly.

Kim giggled.

- Well, we have to gather some strength through the night. We have a full day of trekking until we reach Manaus. - That's nothing for us.

He smiled and coiled his arms behind her back in a tight, loving embrace.

- Kim, I was gonna say earlier... - I know, Ron, don't worry. - she interrupted him - You brought the map, pencil, and snacks, those were more important than condoms. We will think of something once we reach the town. But even if not...

Kim paused and cupped his face, feeling his body tremble slightly underneath her touch.

- As I've said, I'm never letting go of you ever again either way.

She looked into his loving, brown eyes and watched as the uncertainty in them disappear with her reassuring words.

- Want something to eat, KP? I'm kinda famished after... after all that. - As long as Rufus hasn't eaten everything.

She laughed and gently moved their only backpack to see if they still had some food supplies left.

#kimron #kim/ron #lemon #nautiscaraderfics #Anonymous #kimxron #kim possible #ron stoppable #smutember #day 20

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badwolfwrites-sometimes · 4 years

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Perfection

After a world meeting, Germany and Italy go on a fluffy date.

The morning sun peaked through Germany's pale gray curtains, gently caressing his sleeping face no longer than two seconds before said nation woke up. His alarm clock, sitting by his bed, read 7:00, just 3 hours before a meeting at his place. Yet another global warming discussion.

Like every other time, he didn't expect much from the meeting, but something was pushing Germany to leave his comfortable bed and get ready for the day. Yes, today he had a date with his Italy. Was it the only reason Germany was so excited for the day? Yes, it was.

At first, he didn't expect his relationship with Italy to keep going this well for nearly 20 years, seeing as it was quite unusual for countries. However, Italy was his everything and he would be lying if he said that he didn't fall for him all over again every day. No matter how odd Italy is.

Germany sighed, the burning hot water intensifying the racing of his heart. If this was a musical, he would be singing loud enough for the whole world to hear. Unfortunately, it wasn't and his brother was sound asleep in his basement room. Also, singing in the shower isn't very convenient.

By the time Germany was finished with his breakfast, it was 8:30, leaving him with just enough time to get to the meeting half an hour early. That is if he woke Prussia up in time.

Prussia, barely in a mood for living, dragged himself to the kitchen just as Germany was about to go and wake him up. "Morn'ng." He simply said, taking some bread and butter to make himself a sandwich for breakfast, all while still being half asleep.

"Good morning. Your lunch is in the fridge so heat it up when you want to eat. I will be going now." Germany greeted back, grabbing his jacket.

"Tell Ita I said hi." Prussia answered back.

"I will." With that, Germany left his house and drove off to the meeting.

Not many people were outside when he got there, just the usual bunch and a few who liked to come outside for a smoke. Germany didn't mind smoking, it wasn't his place to tell them how to live their lives, but he detested those who would leave their cigarette butts all over the place. There were bins outside for that purpose.

As he was parking his car, he spotted Japan talking to America at their usual spot, anywhere hidden from everyone else. That was unusual for the American, but he cared a lot about Japan who wasn't all that comfortable around many people. They must have looked like a couple to everyone else and, frankly, Germany thought they were kind of cute together.

He greeted the two of them, America jumping at the chance for strangling Germany with his bare hands. Unlike Italy's, America's hugs were almost always over the top. Once he let go, Germany patted Japan's shoulder, with the latter returning the favor. That was their own kind of hug.

"Ita-chan is not here yet, Germany. Would you like to join us?" Japan asked, moving closer to America to make some space for Germany.

"If you two don't mind." Germany answered.

"We don't, Japan and I've been talking about the latest video games. Ever played Animal Crossing, Germy?" America asked, seemingly excited to talk about just about anything.

Germany shook his head. "Can't say I have, but I heard good things about it."

"Germy, my boy, my man, it's the best thing ever. You have to play it." America took his hands, eyes filled with all 50 stars from the American flag.

"Ame-chan, that is not the way to convince people to play games." Japan laughed at his friend's attempts. "You do it like this..." He then stood up, before kneeling on the floor and bowed all the way till his nose touched the floor. "Germany-san, please do us a favor and purchase the game. It would be my house's greatest honor."

Germany stared dumbfounded at his friend. America, on the other hand, wasn't fazed in the slightest and proceeded to join Japan in his request. Only he hit his head attempting to bow properly. Germany smiled at their dedication. "Alright, I shall buy and play the game for you two."

Just as he said that, a black car parked nearby, bearing a Spanish licence plate. Out of the car stepped out Spain, Romano and a very impatient Italy. He looked around, trying to spot his tall and buff boyfriend. Germany smiled and waved to him.

Italy speed up to Germany like he was attached to a jet plane, jumping into his arms. Confronted by the force of his cute lover, Germany spun him around a bit. "Ciao, Amore." Italy smiled.

"Guten tag, Liebe." Germany returned the gesture before the Italian in his arms pecked away the smile on his lips. Germany pouted as he realized that was all he was going to get since the meeting would be starting soon.

Japan and Italy exchanged their greetings, with America nearly crushing both of them in a tight hug. It couldn't be helped, America just loved tight hugs. The four of them then walked towards the meeting room.

As Germany predicted, the meeting was yet another failure. The problems were stated, but no conclusion was made on how to solve them and pretty soon, everyone parted ways with each other. America and Japan went with England for some tea and coffee time, France, Russia and China went to get lunch, Romano and Spain drove off to Spain's house and the rest of the nations just suddenly vanished until Germany and Italy were the only ones left.

"You ready?" Italy asked, grabbing Germany's arm.

Germany smiled, brushing Italy's cheek with his free hand. "Ready."

The two left the meeting room, making their way towards the nearest park for a short walk.

"So I told Seborga that it just wasn't going to work that way, but, naturally, he didn't listen and then guess what happened?" Italy ranted off his feelings to Germany as they walked around the park for the third time.

"It went off in the air?" Germany responded.

"Exactly. At least now he knows to listen to me." Italy finished his story. "Do you think I'm too soft on him?"

"Well, he is your brother, not your child. I would say that you are a bit strict on him, even if he is a grown man."

"That makes me feel a bit better." They barely left the park when Italy spotted an empty children's playground, tapping Germany's arm. "Germany, can we go on the slide? Pleaseee."

There was something about Italy's begging that always sent Germany's mind into the void. No matter what the Italian asked, he was sure to get it if he begged Germany for it. Germany just nodded and tagged along.

Italy climbed up the slide at the speed of sound, but a problem came up once he couldn't go down the slide. "Germany."

Germany watched him on the side, humming his answer.

"I think I need a bit of a push..." Italy's ears turned red. "I think my butt is stuck."

Germany resisted the urge to laugh, knowing that if he did, he would hurt the poor Italy's already low self esteem. He did as he was told and pushed Italy until he could slide down properly. "I don't think this slide was made for bigger kids."

Italy stared at him, still sitting at the bottom of the slide. "Are you saying I'm fat?" He turned back around, arms crossed and pouting. Germany realized he said too much.

He knelt down in front of Italy. "I am saying that you are a grown up kid and this slide was obviously not made for grown up kids." Italy cracked a smile. "Love me back again?" Germany did his best impression of a puppy that his face let him. It was enough for Italy to jump right back into his arms.

"Of course I do, my little potato." Italy kissed Germany's nose. "I could be fat and you can be a potato. We make an excellent team."

"I am not sure how, but it doesn't matter." Germany stood up, lifting Italy as well. "Should we go get some lunch?"

Italy nodded, already making requests for the finest dish in the town.

It was dark by the time they returned to Germany's house. What a day they had. First, they had a nice lunch and went for a walk again. Then they stopped by the cinema to watch a movie Italy wanted to see and Germany almost dropped all the popcorn at the sudden scream. Afterwards, they went for a small "dinner" at the local McDonald's before, finally, going to Germany's place where Italy would spend the night.

"You're back alr- Italy!!!" Prussia happily raced from the couch to greet his third favorite person in the world, after himself and Canada.

"Prussia!" Italy greeted equally excited, while Germany just wished they would let him pass through the hallway. He was out of luck as his three, although beloved, dogs also rushed to greet Italy.

Quite a while later, Prussia retreated to his room. Italy and Germany were both sprawled on the couch, Germany reading a book and Italy watching the most boring film on the television. At least he was comfortable, wearing nothing but his boxers and his legs creating a bridge over Germany's for Germany to put his chin on a read.

Just as Italy began dozing off, Germany put his book away and stared at his lover. He had to admit, these were the moments Italy absolutely shone with beauty and Germany couldn't believe that he was one of the few who got to see him like that. Everything from his messed up hair, to his soft stomach, to his curvy thighs was perfect. And Germany wanted nothing more than be able to look at him and caress him like this forever.

He kissed Italy's knees, enough for the Italian to break away from the chains of sleep and smile at his lover. Germany smiled back, moving up to kiss Italy's thighs, earning giggles in response, but Germany couldn't be stopped. He kissed at Italy's stomach, Italy's chest, Italy's neck and jaw and finally looked into those big brown eyes.

Italy's eyes are always smiling, Germany learned after spending hours upon hours upon hours studying them. What he didn't know was that Italy's eyes smiled the most when Germany was looking at them with his own curious blue ones. God knows, Italy would do anything for those two blue lakes positioned so perfectly on Germany's face.

Germany closed the gap between the two of them, brushing his lips against Italy's slowly at first before connecting them together like two pieces of a puzzle. Italy hummed into the kiss, telling Germany that he was content with the perfection of this moment. Germany broke the kiss for air, licking his lips, a deed he knew would make Italy want some more. And more was he ready to give him.

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cooltrainererika · 4 years

Text

Alt-talia Compilation: Bloody

Greetings, everyone. It seems Halloween has ended already... but the event isn’t over yet!

So this is another fic for hetaween; or rather, another compilation! This is for 10/27: Bloody. Now, I thought I could skip that day, because I thought it had to be about Halloween specifically. But it turns out that wasn’t the case. So I’m going to release some here. I was thinking releasing a Hetalia Emblem fic for this prompt… but man there were so many ideas for this one. These aren’t the only ones, even. I’m just posting this now so that I can get it out while I can, with more to be added in reblogs. If I can, I’ll try to do the HE one though.

Since the first story ended up being way longer than expected, I decided to put it at the end, with the shortest fic, a scene I’ve had an idea for a long while that could be considered a companion piece to “Past The Finest Hour” in a way, at the beginning, kind of like animated shorts before an animated movie. There’s also a deleted scene that is actually an alternate version of the main feature, but I couldn’t follow up on it. I might post something using the same basic idea for “Nightmare”, though.

Also, once again, I must reiterate that Alt-talia is generally a more morally grey, dark AU. Also at least a few popular relationship dynamics in canon are absolutely shattered here, so keep that in mind. And the main story references a certain... infamous historical incident. It doesn’t feature it, it just references it, but I warned you. And these will all be referencing some kind of violent incident or time period in history. I just hope I gave them the respect they deserve. And since I can’t think of any era cues, I’ll just state upfront that said fic one takes place in the 60s, after the 1963 Élysée Treaty specifically; eventually, I’ve managed to narrow it down to not long after said treaty, probably 1963 - 1965. Also, I tried making the characters speak in an accent, but since they have border languages that are similar, they’re speaking that here instead. Also accents might cause Narm.

Note: I use a word that is often classified as a slur here. However, I feel that it’s appropriate to the era.

So, without further ado...

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(Also… people who read my fics, please reblog? I’ve spent so much time on them, I want more people to see them.)

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Keep Calm

The Battle of Britain had been raging for days; and Canada was growing worried.

The bombing had just begun and it was bad; quite bad. He had finished ushering another contingent of civilians into bunkers and tunnels, following the signs that now covered the city, hopefully safe from the fire and fury that rained upon what used to be their homes.

“Ah, Canada-“

And there his father was.

His head, a good part of of his face, and neck covered in blood.

Matthew just barely held back a scream.

“Father, your head is covered in blood, can you not see that?! Please take it easy!”

“Ah, this?” He was terribly serene, but that was punctuated with a cough.

“Terribly irritating, I must say-“ more hacking coughs “-Jerry, that nuisance. The blood is stinging my eyes-“

And with a painful-sounding cough, he coughed blood.

Canada’s face paled as it stained his uniform.

“GOOD GOD! ...Sorry at the outburst, but how can you call that ‘terribly irritating’?!”

The Blitz had indeed been affecting him; however, his face, as usual, was calm, as if he had a somewhat annoying cold.

More bombs fell, and again he coughed red, making Canada flinch.

He had never seen his father this hurt; the cliffs of Dover had protected him since the time of the Norman Conquest, and he probably hadn’t experienced this much damage, especially in his capital city, in that long a time.

But yet…

“A mere few square kilometers destroyed, is all…”

“MERE?!”

“We are nations, Canada. And can you not shout? I’m quite fine, thank you.”

He took off his scarf, compressing his wound.

“I shall get back in the air in two hours now. You need to take flight soon too, lad. Chop-chop.”

Matthew, the personification of the Dominion of Canada, sighed loudly.

“I’m not a ‘lad’ anymore father.”

His father chuckled.

“You are finally growing up, Canada.”

Even after all these centuries, his father’s ability to seemingly be unfettered by anything always never ceased to surprise him.

“I could use an ale now, however.”

“Father! Please!”

As he had been outside, guiding the citizens to their bunkers, many had been just like him.

Maybe, the best way to spite the enemy was this after all; to show that you wouldn’t be affected by their attempts, that no matter what, they would always remain as they always had been.

After all, his father hadn’t become the largest empire the world had ever seen for no reason.

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Unbreakable

Byelorussia bled.

With every Nazi her ragtag group of partisans killed, intentionally or not, her flesh tore and burned, and her mouth tasted of choking, suffocating liquid iron.

If she were human, she would have probably died from pain alone long ago.

She was able to cover most of them by now before the others noticed, and it helped that her old, worn uniform was becoming more and more loose-fitting as her emaciated body grew thinner by the day. But the others surely knew something was wrong. Her headscarf had become torn from use as bandages, and she couldn’t afford to use much of their already limited resources.

Unbeknownst to them, some of that blood belonged to their families, friends, and neighbors.

She knew what they were trying to do. Many of the partisans urged her to take a rest, at the very least; but her usefulness to the group never faded, much to their confusion. But her nation status, unbeknownst to them, gave her the ability to make them easily dismiss strange idiosyncrasies of her existence.

However, she was only even able to walk by sheer force of will. They had started changing their tactics; less Nazis killed, in favor of other methods of sabotage, made the massacres less frequent. Her swamps and forests slowed them down already, and she gained great satisfaction in knowing the anguish and annoyance she caused Germany and his allies. Though occasionally she pitied the clearly inadequately equipped ones, sometimes barely better than they were; usually Italians.

Germany’s leaders had apparently told him she was more harmless than her siblings, easily subjugated; a worthy slave. Judging by their obsession with furthering their “Aryan Race”, and being a rare female nation, she sometimes shivered at the implication of that; they already treated her as less than human when they caught her and sent her to work, though so far they hadn’t done anything of that sort to her... yet. The fact that they took infants they deemed “Aryan” enough was even stronger evidence to it. But by now, they surely knew she was more than merely Lithuania’s wife waiting for his return from battle at home, cooking and praying for him, even all those centuries ago. She did not know exactly why, but she had to survive. She would not die here.

She was a nation after all. Or at least, she believed she was.

She couldn’t be sure about her future; by the time the war was over, it was almost guaranteed she would once again be taken into the Soviet Union, an easy picking, too weak to fight back, into the strangling clutches of Stalin. Even now, most of the partisan groups she had found herself in were Red Army detachments, and as much as she hated admitting it, without them she would be almost completely at the Reich’s mercy by now, constantly under his jackboot. Or worse.

However, that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting through today. And then, the war. And she was going to see the end of it, even if it meant dragging herself there.

She looked over their supply; due to lack of resources, Petrol Bombs - or Molotov Cocktails, as Finland, their inventor, spitefully called them - had proved to be a boon to them.

Soon, an important convoy would be passing through; that would be their chance to strike.

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Now, for the main feature...

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An Uneasy Forgiveness

Blood.

West Germany’s hands dripped with red.

His lungs felt like they were on fire from the hyperventilation, his heart raced, his vision blurred.

Now, he scrubbed his hands under the cold water, raising the intensity and rubbing the soap onto his hand again, the water glugging into the basin.

“Verdammt, verdammt, verdammt!”

Tears pricked his eyes as the man continued to try in vain to get the dreadful liquid off his hands.

Simple tears became sobs as he rubbed his hands raw.

On his hands was the blood of every Jew, every Pole, every Russian, Belarusian, Ukrainian, every Gypsy, every homosexual, every so-called “traitor”, everyone else he had determined as “less than human” he had destroyed the lives of.

“Verdammt, Verdammt, VERDAMMT!”

But yet, it wasn’t something he could wash away.

“Hé! What are you doing this early, I can hear you all the way from-“

Germany didn’t notice that the other occupant of this place had woken up and spotted him, until in the mirror, he saw him.

He froze, his red, puffy eyes meeting with the other nation’s.

France.

Germany’s eyes widened, unable to move, hyperventilating, shaking like a leaf, as he attempted to speak, but all that his throat produced were pathetic whines.

He felt his cold stare on him.

“What are you doing?”

“Frankreich... the blood, it won’t...”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t care.

But he didn’t notice the concern growing across France’s face, despite himself. He saw no blood; though he wouldn’t have been surprised if they indeed started bleeding from how frighteningly red and chapped they had become.

“It won’t...”

And he saw so much... vulnerability in the young man’s swollen eyes, his tear stained face, his disheveled hair, his youth making itself painfully apparent.

“Blood?! I don’t see any blood! What’s your deal, brat?”

“Frankreich... please...”

Germany felt the water shut off.

“Stop.”

“But...”

His normally deep voice sounded so meek and frail. Despite him being slightly taller than him, the younger man might as well have become a child again in front of him. No... if this were Germany as a child, he would have probably reveled in making the little hellspawn cry harder. At the time at least.

He avoided France’s gaze, afraid to even look him in the eye.

“I... I’m sorry for waking you. I...I’m s-sorry that you had to stay with me... I... I know you hate me... I know I can’t just sign away what I’ve done to you...”

Germany knew that France wasn’t here because he enjoyed his company. He had made a point and show out of demanding he get a separate bedroom. He knew full well that even within the ECSC, everyone only cooperated with him because they were even more tired of war more than they hated him. Belgium was the only one who reached out to him; he didn’t know why, after what he had done to her in both wars, but it was most likely just realpolitik. He knew, under her meek demeanor, she most likely still despised him. The rest, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Italy, and yes, France, all of them, made no such gestures. He felt it every time they met; how Luxembourg “accidentally” blew smoke in his face, how the Netherlands spat at him as he spoke if he didn’t outright berate him, how Italy refused to look at him as he toiled on the assembly lines.

And how when they shook hands that fateful day, where they officially buried the hatchet, France’s arm seemed oh so rigid, his smile forced.

Of course they did.

After all, it was their blood on his hands too.

He crumpled to his knees, sobbing. His younger self would have probably been disgusted at how he looked now, on his knees at the feet of his former archenemy. But that didn’t matter anymore. His pride didn’t matter anymore.

France was speechless.

It was so very bizarre. Not only was this type of behavior almost unthinkable for a nation, especially for such a man as Germany, but not long ago, France would have been euphoric to witness the sight of his most hated rival pitifully crumpled on the ground in front of him, vulnerable, broken, pathetic. From the day this brat was born, he had resented him. Him and his emotionally stunted, cold-hearted, warmongering father both. His very birth had been possible because of him being humiliated, his capital starved and besieged. He would have probably kicked him in the gut and laughed, spat at him, or at least taunted him.

And to be sure, he still felt some of that.

But, like when he met him in Berlin after he surrendered, another emotion gnawed at him from inside.

Pity.

Then, sympathy.

This wasn’t the genocidal, wrathful, goose-stepping Germany who had proclaimed his people superior above all else. It was the starving, weak, scared Germany he, America, and England had delivered bread to in that Airlift over a decade ago.

He wasn’t his father. He wasn’t Prussia.

And he had come here for a reason. He might as well do what he came here for.

“Get up.”

Germany, still quivering, looked up at him.

France made his way to the door of the bathroom.

“I said, get up. I thought you were good at taking orders? Or are you trying to be an annoying brat?”

He might as well try. It wasn’t like he wasn’t guilty of anything anyway.

And after some hesitation, Germany followed.

——-

Germany laid on his bed, letting the soft pillows absorb his tears. He had calmed down somewhat, or at least to the point where he could speak coherently.

“Mind if I borrow your smokes and lighter?”

No reply.

“Then. I might as well.”

On the nightstand was a pack of HBs. They were no Gauloises, but they would have to do.

He took out a cigarette as the younger nation began to speak again.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first. I think my mind repressed it. But... I can’t run from the truth anymore. I just don’t know what to do. What... what can even be done after something so terrible? That awful man manipulated me. But... ultimately, I fell for his words. I was naïve. We all were. Ultimately, it was our fault...”

France, his back leaning lazily against the bedframe, lit a cigarette.

Germany squeezed the sheets in his fists.

“You hate me, don’t you?”

France took a puff; he grumbled a bit about the weak taste and aroma. A few moments passed as the smoke rose.

“Maybe.”

“...”

“But I signed that Friendship Treaty. We shook hands. We officially agreed that our past was behind us. I was sent here to spend a few days with you so we could learn to get along, and I agreed to it. I could’ve followed President De Gaulle’s orders - he’s a good man, that De Gaulle - but for once, I didn’t. I might as well try to start doing what I’m supposed to.”

Germany looked at him, his cornflower blue eyes still wet, but no longer leaking new tears. He was, once again, silent.

“...Besides.”

He took another puff, the smoke dissipating in the air.

The prisoner laid at his feet, cursing him out in his Arabic dialect on the floor of the dark, cold cell, bloody coughs staining his combat boots between pained shouts, hatred-soaked shouts that Allah would damn him to hell.

He clenched his eyes and rammed his boot into the colony’s stomach again.

“...The truth is, I have to deal with you, no matter what. You’re my neighbor. And we’re nations. We stick together when it’s best for our interests, and we fight when it’s best for our interests. Pretty sure you know this well; your father knew this better than anyone else. And now, trying to be your ally is probably in my best interest, though not so sure about ‘friend’. But who knows. And we want it to stay that way. Might as well try not to fight it.”

He put the cigarette out, the cigarette making a quiet “pssshhh...” sound as it was pressed against the ashtray.

“I’ll try to forgive you. Can’t guarantee for the others though. Though I don’t think I’m the most important one you should be apologizing to for your latest fuck up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Israel and Poland never completely forgive you. Maybe not even in a thousand years. But know that... I’ll at least try to start over. We need to go about this together, whether I like it or not. Might as well try to help show you a different life than what daddy Preußen taught you.”

Germany’s voice hitched again. It was clear he hadn’t made his mind up about his father yet. Understandable. And France wasn’t one to talk about parenting either.

“Thank you... really...”

Now it was France’s turn to remain quiet, as he let the younger one speak.

“When I was little, I remember vater told me that my future and survival wouldn’t be decided by speeches and majority decisions, but by iron and blood. He was quoting Chancellor Bismarck, I believe. Hopefully... I won’t need that advice anymore, from now on.”

“I see, you’re pretty good at this too.”

France lit up another cigarette.

“But if you do anything silly again, remember I’m the one with the nuke.”

“Jawo... Ja.”

“Good. We could go for a smoke later. You probably need one. But I’ll be going back to bed-“

“Don’t leave. Please.”

The older man sighed.

“Fine, you damn brat.”

Their eyes met.

“...Are we friends?”

“...Hopefully. Now, stop acting like that. It’s jarring. You need rest.”

A pause.

“…But if you need a smoke now, I’ll light it for you.”

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Deleted scene

The metallic, gruesome stench of blood surrounded Germany.

Nothing, nothing but darkness and blood. He gasped for air, his feet kicking in the thick, vile liquid searching for a floor that wasn’t there.

Eventually, the blood became hotter and hotter, first merely a singing heat, then searing, blistering, until the unbearable, tortuous heat pierced its way to his bones, boiling his flesh, only his struggles to keep his head above the surface keeping him from screaming in agony.

“Hilfe! Hilfe!”

He managed to choke out, before the scalding liquid spilled into his lungs.

Finally, with that, he sunk.

Deeper and deeper, he sank, the agonizing pain never stopping.

As he sank, he thought he saw many shadows, of all sexes, ages, and sizes, staring at him solemnly, quietly.

Among them, he thought he saw the rest of the ECSC, Russia and Poland, watching his descent with what must have been contempt.

It was then everything became cold as death.

————-

(Explanation: the deleted scene was a reference to Dante’s Inferno; according to Dante, in the 7th circle of Hell is the realm of the violent, where souls are immersed in a boiling river of blood. However, it was maybe a bit odd I was using an Italian story for Germany)

Characterization notes: England is the epitome of Stiff Upper Lip in at least this time period in Alt-Talia; he isn’t quite a tsundere, to say the least. He’d be classified more as a kuudere perhaps, but not quite due to the whole British politeness thing.

Belarus is a big one; as readers who’ve read my other fic know, I write Belarus quite different than from canon. She’s probably one of the most human-like, in that her wish is to live a peaceful existence, not power or prestige, and unlike in canon she comes off more as a victim of circumstance than an instigator. While other nations would be motivated by a lot of nationalism, here she just wants to survive first and foremost. She’s generally quiet, even well-mannered, and excluding the Jews and Roma was hurt the most in WWII in terms of proportion of population; estimates of Belarusian deaths go as high as a quarter of the population, and including deportations and displacement the number can go as high as half (!). I like writing her because she just comes across as a woman with a tough life who just gets the crap beaten out of her for no fault of her own except geography. But when driven into a corner even she will be willing to bite back, if just for her people.

#hetaween #hetaween 19/20 #alt-talia #historical hetalia #hws england #aph england #hws canada #aph canada #hws belarus #aph belarus #hws germany #aph germany #hws france #aph france #tw genocide mention #bringbackhetalia2k19

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juliussneezerfics · 4 years

Text

Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers: Chapter 2 - Acceptance

Germany goes through an entire year at France's house, all while going through denial about his Hanahki. As France watches, will he help in the name of love, or hinder because of the war?

TW: Blood

Ao3

********

The first year of Germany’s punishment took place at France’s house. The initial couple days were awkward. How could they not be? Not only was Germany being punished for heinous crimes that he didn’t want to commit, but France knew about Germany’s… condition. On top of that, he was just being too damned nice. Germany reflected that he was being nicer than what Germany deserved. Seeking distraction from his current situation, he spent much of the time walking around the house aimlessly, cleaning. Wiping nonexistent dust from the tops of fireplaces. Cleaning unmarked windows. It was a desperate, but ineffective battle to forget what was going on. He often found that as he

wiped down counters he would scrub at a stubborn spot for several minutes, often after it had disappeared as he went through the motions. France protested initially, of course, but it seemed that after a bit he recognized that this was some coping mechanism, he only stopped Germany’s nonexistent progress for meals.

There was much to deal with in the aftermath of the war. Massive stacks of paperwork littered the surface of the kitchen table, which functioned as Germany’s work desk. As time passed and Germany grew weaker, he blew through his work at a quicker rate. He continued to cough up flower petals. Eventually, he just kept a bowl at his feet that he tossed the flower petals into. Eventually, the bowl filled with flower segments. A pestule and a couple of petals. A half-formed bloom. Eventually, Germany would cough up a full flower every few hours. His airway would close off completely. By the time Germany had been there for close to a year, he had completely mastered the self-Heimlich.

Germany coughed up another flower. He tried to ignore France’s presence as France leaned against the doorway, Germany wiping the blood off his lips with a napkin that sat crumpled on the surface of the table. He took a sip of hot tea, swished it through his teeth and around his mouth, and swallowed the residual metal tang that sat on his tongue. It was a taste that was sickening. One he had not yet grown accustomed to. He turned back to his work. Perhaps if he ignored France for long enough, he would go away.

“Germany, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down? I’ll bring you your paperwork.” France offered in a soft tone from the doorway.

“No.” Germany rasped. His throat was so, so raw these days. He could hardly even get these words out. He reached forward and took a sip of his hot tea, desperate for some relief. The amount of tea he was consuming these days was absurd.

“I think your paperwork can wait. Have you seen yourself, Germany? It may be time to just take a break. How much have you gotten much done today?”

Germany furrowed his brow at his paperwork. He had seen himself. He was so, so weary these days. So frail. His reserve of energy had depleted dramatically. Even the menial tasks he could get done within a few minutes before made him short of breath. He couldn’t slick his hair back without sitting down to take a break. He knew that deep within his lungs, a virtual jungle of lilies had planted themselves within his lungs, roots digging into the soft walls of his lungs. Digging within his flesh, siphoning precious oxygen from his blood. He was in constant, damn near unbearable pain. Every breath was a labor, sending pain pulsing in his chest. Every task was a burden, taking up the precious little oxygen he could keep for himself. His hair was lank and dull. His skin was pallid and sallow. The only reason he was shaved was because France had forced him into a chair with little difficulty and done it himself. Though it was a fierce blow to his pride, he was grateful that France could afford him the little dignity of a shaved face. “Very little.”

France sighed. With light, slippered steps he crossed the kitchen and took a seat next to Germany at the table. Pulling an elastic off his wrist, he tied his hair back. “Germany, I’m sorry to say, but… you must face it. You’re dying.” He looked up, blue searching blue. “You need to rest.”

Germany stared down at his paperwork, not processing the words on the page. What was he reading about again? “I know.”

“Come with me, we can lay you down. At least get you a little more comfortable.” France proposed.

Germany shook his head.

“Germany?” France furrowed his brow.

Germany offered no response.

“Germany? Look at me. It’s okay.” France’s tone was pitying. It was soft. Almost like he was talking to a startled animal.

Germany looked up at France, his face determinedly expressionless. Determinedly stone. Like his brother’s. God, he missed his brother.

“Are you afraid?”

Germany shook his head ‘no’. He was afraid. He’s never been more scared in his life.

France slowly reached forward and grasped Germany’s shoulder.

Germany expected to flinch at the touch, but he found that it was actually soothing.

“Germany… you’re dying. You’re in immense pain. This is your first time dying, yes?”

Germany nodded wordlessly.

“Exactly. You’re doing it in a very painful, very slow way. I would be concerned if you weren’t afraid, frankly.”

What was Germany supposed to feel? He was touched, of course. He was afraid. He was in pain. And this affection from France, this almost brotherly connection that he needed so sorely… it caused his throat to ache. His breath coughed at the sensation, hacking dryly. He vaguely perceived France’s hand between his shoulder blades as he continued to cough. The irritation subsided, the force of his coughs combined with the pain he felt being enough to prompt a reluctant tear from the corner of Germany’s eye. He gazed down as it traced a tear down his cheek and dripped into a palm flecked with blood. The two mixed together. A sickening, pink liquid. “Why am I crying?” He croaked, his vision blurring slightly. “I don’t cry.”

France swallowed heavily, releasing Germany’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s lie down.”

Germany nodded, feeling distant as he stood, allowing France to lead him. The progress was painstakingly slow. It seemed that every several feet, Germany would have to stop and lean against a wall to catch his breath. The stairs were another hell, him making several steps up before having to lean against the railing of the painfully long spiral staircase to desperately suck in oxygen. As he ambled along, Germany wondered to himself how much longer he had. It was obvious to him that he wouldn’t be alive much longer. How could he be? He finally collapsed into a silk-covered bed, his lungs expanding and deflating shallowly, his throat desperately raw from trying to breathe. France paced across the room to an elegant chair and dragged it across the carpeted floor, next to Germany’s bed.

He took a seat, gazing with forced calm out the window. “Sunset. Beautiful, isn’t it? You know, back when I was a young country, England and I fought a lot… or at least, we fought more than we do now.” He smiled to himself. “I was quite the instigator back then.”

“Was?” Germany croaked.

France gave a noncommittal shrug. “Am quite an instigator. Back when we were younger, we would fight. But whenever it was sunset, I forced England into a temporary truce. Just until it was over. He would growl over it, but he would take a seat next to me on the grass and stay somewhat silent until it was over. Eventually it just fell into daily routine. Not that we spent every day together, of course. But whenever we did, we would put a pause on whatever silly quarrel we had to watch the sunset.” He looked at Germany. “Quite out of character for him, don’t you think?”

Germany gave a slight nod. It seemed quite strange for no-nonsense, all-business England to take the time to observe a sunset.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion. Germany remained in bed, France regaling stories from his past. About him and England, about his romantic conquests, about times that he had led confused tourists on adventures around France. He only stopped his tales when he got up to get some food for Germany to turn down, or hot tea which he gulped down. It was later in the day when Germany realized that France’s stories all had one common trait: They were all happy stories. France was trying to ease Germany in this time of strife. Germany was lulled into a calm, eventually falling into a turbulent sleep as he listened to France talk about that one time he and China had a great cook-off that devolved into a joking duel of China’s wok against France’s rolling pin.

Germany didn’t know what time it was when his mouth gaped open for a breath he couldn’t receive. He felt something sliding up the slick walls of his throat, silken petals and rough stems agitating the raw areas. Cutting off his airway. He looked desperately over to where France sat, hoping that somehow his captor could help him. Every light in the room was off except the lamp on the bedside table, France having fallen asleep. His lap was littered with paperwork – Germany’s paperwork.

Germany’s observations were cut off by the intense desire to breathe. The desperation for oxygen as his heart pumped like a steam engine. It was a need that completely consumed him, but one that he was unable to fulfill. Even through all this panic, he thought of his brother. He thought of Japan. He thought of Italy. In a fleeting moment of terror, he realized he would never say goodbye to the few people he truly cared about. As he felt leaves and stems scratching the roof of his mouth and tongue, his vision went dark.

Germany gasped for breath, his chest heaving as his head lay back against the pillow. He caught his breath. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized that he could breathe properly for what felt like the first time in weeks. It was, of course, but he had no idea how long he was out. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his lips lift slightly. He was alive. He came back alive from this. It wasn’t the end. He would still see his brother and friends. There was still hope. Germany heard distant footsteps sprint from downstairs, up the spiral staircase, and down the hall.

France was standing in the open doorway, his chest heaving with the exhaustion of sprinting up the stairs. His lips split into a wide-open, genuine grin. “Germany! You’re awake!”

“I’m alive.” Germany shook his head, still relishing the luxury of full, satisfying breaths. “How am I still alive?” He looked up at France, taken aback at what he saw.

France’s usually flawless skin was marred with dark circles under his eyes, the skin hanging loose on his face. His scruff was longer than what he usually allowed. His hair, slightly greasy, was pulled back away from his face in a messy bun.

France smiled slightly as he noticed Germany’s facial expression. “It’s a new look I’m trying out.”

Germany hummed. Clearly, France was lying. Germany realized that France had probably not spent much time away from his bedside since he died. “Why am I alive?”

“I’m not sure.” France shrugged, sitting again in his chair. “Your body didn’t dissolve after you died. I figured that since your people’s culture was still alive, you would bounce back from this the same way other nations did from bullet wounds and such.” He grimaced. “So I pulled those damned flowers out of your lungs and threw them in the garbage.”

Germany blinked. He forced away the mental picture of France pulling those things out. “… thank you.”

France stood, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. If you still have an appetite after hearing that, I can make us both some breakfast.”

“Breakfast sounds good.” Germany threw the silk blanket off his legs, absently noting that he was wearing pajamas that he did not own… he pushed that thought away as he followed France down the stairs. Much to his dismay, he felt a sickening itch at the very back of his throat.

He only had a week to get to know France before he had to go to England’s. He had figured out that France was thoughtful. How could he not be after taking care of Germany for so long? But as the week passed, France only seemed to break every other expectation Germany had of him. He was more than the basic playboy, it seemed. He had intriguing, out of the box thoughts about culture. Current events. He knew eight different languages and played the clarinet. He enjoyed a bit of cooking in his spare time. He had visited every art museum in his country at least five times, though it was usually to people watch.

Much to his surprise, Germany found that he… regretted leaving France’s house. He packed his belongings in a backpack on the last day, swinging it on his shoulder and taking a last look in the room. He made sure everything was nicely cleaned. He ensured that he made the bed. How the hell did you make a bed with a silk blanket without making wrinkles? He thumped down the elegant spiral staircase, looking at France as he walked into the kitchen. “According to the letter, the car should be here any minute.”

France looked up from the bowl he was stirring in, his whisk coming to a standstill. He put down the bowl, reaching across the counter and grabbing a brown paper sack. “Here.” He crossed the kitchen and handed it to Germany.

Germany took it, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Snacks.” France explained, smiling. “England’s food is unbearable, you know. I figured I would send you with a few things to tide you over.”

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” Germany decided then that France’s attitude was almost… motherly. He wondered how he had missed those attitudes when France was spending time with his brother and Spain.

“Well… yes, I suppose it was.” France waved a hand.

Germany shook his head with a slight smile. “France, you’re not half bad.”

France clasped his hands together, playfully holding them up to his scruffy cheek. “Why, Germany, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

Germany shook his head again.

“Do you have everything packed?” France asked, dropping his hands.

“Yes.”

The two froze at the sound of a car pulling down France’s gravel driveway.

France led him to the door. “A word of advice: England looks like a brute, but he isn’t too bad… don’t tell him I said that.”

Germany smiled slightly, holding out his hand. “Well, it appears this is it. Thank you for everything.” He stuck out his hand.

France shook his hand, the other hand coming up and patting Germany on the cheek. “No need to sound so final, mon ami. Two more years, and you’ll be back here. You’re not quite rid of me yet.”

Germany blinked. He hadn’t expected France to pat his cheek. He raised a hand in farewell as he opened the door. “Thank you, France.”

“It was a pleas- I mean… hell, you make it difficult to remember that we were enemies, Germany.” France said.

Germany offered a thankful smile as he descended the steps, drawing every closer to the next, unpredictable year of his life.

***

Love and Appreciate France 2k20

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willofhounds · 4 years

Text

I need to connect

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330155

A/N Once again this will be another one-shot.

Warnings: No happy ending. Soulmate au. Aizawa/Izuku pair

"Speaking"

:Thoughts:

Aizawa's POV

Coffee in between hero work and before he was needed at the school was his usual routine. There was one shop in town that made the best roast. It was strong enough to keep him awake most mornings.

Shouta was more exhausted than normal, however. More than one cup was needed to keep him alert.

Heroes from all over the city were called in for a fight. Apparently, the Kings were at it again. Normally heroes didnt interfere with the Kings as they kept to themselves. However, the Red and Blue King were becoming increasingly public with their fights. It seemed almost as if a war between them was on the horizon.

Just before the appearance of quirks, there was a discovery in Germany. Scientists had found a Slate with unrecognizable carvings etched into it. They called it a relic and began to study it.

Germans and the Japanese thought it would create the next level of soldiers for war. Given the state of their world at the time it could have made the difference. If they could only learn how to forcefully activate the relic.

The relic was rightfully dubbed the Slate. By bringing mice as test subjects they found the Slate resonated with certain rats. When they resonated with it the rat would gain heightened intelligence or extra powers. Their powers were marked by a sword above their heads. It would be later named a Sword of Damocles.

Despite the scientists' best efforts, they were unable to get it to resonate with a human. Until a bombing run happened on their facility. More than half of the scientists were killed. Including a young scientist who was the twin sister of the head scientist.

Her brother was saved by the Slate's power and was given the power of the Silver Sword of Damocles. Adolf K. Weissman became the First and Silver King.

After that Japan took it back with them. A young Lieutenant became the Second and Gold King. With Weissman wanting nothing to do with the world any longer he took control over it.

As time passed it was revealed that there were 7 Swords of Damocles. Those who wielded the Swords and the powers that came with them were declared Kings. Kings only answered to themselves and in serious situations the Gold King.

Then came quirks and with the heroes. In the beginning heroes and villains alike fought against the Kings. It wasnt until the Gold King stepped in that peace between heroes and Kings resumed.

As long as innocents weren't injured the Kings would answer only to each other. Clansman had to answer to laws just like normal citizens. Though most ignored that rule. They felt the only ones they answered to were the Kings that commanded them.

Times were changing though. The Gold King was getting old and could no longer keep control over the younger generation. SCEPTER4 led by the Blue King stepped in when things got too dangerous. Or if the Red King was involved.

Heroes were beginning to be needed for rescues more often than before. SCEPTER4 could create shields to protect civilians but the flames of HOMRA were powerful. If the police even though it was HOMRA, SCEPTER4 would be immediately notified.

Heroes couldn't even put out the fire correctly until the Red King left. His mere presence was enough to keep the flames going.

Last night had been no different. Shouta helped rescue trapped civilians while SCEPTER4 tried to suppress HOMRA. At one point it appeared the Red King had lost control over his powers. Even at the first aid site half a mile away, they could feel the heat.

It was well after three am when the two groups dispersed. More than a dozen members of HOMRA were captured and arrested for their part in the destruction. None of them seemed particularly important and that frustrated the underground hero.

As he entered his favorite coffee shop he noted that it was mostly empty. A boy maybe in his late teens or early twenties was ordering at the counter. From the back all he could see was his green hair and that he was wearing a black t-shirt with jeans. The way he held himself spoke of quiet confidence.

The barista said cheerfully, "Its good to see you again, Midoriya. Your usual again today? How is Totsuka doing?"

Midoriya replied equally as cheerful, "I am well. Need Mr. Kusangi, Tatara, and Mr. Mikoto's coffee as well today. Mr. Kusangi was injured last night against the mafia group that's been causing trouble. Then the Blues showed up and only aggravated his injury. So Tatara and I will be running the bar."

There was a widening in the barista's eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh no! Poor Mr. Kusanagi. I know he means a lot to you guys. He's always looking after those of us who can't look after ourselves. Or those of us who are being bullied. Before HOMRA we had no one we could really go to for help. Heroes in this area are too overworked to help with anything like the mafia."

Shouta froze in surprise. HOMRA attacked a mafia group? That was why they were out last night?

That didnt fit their M.O. From what he learned they were a ragtag group who focused on their own needs. Heroes and the police never considered that there might be more behind the fights.

Midoriya answered, "We will always look after those that we can. If anyone else tries to let me or Tatara know. Or you drop by the bar anytime."

"Goodbye, Midoriya. Tell Mr. Kusanagi that we all hope that heals quickly."

Midoriya turned to face Shouta who stayed as relaxed as possible. He couldn't arrest this kid right now. Not only was he likely another small fry. Heroes and police couldn't take in a King or clansman unless they were committing a crime.

He was lucky that his hero clothes could be mistake for civilian clothes. Unless he pulled his goggles out from under his scarf then he wouldn't be seen as a hero.

Midoriya passed by him and because of the small space between Shouta and the door. Their shoulders bumped. Right where the soulmate mark that he had hidden every day since he decided he wanted to be a hero. The younger man didnt even pause as he went through the door.

Another thing that had appeared with quirks and King were soulmates. Most people had a soulmate and when they turned seven their mark appeared on their body. Shouta's was of a black cat with red eyes and a green bunny encircled by a red flame. Connecting the two animals were a white that looked like his capture scarf.

Something itched in the back of his mind. It felt off in a way but for the moment he ignored it. He needed information and this was the best spot to get it. A quick text to Hisashi asked his friend to watch his homeroom class.

With that done he approached the counter. The barista gave him a grin and inquired, "What can I get for you?"

Shouta replied nodding over his shoulder at the door, "Black coffee with two sugars, please. What can you tell me about that boy?"

"Midoriya?" She questioned absent-mindedly, "Honestly not much. I first met him when HOMRA first took him in. Word is that his mother was murdered by a villain. HOMRA took him in when his father abandoned him. Ever since that day he has not left them. Like most members, he is loyal to a fault."

"Do you know his first name?"

She nodded as she replied, "Izuku I believe. Izuku Midoriya."

That was all the information she could give on the teenager. It was enough however that he could start an investigation when he got back to the school.

As he expected both Hizashi and Nemuri cornered him as soon as he returned. They were curious about why he would be late. It wasn't often that he was late beyond a few minutes.

With some well-timed snaps, he was able to get then to back off. He didnt want to get them involved until he was sure about the boy. That would require research.

What he found was alarming. Izuku Midoriya was classified as a missing person but presumed dead. Inko Midoriya had been murdered by an unknown villain in their home when he was just 6 years old. Hisashi Midoriya had taken custody of the child for a short time before he disappeared.

Three months after the murder of his wife Hisashi filed a missing person's report on Izuku. The police searched but there were no signs of the boy. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

If he was picked up by HOMRA then that would make sense. If Midoriya was part of the fighting then the higher ranking members would protect him until he could protect himself.

Shouta's estimation of his age was right on the mark. Midoriya was 17 almost eighteen now. He had been with HOMRA for over a decade. That would make the bonds thicker than blood. It would also make him one of the first clansmen.

When the mother was murder Mikoto Souh had only been a King for a few months. Would a King mark a child as a clansman was the question. There wasn't enough information to answer it.

In the afternoon he took a nap in preparation for the upcoming evening. He awoken not by his alarm but by his soulmate mark burning like it was on fire. Anger that was not own coursed through his mind.

A moment later his phone went off. An officer said on the other side where explosions could be heard, "Eraserhead! You need to get down to the Southside immediately. Villains have acted HOMRA's base!"

Fuck! Absolutely nothing good could come of this.

Izuku's POV

He ducked behind Mikoto as a blue flamed villain rushed at HOMRA. The heat that his King gave off in response even made members of HOMRA flinch. They were strong and resistant to fire. That did not make them invincible, however.

There wasn't time to hide behind his King. He had a job to do that only he could perform.

Most of the clan were heavy tanks like fighters. There were three who preferred to stay out of the fighting.

One was Anna Kushina. She was the princess of HOMRA. Like Izuku she had been taken in when her family abandoned her. She was born a Strain. Someone who had abilities but they didnt come from a King. She could see the auras of Kings and clansmen. As a second ability given when she became a clansman, she gained a location ability. They thought she had a slight clairvoyance ability but it was hard to tell.

The second was Tatara Totsuka. He was a friend of Mikoto and Izumo before HOMRA was founded. Tatara held the ability to calm the hearts of those around him. In all the years he had known the older man he had never seen him fight. Always using his ability to stop a fight before it truly began.

Finally was Izuku. After his mother was murdered by a villain and his father abandoned him Mikoto took him in. With the help of Izumo and Tatara, he learned what he would in school. Through Mikoto, he learned how to fight.

Unlike the others, Izuku could use his flames in a fight. The difference was that he chose not to. He held the ability of barriers. Drawing runes in blood activated flame barriers. If you did not carry the mark of the Third King then you could not pass through the barrier.

It wasnt a perfect technique. The amount of time it took to create the runes in made him a target. Though he found out if they weren't removed then they could be used multiple times.

There were traps laid all around the bar for just such an event. Still, he had to set extra rune circles. That would make the barriers stronger. It also gave Yata and Rikio time to evacuate the civilians.

As he finished drawing the final rune he sat back on his heels. Blood dripped from his palm onto the ground. To get adequate blood to draw runes with he had to cut open his palm. He activated his red aura cauterizing the wound. Another pink and silver scar appeared on his palm.

Bringing up his wrist he tapped on his watch calling Yata. The younger boy answered, "Yo?"

"Are all the civilians evacuated? The runes are drawn and ready to be activated," he said watching as Izumo's flames struck out at the villains.

The villains were a tag team that he had seen before on the news. One had a size quirk that allowed his body to grow to enormous sizes. The other could shrink whatever they touched. Including organic materials.

It made sense that Izumo was the one fighting him. Izumo used his lighter to attack at long range. He was the strategist of HOMRA.

Yata replied, "All civilians are evacuated. We are ready for a full-on attack. Be ready to raise the barriers. Yata out!"

Izuku shouted disconnecting his phone, "As soon as Yata and Rikio enter the circle I'll activate the barrier! Anyone not suited for this fight fall back and assist the injured civilians!"

"Sir!"

Members of HOMRA sprung into action. The lower members ran towards the villains. They would keep the villains from escaping. The middle-ranked members were leaving the area to assist the civilians.

Two taps to his shoulder signaled that Yata and Rikio were entering the barrier site. A twinge of annoyance went through the back of his mind. It wasn't his own annoyance. This wasnt the time to think about such a thing though. He had to set the barrier.

Izuku put himself on the battle side of the barrier. Cutting open his hand again he placed his bloodied palm on the primary rune circle. A black shadow rushed across the barrier line into the fighting. It was already too late to stop him from activating his aura the circle's flames erupted from them. It formed a barrier of fire.

He shouted above the fighting, "King barrier is set!"

Mikoto only turned to give him a slight nod. Then nonchalantly joined the fight. Even against villains with quirks he never went all out. The only time Izuku ever sees him get serious was against Reisi Munakata.

Reisi and Mikoto fought like cats and dogs. It was because they were order and chaos in terms of their powers. Blue and red Kings were forever destined to clash. No one could say otherwise.

Izuku stood ready to join the fight when he found an unwelcome sight within the barrier. A man in black sweats with a scarf wrapped around his shoulders stood there. Covering his eyes were a pair of yellow goggles.

It took a moment for Izuku to recognize him. It was the man he bumped into at the coffee shop. Those goggles themselves struck a cord within Izuku. They looked just like the one on his soulmate mark.

His mind was racing. They bumped shoulders in the coffee shop. That was when he started feeling emotions that weren't his. The shoulder that he bumped held his soulmate mark.

The man asked watching the fights as they broke out, "What is going on here?"

Izuku pulled a lighter from his pocket as he said, "Villains attacked our home. Without heed of the civilian's homes that line our streets they attacked. Low and middle-ranking members kept them busy while everyone else evacuated civilians. HOMRA may seem like reckless thugs to you, hero but we care for those who cannot defend themselves. The barrier of fire was only set when everyone was gone."

Eyes widened behind the goggles. Izuku could feel the man's surprise and understanding. Everyone looked down upon HOMRA for being a gang of thugs. The lower-ranked members fit that bill more than the higher-ranked.

Outside of fighting with the Blues HOMRA tended to keep to themselves. It was only when one of their own was threatened that they picked fights.

Izuku was startled by a flash of movement that did not belong to the fighters. Just inside the doorway of the bar stood Anna and Tatara.

What in the twelve hells were they doing outside of the bar? Orders were to stay in King's room.

Mikoto snapped, "Midoriya! Protect Totsuka!"

That had him moving ignoring the possibility that he ran into his soulmate.

:No Blood. No Bone. No Ash,: he chanted within his mind.

The tiny embers that lay just beneath the surface of his skin erupted into flames. He didn't need the cadence for setting barriers. If he wanted to fight then he needed the embers ignited into a true flame.

Rushing to Tatara's side he checked on both he and Anna. They were in good health. Simply watching the fight between the clan and the villains.

The lighter in his hands was just like the one Izumo carried. In fact, most of the middle-ranked members and higher had one. It didnt matter if you smoked or not. The lighters carried the mark of HOMRA engraved into the metal.

They were a right of passage for every clansman. After serving the clan for a year each clansman was given a lighter and a pack of cigarettes carrying the mark. They would forever be a reminder. No matter where you went or if their paths strayed from that of the clan. They would forever be apart of HOMRA.

Izuku used him as a long-range weapon. The metal was strong enough to withstand the flames of his King after all. It would be a waste not to use it when he didnt smoke.

Watching the fight play out was just like the others. Misaki Yata the red-haired vanguard attacked using his skateboard for speed and extra power. Both he and Rikio acted as tanks. They hit hard and blocked attacks meant for the King.

Izumo was watching for any sort of opening to land long distant attacks. The stiffness of his posture spoke of the pain he was in. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be in the battle but it was all hands on deck with this attack.

And the King... Mikoto was never one to go with any plan other than his own. The man had heat radiating off of him. Nearby metal object began to distort the closer he got to them. The two villains froze as Mikoto closed in on them.

Above their heads was the Red Sword of Damocles in its glory. Their fires were feeding off of its strength. Fires that were nothing in comparison to the King's.

A rough sounding unfamiliar voice said next to him, "So this is the power of a King. I have not seen this up close like this before."

It was the man from the shop. What was he doing following Izuku?

Izuku responded with a growl, "This is just Mikoto toying with them. Only us clansmen are truly giving it our all. We wish to end this before the Blues decide to make an appearance. Who are you?"

The goggle bearing man replied, "I am the underground hero Eraserhead. I've seen the destruction your people cause. It's hard to believe that you would be attacked without provoking it."

"You're just like everyone else," Izuku bit out scathingly, "You only see what we do in the present second. You don't see past that at why we do what we do. Or at what cost..."

A hand closed around his shoulder cutting Izuku off. A pleasantly warm and calming fire went through him. It calmed his anger at the man in front of him.

Looking back he saw the warm light brown eyes of Tatara staring at him. There was a slight shake of the man's head. Izuku took a deep breath to calm his anger.

Heroes were all the same. They looked down upon the clans. Thought so little of them that they were little more than villains. That wasn't the truth, however.

HOMRA took a lot of the blame for people just having fire quirks. It was easier to write off for the police than spending time actually investigating. They didnt deserve that kind of reputation. HOMRA looked after each other. The eyes were family. Sometimes the only family that they could count on.

Tatata said his eyes turning cold in a way that was rarely seen for the soft-spoken blond, "You should not underestimate a clan's determination. Or let what you see on the outside affect your judgment," then something shifted in his face and the Tatara so lover why the clan returned, "Come by the bar sometime. Find out who we really are and what it means to be HOMRA."

There was that gentleness that showed a scared child that there was still good in this world. With his insistence, Izuku was taken in by HOMRA. He became the youngest clansman of the red clan.

Eraserhead huffed and a flash of annoyance went through Izuku. It wasn't his own. The soulmate bond there was no denying it any longer.

Then suddenly the man leaped forward. Using his scarf he attacked the villain that had strayed to close to them. A quick knee to the face and the villain was out cold. It all happened in an instant. If he had not been watching he would have missed it entirely.

The second one who was already pinned to the ground painfully by the vanguards. Yata had his foot planted in the villain's back. The others had his hands tied so that he couldn't getaway.

Mikoto called out, "Brat, take down the barrier. We will hand these two over tonight," Mikoto bent down to growl at the one they had pinned.

It was too far for Izuku to hear but he had an idea. Most likely a threat for them to never return to the city. While not all of it was HOMRA territory they would know if these two came back. If they did they would not survive the second encounter.

Concentrating on the runes he destroyed the primary rune circle. The barrier fell with it. The flames dissipating almost immediately. The buildings and roads were scorched but without any permanent damage.

Almost as soon as they fell the area was swarmed with police, SCEPTER4, and heroes. Choosing to ignore them he went to check on members of his clan. A handful of lower-ranked members had some broken bones but nothing too serious. Izumo was by far the worst off. He tore his stitches in the fighting. Pale he was barely able to remain standing.

As third in command of the clan Izuku began barking orders. That had the ranks moving and taking the injured inside the bar. The uninjured formed a perimeter in order to keep out unwanted guests.

Mikoto and the higher ranking members faced off with SCEPTER4. They were tired from fighting with the two villains but they would stand their ground.

Eraserhead called out, "Heroes stand down," eyes turned towards the man questioning his order, "HOMRA did not start this fight. They were attacked by these villains. As is their right they protected themselves and subdued them."

Police and heroes alike gave them wary looks and a wide berth. The vanguard released the unconscious villain while Eraserhead put cuffs on his. Mikoto aided Izumo back into the bar followed soon by Tatara and Anna.

Izuku stayed to answer the police and heroes' questions as well as those from SCEPTER4. A small smile crossed his face when he caught Reisi glancing at the bar with carefully concealed worry. Only six people knew this but Reisi and Izumo were soulmates. Their soul marks were of the Red and Blue Swords of Damocles circling in harmony. An action very rarely seen in their time.

As much as he disliked the clan itself he would not deny the man information. If it was him he would hope someone would alert him on the changes of his soulmate.

As the heroes and police began to disperse the civilians returned to their homes. Many called out thanks to Izuku and asked him to wish his clan well.

He approached the Blue King cautiously eyeing the stiffening members of SCEPTER4. Reisi held up his hand to stop them from coming any closer then stepped so that he met Izuku halfway. A flash of jealousy went through Izuku but he quashed it knowing it was not his own.

Izuku said with a small smile, "He overextended himself," there was a furrowing of the King's brow as the only sign of his worry, "Don't worry he will be fine in a few days."

There was a near-silent sigh of relief and tension released from the other's shoulders. In a whisper, Reisi said, "Thank you. Look after him and Souh. Those two are always getting into some trouble."

Then he turned and began barking orders. Slowly even SCEPTER4 began to leave. Then only Izuku and Eraserhead were left. With a glare in the man's direction, Izuku turned to head inside the bar.

#my hero academia aizawa #my hero academia #aizawa shouta/izuku midoriya #izuku x aizawa #shouta aizawa #k proeject #mikoto souh #totsuka tatara #red clansman izuku #midoriya izuku

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billsims-cc · 5 years

Photo

David Meyer

for Mathilde Dagon’s BC @freckled-pixels

(info below the cut)

Basic Info

full name; David Meyer age; 25 sign; libra favorites; fried sandwich with banana and peanut butter, dark grey, electronic music traits; green thumb, perfectionist, hot-headed, vehicle enthusiast, party animal

Short Backstory

Little David was born during the morning hours of a rainy autumn day in northern Germany. It was a very long and difficult birth for his very young mother. Emma was only 17, still a high school student, yet she never thought twice about not keeping the baby. His father, on the other hand, was a 19 year old young man about to move and begin his studies in Berlin. Luckily, he was very positive and supportive about the baby. Maybe they didn’t plan on having one so soon, however they loved each other enough to try and make this work along with the help of their families no matter of the difficulties. As an only child, David grew up having all the attention and love a child can possibly get from their parents. Paul, his dad, would visit as frequently as he could the first couple years until they managed to move from Hamburg to Berlin together as a family. David was around 5 years old, so he couldn’t understand or remember a lot later on. His mother finished school almost two years later than she was supposed to, but she never complained. ‘’Some don’t even get the chance to continue’’, she always said proudly. However, she decided to stay at home and take care of David and not receive a higher education after high school. Paul was a car mechanic and passed his passion and love for cars to little David. His favorite toy growing up was a blue stuffed plush car that he always slept with. During his school years, he gave a respectful amount of effort and time on his studies as his mother insisted. He was a nice kid, easily likable, kind and respectful. However, he went through a hard puberty later on. Both his parents tried hard to stay in control in order to keep him safe, as parents do. But David wanted things his way and was loud about it. One of the things that would calm him down and help make peace with his father, was when he would let David help him with his job. Paul was happy and proud that his son was interested and wanted to learn and help willingly. He knew his business would eventually pass to him so the fact that David liked this job was only a plus. He liked to party and hang out with his friends, especially after his dad taught him how to drive and got his licence he was always out with friends. Soon after, he started participating in illegal car races without his parents’ permission or even without them knowing. However, that didn’t last long. One night, him and the whole gang were caught by the police. His father got a call from the local police station, he was shocked to hear about his son’s behavior. David was grounded and wasn’t allowed to use the car for months. It took a while to gain his parents’ trust back. But he knew that that’s what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, race. His parents, especially his mother, was not very pleased with his decision. She tried to talk him out of it many times, but David had already made his mind. Once he graduated high school, he studied car mechanics just like his father. He already had experience which helped me get his degree easier and start working at his father’s business no longer after. Meanwhile, he became a member in different racing clubs and started training and participating in races as an amateur driver. He was good and he had passion for it, so it didn’t take long until more and more attention was brought on his name especially after his first win at the age of 21 in Amsterdam. Win after win, he started racing professionally as a professional driver himself all over the world. His first big and serious relationship was with a girl he met in America. He was there for a race but he planned to stay a bit longer since it was his first time in California. He didn’t end up doing as well as he wanted or even expected. Him and some of his friends from the crew were hanging out later that night, after the race. David was still very upset, but his friends tried to loosen him up. He was never a big drinker, he was chilling with a half full glass of red wine next to the bar all night. She was one of the bartenders, so she quickly noticed he wasn’t having the best time and decided to approach him. It was love at first sight, at least that’s what he thought. They met again and again while he stayed in CA. He promised he would come back to her and he did. But this time was different, in a good way. They were together for almost two years. He was renting a house, but still had to travel for his job from time to time. They broke up because she couldn’t handle the distance and pressure when he was away and that’s when he realized the feelings were not mutual as he once thought. He was broken. He decided to go back in Germany for some time to pick up his pieces, but two years was enough for him to grow fond of CA and after a few months of mental healing he moved back to LA but this time as an American citizen. Now, at the age of 25, he’s still competing in races and travels all around the world.

Random Facts

He didn’t have an actual girlfriend until his senior year of high school. He wasn’t the cutest kid growing up until he started working out, got his braces removed and overall gained some confidence. It took him a while to lose his v card but it’s never to late.

He’s vegan and tries to follow a healthy diet along with good exercising.

He’s hot-headed, but he’s learned to control his temper.

He hates to be called Davy. His mother called him that and he was always made fun of by his friends.

He has a huge passion for cars, obviously. He does understand if his partner is not interested in the whole racing world, but he expects respect nonetheless.

He wants to create his own family one day, but only when he and his partner feel ready.

Although he’s not a big drinker, he loves to party and has good sense of humor.

He can be dramatic at times and overreact, but he does see reason in the end.

He’s friendly and tries to be in good terms with everyone, typical Libra.

He’s very interested in music and wants to learn the basics of Djing one day. He can also beatbox very well.

#ts3 #simblr #my sims #david #david meyer #freckled-pixels #mathildeBC

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weaselle · 6 years

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I put them both in one post.

I have a brother 10 years older than me and a younger brother and sister 5 and 7 years younger than me respectively. I call the older by his name, and also “dude” a lot. You know those twisty metal puzzles you have to figure out how to take apart or put back together, like puzzle rings and shit? He can do those in seconds without even thinking about it, like, idly while talking to you. He’s a daredevil bombs and blades tinkerer, and a practical joker. Once he told me he was getting out of the lake because it was noon and that’s when the sun shone straight down to the bottom and woke IT up, and then got out and snuck halfway around the lake to climb back in and swim up from underneath me to wrap a hand around my ankle and suddenly yank me down about ten feet at an angle toward the center of the lake. He went to jail for building a bomb, it’s a good thing they never found his other homemade weapons, like arrows with exploding tips, or the underslung potato gun mounted to the frame of his car. And I SAY potato gun but I saw him use his tester model to launch a wad of duct tape through a truck camper shell at the junk yard in the R&D phase, and he use to load it with a wad of something for batting topped by a snapple cap and a handfull of roofing nails and disintegrate mail boxes with it. He is a good wood sculptor and has a surprisingly delicate yet raw style when drawing with charcoal or graphite. He can take apart and put together almost anything. I could just write a whole book about his antics.

With my younger brother it’s mostly his name and “dude” quite often. Every once in a while, I will call him bro, or brother, but usually when I am low-key reinforcing our age difference. Like if he thought mom would react one way to something, but I had seen her reaction to that same thing before he was born or whatever, like, brother, I’ve known her longer. He is one of two people I know personally who may be legit geniuses. He used to play video games in the early 90′s by hacking their code and modding them - I’d walk in and he’d be 12 years old like “Instead of cannon balls, I made the cannon shoot cows that bounce around randomly a few times and explode, and I’m trying to make it so that each time a cow bounces, it spawns another bouncing cow bomb”. He has a… I want to say a Masters in Physics. His math teacher in high school tried to hold his interest by having him teach the first 15 minutes of each class. Once when the rest of us siblings were all standing around talking about sneaking out of the house, we asked if he ever did and he was like “why would I sneak out in the middle of the night… that’s when I sleep.” Now he’s a very mellow polyamorous hacker who brews his own beer and “isn’t allowed to tell you where I work, it’s so silly”

Our youngest I call by her name, and dude a fair amount, and a combination of the word sister and her name (like if her name was Brittany I would call her Sisttany) I do call her sister more than I use brother for my fraternals, but she calls us all brother quite a bit. I think there are some complex reasons for that, but it boils down to her having been teased terribly and given a very hard time growing up by us, her brothers, who had a certain alliance against her. Of course by now we’re forced to admit that she is awesome and special and maybe the best of all of us. Certainly the coolest. Like, my younger brother is hella cool on paper, but when you’re in a room with him, he’s a little.. the only way he pulls it off is by truly not giving a fuck if people think he’s cool, which, as we all know, instantly awards coolness to whatever you’ve got going. On the other hand, when my sister is in a room, people laugh when she decides something is funny. Someone else is often making the decisions, but everyone only agrees to go along with them if sheagrees with them. She’s not wearing those clothes because they are cool, those clothes are cool because she’s wearing them, Once she worked at the same hotel I did for a while, and I asked her what she thought of it, and she said “I only ever want to work in a hotel again if I OWN it”. She was 19. She once knocked out her (now ex) boyfriend for forcefully taking his car keys away from her too roughly when he’d been drinking. He realized what he’d done too late to save him and she pulled him down from the fence he was climbing to get away from her so she could lay him out. She ran her own business for a while doing marketing stuff for publications and wineries and things, but she felt she was working too hard for the return she was seeing, and now she works for some firm overseeing the people who manage their social media or something.

And then there’s me, the Bard of the group, basically. I travel around on lots of adventures (I was arrested by the US airforce in Germany, I got stuck in England for a summer when they took my passport away from me at Heathrow - I stayed at a circus school with a few of the circus students who had no real home to go back to for the summer, and I put together a circus busking group with some of them and that’s how I made enough money to eat every day.) I used to write and produce full length comedies for the stage. I was SO sure I was going to be a con-artist, so I studied slight of hand and magic ( I ran a crooked poker game at recess) but as a young adult, when I picked my first pocket, I found I had no taste for stealing from real people (I’ll fuck up Coke any day, where’s Amazon’s pocket? Side note: I tapped the guy on his shoulder and handed his wallet back to him and said “I think you dropped this” and never picked a pocket again, but I can still do some pretty interesting stuff with cards and coins and things, Juggle knives and torches. that sort of stuff). Anyway, I adventure, and I write songs and stories, and my siblings mostly call me by my name, and very occasionally, dude. Also, my origins are steeped in mystery and my siblings are actually my cousins by blood, but that’s another story. Okay, here is that story.

My Grandmother was left-handed and the reason I love cooking and definitely some kind of Being. Her title was The Grandma. She had 4 great grandchildren by the time she died, and so her daughters became Grandma, but she was THE Grandma. She had this way about her, like she was incredibly present, but also paying attention to everything in the whole world. And then sometimes (notably when you fucked up) it was like she pulled her attention off all those things and put the whole thing on you; it was very unsettling. And she had the Voice, which she almost never used.

The last time Grandma traveled on an airplane with us, we were going though security and she couldn’t go through the metal detectors because by then she couldn’t get out of the wheelchair for longer than twenty seconds at a time. The TSA agent said she was going to search her or pat her down instead, and reached for my Grandmother. And Grandmother said, in the Voice

“Don’t touch The Grandma”

The TSA agent blinked and looked at grandma’s eldest daughter (a celtic witch if ever there was one) who merely shrugged and said “…don’t touch the grandma”.

TSAgent hesitated as if about to reach forward and insist, thought better of it, called TSA Supervisor over. TSA Supervisor explained everything to The Grandma - it’s just a quick pat-down, everybody who can’t go through the detectors has it done, they won’t even ask her to stand - and then reached forward to pat down my grandmother

“Don’t. Touch. The Grandma”

TSA Supervisor’s hands stopped as if hitting glass. She looked confusedly back and forth between the TSA agent and my grandmother for a second, and then the confusion left her face and she stepped aside, looked at the TSA agent and said “Don’t touch the Grandma” and waived us through security. They didn’t even scan the rest of us

It’s a shame she couldn’t fly anymore after that, she loved to fly; when her first husband died, she married P, a WW2 B52 crewman who taught her to pilot small planes, and they would fly up and down the coast to any cities they wanted to visit - she knew the West Coast in a way few people do.

One morning in the deserts of Nevada a year after P’s death she woke me up and said “get dressed, were going to into town to the casino; P visited me in a dream last night and told me I’d win a video poker jackpot with a royal flush today” and we drove into town so she could spend fifteen minutes playing video poker. I say fifteen minutes, because after fifteen minutes she hit her jackpot with a royal flush in hearts, and we went back home.

She used to sit in her chair in her living room with her back to the kitchen wall, and I’d go to leave the kitchen and I’d hear her from the other room “don’t you leave my kitchen mat like that” and I’d look over my shoulder at the mat in front of the sink, and sure enough, it would be all rumpled up; sorry grandma.

Grandma and I shared a birthmark, a red stain I won’t describe fully. And my grandmother and I were both adopted. Let me explain.

My Grandmother was adopted by a nice family.

And then that family all died, and she was adopted AGAIN.

She grew up and married a man whose Irish father I am named after: K, who came here from Ireland to work the Alaskan gold rush. She and her husband lived with his father K for a while, and this is a story about that:

Every Sunday. great grandpa K would go off on his own for a couple hours to “walk in the woods”. Grandma followed him one day. K walked into the woods, packed a pipe, sat down with his back to a tree, and took a small handful of nuts and seeds and fruits and leaves out of his shirt pocket. He scattered them around. Soon, as if expecting him, several animals came and helped themselves. The squirrels climbed all over him, on his head even. The raccoons sat in his lap. The birds sat on his knees and shoulders and in his beard and peered into his face. The deer checked his jacket for more snacks. After they hung out for about an hour, they all went on their way. Then K smoked his pipe and went home.

Grandma and K’s son had 5 kids.

One died as a child.

The eldest became an ER nurse and a savant witch. She would never admit she is a witch, but there’s a horseshoe over her door (not the front door, mind you, but the door she actually uses) and she’s the one who taught me to always leave a single spider in your house when you clean. She has a natural way with plants and animals - the deer eat everything but her herb garden, which isn’t even fenced. This year one of them stayed in her backyard for nearly two months raising twins to be big enough to take back to the herd. She recognizes the individual squirrels and birds in her yard and knows their personalities and habits and things about their families. And of course as an ER and ICU nurse, she’s a hell of a healer.

The youngest was a witch, but sadly neglected, remained immature. Still, she had talents. She could fool people and make them laugh as easy as breathing, like some kind of glamour. Every long line of strangers she ever waited in became a party among friends. Could literally smell if you were lying to her. As in, she’d lean close and take a couple deep sniffs and then be like “Nope. Tell me, where did you really go after school?”

The only brother became a wandering holy man of sorts. Used to hitch-hike around the country in robes and junk, with a small, like, cult; then he quit them to just grow his own holy experience. He died in his 30s.

And the middle sister was my mother. She was double jointed and very dyslexic, and everyone says she was incredibly gifted in many ways. She did intricate artwork in ink, fractal gardens and faux woodgrain that was made of salvador dali faces, stuff like that. She was self taught on the piano, used to just walk up to a piano and play songs she made up on the spot that sounded how she was feeling and little crowds would gather. Made her own exercise equipment. Could pick up an accent within minutes and become semi-conversational in days. She had me with a half Japanese guy in the Air Force (he didn’t stick around). Then when I was about three, she sent me to live with her eldest sister, because her life got too, ah, interesting. Like, her partner had a hit put out on them. It wasn’t safe for me. By the time I was six it all caught up with her, and she died in an accident when she jumped out of the passenger side of a car and tried to run away as it stopped at a red light.

That’s when her eldest sister adopted me. The paperwork was messed up and my name is different on my birth certificate, my SS card, and my ID. Then, the person who filled out the “messed up” paperwork was fired, but I’m still a mystery to the bureaucratic world.

So here I am, same birthmark as my psychic grandmother, orphaned son of a savant creative criminal and a Japanese-American soldier, named after my Irish, gold hoarding, bearded, pipe-smoking beastmaster great-grandsire; raised by a celtic witch, hidden away from the official world. Sometimes I feel like all those hero origin stories are trying to call me out of hiding. More about my adventures soon.

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oceanwriter · 6 years

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Excerpt (tag)

I was tagged by @raevenlywrites -- thanks so much!! I love this idea!

So this isn’t really the last thing I wrote but it’s the most recent chapter of my wip. Most of this story (even though it’s only ten chapters) is about to be re-written for NaNo so I’ll share a good portion.

I refused to tell Mrs. Reynard what happened. She hounded me but I wouldn’t budge. On the way home I let myself have a good cry. By the time I was back at the farm, my voice was steady. Anger took over, but the sadness lingered. I’d never felt more homesick and I wanted nothing more than a hug from my parents. Particularly my father at this moment. Today it was made clear there would be no reasoning with Beatrice. I’d now become a plaything for her ego. I’m sure by running away I’d raised the stakes higher than ever but I wasn’t sure I cared. Whether she assumed I was after anything or not I didn’t know. All I wanted was to get by until Mrs. Barrow or George took me home. Funny to think I’d started to miss the old woman.

Laura was happy to see me. I felt bad that I wasn’t in the mood to play. While she might have helped keep my mind off things I was too tired. My original plan was to go upstairs and take a nap. Once I realized the time I decided against it. If I fell asleep, Beatrice would likely be home soon after. I knew there was no avoiding her but I was going to put it off as long as I could. Instead, I asked to go for a walk. Again I was made guilty as Laura wanted to come along. Mrs. Reynard told her to stay and help her with dinner which she didn’t take well. At this point I gave in and said she could come, however, Mrs. Reynard wouldn’t hear of it. I suppose she sensed how badly I needed time for myself.

I took a similar route as I had my last venture alone. Given the hour, I trusted myself to wander into the woods this time. I went beyond where Laura had taken me. My feet kept moving forward even when I knew I was starting to go too far. I couldn’t stop. The forest was beautiful and away from everyone. I wished to spend my days here instead of at school. I wished to sleep here instead of across from Beatrice. I wanted nothing to do with the girl. Her words to me today were unforgivable. My father gave his life to stop the Nazi regime and would be sick to hear someone accusing me of working for them. I couldn’t tell if she really believed this about me or if she was just showing off. Whatever the case, I knew I would forever resent her.

I felt bad, only for Mr. Reynard and Daniel, for my last words to her. I wasn’t supposed to know about his military life. Daniel told me in attempts to comfort and I nearly let it slip. No matter how strange I found it that Beatrice, at her age, did not know her father served in a war it was none of my business to be the one bringing it to her attention. In any case, I meant those words as much as she meant to hurt me with hers. I imagine Mr. Reynard would be furious, which is why I didn’t want him to find out. Beatrice’s attitude shouldn’t be his concern. He needed to focus on his work to support his family. Mrs. Reynard likely suspected something happened with Beatrice and I hoped no one would tell her. I wasn’t sure how much the other’s knew. My only hope was that my confrontation with Tommy might be assumed first.

I found a clearing what I could only figure was a half an hour in. The view I stumbled across could almost make the trials of the day worth it. I knew we were in the mountains but I hadn’t realized just how high and all that surrounded. In the middle of them all, far off in distance, was a lake. The sun was beginning to fall and hit the water just enough that it shined in its reflection. I climbed onto a boulder wedged in the ground leaving the forest behind me. Here I sat, watching the sun continue to sink behind the hills. I tried to focus on the colors of the sky rather than my conversations from the day. It felt good to be away from other people. As lovely as the Reynard family was, Beatrice aside, I was used to my own space. It's different with your own family but even still mine was small compared to theirs. At home I had my own room. George was about the same age as Eleanor so he was out of the house more often than not. My father was rarely home after the start of the war. Once he passed my mother took to her bed more days than not. Part of me enjoyed being part of a family again, much like it'd been for me when I was young. But I didn't belong here. This wasn't my family. And as long as Beatrice continued her nasty ways, there wasn’t any room.

My initial plan was to keep walking once I caught my breath. Yet, I felt better than I had in days here. I decided to stay longer. How could I leave this view? It was so different from home. I’d been to Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France (though I was too small to remember) and many places in England. Somehow American mountains were different. Not quite as massive but still beautiful. Best of all they were peaceful. I didn’t question what was going on in their valleys — if there were people hiding or preparing to invade. I guessed there might be houses or more farms. Hunters, too, most likely. Daniel and Mr. Reynard liked their game. Mostly because it put food on the table. At least that’s what I told myself. Then I started to wonder how long these woods stretched and if other people lived here as well. It was so empty, this town, it was unbelievable for someone so used to living near or in the city. Even the countryside had more hustle and bustle. Right now I didn’t miss the commotion. If I could, I would have stayed here until I was sent for back home.

I wished I brought my journal. It was the first time I really felt inspired to write anything down. I wanted to collect a couple of leaves I’d found lying around and keep them pressed. In my head, I started a story that went with my musings about who lived in the mountains so far off. I couldn’t remember the last time an idea hit me. Not a pleasant one, anyway.

My peace was disturbed when I heard rustling coming from the woods behind me. I rushed to my feet, almost losing my balance and tumbling over the side of the rock. I kept my eyes cast to the ground, expecting to see an animal of some sort. To my dismay, it was feet I saw emerge from the shadows. Of course, they belonged to Daniel.

Letting out an audible sigh, I asked, “Must you always come after me?”

“Yeah,” he said, “when you wander off into strange woods for hours at a time.”

“How can it be strange if it surrounds your property? And hours? Has it really been that long?”

“It will be dark soon. We’ve been worried sick.”

“I apologize…” I said, feeling guilty. “I didn't mean to cause worry. I lost track of time. It's beautiful out here.”

“It is but you should have waited for me or Eleanor to take you around. It's easy to get lost.”

“I know how to get home from here.”

“At night? We won't make it back before the sun fully sets.” There was an irritation in his voice I hadn't heard before.

“I said I'm sorry. I do wish you all wouldn't think of me as a helpless child. I'm used to being on my own. I'm not sure out to respond to all of this attention and concern.”

“You're gonna have to get used to it in my family. My mother gets nervous when we don’t show up on time.”

He reached his hand out to help me climb down from the boulder. I accepted, but let go as soon as my feet were back on the ground. “I don't know what more to say. I'll accept whatever punishment I receive.”

“You're not going to be punished. At least not after the day you've had,” Daniel said as we started walking into the forest.

“Who told you?” I asked, afraid Beatrice had said something after all.

“My mother.”

“Oh…”

“You don't look sick.”

“I needed the air.”

“Something happened at school,” he continued. “What was it?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“You have to tell someone.”

“And why is that?”

“Because,” Daniel said, “we all have a pretty good idea of who was behind it.”

I kept my eyes forward, hoping my lack of response would let the matter drop.

“Come on, Marjorie. You can tell me if Beatrice is giving you trouble. Any of us. At least my parents, me, and Ellie. We aren't going to be offended or angry.”

I stopped walking, turning to him again. “I am capable of fighting my own battles. Maybe I made the wrong decision leaving school today. I'm sure tomorrow will even more of a mess. But I will handle it be they Beatrice or Tommy or those other girls from my class. It's pointless for me to be there for the end of the year anyway. I wish I could have started next term where I wouldn't stick out so much. But even then I would be miserable because unless the war ends within a year I am stuck in school for four more when I would've been through in one at home. I wasn't going on to college. I was supposed to travel with my brother. He and I spoke of visiting America on our own. And now I'm here without him and I haven't heard a word from him even though he promised. He promised he would have a letter waiting for me when I arrived.”

I don't know what it was about Daniel. This was the second time I'd ranted to him, telling him more than I wished to let on to anyone. All I could figure was that he, in a way, reminded me of George. They were close in age and had a certain ruggedness about him. And they were both tall, George more still. Other than that their outward appearance was different. George had dark brown hair like my own while Daniel's was on the lighter side. As far as personality, Daniel was much more reserved, but I'd seen his wit. With Laura and Franklin, he joked as George would with me.

“Really?” was all he said in response.

“Really to what?” I asked, picking up an irritated tone of my own.

“The school thing,” he said.

“Yes, school is much different. I suspect if I hadn’t fallen behind at home I’d have learned everything being taught already. Maybe not in history as it’s more focused on America but you understand what I’m saying.”

“I never realized.”

“It’s not something you think about until you’re faced with it,” I said, beginning to walk again.

“If you’re really unhappy there I’m sure my parents can work something out. Finish your last year and then stay here and help out around the farm. We need as many hands as we can get.”

“I don’t mind the lessons, it’s…”

Daniel finished for me. “Beatrice.”

“It doesn’t matter. I anticipated as much. All of them.”

“Her friends are awful. I swear Beatrice would have turned out differently if she’d been in the class ahead or behind them.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. Their fascination will die down.”

“Why won’t you tell any of us what happened? Not even my mother?”

“Because I don’t want to. It’s as plain as that.”

“But maybe my parents can do something about your arrangement? Fix the rooms so you had least get a break from her at night.”

“I'm tired of being an imposition. You don't have the room for me and I feel terrible about it. I know I never asked you all to take me in but I can't help feeling guilty. It's going to take a while for me to feel otherwise. I'm sure I'll keep singing the same song in the meantime. Everything in my life as changed. I'm not caught up yet.”

“I don't know how to convince you that the majority of us wants you here. When I got home Laura was pouting because she missed you. Eleanor is waiting to see how you're liking the book she lent you. My parents are genuinely worried that you got lost and that you're hurt. Not because you're their responsibility. They care.”

I kept my arms tight to my stomach. I appreciated the sentiment but he didn't understand that I could only take them as words right now.

Daniel nudged my arm when I failed to acknowledge him. “You okay?”

I shook my head. I was far from okay. This had been established and I wasn't about to pretend a small chat turned everything around. Was I better off than I had been when I left the house? Perhaps. Definitely better than when I left school. Still, I wished I were walking by myself. I didn't want the company even if it was good. Being around people made me feel strange. In New York, I noticed people from all around the world. No one looked at me funny when I spoke even though I'd only had conversations with Americans. It wasn't the teasing that bothered me. I really did find their insults childish and meaningless. It was the looks that got to me. I wasn't like the rest of this tight-knit town.

I tag (if you’d like) @throughwordsiescape @indecentpause and @firewritten

#tag #excerpt #WWII Story #my writing #wip #historical fiction #writing #long post #my work

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blamebrampton · 6 years

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Eurovision 2018 final

And now, 12 hours after the rest of the world, and startlingly unspoiled, I hit the finals! I’ve not been recapping the touristy bits in the ‘postcards’, but if you’re thinking about visiting Lisbon, or Portugal in general, get to it; it’s utterly gorgeous. I’m hoping for somewhere in the top 10 for Jess, and I wouldn’t mind seeing Denmark win. They won’t. It’ll be someone awful, I just know it.

We open with fado music and it is pretty bloody splendid: melodic twanging steel strings and a heart-rending woman’s voice singing a song that is almost certainly of woe but resilience (my Portuguese is terrible). There are no unattractive people in this broadcast, it should be mentioned. Yet another reason to visit!

Another hot fado female vocalist, this time with drummers. She sounds more political, but again, I have no idea. I do know that Portugal is a country that has an amazing tradition of vocalists and narrative music, and I think we are seeing it shown well tonight. I like this a lot better than the usual blather from presenters. Though I like the women, they are admirably quick at moving things along.

And now some local DJs. Look, it was never going to stay glorious. Flags go past. There are many. We are welcomed to the grand final and the crowd goes wild. Hello contestants, I’m thrilled you get a moment in the sun before the horror of the contest descends. They are all smiling and lovely and I hope they all go on to have happy lives. Denmark are actually amusing! Bless their hairy hipster hearts!

You know, I can honestly say that everyone I’ve heard in this final can actually sing and on that basis alone, 2018 is already a good year.

The presenters are back. NCIS is dressed like a Goth prom queen, Blondie is wearing a beaded shower curtain, Saintly is cosplaying a tall Kylie Minogue (I loathe the fact I need to specify Kylies these days) and Little One has come dressed as an entrant from Greece. I actually know all their names now, but they’re longer, so it’s nicknames for me, I’m afraid.

I’m not going to repeat performance notes from the semi finals, but if you’ve missed every other piece of Eurovision commentary, a. Well done! b. What the hell are you doing here? c. I’ll let you know if anything new happens.

Ukraine, Melovin, Under the Ladder. Now I’m not focusing on the madness of the staging, I can mention that he and his backing singers are selling the hell out of this one. I like it a lot better the second time around, and the vocals are tight. It’s still a totally nuts Dracula moment, but if it wins I will not be at all upset.

Spain, Amaia y Alfred, Tu Cancion. Arena full of people holding up their lit phones. Young people singing to each other from opposite sides of the stage. It’s all very sweet. Now they are holding hands. Now they are hugging. Keep it nice, kids, you’ve got two minutes to go. They are lovely, but so wholesome that I feel listening to this song represents 100% of my daily intake of Vitamin C and roughage. Nice climbing crescendos and key change towards the end. Big lights, earnest singing into each other’s faces… this is a song that speaks of carefully studied microphone angles and breath mints. Bless.

Slovenia, Lea Sirk, Hvala, ne! This is the one that stuck with me since I last saw it, but more for the snappiness of the staging and performances than for the song itself. They are enormously charismatic and the choreography is very well put out there. She changes it up tonight and tells them to stop the music and has the audience sing the refrain with her, which I really liked and thought much more successful than the fake cut in the semis, even if the chap in the audience the camera cut to was clearly wondering what the hell was happening and whether he had accidentally eaten the wrong brownies before he headed out tonight. I’m keen on these girls and hope they do well!

Lithuania, Ieva Zasimauskaite, When We’re Old. Sweet whispering song girl is back. She remains sweet and whispery. She and Joanna Newsome would make a lovely duet. Her voice is genuinely delightful, though there is a little more assist in the reverb than she needs: makes it all sound a bit more Jared Leto than is optimal. But I quibble, she is a delight. Her husband comes to join her at the end again and she seems deeply moved. Bodes well for their future.

Austria, Cesar Sampson, Nobody But You. I resent Cesar’s bad T-shirt more than in the semis, because he is a hot young man and we should be allowed to enjoy him in all his loveliness and that plasticky bit is very distracting. The backing vocals in this track are probably the best in the whole contest, and he has a beautiful voice that I hope to hear more of. In a perfect world, John Legend writes a better version of La La Land in which this chap and his best friend come to LA to pursue their dreams and both succeed without hurting each other. It’s actually a decent song, it just sounds like a lot of other decent songs. But his performance is something very special.

Estonia, Elina Necheyava, La forza. She is lovely, her frock is lovely, her voice is lovely, this song is not going to win. Which is a shame, because I would like to see the ECS back in Tallinn. If they had a European Frock Contest, this would be douze points from everyone.

Norway, Alexander Rybak, That’s How You Write A Song. He is a super chap and I hope he does win Eurovision twice, but if he does it with this song, I will be looking at the countries that vote for it with thinly veiled disdain. This is the sort of song that would have had Paula Abdul dancing with an animated cat in the 1980s. But I will say that it is lovely to have him back so that Nigel Kennedy will finally have to give up any idea that he’s the hot young man with the violin. The crown, which was never really Nigel’s, is clearly Alexander’s.

Portugal, Claudia Pasqoal, O Jardim. Pink hair gets an extra 10 points from me to start with. Sounds like London Grammar, in both tune and delivery, but since I love them, that’s fine. Her frock is a nice wrap-around black number with thigh split. She’s joined on stage by a woman who looks a bit like Kirsten Stewart, and the two of them are in fact much cooler than practically everyone else in the stadium. That was a nice soft song that you would wrap up a big night or start a romance with and I liked it a lot. I want to see it in the top five, but not winning, because it’s too expensive to do this two years in a row!

The presenters make a knowing reference to the queerness of Eurovision and it comes off as an inside joke not an arch piece of commentary, and this is the point at which I accept that I have fallen for their charms and will never be free of this annual horror.

United Kingdom, SuRie, Storm. We’ve done something unusual this year and sent someone good. It won’t help, but it’s a pleasant change. More pink hair, with a sort of Annie Lennox hair and jumpsuit arrangement. I hate to say this, but this song is actually pretty damned good. What the hell? We’re usually awful. The staging is admirably simple and the performance is a cracker, and there is some fuckwit invading the stage to shout something and WELL DONE YOU, YOUNG WOMAN, you held that together amazingly! She is in fact bringing it even more strongly, even though the incident clearly affected her. How amazing is she! ‘Some absolute cockhead’ is the Australian boy commentator’s description of the stage invader and he is 100% on the money.

They skip to the green room with Little One while they deal with the stage invader situation and she is talking to vampire boy from the Ukraine who offers to bite her neck and talks about his personal brand. If he doesn’t have 100,000 followers on Instagram and a YouTube ‘presence’, I will be very surprised.

Back to the show!

Serbia, Sanja Ilic & Balkanika, Nova Deca. This song remains as OTT and epic as in the semis with costumes and wailing mysticism that puts me in mind of nothing so much as one of those epic episodes of Xena that your girlfriends used to trot out in the 90s to talk about when lesbian subtext becomes text. It’s classic Eurovision and if it wins I will be thrilled.

Germany, Michael Schulte, You Let Me Walk Alone. It’s apparently a song to his father, who died when he was young, and it’s got a hell of a dose of the Ed Sheerans, from the hair to the singing style. It’s saved from the annoying side of the Sheerans by the personal message, which comes through strongly. Though it’s a little unfair in the ‘you will never know, because you let me walk this road alone’, unless his father took his own life. Just saying. Exactly the right mix of sentiment and ten-year-old newness that could win, thanks to a very strong performance.

Albania, Eugent Bushpepa, Mall. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this song in the semis and I am still surprised about it now. It’s everything I would usually mock, including a safe 80s chord sequence and handclapping, but it somehow works superbly and he looks a little nervous, yet has an actually superior classic rock voice, instead of the standard ‘thinks is great, is OK’ frontman. I think the dungaree drummer, who has done both of his straps up tonight, has won me over.

France, Madame Monsieur, Mercy. It’s political! And about refugees. And my French isn’t good enough to follow it entirely, but she is all the children, her name is Mercy and she is fleeing war and is alive and she needs our help. It’s actually a cracker of a tune, and the Jean-Paul Gaultier outfits are the classiest of the evening. Far too attractive for this shindig.

Czech Republic, Mikolas Josef, Lie to Me. I think what troubles me most about this song is that I keep expecting Will Smith to appear. Much as in the semis. They are perfectly good, it is just not my cup of tea. Nice little flip at the end, and the dancing is excellent. Bless em.

Denmark, Rasmussen, Higher Ground. I’m putting this out there: I think I want these guys to win. But it’s entirely based on the fact they are singing about pacifist vikings and I have mentally built them up into a rejection of toxic masculinity in favour of human decency and manliness meaning things like facing your fears and having integrity, which I can get behind. If there is a MeToo/Weinstein moment for any of these chaps, I’m coming after them with an axe. I do like a Wailing Medjeval Epic though.

Australia, Jessica Mauboy, We Got Love. Jess is gorgeous and she loves a crowd, which is good because the crowd loves her. Every lovely thing I said about her in the semis remains true. Alas, it also remains true that this song could be better. But it’s grown on me. We may be powerless to bring down the US government, and its lesser evils the UK and Australian governments, but we’ve got love and regular elections, and New Zealand, and it will be OK in the end. She’s a champion and I hope she makes the top five!

Saintly and Blondie are back mocking social media and rightly so.

Now NCIS is eulogising the first winner of the Eurovision Song Contest, Lys Assia, who died at the age of 94 in March. For five seconds. There’s efficient and there’s cold, ladies.

Finland, Saara Aalto, Monsters. This is the other song I want to win, though I have to confess I wouldn’t mind if the UK won, after SuRie’s amazing turn. But Saara’s voice fills the stadium and sails up and down the scale. Still with the Annie Lennox Bondage Backup Dancers, which makes two tributes to Scotland’s finest Oscar winner in the one show. I’m slightly less convinced by the song the second time round, but the performance is great. Her backwards death dive at the end is a cracker!

Bulgaria, Equinox, Bones. This song remains all about the girl’s Heey-yays for me and nothing has changed. It’s another one that is very good, just not for me. Cup of tea time! Good lighting at the end. T2’s Turkish Apple is definitely the right tea for tonight!

Moldova, DoReDoS, My Lucky Day. Kids, I am all for polyamory, but it should be based on mutual communication, not sneaking about. It turns out well for them, though, and it’s a fun song.

Little One is here with the audience and everyone is Very Drunk. I think she is trying to pick up a tall British girl, and I like her even more.

Sweden, Benjamin Ingrosso, Dance You Off. This is a favourite with the punters but not with me. Soz, Ben.

Hungary, AWS, Viszlát Nyár. It’s the lovely Lordi Lite lads and while I respect his vocal cords for surviving the sustained abuse, I am skipping through this one as it’s getting late here and there are hours of judging to go.

Israel, Netta, Toy. The Aussie commentators have mentioned that she would have broken a stage invader and I think this true. She looks as though she would have enjoyed it, too. I feel you, Netta. The chicken bits are a bit distracting, but she sells the hell out of this and it’s bright and bouncy. Another one I won’t mind winning. Also, more pink hair. I was clearly two years ahead of the curve on that one.

The Netherlands, Waylon, Outlaw in ’Em. Apparently, Waylon is cool with people who don’t really like country. Which is good news. I do like country if it’s Johnny Cash or Dolly Parton, but yeah, on this one we’re just going to have to quietly share a beer and talk about something else, Waylon. You’re a good chap and your band is excellent, so if you win I won’t be upset, even if I still don’t like this song. It’s just my taste rather than there being anything objectively bad about it. Hang on: turns out the band are the dancers. They are going off and taking the piss in epic quantities and I like it quite a bit more after that.

Ireland, Ryan O’Shaugnessey, Together. Apparently China cut the broadcast of this one due to the gay backup dancers and Eurovision cut their contract in response. Well done, Eurovision! This song remains sweet and beautifully performed, with the backup dancers really carrying the whole show. But there’s not a lot to it aside from the lovely staging.

Cyprus, Eleni Fouriera, Fuego. Another one I will not be surprised if it wins. Spectacular combination of song and performance, with fabulous backing dancers/singers (again, the best combo set). If Beyonce came to Eurovision in disguise, this would be her performance, and I am reading the whole thing as a tribute to Queen Bey, which is pretty easy given that practically every aspect of it references her. She is nervous as hell at the end, but the performance was stonkingly good.

Italy, Ermal Meta and Fabrizio Moro, Non me avete fatto niente. Written in response to the bombing in Manchester, this is a strongly serious track from a country that can often be flippant at Eurovision and in the first thirty seconds we see the passionate political engagement that explains the entirety of Italian politics. It’s a strong piece and well performed, including wailing hero notes towards the end and overlays in the various languages of Europe declaring defiance to terrorism. I think it might be in with a shot.

Presenters have had a costume change. NCIS is Morticia Addams, Blondie is Meryl Streep circa 1988, Saintly is Sophia Loren circa 1968 and Little One has come as a Glomesh handbag. Oh, holy moly, it’s recap time before the votes. We learn that SuRie was invited to perform again and has decided not to. Bless her toughness! I am fast forwarding through this as life is too short.

Blondie’s cleavage is plunging to her belly button and I am just impressed by the amount of double-sided tape holding that outfit together. The interval act is local musicians, who are splendid, but I need to get a few things done while I listen, so you go and download it from the official site. Worth your time!

Another recap, more fast forwarding. Australia’s commentary team are doubling as the royal wedding commentators and I think I might actually catch that on SBS as it would be a bit of a giggle. It’s Australia’s multicultural channel and I love it because it’s full of international films and news, but I have an American friend who refers to it as ‘That channel where your government gives you free soft porn.’ Mate, it’s Swedish film and you just need to expand your horizons!

Blondie is with the audience and she has found some Irish people who are delightful. And now they are doing Portuguese pop culture things that go over my head, and recapping Junior Eurovsion, which is like Senior Eurovision, but with more sedate images and sober contestants. The Junior winner sings a little of last year’s Senior winner, which is apparently a new condition for entry into Lisbon as every man and his dog as been trotting it out. Saintly presenter might be a little drunk, you know.

NCIS and Little One are in the Green Room, introducing Salvador Sobral, last year’s winner, and he’s looking a bit healthier, which is good! Still as fey as ever, but find your schtick and stick with it, I say. Lovely new song, you should download it, too, as I need to put a load of dishes on, so won’t be describing it. Ah, he’s had a heart transplant. Excellent! That is good news!

He’s joined by the legendary Caetano Veloso and they (Caetano for the most part) sing last year’s winning song and it’s quite lovely. Salvador is visibly moved by the whole thing. Where is his sister? Apparently he’s been slagging off some of the other songs and it’s caused an upset, but seriously, Sir Terry Wogan made a career out of that and there are thousands if not millions of us who do it on an amateur basis, so why should he miss out?

Little One has some fans pretending to do some last-minute voting, and she has been the hardest working presenter. I hope that tall British girl she was chatting up earlier has a cold bottle of gin and a big cake for the two of them later tonight, she’s earned it!

Jon Ola Sand says votes are ready to go! Jury votes first.

Ukraine first: 8 The Netherlands, 10 Israel, 12 France.

Azerbaijan, 8 Hungary, 10 Serbia, 12 to Albania.

They are FLYING through this.

Belarus, 8 Norway, 10 Austria, Australia is nowhere at the moment, 12 to Cyprus!

San Marino, 8 Sweden, 10 Germany, 12 to Israel. He’s chattier than the others.

The Netherlands, 8 Sweden, 10 Austria, 12 Germany.

FYR Macedonia, 8 Serbia, 10 Cyprus, 12 ESTONIA! YAY

Malta, 8 France, 10 Italy, 12 Cyprus, which is starting to pull ahead. Australia still nowhere.

Georgia, 8 Austria, 10 Estonia, 12 Sweden, who take the lead. Meh.

Spain 8 Austria, 10, Israel, 12 Cyprus. UK still on 0, which is for once entirely unfair.

Austria, 8 Sweden, 10 Germany, 12 Israel, who pop in front. It’s a big battle tonight!

Denmark, 8 Austria, 10 Australia, THANK YOU! 12 to Germany.

UK, 8 Bulgaria, 10 Israel, She cracks onto Jon Ola and I respect that, 12 Austria. Not a sausage to Oz, you bastards.

Sweden, 8 Australia, 10 Austria, 12 Cyprus.

Latvia, 8 Estonia, 10 France, 12 Sweden.

Albania, 8 Bulgaria, 10 Cyprus, 12 Italy!

Croatia, 8 Moldova, 10 Israel, 12 Lithuania. The UK has 4, which is not enough, but there we go.

Ireland, 8 Germany, 10 Bulgaria, 12 Cyprus. Nothing for Oz. I’m reading this as a protest against Peter Dutton’s appalling treatment of refugees.

Romania, 8 The Netherlands, 10 Spain, 12 Austria.

Czech Republic, 8 Sweden, 10 Ireland (nice!), 12 Israel.

Iceland 8 Israel, 10 Albania, 12 Austria. Denmark is down on 7, alas.

Moldova 8 Bulgaria, 10 Israel, 12 Estonia!

Belgium, 8 Sweden, 10 The Netherlands, 12 Austria, which is terrific given how good his voice is!

Norway, 8 Austria, 10 Sweden, 12 Germany.

France, 8 Germany, 10 Australia, Merci!, 12 Israel. They and Austria are creeping ahead.

Italy, 8 Denmark, 10 Germany, 12 Norway.

Australia, 8 Estonia, 10 Germany, and Ricardo Gonzales’s Aussie Portuguese accent is a cracker. 12 to Sweden and FUCK YOU ALL the Australian jury. This is how we get Turnbull and Dutton.

Estonia, 8 Cyprus, 10 Lithuania, 12 Austria.

Serbia, 8 Italy, 10 Germany, 12 Sweden.

Cyprus, 8 Italy, 10 Moldova, 12 Sweden and you are all clearly drunk. The jury votes are all over the shop.

Armenia, 8 Israel, 10 Moldova, 12 Sweden.

Bulgaria, 8 Czech Republic, 10 Lithuania, 12 Austria.

Greece, 8 Sweden, 10 Moldova, 12 Cyprus. I typed that 30 seconds before she said it. No need for correction.

Hungary, 8 Austria, 10 Albania, 12 Denmark! YAY! The Vikings go off! They are chuffed.

Montenegro, 8 Moldova, 10 Albania, 12 Serbia. Big surprise!

Germany, 8 Ireland, 10 Austria, 12 Sweden because they are all drunk. But Austria is still ahead!

Finland, 8 Sweden, 1o Bulgaria, 12 Israel.

Russia, 8 Israel, 10 Sweden, 12 Moldova; look, they were fun.

Switzerland, 8 Lithuania, 10 Estonia, 12 Germany.

Israel, 8 UK THANKS, 10 Sweden, 12 Austria.

Poland, 8 The Netherlands, 10 Germany, 12 Austria.

Lithuania, 8 Sweden, 10 France, 12 Austria.

Slovenia, 8 Cyprus, 10 Austria, 12 Sweden.

Portugal, 8 Austria, 10 Albania, 12 ESTONIA! Oh, Portugal, you are so delightfully odd. I love you guys.

That’s it for juries, but we have the popular votes to go. Australia currently in 12th, Denmark and UK nowhere, which is cruel on both counts. Austria in first place, which I think is down to a great performance. Sweden second, probs down to the drink. The Israel song is third, which I think will go up with the popular vote.

Jon Ola Sand is back. He says the public votes are exciting. Here we go! They are reading them out from lowest to highest.

9 to Australia. Fuck the lot of you. Unless that’s a protest against Australian refugee policy and black deaths in custody, in which case, fair enough. 18 to Portugal and Spain 21 Sweden YES! Good! Sorry, I mean, Oh well. 23 Slovenia 23 Finland Rude. Should have been more. 25 UK Very rude! Should have been lots more! 32 The Netherlands 58 Albania A joke. The people are morons. 59 France Ripped off. 62 Ireland 65 Hungary 66 Bulgaria 71 Austria NO!!!! WOE!! Sorry, mate. You were triff. 75 Serbia Should have been more. 84 Norway 91 Lithuania 102 Estonia 115 Moldova 119 Ukraine Fair, they deserved some points for that show. 136 Germany Surprised it wasn’t more, he’s rather good. 180 Denmark I’m good with that one. They are stoked. 215 Czech Republic 249 Italy and they are also thrilled. 253 Cyprus I think she is both heartbroken at not winning and thrilled at not bankrupting a Cypriot TV station with the cost. ISRAEL HAS WON! (though I missed how many popular points they got. More than 253)

(This will be a tiny bit awkward if the whole Iran war thing kicks off. Maybe this will be the kick up the bum that Netanyahu needs to pull his head in. I would very much like my friends in Israel to have fewer things to worry about, so not starting wars seems like an excellent idea.)

Netta is thrilled, the ladies are a little drunk, Jessica Mauboy has snuck off to party with the Irish mob and fingers crossed Mr Austria’s phone is already running hot with people who want to put that glorious voice with better songs. But keep the backing singers. They were ace. Netta sings us out and we are DONE for another year. Goodnight, Eurovision. Why can’t I quit you?

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hecktorr22 · 3 years

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THE AUDACITY OF THIS MAN TRUMP

By E. P. UNUM

December 13, 2020

I’m still trying to understand what 80 million voters disliked about President Trump so much that they decided to cast their votes for a man who served forty-seven years in government and has done absolutely nothing for the American people. And, I’m still flabbergasted that those same people would vote for a woman to serve as Vice President, a heartbeat away from the Presidency, with a rather checkered and not so moral past. I wondered why they despised and hated President Trump so much.

And so, I have many questions:

Did you dislike that Trump made cruelty to animals a felony?

Did you dislike he raised billions to stop the opioid crisis?

Perhaps you feel that he destroyed ISIS, killed terrorists, including the leader of ISIS and the Iranian General responsible for thousands of American deaths, all without going to war?

Did you dislike the fact that the media and democrats, Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg, Chris Cuomo, and Jim Acosta said we’d be in World War III by now with North Korea, and their prophecies did not come to pass?

Did you dislike Trump because under his leadership we became energy-independent and an exporter rather than an importer of oil, no longer relying on the Middle East for our petroleum needs?

Did you dislike him because he wanted to build a wall to keep criminals and drugs from coming into our country?

Did you dislike him because he just slashed the price for medications in some cases by 50%, which is driving big Pharma nuts?

Perhaps you dislike that he signed a law ending the gag-order on pharmacists that prevented them from sharing money-saving options on prescriptions?

Is your dislike for President Trump based on the fact that he signed the Save Our Seas Act, which funds $10 million per year to clean tons of plastic and garbage from the ocean?

Did you dislike that he signed a bill for airports to provide breastfeeding stations for nursing moms?

How about the fact that he signed the biggest wilderness protection and conservation bill in a decade, designating 375,000 acres as protected land, was that why you dislike him?

Did you dislike that he loves America and puts Americans first?

Did you dislike that he made a gay man the ambassador to Germany and then asked him to clean up national security and un-classify as much of it as possible for transparency?

Did you dislike that he’s kept almost every campaign promise (with zero support from Congress who work against him daily!) plus 100 more promises because Washington was much more broken than he or any of us thought?

Do you dislike that he works for free, donating his entire $400,000 salary to different charities?

Did you feel that he did this for four years because he was “showboating?”

Do you dislike that he’s done more for the black community than every other President?

Do you dislike that he listened to senator Scott and passed Invest In Opportunity Zones to help minorities?

Do you dislike that he passed prison reform, which gives people a second chance and has made quite a huge difference for the black communities?

Do you dislike that he passed VA reforms to benefit the very people who served our country and defend our freedom?

Do you dislike that he’s winning and signing new trade deals that benefit Americans, instead of costing us more?

Did you dislike him because, unlike all of the presidents who came before him, he recognized Jerusalem as the Capital of Israel, relocated the U.S. Embassy from Tel Aviv there, and then proceeded to negotiate four peace accords between Israel and Arab Nations when many in the media were predicting there would be war? Was that why you disliked him?

Do you dislike that he loves his flag and his country?

Do you dislike that he calls out and has shown time and time again that the mainstream media in our country has become corrupt and incompetent, twisting the truth to control and mislead the people and he is trying to protect us from this?

Do you dislike that he has been a President totally committed to ending wars and bringing our troops home?

Perhaps you dislike the stern way he spoke, publically to NATO allies to step up and pay their commitments to defense rather than expecting America to do it for them, something we have done for over seventy-five years?

Do you dislike that he has made a commitment to end child-trafficking and crimes against humanity and has made 1000’s of arrests already?

Do you dislike he’s brought home over 40 Americans held captive, the last one from Iran?

Do you dislike that he’s proven he was right about the Deep State and he was indeed spied on before, during, and after he became President?

Do you dislike that he was a Billionaire before he ran for President and now is worth at least 1/3 less... because he loves America?

Do you dislike that he respects cops, veterans, ICE & First Responders?

Do you dislike that he does not sell out America to other countries, like the leaders prior to him have done?

Could it be possible that the ones who sell out America to line their pockets own the media and Hollywood and hate him so much for trying to expose them and hate him for putting the American people first that they try to manipulate our thinking and control the information we get to try to cultivate hatred for him? These people benefit when you hate the man trying to stop them... so they won’t have to give up the wealth they have gotten and continue to get thru mass taxation and control. Wouldn’t you at least want to research this possibility?

Could 75 million Americans already know the truth... that he has done more for blacks in the last 20 years than our last 5 presidents put together and is actually not a racist and never has been one… but you believe he is because it has been drilled into your head and yet you’ve never researched his accomplishments?

You can start by watching those daily briefings he did during the lockdown (all online) and then watching the coverage on the Main Stream Media and how they twisted it.

Do you actually believe the President encouraged America to inject bleach?

Did you research the effects of UV light which is used to disinfect school busses and medical equipment and is also being used as a treatment for bacteria and respiratory infections? They want you to believe he is stupid because if you figure out that he isn’t, they will lose billions of dollars and all their control.

I know... it is hard to let go of what you believed to be true for most of your life. You are not alone. But your blind hatred of this man who is literally trying to save us from the far left, radical Socialists is going to be detrimental to our country if you continue to support their hatred.

They are teaching hatred and separation...to our children and even to our families! You are not allowed to agree with “part” of their agenda and think for yourself; you must repeat their full belief system, or name-calling and insults ensue.

This is not an informed debate. It is not a reason. This is the very definition of a cult! All or nothing! They despise law and order. Just look around you. He supports law and order, not looting, rioting, and chaos, so we are safe and can live in a civilized society. He stands for unity and America first. Is that why you dislike him?

You will be amazed at how much more peace comes into your life when you turn off the fake news and tune into what America stands for, where we focus on what unites us, not what divides us. The media has despised him from day one. Impeachment was on the table before he even took the oath of office in January 2017. They said Impeach the “motherfuc#^*r”....but then they turn around and say his rhetoric is bad? He was never given a chance, yet he’s done more in 4 years than any president with zero help from the media or democrats. Results don’t lie.

The media and democrats consistently complain about Trump “mismanaging the Covid Crisis." Nothing could be further from the truth. The man has been a rock and his leadership has kept the nation from the abyss. He promised a vaccine before the end of 2020. They said it could not be done. He proved them wrong once again….doses of the vaccine are being delivered now in mid-December!

He built hospitals in NYC and California, sent retrofitted Navy Hospital Ships which went unused, initiated Operation Warp Speed that produced PPE and therapeutics in record time along with thousands of ventilators, far more than we needed, and which are now being sent all over the world. And the overall death rate from Covid stands at less than one percent!

How dare this man, the President of the United States, care so much about the American people and our Country. How dare he stand at attention and salute our Flag, support our troops, honor our veterans, put God back into our lives, protect the unborn, give people second chances and take seriously his oath to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

How dare this man show up at 2:00 AM at Dover Air Force Base to welcome home hostages held in foreign lands and the remains of our fallen soldiers.

How dare this man develop and implement plans and programs to create the greatest most prosperous economy and standard of living in the history of mankind.

How dare he reduce unemployment to 3.4% and lower unemployment for Black, Asian and Hispanic communities in fifty years!

You would think this man was trying to actually do things rather than speak eloquently and act “Presidential” and “Cool” about such things.

How dare he!

One would think this President was trying to provide leadership.

How crass.

The audacity of this man.

You would think he is trying to be a leader or something.

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mojput-mypath · 5 years

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6-months drama/6-mjesečna drama

MY 6-MONTH CRISIS

In average, every six months I have a minor existential crisis, one when I question all I do, where I live, my pay, my work atmosphere, the job, love, friendships, I also question myself. This time it was a bit shorter and there was less drama. Or was it? Is it finished?

After a small enlightenment episode, a blackness took over me. Cuttlefish ink. Cuttlefish are such pretty animals. The ink so powerful, right in the bullseye.

The clearest image in my mind now is a recent impression of a complete blackout I had. The mouth kept opening and the words kept coming out. Well, if it were only the words that came out...but no, they were shouted out from the depth of my soul, and they tore my throat apart. As much as they tore my throat apart, they must have torn her heart apart.

The situation is not so important, the people involved are not important, what matters is the deep scarring. Left in mine, and guessing in the other heart as well. Absolute verbal violence. I have not yet graduated from the first Yama, in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras: non-violence. Nor was I non-violent, nor was there non-violence in my presence. It was just the opposite.

CRAZY FROM MADNESS

If this is flowering, it is certainly a strange one. The flowering of a complete personality, is it a road paved with black bricks? This must have been the darkest blackness coming out of the depth of my soul.

To be spiritual must mean to be polite. But if I am anything similar to polite lately, then the Earth is flat. If I actually believed in the Earth-being-flat theory, this would have made more sense.

I realise more and more that non-violence comes to pass on its own, the same as violence. There is a self-control effect, but man, sometimes it cannot be found even in traces. When you think that 14 years of meditation brought you somewhere, then you are truly misguided. Every attempt to fit your personality and body in a mould, results in nature smelling it out instantly and saying: No, you don’t! Every attempt in creating an eternal security feel just pulls the carpet under your feet and yells out at you: No. Can. Do!

HOLIDAYS

After four months in the Ashram – holidays! This time I agreed with my sister we would go for more days and not travel too much. We needed the rest.

EPIC JOURNEY: TRAIN

Some of you have heard this story already, so I apologise for repeating myself. Also, if you have no time, please stop here, this blog seems like it will be taking a while. I should start writing the “read time” and keywords, as a combination of a scientific article and an online article. What say you?

So, the epic journey began with buying tickets to the airport. I got the tickets in a way I usually do not, guided by our ever tiny budget: I got us regional train tickets that would make the trip longer, get us there eventually, but for 50% less money. Hm, yes. When you want to get out of something, that is when you get what you deserve. The regional ticket was not only regional, but it can be a day or a night regional ticket. The daily version is valid from 7am to 6pm. We took an early train, at 6.30am, and therefore I got us the night tickets, unknowingly. They were valid for an entirety of 30 minutes. After that a daily regional ticket was valid, one which we did not have. Buying both a daily and night regional ticket would cost us the same as getting a normal inter-city train ticket. Discount, my ass! Yes, it was me, guilty! I got us the wrong ticket. I am a foreigner pretending to know German. Katina told me many a time: Why don’t you use the ticket website in English? I don’t want to! ‘Cos I live in Germany, pretending to know the language well enough. Actually, I do not, obviously. I am just guessing.

When it was after 7am, the ticket man informed us of the invalidity of the ticket we had and offered to charge us an extra two thirds of the already purchased ticket. We said okay. But. We could not pay with our cards on the train, with neither the Croatian nor German one. Why? Because the Universe decided to have fun. We were kindly asked to get off on the next stop, walk 500m in the dark, in the snow, dragging along suitcases, until we got to a cash machine. The machine, along with God’s providence, gave us money we did not have. Yay! We got ourselves some new tickets, that cost more than what the man offered on the train and boarded the next train, thinking we had enough time to catch the flight. No problem.

EPIC JOURNEY: PLANE

We arrived to the airport, went to the check-in, and reached the counter 38 minutes before lift-off. We needed to check in a suitcase (that is yet another long story, how the unwanted suitcase travelled with us, and the same serving us well on the way back, where we stored some nice Croatian goodies). The lady did not check us in, but explained that we needed to go to another counter. In that moment, I naively believed the other counter would be helpful, yet at the same time realising what she had just said, how we could not board the plane.

Considering I was in a bit of a delicate emotional state from all the screaming from the previous night, I started to weep. By the time we had shown our faces on the other counter, I was fully crying. The man had told us none of the two could board any longer, not only because of the suitcase, but the gate was no longer accessible to us. The next flight was 500€ per person, and the one that was leaving the next day, was only 100€ per person. We got the tickets for 35€ to begin with. Moving away from the counter, I just lost it. My thoughts jumping onto what more horrors might be waiting for us now, considering we were travelling on a low budget, considering it was the end of the month, and the paycheck a couple of days away, and as we had all the tickets already bought. Which we no longer had. Just that we don’t have to go back to the Ashram, we are already on holiday after all!

EPIC JOURNEY: BUS

While I kept weeping, Katina got a hold of things and found us a bus that was leaving directly from the airport to Zagreb, in two hours. It did not cost so much. In that moment we failed to get the bus tickets online and went to the bus tickets office. The tickets cost 25% more, and cannot be bought with the only card we still had cash on. We bought the tickets with my card this time, and it went into a minus (?).

OK, so now we have a new ticket. We had time to eat and the time we were already supposed to be landing in the city of Zagreb is just passing by. 12 hours later, we are at our destination. Our cards are maxed out, shaken from the bus and full of dry food we had to buy at the (expensive) airport shop for the rest of a now one-day trip. A truly epic journey. I could say that because of the epicness (I know this is not a word) of the trip and all the challenges we faced, I can kind of assume how Frodo felt while going into Mordor. Let us not assume only the negative, but let us remember a few nice things as well: our cards served us well, even though we were kind of broke, we had a bus going directly from the airport, and everyone was really kind and understanding with us. So were our lovely ladies and hosts, waiting for us in one of our many homes, like Cinderella, coming home at midnight.

ZAGREB CITY

The first week was dedicated to going around with excellent & dear people. The hangouts were inspirational, emotional and full of news. It is nice to be home… I am starting to love Zagreb in a new way. After I have taken advantage of it, then resisted it, to brutally dump it and then tried to ignore it for years. Now all those crappy things are forgotten and only the most valuable items are left in it for me. Almost like an ex, with whom, after a certain time, if both want to, all the crappy feelings are forgotten and only the pure, clear and good ones stay. Each and every meeting was actually really beautiful! Even the one that happened in a hospital, and caught us all off guard, but I think everyone coped quite well.

Sisters, missing 1/Sestre, bez jedne

OUTING

The main reason we went to Zagreb for, at the end of January, is a festival. A (t)rap regional winter festival. This year in an even less smoky club (the club of my former wild youth), we knew what to expect, in terms of noise and craziness. All together it was far less wild than “in my time”: everyone would be brutally wasted already at 6pm, and by 11pm would be on the floor. We had a healthy energy drink, that was more of a joke than an upper. The rest of the evening we had water, like all really boring straight edge girls/ladies/women.

THE HIGHLIGHT

The main mission of this festival was to get a treat for our darling Krešo, who we have known for a million years, cross my heart. The first idea was to throw rose petals at the stage, but the prospect of having to carry the petals into a club and have them there for a couple of hours, I was doubtful if they would stay fresh, and it was not so convenient to be throwing them from below to the stage – would it really have any effect? So there was a change of plan. We’re going to get our boy Krešo a chocolate. Not any chocolate, though. A white bio-chocolate with poppy seeds for him and one for his colleague, with exotic fruits. So, how shall we deliver the chocolate? We were trying to figure something out, and several ideas failed, so we got a little weary.

We decided to take a seat and let everything go for a moment. How it so often happens: enlightenment is a split second away. Katina got her phone out and a scene flashed across, something that Krešo had posted one hour earlier. That same moment, I was looking at her screen feeling we failed. I suddenly realised the location from where the image was taken, abruptly stood up and turned around, just to realise he, Krešo Bengalka, was just there, a few meters away from us. We practically ran towards him, and he waited for us with opened arms: “Let me give you a hug!”. We gifted him the chocolates and said it was late, and left.

That moment you let go, it comes galloping towards you.

Gordana & Katina, in front of the festival poster/Gordana i Katina ispred festivalskog posters

SWEET HOME

Katina and I have many homes. I would call it nomadic farming, where we are the sheep. After Zagreb we went to Rijeka, where our dearest mommy lives for quite some years, even though this is not her original home (and that is a completely different story). Just next to Rijeka, a little further along the coast, you will find Lovran, where our eldest sister lives with her family. A couple of days on the seaside. It was less important that it had rained for a bit, and that it was windy, because those few hours in the sun, sitting on the pier listening to the sea and reading a book, overshadowed everything else. Both Rijeka and Lovran, our second and third homes, took us in for a short and sweet while. The time spent “home” is the sweetest. And our little nephew! Uninterrupted joy…

FINAL EVENING

Coming back, we passed through Zagreb again, shortly, and finished our holidays in a very nice evening spent with people somewhat younger than us, but only a little difference was felt. I thought again how Katina and I have been quite gangsta when we were younger.

Band Zmajari, at Booksa, Zagreb/Bend Zmajari u Booksi, Zagreb

BACK TO REALITY

Coming back home from home, I went to see my doctor, to check if there was any news about a blood test I did just before leaving, ten days ago, as I was previously lying in bed for quite some time. There was news! The news was that my iron is so low that everyone is still wondering how I was still walking, let alone working, travelling and doing yoga.

That is what happens when you meditate. Your iron drops to levels when people are usually hospitalised, but you keep working, travelling and living, with feeling just a bit tired. Except the occasional aggressive-hysterical fits, but all good otherwise.

I’m joking a bit here, as my health was generally not so good lately, and it is clearer now how it escalated with the drop of iron in the blood, in spite of all my, sometimes more and sometimes, efforts to keep my health in a good place.

Quite incredible how everything changes with changing perspective. How very worried I was about my health and how much I had forced myself to exercise more, then getting overly tired, and judging myself for being lazy. I hope to have more strength with my iron levels going up, and feel more energetic, and finally be physically more active, what I have been wishing for so much. Ah, always more, stronger, never satisfied. What to do. It’s just who I am.

FUCK IT, IT’S JUST GORDANA

What is always left in the end: love. Everything begins and ends with love, right? Usually when we fall in love, it is no ordinary infatuation, rather a complete obsession. It is lovely to be in love, but the obsession is so tiresome, the thoughts that do not leave me, and the intensity of the emotions that just gets more intense, is quite difficult to handle. It wears me out completely, in a way I wish I was never in love. Like with some sort of drug, a complete intoxication and craziness. I completely divide myself from me and become a maniac.

As I thought quite a lot about my recent hysterical behaviour, I remembered how people used to call me “hysterical” when I was a kid. There was this guy in our neighbourhood that used to tease me a lot, I hated his guts. He had horse teeth and a terrible voice and he made fun of me restlessly, and I just kept screaming at him. He loved it a lot, he would then annoy me even more, I guess he thought it was fun how easy it was to disturb me.

HYPER-WOMAN

When I think about it now, I think it would be called ADHD or hyperactivity or social inadequacy nowadays. Then I grew a bit older and learned I should not allow myself to be like that, that it was not exactly nice to behave in that way. Then I became even more self-centered through spirituality, and I became proud of my ability to successfully snuff out my “hysterical” nature. What goes around, comes around, so did this. I have a feeling the hysteria never did leave me, but was suppressed. As I have started to feel more free in expression recently, what was suppressed seems to be really wanting to come out.

I often feel like a real lunatic, and wonder about should I be repairing myself and be a better person? I conclude that there is not much to be repaired, and if I do not allow myself to fully be who I am, a few years from now I would be even more of a wreck. I always wish to be a better person, but if I try too hard, I think the naturalness disappears.

I am not denying my behaviour is completely unacceptable at times, in moments and minutes, yet if I extremely and systematically attempt to suffocate myself, it will not be well.

To go back to love. I think the hysteria must be a hormonal imbalance, and that it occurs when I fall in love. I wanted to share with you all that I am much better now. Every time it is a little better. A little calmer, I wait longer and make somewhat less drama. It has been more than two years from my last, obviously unsuccessful, relationship. It seems to have passed quickly. Strange! Me, alone, is it possible? Not that I was not in love for so long, but it was more of the one that drives me insane and makes me tired.

Not much has changed for some time, everything around me seems to be stable, except me, because I’m a crazy one. But a dear kind of crazy, so people can easily put up with me.

Reading a book in the sunshine/Čitanje knjige na sunčeku

Just a little longer and we’re at the end. I hope it was worth it to read five pages of ranting. At the end, two conclusions: When the time has come, then it has come, it is already here and there is no need to wait any longer.

And the second one goes like this: If you push it, my dear, you will not reach anywhere. The only thing you can do is to wait. From time to time you can always come back to those painful points, and see again and again that what you want to look at the most is the most important thing. Only then there is some progress. Everything else is a big fat self-deceit.

I’ve been listening to German music. Amongst others, AnnenMayKanteriet. My ears are on fire. Long live the German language! Long live you guys! And Long live me, good riddance.

P.S. I am preparing some good surprises, are you ready for it?

______________________________________________________________

HRVATSKA VERZIJA TU!

More, Lovran/Seaside, Lovran

6-MJESEČNA KRIZA

U prosjeku svakih šest mjeseci imam egzistencijalnu krizu, kada propitujem sve što radim u smislu lokacije gdje živim, plaće, radne atmosfere i posla, ljubavi, prijateljstava, i u smislu sebe same. Ovaj put je trajalo kraće i bilo je manje drame. Ili?

Nakon malog prosvjetljenja, došlo je crnilo. Sipino crnilo. Sipe su tako lijepe životinje. A crnilo im je moćno, nema šta, u oko!

Najjasnija slika u mom umu je impresija potpunog gubitka svijesti. Usta se otvaraju, izgovaraju riječi. Eh, kada bi riječi bile samo izgovorene, ne, bile su izderane iz dubine duše, parale su grlo. Koliko su parale moje grlo, mora da su kidale njeno srce.

Nevažna je situacija, nevažni su akteri, nevažno je sve, osim dubokog ožiljka. U mom srcu i pretpostavljam u drugom također. Totalno verbalno nasilje. Nisam savladala prvu Yamu, od Yoga Patanjali Sutri: nenasilje. Niti je u meni bilo nenasilje, niti ga je bilo u mojoj prisutnosti. Upravo je bilo obrnuto.

LUDILO OD LUDILA

Ako je ovo cvjetanje, čudno se očituje. Cvjetanje cjelovite ličnosti popločano je crnim opekama. Ima da mi je iz dubine duše izašao crni mrak. Bit' duhovan kao znači bit' fin. Ali ako sam ja u zadnje vrijeme fina, onda je zemlja ravna. Što bi mi išlo u prilog da vjerujem u teoriju zemlje kao ravne ploče.

Sve više shvaćam da se nenasilje događa samo od sebe, kao i nasilje. Postoji neki određeni efekt samokontrole, ali brate nekad ga nema ni trunke. Kad pomisliš da te 14 godina meditiranja dovelo negdje, tad se tek najgadnije prevariš. Svaki pokušaj smještanja svoje ličnosti i tijela u neki kalup, rezultira tako da te posebno tada nanjuši to nešto u prirodi, i kaže: e, nećeš! Svaki pokušaj kreiranja neke vječne uljuljkane sigurnosti, povlači ti tepih ispod nogu i vikne: Ne može!

PRAZNICI

Nakon 4 mjeseca u Ashramu – praznici! Ovaj put sam se sa sestrom dogovorila da ćemo ići na malo duže i da nećemo previše bauljati okolo po Hrvatskoj. Triba se odmorit.

EPSKO PUTOVANJE: VLAK

Neki od vas su već čuli cijelu priču, pa se ispričavam na ponavljanju. Također, ako nemaš vremena, tu se zaustavi, ovaj blog bi mogao potrajati. Trebam početi pisati koliko minuta je potrebno da se pročita tekst, plus ključne riječi, kao kombinacija znanstvenog članka i online članka. Šta kažeš?

Dakle, epsko putovanje je započelo kupnjom karata do aerodroma. Karte sam kupila na inače neuobičajen način, vodeći se vječno malim budžetom: uzela sam regionalne karte koje će nas nekim sporednim vlakovima dovesti na odredište u malo više vremena, ali za 50% manje novaca. Hm, da. Kad se želiš izvući, dobiješ po nosu. Naime, regionalna karta nije samo regionalna, već može biti dnevna ili noćna. Dnevna vrijedi od 7:00 ujutro do 6:00 popodne. Mi smo kretale s vlakom u 6:30 ujutro, te sam ja pametna kupila noćne regionalne karte, koje su nam vrijedile pola sata, od 6:30 do 7:00. Nakon toga je vrijedila dnevna regionalna karta, a kupnja dnevne i noćne regionalne karte koštala bi isto kao da smo kupile normalnu kartu s brzim vlakovima. Kao popust! Jesam, da, kriva sam. Kupila sam krivu kartu. Strankinja sam, pravim se da znam njemački. Katina mi je nemalo puta rekla: Zašto ne staviš website za kupnju karata na engleski? Neću! Jer živim u Njemačkoj i pravim se da znam jezik dovoljno dobro. Zapravo ne znam, očito. Samo nabadam.

Kada je prošlo 7:00 sati, kondukter nas je obavijestio o kupnji krive karte, i zamolio nas da nadoplatimo u visini od 2/3 karte već kupljene karte. Rekle smo: okej, šta sad. Međutim, u vlaku nismo mogle platiti svojom karticom, ni njemačkom ni hrvatskom. Zašto? Jer se Svemir odlučio zabaviti. Zamoljene smo bile izaći na sljedećoj stanici, otklipsati 500m po snijegu i mraku (s koferima!) do prvog bankomata. Gdje smo, uz božju providnost, dignule novce s kartice na kojoj nemamo novaca. Jupi! Kupile nove karte, koje su bile još skuplje od nadoplate u vlaku i sjele na idući vlak, misleći kako imamo dovoljno vremena do aviona. Nije problem.

EPSKO PUTOVANJE: AVION

Stigle na aerodrom, otišle na check-in, i došle na šalter 38 minuta prije polaska aviona. Morale smo čekirati kofer (to je sasvim jedna druga priča, kako je taj neželjeni kofer putovao s nama, a isti kasnije poslužio da donesemo u Njemačku hrvatske poslastice). Teta nam nije čekirala kofer, nego nas je uputila na neki drugi šalter. Ja sam u tom trenutku naivno pomislila kako će nam primiti neželjeni kofer na drugom šalteru. Na putu do tog drugog šaltera mi se izvrtilo u glavi sve što je žena rekla, i shvatila sam da je zapravo rekla da ne možemo na avion.

S obzirom da sam bila u poprilično delikatnom stanju od sinoćnje deračine koju sam priuštila nekolicini najbliskijih, počela sam plakati. Dok smo bili na drugom šalteru, plakala sam kao kišna godina. Čovjek nam je rekao da ne možemo na avion, i da više ni jedna od nas ne stigne, jer nije samo do kofera, ne može nas više pustiti na gate. Sljedeći avion koštao je 500€ po osobi, ili onaj drugi sutradan, samo 100€ po osobi. Karte smo originalno kupile za 35€. Odmaknule smo se od šaltera, bila sam oduzeta. Misli su mi mahnito išle u smjerovima drugih užasa koji nas sada čekaju, a hvala bogu, putujemo bez previše para, jer je plaća za koji dan, i zato jer imamo karte u džepu. Koje sada više nemamo. Samo da se ne moramo vratiti u Ashram, ipak smo već na praznicima!

EPSKO PUTOVANJE: BUS

Dok sam ja slinila, Katina se sabrala i našla nam autobus koji ide ravno s aerodroma do Zagreba, kreće za 2 sata. I ne košta abnormalno puno. U tom trenutku nam ne uspijeva kupiti karte online, pa idemo do šaltera za buseve. Karta košta 25% više, i naravno da se ne može kupiti karticom na kojoj jedinoj imamo još novaca (pitanje da li dovoljno u ovom trenutku?). Kupujemo kartu mojom karticom koja iz i dalje nepoznatih razloga odlazi u minus.

Okej, imamo novu kartu. Imamo vremena za jelo i upravo prolazi vrijeme kada smo već trebale sretno sletjeti u Bijeli Zagreb Grad. Na odredištu smo samo 12 sati kasnije. Kartice u minusima, izljuljane od busa, najedene suhe hrane koju smo neplanirano morale kupovati na aerodromu. Stvarno epsko putovanje. Mogu reći da se zbog osjećaja vječnog putovanja i prepreka mogu reći da mogu pretpostaviti kako se osjećao Frodo dok je klipsao prema Mordoru.

Nemojmo pretpostaviti samo negativno, nego se sjetimo i par lijepih stvari: kartice su nam radile, iako nismo imale novaca, busa je bilo direktno s aerodroma, i svi su zapravo bili ljubazni i strpljivi. I naše domaćinke, u još jednom od naših domova, su nas dočekale kao pepeljugu u ponoć.

ZEGE

Prvi tjedan je bio posvećen bauljanju i druženju s odličnim i dragim ljudima. Susreti su bili mahom inspirativni, emotivni i puni novosti. Lijepo je doći kući… Opet počinjem voljeti Zagreb na neki nov način, nakon što sam ga iskorištavala, zatim bila prema njemu u otporu, zatim ga brutalno ostavila i trudila se ignorirati godinama. Sada je sve ono šugavo zaboravljeno, i ostale su samo najvrijednije stvari. Poput bivšeg partnera s kojim se nakon nekog određenog vremena, ako to oboje želite, zaborave sve šugave emocije i ostanu samo one čiste, jasne i dobre. Svaki susret je u stvari bio prelijep! Čak i onaj u bolnici, koji nas je sve uhvatio nespremne, ali mislim da smo se svi dobro snašli.

PROVOD

I da, naravno, praktički prvi razlog zbog kojeg smo i otišle u Zagreb krajem siječnja, je festival. (T)rap regionalni zimski festival. Ove godine u još manje zadimljenom klubu (inače klubu moje raskalašene mladosti), već pripremljene na što nas čeka u obliku buke, ludila. Sve skupa puno blaže nego „u naše doba“, kad su svi bili brutalno i vidno zgaženi već u 6 popodne, a do 11 već padali po podu. Popile smo neki zdravi energy drink, koji je zapravo bio više kao neka šala, nisam primjetila da je nešto posebno djelovao. Ostatak vremena smo pile vodu, kao prave dosadne straighterice.

HIGHLIGHT (REFLEKTOR JE PAO NA…)

Najvažniji zadatak ovog festivala je bio počastiti našeg dragog Krešu, s kojim se znamo sto miljona godina, majkemi. Prvobitni plan je bio bacati ružine latice na pozornicu, ali u vrućem klubu nije baš djelovalo da će cvijeće izdržati, i nije bilo sigurno kako će te latice letjeti odozdola, iz publike, njemu gore na pozornicu. Zato smo promijenile plan. Kupit ćemo mi našem Kreši čokoladu. E, ali ne bilo kakvu čokoladu. Bijelu bio-čokoladu s makom, a njegovom kolegi s egzotičnim voćem. I? Kako da dostavimo čoksu? Petljale smo ovamo i onamo, pokušavale se nekako domisliti kako da mu damo poklon, i na kraju se smorile.

Odlučile smo sjesti i pustiti na tren sve kvragu, i kako to obično biva: sekunda je do prosvjetljenja. Katina je upalila mobitel, na njemu je izašao kadar kojeg je Krešo snimio sat vremena ranije, i tog trena, gledajući u njen mobitel, već razočarano kako nam plan nije uspio, shvatila sam iz kojeg kuta je snimka uhvaćena, digla se kao furija, okrenula se, et voilà: Krešo Bengalka par metara iza nas. Maltene smo potrčale prema njemu, a on nas otvorenih ruku dočekao: „Da vas zagrlim!“. Poklonile smo mu čoksicu, rekle da nam je kasno i lijepo se pozdravile.

Tog trena kad pustiš, dođe ti u skokovima.

DOME SLATKI

Katina i ja imamo mnogo domova. Ja bih to nazvala nomadskim stočarenjem, u kojem smo mi ovce. Nakon Zagreba smo se zaputile u Rijeku, gdje nam živi najdraža mamica, već dugi niz godina, iako nije iz Rijeke (to je sasvim opet neka druga priča). Odmah do Rijeke, malo dalje po obali i eto ga: Lovran, gdje nam živi najstarija seka sa svojom obitelji. Par dana uz more. I nije bilo važno što je kiša padala, i vjetar puhao, jer onih par sati na suncu, sjedeći na mulu, uz more, čitajući knjigu, je zasjenilo sve drugo. I Rijeka i Lovran, naši svojevrsni drugi, treći domovi, ugostili su nas kratko i slatko. Vrijeme provedeno 'doma' je najslađe. I mali nećak! Neprestano veselje…

Pogled na Rijeku/Rijeka city view

ZADNJA VEČER

Na povratku smo prošle kroz Zagreb i završile praznike u baš ugodnoj večeri s malo mlađima od sebe, ali skoro da i nije bilo razlike. Opet sam razmišljala o tome kako smo Katina i ja baš bile mnogo gangsta kao mlade.

POVRATAK U STVARNOST

Po povratku sam se zaletjela do doktorice da vidim ima li kakvih vijesti vezanih uz nalaz krvi, jer sam prije praznika ležala u krevetu par tjedana. I bilo je vijesti! Vijesti su da mi je željezo u krvi toliko nisko, da se svi još uvijek pitaju kako to da još hodam, a kamoli da radim, putujem i vježbam yogu.

Tako ti je to kad meditiraš. Željezo ti je na razini kad su ljudi obično spremni za hospitalizaciju, ali neka, ti radiš, putuješ, živiš, i kao malo si umorna. Osim što povremeno imaš agresivno-histerične napade, ali sve je to okej.

Malo se šalim, nije baš sasvim tako. Zdravlje mi općenito nije baš bilo na nekoj zavidnoj razini u zadnje vrijeme, i sad mi je jasno kako je to sve eskaliralo padom željeza, unatoč mom nekad većem, nekad manjem trudu da se tijelo sredi.

Nevjerojatno kako se sve mijenja s promjenom perspektive. Koliko sam samo bila zabrinuta za zdravlje, koliko sam se forsirala da više vježbam, pa bila umorna, pa se grizla što sam lijena. Čudo koliko energije imam s obzirom na to zdravstveno stanje. Nadam se da ću kad mi se željezo malo podigne, osjećati još više energije, i napokon početi fizički biti onoliko aktivna koliko već duže vremena želim. Eh, uvijek više, jače, bolje, nikad zadovoljna. A šta ćeš. Taka sam ti.

PA TO JE, JEBI GA, GORDANA

I za kraj, ljubav. Sve počinje i završava s ljubavlju, zar ne? Obično kad se zaljubim, to nije obična zaljubljenost, već potpuna opsjednutost. Lijepo je biti zaljubljen, ali opsesivnost koja me obuzme, misli koje ne prestaju šibati i intenzitet emocija koji ne jenjava, je strašno. Izrazito iscrpljujuće, toliko da poželim da se nikad nisam zaljubila. Poput kakve droge, potpuna opijenost i ludilo. Potpuno se odvojim od sebe i postajem manijak. Kako sam dosta razmišljala o svojim nedavnim histeričnim napadima, sjetila sam se kako su me kao malu uvijek nazivali „histeričnom“. Imala sam tog lika u kvartu koji me konstantno zezao, mrzila sam ga. Imao je konjske zube i grozan glas, stalno mi se rugao, a ja sam samo vrištala na njega. To mu je bilo posebno milo, onda bi me izluđivao još više, valjda mu je to bilo zabavno koliko me lako bilo potpuno izbaciti iz takta.

HIPER-ŽENA

Sad kad razmišljam, danas bi se takvo ponašanje zvalo ADHD ili hiperaktivnost ili socijalna osjetljivost ili šta ja znam više kako se to sve zove danas. Onda sam malo porasla, pa sam naučila da se to ne smije baš tako i da nije lijepo. Onda sam se još malo napuhala kroz duhovnost, i bila ponosna na svoje uspješno zatomljivanje svoje „histerične“ prirode. Sve se vraća, sve se plaća, pa tako i to. Imam osjećaj da ta histerija nikada nije nestalo, nego je bila potisnuta, a kako se u zadnje vrijeme osjećam nekako sve slobodnije u izričaju, sve to što je bilo potisnuto odjednom je navalilo da izađe. Tako se često osjećam kao još veći luđak, i pitam se trebam li se popraviti i biti bolja osoba? Zaključujem da se nema što popraviti, i da ako si ne dopustim da budem ono što jesam, za par godina ću biti u istom sosu kao i sada. Uvijek želim biti bolja osoba, ali ako se previše trudim, mislim da prirodnost nestaje.

Ne niječem da mi je ponašanje neprihvatljivo na trenutke, i minute, ali ako budem ekstremno i sistematski pokušavala samu sebe ugušiti, neće biti dobro.

Da se vratimo na ljubav, mislim da je ta histerija neki hormonalni poremećaj, i da se takva ista pojavljuje kad se zaljubim. Htjela sam s vama podijeliti kako sam puno bolja sada! Svaki put sve bolja. Smirenija, čekam i ne dramim. Prošlo je više od dvije godine od moje posljednje, očito neuspjele, veze, i čini mi se da je brzo prošlo. Čudno! Ja sama, jel' to moguće? Nije da mi je falilo zaljubljenosti, ali više je bilo one umarajuće, pa ni nije bilo toliko fino.

I ništa se nije promijenilo već neko vrijeme, sve je stabilno u mom okruženju, osim mene, jer sam ja jedna luda. Ali draga luda, pa me se lako podnosi.

Još sam malo i pri kraju smo. Valjda je vrijedilo čitati pet strana trabunjanja. Za kraj dva zaključka: Kad dođe vrijeme, onda je došlo, onda je već tu i ne mora ga se više čekati. I drugi je genijalan, samo tren, evo, samo što nije…

Drugi ide ovako: Ako guraš, brate, nema nigdje. Jedino što možeš je čekati. I s vremena na vrijeme se uvijek vraćati na one najbolnije točke, uvidjeti ponovno i ponovno da je ono što najmanje želiš pogledati, najvažnije. Jedino tada ima pomaka. Sve drugo je debelo, masno samozavaravanje.

Slušam njemačku glazbu, pogotovo AnnenMayKanteriet. Izgoriše mi uši od njih. Živio njemački! Živili Vi! Živila i ja, sretno mi bilo.

P.S. Spremam baš dobra iznenađenja, jesi li ready?

Letenje iznad Schwarzwalda/Flying above Schwarzwald

#personal blog #gordana tihomirovic #drama queen

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thelookingglassalice · 7 years

Photo

Past and Present

Steve Rogers/Captain America x OC (Ava) (Masterlist)

Ava and Steve discuss what life could’ve been like on date night and make a trip to New York to see the unfinished Avengers Tower. The prospect of them being apart for an extended amount of time has them saying a heated goodbye. (Set just before Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Warnings: Unprotected sex

@emilyevanston @ariallane @alievans007 @tvjunkie08 @mewsiex @chrisevans-imagines @mumbles411 @lillianfromaccounting @musicalninja @jennymagicalheart

“Where is he today?” Nat stretched out her arms.

“Not sure. Jesus Nat, do you always go for the thigh takedown?” I ducked and Nat flew over me.

“It is effective...if you wouldn’t use your magic to expect it.” She stopped and frowned at me. “I hate that.”

“Just because I can tell you have feelings. And it’s not magic.” I stuck my tongue out at her.

We were at SHIELD headquarters training. I was actually getting much better with hand-to-hand. I still liked my guns and my magic tricks. But branching out was good.

“So how is America’s first superhero in bed?” The question threw me, so did Nat. I hit the ground and sat up with a huff.

“Really? You want me to ask about you and Barton?”

“Not if you want to see tomorrow.” Nat glanced at her Widow’s Bite cuffs in the corner. “One time in Budapest.”

“Truce. I need to go home anyway. I got Steve something.” I stood and went to grab my stuff.

Steve had been in DC for 2 years. We were still working on his catch-up list, as I called it. Movies, music, major events, pop culture.

I had learned that unless he was on a mission, he would be in my apartment. I got home and Steve was on my laptop. I saw he was reading about the Commandos, seeing what happened to them. He shut the computer and smiled at me.

“Hey. Good work out?” He got up and grabbed my gym bag, tossing it onto a chair. He hugged me and I was enveloped by his anxiety. He needed to touch someone tangible, he’d spent the afternoon with too many ghosts.

“I will never be a master assassin. But I’m no slouch.” I hugged him back.

“Tony called. He wants you in New York next week to look at the tower’s progress. Something about an extra lab for him and Banner interspersed with insults to my age.” He kissed my head and patted my back.

“That works. We haven’t been there in a while. I got you something.” I held up a padded computer bag.

“What is this for?” Steve eyed the laptop I pulled out. He had made peace with his phone from SHIELD but still preferred the old fashioned. He only used my laptop and the tablets at SHIELD if required.

“This is for so many things. But mostly for...” I pulled up a sketchpad program and folded the laptop into a tablet. I drew something stupid and animated it. Steve’s eyes lit up.

“Wow.”

“Tony helped me with it. Pretty intuitive and also voice activated. Play ACDC.” I asked the computer. It obliged. “Tony picked most of the music. But it also has some older stuff. Play Elvis. See?”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Our two year anniversary was last month. We both forgot.”

“Shit.” Steve frowned. “I was in Crete wasn’t I?”

“And I was in Germany. But you moved in with me so that was my present.”

“I never moved in with you.” He chuckled.

“Baby, you have more stuff here than I do.” I laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

I took a shower while Steve went out for food. When he got back we settled in to watch ‘Beauty and the Beast’.

“Poor Beast," I muttered, laying my head on Steve’s shoulder. We were almost done with the movie and I was getting tired. Nat kicked my ass.

“Poor Beast? The man has serious anger issues.” Steve was running his fingers through my hair with one hand and sketching on his tablet with the other.

“He was isolated for years. Terrified he would scare or hurt people. That’s gotta fuck with your head. Someone sees who he is inside and it’s magical. So shut up.” I lightly slapped his cheek.

“I used to see these with Buck. Snow White, Pinocchio, Dumbo. Our ‘double dates’.”

“I know, he told me about it.”

“I get the feeling you talked to Buck more than I knew.” Steve sort of half smiled to himself.

“After the day I kissed you. Yeah. He had me checking his head a lot. But we talked about you and him, too.” I nodded. “Sometimes I couldn’t tell if I was falling in love with you or just feeding off his affection. Same thing with you, I felt like I was falling for Bucky sometimes.”

“It was hard not to,” Steve mumbled.

“I think if we all would’ve gone on with our lives after the war, the three of us would’ve moved in together.” I grinned as the credits rolled and I looked at what he was sketching. It was skylines mostly.

“At least until you and I tied the knot?” He asked.

“Nope, I see Buck continuing his bachelor ways and living with us forever. Everyone would suspect polygamy.” I laughed. “And they would be right in a way. Emotional polygamy.”

“Is that a real thing?”

“What? A sexless relationship? Yeah. You can have significant other love for someone and not want to fuck them. You and I would be in a more traditional relationship, with the banging. And we would also be in an emotional relationship with Bucky...who would be banging randoms.” I spread my hands out. “The perfect life.”

“That’s not really...I mean...do people do that?” Steve was concentrating on keeping his emotions blocked, focusing on his drawing. He tracing disembodied eyes now. Mine, Bucky’s, his.

“You don’t have to block, I know that you’ve had dreams like that before. It’s where I got the idea. I also sense some threesome activity once in awhile.”

“How could you possibly feel that?” He blushed and put his tablet on the table.

“Well, I felt the loyalty connected to Bucky. The lust connected to when we have sex. The weird feeling connected to me. Some shame and defiance. So, I went with threesome.” I shrugged.

“You talk about this like it’s normal.” He frowned at me.

“Steve...we’re like a hundred. You’re a superhero and I can feel other people’s feelings. What is normal? Just because it was taboo when we were growing up, okay, it’s sort of taboo now. But as long as everyone consents who gives a shit what people do with their personal lives?” I shrugged again. Steve stared at me for awhile, still running his fingers through my hair.

“Okay, no more amateur therapy sessions on date night.” He shook his head to clear it.

“Hey, if we have a kid their middle name can be James Buchanan.” I sat up and grabbed his face in both hands. “Abraham James Buchanan Rogers...now we just need a first name.”

“Damn, that kid is going to have a hell of a time filling out forms.” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, so we need more than one kid. Two should do it.” I nodded.

“First things first. We gotta get hitched.” Steve pulled me onto his lap.

“Actually, before that there is usually a proposal. With a piece of jewelry. Right here.” I pointed to my ring finger. “And there is little opportunity for any of those things we just discussed.” I sighed and climbed off his lap.

“Yeah.” Steve looked lost a moment longer. “Speaking of which. I have an assignment tomorrow, I should be back by night time. And you better find out when Mr. Stark needs you in New York.”

“Avengers Tower.” Steve looked around.

“Like it better than Stark Tower?” I asked.

I was leaning over a counter and making some notes. Steve and I had come to New York for a few days.

The living area of Avengers Tower was almost finished. Tony had set me in charge of furnishing it. There were rooms for each member, plus extras. A living room, kitchen area. Balcony. Bar. An office/lab. Large windows gave an amazing view. All the other levels were dedicated to more specialized labs. Bruce had his own floor. There was an armory, garage levels, a rooftop hangar for the quinjets. Perfect headquarters for the protectors of Earth.

“Um, Stark Tower was nice.” Steve pursed his lips.

“You’re just saying that because you found out your girlfriend helped plan it.” I muttered and shut my computer.

When I was finished working Steve wanted to go to Brooklyn. So we walked around where he grew up for a while.

“This place has changed.” He looked around.

“Yeah.” I ran my fingers along one of the buildings and was hit with nostalgia. “This was a movie theater.”

“I got beat up behind it.” Steve smirked, remembering our first conversation in the cab.

“Angry little Stevie.” I wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled his head down so I could kiss him. “How many fights did you win and how many did Bucky have to drag you away from?”

“I can’t remember.” He lied.

“Uh huh. Oh shit.” I had went to hug Steve and the chain on my necklace caught on his coat. It fell and I scrambled to pick it up before he did. Stupid super speed.

“I got it, you wear this thing constantly. Surprised it didn’t break on a mission.” I tried to grab it from his hand.

“It’s usually tucked somewhere. Gimmie.” I made another grab for it. He looked at the back.

“AE?”

“Ava and Abraham Erskine, my father gave it to me. It’s engraved on both sides, since we had the same initials.” I rolled my eyes as he started to hand it back.

“Oh, there’s a latch.” He clicked it and I made a growl of indignation. “Hey…”

“What? You have a compass I have a necklace.” I turned and went to hail a cab back to the tower.

“Where did you get the picture?” He hurried after me still looking at the necklace.

“Peggy got it for me.”

There had been a rare photo of Steve and Bucky during their time in the Commandos. It was taken when a short film reel of them had been recorded, together and laughing. The picture was the both of them looking to the right of the camera and smiling, an arm slung around each other’s necks. Their free hands were extended. They had been calling me into the frame. The picture of the three of us had been with Bucky, so it was long gone.

“I forgot that recording. It’s in the Smithsonian isn’t it?” We climbed into the cab.

“Mmhmm. It’s a beautiful exhibit," I said quietly and took back my necklace.

He and his therapist had been discussing him going to the exhibit on the Howling Commandos for a while now. He wasn’t sure he could be immersed in it. Looking at stuff on the net and on paper was one thing.

We got back to the tower and I started to write instructions for where things should go. We were headed back to DC the next morning.

“Old timers! How’s it coming?” Tony asked, strolling in with Bruce.

“Science nerds! Fine,” I answered, “Oh, Bruce I got your e-mail and I think you may be right. We should try it sometime. If it works over the radio we should be fine but I’ve never tried extreme distances.”

“Are you two going to start having phone sex? Because Skype is much more fun.” Tony hopped up so he was sitting on the counter. “And I thought you and the Capsicle were living together now.”

“We are not living together,” Steve insisted as I looked up from my list and grinned. “Also, what is Skype...and yes phone sex seems like something your boyfriend should have a say in.”

“Since the ‘other guy’ seems to like Ava, I was wondering if she could be an off switch. She could use her skills to make him go away faster after battles. But it all depends on if it will work over distances. Unless she becomes an Avenger.” Bruce explained.

“Yeah, no.” I shook my head. “SHIELD agent is one thing. Avenger is a whole other. I’m not a super spy, super soldier, god, mechanical man or...Hulk.”

“You can just manipulate people’s emotions and you’re not aging. You’re not enhanced at all.” Tony made a face.

“Shut up Stark.” I handed him the list. “Here. When everything gets delivered have your people set it up.”

“You know, if you want to quit that whole SHIELD thing and be the CEO of the Avengers….” Tony wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hmm, can I date my employees?”

“Technically he’d be above you. He’s the President of the Avengers. I’m the CFO.” Tony pointed to Steve.

“When did the Avengers become a corporate entity?” Bruce grinned.

“When Stark said so.” Steve shook his head, smirking.

“Well, I gotta go. Dinner with Pepper.” Tony hopped down and hugged me. “When are you coming back up?”

“I’m not sure. I’m off on some classified mission in God knows where, for God knows how long. Pierce said it was important and in my area of expertise.” I hugged him back. “Tell Pepper hi and have her call me sometime.”

“Ava?”

I groaned and shoved at Steve’s voice.

“Ava…Agent!”

I bolted up in bed at the barked command. Steve was a safe distance across the room dressed in running clothes. He was sweaty and grinning.

“Don’t use the Cap voice with me Steven.” I grumbled and laid back down. I looked at the clock and rubbed my eyes.

“Sorry but if you miss the quinjet it’s not like they’ll send another one.” He held his hands out in apology.

“I know. I’m just ready for this assignment to be over and be back home.” I sat up and climbed out of bed. “It wouldn’t suck so much if everything wasn’t classified. Where I’m going, what I’m doing…”

“Yeah. That seems sort of off. But if it’s something they want to keep secret,” Steve called as I went to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and came back out to grab some clothes.

“It’s something that they need my HYDRA expertise on. So secret may be a good thing,” I muttered as I ruffled through my clothes.

“Huh?” I turned to find Steve staring at me.

“Were you listening or staring?” I asked and walked up to him. I pecked him on the lips and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“I was just thinking...do you realize that this may be the longest we’re apart since…”

“Since you crashed a plane into the ocean?” I looked up at him and bit the inside of my cheek. “I know. Maybe you could make some friends while I’m gone. What about that guy you keep pissing off when you run?”

“Friends...huh?” He pushed my hair off my neck and kissed by my ear.

“I thought I was going to be late?” I smirked as his hands moved up my tank top.

“I’ll make it fast.” He pulled the tank over my head and tossed it.

“Sure you will.” I pulled his tee off and he pushed his pants off his hips.

I untied my sleep shorts and they fell. Steve wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me, pushing me against the wall. I used a hand to brace on his shoulder and moved the other between us. As he started to lick and suck at my neck, I stroked him against my cleft. He hardened as my wetness touched him. I leaned my head against his as he started to moan low in his throat.

“Okay,” I said softly and put both hands on his shoulders, helping to lift myself onto him. He locked his legs as he started to move in me. His mouth roamed over my face and chest. I ran my fingernails into his hair. His arms gripped me harder and harder. His muscles flexing against me.

“Oh, I’m going to miss you,” I gasped into his ear as I clenched around him. The first flutters of my orgasm were building. Steve latched onto my ear, biting, and I came with a groan.

“Fuck.” He hissed and I felt him spill inside me. My head fell back and I ran my hands over his shoulders, kissing all over his face as I hopped down.

“Woo.” I smiled and skipped to the bathroom, stepping under the water.

“Woo what?” Steve asked as he followed me in, still breathing heavy.

“That is a wonderful send off.” He was watching me rinse my hair out. He enveloped me in a hug.

“I love you, Ava,” He muttered into my ear.

“I’m your girl, Steve Rogers. I’ll love you forever.” I ran a hand through his wet hair.

#Steve Rogers fanfiction #Captain America fanfiction #Steve and Ava #Steve Rogers x oc #Marvel Fanfiction

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augustmoon259 · 3 years

Text

For I shall already have forgotten you INTERMISSION: America

When Canada disappeared, suddenly everyone remembered his existence. America had called England and France first about Canada's disappearance. They already knew.

Why would they remember Canada after just having forgotten him earlier that day? Then he got calls from countries that didn't even attend the world meetings: Ukraine, Cuba, Netherlands. They all wanted to know: where's Matthew?

America found it bitterly ironic that it took Canada disappearing entirely for the world to notice his absence.

Almost every country searched for Canada, for the one who wanted to be noticed yet never could. America was surprised that even countries Canada hadn’t been very close to, participated in the search for him.

Meanwhile, the Canadian government was relentless.

Canada's phone never turned on again after that day in the hotel. But even so, America was reluctant when he scrapped it. All he had left now was Canada's glasses.

He promised to return them when they met again.

ii.

America never gave up. One by one, the countries had abandoned their search, until he was the last. He searched in his own country; he searched in Canada's. Yet he never found a trace of his northern neighbor.

He was desperate to find Canada. What if he forgot him again? Forgot that a personification of Canada had ever even existed? America's search brought him to someone unexpected.

It was Canada's bear. Kumajirou. America recalled how Kumajirou was always with Canada. If he found Kumajirou, then his owner could not be far behind.

America's search took him straight into polar bear territory. He was expecting a cub, not a full grown adult. He had been threatened by another bear when this one appeared to protect him. If that wasn't enough to convince him it was Kumajirou, his capability of human speech did.

"Who are you?"

That familiar question, but an unfamiliar voice. It was no longer a childlike voice, but a mature and deep one. Kumajirou seemed as if he wanted him to be Canada. The bear was disappointed when he revealed himself to be otherwise.

Clearly Canada had not been here either. Despite himself, America came back. Kumajirou was another remnant of Canada, a hope that Canada would return.

Yet bears do not live as long as humans. How then could they live as long as a country? Without Canada, Kumajirou began to age. Every year that America visited, he'd be older. His fur became shaggier, his movements more dull.

America was no stranger to death. None of the countries were. But Kumajirou’s death brought with it a pain he thought long gone, back when he had only just started to understand what mortality truly meant.

iii.

Eighteen years passed like this. After Kumajirou’s death, America officially retired his search for Canada. None of his wanderings had borne fruit. Kumajirou had been his last lead, and even that had ended in failure and disappointment.

The mention of Canada was a sore topic among the countries. His disappearance left too many unanswered questions behind, like why he had disappeared in the first place. The personification was gone, but the nation itself did not simply cease to be.

Even his presence at world meetings, or rather lack thereof, inspired guilt among the countries. America most of all.

How must Canada have felt, being ignored by those who were supposedly his friends and allies? America thought of this, and realized he never truly knew who Canada was.

As far as he could recall, it was always Canada who made time for him, never vice versa. And when they were with each other, America still made it all about himself.

Is that who Canada was? Someone reusable, interchangeable...disposable?

No. Canada was...a country. He’s strong, and brave. Smart, and intelligent. He’s not someone to be looked down upon, and America could attest to that fact.

If he was being honest with himself, he envied Canada. Canada had a way with words America did not, and it was Canada who had peacefully gained his independence from England. Canada, who got along with just about everyone.

There was also a time when Canada had been too shy to talk to America, so he relayed what he wanted to say to England instead. That had been awkward for the both of them, but now America felt the roles were reversed.

This time, there’d be no intermediary. The words he wanted to say to Canada, if they ever met again, he hoped he could tell him face to face.

iv.

On one of the occasions America had a break from work, he was back in his capital, Washington D.C. These days, world meetings were more like “meetings” and less like an excuse to goof off.

But there’s no rest for the wicked. There had been a worrying uptick in crime after dark lately, particularly around the National Mall area.

America took it upon himself to catch the criminals. The local law enforcement were well aware of who he was, so he’d have no problem turning the “bad guys” in.

That night was supposed to be like any other, until he caught sight of the perpetrator dragging a lone woman into an alleyway.

Now this will be too easy…, America thought. Empty street? Check. Dim lighting? Check. Any other bystanders nearby? Nope. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation as he got ready to follow the culprit into the alley.

But hold on...who the heck is that?

There was another person sneaking into the alleyway! From the looks of it, this person was also a woman. He’d have to hurry before this would-be do-gooder becomes the next victim.

As he ran to the scene of the crime, America expected to hear shouts, sounds of struggle, or anything really, but the alley was strangely quiet. When he arrived at the entrance, he saw an unexpected sight: the woman who had brazenly went after the criminal, was now choking him!

In fact, she knocked him out so quickly that barely fifteen seconds had passed before he was on the ground, and she was rummaging through her bag for duct tape.

America stood in shocked silence, until he came to his senses as the mysterious woman was about to duct tape the felon’s legs.

“Need some help with that?”

The woman flinched, as she nearly dropped her tape in surprise. She whirled around, giving America his first good look at her face. What he saw made him breathless.

Her eyes. They were the same as his - as Canada’s. America would recognize them anywhere.

Her face too, while softer than Canada’s, bore an uncanny resemblance. And her glasses made their similarities all the more apparent.

America found himself unable to look away as they started a conversation together. She was nervous, and stuttered over her words while she introduced herself.

Her name was like Canada’s too. Madeline Williams.

Could this all be a coincidence? Perhaps. But one too many coincidences were hard to ignore.

Madeline looked like Canada, she acted like Canada, and within her, America could see that same spark of defiance. Right down to her refusal to be acknowledged for her heroism.

So he did something unexpected. He gave her his address. America observed as she left the alley, back to the metro and wherever she had come from. A vision from a waking dream.

When he arrived home, America searched for Madeline’s name on the internet out of curiosity.

He was amazed to discover that she was well known in the photography industry. Despite only being eighteen, she had years of experience with a camera. From a young age, she had already won contests and prizes.

Today, she mainly specialized in travel photography, although she was adept in other fields too.

Who was she? Why did she remind him so much of Canada? Is there a reason she appeared so abruptly in his life?

Could Madeline possibly be Canada?

...No, that was crazy. Nonetheless, America was barely able to contain his excitement the next morning as he waited for her arrival.

vi.

America realized something.

...Madeline was cute.

She liked maple with her coffee (and maple with almost anything). She liked sweets. She could talk endlessly about her favorite movies and shows or books.

But the more America got to know her, the more of a dilemma he found himself in.

It was because of his theory...that Madeline might be Canada.

These were the facts:

- Madeline’s birthday is July 1.

- She is eighteen, meaning she was born around the same time Canada disappeared.

- She has violet eyes.

And more tidbits, like her love of animals, that she played hockey and lacrosse in high school, etc.

Even the most oblivious among the countries would be able to connect the dots.

What is this then? Reincarnation? America supposed it could be possible. Humans were capable of reincarnation, so why not countries?

Then again, their origin and nature is quite murky. America did not remember much from his early days at all, before he was “discovered”.

Every country knows eventually that they exist because of their “nations” and their citizens...their people.

Because humans have more power than they realize. They can establish a country (the micronations had to have come from somewhere), just as easily as they can destroy it.

It was easier to understand how a personification of a country could be created, rather than how they “die”.

America knew that he couldn’t keep this to himself forever. It was time to tell the others.

vii.

While Madeline was off exploring and no doubt taking plenty of pictures, America sent a memo to the Allies and the Axis for a virtual conference.

Everyone was curious as they logged on to hear what America had to say.

“Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but...I think I found Canada.”

The reactions were just about as expected.

England spat out his tea, France stopped brushing his hair, Russia looked mildly interested, and China glanced at Japan. Japan adopted an expression more serious than his usual face, while Germany stopped lifting his weights. Italy was being Italy.

“What the bloody hell are you on about, America?! Canada is...Canada is gone! He’s not coming back!”

“Oui. Mon petit Mathieu...mon petit Mathieu est parti.”

“No, England. No, France. He’s not gone, and I have proof.”

America pulled up a picture he had taken of Madeline with his phone. She was holding his cat Bucky in her arms while she smiled towards the camera.

“Do you see this woman? Anything seem odd to you?”

“What about her? She looks like a nice young lady, but I -”

England's words caught in his throat as he looked closer at the picture.

“Yes, it’s true. She has violet eyes. Just like Canada’s.”

“That...that’s not definitive proof. While it’s not a common eye color, perhaps it’s a rare mutation, or she could be wearing contacts -”

“No. I noticed while she was staying over at my place that she never took them off before she went to sleep. You take off contacts before you go to sleep, don’t you?”

“Why, Amérique, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“Ugh, it’s not like that! She had a lot of driving ahead of her the next day, so I offered to let her stay the night and rest.”

America felt exasperated at France’s antics. He sighed and looked at the eight other countries on screen.

“Aside from physical similarities, she acts a lot like Canada. She has the same birthday as him, she likes the same things he did, and I even noticed she carries a stuffed polar bear with her.”

America felt slightly melancholy at the mention of “polar bear”, remembering Kumajirou and the last moments before his passing. He’d kept the discovery of Kumajirou and Kumajirou’s demise to himself. Telling the other countries would have made no difference, or bring Canada back.

“The timeline fits, because she was born eighteen years ago.”

“And what exactly do you think we should do with this information? Supposing this woman is really Canada, what are our next steps?”

England’s eyebrows were furrowed together as he frowned. While America, France, and England were engaged in conversation, the other members of the Allies and the Axis had yet to speak up.

Japan broke the silence to offer his opinion.

“Ah, America-san, who is this woman? You have not told us her name. And if she is a human...I do not think it out of the realm of possibility that she could be Canada-san. I once had a micronation, the Republic of Niko Niko. But, he decided to become human. Would the opposite hold true?”

It took a moment for everyone to realize that Japan had spoken, and not only that, but that he spoke so much.

“Dude, Japan! You’re a genius! If countries can become humans, why not the opposite? And her name...her name is Madeline Williams. She’s a photographer.”

The next to speak up was Germany.

“Ja, I’ve got it! If Ms. Madeline can’t remember that she was once Canada, then we just have to get her to remember! She needs to meet with all of us! Maybe that will jog her memory!”

“Ve~ But Germany! Will she even want her memories back? After all, we were all so mean to Canada...we forgot about him..."

Italy’s last statement was a painful, but true reminder.

Canada felt so much loneliness and despair, that his last resort was to disappear from the world. The last thing that anyone wanted for Canada’s reincarnation was to bring back that suffering.

America clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

“I know that better than anyone! I’m supposed to be Canada’s closest ally, but I...I let him end up in that state. If Canada really doesn’t want to come back, then...Madeline won’t remember. Those memories will remain buried forever. But if they don’t...I want to apologize to Canada.”

viii.

That was how the Allies and the Axis devised a plan to bring back Canada’s memories, under the guise of an exchange program around the world.

America was unsure if this scheme of theirs would work. Since their first meeting in the alleyway, Madeline had yet to show signs of remembering her past life.

In fact, her reaction to him was by all means normal. They acted as friends did, exchanged contact information, and played games with each other, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

Halloween was almost upon them, and Madeline would be back to visit again soon.

America decided not to be a downer. He’d make this a great Halloween for Madeline.

When it came time for her to sleep over for the night, he didn’t think deeply of it. America couldn’t have predicted that Madeline would be afflicted with nightmares.

He awoke during the night because of a dry throat. It was so annoying that it prevented America from going back to sleep, at least until he got a glass of water.

After successfully downing a glass, America passed by the guest room, aka Madeline’s temporary bedroom. He would have ignored it, were it not for the sound of crying.

America entered the room, and found Madeline gasping and sobbing. He shook her awake in alarm.

“Hey! Wake up! Maddie! Wake up!”

Fortunately, she did wake up. But unfortunately, she was still distressed and not in the right state of mind. America had to use his experience with panic attacks and calming others down (or sometimes himself) to make Madeline feel better.

He was extremely lucky to have Bucky. America loved his goofball of a cat, even when the little doofus stole his hamburgers.

Bucky proved tonight that the sidekick had become the hero.

ix.

Madeline had a nightmare. Whatever it was, she was so engrossed in it that America had to literally get her to shake it off.

Is this...Canada’s memories coming back to her? America was worried this would happen.

A country’s history can’t only consist of triumphs and victories. There were losses too, and memories that still leave scars, physical and mental. America knew this. Canada did as well.

He wished the process could be less painful. If Madeline had to relive each memory like this, America believed that instead of Canada, what would be left was a traumatized Madeline.

Another thing he’d have to make up to Canada for.

Well, if America couldn’t stop this, or make it not difficult for Madeline, he had to distract her from her troubles. Soothe her aching heart and mind.

What better way than a Halloween filled with mischief and merrymaking?

Madeline was an unexpectedly good cook (because Canada always did make the best pancakes for breakfast...).

And the Little Red Riding Hood outfit Madeline wore matched perfectly with his “Big Bad Wolf'' getup. America requested Madeline wore a costume related to fairy tales, but they had somehow ended up coordinating together.

They visited his favorite cafe, then the National Air and Space Museum, and their last stop, the Smithsonian National Zoological Park.

This was going to be the highlight of Madeline’s Halloween, not that she knew it yet. America was overjoyed to see her enjoying the animal exhibits and other costumed visitors.

He’d visited this zoo hundreds of times, ever since its opening in 1889. America was no stranger to the animals here, but he still made a show of seeing them for Madeline’s benefit.

Now the next part had to be planned carefully. He hated putting Madeline on the spot and having to leave her by herself until their performance on stage, but he needed to talk to the technicians.

America was aware of the big Halloween bash the Smithsonian National Zoo held every year. An employee at the zoo tipped him off about the new addition to the costume contest.

After a month of talking to her and getting to know her, America knew that Madeline could think quickly on her feet. Even with no prior warning, she’d be able to pull off an engaging act.

But Madeline’s acting completely blew him away. She looked so carefree and happy on the stage, as if the events of the night before had never occurred.

He teased her relentlessly for it later, but it was all worth it to see her honest smile.

America hoped that after meeting the other countries, she’d still be able to smile like this.

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autisticplumeriaartthings-blog · 5 years

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I’m about midway by way of Zucked: Waking Up to the Fb Catastrophe by Roger McNamee. It’s going sluggish as a result of what I am learning makes me so indignant, sad or alarmed about my #1 vacation spot on the Net. Almost every web page causes me to stop and assume not nearly Fb’s betrayal of so many billion trusting customers, but in addition that this guide confirms a rising concern I have concerning the deteriorating relationship between individuals and know-how generally and my frustration that both self-regulation by tech corporations and the power of our authorities to protect us in conditions akin to this have been thus far just plain impotent.

I am those who initially came to Fb to share thoughts, concepts and footage with associates. It grew to be a supply of perception and knowledge for my most up-to-date five books and it was an ample supply of latest enterprise leads. For over ten years, Fb has offered me with ample returns on my vital investments of time.

Less so now.

Zucked is just not the primary e-book that warned towards Fb, but it’s made extra highly effective and credible because the source is Roger McNamee, who I contemplate to be among the most credible voices in know-how.

I’ve recognized Roger since we have been both just starting careers associated to the enterprise of know-how. We have been never shut, but we did share a ardour back within the early 80s for the promise of private know-how, greatest described by the late Steve Jobs as a “bicycle for the mind,” talked about on this e-book. I’ve lengthy adopted his thought management in areas to know-how as a primal transformative pressure.

Stone Wall Forward

Zucked is giving me this very disturbing picture that billions of individuals are driving their mental bicycles at breathtaking velocity down a particularly long and darkening tunnel on the finish of which is a stone wall.

Most of us really feel this sense of tunnel. We experience along surrounded by individuals who see what we see, assume what we expect, oppose those who are totally different from us and hold peddling alongside despite mounting proof that the journey might finish badly.

We humans have grow to be a divided lot. Civility between us has deteriorated as has trust: We’re more and more disinclined to seek out widespread ground with one another and we debate political and social issues with stridency and mistrust: We really feel that righteousness is on our aspect and this who disagree are evil, deranged, dangerous or all three.

Roger McNamee believes the wrongdoer that has achieved probably the most to distort our perceptions is Facebook, and in the half of the ebook that I have accomplished, he makes an overwhelmingly compelling case.

Manipulating Minds

Fb, as chances are you’ll know, is the most important company in historical past. More than 2.2 billion individuals log in no less than as soon as month-to-month. That’s about one in three individuals on Earth if you get rid of these with out digital entry or youngsters underneath age five or seniors who’ve lost the power or want to make use of computer systems.

However wait. Sadly, there’s extra.

Fb additionally owns Instagram, which has 1.5 billion customers and WhatsApp with a few billion extra. In fact, there’s overlap, but a conservative estimate of these three social networks provides us a minimum of three billion distinctive users, most of whom go to more than as soon as every day; some of us much more.

Fb and its two largest subsidiaries are manipulating the hearts and minds of half the world’s individuals, extra by orders of magnitude, than any company in history, greater than twice the variety of individuals controlled by the Chinese language authorities as we speak; more than the variety of individuals suppressed by Germany, Japan and Russia throughout World Warfare 2.

In accordance with McNamee, the empire is beneath the management of just two individuals Sheryl Sandberg and Mark Zuckerberg.

The Virtuous We

McNamee served as Zuckerberg’s mentor from 2006-to-2009, starting shortly after young Zuck dropped out of Harvard the place Facebook started by facilitating the power to seek out dates for frat boys at elite universities. It turned much more than that extremely shortly when Zuck and Silicon Valley found each other.

McNamee says he has written this broadside to sound the alarm, to warn us that Facebook has created the type of Filter Bubble that Eli Pariser wrote about a number of years again. This bubble filters what we see in order that we like virtually all of it. We speak virtually unique with individuals who share our views. This establishes the concept that each of us is a part of a virtuous we (my words). This is completed in fact by rigorously calibrated algorithms. This social insulation is dangerous sufficient, however it worsens by orders of magnitude when algorithms pit the virtuous we towards the evil them: individuals simply assume in another way about political and social points.

The tools that Fb makes use of usually are not inherently evil: no tools are. You should use a hammer to build a home or bludgeon a spouse. It’s as much as the consumer, and Fb has lengthy defended itself for not being liable for the hate, bullying, swindling and despicable conduct most individuals have witnessed on Fb.

McNamee points to the work of a well-intentioned individual, who I consulted a few years in the past. Stanford Professor BJ Fogg, who fathered the idea of Persuasive Computing: how computer systems can be used to vary their angle and conduct. When I knew Prof. Fogg he talked enthusiastically about Persuasive Computing benefitting humankind, making us tolerant of variety.

McNamee says Fb uses Persuasive Computing as a device to not profit humankind, however to control it. It is Fb’s energy software not for the customers who’re the product however for advertisers which are the purchasers.

Fb found that when individuals are pissed off, they submit extra, the hyperlink extra, they stay on the social community longer. The corporate is agnostic about how it impacts individuals, so long as it permits them to realize revenue by sticking extra advertisements in entrance of our faces: From the corporate’s perspective you and I and another three billion individuals are not there to be entertained or in any other case made completely satisfied; we’re there to turn out to be knowledge factors for advert mongers.

With out Ethics

All the things we see and everybody instructed to us to Comply with or Like, every Group we’re invited to hitch is calculated by algorithms and based mostly on the perpetual collection of our knowledge. These algorithms, in fact, have machine intelligence, however they are devoid of different human qualities together with ethics, compassion, empathy, humor, irony, nuance or any want to discover a widespread floor between people who as soon as would respectfully disagree.

Filter Bubbles, Persuasive Computing and ever-more effective algorithms manipulate us and make us addictive. We belief newcomers into our private bubbles as a result of they know individuals we all know. This sound comforting in itself, however it reinforces what we already assume and introduces few new thoughts to ponder—until they piss us off or scare us. So, in case you are like my spouse, Paula Israel, who’s enthusiastic about protecting animals within the wild, you may be fed all types of stories and pictures about horrible things being executed to wolves or whales. For those who hate Donald Trump, you may be selected to get tons of studies on the obscenities he foments each day; and when you consider that America should not be the place it has been for welcoming the drained, poor, huddled plenty of the world, you’ll be fed pretend information about rapists, terrorists and drug runners massed at our southern borders plotting to destroy a neighborhood close to you.

Facebook’s knowledge has found out that once we are outraged, horrified, indignant or saddened, we keep on the social network longer. We share extra, we like extra, and we publish extra, and it has designed and calibrated it in order that we do this.

Brexit as a Petri Dish

The outcome, in fact, has an incredible deal to do with the mess we are in. Hackers and faux information mongers discovered to good voter manipulation throughout Brexit in 2015. Then they took what they discovered there and refined it to serve Donald Trump in 2016, and nothing has occurred to stop it from occurring once more within the US or anyplace else where there are purported to be free elections.

They have hired individuals to deal with the issue who have resigned in frustration, shortly after beginning. Basecamp, has stopped promoting or being current on Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp. In April, Proctor & Gamble set Facebook –and Google—on notice to vary their practices or lose the ad help of the world’s largest shopper products company. In the event that they depart, you’ll be able to assume others will comply with.

But to date, all this noise and concern, all these congressional inquiries and media diatribes haven’t prevented Fb from reporting larger and larger riches quarter after quarter after quarter.

I feel that is as a result of we addicts maintain coming back and permitting the algorithms to control our eyeballs.

A few of what I simply stated is in Zucked, while some are my own conclusion after reading simply half of this essential e-book. Like most of my readers, I’ve turn into increasingly concerned about Facebook’s choice for algorithms over ethics.

I have not yet completed the ebook as I mentioned. I’ve reached some extent where McNamee has shaped a small group of highly capable and influential people who are speaking to the media, advising influential elected officers and of course, writing articles and this e-book. They’re chatting with anyone who listens within the hope that if Fb won’t change itself than the federal government ought to do it for them.

In Silicon Valley’s strongest circles, there is a very lengthy historical past of Libertarianism in business: the consensus is that the tech business can self-regulate itself better than the federal government can do it. I have lengthy been of that thoughts, however this ebook has already satisfied me in any other case.

There’s little proof that the tech business will self-regulate with any higher integrity or effectiveness than the oil and fuel business of an earlier period where the government needed to break up Commonplace Oil in 1911.

Our business has been all concerning the legend of startups on the world’s financial system. Entrepreneurialism is on the shortlist of hope for the longer term. It’s a great dream full of fantastic tales, but the fact is that the miracle of the startup has been eclipsed by seemingly indestructible giants like Fb (and Google who shares lots of Fb’s questionable algorithmic manipulations).

As for me, I’m not about to go away both Fb or Google. My work still is determined by these platforms in an awesome many ways. But I am chopping back, increasingly more each day. Actually, I see Roger McNamee on the platform as properly.

I imagine there is a vanishing point someplace in my not-too-distant future. I might favor the break-up of Facebook by authorities, but I worry that each Congress and the Supreme Courtroom would shield the interests of shareholders and advertisers than of us, three billion addicts.

The post Zucked: When Algorithms Replace Ethics appeared first on Tech Amender.

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