#best for last!!!! Svetlana wait for me!!!!

[starryluminary]

I’ll be eighty seven, you’ll be eighty nine

I’ll still look at you like the stars that shine in the sky

Oh my, my, my

#this was gonna have a mini comic with all of the alters dressed up but I simply do not have the time to make it #anyway Chester would never listen to Taylor swift #if he likes music at all he wouldn’t listen to Taylor swift I know this #but if you forced him to choose an album to try he would pick debut #cause it’s the oldest album and if ANYTHING he could tolerate country #also I chose Mary’s song for his lyric cause the thought of him having someone he loved dearly before he lost them and became this grump is #sweet to me #and also what the fuck else could I have chosen for him. they’re almost all love songs #total drama #total drama revenge of the island #tdroti #total drama chester #td chester #system swift #taylor swift #Starry makes art #I also want to say the juxtaposition of a grumpy old man and glittery mystical visuals is so funny to me #he will have good vibes and like it damnit #best for last!!!! Svetlana wait for me!!!!

[acatinafancyhat]

Watched Chess på Svenska last night since people have been recommending it! Boy it was A Lot. My family has no respect for bonkers Swedish musicals so i'm just gonna vent the thoughts i had while watching it here. Beware of spoilers (though I probably haven't even noted half of the crazy shit that happened this show is really something else).

I had only seen RAH Chess in Concert and a few snippets of other versions going into this so that was my baseline, but in hindsight these two versions aren't really comparable since they're barely trying to tell the same story...

This is a little long I apologize i had many thoughts (: Also this formatting may or may not work, I'm about to find out.

Act I

- First impression: oh wow Chess has a plot now

- So Anatoly is the protagonist? Interesting.

- I like Swedish Florence she's cute? However Swedish Freddie has been on screen for five seconds and he already Sucks

- Ok I was NOT prepared for drunk florence singing nobody's side but turns out that's exactly what this musical needed

- Oooooohhhh Florence and Anatoly running into each other in the hotel could it be?? that this version?? actually invests in their relationship????

- Jean Jaques van Boren what a name, and he didn't even need one

- This arbiter is in a show all of his own look at the little man go he's so into it. Into what, I'm not sure.

- Wait is he flying on a wire because he's above the game is this symbolism

- Did Freddie... did he just... eat a chess piece?? I... what...??

- Aww hungover Florence is trying so hard to be dignified i'm already very up for her walking out on Freddie in this one.

- "the toads fall out of your mouth" heh idioms from other languages are the best

- Um this arbiter kinda gives me the creeps?

- Florence and Anatoly hanging out! bonding! not just running off into the sunset after being in the general vicinity of each other for 5 minutes!! (No offense to RAH Mountain Duet it's great and hating on Freddie together is a hilarious catalyst for their relationship but I'm actually getting invested here)

- Someone Else's Story is literally a different song but it works

- "husband" wait are Florence and Freddie supposed to be married in this?

- Sneaking away from Molokov ahahahaha

- oh sHIT YOU LEAVE THAT CHILD ALONE!

- And they are aware that there is no embassy in Merano yes thank you i did wonder about that like these places don't grow on trees how did they all even get there in RAH?

- Coming to the conclusion that everyone in Merano is batshit crazy

- And just realized that Walter isn't even here. Does he not exist? Has Sweden canceled the CIA?

- Swedish Mountain Duet is also a different song. Anatoly is very charming yet has lowkey Bastard vibes. Florence is clearly having a minor mental breakdown here maybe don't drag her into your midlife crisis? Oh well, at least he has some respect for her, unlike chess piece munching Freddie...

- But "She's my only friend" aw fuck now i have feelings about this asshole

- Anthem is good. Anthem is always good.

Act II

- Start of this act is already looking Intense

- Swedish Freddie is such a trainwreck my god.

- How To Lose a Girl in Ten Seconds the autobigraphy by Frederick Trumper

- "So you want to break up" FUCK the look on his face just killed me

- This Pity the Child is somehow more pathetic than other versions I have seen. And i mean that in the best way. He's hugging the pillow. Just wants mommy to love him. Fuck.

- So here's Endgame showing up early hmmm

- And here's Anatoly evolving from lowkey bastard into full on piece of shit. Has Svetlana done anything to deserve this abuse? Not to my knowledge, no.

- "You're an ass!" Sveta sweetie you are absolutely correct

- But at least he loves his kid I give him one (1) credit for that.

- I have mixed feelings about Heaven Help My Heart in RAH but it works much better here in terms of both timing and lyrics!

- Oohh new Svetlana song (heard of it but never heard it). Yes Sveta you TELL him.

- Merano reprise?

- Happy Florence!!! Happy Florence!!!! Happy Florence is adorable look at her precious smile!!!!!

- Aaaaand in comes freddie to fuck it up.

- (gets his kicks above the waistline but sure knows how to hit below the belt)

- "Take it easy, little friend" omg

- *aggressively clinging to each other while singing about how they never want to see the other person again* yep i'm dead

- This Freddie really has zero redeeming qualities AND YET

- oh random acrobatics? cool. i'm no longer surprised by anything that happens on this stage.

- Jean Jacques van Boren is back. I want to compare him to something but every time i see him my mind just goes blank in quiet horror.

- Svetlana strolling in to slay that cheating motherfucker

- Ok I support Sveta's rage always but I have to say i do not love this flipping of I Know Him So Well. I mean, what's the point? Why do they have to fight? It's not like it's Florence's fault Anatoly decided to run off (at least not in this version) since it was pretty clear from the beginning that him and Sveta weren't doing,, super great. The original song has its own issues but I stand behind the concept of Florence and Sveta bonding over their shared experiences with shitty men and especially this shitty man. Now it just makes me like both of them less. And it still doesn't pass the Bechdel test. Ugh.

- Molokov gets a Tragic Backstory because everyone needs one i guess

- It is not smart to fuck with the KGB. Anatoly appears startled by this.

- Side note this act has too little Freddie in it where's my epic rivalry where is the drama

- The way the stage is set up for the final match is pretty cool though

- This match feels a little anticlimactic but in a way that sort of works? Everyone's made their choices already? This is just the inevitable end to the tragedy and you can feel it.

- It does make the whole 'singing the names of previous champions' thing seem a little out of sync. We're past that, this obviously isn't about chess anymore.

- The circular ending is neat. The Story of Chess still doesn't fit the rest of the narrative. Again, very little actual chess in this.

- At this point I don't really care about Anatoly's feelings but Florence deserves better. Normally I'd say she deserves Svetlana but this Svetlana is kind of terrible so, hm, no. She deserves to be single and recover from her breakdown in peace i honestly don't want her to see any of these people again.

Well I definitely understand why this is some people's favorite version! The story's close to solid, and even though everyone's an asshole, they all have their moments of being... if not sympathetic, then at least just pathetic (looking at you Freddie) enough that the audience can give a damn. Personally i still prefer RAH, but then I did come here by way of Rent so I'm biased.

Anyway if you haven't seen Chess på Svenska yet go watch it, you will come out of the experience a different person but you won't have wasted your time :)

#chess the musical #chess musical #chess på svenska #long post #thoughts

[danielfuckingricciardo]

Rise Like A Phoenix - Chapter Six

Pairing - Jenson Button x Reader + Charles Leclerc x Reader + Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Word Count - 2464

Content Warning - Swearing, sexual references, violence

Synopsis - When a German agent goes missing investigating a diplomat’s disappearance, you are asked to take the case as your old adversary is revealed to be the one to blame. However, you soon find out that you will not be working alone, and will have to complete your mission with the help of agent Charles Leclerc.

Author’s Note - The car-fuckery and Bond nerd popped out in this one, oopsies! But to make up for it, it’s Charles’ time to shine! Enjoy!

Chapter Six - Oh, To Be Charles Leclerc

After landing at Nice airport, you and Charles were quickly ushered into a helicopter and deposited on the roof of some modern high-rise building.

“George says we’re posing as rich tourists, so do try your best to look a little lost on our way to the hotel. It’s gotta be convincing.” You sat to Charles, and he nods.

“My sense of direction is shit anyway, I always look lost even though I’ve lived here my entire life.” Charles chuckles, and you smile at him.

“Noted, remind me never to put you on navigation duties.” You say, reaching for the door to the top floor of the building.

“So, where are we staying? Since we’re tourists I assume we’re not just going to be using my apartment as a base.” Charles says, and you nod as you press the button to call the elevator.

“It’s the Hotel de Paris, George said it was the only place they could get me a parking spot at such short notice.”

“Parking spot? You brought your car?” Charles asks, and you nod.

“Oh yeah, I don’t go anywhere without Svetlana.” You respond, stepping into the elevator as Charles follows behind.

“You named your car?” Charles laughs, and you give him a death glare.

“She’s so beautiful, I had to name her. Just wait till you get to look at her yourself, you’ll fall in love.” You respond, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“We’ll see about that. When this is all over, I’ll have to show you my car. I think she’s definitely hotter than Svetlana.”

“Those are fighting words. When we’re done with all this business, we’re going to a race track and then we’ll see whose car is better.” You say, and Charles raises his eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re on.” Charles says, holding his hand out for you to shake and make the deal. You take it and shake it firmly, a confident smirk on your lips.

“Just know, I used to go karting as a kid, I’m definitely going to beat you.” Charles says, an equally confident smirk finding its way to his own lips.

After arriving at your hotel room, you immediately throw yourself down onto the bed’s plush white sheets, inhaling the freshly-washed clean scent and running your hands across the soft fabric.

“I could get used to this, you know?” You say, sitting up to look at Charles who was unpacking his suitcase.

“You say that as if you’re not constantly hopping from hotel to resort in your line of work.” Charles shouts over to you, and you scoff.

“Oh really? You think I’m living the life of luxury? Well, Monegasque spies might get five star treatment, but at MI6 we have to rough it. My last assignment had me sleeping in a soviet-era hotel in Ulaanbataar where I’m pretty sure the sheets hadn’t been replaced since the days of Stalin.” You say, and Charles turns to you, a smile on his face.

“Okay, so maybe we do get treated better, but then again my jobs have mainly been domestic so far.”

“Oh to be Charles Leclerc.” You laugh, throwing yourself back into the sheets.

“It’s not that great, I assure you.” Charles says, pushing up his sleeves and adjusting his watch strap.

Charles sits next to you on the edge of the bed and looks at you in your comfortable starfished position, raising his eyebrow at you.

“You know, for an international super spy, you’re a little bit… goofy.” Charles remarks, and you look at him, a scandalised look in your eyes.

“What do you mean? I am obviously a symbol of international seduction and sophistication, and I’m incredibly intimidating.” You say sarcastically, making snow angel motions against the sheets.

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you’ve gone from telling me you’d shoot me if I slipped up, to making jokes and turning yourself into a blanket monster in the space of an hour. So you’re a little goofy.” Charles says, and you roll your eyes, sitting up in the bed to pull him closer to you.

You pin Charles to the bed, straddling his thighs and holding each of his arms in a vice-like grip above his head. His breathing becomes heavy, as does your own after exerting yourself to place the two of you in this position. Lowering your face to his, so your lips are barely an inch apart, you smirk at him.

“I may be a little goofy, but that’s because I know now that I can trust you. But my earlier comment still stands, if you fuck up in any way, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger pretty boy.” You say, and Charles gulps, attempting to fight against your grip on his wrists but failing to escape. He was completely under your control, and you loved it, maybe a little too much.

“Noted.” Charles says, and you release him, collapsing down beside Charles on the bed.

“I better go and get ready, those pictures George sent were taken at 10pm, so we need to be at the casino ready for him to enter and take his seat at the blackjack table well before then, having scouted out all the exits and any possible risks.” You say, jumping up from the bed, grabbing your suitcase and making your way to the bathroom.

You glance quickly at Charles as you close the bathroom door, still breathing heavy, his arms still where you had left them, a shocked expression still dominating his face. It took all the power within you to close the door, instead of running back over to the bed and fucking him hard. Oh god, you wanted to do it, more than anything in that moment. You squeezed your thighs together at the sensation building within your core, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to reach the level of satisfaction you desired in that moment. You were busy, you were working, but you had always been terrible at separating business and pleasure. More often than not in your life, the two things were devilishly intertwined.

After showering, styling your hair and doing your makeup, you grab your evening dress from your bag and smooth down the black silk gently with your hand. You step into the garment and pull it up your body, the fabric hugging your form in all the right places as you reach for the zip at the back and give it a firm tug. The zipper, however refuses to cooperate, and after pulling at it a few times, you eventually give up.

Sighing exasperatedly at yourself in the mirror, you tentatively twist the door handle, holding your dress together with one hand and pushing the door open with the other.

“Hey Charles, could you do me a…” You begin only to stop as your eyes fall upon Charles’ bare chest.

You didn’t want to stare, but you physically could not stop yourself as your eyes took in every inch of your partner’s bare torso. His arms, his neck, his surprisingly well-toned abs - everything about him was perfect, and you felt that all-too-familiar feeling returning to your core as Charles glanced up at you.

“You okay?” Charles asks as he slides one arm into the immaculate white shirt he was holding.

“Yeah, no actually, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind zipping me up. The fucking thing just won’t budge.” You say, taking a step towards him.

“Sure, what are partners for, eh?” He says, as he slides his other arm into his shirt. He leaves it hanging open, and you wonder if he did that for you, if he caught you looking and realised you were extremely interested in what you had seen.

You take a few steps backward so that you were stood just a few inches in front of Charles. You look at yourself in the mirror that hung on the wall, admiring your dress for the first time in a long while. You hadn’t had the opportunity to wear such a decadent gown in a long time, as your last case had been dependent on your ability to blend in with the locals.

Charles’ fingers brush against your own as he takes the two sides of the dress from you, allowing your hands to become free to hold your hair up and out of the way. His free hand finds the zipper and he gives it a few swift tugs before it moves smoothly upwards to the top.

“Ah, there you go. It was a stiff one.” He says, and you release your hair, allowing it to cascade down your back.

“Thank you.” You respond, turning to find his face just inches from your own, just ghosting above your bare shoulder.

Your lips part slightly, an invitation should he oblige, for if he was having the same thoughts that you were, the ones that were running through your mind at a million miles an hour as Charles stood behind you. You look at your reflections in the mirror, and almost jump as you feel Charles’ hand wrap around your waist, watching as it settles against your hip, gently rubbing small circles into your hip bone with the pad of his thumb.

Your own hand drifts down to touch his, and your fingers intertwine, pulling him forwards so that his body is flush with your own. His spare hand brushes the hair gently away from your opposite shoulder, exposing it as he leans down gently to press a kiss to your soft flesh.

You exhale a shaky breath as his lips pull away from your skin, and he looks toward the mirror, glancing up and down at your reflection before settling on your eyes. After making eye contact for what could have only been a few moments, you turn to face him, separating your hands so that you could wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. Your lips were millimetres away from one another, and you smile, letting out a shaky laugh before Charles finally closes the gap.

Your lips had barely found each other, before your phone begins to ring in the bathroom. You pull away, and sigh, disappearing into the bathroom to answer the call.

“What’s up George?” You answer, a slightly exasperated tone to your voice.

“Oh, I hope this isn’t a bad time, but I’ve been following a few vehicles that Fortescue has been seen using in the past few days, and one of them just pulled up at the Casino. I’m just accessing the camera now, and yes, he’s just stepped out of the car, with Polina. You need to get down there pretty sharpish.” George says, and you sigh in frustration.

“Shit, okay, we’ll get going now, and I’ll be in touch if anything happens. We still need to figure out who the mystery man at the table is, something about him seems familiar but I just can’t put my finger on it yet. He could be important to the case.” You say, before hanging up.

While the case is your number one priority, you can’t help but be mad at George for interrupting whatever was about to happen between you and Charles. You knew it wasn’t his fault, men like Fortescue were rarely predictable, so obviously he wouldn’t arrive at the casino at exactly the same time every night, but just this once you’d wished he was a creature of habit.

“Charles, get your shit together, we need to leave now, Fortescue just arrived at the casino, and our brilliant plan is well and truly out of the window. Looks like we’re going in blind.” You say, stomping out of the bathroom to put on your shoes.

You pull out a small black clutch bag and throw in your gun and exploding pen. You fasten the watch to your wrist and then groan as you realise you had forgotten about the hair pin. Securing your hair into a low bun with your hair tie was easy, but getting the pin to sit straight was practically impossible. You were ready to throw the damn thing at the wall before Charles walks over to your side, taking the pin from your hand and sliding it into your hair effortlessly.

“There. Beautiful.” He says in your ear, before walking over to the door, holding it open to allow you to step through first. “So, do I get to meet Svetlana now?”

Svetlana was your pride and joy, a classic silver Aston Martin DB5 on the outside, as per your James Bond fuelled fantasies, but with a turbo charged V12 engine under the bonnet. She was beautiful, elegant and classic on the outside, but on the inside she could roar with more passion than half of the cars on the market. George was more than happy to fulfil your requests when it came to Svetlana, he loved her almost as much as you did, she was his passion project, and would always give her new tech and upgrades before any of the other agents’ cars.

“Say hello to the only woman in my life, Svetlana.” You say, sweeping your arm out to add to the big reveal.

“She is gorgeous, but I doubt she’s able to keep up in a high-speed chase.” Charles says, running his fingers across the bonnet.

“Oh, just wait till we have some spare time, I’ll show you what’s hidden beneath her pretty silver exterior, I can guarantee you’ll be impressed.” You say, walking over to the driver’s door and opening it, sliding yourself into the driving seat.

You gesture through the windscreen for Charles to join you in the passenger seat, and he obliges, opening the door and taking the seat beside you. His eyes scan the dashboard, and he realises that Svetlana is, in fact, so much more than an ordinary DB5. Instead of the usual buttons and dials you’d find in such an old car, Svetlana was instead fitted with a collection of screens, designed by George to mimic the original design of the interior.

“Okay, so she’s something special.” Charles says, and you laugh as you turn the key in the ignition, bringing Svetlana to life with a deep rumble.

“She’s a sexy girl, and she can do all manner of dirty things.” You say as you pull out of the car park and onto the streets of Monte Carlo

Next Chapter

#Rise like a phoenix f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #jenson button x reader #jenson button x you

[dominic-taleb]

My Svet -

When I first sat you down and we had the conversation about your father intending to give you away to some random guy he vetted on his own, it was an immediate reaction for me to offer the alternative in the two of us getting married instead. It made perfect sense to me, why shouldn’t we get married? We’ve been best friends since we were young, I don’t have many memories that don’t involve you in some way. You’ve always been right beside me. There’s very few people in my life I care for the way that I care about you. For me, there wasn’t any other option, nor did I want there to be.

We’ve talked a lot about this decision and how you think I’m doing this solely for you or giving up a huge part of my life, but I want to let you in on a little secret. Nothing has made more sense or made me happier than committing myself to you, in every way. I can’t picture being this close to anyone but you, nor would I want to. You’re it for me, Svetlana.

I know this started out as a front, with me just wanting to protect you from being forced to be with someone you didn’t know or care about, but over the last few weeks it’s grown into so much more than that. Something real and tangible. I don’t regret it for a second and though I may not be an open book with my feelings most of the time, believe me when I say I can’t wait to see where it leads us.

The past few weeks have been the best of my life, and if I died tomorrow I’d die a happy man because of everything you’ve already given me. I’m not planning on dying anytime soon - I can picture the furrow in your brow just from reading this, calm down - so we have the rest of our lives to travel the world, make each other unbelievably happy, and run Las Vegas. There’s no one I’d rather have as my partner and my equal.

Yours always,

Dom

#( dom x svet )

[randomestroleplays]

𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡: 𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔤𝔢 (x)

CONCEPTS:

we’ve known we were betrothed since we were kids and I can’t wait to finally be your spouse

we’ve been best friends since childhood and just found out about the arrangement

we’re part of a high society where every marriage is arranged and today we find out who we’re going to marry

we’ve hated each other since we were babies and now we have to get married

our families were involved in a huge scandal / public falling out and now we have to get married to fix their images

we have to get married to solidify a political alignment for our families

our marriage was arranged and we agreed to just be friends but fuck I think i’m in love with you

we had an arranged marriage and now i’m on my honeymoon in a foreign country with someone I barely know

our first official meeting is at the rehearsal dinner but you’re definitely the person I hooked up with during my bachelor/bachelorette party

we’re meeting for the first time to plan the wedding and I want to hate you but you’re the only one backing me up against our parents

I’m at a resort for my destination wedding and you’re the hot stranger at the bar that I’m complaining to about how much my future spouse probably sucks... oh, you’re my future spouse

our families are at war and our marriage is part of a peace treaty 

one of our families won a war and now we have to get married 

I don’t want to marry you but your family’s wealth could save my family

I was just told that the king / prince chose me as his future bride, but I don’t know that it’s the childhood best friend I once made a marriage pact with 

POSSIBLE STARTERS:

our marriage was arranged and we’ve never seen each other, now we’re meeting for the first time and damn, you are hot

“the love… Well, it will come with time.”

“we don’t have to like each other. we just have to pretend.”

it’s been occurring to me I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life 

all’s well that ends well to end up with you

barefoot in the kitchen, sacred new beginnings

it looked alright in the pictures

I was there when you said forever and always

fell in love when I saw you standing there

and isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

but I would die for you in secret

tiptoeing past so many stages

we look good in photographs

THEME SONGS:

war of hearts, ruelle

young and beautiful, lana del rey

gold rush, taylor swift

lover, taylor swift

the last great american dynasty, taylor swift

MOST SUITED OCS:

Aisling Greyjoy ( game of thrones / crossovers )

Carlotta Falcone ( the batman / dc / crossovers )

CAROLINE SOMERSET ( original / fandom crossovers )

Finley Rider ( descendants / crossovers )

OPHELIA WAYNE  ( gotham / dc / crossovers )

Peggy Featherington ( bridgerton / crossovers )

Svetlana Novikoff ( grishaverse / crossovers )

MOST SUITED OCS (NOT YET INTRODUCED):

Adhara Black ( harry potter, golden era / crossovers )

Adina Lightwood ( shadowhunters / crossovers )

Ariadne Blackthorn  ( shadowhunters / crossovers )

Charlotte Bridgerton ( bridgerton / crossovers )

Constance Osborn ( the amazing spider-man / crossovers )

Joanna Baratheon ( game of thrones / crossovers )

Josie Archibald ( gossip girl / crossovers )

Rosalind Greengrass ( harry potter, marauders era / crossovers )

Venus Malfoy ( harry potter, golden era / crossovers )

#wanted #wanted plot #rp blog #roleplay blog #roleplay plots #oc roleplay #𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔞𝔭𝔢 #⋘ ─ ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ─ ⋙ ooc

[meggigoering]

📖September 28, 2023

🦈We have a new entertainment. The stinky stopped interfering his chemistry with delicious urine supplements. Now the mustard gas in our apartment is as clean as a tear. The stinky moron is a moron, so he believes that such a hellish concentrate can spread around the apartment imperceptibly. It's full of pus lungs, and it feels like they've been full of bricks in the chest. And the eyes are completely covered with pus. Me and the dogs got sick from this fucking pneumonia, and we walk like rabbits with red eyes. Sergei Mikhailovich Shumilov's stinky smells a stream from his nose and lungs, but the stinky moron does not give up. His ass burns to the fullest, together with his girlfriend Shumilova Tatiana Vladimirovna, so the poisoners cut their chemistry to the maximum. I hope our neighbors will crucify him for this when they find out what is so delicious in the general ventilation of the house entrance. Me and my dogs recognized this smell, we were treated by this crap by another friend of "mother" Shumilova Tatiana Vladimirovna - Dr. Svetlana Fomina, who on the blue eye still took money from me for renting an apartment where we breathed this shit. In short, only these oligophrens - the Orekhovskaya gang family of the Shumilovs, Sveta Fomina with Asya Ramazanova, and their best friend Ali Uzdenov, who supplies them with this shit, naively believe that the poisoning is imperceptible and will not leave traces. Photos with ulcers and tests of my dogs have already flown around the investigative units and veterinarians. Now I have the same ulcers on my face, and the tests have already been drawn in full. The fact is that the mustard gas very characteristically changes the picture of blood, and in principle it is not difficult to find out what ozonated me and my dogs here. I would say that the unique trace left by the mustard gas in the blood of the poisoned person cannot be confused with anything. Only Uzdenov and his Orekhovsjaya family believe that they are clean. There's nothing surprising about that! The mustard gas, as I used to write, provokes a cruel runny nose, so the stinky does not feel his stench himself, it has snot to the knee. It is not surprising that Uzdenov with his employees and friends Ramazanova, Fomina, and Tanyushka Shumilova do not taste the odor, while their whole backs are in shit. These are all cruel jokes of the mustard gas, they beat off the aromas of even the very last shit.

The very juicy point for this community of professional stinky possums, that this mustard gas smell my grandfather, the genuine son of Mikhail Iiyuch Tolstoy and Elena Lvovna Koutchubei, who died in the same apartment from lung gangrene, which started as an acute pneumonia before, and my grandmother, the genuine daughter of Roman Ivanovich Bagration and Elena Aleksandrovna Volkonskaya-Rakhmanova, who suddenly fell ill and died with a series of heart attacks, would easily recognize. I would also laugh at coincidences, only an episode of beating me by a stinky until an ovarian rupture and a stomach bruise was handed over to the investigative department at the place of my grandmother's death. Actually, on this topic, a visit from the criminal investigation of the Samara Central Board took place to the long-suffering apartment on Maslennikova 16-13. If the personal visit of the slaughter department of the Samarsky glavk didn't reach the stinky, don't wait for miracles from publications on social media.

The fact that the stinky began to pour chemistry again was also clear from the way his theatrical inflammation of cunning sharply worsened again. And he pricks in his ass, and his heart hurts, and he will die soon. Like an opossum that pretends to be dead, exating the stench of dokhlyatina, opens one eye to watch the theatrical effect, the stinky performs the same thing. The beast is the beast.

Their ass burns to the fullest, that's why they try to finish me quickly, and, as it seems to them, cleverly, and imperceptibly finish me off. Now they are pouring shock doses of mustard gas, thank God now there is no stinky urine, and for some incomprehensible reason it seems to them that it is imperceptible. Poor Uzdenov, the man did not expect that his work to treat my teeth would go to dust. The creation of a beautiful bite of the future corpse of my future substitute did not lead to the desired result, but led to the transfer of the criminal case from Istra (where NP Bunkovo together with A1 are still in happily ignorance that there is a criminal case, judging by the answers they wrote to the FSB - they were sent to me, I read everything, laughed for a long time), to the glorious city of Samara, where there are still some morons from the Orekhovskaya gang family, who were settled in my inherited apartment, not at all embarrassed that the "dad" chosen to me does not look like, to put it mildly, to my dad, and even expertise is not required for this, since the absence of biological kinship of this character with my biological ancestors - grandparents and their ancestors, can obviously be seen with the naked eye. So the case was transferred to Samara for my house in Istra under a slaughter article. Now I'm sitting airing the apartment again, and with the first horse I'm already rushing to decide on the issue of these scum being closed in jail before the trial, since they can't and don't want to be free as white people while they are given such an opportunity. Therefore, today's post again, unfortunately, is not about productivity, and various cool things that I do, but again about the smelly stinky and terrorism. I hope, there are no unanswered questions left about what's the substance of my litigation against AFK Sistema SberAlfa-VTB. Just the murder of my both parents, my sister, my dogs, and numerous assasination attempts against me, if very roughly to explain the heart of the story. Oh yes, they also hacked a few accounts for me, and cut down the websites of the hasheight group's businesses, but these are trifles. I had to redo several sites and reload social media accounts, but these are such small issues considering the substance of the case. So the sites of HASHEIGHT, #davnosti, and Raevskaya Business School are not working yet as expected, they are under reconstruction, and I warned you. But now you know the reason.

Why have these bastards been in the sacred ignorance for so long that there are criminal cases? Yes, because no correspondence went to my mobile phones in the form of standard messages and calls. Confidentiality and data protection in the VTB Systema "SberAlfa Groupp" exist only in their social responsibility reports. In reality, they freely intercept and modify messages and wiretapping calls. What the fck about the organized "business" gangs that control all mobile communications in the country, such trifles as the law? Therefore, I did not discuss anything on the phone, did not correspond, and in general the communication was carried out in a different way. And since the methods and means of communication were unknown to these clowns - that is, they were without direct communication on a mobile phone, they believed that there were actually no communications or criminal cases. This is their first monstrous mistake.

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[nixonmackay2]

The 13 Best Winter Fragrances On The Market Proper Now

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[you-show-me-love]

How Tami Met Mickey

I really just wanted to write a headcanon of when Tami understood Mickey's existence since we were deprived of their interaction in the show okay bye

Tami was going to kill Lip. She was going to kill him and leave Fred on the dirty floor of the Gallagher house and she was going to disappear from their lives, head out west and hide out in a hair salon under a false identity, because Lip swore up and down Fred's teething ring was here somewhere and the kid was screaming his head off and had been for the last hour.

"Where the hell is it?" She whined, feeling like crying herself as she pushed aside random junk on the floor near where they sometimes set up the playpen. 

Mickey descended the stairs into the kitchen, still in his tank top and boxers even though it was well past noon. He grimaced at the sound of the crying baby. 

"Will you shut that kid up? Some of us are trying to sleep." 

Tami rolled her eyes, disrupting her search of the coffee table covered in crayons and paper. She loved Ian, she did, but she couldn't comprehend why the sweetest Gallagher had up and married this surly, foul mouthed convict. She chose to ignore him most of the time, especially after Lip told her he had been in for attempted murder of one of their family members.

"Believe me if I could I would but he's teething and I can't find his teething ring anywhere and Lip said it was here in this mess somewhere..." 

She was rambling, losing her sanity as Fred screamed louder and pulled a fist full of her blonde hair. Maybe Mickey could put her out of her misery since he apparently had no problem killing family members. Afraid to ask in case he took her seriously she shifted Fred to her other hip and pushed her fingers into the couch cushions, trying not to think of what they might come in contact with in the process.

Mickey watched the tall blonde with apathy as he chugged orange juice straight from the carton. He belched loudly and moved back out of sight, running some water and opening the refrigerator. A few more minutes of fruitless searching and Tami decided to give up. She turned to head to the backdoor only to find Mickey there, a wash cloth in hand. She watched, rapt, as Mickey pushed the chilled, damp cloth into Fred's open, wailing mouth, watched as her son clamped down immediately and began to suck. Her ears rang in the blissful silence and she stared at Mickey in awe. 

Mickey wasn't looking at her, he was cradling the back of Fred's head and running his thumb along his baby soft hair, a small almost sad smile on his face.

"How did you know to do that?" Tami couldn't help but ask. 

"My kid used to cry like that, had to keep this shit on standby for him, twenty-four seven."

Mickey seemed to come back to himself, dropping his hand from Fred's head and stepping back from mother and son. He was back up the stairs before Tami couldn't say anything.

==

Tami had stopped by too late to have breakfast with the Gallaghers, Lip giving her the extra hour of much needed sleep after Fred kept her up most of the night. She accepted Franny's hug around her knees and gave Fred a tickle and a kiss to the forehead. He smiled around his squishy teething ring and wiggled in the high chair. 

Debbie paused her cleaning to pull Tami's plate from the microwave and Tami decided to ask Debbie something that had been on her mind since yesterday.

"So, Mickey has a kid?"

Debbie looked up at her, face twisted in confusion, but she nodded. 

"Yeah, Yevgeny. Why?"

Tami didn't know how to answer that. Why did she want to know? Maybe it was because of the obvious.

"But…he's gay."

Debbie rolled her eyes.

"Gay people can have kids." She seethed, indicating to her own mini-me. She shoulder checked Tami on her way upstairs muttering bitch under her breath as she did so.

==

Fred had been just put down and Lip and Tami were laying in bed, trying to decide if they should use this opportunity to fuck or to sleep. Lip made the decision for them when he pulled off his shirt and rolled onto Tami.

They were kissing, hands roaming, but Tami's mind was on someone else entirely. The trail of kisses Lip was leaving down her body stopped as she asked him what had been on her mind.

"So, Mickey has a kid?" 

"Uhhh, yeah." Lip affirmed, looking up at Tami in confusion. "With a Russian hand-whore." He concluded with a light chuckle.

"What?!" Tami sat up, Lip further away from his destination. He sighed and joined her at the head of the bed. 

"You good Tamietti?" Lip asked as he watched his girlfriend's face pass through a range of emotions. She eventually shook her head. Lip licked his lips and leaned closer to her, keeping his voice low even though it was only the two of them.

"Look, it's a touchy subject for Ian and Mickey both. Broke Ian's heart to see him marry her. Then Ian stole the baby-"

"Wait wait wait." Tami interrupted, too loud considering their own sleeping baby was just one room over. "Mickey was married before? Ian stole a baby? What-"

"It's best if you don't know just...don't bring it up okay?"

Tami nodded, accepting a few more soft kisses from Lip before they both settled into bed and fell asleep while they had the chance.

==

Tami couldn't not bring it up, not when Ian was right there, bouncing Fred on his hip and making silly faces. Tami had to get to work but she could spare a moment to ask what had been eating away at her for a week now.

"Ian, can I ask you something about Mickey?"

Ian regarded her hesitantly but nodded. She let out a breath and resolved to satisfy her need to know once and for all.

"He has a kid. He's gay but he has a kid and used to be married to a woman? And you stole his baby? I mean, what is the story here?" She ended with a hysterical giggle, arms smacking against her thighs in exasperation.

Ian went paler than usual, his chin jutting out in a hard line. He stared at his nephew, watched his tiny fingers wrap around one of his own. Tami swallowed at the dark look on Ian's face, sudden regret for not following Lip's advice filling her.

"Back when we were kids Mickey's dad caught us. The homphobic prick beat Mickey bad and forced him to fuck a woman in front of me." Ian's voice was rough as sandpaper only making Tami feel worse.

"Mickey got her knocked up, married her, thought we could still bang in secret, but I took off. I came back and we tried to make it work but then I had a manic episode and took off with Yevgeny. I wanted him to be mine, be ours. My brain just ran away with the idea."

Tami's knees were weak and she backed herself into the nearest chair. She knew about Ian's disorder, but had never witnessed it, never heard them talk about it much at all, and she understood why looking at Ian now, seeing how much guilt and pain he internalized over what he did when he had no control. 

"Svetlana filed for divorce while Mickey was in prison, married some old rich bastard, and disappeared. Mickey's never tried to find them, don't think either of us deserve to at this point."

Ian sighed, finally looking Tami in the eye. She could only stare helplessly back in the wake of his words. Mickey wasn't just some convict Ian brought home after his stint in prison after all. Mouth dry she figured she had already dug herself this deep, what's a bit more.

"He really go to prison for trying to kill your sister?"

Ian made a face of knowing, standing taller and squaring his shoulders, jutting his chin even further in defence. 

"Yeah, he did." And with a bit of softening creeping into his hard features he whispered, "He did it for me. Because he loves me."

Tami left a few minutes later, assured by Ian he was fine to watch Fred until Lip came home. She totally cut a client's hair uneven as her mind drifted back to Mickey and what she now knew about the man before today. Turns out she knew jack shit.

Now she knew he was so much more. 

==

Tami threw open the front door of the Gallagher home, Fred crying in her ear after refusing to take his afternoon nap. Two heads turned at the commotion. Quickly Ian halfway off the couch to rescue his brother's girlfriend. Tami ignored him entirely and dropped Fred in Mickey's lap.

"He needs some more of that Mickey magic." Tami explained as the husbands stared wide-eyed between mother, crying son, and each other.

She left them to take a much needed bathroom break. After she was done she grabbed a beer and leaned against the doorway, watching the way Fred squirmed in Mickey's arms as he held him close and rubbed his back. Ian watched the pair with adoration before looking up at Tami and mouthing a simple thank you.

And that's how Tami Tamietti met the real Mickey Milkovich.

#this took over my brain #i had to write it #i see your tami/mickey bff headcanons and offer my own #or the start of it anyway #i think they'd have an interesting friendship #mickey milkovich #tami tamietti #shameless #gallavich #shameless headcanon #chaos speaks

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: [Volume 3, Chp. 5]

"Smells good and feels nice Warm to touch and mostly good to mention Like sunny days it's warm and light Now it's time to release the tension…"

Omar – "Best By Far"

"Salud!"

Erik clinked his wineglass with the Korean woman next to him then glanced down at the delicious meal that sat before him. The beef bourguignon had diced carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon. It sat on a sliced toasted and buttered baguette right next to roasted red potatoes and sauteed broccolini dusted with red pepper flakes and a grated French Gruyère cheese topping. He sliced into the tender beef and took his first bite. He immediately tasted the thyme, bay leaves, sage, and sea salt. His mouth watered and he closed his eyes while chewing. The savory flavors made him think of the meals his father prepared with his mother. Food was family to him, and exquisite meals humbled him. What could Disa not do?

Erik sipped the glass of water next to his plate to cleanse his pallet before he tucked into the broccolini and potatoes. Around him, he heard the loud clanks of silverware going to work and the moans of satisfied dinner guests.

"Exceptional dinner tonight, a toast to Disa!"

Hollis held up his wineglass and all the others followed suit. There were twelve people around the enormous mahogany dining table. Disa sat in the middle of the table with Hollis on the end seat and Yamilet on the other end. There was so much food and wine and the guests took their time with the meal with great conversation. Erik felt uncomfortable being seated next to Alexis. Her man flanked her other side, and she kept bumping her warm thigh against Erik's.

The rapid-fire conversations made Erik feel in his element. He stayed quiet as he felt people out around the table. Disa drew him out when she asked him about the transition to MIT from the Naval Academy, and the others listened respectfully as he gave a short comparison. She brought up his studies with bioacoustics and the others chatted him up before they moved on to other topics with Disa's lead. She picked up on his discomfort at being the center of attention a little longer than he wanted and she saved him.

He ate, drank, listened, and kept his eye on Disa when she commanded the table. Yamilet went to the kitchen and brought back another bottle of wine, and the table grew loose with laughter and loud talking. The woman next to him asked him for a platter of toasted bread and thanked him in Korean. He responded back in Korean and that started an easy conversation.

"You speak, Korean?" Alexis asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"That's like, three—"

"I speak five languages," he said scooping more stew onto his plate.

"Five?" Disa asked.

His eyes went to hers.

"English, Spanish, Korean, French, Portuguese," he said.

Disa's lips quirked.

"A polyglot. I should teach you Arabic," she said.

Erik didn't respond because he felt the heated glare from Hollis. The conversation came back on him on how he learned so many languages fluently. He mentioned his mother, Aunts, and his Korean childhood friend Walter. He left out his Wakandan heritage. He could still speak his father's mother tongue, but without his Baba around, he lost a lot of words as time went on. There weren't very many Wakandan language books available in print or online.

"Everyone ready for dessert?" Disa asked.

Nods went all about and Disa stood with Yamilet. Erik jumped up and followed them.

"We got this, Erik," Disa said.

"I want to help. I was the extra unplanned guest. I should at least assist a little bit."

She handed him a tray of apple crumbles. Yamilet carried another tray and Disa picked up a silver sauce boat filled with warm caramel sauce.

The guests clapped hands and oohed and ahhed when they saw the sweet treat and Erik walked around the table until all of his dessert bowls were taken. He followed Yamilet back into the kitchen to return the trays and washed his hands at the sink. He gave a hearty exhale that he had gotten through the meal without incident. Alexis's boyfriend was not a talker and spent most of his time stuffing his face and keeping a low profile.

Erik returned to his seat and ate his treat without joining any more talks. When people were almost done, Disa left the room. They all heard music being switched in the living room from soft jazz to more upbeat instrumentals. She returned with a beaming smile.

"Espresso and whiskey in the living room. Give me a moment to hook up the hookahs and we can all migrate," she said.

Erik followed the routine of the others as they cleared their own plates and returned things to the kitchen where Hollis and Yamilet stacked dishes in a dishwasher and the sink. Folks cut up once they began smoking from three hookah pipes and vibing to the music. Those who wanted espresso and a hard liquor helped themselves in the kitchen and the real conversations began to take place. The room grew smokey, loud, and fun. Erik stuck close to a bookshelf and watched others as he cradled an espresso. Alexis bounced up in his face. The liquor had her tilted.

"Small world," she said touching on his arm.

"Yo, Alexis, just chill, a'ight. Your man is right over there."

"It's cool. We're cool."

"I don't like being in situations like this, so let's just stay away from each other," he said walking away from her.

The last thing he needed was a scene in Disa's house. He saw Yamilet grab onto Disa's arm and another woman's and the three of them slipped out of the living room. They giggled, and it made Erik curious. He followed them into a hallway that led to a master bedroom.

Disa and the women sat on a gigantic bed. She lit up a joint and puffed on it before passing it to her friends. She tossed back her hair and noticed Erik in the doorway.

"I was looking for the bathroom," he said.

"Oh, it's the next room over… you smoke?" she asked handing the joint to him when it came back to her.

He stepped into the room and took the weed from her fingers and toked. He blew the smoke out and her eyes looked tight to him. She was faded from the wine. The weed just hemmed her up.

"You are one entertaining young man," her white female friend said eying him up and down.

Svetlana was a tall, lithe Ukrainian woman with a strong accent.

"Yeah," he said pulling in the strong smoke into his lungs and letting the weed twist him up.

Disa tapped the space next to her and Erik sat down. She smelled like sandalwood and cloves. Her fingernails were polished in rose gold color and her off-shoulder top revealed moisturized skin that needed his lips on them. She was barefoot now and her toenails matched her fingernail polish. All she had to do was ask and he would rub her feet or suck her toes. He was so gone over her that it was hard to look her in her face. Could she tell that he was smitten? Nah, more than smitten.

When Erik was a boy, he sat at a dinner table with his parents and asked his Baba how he knew that his mother was the one. His father made his mother cry. The words stuck with Erik. Baba's dark perfect skin flared nose, and supple lips gazed at his mother with such a piercing stare.

"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas...just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable...I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."

N'Jobu's voice echoed into the void and Erik closed his eyes and inhaled the weed smoke. His body grew relaxed and his mind floated. When he opened his eyes and looked at Disa, he recognized his Baba's truth. Erik knew. Disa was the one. He knew her mind for over nine months listening to her talk on the radio. Her physical appearance was a gift, but her mind was where it was at. She made him feel…open. To ideas. To people. To his studies.

"Erik?"

Disa handed him the last of the weed. He polished it off, and she took it from his fingers to throw it away.

Yamilet and Svetlana left the room to get more wine, and Erik stayed on the bed.

They were alone.

"I'm glad you stayed," she said.

"Food was bomb as fuck. Conversation good too."

"Told you. You are cordially invited to the next one. I'm thinking of making a rack of lamb."

"I'll be here."

She raised her hand and rubbed his arm.

"You are a gifted young man. Use what you can while you're at MIT."

Her hand stayed on him, and her eyes were shiny and beautiful. Erik leaned in and kissed her. She drew back sharply and held her hand up.

"Hold on now, I'm not part of that equation," she giggled.

Erik couldn't get a fix on her signals. The weed and wine probably had her mixed up like him.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all good, Erik."

She touched her bottom lip with a polished fingernail, then glanced at his lips.

"Soft," she whispered tracing a finger over his mouth.

Disa pressed her lips over his and he felt his scalp tingle. He reached for her waist and pulled her against him, her soft breasts feeling perfect against him. She moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into hers. His hand snaked past her waist and squeezed her backside. Disa pulled his hand away.

"Okay, you got it out of your system," she said with a soft giggle.

"Wait… what?"

"C'mon, let's get back to the others before Hollis comes looking for me."

Disa stood and waited for him to leave with her. Erik stood, but he grabbed a hold of her hand.

"I'm not out of your league," he said.

"Erik, your crush is really sweet. I enjoy your company and would like for us to be friends."

"Just friends?"

"Friends… oh, don't pout."

She pinched his arm when he screwed his face up.

"You give a taste of heaven and deny me access? You a cold woman, Disa."

She chuckled.

"I'm high, and will probably forget I kissed you in a few hours."

"I won't forget."

She walked away and he trailed behind her back into the mix. No one even noticed their absence they were so caught up in a topic. Alexis's mouth was twisted up, and it matched the grim visage of her boyfriend who was listening to Yamilet hold the floor.

"… we all know it's true. Even Disa will tell you," Yamilet said waving for Disa to sit next to her on a loveseat.

Some guests sipped liquor and only three of them smoked the hookah, their eyes glazed over and mouths puckered around pipes. Hollis stood near a bookcase nursing some cognac next to an Arab engineer that had known Disa from their undergrad days. His name was Samir, and he once dated Disa before she ran off with Hollis. Samir nodded to Disa, and she grabbed a hookah pipe and partook. Yamilet waved her hand around.

"For years Black women have been brought up to adore Black men. We fight for their survival, march for them, speak their praises and all I'm saying is that it's not reciprocated. They run around talking about being Black Kangz, but they shit on us all the time. No other race of men do this to their women, and I'm done catering to losers—"

"Losers?" Kwame said with bass in his voice.

"Losers. Am I right Disa? Out of all the men in this country, Black men have had four hundred years to prove their worth, and all they do is simp. You build nothing, you support nothing but your own agenda, and you trash the very women who have been your doormats for too long. Divest ladies. They are not the prize."

Erik felt the blowback and the other Black men in the room grumbled and protested.

"Yeah whatever," Yamilet said dismissing every one of them.

"Then who is the prize?" Hollis asked.

"Black women," Disa said.

Alexis and the other Black women snapped their fingers. Disa removed the pipe from her lips and wiped a strand of hair from her face.

"The sooner Black women accept that they are the only prize in this world, the better off we'll be."

"Prizes my ass," Kwame said.

Alexis slapped his arm.

"Black women should be happy any man wants to be with them. All that foul attitude and neck rolling, acting all masculine—"

"Hold up, hold up… neck rolling and acting masculine?" Alexis said.

"See, neck already bobbing and weaving!" Kwame said making the other men laugh as he pointed to Alexis.

"Let's unpack that," Disa said leaning forward. There was a glint in her eye and her lips grew tight.

"Black women assert their humanity, their opinions, their intelligence, and it's viewed as masculine?"

"You're emotional too. Can't have a conversation without Black women getting loud—"

"Like you are right now? I'm talking calm and your voice has gone up three octaves since I challenged your words," Disa said.

Kwame rolled his eyes at her. Erik stepped closer to the man. He was ready to smack the taste out of Kwame's mouth.

"Black men do belittle their women every chance they get," Samir added.

"I don't believe Black men have a monopoly on being sexist," Hollis interjected.

"The rise of bashing culture online comes for Black women more," Svetlana said, "I can speak the same topics online with Black women, as I have done, and I get less attacked than my Black women friends. I'm a white woman telling you this. Sexism is terrible to all women, but it is ferocious for Disa, Yamilet, all the Black women in this room."

"Black men are punks," Disa said puffing and blowing a stream of smoke toward Kwame.

"You must be one of those 'Men are Trash', women," Kwame said.

"Men are the scum of the earth. I really don't like them at all. But alas, I suffer from an affliction called 'I like dick' so I have to pick and choose wisely."

Erik burst out laughing with a few others.

"Black men built the pyramids, raised kingdoms, ruled in Africa…"

"Here we go. I swear. Why do Black men always want to bring up being Kings? There ain't no royalty over here. We were regular folks who got stolen, traded, and exported. Some Kings more than likely sold their own people, so please don't cape for slave traders and race traitors. Royalty…," she snorted.

Erik grinned. If only she knew who she had in her house. A real-life African Prince. If only she knew he came from a people who turned their backs on the entire African continent.

"Black man, where is your army? Where are your institutions? Corporations? Industries? Where is your backbone? I gave up on Black men being anything other than conquered weaklings when that little boy got shot by cops and nothing happened. Black women rang the alarm—"

"As always," Alexis added.

"—and that cop is not in jail. And more hashtags cropped up. Again, where is your army Black Kangz? They slaughtered a child in the street and you did nothing. They shot a woman in her bed. You did nothing."

Where was their Black army? Erik thought. Posted up in luxury, high tech, and protection in Wakanda.

"We built our own universities, we started the Civil Rights Movement…," Kwame's voice was higher-pitched and angry-sounding.

"Why are you yelling?" Erik asked.

Kwame's chest puffed out. Disa blew out more smoke and glared at Kwame.

"Powerful men do not let their women and children march in the streets against white supremacy and the police. They take care of their women and children. Protect them at home while they go out and face the enemy. The people who built those universities long ago, who stood up for Civil Rights? Black men and Black women together. But guess what? They don't make those types of Black men anymore. The Black women are still here who do that type of fighting with little kids! Little kids fighting your grown man battles, but what do you Black men do today? Nothing. You act buck online hidden behind dusty avatars waiting to become the next hashtag because you're scared to fight. You have all the smoke for Black women every day of the week, will kill your own at the drop of a hat over some bullshit, but don't have any backbone for systemic racism and anti-Blackness? No energy for that? You don't deserve Black women. Any Black man still getting pussy from Black women should feel blessed and lucky. The world doesn't deserve Black women. At all."

Disa sat back and the air in the room was electric. Yamilet smirked and folded her arms, and the other Black women rested in their own secret thoughts.

"You hate us that much?" Hollis asked.

His eyes looked spooked. Clearly, he never knew this about Disa.

"I don't hate you, I'm just tired of you. All of you. I love us as a people, but I recognize who the weak link is."

"Damn," Samir said.

"That's harsh, Disa," Svetlana said.

"No, it's not, and it's not your business," Disa snapped.

Svetlana's husband jumped in.

"Hold up, it is her business. She's married to me and we'll have Black children one day."

"Oh please, Matthew, you've never dated a Black woman in your life and we know your self-hating ass don't want any of your children to look like you! Svetlana was your get out of Blackness pass," Yamilet barked.

"Time for a musical interlude," Hollis said trying to cut the tension by changing the music.

"What the hell, Yamilet?" Matthew said.

Svetlana stood up with her cheeks reddening.

"That's not true. Matthew is a proud Black man—"

"Who doesn't want Black children and spends more time traveling to Ukraine and embracing your culture while negating his own. Black kids? Where? Connected to Blackness in Donestk? Girl, stop. Please," Disa said.

"Matthew?" Svetlana said.

"Your husband has made numerous comments in your absence about hoping his kids have your hair and your color. He wants them to have your green eyes and features. Tell her Matthew," Yamilet pushed.

"I want healthy children with my wife. I don't care what they look like. Honey, what I meant was that if our kids looked like me, then they would have a harder life and I don't want them to suffer."

"Being Black is just suffering?" Erik asked.

All eyes turned to him.

"It's… difficult," Matthew said reaching for his wife's hand.

Svetlana looked shell-shocked.

"Then build a world where it won't be difficult. We're more than our pain, bruh, but sometimes a few of us have to die to make this country better. If not, we're just passive sheep waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Just another hashtag on deck like Disa said," Erik pressed.

"They won't fight or build up anything, because they're scared—"

"That's not true, Disa. I'm doing what I can to make sure my children have all the advantages I didn't have," Matthew said.

"And skin color is one of those things," Erik said.

"He's right," Yamilet said.

"You should be the last to talk, Yamilet. You're light-skinned and benefit from it," Matthew said.

"Yeah, I'm light, with two Black on Black parents, but I have full African features and hair that can't go through a fine-toothed comb. Any privileges I have, I understand why, and I use them to benefit my people. You can see my Blackness the minute you see my face or hear me talk. But I would never see it as a blessing to get away from my tribe, man. That's all you."

"I love my wife," Matthew said.

"You love whiteness more," another Black woman said.

The room grew quiet. Disa played with her fingers and rested the hookah pipe on her lap.

"Matthew, we know you love Svetlana. You've just been conditioned to be anti-Black. We all were."

"Disa, come on now. You've dated non-Black men—"

"And you've never dated a Black woman ever. That's a problem for me."

"If that's the man's preference then leave him alone," Kwame said.

"That's not a preference," Disa said.

"You women are tripping up in here," Kwame said.

Alexis stepped away from him and Disa stood up.

"The fact that Erik, who isn't even a legal adult yet, can see what needs to be done, then I don't know what you grown negroes are going to do. You sacrifice nothing anymore. You gave up."

"Um, Disa..."

Karen, a cute TA in the Science department stared down at her cell phone. She looked up wide-eyed.

"Turn on your TV," Karen said.

Disa turned down the music and tapped the TV controller for the flat-screen embedded in the wall across from the couch.

"There!" Karen said.

On the screen, a female newscaster with a trepid face filled the room.

"… right now, the Pentagon has stated that the U.S. Navy is sending the battleship U.S.S. Steiner to the area. If you're just joining us, breaking news. They have reported that two coast guard ships were attacked off the coast of Florida. We're not sure if the vessel that attacked them is a submarine… hold on, we're getting some live footage from our affiliate station in Miami…"

"Wow!" Hollis blurted when they all saw the TV screen fill up with images of a submersible that skimmed just under the surface of the dark ocean with bright yellowish lights that glowed. A military helicopter hovered above it. The submersible breached the surface slick and curved like the back of an orca, but metallic and bigger.

"Holy shit," Hollis gasped.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's arm as a powerful bright green laser beam struck the helicopter. The entire aircraft glowed neon green for a second and exploded mid-air. The cameraman shooting the footage cursed on live TV and the picture grew jumpy before cutting back to the newscaster who now had a pallid face. Seconds later, the news studio image was replaced with an emergency broadcast static picture.

"Are we under fucking attack?" Yamilet yelped.

Disa flipped through more channels and more emergency broadcast pictures were up. Everyone went to their cell phones, except for Disa.

"That submarine, that wasn't… what was that?" she asked.

Erik escorted her to a loveseat, and he took the TV controls from her and flipped to more stations. He found a cable news network that discussed the attack and replayed the destroyed helicopter while warning viewers of disturbing images.

"Who could it be?" Svetlana asked, "the Russians?"

"The Saudis?" Kwame suggested.

"The machine looked weird. Like a… like a… whale," Hollis said.

Erik's professor moved in and sat next to Disa.

"It didn't take much for that thing to wipe out that helicopter. Will a destroyer be able to take it?" Yamilet asked.

Frightened eyes watched the TV.

Erik sat on a side chair next to Disa's loveseat. Flashes of his past rushed him and he latched on to a memory that had been one of the happiest times of his life although it was a dangerous time too. Police in Brazil tried to kill and jail his mother in Sao Paulo. But his Baba called on Wakandan rebels to fly a ship that rescued them from the top of an apartment building's roof during a daring escape in the middle of the night. A Wakandan battle cruiser that could turn invisible and take out an American city like it was nothing floated down from a midnight sky. His family spent a glorious week onboard hiding out over the Atlantic Ocean, and under it, when a similar threat came for them. The Atlanteans.

That was an Atlantean warcraft. Erik was sure of that.

He remembered the talk onboard the battle cruiser about the Atlanteans flexing against the Wakandans. He remembered the red alert and the escape from the battlecruiser in a smaller craft that his Baba piloted to get them back home. Now it seemed, the Atlanteans were ready to come for the Americans.

Erik's future was coming for him hard and on live television.

Disa reached for his hand and not Hollis's. He squeezed it tight.

"It'll be alright," he whispered to her.

She squeezed his hand back.

Chapter 6 HERE.

###

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#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Volume 3 #Killmonger Fanfiction #Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #N'Jadaka #MIT #Black Panther #Uzumaki Rebellion

[dreamylyfe-x]

i'm rewatching s10, and i'm sure this has been discussed, but the way the wrote Ian as being so resistant to the normal formal wedding (even voicing that objection the day of) and the writers framing him as just going along with it really ruined the actual wedding for me. i totally get it was his insecurities that made him hesitant to marry now, but i mean after he proposed the 2nd time, i don't get why the writers framed it that way. prior to s10, it always seemed like ian would've loved it

Oof. Anon, I am sorry to hear this. Because to me, Gallavich! Is the best episode in season 10 by a mile. It makes me sad to think that someone loves Ian and Mickey is bummed out by that episode. So I dunno if I can change your mind, but here’s how I see it: 

I really know what Ian’s relationship to marriage and weddings was before season 10. He only talks about it once, and it’s sarcastic. Ian’s never had the tough time accepting his sexuality that Mickey did, but he still grew up somewhere that encouraged him to hide who he was. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed a month before the show premiered. Gay marriage is legalized nationally around the time the 5th season is airing. For a lot of Ian’s life, a marriage recognized by the state wasn’t something he could be confident that he could have.  Then there’s the fact that he’s a Gallagher and a formal wedding is not normal to him. Let’s look at some of the weddings Ian has been witness to: 

Kevin & V — first of all, not a real wedding. Secondly, held at a bar. 

Mickey & Svetlana — a cheap, shot gun wedding and one of the most traumatic and awful days of Ian’s life. Also? The biggest wedding we see him attend. 

Fiona and Gus — Ah, right. Ian wasn’t there. Fiona got married at the courthouse. 

Frank and Sheila — quick and happening on a death bed for purely legal reasons

Fiona and Sean — Inexpensive, small and a complete disaster

Frank and Monica — not a real wedding, small, held in the living room, they punch each other in the middle of it and Ian wasn’t there. Also? The next morning the bride is dead. 

In Ian’s world, people mostly don’t get married. It’s not where they put their money. They almost always skip a step, often the part where it’s legally binding. When they do, it’s largely about some kind of practical application. There’s a baby coming. Someone needs something from the government. Spousal privilege. There’s a reason that isn’t “we love each other.” 

I had to think for a minute about might have made you feel like Ian would love a wedding and then of course thought of season 5. Where Ian, hot mess though he may be, is revelling in domesticity with Mickey and fantasizing in cut-scenes about him and Mickey in neutral colours, with baby Yev… I feel like that scene is incredibly revealing about what Ian wants, its to be with Mickey. He wants him and Mickey to be family. And for that reason, I do think he wants to get married. That doesn’t necessarily mean he wants a wedding. 

I think part of that is going to be tied in with why he’s hesitant to commit when the only reason is “we love and trust each other.” It would be for most people, but Ian has a lot of issues with self-worth and those issues can mean that the idea of not only getting married, but getting up in front of room full of people who might also think you’re kidding yourself is daunting. 

But I also think it literally didn’t occur to him. The first time he talks about marriage, even though he’s uncertain, he says “go down to the courthouse”. That’s where people with no money get married. When he proposed the first time, he wanted to get married as fast as possible so that he could protect Mickey from going back to jail, so of course — courthouse. He’s really thrown when Mickey decides they’re going to have a “wedding-wedding” — because HOW? They have no money. They barely have an income. Also, how long does that take? Are they going to spend a year planning a wedding? 

I think Ian is mostly baffled in 10x11 because he’s not sure why this happening. And it’s introduced to him as a “fuck you” to Terry, but that’s a pretty expensive “fuck you”. Also, Mickey has all these IDEAS, so let’s give him credit that he must start to realize that Mickey HAS thought about this. Probably around the time he heard the words “Stargazer Lillies”. And Ian goes along with that. Including dutifully looking the other way when the money for all of it just kinda… appears. 

I DO think he’s overwhelmed by the concept. I think Mickey is, too. I think that’s why he gets the guy to come and sing to them. To validate that Mickey wants, but also to ground the whole thing so that the focus moves back to the two of them. But there’s something surreal about a wedding to Ian. Maybe something embarrassing, because it IS a statement of worth. Spending a lot of money and inviting people to come and watch you get married is a statement. This — me, us, our relationship — is worth your notice, your time and your attention. 

And then! Ian has the biggest, fanciest wedding of anyone he knows. They have a tiered cake with a custom cake-topper. They have a flower girl. They have guests who are not immediate family. People dress up. They both wear tuxes. There is drinking and dancing, if not a formal dinner, and they leave in a hail of rice and confetti, in a fancy car with cans tied on the back. And he fully participates in all of that! He choses the song that plays when Mickey walks down the aisle. And it’s At Last. The MOST sentimental wedding song imaginable. That song about getting that one thing that you have desperately wanted to make your life “like a song”. He and Mickey exchange traditional vows — which I buy, because I think it would be hard for both of them to come up with something original that they’d be wiling to say in front of a room full of people — and they deliver those vows with deep sincerity. The look on Ian’s face when he says his vows — the smile when he says Mickey’s name — is so genuine. The way he asks permission to kiss him like he can’t wait. And then they walk down the aisle and Ian lifts Mickey’s arm up like you’d lift the arm of a boxer — in victory. 

Gah. Just. Did he want a wedding? Maybe not. Was he intimated by it? Probably. Did he resent it? No way. In fact, we see him looking around at the guests and his husband and getting teary because this big important thing happened — this great night that people not only showed up for, but fought to help them have — and his mother isn’t there. And he wishes she was, because in the end, he DOES want to share it with people. 

And he is really, really happy they did it. I think that counts for a lot. 

#asks #that was a long one! #I do love their wedding a lot #gallavich #shameless season 10 #shameless 10x12 #Gallavich meta #Thank you for asking me something that allowed me to talk about that SO MUCH

[theblackberrygirl]

Dead Hearts

Summary: The Red Room is destroyed and Natasha has some unresolved goodbyes to say.

Author’s Note: alright I wasn’t super happy with this bc I felt like it was kinda OOC but my beta reader said she rly liked it so here it is!

Warnings: torture, death, death of children, hypothermia, grief. It’s sad alright

This is a song fic and it’s inspired by Dead Hearts by Stars

Tell me everything that happened

Tell me everything you saw

They had lights inside their eyes

They had lights inside their eyes

“JARVIS, show me the article,” Nat asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff.”

The headline streamed across the TV in her room. Russian training academy, Red Room, has been destroyed and burned by the US government.

Her stomach dropped. No. It can’t be true. The Red Room doesn’t just get destroyed. That’s not possible, it’s not true.

But it was. It was true. The Red Room had been reduced to a pile of burning cinder blocks.

She felt a strange feeling in her heart. She definitely wasn’t nostalgic. The Red Room had kidnapped her from that house fire when she was 4, leaving her parents to die. They tortured her, made her into a killer, messed with her mind and memories.

They made her kill her friends.

When she had escaped when she was 16 and Clint had found her, she never looked back. She ran and ran because running was what she knew, it was all she knew.

But now, she couldn’t run away. No, for once in her life, it was time to run towards something.

“JARVIS, is the quinjet fueled up?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff, but-”

“Get me 29 roses please. I’m leaving in 10 minutes.” JARVIS didn’t answer her, but she knew he was listening.

It was late, around 2 in the morning. Tony would be in his lab. The others would hopefully be asleep. Clint… well, he was a wild card at night. He could be anywhere. But she had known him for years. She knew how to avoid him.

She threw some essentials in a bag before heading towards the quinjet. JARVIS had been listening, because a bundle of blood-red roses laid on the countertop.

She picked them up on her way out to one of the jets. She needed to do this. Not just for herself.

But for them.

-

Did you see the closing window?

Did you hear the slamming door?

They moved forward, and my heart died

They moved forward, and my heart died

-

“Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff has just entered the roof.”

“What? Why?” Tony asked, actually pausing his newest project to listen to JARVIS.

“She asked me to make sure one of the quinjets had fuel and to get her roses.”

“That’s helpful,” Tony grumbled. “Is Barton still up?”

“Mr. Barton is currently downstairs in the archery range.”

“Typical. Tell him to come up here, will ya J?”

“Right away, Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t go back to his tinkering. He wanted to give Natasha her space, since she’d probably kill him if he didn’t. But at the same time, if this was something important, he didn’t want her to be alone.

“Tony? What’s up?” Clint had arrived in the lab, his bow on his back.

“Hey, do you know if today is anything important for Nat? An anniversary or something?”

“...no? Not that I know of anyways. Why? She alright?”

“I’m not sure, Katniss. JARVIS just told me that she was going up to the jet with roses.”

“Where is she going?”

“The GPS coordinates are set for an area approximately 50 miles West of Vorkuta, Russia.”

“Russia? Why would she be going back to-”

“JARVIS, how many roses did she want?” Clint interjected.

“29, sir.”

“That’s specific,” Tony commented.

Clint didn’t say anything. He wordlessly picked up one of the laptops Tony had laying around and typed something into the search bar.

“Oh no, Tasha… I knew you talked about it doing something, but...”

“What? What is it?”

Clint spun the laptop around for him to see. “The Red Room. It’s gone. And I think I know why she’s going back”

-

Please, please tell me what they looked like

Did they seem afraid of you?

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew...

-

Even in a quinjet, the ride from New York to Northern Russia was pretty long, giving her plenty of time to think and contemplate.

She did not want to think. Not about the Red Room, or Madame B, or the other girls, anything.

You owe it to them to remember.

All of her memories before 16 were jumbled. But some things… some things can’t be erased or altered by drugs.

She remembers their names. All of them. All 29.

She had been the youngest girl in her class of Black Widows. Some said that was a weakness. Others said it was an advantage.

But when they brought little Natalia Romanova to that place, still covered in burns and ash, she didn’t care about becoming the Black Widow. She wanted her mother, and father, in their little one-bedroom apartment, with her stuffed rabbit Alexei. It was always cold in that apartment, but when she was snuggled between her mother and father, she felt safe.

She learned quickly that safety was not a feeling in the Red Room. That was something for children, and she was not a child. She was Natalia, made of marble.

On her first night there, when she had silently cried from the pain of cold metal handcuff cutting her wrist, one of the older girls had helped her. She was 8. Her name was Nadia.

Nadia had stolen one of the handcuff keys from the guards. She had unlocked the cuffs and hugged her. Made her a makeshift doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Told her stories of magic and heros.

In the morning, they found out about what Nadia had done. They punished her until she couldn’t scream anymore. Just before they killed her, she looked at Natalia. “It’s ok”, she whispered. Just before they pulled the trigger.

Magic had not been in that place in a very long time.

After Nadia had been killed, Natalia funneled her grief and fear into her training. She rose to the top, taking down girls who were twice her age and twice her size. She used untraditional methods on the mat, using her legs to take them down since that was where she was strongest.

Her handlers were very impressed with her sudden prowess. She became the best dancer, best fighter, best liar. She picked up the languages quickly. She was as stoic as stone, never flinching or backing down from the threat of a punishment.

They never knew what fueled her excellence. Never knew that she was motivated by rage and grief. For her parents. For Nadia.

When she turned 9 years old, she decided that it was time to repay her debt to Nadia. There was a new girl, the last one for their class. The thirtieth. Sasha.

No one knew what had happened to Sasha. But they did know that she was good. She was unwavering, unmoving. During the day, anyways.

At night, Natalia could hear the girl in the bed next to her trying to muffle her cries. She took out the key that one of the guards had foolishly left in the washrooms. She carefully unlocked her own cuff and Sasha’s.

She rubbed her back silently. Rebraided her French braids that had come undone in the night. Made her a crude doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Just as Nadia had done for her.

The next morning, Natalia had waited all day for someone to take her to a room to be killed. But they never did. They hadn’t been caught.

Sasha and Natalia continued their routine every night. It was nice to have a friend in a place where friends were a myth.

They were friends for 2 years. They learned to master sneaking around. When Sasha turned 11, someone took her into a room alone. They did this all the time for training, interrogation practice, or just a mental test.

When Sasha didn’t come back that night, she knew something was wrong.

She never saw Sasha again. She didn’t know what happened to her. She still didn’t.

“Landing in 10 minutes,” the jet intercom told her. A wave of anxiety washed over her. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to turn around, go home, and never come back.

She hated the memories associated with this place. This was the closest she had ever been in the 12 years since Clint saved her. She avoided it like the plague.

The clearing the jet had landed in was still about 2 miles from the old academy. She pulled her coat and hat on and began her march through the barren fields and forest.

Tank tops and shorts. No shoes, she thought to herself. When she was 13, Madame B had given them all black tank tops and shorts. She took away their combat boots and forced them out into the bitter winds.

“Only the strongest will survive this challenge. Only those worthy of the Black Widow title will make it through this. If you are not ready, well, hypothermia isn’t a bad way to go,” she had told them. 2 girls out of the remaining 18 had died that day.

Then they had gone inside to train. The cold made their muscles achey and stiff, but the Red Room was not a place for complaints.

Then they did it all again the next day.

By the end of the week, 7 of the remaining 18 girls were dead, either from exhaustion or the cold. 11 remained from a group that was once 30.

Anastasia. Irina. Svetlana. Alina. Manya. Eva. Kyana.

Their dead hearts were everywhere. The lights inside their eyes extinguished. They’re still out there. And she still cares.

She always will.

-

I could say it, but you won't believe me

You say you do, but you don't deceive me

It's hard to know they're out there

It's hard to know that you still care

-

Pepper, Tony, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Steve, and Fury had all boarded a jet to Russia as soon as Clint told them what had happened. They weren’t going to let her go through this alone.

Natasha Romanoff liked to pretend she didn’t feel things. But they were her family. And family helped each other.

They all sat in silence. Natasha only had an hour on them, but that was still an hour where she was alone and hurting. Even Tony didn’t say anything.

Clint was playing with the spider necklace he always wore. Natasha had a matching one with an arrow. It was a symbol of how deep their friendship went.

Fury was completely still. He had his arms resting on his knees, looking straight ahead. His lips were more downturned than usual, and his forehead was more tense. You could only tell if you had known him for a long time, but Fury was upset. Upset that the woman he looked at as a daughter had to relive this. That she even had to live through it at all.

Clint and Fury were probably getting hit the hardest. They knew the most about what went down in the Red Room. They knew the most about how painful this had to be for their friend.

As the jet lightly set down in the field near the jet that Natasha had taken, they all prepared to walk the 2 miles in the cold weather.

The ground beneath their feet was completely frozen. Permafrost. Snowflakes rushed around their faces. It was painfully beautiful.

The sound of dried grass and leaves under their feet was the only sound on their walk. The wind whistled in their ears. The cold air bit into their exposed skin like needles.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat when he saw her.

She was standing on a pile of rubble with her back to them. Her flaming red hair was flying in the wind. In her arms was the bouquet of roses. Each rose had a note attached, written in Natasha’s small, elegant penmanship.

As Clint looked closer, he saw what the notes were. Names. All of them.

If Nat had realized they were there, she made no move to acknowledge them.

She just stood there. As if she was in shock. To be honest, she might’ve been.

“Sometimes, I swear I can see them,” Natasha spoke. She sounded so… broken. “Everywhere. In the reflection of a window. When I heard a door slam, it was like they were right there like they used to be. Like how they were in here.”

They all stayed quiet. She needed to get this out.

“It’s like they’re following me. Protecting me. I miss them. I miss them all.”

“Inna, Katrina, Larisa, Polina, and Oksana were the first 5 to go.” She held the 5 flowers tightly in her hand, like if she squeezed it tightly enough, she could bring them back. “5, 7, 6, 4, and 8. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she whispered. Her emotions were coming to the surface, hidden by a thin veil of control.

“Raisa, Sonya, Ulyana, Vanka. I didn’t know any of you. Not personally. But all of you deserved so much better than what you got.”

“Luda, Lubov, and Klara. You were 8 years old. Triplets. Nothing could come between you three. Not the Red Room. Not even death.”

Clint started to move closer towards his best friend. He could see the way she was shaking.

“That week when we stood outside for hours. The cold and exhaustion took 7. Anastasia, Irina, Svetlana, Alina, Manya, Eva, Kyana. I hope that you weren’t in pain when you died. I hope you’re finally resting.”

Only 10 roses were left in her arms, the other 19 laid out on the ground in front of her. The bright red petals contrasted sharply with the grey cinder blocks and white snow.

“Yelizaveta. Liz. We were in actual hell together, and yet you somehow managed to make me smile with your fucked-up sense of humor. In a place like that, dark humor is the only kind you have.” A small smile joined the tears running down her face. “I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

“Taisiya, Sonechka, Nikita, Mischa, Maya, Luda. You were all so smart. And so strong. You fought harder than everyone. Even now, I have yet to meet someone as smart as you six, and 2 of my best friends have more than one PhD,” she laughed.

She was down to the final three roses. Clint put his arm around her. The dam was threatening to break any moment now.

“Nadia.” She let her tears fall for Nadia. “I wouldn’t be alive without you. I wouldn’t have gotten to meet my family. I wouldn’t have gotten to become an aunt without you.” Clint had already been crying, they all had, even Fury, but that had struck him deep in his heart. “I owe you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she choked out. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling as she gently set the rose down on the ground.

“When I was 14, we had to do torture training.” Pepper let out a small gasp. “After I had finished the whipping and electrocution day, Anya split her bread with me. She cleaned the cuts that I couldn’t reach. In the morning, I-” Her voice began to crack. “They made me be the one to kill her. She was 15.” She set Anya’s rose on the ground next to the others. “You didn’t deserve it, Anya. You were always so good. Better than I ever was.”

“Sasha. Sasha and I were best friends,” she let out a small bittersweet laugh. “When I was with her, I felt like, maybe, we could lead normal lives. Escape. Be happy. One day, when we were 11, they took her away and never brought her back.” She held the rose with Sasha written on it in her hand. “I’m sorry, Sash. I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”

“You forgot one,” Clint whispered. He held out one more red rose. “Natalia Romanova. A little girl orphaned in a fire, who did what she had to do to survive. Who walked through hell and back and still found herself a family and a home.” He set the rose down with the others.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried. Clint hugged her tightly as they sank to the ground.

“We were all so young. We were all kids. Just kids,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

Years upon years, over 2 decades worth of grief, sadness, fear, rage, and pain came pouring out. She had been bottling these feelings up for 24 years, shoving them down, and now they were finally being released. Finally being set free.

“They were kids that I once knew. They were kids that I once knew...”

-

Now they’re all dead hearts to you.

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you

Now they're all dead hearts to you

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you...

#shut up elle #clint and natasha #platonic clintasha #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #Natasha romanoff fanfiction #red room #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #black widow #black widow fanfiction #clint barton #Hawkeye #tony stark #iron man #nick fury #I only wanna add tags for characters that like actually talk and stuff yknow #my writing #Spotify

[fontainebleau22]

I was tagged by the inestimable @villa-kulla to post my 2022 reading list: it’s taken me an age to respond, but here it is.

A lot of what I read is fairly random, tending to be whatever I can find in the local library, which is better for non-fiction than fiction - so far this year I’ve read Kate Bolick’s Spinster and Caroline Elton’s Also Human: the inner lives of doctors. But these are the books that are on my list to make an effort to read this year.

Neil Clarke, The Best Science Fiction of the Year vol. 6

My partner gives me the latest edition of this anthology every year for Christmas so I can keep current with what’s new - it used to be Best SF of the Year edited by Gardner Dozois, but since Dozois died Clarke has taken over his mantle to good effect. But this year it’s been delayed through publishing holdups, so I’m still waiting for it to arrive.

Svetlana Alexievich, Chernobyl Prayer

I started this last year and stopped halfway, not because it’s not good - it’s brilliant - but it’s not an easy read. It’s a collection of oral testimonies from those caught up in the Chernobyl disaster and is incredibly haunting; I’d like to finish it properly.

Katsuhiro Otomo, Akira

I decided I was late to the party on this one, so I bought the first two volumes and have started in on them. It’s not quite the experience I was expecting, and I don’t know if I’ll get through the whole thing, but I want to round out my graphic novel reading.

Rhian Lewis, The Cryptocurrency Revolution: finance in the age of Bitcoin

Am I turning into a crypto fan? Emphatically no! This is on my list because it was written by my sister in 2014, and embarrassingly I’ve never got round to actually reading it to see what it says. To be fair I don’t think she’s ever read anything I’ve published either, but I think I should show willing.

Dan Ozzi, Sellout

I’d like to get hold of this because the musical era itself passed me by, though I don’t have high hopes of its intrinsic literary quality.

And a recommendation from my partner, Jenny Erpenbeck’s Visitation, which everyone says is excellent, though I’m not wholly sure if I’ll have the will to get to it.

Tagging @poemsingreenink, @inkformyblood, @andrea-lyn, @findswoman, @kinetic-elaboration and @hanajimasama!

#reading 2022

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

The thing is, Ian was right. Mickey doesn't know any better, the writers on the show made sure of that, because for them the only important thing about Mickey is his devotion to Ian. But we're a bit more realistic about it and can analyze Ian's actions without being limited by someone's poor imagination.

There’s a lot to address here, so please forgive me for the lengthy response, anon! 🙂 I’ll preface all of it by saying this: my general opinion is that if Mickey has what makes him happy, we should support that regardless of how we feel about the other party (with obvious exceptions like physical abuse, etc.). If Byron was what made him happy, I would support him even if I couldn’t stand the guy. The same goes for any other character in any other franchise, at least for me. Now, onto your points:

I’m not sure which scene you mean when you mention Ian saying he doesn’t know any better, but I’m definitely with you on our ability to analyze Ian’s actions. The problem here is that analyzing will always be colored by perspective and implicit bias. If your fave is Mickey, anything that hurts him will look a whole lot worse than what he does that hurts Ian and perhaps lead to conducting a less than thorough analysis or rejecting sensible arguments about Ian’s character. Based on the number of posts I see about how Mickey is the only good thing on the show, I’d argue that that is a very real danger in many of the takes on Ian as well as everyone else. I’ve seen some pretty heavy demonizing of characters who hurt Mickey’s feelings or aren’t actively sweet to him, which is a bit unrealistic since that’s life and Mickey certainly never seems to mind or let it keep him down for long.

As far as him not knowing better, on the whole, I don’t think that gives Mickey much credit at all. Actually, it doesn’t really give him any credit, which is sort of surprising given how vehemently people defend his IQ, academically and emotionally, against what amounted to a joke. Mickey knows that Ian messes up and does things that are questionable at best and hurtful at worst. He’s not an innocent, pure character who endures heartache after heartache to throw himself at the brick wall of earning Ian’s attention. He gives as good as he gets and has hurt Ian too. They’re human and written very realistically in that regard. Their love for one another allows them to forgive transgressions and move on, not hold grudges or “not know any better” with regards to what they deserve. Love isn’t about what we deserve, and I think it’s important to remember that a relationship won’t last if it’s based on an arbitrary numerical score of who has done more harm than the other. Things happen. Poor decisions are made. They can allow that to break them or work through it. Mickey has actively chosen to work through it because at the end of the day, he loves Ian more than he is interested in finding something else. In earlier seasons, Ian similarly chose to work through it with someone who might never be in a position to come out and begin the full relationship that he so desperately wanted. That’s beautiful to me, not contemptible.

As far as the only important thing about Mickey being his devotion to Ian, we’ll also have to agree to disagree. 🙂 In the early seasons, while Ian was certainly the catalyst for it, Mickey’s story was about coming out more than his devotion to Ian. That’s why we have the scenes where he taunted Kash (focus: keeping his secret), purposely got sent back to juvie (focus: hiding from Terry if he found out), and got married (focus: self-preservation). We do absolutely see a rising devotion for Ian during this period, of course, and there’s no argument that his character was written expressly to be Ian’s love interest. The writers still made him a well-developed one with his own motives, fears, and desires outside of Ian in a way that later love interests didn’t get. (My own belief is that they didn’t intend for the later relationships to last like they did Mickey, but regardless of the validity there, Mickey was written as a character with more depth from the very beginning and existed before anything with Ian ever happened.)

The first half of s4 shows Mickey on his own merits. He’s handling his new position as a patriarch of the family, running the business while Terry is fairly hands-off and watches. He decides to help the Russian girls and ends up going into business with Kev. We learn a lot about Mickey’s character outside of Ian during that time. In fact, there are only a couple of scenes that really focus on him missing Ian until finding him becomes Mickey’s task: asking Kev if anyone has heard from him, the bathroom scene, and the later Alibi scene. Otherwise, the early s4 writers showed us a Mickey who was compassionate, ambitious, utilitarian, entrepreneurial, and collaborative—all without tying it back to Ian. Kev and V are renowned friends of the Gallaghers, but Mickey doesn’t grow closer to Kev in an attempt to learn more about what happened to Ian. He doesn’t help the girls because he thinks Ian would want him to. In fact, with the exception of those scenes I mentioned, we have no reason to believe that Ian is on Mickey’s mind at all while he’s doing these other things. He has a life outside of Ian just like the opposite is true, and s4 went to great lengths to show us that.

The second half of s4 is, once again, about keeping his secret until he decides to come out. (Read: decides to, is not forced to. More on that in a moment.) Yes, his devotion to Ian is once again the catalyst for some of his decisions, but there’s much more to it than that. Once again, we still see scenes with Mickey operating on his own for his own purposes. He doesn’t leave home entirely because he wants to be with Ian—he also wants to escape from his wife and pretend that things are the way they used to be. He doesn’t scam money from the rich guy or take more than his cut from the register at the Alibi to protect Ian—he does it for self-preservation so that Svetlana won’t get him killed. He doesn’t go to the baptism to keep up appearances and protect Ian—he does it to keep up appearances for himself and because...well, like it or not, that’s his son. The lattermost is something Ian specifically does not want him to do, and if he does, he wants to be there. Mickey goes against his wishes because it’s about protecting himself (and perhaps, by extension, their relationship), and rightfully so. Coming out at the Alibi does once again tie to Ian as a catalyst for change in Mickey’s life, but it didn’t have to happen. Mickey could have grabbed his coat, told everyone goodnight, and left with Ian. At no time did Ian tell him that he would leave if Mickey didn’t come out to everyone or admit they’re a couple, even if he did make reference to the fact that Mickey was hiding and not free. All Ian wanted was for Mickey not to treat him like a mistress or expect him to stick around if he did. Instead, it was a logical culmination of Mickey’s written development to come out. He’s stronger and more independent than he used to be. He’s capable of taking care of himself and surviving in the world without relying on Terry. He’s in a position where yes, he’s still justifiably terrified of coming out and what it’ll mean where Terry is concerned, but he’s able to do it. Ian is a catalyst for it, but being devoted to him isn’t Mickey’s only reason.

In s5, a lot of Mickey’s story does revolve around his devotion to Ian, but not any more than Ian’s revolves around devotion to him in the second half of s3. We still see Mickey doing business and running the family, but having Ian be his more central concern makes sense because Ian is sick and the writers have already told us that his health is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. In denial or not, Mickey knows this. And so we see his story center around Ian because, to an extent, it has to. Ian is mentally and physically sick. He’s adjusting not only to meds, but to a label that makes him feel ashamed and afraid. Mickey is devoted to him, and so Mickey does everything he can to take care of him. But here’s the thing: that scares Ian too. He’s seen what happens to the people who try to take care of Monica. He knows how it felt to try only to be ignored or betrayed or abandoned. The breakup isn’t about anger at being coddled or, by my interpretation and Ian’s own words, him being selfish. It’s about him seeing that Mickey’s devotion is going to keep him from living his life and ultimately (in his opinion) hurt him beyond repair, and so he sets Mickey free. It hurts him, yes, but it does work.

Because even though we don’t see it happen on-screen, s6 through s9 can’t possibly be Mickey sitting in a prison cell pining over Ian. If that was going to happen, we’d have seen it in s4. By this point, we know who Mickey is outside of Ian and can assume that he’s operating in much the same way on the inside until he figures out what he wants to do. We know he and Svetlana had a business arrangement where they took out contracts for work he could do in prison. We know that he makes a business acquaintanceship with Damon, which means he was probably involved in dealing or smuggling while there. Neither of these things can possibly revolve around devotion to Ian because they could conceivably keep him from Ian longer. His sentence is fifteen years, and if he’s counting on being out in eight to be with Ian, he needs to be on his best behavior. He’s not. He’s unapologetically not when he sees Ian again and talks about what Damon is. Ian looks less than comfortable with it, but that’s not why they ditch him—it’s because he might get Mickey caught with his behavior. Even breaking out happened once he was able to solidify an opportunity working for a cartel, so while Ian may have been another catalyst (besides the obvious desire to get out of prison), the decision wasn’t about devotion to him. The only decision that was about that was the one he made at the border to let Ian go without making him feel worse about it. He’s devoted to Ian, so he knows that dragging him along on the run into the unknown won’t be good for him. He needs stability and a support system and medication, none of which Mickey can provide if they cross that border together. So, out of his devotion, he lets Ian go. They have a heartfelt goodbye and separate for what they think is the last time.

Does Mickey’s devotion lead him to turning himself in? Absolutely. But not before spending another long stint living his own life. The writers make sure we know that he had a life without Ian playing a role in it, once again conducting business and operating successfully on his own merits. They’re limited in what they can show because Noel wasn’t available, which made logistics important, but they didn’t leave him high and dry or insinuate that he was waiting around in Mexico for an excuse to return to Ian. He was once again a successful businessman in the illicit economy. When he returns in s10, his storyline does then appear to revolve around devotion to Ian more—but it doesn’t. Mickey has people he hangs out with in prison separate from Ian and with no ties to him. With the Byron situation, it wasn’t about proving devotion for Ian when he thought Ian questioned it—it was about hurting Ian because of what happened at the courthouse, even after he found out what Ian was really afraid of. If the writers were only interested in showing his devotion to Ian, he would have ditched Byron the second Ian told him that he was scared of his disorder and ruining them. He doesn’t. He sticks it out because Mickey is so much more than his relationship with Ian: he’s independent, vengeful, hot-headed, impulsive, and stubborn. These are traits that have been set up by the writers throughout the series both with and without ties to their relationship, and he very adamantly adheres to his revenge-plot-turned-catalyst-for-Ian-pulling-his-head-out-of-his-ass because he isn’t all about devotion to Ian.

I completely respect your opinion on the matter and appreciate the opportunity to discuss it at length! Ultimately, it boils down to this for me: the writers get a lot off flack for some of the narrative decisions and, of course, they won’t always be to our liking. Opinions and preferences assure us of that. I don’t think it’s about us being more realistic or more capable of analyzing a character, though. Everything above was written. It wasn’t spelled out and handed to us, no, but the writers put it there so that we could then analyze it. There’s no analyzing a blank slate or someone whose only narrative is devotion to Ian. The writers have given us a wealth of things to consider when it comes to all the characters, Mickey included, and we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation if they didn’t. Mickey is intelligent, thoughtful, insightful, and more than capable of standing on his own two feet as both a fictional person and a character. If he chose Ian, then it’s because he has weighed all these things and found them to be nothing in the grand scheme of their love for one another. Again, though, we can agree to disagree. Thank you for this ask—I find myself writing more about Ian, so I had a lot of fun thinking back over the series to answer it! 😃🧡

#shameless #meta #Mickey milkovich #Ian gallagher #gallavich #I probably shouldn’t tag this because it’s inviting vitriol #but it’ll get shared anyway #so please be kind folks #this is just my opinion #and ultimately defends Mickey

[imagines-by-rose]

New Recruit - Part 1

Hello, again! Thank you all for the positive responses to my first fic, it means so, so much. I hope you enjoy this multi-part work!

Summary: Y/n is brought into Kingsman as Lancelot after the events leading to Roxy’s death, and Eggsy is furious. As the two work together to stop a notorious jewel thief, however, attitudes change - and feelings develop.

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Genre: Angst w/ a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Death

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

He hated this. He hated her.

Well -- what she represented, at least.

He especially hated how much she reminded him of her predecessor. God, she even looked like her! This girl -- y/n, he remembered -- was the new Lancelot. Finished basic training with flying colors just last week. Just thinking about it made him scowl. She had no idea who’s place she was standing in. What right did she have to just waltz in with what he could only assume was pride? It was hard enough when Harry was killed. Now Roxy, his Lancelot, was murdered. And not two months since that damn explosion took her life, some new recruit is assuming her place? He just couldn’t stand it.

“Kingsman really doesn’t waste any fucking time, huh?” The bitter thought struck him.

“Galahad,” Merlin’s call of Eggsy’s codename fuzzed with an electric static through his eyeglasses. “You’re to join Lancelot and myself in the briefing room in five minutes. We’ve got a mission for you two.”

Oh, great.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Eggsy stilled when he heard somber voices from behind the briefing room door. Curious, he leant his ear against the doorframe, trying not to make a sound.

“I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, y/n. I want to thank you personally for joining Kingsman on such short notice, given the circumstances. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Merlin. That means a lot, really.”

Curiosity gave way to frustration. What could Merlin possibly have to console y/n over, of all people? Oh, sorry about the rushed training regimen, usually new recruits get ten days instead of seven. Is he serious? Merlin’s comforting Roxy’s replacement? She didn’t even know her.

Unbelievable.

Having heard enough, Eggsy roughly opened the door, abruptly ending any conversation. Y/n seemed timid at the sight of him, looking to her hands and twiddling her thumbs.

She looked pathetic. Eggsy wondered how someone like her could even become an agent at all.

He sat with a huff, surprised to see an outstretched hand before him.

"You must be Eggsy," she smiled politely. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm y/n y/--" 

"It's Galahad."

Her hand faltered. "I'm sorry?"

"Address me as Galahad, agent." His voice sounded cold, even to him.

A simple "oh" was all she said before taking a seat.

Eggsy didn't miss the look of disapproval on Merlin's face. It made him feel like a scolded child.

Who was he? His mum?

He supposed that was a bit harsh, but Eggsy was nothing if not stubborn. He crossed his arms indignantly and looked away with a roll of his eyes.

The air was awkward as Merlin went over the details of the mission. Eggsy wouldn’t look at y/n in the eye. She was obviously uncomfortable, shifting in her seat whenever her attempts to lighten the atmosphere between them were refuted.

“This," Merlin tapped his clipboard, prompting a photo of a woman to appear on a screen behind him, "is Svetlana Ivanov. She's stolen several priceless jewels worldwide; the rarer the better. Though she came close, Ivanov failed to steal the Hope Diamond from the Smithsonian a few months ago. The Statesman saw to that mission."

Eggsy whistled. "Well that's impressive, innit? Goin’ after the Heart of the Ocean, an’ all?"

Merlin appeared unamused, but the mirth in his eyes betrayed him.

"Do you find attempting grand theft impressive, Galahad?"

Eggsy shrugged, a smug grin on his face.

"We’ve received intel that she plans to steal the Centenary Diamond from the Tower of London. There will be a gala held to honor the 39th anniversary of its unveiling, the guests at which will all be patrons to the exhibit. You two will pose as a newlywed couple whose families contributed handsomely to the museum - anonymously, of course."

Merlin handed each agent a black folder. "These reports contain Ivanov’s photo, as well as those of the philanthropists with whom we expect you to socialize. Attached to each photo is a dossier containing enough personal information about the attendees for you to appear acquainted. Commit them to memory; we don’t need you drawing unnecessary attention. Understood?”

Eggsy made a noise of disapproval, clearly unimpressed with the assignment. “You’re jokin', bruv. Newlyweds? With her?” Eggsy gestured at y/n. “Are you taking the piss, Merlin? She’s only been here a week and you’re gonna make us pose as newlyweds?”

The calmness in Merlin’s voice did little to mask his anger. “As you know, if you’ve got a problem, Eggsy, you may address it to me in private.”

Y/n risked extending the olive branch once again. “Eg--" she paused, catching herself. "Galahad, I know I’m new, but I’m a fast learner. I promise I won’t let the mission down. If you’re uncomfortable, we could get to know each other first? It might help us act more convincing. You’ve been here longer than I have, I’m sure you could help--”

Eggsy shot up from his seat, furious.

“Just fuck off, Lancelot! If you’re trying to chum up to me you can leave it out, yeah? You’re not Roxy and you never will be, so stop fuckin’ tryin'!”

Y/n sank into herself, her gaze falling to the floor.

“For fuck’s sake, Eggsy! Would it kill you to be a decent human being for five minutes?”

Merlin’s outburst grounded him. Eggsy turned back to her, his rage ebbing into a shame that gripped his chest. Y/n wasn’t crying -- she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction -- but the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. Eggsy suddenly felt very small under her upturned glare. Her face twisted into a snarl, fists clenched at her sides, chest heaving.

She was livid.

“Y/n, I’m sor--”

“Don’t!” she spat. “Don’t you dare talk to me, Galahad.” Her voice growing more severe as tears began to swell in her eyes. “If anyone knows that Roxy -- that my sister is irreplaceable, it’s me.”

Eggsy’s eyes widened, his shame sinking deep and cold into his stomach. Now he’d really fucked up. He could only watch as y/n -- Roxy’s sister. Fuck! How did he not know? -- threw the door open and stormed out of the room.

He had to fix this.

“Care to tell me what the fuck that just was?”

Eggsy sank back into his seat, head in his hands.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

“Aye. A flaming heap of it, looks like.”

Merlin sighed and placed a comforting hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. “I know you miss her, Eggsy. We all do. But the world isn’t going to wait for us to finish mourning. Kingsman has a responsibility to uphold, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“I know, it’s just--” he sighed. “Seeing someone replace Roxy so fast…it was like she was being erased. I couldn’t stand it.”

Merlin’s hand gave Eggsy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know it looks cold to find someone to assume Lancelot’s position so quickly. But I assure you, Roxy will never be forgotten. You’re a testament to that, just as Harry was to your father.”

Eggsy’s lips tightened.

“What you’re feeling is shared by every Kingsman when an agent is lost. But we have always kept going. No one wants to know what could happen if we don’t press on.”

Eggsy rose from his seat. Merlin was right, as always.

“You’d better go sort this out. The mission is in two weeks and I need you both to be at your best.”

Eggsy nodded, heading in y/n’s direction before stopping at the door.

“Thanks, Merlin. I owe you one.”

“Anytime, lad.”

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

A/N: I hope y’all are liking it so far! Part 2 is currently in the works, so I’ll try to get that out when I can.

‘Til next time!

#eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy imagine #kingsman imagine #angst

[gallavictorious]

GW 2020: Kids

The call comes on a Thursday evening in October, right after everyone's sat themselves down for a mac and cheese dinner. Mickey picks up his phone, frowns at the display, and goes outside to take the call. When he returns he has a strange look on his face, but before Ian can ask him about it Franny spills her milk all over the table and is inconsolable, and then it's Ian's turn to do the dishes, and then Liam wants to interview him for a paper's he's writing, and yeah. Ian forgets all about the call.

He remembers it the next day, when Mickey is still unusually quiet and withdrawn, opening his mouth only to snap at whoever's nearby. Knowing his husband and knowing that sometimes it's better not to push, Ian gives him until Sunday to start talking. But Mickey doesn't, and so Ian waits until the rest of the family's out of the house, and then he grabs a couple of beers and walks over to the couch where Mickey's been sprawled since breakfast.

There's a rerun of last night's game playing on the TV, but Mickey is obviously not paying any real attention to it. He looks up when Ian sits down next to him, and his eyes narrow slightly when he's handed a beer. Understanding what's about to go down, most likely, and not liking it.

Too fucking bad. They're married now: they've got to talk about shit.

Ian takes a sip from his bottle, then looks straight at Mickey. ”So. Gonna tell me what's going on?”

It's a sign of how far they come, he thinks, when Mickey doesn't immediately brush him off; doesn't ask him what the hell he's on about or tells him to fuck off. Instead Mickey just keeps his unseeing eyes trained at the TV screen for a moment, and then his shoulders drop ever so slightly.

“Svetlana called,” he says, and before Ian can voice his surprise he plows on: “Apparently the kid's been asking about his dad. She wants me to see him.” He sneaks a quick glance at Ian, as if to gauge his reaction.

Ian doesn't know how to react. For something to do, he drinks deep of his beer while his mind races.

The kid. Yevgeny. They've not really talked about him. Not on the road to Mexico and not in prison and not after they got out, though he's been on Ian's mind more than once. It's complicated, that part of their lives, and hard to talk about, still. It's not made easier by Mickey's insistence they let the past be the past and live in the fucking now, Ian, who the fuck cares what happened five years ago?

“How did Svetlana get your number?” Ian asks, grasping for the easy, unimportant question.

Mickey shrugs. “I dunno, but apparently she's fucking loaded now – that old rich dude she married croaked a couple of years ago – so I guess she could've just paid some sucker to find out. She knew about Mexico.” He glances at Ian again. “Knew we got married. Didn't know about me ratting out the cartel, thank fuck, or you bet she'd used that to blackmail me into seeing the kid.”

“You gonna do it?” Ian tries to keep his voice calm, neutral. This has to be Mickey's decision. Has to be, though Ian's heart fucking aches at the thought of seeing Yevgeny again. He's got plenty of regrets, and the way he'd distanced himself from Svet and Yev when he tried to distance himself from everything that reminded him of Mickey sure as hell is one of them. Not one of the greater, perhaps, but one long gone unadressed, and painful for it.

But, Mickey's decision. Has to be that.

The look Mickey gives him suggests that he's not in any way fooled by Ian's casual demeanor. He doesn't mention it, though. “I don't know,” he says instead. “Kid's got a mom and lives in a fucking mansion. Don't really know what he'd need a gay convict dad for.”

There's a hint of uncertainty in his voice; a question hidden there. Unasked, though, so Ian is careful when he answers: “Pretty common for kids to want to know where they came from, right? Like, they're better off for knowing their parents, least a little.”

“We'd both be hell of a lot better off without our parents,” Mickey points out, and sure, that's not much Ian can say to that. But:

“Don't see you stealing his savings to buy drugs or trying to kill him over his sexuality, so I'd you're still a step up from Frank or Terry.”

Mickey snorts. “Low fucking bar, Gallagher.”

Well, he's not wrong about that. Ian acknowledges the point with a grimace. ”Okay, forget about what's best for Yev for a moment,” he says. ”Do you want to see him?”

”I don't know.” It comes quickly, annoyed, and Ian knows that Mickey is telling him the absolute truth; that he has been pondering this very question for the last few days, and is distressed that he's not come up with an answer yet.

Ian nods. Doesn't push. ”Okay.” He shifts a little bit closer so that he can put his arm around Mickey's shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to his hair. ”Let me know when you've decided?”

A sigh, as Mickey leans back against him, relaxing. ”Yeah.”

---

Two days later he does, and Ian nods again and kisses him again, and when in a week Svetlana sends a car around to pick him up, Ian is there to watch him go, and there when he returns in evening, and when later that night, in bed, Mickey turns to him and begins to talk, Ian is there to listen.

#GW2020 #gallavich #fic #my stuff

[testingtwns]

I finished the really really long original stuck sneeze story at last

HEY LOOK I DID IT !

Sorry this took so long. I made two posts before this to say it was coming soon, which was in order to garner interest and hopefully drum up my own interest in the process. Well, it totally backfired, and I intimidated myself into not writing at all. So, thank you for your patience with me!

Considering that this is a 13k-word stuck sneeze story, it’s like 98% build-up, so instead of being posted in parts, it’s all here. Not gonna leave anyone hangin’ without the part where sneezing actually happens. Since that’s why we’re all here I mean duh

Well... enjoy I guess ! 

It started at noon on a calm summer day. The royal family ate in the solarium, as they always did at mealtime, with the head of the table taken by Queen Cveta, heir apparent Arkady to her left, and the rest of the princes and princesses continuing in birth order down the line, all except for Vjera. Each window of the glass room was so perfectly clear as to be nearly invisible, giving a great view of the flourishing garden and all the curious creatures that it attracted. Hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees and swallowtails dipped and dove among the fauna, making for a very theatrical view, as it so often did. In the fall, there were deer; in the winter, ptarmigans and cardinals; and in the spring the deer came back, bringing with them their knobby fawns. Zlata and Pedja were hoping to see a set of those soft brown ears peering above the heather today, but the eldest siblings ate rather quietly, somewhat subdued. They knew they were supposed to be happy, but it was hard to say goodbye to one of their own.

Svetlana scooted boiled cabbage around her plate with her fork, and Dmitar leaned one elbow on the table and slouched a bit, totally forgetting his manners. As the eldest sibling, Arkady could not allow his sadness to be so easily observed, especially in front of the kitchen attendants bringing sweetbreads to and from the table. It would not do well for the next-in-line to seem disappointed about his sister's betrothal to the prince of a neighboring kingdom. But soon that was no longer the thought at the forefront of Arkady’s mind.

He had just filled his mouth with a sip of cold honey tea when a desire to sneeze hit him with startling urgency. Arkady's eyes widened before clamping shut, and he hastened to swallow before the squirming tickle at the roof of his mouth could win out. He had been groomed to have the best of manners, to keep from sneezing during meals, but this tickle was unusually urgent, and it wasn’t going to let him have a say. Arkady acted fast. One hand sloppily placed the glass back down, the other ushered his napkin to his face as he turned away from the table. He inhaled loudly once, twice, three times, and held the cloth tightly to his nose, sure whatever was coming would be impressive…

“Hhhtt-!”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

For a moment, his whole body seemed to stall. Then, just as quickly as it came on, the sneeze disappeared, leaving nothing but the burning embers of an itch that hadn’t been soothed. Arkady sniffed, hoping to either fan the little flame or blow it out, but it wouldn’t be tempted in either direction. He could only blink in puzzlement, and at the tears that had started in the corners of his eyes, formed by unrealized desire.

When he lowered his hands, his whole family was staring at him from their individual places at the table, spoons or forks halfway to their mouths.

“Uh,” Arkady began, mildly sheepish as he returned the unused napkin to his lap, “I thought I was going to sneeze.”

“We all did,” said Zlata. “Why didn’t you?”

“It would have been good luck,” Pedja piped up.

“I was trying to,” Arkady insisted, almost defensively. “I would have liked to.” He kneaded the side of his nose hard with one knuckle. “It still feels as if I might.” Indeed, as those words left him, his mouth began to quiver open when the faint sensation twitched back to life. Both hands secured the napkin around his nose, and his eyelids squeezed together, and his insides felt like they were buzzing with anticipation, and—no. It still wasn’t to be. Arkady came down from the sneeze with a long sigh and blew his nose, which didn’t help much. His eyelashes were already damp from the tickle alone.

His brothers and sisters were staring at him again, strangely but clearly also fascinated for the conclusion to this little breakfast drama. It was Svetlana who glanced fervidly around the table in search of a solution. “Maybe there’s something spicy around here you can eat. Or something strong you can smell.”

“Hold on, now. Don’t provoke it.” It was their mother, Queen Cveta, who spoke now. “This could be Ilari’s doing.”

Arkady’s eyebrows slouched. “Or maybe I just have to sneeze, and I can’t d… do ihht…” The tickle struck a third time in as many minutes, and Arkady couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Cloth napkin around his face again, his family became colorful blurs before his eyes. They were all watching unabashedly… Embarrassed, he ducked into the cloth to hide. Gasp… gasp… Huff. No.

He raised his head blearily and narrowed his gaze. “Could you all at least have the courtesy not to stare at me?”

“Why?” said Pedja innocently. Staring was among his favorite hobbies.

“Because it’s impolite,” Arkady said. When Pedja only continued to gaze at him, he added flatly, “And if you stare for too long, your eyes will dry up and fall out of your head, and birds will come and eat them.”

“Wow,” said Pedja.

“That’s enough of that. This may be serious,” Queen Cveta continued calmly. “Sneezing is a sign of good health and good fortune, and protection from the gods. It is usual to be able to sneeze—the opposite is not. This could be a message.” There was only slight worry in her steady look, but she was adamant when she told him, “Go to Jaga, and ask her what it might mean. She will be able to tell you.”

Arkady looked at his plate of rolls and boiled potato salad and pork aspic, which was only halfway finished. “I’d sort of rather try my luck with some spicy food,” he said.

“Go to Jaga,” Queen Cveta repeated.

It was a lost cause. Even if he was next in line for the throne, she was the Queen, and the Queen’s word was second only to the gods’. Sighing, Arkady stood to leave, but his sigh turned into a sharp snaggle of breath, and another, and another, and another, and as Arkady gripped the top of his chair desperately for support, the whole morning seemed to go silent waiting for his sneeze... but still it eluded him. Arkady’s brothers and sisters made a collective sound of discouragement on his behalf.

“If you think it’s annoying for you,” he said, touchy and a little flushed, “just think of how annoying it is for me!”

He exited directly into the garden, following the stepping stones towards the footbridges that connected each of the Peaks, like their own mountainous islands. Each individual peak hosted its own type of building: guesthouses, greenhouses, the royal family’s grounds, and the outbuildings, such as the one where Jaga lived. Each member of the royal entourage lived within the sanctuary walls; they were like family to Arkady, and they loved him as much as he loved them. He loved that they too could be protected by the same archers and guardsmen that kept his family from harm. But Arkady had heard it was different outside of his kingdom of Gornoye. In Dolina and Vodopad, the palace attendants were considered servants and could not look the king and queen in the eyes without punishment. They had to bow their heads and say “I beg your pardon” every time they entered a room. Would it be so in Derevo too?

Like a sense of dread, Arkady's sneeze came creeping back to tug his thoughts away from the matter of his sister's betrothal and towards this impossible itch. Oh, how it itched. Arkady stumbled to the wood railing of the bridge with clouding eyes, hoping that if the gods really had anything to do with this, they'd let him sn– “Huh-hhhh...” sneeze already– “Ehhthehheh... Hah! Utchtt-!” His breath stuttered: it was right there, right in the place that should have his voice bursting out of him like an announcement, and yet...

It didn't.

But it did keep his eyes shut tight, holding him in a place of such utter discomfort that he had to shake his head hard against it. If it wasn't going to happen, would it at least leave him alone? When he had enough control back to rub his nose, he did so, hoping to squash the inner tickle from the outside. It was barely a solution. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, but even then his vision was skewed by more stinging tears than he knew what to do with. One even went down his cheek.

"Brother! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Arkady turned muzzily to his left. He had immediately recognized the voice as Vjera's, which was good, because the tears obscured her face to the point where she looked scarcely recognizable. He pulled the heels of his hands over his sleeves to dry the water in his eyes.

"I must look as if I'm crying," he said, sniffling hard, sure his nose was some shade of red. He laughed a bit to show he wasn't sad, though the situation hardly felt funny at all. "I almost wish I was. It would be better than what's really happening."

Vjera was wearing a simple black pinafore dress, and her soft, dark hair hung down without any sort of style. She was likely holding off as long as she could from preparing for Prince Ivar's arrival. She and her siblings often dressed formally for company, so any break from the layers of high-collared shirts and embroidered coats was a welcome one. She reached out and touched the sleeve of his loose, soft tunic now. "What's really happening? Are you going to throw up?"

"Uh, no," Arkady said, with a slight chuckle at her bluntness. "No... Augh." He scrubbed hard at the fire in his snout. He turned away slightly as he did so; it was embarrassing to make those silly, hesitant faces in front of anyone. “It's my nose. I've got to sneeze, but I can't. I just keep gasping and then nothing happens. Mother thinks Ilari has something to do with it. She thinks it might be a sign of some sort. I don't know what it is, but I hope Jaga has a solution, because I can hardly stand it another second."

Vjera flashed a keen little grin. "What a pain. I would scare it out of you if I could."

"You always were a bit too good at curing my hiccups," Arkady said, remembering in their youth how, after complaining of the ailment, she would wait until he had been hiccuping for a good five minutes, then reach out from underneath his bed or under his study table and grab his ankles as tightly as she could. It had never failed to make him yelp.

Even such a simple memory inspired nostalgia. His eyes saddened. "You're really leaving tomorrow."

"I really am," Vjera sighed. She became gentle, lightly touching the railing and gazing into the Sheerwater River below. "I told you I was ready, and I thought I meant it. But today I feel less sure. I am going to miss watching the girls and little Pedja grow into adults, and I'll miss Dmitar's singing, his jokes. But it’s you I’m going to miss most of all. What am I going to do without my best friend?”

Arkady gazed into the gorge too. "I wish I knew the answer. I've been asking myself the same question." And I’ve been asking the gods, too, he thought, but decided not to admit it. Such trivialities were not exactly meant for gods’ ears.

The siblings smiled at each other, bittersweet, and embraced for what was sure not to be the last time that day. They understood each other like no one else could. They had endured many of the same lessons in etiquette and politics while they grew up, as Vjera would be second in line for the throne until Arkady himself had children. Because of those lessons, they both had understood all their lives that they would not marry for love so much as for political reasoning. It was part of why they had turned to each other so desperately for friendship, each acting as an anchor in a life full of acquaintances and kowtowers and even those who meant well but could never fathom the burdens of the crown.

The running water below filled the silence—at least until Arkady began, again, gathering unsteady breaths. He pulled away from his sister's shoulder, held a hand in front of his face, praying it would soon be catching the results of a truly satisfying sneeze. Twenty-five years of etiquette lessons had been engrained in him, and usually the idea of sneezing without a cloth ready seemed preposterous. But this tickle was even more preposterous, so etiquette was long forgotten. All that mattered was the sneeze.

He tried his damnedest to make it happen. His tongue cupped itself and pressed to the bottom of his mouth. "Hhhuuhhhth... Shehh..." he begged. Then he found himself doing something he had seen others do when they were about to sneeze, which was use a hand to fan in front of his face. Arkady had no idea how such an action would serve him, but they said necessity was the mother of invention. And it seemed... to be... helping... a l-little...!

"Ehh...! Ehsh-!... … hyew..."

A weird, finite little noise escaped him then. Arkady blinked largely in surprise. He had not sneezed, but he had spoken a sneeze-like sound nonetheless, and he hadn't even meant to. It was as if he had wanted it so badly, even feigning the act was better than nothing.

But oh, how much nothing it had done.

Vjera seemed just as confused by this. "Was that... a sneeze?"

"No!" Arkady growled. He coughed and rubbed at his face. "No... Sorry for snapping. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry with my nose. I'd rip it off and throw it into the gorge if I could. Anything to escape this torture."

When there was no response to that, Arkady glanced up from tending to his nose to look at his sister. Her mouth was a hard line, and her eyes sparkled at him.

Arkady frowned. “It’s not funny!”

Vjera held her pointer finger and thumb apart. “It’s a little funny.”

“If this were happening to you, you wouldn’t be so amused,” Arkady said.

“But it isn’t happening to me,” Vjera said.

“So that means it’s funny?”

“It does,” Vjera nodded.

At her brother’s frustrated expression and further badgering of his nose, Vjera finally took pity on him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure Jaga will take good care of you. I was just there myself, anyway, and I’m feeling a bit better.”

Arkady was alert at once. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to fret about. I just feel nauseous,” Vjera admitted. “I wanted to eat with you all this morning, and just now, but even the idea of food is too much. I think my stomach is more upset about this betrothal than I am.” She paused. “I-I mean… no, not upset. I just meant…”

He knew what she meant: If anyone sees me looking miserable on the day I’m going to meet my future husband, it’s won’t send the right message to our people.

A herd of low mountain clouds had been passing through them for a while. “No one can see us right now, Ra. Will you be honest with me at least?”

Vjera chewed her lip. Her nickname seemed to undo something in her heart for a moment, but she hid it fast, as future queens did. “I’m not being dishonest. I’ve made my peace with it. And even though I’m nervous, I’m also excited, really. It’s just a lot of newness at once. It’s overwhelming.”

Arkady wanted to coax more of the truth out of her, but something was overwhelming him too. “Gods, not again… Suh-Sorry…” he breathed, his hands going up to his face guiltily, but he couldn’t think or speak when he was like this. The tickle was like a teething puppy, nipping and nuzzling in the back of his nose. He pinched it hard, asking it to stop. Two, three, four gasps later, the urge delivered a final, aching burn, and he was back to feeling unrelieved and unable to sneeze.

Arkady blinked hard and smudged at his eyes. “Ugh… I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Vjera shook her head, “and go to Jaga now. Keeping you here any longer would be cruel.”

“You aren’t keeping me,” Arkady said. He couldn’t stop touching at his nose though.

“I am, and I won’t anymore,” she insisted. She gently nudged him in the direction she’d come from. “Please go have something done about your poor nose.”

"I sure hope something is done," Arkady sighed. "I'd love to have this over with at last. I promise I'll make for better conversation after I finally sneeze."

"Good luck," Vjera wished him before he continued his short journey to the herbalist’s abode.

The steeply-sloped, pentagonal building Jaga conducted her work in was just over the bridge that connected the main plateau to one of the many surrounding peaks. Jaga spent most of her time preparing medicines and tending to her plants, plants that she named and talked to as if they were children. Though half of the building was designed like a greenhouse, her workspace had but one window, so she lived like a cave-dweller when she wasn’t out culling flora, and wore a wild mane to match her wild lifestyle. Due to her many eccentricities, it was easy to forget that she was a genius of an herbalist.

Jaga had just two years ago taken over the late Rosa's position. Where Rosa had been a gentle presence with a sagely bedside manner, Jaga was overzealous when it came to healing. A person with an ailment was certainly more interesting to her than a person without one. Because of that, Arkady felt a little reluctant to let her know what was going on with him. But if she could cure this itch, it was well worth any fuss.

And the moment Arkady walked into her keep, that accursed itch returned with a vengeance. “Um, good day, J-Jagahh...” he trailed off almost immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth, eyes closing just before he noticed the tousled witch looking up from her mortar and pestle. “I'm... um... hh...” I’m unable to talk just yet because I’m trying to sneeze. He sensed her at his side, even as he struggled and pleaded for the sensation to free itself. He turned a bit, not exactly enthusiastic for her to see his face in this state, yet unable to care too terribly much at this point. “Hhhh... HhHH-!”

He waited. Jaga waited. They both waited.

Aaand nothing. Again.

Arkady gulped at the air and fervidly blinked away the stars in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hhh... Sorry… I’m-”

"You can't sneeze," Jaga said simply. Though at least a decade older than the prince, she was eight inches shorter, and yet somehow she seemed to be right in his face, staring up the length of her own nose at his unmanageable one. She appeared very interested in him.

"Um," Arkady felt himself flushing again, "yes." He sniffled, rubbed at his upper lip. "I just want to do away with whatever’s causing this," he admitted, "but Queen Cveta is worried it might mean something.”

"And she should be," Jaga said. "Ilari is trying to send you a message."

Arkady slumped his shoulders. "You think so too?"

"How do you feel right now?" Jaga ignored his question to field her own. "Does your nose still tickle? Do you feel that you could sneeze any moment? Or is it more of an itch you can't scratch?"

"I-I don't know," Arkady panted, "but the more you tuh... talk about it, the more I want... tuhhhh... Hh, h, heh, nh-!" His mounting breaths hit an octave that seemed to promise results, but all too soon he was sighing out the air he'd swallowed, unfulfilled. Arkady cupped a hand over his poor abused nose. "Ugh... the more I want to sneeze."

Jaga's eyes were glittering like camel jasper. "How interesting," she said. "You really need it, don't you? But you still can't manage to do it?"

Throwing the truth back in his face kind of stung. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," he huffed.

Jaga put her hands on her hips, staring off into space thoughtfully. She did this for long enough that Arkady felt the tickle in him stirring again, a demanding little niggle, yet it would not be satisfied. He went to touch his nose, to relieve it even just a tiny bit, and was surprised to feel a hand upon his wrist stopping him.

"H-Hey. Don't." It was a lame argument, but the current pulse of the distant sneeze had left him in a trance-like state where all he could think about was relief.

“I know it's bothering you," Jaga said with a smirk, "and I don't blame you for wanting to scratch. But listen. If I learned anything from Rosa, it's that the ailments of the royal family are never to be ignored. And even you know well enough that sneezing is considered a direct message from the gods.”

"But I'm not sneezing." Arkady hoped the slight whine in his voice would inspire sympathy. "Isn't that the opposite of a sign?"

Jaga shook her head. "Without a doubt, it’s a sign," she said. She went back to her table and returned with a nearly-empty clay mug. "The leaves told me all I needed to know. Something important is going to happen today. And your sneezing—or not-sneezing, rather—might just be connected to it."

"We already know what the important thing is," Arkady grumbled. "Prince Ivar and his entourage are coming."

"Perhaps that is the important thing," Jaga said as she circled the rim of the mug with her finger, "perhaps it isn't. But in order for the gods' sign to arrive when it needs to arrive, you must leave your nose alone. If you try to make the sneeze come too soon or late, you may never receive the message they are sending you. The fact that you can't sneeze, that you try and fail? This is all part of their plan. Be patient, and trust their judgment."

Arkady's fingers grasped uselessly at the air before his face. "At this point, I'd... rather s... s-sneez- ha-haH…!"

Jaga waited with him in the pregnant silence that followed. She tsked any time his fingers went too close to his nostrils, desperate to rub or aid in any way possible. The self-consciousness over the faces he was pulling was disappearing fast: every time his breathing snagged, all he could hope was that the sneeze was coming at last and that he'd be free of this strange torment. And it held him just above his breaking point for so long, when the sneeze did finally disappear, Arkady snarled at the ceiling, "There’d better be a good reason for this, damn it!"

Old Rosa might have gasped at that, but Jaga was made of different stuff. "Don't brush the gods off so quickly," she said with a light laugh. "You've done nothing to anger them—well, aside from the aforementioned damning. Right?”

Arkady paused. “I can’t think of anything.”

Jaga nodded. “You have the blood of Ilari, whose sneeze saved us from the floods. It's possible that your sneeze could even save you. So let it come in its own good time."

“There is nothing good about the time it’s taking.” Arkady sniffed hard. All these tears were turning his sinuses to liquid. “Do you have anything I can use for a handkerchief?”

For a moment, Arkady was afraid she wouldn’t let him blow his nose, but she found him a cloth, and he accepted it gratefully. Using it helped him feel a bit more clear-headed, but now the tickle was merely a dry one instead of wet, which was just as bad. He snuffled around in the kerchief until Jaga commanded, “That’s enough. Leave it be. Leave it!” She swatted at his wrist. “Am I going to have to follow you all day to make sure you don’t scratch?”

The prince reluctantly removed his hands, scowling. “No.”

“Good,” Jaga said. “And you promise me, as soon as you sneeze, you tell me about where you were, what was happening, what you were thinking—everything. Come back if it hasn’t happened in a few more hours.”

“A few more hours?” Arkady stared at her, jaw dropping. “You think it might last that long?!”

“It could,” was the unfortunate response. “If it does last that long than the message is likely to be an important one.”

Arkady was silent, staring down at the kerchief as he folded it into a neat triangle.

Jaga had returned to her pestle and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I know a look of doubt when I see one,” she said with a slyness. “I’ll follow you all day if I have to, Prince. Don’t you meddle with that sneeze. If Ilari hadn’t sneezed at the time and place he did, Gornoye wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, would we? So you let it alone.”

“All right, all right, I won’t bother it,” Arkady lied. He put the kerchief in his pocket and folded his arms. “Well, then… If the best herbalist in Gornoye has no cure for me, than I suppose I had better go get ready for the Derevo entourage.”

He was being grouchy, he knew, and it only seemed to delight Jaga even more. “Farewell, Prince Arkady. And remember to have patience.”

“Have patience,” he muttered under his breath once he was outside. He knuckled his nose. Who in the world could exercise patience when they felt like he did? Sneezes stopped and started three times in just the short walk from Jaga’s workspace back to the main palace and solarium. It was insanity.

Arkady snorted after the third bout of hitching breaths. Yes, of course he knew about the significance of Ilari’s sneeze; he’d been rocked to sleep with the story many a night, just like every child of the Ossian faith. It went that the great god Ossia, disgusted that the world of his making had been burnt and torn and destroyed by centuries of war, decided to flood the land with a rainstorm. And all the people of the world would have drowned, if the great dragon Ilari had not spontaneously sneezed a hole in the storm clouds, sparing one single mountainside of humanity. Those people had Ilari's blessing. Those people also, allegedly, were Arkady's ancestors.

In earnest, Arkady figured the chances of that were slim. His was not the only mountain town that believed they were the one saved by Ilari’s sneeze. The ancient texts told the story but never specified the location of the spared mountain. For him to be the true prince whose veins flowed with Ilari’s divinity was what he’d been told all his life, and something he’d doubted for just as long.

Though he debated the legitimacy of his birthright, Arkady did believe that the gods played some role in his fate. He also, however, hoped that the gods would have more efficient means of sending him a message than... this. "Hh! Hh-shhuh... hh..." The sneeze only stirred faintly this time before backing down. Arkady scrubbed and scrubbed his nose. Sometimes the tickle was an icicle point, a sharp stimulus, while at most times a puddle, a tingly sensation spread out over his entire nose but overall not near enough of a disturbance to make his breath catch. He wasn't sure which was worse. When the urge crested, the end seemed so tantalizingly close, and to have it taken away was crushing. When it was no more than a faint humming, it made him feel prickly and unsettled. It was ridiculous to go on doing nothing at all. Thus, Arkady had no intention of following Jaga’s advice. He was going to rid himself of this sneeze.

The method to do so was in itself a problem that needed solving. Arkady knew that some sneezed from the fur of animals or certain flowers or a musty room, but those things had never much bothered him. He tried to think of a time he had sneezed from something other than a spontaneous tickle or seasonal cold, and couldn't conjure a memory. And despite Svetlana's suggestion that he try spicy food, Arkady had never been so adversely affected by it. What options did that leave him?

Arkady thought back to the legend of Ilari. In some tellings of the story, it was said that the dragon god had sneezed when a bird had flown too close to their nose or even into their nose. Maybe, Arkady reasoned, he needed some external stimulus in order to get things moving too. He certainly wasn’t interested in waiting for the tickle to sort itself out.

A bird was small for a dragon, but for him a feather would work all the same. As he made his way to his family’s living quarters, Arkady tried to remember if there was a quill in his room. When had he last written a letter? “Hh…” It might have been the congratulations to Prince Feofan on the birth of his firstborn… “Hhehf…” Or the prayers to burn for the Vernal Equinox… “Huuffh!” He had to stop walking when the building sneeze temporarily blinded him, making his eyes clamp tight and squeeze out water. Gods, how he wanted it… If a feather couldn’t bring on this—“Huhh…”—stubborn thing, what could?

Arkady massaged the end of his nose to soothe the sharper stings the marauding itch left in its warpath. When he looked up, he realized the two guards that manned the entrance to the plateau’s inner wall were watching him. He stiffened, self-conscious. Did everyone feel the need to stare at a sneezing person?

As Arkady continued through the entrance, one managed, shakily, “A-Are you all right, Prince?”

“No,” Arkady grumbled, slouching past them. He had given up on looking put-together.

“Uh… is Ilari with you?” the second guard asked. She had at least recognized it was a sneeze that had stalled him. What she wasn’t sure of was if it had come out or not, for if she were certain it had, her words wouldn’t have been a question.

“Would that he could be,” was the monotone reply thrown over his shoulder. He heard a confused, “What do you mean, Prince?” follow behind him that he chose not to heed.

Arkady proceeded up the stairs of the verandah to the sleeping chambers. Beneath the porch’s long overhang was a series of doors leading to the individual bedrooms. Each royal child had their own bedroom, complete with bath and antechamber, and as he passed by, he could hear muffled conversation between his siblings and an attendant beyond the walls as they spruced up for their most important guests. Arkady knew he should be calling on Wolfert to help him with his wardrobe as soon as possible, but… all in good time. Getting rid of this sneeze was his top priority right now.

When Arkady opened the door to his own quarters, he was surprised to see his mother in the antechamber, seated on one of four hand-painted benches overflowing with decorative pillows. His heart sunk immediately; he’d have to talk with her before he could try his hand at tempting this sneeze, and he could barely put up with it for another second.

“Oh, hello,” he said, in a tone that he hoped did not sound any bit annoyed.

The Queen sat up taller at his arrival, even though she had been sitting with near-perfect posture. “Ah, there you are. That took a while. Did Jaga say you’re all right?”

Arkady blinked and recognized an opportunity. “I met Vjera along the way. We talked for a bit. That’s why I took so long,” he began. He coughed. “Uh, in any case, Jaga says she doesn’t think anything is wrong.”

Queen Cveta looked uncertain. “She doesn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” Arkady sniffed. “In fact, I sneezed while I was there.” That was the hardest lie to tell, for how much he wished it were the truth. “She doesn’t think the gods have anything to do with it. Sh-She thinks I must just be having a reaction to something in the garden.” He sniffed again.

Queen Cveta shook her head at once. “That can’t be right. We have tea with honey from our bees every day. You’d have surely built up a tolerance to anything growing there. Jaga of all people should know that.”

Uh-oh. “She thinks something different might be growing there,” he corrected quickly. “Some new, foreign thing… It was the only explanation she could thiiiink ah… of.” It’s the only explanation I can think of, anyway. “I-It’s still k-k-ki-hind of bothering me,” he was forced to say next, because the sneeze was starting up again and there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t. He pulled out the handkerchief Jaga gave him and rubbed his nose with it.

Queen Cveta observed him a moment longer. “All right,” she said at last, standing to her slippered feet. “If that’s what Jaga says… I suppose we had better find out what that plant could be, when we have the time. Will you be fine getting ready for our guests?”

“Hhhhhh… Hh!... heh… fyew. I, uh, sh-should be,” Arkady stuttered, lowering the handkerchief pathetically when the sneeze backed off. It was getting harder and harder to recover from the dizziness of the tickle. “They—snf!—should be arriving in around two hours, correct?”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, I think so. I’ve got to make sure all the preparations are in order, so I should leave now. Goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” he repeated, surprised but not disappointed by her suddenly taking leave. No sooner had she shut the door behind her that Arkady was moving out of the antechamber into his own bedroom, more than ready to find that quill.

His room was finely decorated in jeweled chests and embossed dressers and a beautifully-carved set of drawers with a shrine on top for water offerings, all wonderful gifts from visitors and royal families from far and wide. He didn’t treat them with the respect they deserved as he pawed through their contents, with his mind on one thing only. “Where is it… Where is it…” he started mumbling under his breath after his desk had been thoroughly searched, his bedside table emptied of all its candles and books. “It has to be here…” There were sure to be quills in the study, but that was in the main palace, and he didn’t want to risk his mother or Jaga sighting him. Plus, he wanted relief now.

The room had been turned upside-down. There was no quill in sight. The search had taken twenty minutes, a good portion of that time dedicated to waiting for his non-sneeze to dissipate enough that he could get back to said fruitless searching. Arkady's frustration mixed with the tickle had brought him near to tears. He flopped onto the bed, clawing his hair with both hands and chewing his lip. If he didn't do something about this now, he was going to lose it.

And that was when he remembered it. His pillows were feather pillows. There were thousands of them there the whole time, and now they were right under his head! But the only way to get to them was to rip through the hemstitched tussah silk.

Was he that desperate? He was.

But not so desperate that he was going to tear the innocent pillow apart like a barbarian. Arkady used his hip dagger to cut a delicate slit in the material, something that could hopefully be mended quite easily, but he shed any remaining trepidation when the pillow’s bounty was spilled. Innocent down, ashen gray and white, immediately bled from the wound, sticking up in tufts. The littlest bits of feathers floated into the air around his face, which had his eyes rolling back into his skull immediately.

“Heh-hh! Hh! H! H! H!” His gasps were so quick and light, they were almost silent. The tendrils he was sure he’d inhaled were having a horrible effect on him. This tickle was different, not a puppy’s nip but the playful grapple of a dog’s maw, so much more powerful but still not something to be taken seriously. Hitching and huffing against the minuscule plumes, he was eventually driven so mad that he had to pinch his nose with his entire hand; he couldn’t for the life of him wait another second for that sensation to mature into a sneeze, even if, by some miracle, that was the solution. When the worst of the sting faded, he loosened his grip and snorted hard to launch any feathery debris out. He wanted to sneeze, after all, not torture himself.

The feathers inside the pillow were much smaller than he had anticipated them being. The longest ones were scarcely more than an inch, and he had to dig around for quite a while to find one that he could actually hold the stem of without also holding the entire feather. His decided tool was still rather disheartening. A writing quill would have been far more dangerous, with its tapered point and great length. He hoped that the fluffiness of the down would make up for that.

The introduction of the feather’s rounded tip to the inside of his nostril initially seemed promising. The gentle barbs coaxed at the sneeze when they twitched against fragile pink skin, and Arkady’s heart soared at the thought that the end was nigh. But after half a minute of tickling, the sneeze only seemed further away. Eyebrows lowering, Arkady dug the feather deeper. Again, the sneeze receded, and he chased it like a hound after a burrowing rabbit. But soon he encountered the same problem that many dogs did: the prey was farther back in its hole than fangs could reach. The barbs of the feather were not long enough to graze the back of his nose.

Arkady pushed so that the beds of his fingernails were right against the opening of his nostril, the feather stretched to its limits. It still wasn’t enough; the sneeze danced merrily out of reach, arching its back and teasing him horribly but not allowing him the relief he longed for like anything. How ridiculous could this get? He had never known of anyone trying this hard to sneeze with such little success. Sure, he’d had a sneeze disappear on him before, but normally that only meant a moment of disappointment, a little throb that fast went away. His sneezes were usually utterly unremarkable. They came and went, in ones, twos, and rarely threes, if he were sick or if the urge had been especially strong, and after a brief shake of his head and a sniffle, Arkady would go on with his day. This sneeze was a bully. This sneeze felt alive. And as the hound could think of nothing but the death of its prey when it was so close, so too was Arkady determined.

He pushed that feather as far as it would reach. And somehow, some way, he felt its single longest follicle graze the back of his nose.

Arkady’s chest stuttered. Success. He swelled with pride. He couldn’t stop now. He scratched and swiped the feather against the sensitive skin, against the sneeze which had nowhere left to run. He starting inhaling fittishly and didn’t stop.

“Hhh, hh, hh, hh, hh! Hh! Hh-!”

His lungs felt enormous. His nose burned. The sneeze seemed real, close, about to break out of him. “Huh! Huhhhh! Hhhhhhhh…!” Arkady could take in air no more. All he needed was one more swipe of the feather… One more touch and then, surely… Surely…

It was at this crucial moment that Arkady found his hand unable to move. Possessed by the sheer power of this urge, he could devote himself to no other function. But that would be his undoing.

“H? Hh?? H-hhh???”

The possibility was fading fast, and Arkady briefly panicked, swirling the small feather wherever it could easily reach. But he was losing the breaths he’d gathered, and he knew it was over even before he felt an arm pulling his hand away from his face and an ever-jocular voice admonishing, “Now, Prince, I told you not to meddle with it, didn’t I?”

It took a while for his eyes to open, and even longer for his breathing to even out, so then for some time he could only stare at Jaga and Queen Cveta looking down at him, the witch smiling in amusement and his mother looking none-too-pleased.

“I hoped it wasn’t true, but I had a feeling I was being lied to,” Queen Cveta began. “Jaga has confirmed it. Why did you not tell me the truth?”

Arkady took a few more deep breaths. His diaphragm had been through a lot today. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Queen, when he was at last able to speak, “but I can’t tell you how badly I want to sneeze.” Then to Jaga, he said, “‘Meddling’ doesn’t do me any good, it still won’t happen. This isn’t a normal sneeze. The gods are punishing me, and I don’t know what for, but I have to find out and make it up to them as soon as possible.”

To his surprise and Queen Cveta’s, Jaga began to laugh. “Prince, Prince, Prince,” she shook her head, “what reason would the gods have to punish you?”

Arkady shook his head back. “As I said, I don’t know why. Of all days too; today should be about Vjera.”

Vjera… At her name, something dawned on him. “I know why,” he sighed, looking at his lap. “I’ve asked the gods every day for the past month if they could find Prince Ivar a different queen. But it was a selfish wish, and this is how they’re letting me know.”

“Arkady! Why would you pray for such a thing?” Queen Cveta stood tall. “This marriage will allow your sister to rule in a way she could not if she were to stay here. It isn’t right for you to use your influence over the gods in such a manner. This is a shameful thing for my successor to do.”

“I know,” Arkady answered evenly. “I see that now.” He looked up. “I could apologize for my actions, but then I will have lied to you twice in one day.”

The Queen temporarily maintained her ferocity, but her face soon softened into one of a mother. “I understand your sadness,” she said. She closed her eyes and became a queen again. “But that is the way of our world. Whatever kindnesses we offer ourselves often means we are taking something away from our people. And instead of praying for Gornoye’s continued protection and peace, you chose to ask for this. I almost find the gods’ punishment too light… but they know better than I do what is deserved.”

Arkady wanted to tell the Queen that this ‘punishment’ was, in fact, not something he would wish even on an enemy, but he was too busy dealing with said punishment to say so. The tickle was bubbling to the surface with as many empty promises as ever. “Feh,” he gasped anyway, weakly pleading with the sneeze for mercy, despite everything it had put him through today. It bothered and wheedled away, digging deeper than a feather or a breath could pry it out of, no matter how much he called to it. “Hh, heh! Heh, sheh! Ht-tz-! … … …shyew…”

It wasn’t a sneeze. Just like earlier with Vjera on the bridge, he’d made some kind of approximate noise in place of the sneeze, as if that would do him any good. Arkady tearily knuckled at his nose while Jaga and Queen Cveta exchanged glances.

“Was that… a sneeze?” the Queen finally asked.

Arkady gave a big snuffle. “No.”

“Hmmmmm,” hummed Jaga, rubbing her chin and looking as suspiciously amused as ever. After a thoughtful moment, she grinned. “Well, Prince Arkady, I suppose you’ll just have to wait it out. If the gods don’t want you to sneeze yet, it certainly isn’t going to happen.”

“Ugh.” Arkady massaged where his nose, eyes, and forehead met. “I’m not going to make for much of a host when I’m like this,” he grumbled, “but there’s not a lot of time left before Prince Ivar’s arrival. I just have to put up with it then?”

“Afraid so,” Jaga shrugged with her arms out to the sides. She then raised one hand up, swiveling her wrist to gesture somewhat lazily at the ceiling. “The gods will do as they will. But, sneezing or not, you have a job to do. It’s time we got back to readying for the entourage.”

“Right, right… Only two and a half hours to go.” Arkady stood up, going to ring the bell that would signal the attendant who helped him prepare and dress. Before he did, he called again to the Queen’s retreating back, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

She stopped and did not look at him, but said back with soft reservation, “Arkady… I thought by now you understood the way of things.”

“I thought I did too,” Arkady said. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

The Queen did not respond to that or look at him, but she did not seem angry either. Only Jaga responded, with a sparkly-eyed look that the prince wasn’t quite sure how to decipher, before she too left the room.

__________________________________________________

Arkady did not advise trying to sneeze while someone was washing your hair. It was, unfortunately, now advice he could give based on personal experience. Wolfert was still apologizing as he brushed the deep brown strands, as sorry about his mistake as Arkady should have been for abusing his influence over the gods.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have noticed,” Wolfert fretted for the sixth or seventh time.

“Ih-hih-hhhit’s fine-hUH! … This is g-going tooooh… k-k-keep happening, so, huh…” Arkady pinched his nose tight, massaging it in his fist. “Ugh… I may as well get used to… w-warning people about it.”

Arkady was trying to be reassuring, but now his nose itched and his sinuses felt singed. He’d had to sneeze in the middle of the bath, a possession which had hit him a hundredfold, almost as badly as when he’d had the feather in his nose. He’d had no time to warn Wolfert of the gathering urge before it had him yawning wide, nose scrunched back. And then, splash. A bucketful of water had cascaded over his soapy head, entering his lungs and making him choke and snort like a bull.

Since then, the tickle had escalated, no longer just a phantom urge. It felt like something was actually physically inside his nose, like a piece of dust or a hair, but no amount of snorting or nose blowing would resolve it. Arkady never imagined that water could cause such a response. All he knew was that it had made everything worse. Now there were no breaks from the huffing and fluttery talk. It was a feeling that constantly waxed and waned and brought him to the edge of the shore, only to drag him back out like a wicked undertow.

Everyone seemed to know about his predicament now too. No doubt his siblings had been gossiping with their attendants. Zlata, Pedja, and Svetlana each came into his bedchamber at one point, fully outfitted, to find out if he’d sneezed yet. They all lingered a bit after learning he hadn’t, too, as if wanting to be present when the dam finally burst. To them, his frantic breathing must sound as if he was very close to success, but by now Arkady knew better.

Wolfert was pinning up his hair (not the easiest task with a constantly fidgeting subject) when Vjera took her own turn in his room. “Dmitar told me you still haven’t sneezed! You poor thing!” she fretted, wringing her hands in front of her. “Are you going to be all right at dinner?”

Arkady struggled to smile, to reassure her. He could feel how very lopsided it was. “Prah… Probably not,” he managed. He rubbed his nose, which did almost nothing to help him speak. “I stih-stih-still-! Intend to b-be there-! No matter, hhhh…! Whuh-What.” He gave a hard sniffle, which caused his head to jerk, the comb to tug too hard, and the tickle to respond with absolute panic. Instantly, he was a mess of fits and starts, barely able to hear Wolfert’s “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” in the background. How was he going to make it through dinner without causing a scene? The answer was, he wasn’t. Usually Arkady would have taken absence from a formal meal under circumstances such as these, but Vjera was leaving tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice any of the short time he had left with her.

It took a lot of pawing and nudging against a very upset nose, but Arkady finally managed to compose himself enough that he could somewhat speak again. “I-I’m going to try… not to be too obvious.” It was hard enough to say that with only a hint of a struggle. “I may not make f-f-fah, for a… a g-great host, but snf! I’ll at l-heast be… present.” At his sister’s pitying look, he hung his head and sighed, “Th-This is honestly the b… best I can do.”

“I know it is. That’s why I feel so sorry for you,” Vjera said. “It doesn’t bother me, I just feel awful is all. I don’t know why the gods would do this to you now of all times.”

Arkady wanted to explain, but it wouldn’t be right to say so in front of Wolfert. “I’m sure th… they have their-!” With a sudden, sharp inhale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took a whole ten seconds for him to regain control. When he was able to see again, both Wolfert and Vjera were gazing down at him sadly. The suspense seemed to be killing everybody. Arkady could only finish lamely, “… Their reasons.”

When the Queen and all six of her progeny had been made to look their best, they began their procession to the outer courtyard with a small pack of guards in tow. It wasn’t long before Queen Cveta decided that Arkady wasn’t in the best of minds to navigate the stone steps leading down the mountain, and instructed him to meet them in the solarium for dinner instead. It was evening now, and their guests would surely want to sup as soon as they made it to the Plateau. Arkady had wanted to talk with Vjera on the way down, but he had to admit it just couldn’t be. Jaga looped her arm through his to help guide him back up the short distance he’d descended.

“How are you feeling, Prince?” she began by asking, a smile very present in her voice.

“Hehhh!” was all Arkady could manage at that particular moment.

Jaga cackled but tightened her grip on her swaying charge. “I’m glad I got a chance to chat with you privately. This may be very unorthodox of me to say, but I thought you ought to know: I don’t think Queen Cveta is correct. I stand by my original point. I think the gods are trying to protect you from something.”

Arkady brought his handkerchief up to his face. He couldn’t open his eyes or keep pace so well. “Ahhah… O-Oh-kah-kay…!”

“Are you going to sneeze?” Jaga sounded as curious as a she-cat.

Arkady shook his head rapidly, sure he looked to all the world like a person about to absolutely collapse sneezing. He had stopped hoping that the sneeze was about to come, because that only lead to discouragement. “D-Do me a favor,” he gasped after coming down from the tickle’s latest crest. “Don’t ask me if I’m about to sneeze. I’m not.”

“Very well,” Jaga said, almost soothingly, or at least it was coming from her. “It does seem to be worse than earlier, though, doesn’t it? Perhaps the moment is soon to arrive.”

“Don’t try to lift my hopes,” Arkady sighed as they approached the doors of the main palace and went inside. “And I have no idea what a sneeze could protect me from. It really f-feels… It f-fuh… It… It feels lihihi…” Arkady shut one eye tight, the other half-open, trying to talk past the tickle since it kept insisting on interrupting him. “Feels mah-more… like a… p… HA!” His enormous gasp filled the vaulted ceiling and echoed down around them. It was so spontaneously loud and poignant that for one bright moment, Arkady thought, Oh gods it really is here this time, and swung his head back to accept it. But he should have known better. It was just another fluke, set up seemingly to break his spirit.

“This is agony,” he groaned. “This whole day. It shouldn’t have been about this—” His hand gestured a circle in the air before his nose “—it should have been about saying goodbye to Vjera. I have no idea when I’ll see her again. And she needed my support, but I was too busy to offer it properly.” Arkady paused. “She doesn’t want to go, Jaga. You know that. When she came to you with the stomachache this morning, you knew that, too.” Jaga’s eyes were somewhat downcast. “And she wouldn’t open up to you either, would she? It’s all because of the way things are. The way they have to be for kings and queens and princes and princesses. You learn to keep everything inside, so that your people never have to see it, but then when do you let it go? When does Vjera let it go? It can’t keep building up forever, it can’t stay inside forever. But has it ever for her? If she won’t even tell me how she feels, who will she tell? Eventually, the truth has to come out. Doesn’t it? And maybe I could have convinced Vjera to tell me it, if I only I didn’t have this stupid…” Arkady trailed off.

The whole hall went quiet. Jaga reached out to him. “Prince–”

Arkady placed his hand on her shoulder unsteadily, breath chuffing. “Jaga, I’m going to sneeze…”

“Oh? Are you?” The witch rooted herself in place to better support him. “Isn’t that curious...”

Like a tidal wave, his sneeze seemed at last to be gathering itself for something momentous. Arkady felt blind and helpless beneath it; he was blind and helpless beneath it. His eyes were closed so tightly that a thousand tiny suns seemed to be exploding against his lids, but he couldn’t pay them any mind due to the reason his eyes were closed in the first place. Oh gods, the tickle. It was surely divine. It felt larger than him, larger than anything his body could have concocted or handled on its own, and he was at its mercy. It occurred to him, with sudden dread, that it was too much for him to handle, that, though it seemed to lick every sensitive part of his sinuses at once with fiery tongues, a sneeze could not possibly be born from such overpowering stimulation. His lungs pushed his chest out to its farthest as they took in every bit of air they could hold. He couldn’t move. He was absolutely frozen with the desire to sneeze.

Seconds ticked by, ten aching, unreal seconds of miserable itching. And at the end of it, still Arkady didn’t sneeze.

He wasn’t going to sneeze. Not yet. It was as if the gods were saying, Trust us. We know what we’re doing.

Arkady gasped as his lungs seemed to remember how to work. His eyes popped open wide, his senses returning to him. He turned slowly to look down at Jaga; her eyes were wide too. He realized then how much he must have been relying on her to keep on his feet. He swallowed, wrinkled his nose, and then wrinkled it even more when he realized just how badly his nostrils wanted a good rub for all their trouble.

Jaga didn’t chuckle at this display. “This is serious,” she said quietly. He had never heard her so sobered.

Arkady smudged the heel of his hand under his nose vigorously. “I think you’re right, but I also can’t imagine how or why it could be serious.”

“Allow me to join you at dinner tonight,” Jaga went on as if she didn’t hear him. “The moment you sneeze is going to be meaningful, I can tell. I should be with you when it happens, so I can assess what caused it.”

“Gods, I hope it happens at dinner,” Arkady had just finished saying when the doors to the main hall opened, and in poured the Derevo entourage.

The man that Vjera was arm-in-arm with must have been Prince Ivar. He was tall and handsome and brown-haired and his eyes were large, inviting. He was laughing and smiling down at Arkady’s sister warmly. He wore a green coat covered in black and gold embroidery, and there was a sash around his waist that held a sheathed knife to his middle. Vjera smiled at her betrothed too. They were still twenty feet away, so Arkady couldn’t be sure, but he hoped the grin on her face was a genuine one.

Jaga released Arkady so that he could bow and kneel before their guest. “Prince Ivar, w-welcome. I hope your travels went well. I am sorry that I was unable to, hh… meet you at the entrance.”

“Stand, please! I’m not used to these formalities from other royals, and I understand you are feeling under the weather.” Prince Ivar’s voice was like a newly-minted coin. “Where I come from, it is the servants and guardsmen who bow when royalty passes them by.”

Upon hearing that, Jaga, a bit confused but wanting to show a good impression, sunk down on one knee.

Arkady stood then, deciding too it was best not to say anything, but secretly wondering If he is my family’s guest, why would Jaga bow to him?

He shook the other prince’s hand, but immediately after felt his face begin to quirk in the same way it had all day. Vjera swiftly took the attention off her brother. “You and your entourage must be hungry after your travels. Why don’t we have your belongings delivered to your lodgings while we have dinner?”

Prince Ivar responded with approval, but Arkady could scarcely pay attention to his words, because his nose was going absolutely wild, and Jaga was once again tasked to keep him from toppling over.

“Hh-! Hh-ha! Jahh, Jagahh… HEH! Do yah, you h-h-have… Hhhh… A k-kerchief I could… Hhhh…” His nose was running in some far-back place, and it was hindering far more than it was helping.

“Easy, easy,” she said, as his breathing returned to some approximation of control, and handed him the cloth. Arkady blew into it. It helped a bit, but not at all to the degree he would have liked. “Prince, do I have your permission to join you in the solarium? I won’t take a place at the table. I merely want to observe.”

Arkady nodded with his eyes closed. His voice would not be reliable until he got the sneeze out—whenever that would be. As he continued to touch at his nose, Jaga guided him forward.

The dining table was long enough to host thirty people at once, which was useful considering the size of Prince Ivar’s party. Ivar sat directly opposite Queen Cveta, at the other end of the table, with Vjera to his left to keep him company. Arkady was torn, wanting to sit to Prince Ivar’s right in order to get to know him better, but also not wanting to spend formalities dithering with this sneeze. Seeing as he was already dithering with a sneeze, though, Jaga was in charge of directing him and decided he should sit with his mother and two youngest siblings at their end. He supposed it was for the best that Prince Ivar didn’t have to hear him wheezing. It worked out well for Zlata and Pedja, anyway, who were significantly more interested in witnessing their brother’s sneeze than making heads or tails of adult small talk.

“You still didn’t sneeze, right? I didn’t miss it?” Zlata asked in an excited whisper as her eldest brother sat next to her.

“Your deepest and most sincere condolences are more appreciated than you will ever know,” Arkady said.

Zlata looked away quickly and looked back. “Wellll… you didn’t, right?”

As another exhale stuttered out of him, Arkady gave her watery look that hopefully said, Gee, do you think?

Jaga was standing against the wall behind him, arms folded politely behind her back. He could feel her eyes on him too. How badly everyone wanted to be there for the eventual arrival of this sneeze. How badly they must think that, with each poignant, biting gasp, he was about to succumb to this almighty irritation. Arkady no longer let himself believe the torment was about to end. If he did, he would break his own spirit a hundred times over. He did, however, begin to accept its presence. Whether there to help or hinder, it was the doing of the gods that he feel this way. He would just have to trust their judgment.

It wasn’t until the fish dumpling soup was brought out that Arkady recognized just how hungry he was. He realized, too, how tricky the task of eating becomes when needing to sneeze as badly as he did. Even if he didn’t believe the sneeze was really coming yet, it felt dangerous to have a hot mouthful of broth when his body so vehemently wanted him to be working out this tickle. He shook his head against it and grimaced long enough that some of the guests were starting to notice one of their hosts was pulling the strangest faces imaginable, duck his chin though he might.

“Are you all right, Prince Arkady?” called the voice of a stranger.

Arkady could only wave in the direction of the speaker. He put his napkin around his face to hide his latest grimace. This was embarrassing…

“He’s all right, he just can’t sneeze,” Arkady heard Zlata explain in his stead. He looked at her weakly out of his peripherals. He didn’t feel all right: he felt like he wanted to fall asleep and wake up completely sneezeless.

“Hmm. That sounds like Ilari’s doing,” came another response from the Derevo entourage.

“Huh-!” Arkady couldn’t help gasping audibly, earning some chuckles from around the room.

“I’m sorry for you, friend,” Prince Ivar called next. “I want to say ‘Ilari is with you’ but it seems more likely that he’s somewhere else entirely.”

More laughter. Arkady tried to laugh too, which wasn’t the most difficult when his breathing already sounded a bit like that. A smile was hard to hold though, and he found himself tucking back into his napkin for whatever privacy he could salvage.

The voice that came next was sterner. “Prince Ivar is right. Ilari is not with this young man anymore. He must have done something to deserve punishment.”

That comment seemed to make the air a bit cold. Prince Ivar was the one to restore the happy atmosphere. “Says the old bat who skipped prayer this morning to catch a few extra winks! Cheer up, Sacha, have more wine. Which reminds me—I brought plenty of wine from our vineyards, too. They say there’s no other like it in all Vyshtopa, after all. Sacha, why don’t you go fetch it? I’m sure one of the guards would be happy to direct you to where they’re keeping our carts.”

Sacha was quiet for a moment. Then he stood carefully to his feet. “… Certainly. Apologies for my outburst, Queen Cveta.”

Arkady wasn’t sure how his mother handled the situation, because he was then overcome by a tickle of such proportions that none in the solarium could ignore his desperate, “Hh-huhhuh, htz, hdT-! HEHT-! … … … shiew…”

At that noise, all dialogue paused, until Prince Ivar had to ask, “Was that… a sneeze?”

“No,” Arkady choked out, and the air was full of collective groans of sympathy or mild laughter. Arkady mopped at his eyes with his napkin. He didn’t really like being the center of attention over anything, let alone this, and tried to focus on why he was even forcing himself to be at dinner in the first place. He glanced over at Vjera to see her conversing with her future husband. She caught his eye a moment later, looked at him with mild worry. Arkady wanted to smile, to assuage her, but a newly budding sneeze was already turning his mouth into a deep, harsh frown. He blew his nose and tried not to think about how much he wanted to leave. Building up to a sneeze this much was starting to tire him out…

“There we are! Thank you, Sacha.” Next thing he knew, the wine had been delivered, Prince Ivar himself pouring the dark liquid. “The first glass should go to Prince Arkady, I do believe. It’s strong stuff. It might just knock that wicked sneeze out of you!”

That was a nice idea. Arkady had his doubts it would be the case. Still, he gratefully accepted the beverage when it was delivered to him, wanting very much to show his guests that he was made for more than entertainment.

The wine was like liquid velvet. Its color was akin to the darkest blood. Asking his nose to quiet down and behave for just a moment, Arkady brought his lips to the rim of the glass…

Immediately, like a live thing, the tickle fought him.

It was like a hornet’s nest crashing to the earth and the entire swarm billowing up at once. That was the only way to describe the way in which the sneeze was now treating him. His head jerked away from the glass instinctively, snatching a huge breath through his nose. There was nothing coy about this feeling. It wasn’t the dipping, darting butterfly of a sneeze that had been flitting about his sinuses all day, but a dagger, poised to strike. A dagger hovering right over his heart. But a dagger was harmless until it pierced flesh…

Arkady opened his eyes, his vision swirling with tears. The wine could have been blood. Could it be a dagger?

Again he brought his lips to the glass. His nose touched the opposite rim.

And that’s when he knew he was going to sneeze.

The lessons of a prince were deeply ingrained. On any normal day, Arkady would have stopped this sneeze by rubbing his tongue against his front teeth until its tang lessened. Even if it were strong, he would have fought it off with all his might, because that was what you did when you were royalty. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way Arkady was going to let it get away from him now. All day, he had been putting up with this. All day, he had begged and pleaded for something to happen. If his body was really allowing this long-awaited event to happen, no force in the world could hold him back. This sneeze might as well be the strongest force in the world.

And suddenly, in Arkady’s mind, there was no world. There was only the sneeze.

“Hhh!”

It was right there.

“Hah-!”

It was right there.

“HhhHA-AH!”

It was right there, right on the edge, bristling like a mad thing-

“KUH-HUHHT! HAAAHH-AA! … … … AAAATTSSCCCHHHIIIUUU!!”

And then, it was out. At last, it was out.

Oh, sweet relief.

One would not be enough. As soon as the first was free, its entourage came right after, bringing with them just as much relief as their prince. “AHHHht’SHAO! K’SHOO! Huh-SHKSH! K’SH-! SHOO! H’ehshESH! K’kehsh! H’ehsh…! … SHOO!”

Ten would not be enough. Each sneeze was like a balm to the raw insides his nose had become. Never had he known such a persistent itch, and finally it was being scratched, scratched, scratched, from the back to the front with sneezes like raking fingers. “AhppSHOO! Hh-huSHOO! -shIEW! Ekk-shoo!ksh’ksh’ksh-SHOO! EPSH! H’hek’SHH! Ah’KSH! Hh! Hut-TCHOO! Hyet-! … tsCHOO! A’chshoo! Snf! Huh! H’kt’tschoo! K’TSCHOO! K-K’SCH! K-k-Keh!HETCH! Ah..! AHPSH! H’psh! Kuh-huh! H’ktshoo-h-hh’tsh!TSH!TSH!”

Thirty would not be enough. Arkady was more than happy to let his senses take over and, sneeze after sneeze, loosen the shackles of his misery. At some point, he had remembered his napkin (or maybe someone had pressed it into his hands—he was completely oblivious to the rest of the world now) and sneezing into that felt even better. He buried his nose into the folds, and it ached wonderfully. “Hehh… Hehhh… Phew…” This time the sneezes weren’t sticking so much as they were giving him a chance to breathe. His nose wouldn’t keep him from reprieve for longer than it needed to. “Heh’et-SHAhh! Het’sha! Het-t-t-SHOO! Kuh’hehSHOO! HehSHOO! H’shoo! H’sh, h’sh, h’sh, h’sh, huh-! hhhH! HUT-SHHHKKSH! SH’KSH! Hef’SHAH! Nnnn’SHEH! Neh’sheh! NnnnSHEH! Hehchh! HehhCHhuh! H-hHeh! Shhhehtch-tch-tch-tch-tch!TCHOO!”

Fifty would not be enough. His nose would not be satisfied until it had thoroughly banished this itch forever. They kept coming, one after another after another after another, feeling so necessary yet indulgent all at once. He gave into them completely, even as he started losing steam. “Shoo! K’shoo! Heh… hehh… hehtnnNn-!…SHOO! Huh-shoo! Huhsh-shoo…! Huhhsh…. Shhoo… Shoo, sh-sh-shoo… Snf! K’shh’nghshh… Huh… Snf… Heh! Snf, snf! Shhuhhuh… Shhuhhehuh…! Hehhhuhhhuhhhh…!”

There was one more floaty bit of something ever-so-carefully teasing him at the very back of his nose. Arkady snuffled against it, trying to spark a reaction. It was only a little one… Surely he could muster one more little one… Then he could be done with this itch for good. Sleepily pleading with his nose to grant him a final sneeze, just one small snortish huff to bluster out that last bit of tickling, that floaty feeling seemed to fluff up and fill the whole of his head with an absolutely merciless itch.

Without meaning to, without feeling any sort of control over himself, Arkady rocked on his chair’s hind legs, threw back his head, and crowed out a very finalizing, “AhhHHHH! Ha-AH!…HET’HAHT-KSHAHHH!”

And then dizzily, drowsily, Arkady’s shoulders drooped, and he sighed a long sigh. His nose was finally, finally at peace. Tired, running a bit, and even a little sore, but at peace.

He must have sneezed for about ten minutes. During the entire hypnotic event, Arkady had heard nothing but his own voice, and now that it was absent, it donned on him just how… oddly the voices around him were pitched. It sounded like arguing. How peculiar… now that his brain was coming back to him, Arkady realized that laughter or silence was a more explicable response. Just what was going on?

He opened his eyes. Desperate tears immediately spilled out, and he had to wipe them on the unused part of his napkin for quite a bit. Once that was finished, Arkady got his first good look of the dining room…

… A majority of which was obscured by a bevy of royal guards, swords drawn and poised in a semicircle around his chair.

Arkady turned side to side rapidly. Queen Cveta was gone from her place at the the table, and so was Pedja, who had been sitting across from him. To his left began the guards, and directly behind him was Jaga, a hand on his chair, smiling wanly down at him.

“Well, well. Seems Ilari is with you after all. Feeling better, Prince Arkady?” she asked, in a taut voice barely hinted with her patented humor.

Arkady still had the napkin around his nose. “Um,” he said from behind it, “what’s going on?”

Jaga gave a single bitter laugh. “The tea never lies,” she said. “Something important did happen today, Prince, and it wasn’t your sister’s betrothal. There was an attempt on your life.”

That was the last thing he had expected. Arkady’s eyes widened. “Wait… Then Mother… Pedja—”

“Are fine,” Jaga filled in quickly. “And so are you, thanks to the gods.” She held up a wine glass, which Arkady realized had been his own. “This,” she said, “is poisoned. I took it from you as soon as you started sneezing. You’re only alive because you couldn’t drink it.” She studied the red liquid. “You’re only alive,” she said distantly, “because the gods willed it so.”

__________________________________________________

An entire week passed before Vjera saw her brother again. Queen Cveta had ordered that he spend that entire time praying: three days fasting, the following four without, but no visitors to interrupt. Vjera and the rest of her family were required to pray too, but not as intensely. Arkady was, according to their mother, currently in the gods’ highest favor, and therefore it was especially necessary that he thank them profusely for his life and ask that Gornoye find a way to reach peace with Derevo.

Queen Cveta left the prayers to her children; she had always been more engaged in the political side of her job, though technically the guard was meant to be in charge of such decisions. Vjera spent her days trying to find out what she could about Prince Ivar: if he had orchestrated the attack on her brother, or if only that angry fellow Sacha had been behind it. Either way, the betrothal was off. Vjera couldn’t say that part exactly disappointed her.

The poison in the wine Arkady had almost drank was slow-acting and difficult to detect. Jaga would not have suspected poison at all, if the sneezing hadn’t alerted her to trouble. It was only after Jaga voiced her suspicions that Queen Cveta asked Sacha to drink; and when he refused, everything had seemed to erupt. Jaga had been working most of the week to even determine what Sacha had used as a toxin. Vjera wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the ways in which the poison would have hurt Arkady. The thought of how close her brother had been to death made her heart pound enough as it was.

At the end of his week of prayers, Vjera was there to greet Arkady outside his bedroom. It was early, and the sky was pink. When he saw her, he looked relieved; for both of them, it seemed seeing was believing, and it was nice to finally have proof the other was all right. They embraced, and then immediately began talking as they walked down the verandah steps.

“You weren’t hurt, were you? You were so close to Ivar. He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“Me? Nothing happened to me; it’s you who was threatened.”

“I don’t really feel like I was,” Arkady admitted. His face looked thinner from the three-day fast. “I suppose that still hasn’t really sunk in. I thanked the gods over and over, but I’m not sure how sincere I sounded. I don’t even know what would have happened if they hadn’t intervened.”

“You would have died,” Vjera said. “And maybe we would have never known why.”

“Then you would have been the heir apparent, and Prince Ivar would have had a good reason to merge the kingdoms,” Arkady said, as if he were reciting it. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot these days.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too much these days,” Vjera sighed. “We may go to war with Derevo over this. For a moment, I want to stop worrying and just be grateful you’re alive…” Her voice broke off at the end.

Arkady paused, put a hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Vjera. And neither have you. We have our family. We’re going to be all right.”

She leaned into his hug again, but it was cut short when she felt him try to pull away only seconds later. There was something curiously familiar about the action… and sure enough, when Arkady was far enough away to see his face clearly, his expression was a snarled mask not unlike the one he’d modeled only seven days ago.

“Hhuhhh… hhehhthh…”

He wavered there, his head bobbing once, twice, before snapping down with a modest, “Hef’SHOO!”

Once it was out, his shoulders drooped considerably, and he rubbed a hand across his face. “Oh, thank goodness… For a second, I was worried all that was about to start up again…”

Vjera couldn’t help laughing a bit. “Even after it saved your life?”

“Hey,” Arkady defended with a smirk, “if you knew what it felt like, you wouldn’t want it to happen again either.”

Vjera shook her head. They kept walking. “How did it feel to finally sneeze after all that time, anyway?” she asked, needing a little levity.

Arkady winced, frowning. It was as if he were reliving the ordeal. “It felt like I had been tied in a knot all day and I’d finally been loosened. Or like there had been something unbalanced inside of me and it was balancing again. It wasn’t exactly a good feeling… but it also felt absolutely amazing… Am I making any sense?”

Vjera raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying it was worth the wait?”

Arkady snorted a laugh. “It had to be worth the wait,” he said, “because if it hadn’t been, I would have just gone and downed that whole glass of wine.”

#snz kink #sneeze kink #snz fiction #I don't know what tags people use haha #it's male btw