#oh no here comes murder swede

[thornescratch]

Nice to see the murder eyes stare is already in peak condition.

#Oh no here comes Murder Swede #Nicklas Backstrom #Washington Capitals

[iamnot-theboynextdoor]

OFMD EP1 REACTION

i already know this is a dream sequence but opening on stede and izzy having a badass swordfight is dope

stede's fantasy is all about him looking and sounding super masc... babyboy that's not you...

HE FUCKING STABBED IZZY. HE KILLED HIM

and of course izzy's last words are "you absolute twaaaaaaaaaat" i'm fucking dying

AND THERE'S THE SLOMO BAYWATCH RUN GOD I LOVE IT

"knew you'd find me babe" and of course ed's got his beautiful beard back and he looks perfect and he loves stede's beard sfjgdskjgdshj stede

aaaaaaand f in the chat for stede's dream sequence, wee john is doing chemical warfare

"can't be worse than you moaning 'ed, oh, ed' all night long" f in the chat for black pete and the rest of the crew

AHAHAHA roach going "he's single" and shoving the swede at jackie. c'mon swede be a hobosexual for us we gotta sleep somewhere

"come closer. spanish jackie don't bite. i lied, i bite" and he giggles i am immediately on board congrats jackie on your 21st husband

love olu's fancy bartender waistcoat!

"i'll buy you a drink" this guy! the guy who's practically stede's twin! in the disco outfit that stede steals! is he the guy stede does a punch on? is he hitting on stede? oh my GOD where is this going

"richard banes. are you stede bonnet?" dear lord this guy could not have a posher accent. is he the guy who ends up with a fake nose. he's an undercover cop isn't he. how else does he know who stede is

awww fuck we're cutting to ed. shit's about to go down

(stede) "hope you're thinking of me as well" close-up on ed's TRUST NO-ONE tattoo. fuuuuuuuuck

and immediately the wedding ed's gonna crash is like some extremely classist/"we must breed more upper class, worthy humans" shit, so ed can do a little murder actually i immediately don't feel bad for them

"objection" ed can board a ship without anyone fucking noticing if it looks cool actually

THERE HE IS he's made everyone put on the emo paint. i keep pausing and rewatching this part. love izzy's sarcastic little smile

jim looks so fucking sexy

so does frenchie tbh

ed's just eating the cake. cake topper my beloved...

OH NO IVAN DIED. OFF-SCREEN. F IN THE CHAT. and frenchie only cares about the cake JUST KIDDING HE IS HARDCORE DISSOCIATING. poor fang tho...

stede taking down blackbeard's wanted poster... does he have a little shrine in the pig sty he's sleeping in. does he draw hearts on the posters

"he's just blowing off some steam" stede has decided the atrocities are cool and fun actually. atrocities are okay if the man doing them has big beautiful brown eyes too. what about it

"i also killed someone and stole their kiosk. sometimes action is better than vision" can we get sue on the crew? "that's what i've been telling him" "that's 'cause you're the smart one" sue confirms that olu is the only crewmember with a brain cell

'we can't turn up with any old ship, we need to look good" STEDE. FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD.

ed putting the little cake topper in his breast pocket next to his heart i'm going feral

"did everyone get cake?" "yeah they got cake"

ed is doing drugs and izzy has never looked more miserable and soggy. he looks like someone dunked him in an inkwell

OH HERE'S THE SCENE. THE SAD WET MEOW MEOW SCENE

shit's gotta be really bad if izzy needs to be rocked and cuddled while he cries... babyboy you should have just let ed hold the talent show...

i am not at all surprised that jackie's taking all of stede and co.'s savings. this is jackie's house. jackie does not have a tip jar. you're in the republic of pirates hide it better next time

BOO CAKES!

well you didn't even get jackie and the swede a wedding present. this is her wedding present. HIDE THE JAR BETTER-

"what if we took that back?" "i think my husbands would have a problem with that. have you met all twenty of 'em?" PAUSING TO LOOK AT THE HUSBANDS.

"that's a lot of husbands" black pete misses his husband, tails. he misses him a lot

love the one wearing no shirt and a tight waistcoat/corset thing with the axe. one's got cool glasses. two of them are either super twinky or lady-husbands, excellent either way (jackie and her lady-husbands, nandor and his guy-wives... beautiful...)

EDIT: THE TWO HUSBANDS ARE TRANS GUYS HELL YEAH HELL YEAH

"i know that guy we had breakfast together" "you will be having a lot of breakfasts-es together" "oh ok" sometimes a family is a pirate businesswoman and her 20 19 18 20 husbands and we stan

maybe the sexy axe husband cooked the breakfast. i am delighting in imagining them being all cute and domestic until jackie needs them to stand around and look intimidating and then they all scramble into position. their job is to cook breakfast and look sexy and scare the shit out of anyone jackie points them at

i like to imagine that as soon as one of jackie's husbands died she's like fuck i gotta get a new one to make up the numbers. my brand is 20 husbands i can't be seen with only 19. who's new in town that is remotely attractive. ooh, swedish blondie with a metal tooth, he'll look nice next to the one in glasses

anyway stede and co. are now homeless rip

why does roach have buttons on a rope leash sfhdskjghsgk is buttons so desperate to return to his true love (the sea) that they have to treat him like a toddler trying to run into traffic

"dear ed, i think i'm afraid to see you. i'm not afraid you're gonna kill me, i'm afraid your life is better without me!" I AM GOING TO LOSE IT. SOMEONE GET THIS POOR BOY SOME SELF-ESTEEM

i paused on the wanted poster and it said "wanted for theft brigandry larceny arson tax evasion" sgkjhsfgkjsfhgk the fucking IRS is going to find ed before stede does

"could be. could be, mate" stede your ed impression sucks shit

oh god richard's there. are you a cop or just a fan.

"the gentleman pirate saved my life! quite frankly, you're my hero!" with his fancy fucking coat oh god stede has a fan. stede has a copycat fan. AND STEDE'S NOW HAPPY OH MY GOD I AM HITTING HIM WITH A HAMMER (affectionate)

he fed stede a line about jackie's roman puzzle chest... i don't fucking trust this guy i'm convinced he's either a navy plant or a husband plant...

(if he is truly just a baby stede i'm putting him in a jar and shaking him (affectionate))

I FUCKING LOVE THE SWEDE

oh god back to ed's depression den

"not good enough. and that's another toe. take your boot off." okay ed, i know you're trying to get izzy or anybody to kill you in your sleep or something but i'm still. noooo don't commit atrocities you're soo sexy aha

"who am i to you" oh god. shit's gotta be really really fucking bad if izzy's doing emotional intimacy

"i have... love for you, edward" i'm going to explode

first of all izzy is delusional if he thinks he knows ed better than anyone else - we know and love this about him

second, con's fucking acting is going to kill me. he's looking at the floor, there are tears in his eyes, he's whispering and pauses as if saying the word love is going to kill him (and it's not just the emotional repression considering how volatile ed is)

and the way the line is written - it's not "i love you" or "i'm in love with you", it's not a thing izzy does or is, it's a thing he has. an object he's carrying around, separate to him, he's trying to distance himself from it.

and of course ed interrupts him with "oh come on" because he does not trust that anyone actually loves him and he doesn't want anyone to any more, he wants izzy to hate him and kill him!

"i'm worried about you, we all are. the atmosphere on this ship is completely poisoned. but if we could all just maybe... talk it through" SHIT'S GOT TO BE REALLY REALLY UNQUESTIONABLY HORRIFICALLY FUCKING BAD IF IZZY IS ADOPTING STEDE'S CATCHPHRASE

ed, ominously "as a crew" as blackbeard's leitmotif starts up... WORST CHOICE OF WORDS EVER IZZY I'M TERRIFIED

izzy: i fucked up i fucked up i fucked up i fucked up i fucked up

POOR FANG IS WHIMPERING ED DON'T SCARE HIM!!!!!

"i know who we should ask, ol' blackbeard!" (shoves gun under his own chin) jesus christ ed

"FUCKING END!" izzy has had ENOUGH

AND AS SOON AS HE SAYS STEDE'S NAME ED SHOOTS HIM

"frenchie, you are now first mate" STEPS OVER IZZY GROANING IN PAIN

i am very worried

HARD CUT TO THE SWEDE AND JACKIE LMAO

oh god stede's adopted ricky. this can only end terribly

aaaaaand f in the chat for ricky's nose

"i can't believe you guys robbed jackie! so bad!" swede.

jackie looks gorgeous though

SUE IS OF COURSE THE BADASS PIRATE QUEEN

and jackie loves her a sexy swedish double-crosser

thank you sue for adopting the gang of idiots

OH GOD JIM AND ARCHIE MOPPING UP IZZY'S BLOOD. THAT'S A LOT OF BLOOD

poor fang is still crying

awwww and jim's telling him pinocchio to calm him down! (but they suck at telling stories)

"do the voice"

and jim does the fucking voice

ed sounds like he's holding back tears as he describes sailing and robbing and never landing

"fuck you, stede bonnet" "good night, ed teach" HHHHHHH

stede come on man pick up a fucking oar you're not the captain any more

at least we got one romantic reunion! and it was buttons and the ocean <3

sdkfjhsdkjgsdk everyone being like "are we soup merchants now? sweet" and olu with his poor overworked brain cell like "hang on... there's no soup here"

ZHENG YI SAO FUCK YEAH BAY BEE

AFTER CREDITS SEQUENCE!!! storytime with jim extended edition!!!!!

#our flag means death #ofmd

[abbatoirablaze]

The Understudies, Season 2, Chapter 8

Word Count:  1.3k

Warnings: gun violence, character death

“She was looking for you!” Five proclaimed, “for all of you!”

“All of who?”

“You…Delores…Brianna…Danielle…” he answered, “it’s because you’re one of us.  The handler stole you away though, Lila.  Like how our asshole father took all of us!”

Lila began to get nervous.  She shook her head as she looked at the siblings, “no…it’s not the same thing!”

“You’re right,” Diego agreed, “because he didn’t have our parents murdered.  Your parents sold Dani and Bri off, but they kept you and Dot.  They realized that someone was after them right around the trip to Canada, where they left Dot with someone who promised to take care of her.  But the handler stole you.  Listen to me, Lila.  You were born on Octboer 1, 1989, just like the rest of us.”

“STAY BACK!”

“HEY! Hey! Stop!” Diego begged, “Wait.  Hey, Lila!  Lila, STOP!”

“I trusted you,” she cried, “I got you a job.  I even introduced you to my mother.  And you took off on me!”

“That’s because I HAD TO SAVE THE WORLD!” he reminded her, “She’s just using you, Lila.  The handl-“

“YOU’RE WRONG!” she yelled, cutting him off, “she raised me.  SHE LOVES ME!”

“Yeah, but you know what,” Luthor began sadly, cutting in, “Love shouldn’t have to hurt this much!”

They were all silent for a few moments, before Lila put her finger up to her mouth and made it seem like she was throwing up.

“Enough…come on!”

“HEY, FIVE!” Diego yelled, stopping his brother from charging Lila, “Stop.  I got it.  Lila.  The truth?  The handler is dangerous.  And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power.  That’s why you dragged me to the commission.  It’s because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.  The difference between us, is that they love me back!”

“SHUT UP!”

“The only thing that she loves is power!” Diego began, “and the minute that she can’t use you, she will turn on you.  And deep down, I know that you know that!”

“You don’t know me, Diego!”

“Don’t I?” he asked, “I know that we can be your family, if you just let us!”

He took a step closer to her, closing the gap between them.  Lila still looked around the barn, cautious around the rest of the siblings, but no one gave the impression that they were dangerous to her.  She sighed, ready to give in.  She knew that Diego was making sense, and that he was more than likely right.  And here these unknown people were, ready to just accept her. 

Gunshots rifled through the barn, breaking up the moment.  The siblings’ bodies jolted, each one of them littered with bullet holes as the handler ripped her way through them.  Lila ran to Diego when the gunfire stopped, “Diego!  NO!”

“Awww!” the handler mocked, looking between Lila and Diego, “Dot…isn’t that sweet?  She’s still got feelings for him.”

Dot didn’t respond, and she didn’t think much of it as the handler stalked towards Lila and Diego.

“It’s true what five said, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she replied honestly, “and I need to know that we can get past this.  Be a happy little family again, hmm?”

“They’re my real family!” she whimpered, looking around at the siblings who were bleeding out, “do you even love me?”

There wasn’t enough time for her to answer as she pulled one of Diego’s knives and attempted to stab her. 

More gunshots littered the air as the handler shot Lila, killing her.

“Que sera sera!” she commented simply, making her way over to five who was choking on his own blood, “oh good…you’re still alive.  Lucky you!  You got to see how this all played out.”

Again, gunshots littered the barn, killing the handler.  The last of the swedes walked in, his gaze momentarily caught up in the dazed look Dot had across her face as she stared at five.  His brow furrowed as he followed it.  With simple steps he made his way into the massacre, stopping short of where five stood. 

He pointed his gun at him. 

Dot dropped to her knees, silently begging for him not to.  Five closed his eyes, using the last of what little energy he had, to attempt to turn back the clocks.

Everything felt like it was going in slow motion for five.  His siblings lost the wounds from the handler, the bullets flying back into the gun.  He charged at the door, ending up beside it, when his powers cut out.

It was perfect timing in every sense of the word. 

He caught her right as she came in, knocking the gun from her hands, forcing the siblings to be surprised at what had just happened.  Dot stood obediently at her side, unwavering.

“It’s true, isn’t it?    WHAT FIVE SAID?  ANSWER ME!  IS IT-“

This time it was two singular gunshots that ripped through the air.  The handler and Dot crumpled to the floor as the Swede entered the room.  Five rushed towards the shell of the woman that he loved, but she was already gone.

“THE CASE!”

Diego tackled his brother as Luthor attempted to stop Lila.  She had grabbed onto the case and disappeared. 

The Swede cocked his gun, and five, lost in his grief did the same, pointing it at the assassin, tears in his eyes. 

“ENOUGH!”

The Swede looked from Dot and the handler, to the siblings, before repeating ‘enough’ in Swedish.  He sighed, and turned on his heel, leaving the siblings alone.

“WHY DID YOU STOP ME?” Luthor growled at Diego.

“Because I love her!”

“Yeah, well now we’re stuck!”

The siblings heard a noise outside, and their attention turned towards the two people walking towards the barn from the field.

“No way!” Diego breathed, his smile reappearing on his face as he dragged five out of the barn with him. 

“Is that-“

“Herb…”

The siblings were shocked.  Five dropped the briefcase on the entrance floor as Luthor gawked at him, “oh god…we’re back…we’re home…”

“Someone check the day!”

“What day is it?” Luthor asked. 

Five gasped as he picked up the newspaper on the rounded table, “April 2, 2019…it’s the day after the apocalypse.”

“Wait?” Allison asked, “so we stopped it?”

“So wait, it’s over?" Vanya asked.

“We actually succeeded at something!” Klaus said in disbelief, “That’s incredible.”

The siblings all seemed to be in a happy agreement, while Five looked around, saddened by the fact that Dot wasn’t with them. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink!” Klaus smirked.   The siblings, again, seemed to be in agreement, as they followed him into the parlor.  While the siblings split off, all starting their own conversations, it was Diego who stopped, curiously looking at the picture over the fireplace, “Hey guys…why is there a picture of Ben over the fireplace?”

“I knew you’d show up eventually!”

The siblings were surprised to see Reginald Hargreeves stand up from his chair and turn towards thme.

“Dad!”

“You’re alive!”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” their father asked.

“Yeah…yeah,” Luthor agreed, “you’re right.  I’m just happy you’re home.  And that we’re together again!”

“Home?” the man scoffed, “this isn’t your home!”

“What are you talking about?” Allison asked, “This is the Umbrella Academy!”

“Wrong again,” the man said matter of fact, “after that night, I made a few decisions.  This is the Sparrow Academy!”

Footsteps were heard above them.  The siblings turned around, their eyes not catching on the group that was on the second floor balcony, but rather to the two siblings that they thought they’d need again.  Ben stood in front of the bar, with Dot by his side.

“Dad who the hell are these assholes?” Ben asked snarkily, sneering at them.

“Want us to get rid of them?” Dot asked, cracking her knuckles.

Season 3, Chapter 1

#the understudies #season 2 #the umbreall academy #the umbrella academy season 2 #tua #dark horse comics #number 1 #number 2 #number 3 #number 4 #number 5 #number 6 #number 7 #spaceboy #the kraken #the seance #the rumor #the boy #the white violin #the horror #luthor hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #alison hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #victor hargreeves #vanya hargreeves

[shinymooncolor]

Sweaty hat and scruffy murder Swede staring into your soul

#washington capitals #nicklas bäckström #backy #nicke is so pretty 😭 #nicklas b?ckstr?m #oh no here comes murder swede #it’s a backy kinda Thursday today

[lovenhlboys]

From a Distance (E.Pettersson X Reader)

Chapter 4

Masterlist

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A/N: hello there!!! here is the next chapter, I'm so so sorry it took me so long, I was sick for 5 days and no feeling unmotivated, but I hope the others will not take nearly as long!! I really hope you like it and please LMK what you think!! And as always, thank you to my babe Ash ( @imagines-r-s ) for helping me with literally everything🥰💕💕

change in POV is signalized by:

Y/N= regular ELIAS= italics

(any other info is on the masterlist)

Warnings: lots of cursing, specifically excessive use of the word "ass", mentions of iCarly , I think thats it, if you think I missed a warning please inform me!!!

Summary: Brocks plan continues... more stuff happens

Word Count: 2.82k

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< ———————— >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

There was an awkward pause where, to you, it looked like Elias was thinking really hard about something.

“...wait,” he finally spoke.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, like a few weeks ago, we were in the hotel room and, you were upset with Marky because of the whole Gabe Landeskog thing,” he started.

You thought for a second and- oh, “Oh...shit. No. No, no Elias, I'm not having this conversation right now,” you knew exactly what he was talking about since that exact moment had caused about 3 panic attacks in the past month.

“You don't even know what I’m going to say,” he said with a little laugh at how you were reacting.

“Oh yes, I do.”

“Ok, Y/N wait just sit down.”

“BROCK,” you ignored him and got up, shouting at the door that you entered in about, hmm, yep, 5 years ago.

“Y/N,” he seemed like he wanted to talk when you really, truly did not.

“BROCK BOESER OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT FUCKING NOW,” you continued shouting at that damned door.

“Y/N...please,” he sounded sweet and calm. Which kinda calmed you down slightly, so once you realized Brock wasn't going to open that door any time soon, you sat back down on the couch next to where Petey was sitting. You sat a little too close at first, both of you looking into each other's eyes. Your faces were roughly a foot away from each other, as you looked in his eyes, you thought you saw a glimmer of something, something you knew he was seeing in your eyes. You snapped yourself out of it and pulled away, scooching yourself back about a foot. Right then, Elias reached for you and placed his hand on your arm. “Y/N, just...sorry. I was just going to ask what Quinn meant that day when he said ‘you really have a thing for swedes, huh,’” he tried to mimic your other American friend, his impression made you laugh.

You groaned and put your forehead on his shoulder. You stayed like that for a second, taking in his scent. Then you pulled your head back and started to speak, “Yeah, about that. Um, so, yeah, that-that thing, uh,” you cleared your throat.

“Are you going to say anything or is it just ‘um, yeah, so, um?’”

“Shut up” you giggled “I just never thought I’d have to say this to you,” you covered your heated face with your hands.

“Well, I always thought he was talking about Marky, but apparently thats not true. I just didn’t know you knew many other swedes.”

“...yo-,” you sighed. He didn’t realize what Quinn was saying, “oh my god, my dumbass brother is rubbing off on you. Ok, name the other swedes I know.”

“Well there's Marky, Oscar, Loui, Alex, and uh, Brock said you knew uh, Partick Nemeth and Johnny Oduya when you interned in Dallas during college. Oh, and Brock had mentioned you had a crush on Klingberg at one point, right?”

“Yes, but, uh- oh my lord,” you took a deep breath and tried to make sure you didn’t blurt anything out like an idiot would do, “I think you’re missing one.”

“What? Well, Nilsson before he got traded. And Brock was here when the twins were still playing, right?”

“Ok, Elias, you’re missing one person, one fucking person,” you were starting to get frustrated.

“I dont think I understand…”

“Ok, if you were to make it on team Sweden for the winter Olympics, Marky, and Landeskog too, ok?”

“Yeah?”

“Ok, who on that team would know me?”

“Well considering I dont know who else would be on that team it’s hard to say, but me, mark and Gabe would.”

“Ok, perfect. So that list of Swedes earlier was missing…” you gestured for him to finish your sentence.

“Oh, I’m stupid, I forgot myself,” you nodded and waited for him to process, it took longer than one would’ve thought but that's beside the point. His eyes got wide and his face turned red. He didn’t speak, you knew he knew now, but he wasn’t saying anything.

Shit, fuck, it’s exactly what you were afraid of.

WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK??? How did this happen, Elias is so completely and utterly stunned. Y/N Y/M/N Boeser had an actual, real-life crush on him? (God he feels like he’s in middle school again, freaking out about a “crush”)Ok, he’s definitely dreaming, that's the only thing he can think right now because he didn’t think this was a possibility. That’s when he realized, he hadn’t said anything yet, he’d just been staring at her with what he could only assume was an idiotic expression. He took in her expression, she was staring at her lap, her eyes wide, she looked tense, like she needed a hug.

Elias grabbed her and pulled her into his body, she tightened her arms around his waist and tucked her head into his neck. He could feel her heart racing, or was that his? He squeezed her tighter, trying to stall the inevitable. What was he supposed to say? “Yeah, Y/N I’ve had a massive crush on you, even before I met you in person. I’m pretty sure I might just be in love with you, sorry I never said anything. Oh, also, I can’t be with you because your brother and all of our friends would murder me.” Elias knew he wasn’t the smartest, but he wasn’t that much of an idiot.

Just then Y/N pulled back from the hug, looking much happier than before, her eyes met him and they both smiled fondly, just then Elias realized just how close their faces were. Shit, he really wanted to, he could feel her breath and his eyes flickered down to her lips. He unknowingly swiped his tongue over his, and she did the same and bit her lip ever so slightly. His heart was racing, she must be able to hear it. He leans in the slightest bit, to test the waters. To his surprise, she leans in the rest of the way and their lips finally connect.

It’s even more amazing than he ever would have imagined. Every nerve in his body is firing. He grabs her neck and they move together, in unison, and it's almost as if they’ve done this a thousand times before. It feels so easy, so natural, so perfect. He is by every definition, elated. He truly can’t believe this is happening. As he comes back to reality, he feels her hands siding up to his chest, she groans slightly as her hands settle on his shoulders. He slides his tongue across her lips and he can feel her shiver in reaction. They break apart for the first time, both panting into each other’s space, Elias is smiling bigger than he ever has. Their dilated eyes meet, he’s sure she’s probably noticed his flushed skin, his more-than-pale complexion doing no favors to hide it. Elias looks down and notices her smiling. Thank God.

She pulls back suddenly and speaks, “uh, sorry I just- um, I know you didn’t want that.” she stands up, “I-um- I’ll just-”

He touches her arm, making sure not to grab it. He doesn’t want to be controlling. “Hey, who said anything about me not wanting that” he was still smiling and looking up at her fondly, “trust me Y/N, I wanted that. I’ve wanted that for a lot longer than what you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have supposed that I may also have a “crush” on you too.”

“Fredrik? Are you going soft on me?” she teased.

“Ok, one: what is with you and my middle name, and two: I don't know if ‘soft’ is ever a word I would use to describe how I feel about you” he smirks, trying to mess with her. Which works as her expression clearly shows, her eyes widen and she looks away from him.

“Elias shut up, you’re such a douche,” though she’s grinning a little.

“Um, I don't know if you know what douche is, but if you want help, if you opened a dictionary, I’m pretty sure it would have a picture of Thatcher Demko, and Troy Stecher,” she laughs, there it is: that damn laugh. “You have the best laugh,” he says while giggling himself.

She smiles and looks into his eyes, purely beautiful as always. “Ok, well I will have you know, I like to call this a cackle” She eventually sits down next to him on the couch again, they’re facing each other, fully enthralled in each other’s presence. “Uh, so I’m not one to say these things, I have actually built up a reputation to explicitly avoid these conversations, but” she starts, “but- uh- what does all of this mean exactly? I like you, you like me, we kissed, I mean there’s obviously something here and I just- I guess, I’m not opposed to seeing where this could go, but you know, you could feel differently and that's ok-”

“Woah” he cuts her off as he’s laughing, “You’re rambling nervously, which is making me even more nervous than I already was, ok?” he placed his hand on her shoulder, “but I do have to tell you something,” this is where Elias took a pause and thought about what he should say, which he now realizes is a mistake due to how long it takes him to make decisions. But anyway, he had to decide if to tell you the entirety of the story, or to keep it brief and hope it comes up later at some point.

“Elias”

“Ah, yes.” he emerges from his thoughts, “so first I want to say that I also would love to see where this can go. I likes you-uh- more than a lot. But, I really have to figure something out before I can even think about doing anything with you, I just don't want to screw it up.”

“More than a lot, huh Fredrik?” you think about what he said. The fact that he felt the need to preface what he said with the fact that he also likes you and also wants to see where this can go, truly made you feel better. It felt like he wanted to make sure you didn’t misunderstand him, and that he didn’t want to hurt you. And obviously, you couldn’t let him get away with saying something like “I likes you- uh- more than a lot,” you did grow up hanging out with basically a shit ton of hockey guys, so you couldn't just let that slide. Plus, it was so cute how he said ‘likes’, instead of like, due to his language barrier.

“Yes, Y/N, more than a lot.” he rolled his eyes, “but is that ok with you, that I have to wait?”

“Yeah, that's fine. I mean as long as it’s not like a year, then that's fine,” you say, giggling.

“Oh god no, geez, not that long I promise. Maybe a month at most, I promise,” you both sit and laugh for a minute. You truly didn’t think he liked you, even as a friend, let alone as more than.

“You’re not going to go back to ignoring me, are you?”

“No, we can be friends until I figure that out. And I assume the reason we’re in here is that Brock thought I didn’t likes you. I mean he had mentioned it to me a few times but I obviously didn’t tell him why so,” he looked nervous, but you could see him try thinking of a way to change that. “ but hey, since we’re going to be friends now, your idiot brother will be pleased, and maybe he won’t lock us in a room again,” That makes you chuckle. You noticed that when you laughed, you could see Elias’s face light up, just a little bit, “I mean, not that it went horribly this time” and of course that made you laugh harder, which made him smile bigger. Then his face shifted a little bit, he looked more serious, “But hey, speaking of Brock, could you maybe not tell him, what we talked about in here?”

“Well, no shit. I wouldn’t tell him about this kind of thing on any day of the week anyways. He gets so nosey,” he looked relieved and smiled.

“Ok, so seeing as how we probably have some time to kill…” he grabbed a remote off of the table next to the couch and pressed a button. Then from the seemingly inconspicuous piece of furniture, a tv rose.

Your face was shocked, “I’m sorry, has it always done that??” you say, confused.

“Yeah. Y/N, you work here, how did you not know that?”

“Well I had seen a TV in here before but I thought they like took it away or needed to fix it or something, I didn’t know we had a magic tv in here!!” Elias laughed. “Wait, you waited till now to turn on the TV. we could have been watching TV this whole time!?”

“Yeah but then you wouldn’t have condensed your feelings for me.”

“Um, it was a mutual confession, jackass.”

Elias was smiling at your sass, “so what do you want to watch?”

“I know exactly what to watch,” you grab the remote from his hand and navigate to iCarly on the TV.

“Perfect,'' he says with a fond smile, and you both relax on the couch and watch the old nickelodeon classic. At this point, you both are sitting far enough apart so you look more like friends, just to make sure that if someone comes in, they cant think otherwise.

You watch 2 episodes and you are in the middle of the third when brock comes in. you both are laughing at spencer trying to tell everyone that a 13-year-old boy, Chuck, is torturing him, when you are both startled, “well you two seem to be having fun.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Brock,” Elias mutters, obviously scared from the sudden arrival of the jack-ass that you are forced to love and call your brother.

“Well if it isn't the champion of ass-facery, congratulations on the medal bro.”

“Ok, before you yell at me and hit me and tell on me to mom, it looks like it worked,” he says, gesturing to the two of you on the couch.

“Yes, it worked, he no longer hates me, blah blah blah.”

“Hey, I never hated you.”

“Suuuuuure,” you say, and you give him a wink only he can see, “well, either way-”

“Also,” Brock interrupts, “you technically did it to me first.”

“In fucking high school.”

“Y/N/N, high school was only 5 years ago. And technically should have been like 3 years ago for you but you went and graduated early so checkmate.”

“I think he’s got you there,” Elias spoke up.

“Wow, thanks ‘new friend,’” you said sarcastically, feeling teamed upon.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me that you two are friends now” Brock was smiling like an idiot at this point.

“Ok, well as much as I'd love to stay, I have to go and meet Hog, he doesn’t like to go to the store alone.”

“Aww, poor, sweet baby,” you said with a frown, "Tell him I say hi.”

“Will do!”

“Bye Petey.”

“Bye champion of ass-facery,” Elias shouts back

You laughed at that as Elias exited the room, leaving just you and your brother there.

“So are you really mad at me Y/N/N?”

You sigh “no, I guess not. I’m just glad he doesn’t hate me like I thought. And also he’s absolutely hilarious.”

“Right!! He’s so funny, and I just wanted you guys to get along. You’re basically the two most important people in my life and I didn’t want you two to be like you were forever. And if you didn’t notice, you two are so similar!”

“Aww Mr sensitive, you’re so sweeeeeet.”

“You’re such an ass,” he said chuckling.

You pull out your phone and check the time, “well, it’s time for me to depart. I do have a job and all.”

“Wait, that reminds me, why didn’t either of you use your phones and call someone?” he asked, “that was essentially the only flaw in my plan.”

Thought for a second, “shit. I mean we basically talked the whole time I guess neither of us thought to do that.” Brock smiled at you and giggled a little. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just a little sweet, I guess.”

“Shut up ass-munch,” you shove him as you walk out of the door with a small smile on your face. These past 2-3 hours went much better than you would have thought, and now you have a new friend. And maybe at some point, a little more than that.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< ———————— >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

taglist: @habsfan @suffering-canucks-fan @calgarycanuck @suffering-canucks-fan @2manytabsopen @callllumhood @mellany1997 @all-time-fanatic @Fitnessfreak498 @peachyotps @teamcanadasimp @iwantahockeyhimbo @aeyyy-ohhhh @nhlindblom @teenagekook @hockeymockeryandlove

Sorry ☹️ these Won’t tag: @lmao-i-only-know-hockey @predshockeyfan @dolphinahabsfan @starswinheunderwoo @yourlocalgranolagirl54 @peteysimp

#from a distance: series #give feedback 😁 #elias pettersson #hockey #nhl #vancouver canucks #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #elias pettersson imagines #elias pettersson imagine #elias pettersson fic #elias pettersson x reader #vancouver canucks imagines #vancouver canucks fic #vancouver canucks imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagines

[h0ly-fire]

Hey guys. Wrote this since I got off of work early (because I had a metal breakdown infront of a patient and the charge nurse let me off early) I decided to post this instead of tomorrow. Since so many of you are giving me positive feed back and because it's a good distraction for me . Here it is! This chapter focuses on the boys. The next chapter will focus on y/n . Enjoy💖💖💖

Tw: murder

Pairings: Axel x reader, Otto x reader, Oscar x reader

Runaway

Chapter 2:

A lead and broken bones

The brothers, or how others called them ‘The Swedes’, which by the way they weren’t too fond of, had found themselves in the middle of the road. Otto, already wanting to go home, almost got sideswiped by a truck, and would have been if they hadn't all moved out of the way quickly. In fact, the other two wanted the same thing as well, but they all knew that they’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t get this job done.

Not wanting to be in the road any longer, they safely crossed the street to the side of the grass. Walking along until they found a road sign for Dallas.

They had 2 miles to go. Axel annoyed because Oscar had complained about there being dirt in his hair and clothes and Otto complaining he was hungry. Not wanting to hear any more of it, he gave a stern look to the both of them, it reading that if they didn’t shut up he’d leave them here and finish the job on his own, and then swiftly continued looking ahead.

The city itself wasn’t anything impressive to them. They had seen many different places due to the work they do and, frankly, Dallas wasn’t anything they’d write home about.

The first thing they needed was a ride and a place to stay. Walking around, avoiding the stares they were getting, they swiftly turned a corner and spotted a milkman. Perfect. Oscar, not wanting to be in his dirty clothes any longer, decided he’d be the one to wear the uniform. Axel took the wheel while Otto sat on the passenger side.

The first thing they decided to do was drive around the city and see if anything looked suspicious. Otto had pointed out a homeless guy caring a familiar briefcase. Axel, sharing a look with his brothers, pulled over to the curb. All three got out silently cornering the man.

Oscar pulled the man into an alleyway they had passed by, Axel and Otto making sure no one saw them. Once the coast was clear, Oscar threw the man to the ground, Otto coming up behind him to hold his hands back while Axel came in front brandishing a knife.

“Where’d you get the briefcase?” Axel asked tilting his head to the direction the briefcase had landed.

“L-l- listen, guys, I just found that thing in an alleyway next to some person passed out on the g - g - ground, okay? I don’t want no trouble”, the homeless man yelled, his head back trying not to look at the knife pointed at his neck.

“Oscar, take the briefcase. Otto, tie him up, we’ll question him in the truck.”

With a crying man struggling for his life, and his brothers who looked just as equally amused as he did, they went to the truck and continued on their way.

Inside sat the scared man and two brothers looking at him. They slightly bounced from the truck hitting a bump, causing the guy to fall on his face. Otto went to sit him back up before Oscar walked up to him showing him a picture.

“Do you know this person? Was this the one you saw in the alleyway?” He asked, pushing the picture even further into the poor man’s face.

“Y -y-yes that’s them! That’s them! Now can you please let me go!?” He pleaded.

“No.”

He wasn’t sure which brother said that, but he assumed it was the one driving that told him no. He honestly didn’t know what he got himself into and now he wished he did give that briefcase back. He was only gonna pawn it for some quick cash. Was that really so bad?

“Do you know where they went?” Oscar was quickly losing his patience with the man’s stuttering.

“I-I-I don’t know! I think they went into the diner”, he was trembling now, and he might have just peed a little out of fright.

“Which diner?” The bigger one had talked, he wasn’t sure he could, but he did.

“I don’t know which diner, I didn’t get the name of it!” Exasperated, he finally started weeping. “Just.. just please let me go.”

With a roll of his eyes Axel gave a signal to his brother to throw the guy out the van, the man tumbling out, hitting a car and inevitably dying in the process. They didn’t care though, he was useless to them now. They had a lead and they were going to follow it.

After asking around at a few diners and with no luck, they were all getting annoyed. They stopped in front of one last diner, hoping that this would be the final one. Getting out the truck and into the establishment, they were quickly greeted.

“Hello, welcome, how may I help you fine gentleman?” A beady-eyed man wearing a uniform asked them.

They ignored him, holding up the picture they had of you.

“Have you seen this person?” Axel gave a stern look to the man, scaring the server.

“Uhh, oh! Yes! They were nasty and tracked mud and dirt everywhere!” The server had a sour look on his face after looking at the photo of you, the memory of your dirty self causing him to shiver. He was still recovering from the salt in his eyes.

The shorter one had spoken up, an unamused expression on his face. “Did you see where they went when they left?” His voice was stern.

“Uhhh, yes, they went across the road into that alleyway over there”, pointing into the direction you had gone.

With a swift nod to the server, the three left, heading to where you supposedly ran off to.

Cautiously approaching, they took out their guns, swiftly turning the corner to catch you off guard. Only to see that you weren’t there anymore. With frowns on their faces, they were quick to look for any clues as to where you might have gone.

Otto, being the best tracker out of the three, had pointed out some small shoe prints that looked fresh, caked in the dirt and grim of the nasty alley. They all followed the prints which lead them to the entrance of what looked like a T.V. sales store. With slight grins on their faces, they walked in, quickly spotting you talking to a man who looked quite frightened of you. Yes, they were going to go home fairly quickly. Otto just hoped you didn’t decide to put up a fight. It would be too much of a hassle for his hungry stomach.

#the swedes x reader #the swedes #the umbrella academy season 2 #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy #tua season 2 #tua #tua fanfic #tua netflix #tua2 #reader insert #runawayswedes

[honestsycrets]

Soiled V: I Won’t (Be Quiet)

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | Hvitserk comes to an agreement with the brothers. the reader is backed up into a corner.

❛  warnings | attempted assault, fighting, verbal argument, reference to a murder.

“So what?” Valtýr speaks with an oily smooth quality. His arm holds you back toward his brother Jonakr whose hold on you is gentle. Firm enough to keep you in place but gentle enough to show you the empathy you deserved. “I hear you left her, so why should I not take her?”

“Because she is a free woman.”

Hvitserk pulls another arrow free and fits it to the string of his bow. Jonakr calls out a command to his men. When his men raise to arm, it’s under the point of the sword of Hvitserk’s army. This doesn’t worry him, you realize. Jonakr may seem concerned but Valtýr is not. He steps off of the altar place. Then approaching Hvitserk, he raises his hands up.

“There are no free women in Norway, Hvitserk. There are the women of the conquered and the conquerors.” Jonakr tugs the strand back. He threatens to release it. Your chest thuds a staccato beat, aware of the chaos that will insue. He will kill the prince. Chaos will break loose. Jonakr would kill him. In turn, Ivar might kill Hvitserk and--

“Why are you here?” you call from the altar.

For a second, it doesn’t register that you’re speaking to him. But then Hvitserk looks up. All the specialness of the moment has worn off. He isn’t your intended Hvitserk-- who fought the Swedes to get you back. He’s Hvitserk Ragnarsson, betrothed to Thora, who is coming to bring you back there.

Where you would see them marry.

Watch them have their first child together.

And have nothing to do but bury yourself in booze and Thyri’s arms.

Valtýr swirls around, his hand lazily patting the orb embroidery upon his chest. “Oh?” he sniffs. “You mean to tell me that you don’t want him here?”

“I don’t want you here either.” You snap. The prince spins around, and despite your heart pounding a drumbeat that reverberates louder and louder, you hold steady.

“What did you say?” he spits out.

“I said,” you jerk your arm from Jonakr, smoothing your skirt out. “I do not want you here. I can tell you are a cruel, superficial man. Worse so than Hvitserk.”

Hvitserk lifts his eyebrows as if he can’t make sense of it. Him? Superficial? Hardly. Valtýr purses his lips together, almost speaking. You move to join Valtýr in approaching Hvitserk. You sway to a stop.

“Then I challenge you to a duel. If I win, you’ll be my wife. I’ll enjoy your body in my sheets and, I’ll fill you with my, what was it you said? My cruel seed.” Valtýr takes three long strides toward you. His chest bumps yours, obvious in his intention to scare you in submission. His hand drops, squeezing your ass through the thin silk of your dress. He whispers in your ear, “And if you win, which you won’t, well, we can figure it out then.”

“You cannot challenge a woman to a duel, brother,” Jonakr says.

“Always with the bleeding heart.” Valtýr rolls his eyes. “When will you understand that some women need to be put in their place.”

“You would suggest doing níðingsverk?”

“What did you call me, brother?”

“Níðingr.”

Harried, the brothers push into one another’s faces. You can tell the sort of man Jonakr is. A man who raided and lived by the sword, but was very much Norse. He had his morals, his principles. You doubt that Valtýr had ever lived by such things despite his fine dress and good looks.

“I will duel you in her place. My men in your village will duel for their women.” Hvitserk says. His bow clatters, dropping it onto the ground. He steps from the safety of his men, his hand resting upon the grip of his sword. “I only want to defend her honour.”

Valtýr looks in wry amusement when your head snaps around to Hvitserk. “Deal.”

“No,” you tell Hvitserk. “I will not have you duel a prince for me.”

“You are much prettier when you’re quiet, (Y/N). Shut up.” Valtýr says, almost idly. “This is an agreement between men.”

You bite your tongue. For the time being, that was.

Hvitserk sets his hand to your back, bringing you back to the reality of your situation. An agreement between men for the next day meant that with suspicious confidence, Hvitserk could have a small conversation with you away from Valtýr and in sight of Jonakr.

“I’ll kill him.” He tells you, “Have faith in me.”

“I do not want you to kill him. I want you to tell me why you came back for me when you have a woman at home who loves you.” You fold your arms over one another, flicking your palm toward your chest. “You’ve made it clear that I am your used goods.”

“I’ve never--” Hvitserk stumbles over his words, his reasoning. He’s never said it, no, but he acted by it.

“You have! You know you have!” you at last erupt, at last, reaching out to so powerfully slap him. His cheek snaps to the side, bright red with your assault.  It should be humiliating. The highest insult a woman could give. One that would be worthy of a divorce if you were married.

But then-- Hvitserk made sure you weren’t.

Your hands rain down on his chest, yanking him in your frustration. All you ever wanted was to see something from him. Action-- something to show that you were loved by him when you knew that you... were not. Not in the way you should have been. Hvitserk grasps your wrists.

“I don’t care anymore. Do you not get it? I don’t care if they force me to marry them. If they... if they--”

“Make you love them?” Hvitserk leans in, asserting himself. His head turns, lips against your skin. “Force you to lay with them?! Make you give them children?!”

You turn into his face, trailing a hand over the scruffy side of his face. In the past year-- he’s grown beyond that trim little boy with braids to a young man with hair braided… different. Uniquely different. His facial hair makes him seem more of a man and less of a boy, but your same old Hvitserk. Though the tears fall, and your lips press together, you sob.

“It’s more than you could give me.”

And to those words, his own fail.

As per usual, it wasn’t your marriage night.

You took off the crown and set it aside. The tall tower held you prisoner for that evening. While Hvitserk and Jonakr oversaw duels to assign women to those of Kattegat-- or of Birka. From the tall tower, you watch men stand on either side of a long cloak, draw their swords and bare their shields for their women. All the while knowing that tomorrow, Hvitserk would fight with that… monster. You run your comb through your long hair on the steps of the window.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” you hear behind you. You whip around as his jaunty tune travels to your ear. Valtyr stands behind you.

“Fighting for their women. Such valiant effort, even knowing that they’ll lose. I say the green will win,” you turn your head back, looking out of the door toward the valiant male who fights wildly for his wife. If you ignored him, perhaps he would go away.

Only he doesn’t.

His fingers glide over your neck, massaging your neck up toward your jawline. His grip tightens and he promptly yanks you back, flush against his chest. Your fingers curl in with nowhere yet to go. And no one else here to care for you. His hand tightens, curling about your throat.

“You know you’re not leaving this tower.” His hand wanders, the pads of his fingers glide in a smooth stroke over your chest, dipping beneath the white fabric of a modest nightgown. He squeezes you through the dress, index and middle finger pinching your hardened nipple. Whatever hyperfixation caused this-- you wish it would stop.

But this man-- he wasn’t normal.

“Let me go…” you whisper something that you know, deep down-- wouldn’t happen.

“No.”

You turn your head back down, curtains around his hand. “You came to…” you don’t finish that sentence. You know what he’s come here for. You feel his dick pressed against your back, hard and proud.

“You know what I came for.”

It’s a toss-up. Who will run first-- but as the cat to the mouse, you knew that you had to move first. You lurch off the warm furs that softened the jagged edge of the steps. Valtyr finds humour in your attempt, dragging you back by your hair.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he laughs. “There’s nowhere to run.”

You’ve been here before. In a scenario where someone thought you a lot more defenseless than you actually were, fisting a chunk of your hair and yanking your skirts up over the curve of your ass. You should be whining or sobbing, but its as if someone dug deep into your mind to pull you to some semblance of… sanity. Perhaps, as you think, it is the need to fight.

“I told my brother. The best way to keep a woman? Hm? Impregnate her. You’ll have no option.”

You’re sick of being a man’s plaything. With Hvitserk as a man’s toy-- like with the brothers, or brother, as Valtyr seemed to be the worst of the pair. It’s a simplistic annoyance. You’re annoyed with being… used.

This moment might have broke you. One minute, he had you on the floor, mounting your hips. Between your legs. Kisses. Bites. Marks. The next minute, you balled up a fist, punching the side of his temple with such force that he tips, stunted. You don’t stop there. Not with his knife prodding your stomach earlier. You lurch for it, pulling it free and impaling him to the floor with it.

This man was an idiot. A complete, utter idiot, and you were not. You weren’t going to stop there. You wouldn’t be that woman to sulk around a house with a man you hated forcing you to have child after child, care for the children and warm his cock with a plate full of food. You accept that life isn’t for you. And you’re ready to take care of the man that... that was the source of all your rage in that moment; with your knife.

And it erupts.

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#Hvitserk x reader #Hvitserk/Reader #Vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson/reader #hvitserk imagines #hvitserk imagine

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1974

Under the cut.

Steve Miller Band – “The Joker” -- January 12, 1974

It always throws me when I remember how old this song is. Two years older than me, and yet I associate it with my own mid-20s partying. Okay, my "partying" was pretty mild. One of the things my friends and I often did was go to a dueling piano (really keyboard) bar, and they always played this song. I can taste the rum and Coke now. We had tipsy discussions about what "pompatus" meant. A guy tried to pick one of my friends up with "really love your peaches." Anyway, I love this song, but it's also so embedded into my life that I can't judge it fairly.

Al Wilson – “Show And Tell” -- January 19, 1974

1970s Philly R&B is great music. This is a pretty typical example of the genre; lots of strings, lots of horns, an adult with a voice he uses like an instrument to impart strong emotions. It's a love song, and the lyrics aren't anything spectacular, but they do the job. Very good.

Ringo Starr – “You’re Sixteen” -- January 26, 1974

GAH. Next!

Barbra Streisand – “The Way We Were” -- February 2, 1974

I was tempted to write, "GAH. Next!" here too, but I'm determined to save that kind of thing for songs that have elements to them that I don't want to discuss because of moral issues. That's not this. The problem is: I hate Barbra Streisand. Or I should say I hate her singing; though from what I've seen of her personality, I don't like that either. Every song she sings, she sounds like she's singing to the glory of the greatness of the only person who matters to her in the world: Barbra Streisand. I once read an article that called her singing "masturbatory," but that's not strong enough. It's full-on self-worship. I hate it.

The Love Unlimited Orchestra – “Love’s Theme” -- February 9, 1974

This is Barry White's orchestra, but sadly it's an instrumental, without his glorious voice. It reminds me so much of the Love Boat theme that now I'm wanting to watch it. Absolute kitsch, but as kitsch goes, there's worse.

Terry Jacks – “Seasons In The Sun” -- March 2, 1974

The singer is dying and saying goodbye to everyone. That kind of sentiment may be made to work in pop, I suppose, but I've never heard it done. It belongs in opera. This is schmaltz.

Cher – “Dark Lady” -- March 23, 1974

As one of only a couple dark-haired dark-eyed girls in my quite blonde high school graduating class, people used to call me "exotic." Apparently my high cheekbones had something to do with it too. I was asked where my family was from pretty regularly. I wasn't offended --  more bemused. The answer is "Europe," though I guess the dark hair and eyes are probably by way of France. It's rather tough to say, considering my mother's side of the family has been here since the 16th century (indentured servants), and were not the rich types who stuck to their own ethnicity. Anyway, this is to say that I feel some kinship with Cher, and how drawn she was to songs like "Dark Lady." Though in this case, the "dark lady" is someone Cher's character murders for cheating with her boyfriend. She kills the boyfriend too.

This song is dated ("gypsy music") Las Vegas cheese, and yet I like it. It's wildly melodramatic and fun.

John Denver – “Sunshine On My Shoulders” -- March 30, 1974

Bleeeeeh. I like big melodramatic songs. This is the opposite. Now, I do like small, sweet songs often too. But I just can't with this one. It's too slow, too simple, and feels aggressively, shallowly cheery.

Blue Swede – “Hooked On A Feeling” -- April 6, 1974

I learned from the Todd in the Shadows video about this song that its stupid "ooga chaka" thing was inspired by 1960's "Running Bear." Now I hate it even more! The original of this song is a nice, simple love song. Blue Swede made it shouty and dumb.

Elton John – “Bennie And The Jets” -- April 13, 1974

It's Elton John. Therefore I don't like it. I feel like it's too slow maybe? I feel like most of Elton John's songs are too slow maybe. I don't know. I'm bored.

MFSB & The Three Degrees’ “TSOP (The Sound Of Philadelphia)” -- April 20, 1974

An instrumental disco track. It is one I find danceable, so there's that. Not bad.

Grand Funk – “The Loco-Motion” -- May 4, 1974

A rock cover of The Loco-Motion. Sure, why not. Though this version is not very good. It feels like they slowed it down, and they definitely made it extremely loud. I don't really see a reason for this song to exist.

Ray Stevens – “The Streak” -- May 18, 1974

Streaking was a fad in 1974. This is a comedy song about it. I had never heard it before this, and I hope never to again. It's deeply dumb.

Paul McCartney & Wings – “Band On The Run” -- June 8, 1974

The wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo thing at the beginning of the song sounds neat, but then it goes on too long. That's my feeling about this entire song: It goes on too long. It does change up substantially multiple times throughout, but it's no Bohemian Rhapsody. Bohemian Rhapsody is, imo, perfect. The pacing of "Band on the Run," otoh, is a mess. The second section needs to be a lot longer and the final section needs to be a lot shorter. Paul McCartney needed an editor for this.

Bo Donaldson And The Heywoods – “Billy, Don’t Be A Hero” -- June 15, 1974

A young woman tells her boyfriend to not "be a hero" when he goes off to war (probably the Civil War.) Because she wants him to come home alive. As anyone who knows this kind of song can predict, he decides to be a hero and dies. Cliche and weirdly bouncy for the subject matter. Still, at least songs were acknowledging that dying in war was not a great thing. Unlike the putrescent "Ballad of the Green Berets."

Gordon Lightfoot – “Sundown” -- June 29, 1974

The singer is jealously obsessed with a woman. He knows this isn't a good thing, but he doesn't seem able to -- or be trying to -- move past it. This is about something real; Gordon Lightfoot was obsessively, violently jealous over Cathy Smith, the woman who was later convicted for injecting John Belushi with the heroin that killed him. The lyrics are mean, but the music doesn't go hard at all. Except, compared to the rest of the stuff I've looked at for 1974 so far, the music does sound a lot harder -- it's minor key and there's a distinct bassline. It still feels like a mismatch.

The Hues Corporation – “Rock The Boat” -- July 6, 1974

A disco song I can dance to some. Not entirely. It's a song asking you not to "rock the boat" of your perfect love with the singer. It's incredibly schmaltzy -- schmaltzy disco. Ugh.

George McCrae – “Rock Your Baby” -- July 13, 1974

The singer is telling you, "woman," to take him in your arms and rock him. I.e. fuck him. I have perfect pitch. George McCrae is no Ella Fitzgerald. When he goes to the high note, he does not hit it right, and it's like nails on a chalkboard. I can't listen to this song all the way through.

John Denver – “Annie’s Song” -- July 27, 1974

Ugh, 1974. This is a simplistic love song to John Denver's wife. Not just simple, which is fine, but simplistic, which is not. They divorced years later, and Denver became violent during it. (Denver's the one who brought that to light and he obviously felt terrible about it.) The Stereogum guy was shocked by this. I'm not. For one, celebrity is horrible for people. For another, I can't think of any of Denver's songs that have depth or complexity. Trying to live at the surface is also horrible for people. I do like a lot of simple love songs, but John Denver's songs have always made me go "ick," even when I was a child. I feel like there's nothing in them.

Roberta Flack – “Feel Like Makin’ Love” -- August 10, 1974

The music to this song, with the calm but interesting percussion and romantic guitar, combined with Roberta Flack's whispery vocals, is lovely. It gives me asmr feels and makes me want to lie down and drift off to sleep. So, uh. Not exactly what I consider a sexy song. I do like listening to it, as it's nice and calming, but I don't think that was the intent.

Paper Lace – “The Night Chicago Died” -- August 17, 1974

And I will definitely need some relaxation after this garbage. Okay so, this travesty was by Brits who: 1) Thought there was an East Side of Chicago. That's Lake Michigan. 2) Thought it would be cute to write a song in which Al Capone tried to literally take over Chicago by killing all the cops (he bribed cops, he didn't kill them, and he was a criminal, not an insurrectionary.) 3) Sing "glory be" because they obviously think that's a super American thing to do. "In the land of the dollar bill." WHAT? This song makes me want to punt Paper Lace into the East Side of Chicago.

Paul Anka – “(You’re) Having My Baby” -- August 24, 1974

Notoriously one of the worst pop songs ever. The singer thinks "you" (that makes it worse) are having his baby solely and only because you love him. Monumental narcissism, just completely heinous, plus it's musical glop.

Eric Clapton – “I Shot The Sheriff” -- September 14, 1974

This is not Bob Marley's version. Bob Marley's version is so much better, and it's the one I've heard a lot, so when I turned this one on I was confused for a second.

Barry White – “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe” -- September 21, 1974

Oh thank god. Barry White is one of my favorite singers, and this is one of my favorite songs. This is a sexy love song by a great artist.

Andy Kim – “Rock Me Gently” -- September 28, 1974

Andy Kim's voice sounds incredibly mid-70s. What's with men asking their lovers to rock them this year? The chorus is pretty good, and has a real beat. He's asking his lover to be gentle, and "I have never been loved like this before." That's nice. It's cheese, but it's fine.

Olivia Newton-John – “I Honestly Love You” -- October 5, 1974

A lot of the time when someone says they "honestly" something without prompting, they're lying. So this song sounds weird to me. "I love you/ I honestly love you" -- um, you sure about that? Though the singer has no reason to pretend she loves the person she's singing to, and every reason not to, since they're both with someone else. She just wants to tell you she loves you and leave it at that. Yeah, that's likely. Olivia Newton-John is a good singer, and she's especially good at acting a song. I feel she should have been on Broadway. In any case, while this is a slow soft song in an era with way too many of those, it's one of the better ones. It's not overly slow or particularly goopy.

Billy Preston – “Nothing From Nothing” -- October 19, 1974

If there's such a thing as vaudeville rock, this is it. He doesn't want to be your hero or your highness, so it sounds like he wants an equal relationship. He also says "I'm a soldier in the war on poverty," which makes it sounds like he's saying you have to have money if you want to get with him, but maybe not. He sings "you gotta bring a little something, girl, if you want to be with me," which may or may not be monetary. It's bouncy and all, but Billy Preston's done better.

Dionne Warwick & The Spinners – “Then Came You” -- October 26, 1974

A song about finally finding love. Plenty of good orchestration, a good beat, and of course Dionne Warwick's voice. I like it.

Stevie Wonder – “You Haven’t Done Nothin'” -- November 2, 1974

The "you" in this song is Richard Nixon. Stevie Wonder is one of the most love everyone, let's all come together artists in existence. But here, he was angry. "We would not care to wake up to the nightmare/ That's becoming real life/ But when misled who knows a person's mind/ Can turn as cold as ice." The Republican Party is still Nixon's party -- they love him almost as much as they do Reagan. This song is funky and good and the only reason I don't feel it more is that it's not angry enough.

Bachman-Turner Overdrive – “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet” -- November 9, 1974

They were goofing around in the studio, and lead singer Randy Bachman wanted to make fun of his brother's stutter. When this song became a hit, Randy was mortified. But even with nasty, juvenile intentions behind it, this song is good. It also sounds happy and not mean at all. It's a rather silly song about first experiencing sex, and it's fun.

John Lennon – “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” -- November 16, 1974

John Lennon's voice was always kinda nasal, but it's really nasal on this song. Anyway, this song may as well be called "you do you." It's a song that in theory I should not find boring, but in practice I do. I have finally found out why: Elton John helped him with it. It sounds very Elton John-ish. Which means I don't really have anything else to say.

Billy Swan – “I Can Help” -- November 23, 1974

Some old-fashioned rockability is a nice change. The singer sees that the woman needs some help, so "let me help." "I got two strong arms/ Let me help." I immediately think of a romance between a farmhand and a widow woman. "It would sure do me good to do you good." That's a pretty concise description of love. Billy Swain's voice is kinda thin; Elvis did a cover of this, and it's a lot better. Billy Swain's version is sweet and all, but Elvis' is irresistible.

Carl Douglas – “Kung Fu Fighting” -- December 7, 1974

This isn't a song about actual kung fu; it's about kung fu movies. It's a fanboy telling you all about the cool movie he just saw, though not telling you a thing about the plot. Just the "expert timing" and stuff. Trying to analyze "Kung Fu Fighting" feels really silly. It's a rare enjoyable novelty song by an actual musician.

Harry Chapin – “Cat’s In The Cradle” -- December 21, 1974

A cover of this song by Ugly Kid Joe became a hit in 1992. And it was massively overplayed, so I hate this song. This father/son stuff bores me anyway, speaking of overplayed.

Helen Reddy – “Angie Baby” -- December 28, 1974

This song is deeply strange, which is a mark in its favor. It's a story song about a girl who has no friends and had to be taken out of school because she's "a little touched." She lives in a world of make-believe, listening to the radio all the time. A neighbor boy comes along to rape her. But as soon as he walks into her room... "Toward the radio he's bound/ Never to be found." He becomes her "secret lover," trapped in the radio. "It's so nice to be insane/ No one asks you to explain." Is Angie really "insane," or is she a sorceress whose rock n' roll powers everyone looks away from? Both? I'm not sure what I think of this song, but it is interesting, and that's always good.

BEST OF 1974 -- "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe" by Barry White WORST OF 1974 -- "(You're) Having My Baby" by Paul Anka

#billboard number ones

[the-endless-storm]

Nuzlocke Shield Part Three

Part One

Part Two

Got to Hulbury and figure I can fish here for another encounter. Are there fishing spots in other towns I’ve never noticed? Fished up a Chewtle.

Snapper - Chewtle (f) Shell Armour Careful (SDf up / SAk down) “It loves to eat!”

I'll box Charjabug for the time being, Toxel will take over the electric role for the time being.

I’m going to head back to the Wild Area to do some training before fighting Nessa, and get everyone's levels up to around 24. If there are any Raid's in the three area's I’ve visited I’ll see what TRs I can get my mitts on too.

TRs were all a bust, but Snapper evolved into a Drednaw whilst training so that was a pleasant surprise.

On to fight Nessa and her trainers didn’t put up much of a fight.

Nessa's Goldeen seemed to last out against Toxel for a long time, so I switched to Drednaw to fight Arrocuda (bearing in mind it has Peck so I didn’t send out Thwackey). I forgot how fast Drednaw is for a bulky rock type, so that round didn’t last long at all.

Teackey came,out and Dynamaxed to take on her Gigantamax Drednaw and that lasted even less time.

Water badge get!

“A Power spot detector!? That’s the device that allowed me to detect power spots!” Nothing gets past Chairman Rose. You can tell he got into power on his looks and not his brain.

Thanks Hop, I can read a map buddy I know where to go. Thanks for holding my hand through the entire game. Pokemon games should come with two menu options. “I’ve played this game before” that lets you skip all the dialogue and cut scenes, and “I’ve played Pokemon games before” that skips all the tutorials and hand holding.

Galar Mine Two, and a Croagunk literally appears out of nowhere as I’m walking through. That'll be my encounter then.

Kermit - Croagunk (m) Anticipation Relaxed (Dfc up / Spd down) “It's proud of its power!”

I like Croagunk, but I already have a fighting type and a poison type, so I’ll box it for now.

Oh it's Bede. Hopefully Snapper's Bite should be enough to see him off.

I love the battle music for facing Bede. Total bop.

Bede managed to land one attack out of his entire team. GG.

Fighting Team Yell and this would be going a lot quicker if “future champion” Hop would represent and order his Wooloo to attack instead of wasting everyone's time.

Out side in Motostoke Outskirts, I ran into the grass and found a Salandit. Unfortunately it's a male, so rather than catch a Pokemon that wouldn’t be able to evolve, I knocked it out. I have a pretty good team, spares in my box and several zones of the Wild Area yet to explore so I’m not too worried about this loss.

Speaking of, I’m going to check out the remaining areas of the Wild Area, before I cross the bridge to the stronger side after (hopefully) beating Kabu. First up, Dappled Grove gives me an Oddish. Game won’t let me call it 'weed', I guess that's too naughty.

Swede - Oddish (f) Chlorophyll Hardy (no change) “It's thoroughly cunning!”

Watchtower Ruins gives me a Snorunt

Gnasher - Snorunt (m) Ice Body Docile (no change) “It's alert to sounds!”

Last but not least, North Lake Miloch has a Mudbray.

Bullseye - Mudbray (m) Stamina Jolly (Spd up / SAk down) “It's alert to sounds!”

Back to the Budew Inn and it's a fight with Marnie and I did not heal up first so I hope this goes ok.

Fuck fuck fuck it did not go ok. HaagenDazs got knocked out in one shot by her Croagunk's revenge. Rest in peace little ice cream dude, we had good times. My team is disproportionately weak to either poison or fighting, my only saving grace is Jett the Toxel.

Stop using Sucker Punch on a baby!

Ok Marnie is down but that was more annoying that it should have been, my team is very badly balanced type wise.

Vanillite is KO'd

Taking out Snorunt would be pointless considering I wouldn’t use him against Kabu, so I’ll use Bullseye. He's only level 15 so needs to be at least 28 to be on par with everyone else. So it's back to training, unless I have enough XP candies to give him.

I have an assortment of candies and Rare Candies to get Bullseye up a few levels, then train the rest. It's snowing in so many areas that it's easy for FossilFuel and Chappy to plow through ice types for easy exp.

I also teach Snappy Waterfall; which should do him a lot better than Water Gun; and Bulldoze. On the off chance I check with the Move Relearner, and I give him Crunch over Bite too. None of the others have any hidden moves to relearn.

I best stock up on some Super Potions too.

Oh I forgot you could catch Pokémon inside the gym! That's got to count as an encounter for the area right? I fished inside Hulbury City so this should count for Motostoke City. It's a Sizzlepede!

Mushu - Sizzlepede (m) Flash Fire Modest (SAk up / Atk down) “It likes to thrash about!”

Mushu will have to go in a box for now. Aww, I wish I’d got Litwik first I could have done with a ghost type. Pants. Anyway this challenge is easy.

Bullseye knocks out Ninetales, dodging a will-o-wisp then slowing it with a Bulldoze and knocking it out first in the next turn. Arcanine is next and I’m worried about Bullseye lasting against it, so I’m swapping to Snapper who will hopefully carry on the rest of the battle.

Snapper dodges a Will-o-wisp too and lands a good hit with Waterfall. The Wisp hits the second time which causes the Waterfall to leave Arcanine with a sliver of HP. I think there's going to be a Potion next so I’m going to risk a Burn Heal.

There was no Potion, but there was only a Bite attack. Got wisp'd again but that shouldn’t impact the final round too much.

Dynamaxing Dreadnaw for a Max Rockfall, should knock out Gigantamax Centiskorch in one turn. If I’m lucky.

I am not lucky. It takes two turns, with a smidge of Sandstorm damage in the middle.

Hey Chappy is evolving too, hello Machoke sorry but you're never going to be a Machamp.

Fire Badge get!

I love the way the badges fit into a ring in this game. Best badges since the ones you could polish in Diamond and Pearl.

Hop is going to have terrible arthritis in his elbows and knees if he keeps spazzing out every time he tries to talk.

One last spot in the Wild Area on this side of the bridge that I missed earlier, the Giant's Seat. I know the Pokemon here are higher than elsewhere so I should be about right to catch something there now. God I hope it's not snowing there too.

Nope it's raining and my first encounter is a Quagsire! Let me swap out Bullseye before anything bad happens...

Oops, knocked it out. Oh well, Snapper is doing well enough as my water type at the moment so hopefully I can keep him going for a while longer. I can always catch another water type later on if I must.

On to Motostoke Riverbank and oh goodie it's snowing here too. Please not another ice type, please please please... oh a Corvisquire. But I’ve already had a Rookidee so this is a duplicate and I can look for another pokemon.

Oh shit oh shit there are Sneasel's chasing me fuck they're fast! Get away!

My second encounter is a fucking Vanillite, which is also a duplicate, but my rules stop me from searching for a third time. Stupid snow.

Bridge Field is snowing too! Goddamit. It's a fucking Sneasel. Double dammit. Too many ice types filling up my encounter slots.

Salem - Sneasel (m) Keen Eye Hasty (Spd up / Dfc down) “It has a sturdy body!”

In the box you go.

Let's see what the Digging Duo can find for me.

Stamina Bro - Normal Gem, Ice Stone, Damp Rock, Fossilized Fish, Sticky Barb, Leaf Stone, Sun Stone, Heat Rock, Heat Rock.

Skill Bro - Rare Bone, Fossilized Fish, Bottle Cap, Rare Bone, Dawn Stone.

I have three more zones to go through to get to Hammerlocke, so I’ll stop down by the Nursery where it's safe and save, and leave it at that for today.

Current Team

Drumroll - Thwackey (lv 29)

Bullseye - Mudsdale (lv 28)

Snapper - Drednaw (lv 29)

FossilFuel - Carkoal (lv 29)

Chappy - Machoke (lv 18)

Jett - Toxel (lv 19)

Boxed

Joltik

Slowpoke

Charjabug

Croagunk

Oddish

Snorunt

Sizzlepede

Sneasel

Losses

Bandit the Nickit - Knocked out by a fat squirrel

Gumball the Tympole - Devoured by a centipede with a moustache

Castlevania the Rookidee - Torn apart by a cute mole

HaagenDazs the Vanillite - Murdered in an act of revenge by a smelly frog

Wild Area Tracker

Rolling Fields

West Lake Axewell

East Lake Axewell

South Lake Miloch

Dappled Grove

Watchtower Ruins

North Lake Miloch

Giant’s Seat

Motostoke Riverbank

Bridge Field

#me #pokemon #pokemon shield #nuzlocke

[arcticdementor]

Yesterday, on the Denver Post (I think! It’s a Colorado Newspaper anyway) site I came across a headline that’s so wrong that wrong would be an improvement.

“US tops 500000 Covid-19 cases. Europe looks on in horror.” [For those correcting the “typo” via various means: I think they meant NEW cases.  The article was muddled, but that was the feeling I got. The headline was JUST that.]

Do I need to break it down?

Half a million cases means, of course, a half million tests positive right now. Which means we have almost 0.2% of people positive for a respiratory virus.

…

Let’s then drill down into cases. What the hell are cases, actually? I bet you most people reading that headline think cases are deaths, or at the very minimum hospitalizations.

I want to point out right now even if we had a half million residents in hospitals right now, all it would mean was that the hospitals would not be laying off medical personnel, and perhaps it would cut down on the tik tok dance time for some nurses, but still no, let’s be clear cases aren’t hospitalizations.

And cases aren’t deaths — I have run into people who thought this too — and sure, if we topped half a million deaths it would be bad. Very bad. It would be about five times the mortality of a normal “bad flu year.”

Which when all is said and done would still leave us rather far of “condition zombie apocalypse.”

Why precisely Europe would be looking on in horror at that kind of numbers is something else. But of course, it depends on who in Europe they asked, which countries in Europe, and actually what the hell they mean by Europe or how Europe even heard about our “cases.”

Let me start by saying I have family in Europe. Despite their marked tendency to call me when there are fires in California, because this is “near” Colorado and therefore I must be at risk, I have yet to get a panicked phone call asking me if my sons — even my son who is a medical professional — are okay, or if I — who am notoriously hampered in the lung department and also have a tendency to catch everything that comes through town or even waves from the next town — am being careful, take all precautions, etc.

In fact, while my father in law asks us in every call if health professional son is okay and is taking all precautions, my family in Europe is more worried about whether we all have jobs, because of what this insanity is doing to the US economy. If they mention the dread plague from China, it usually starts with “I don’t understand why the US seems to be so scared. This is what is scaring our own government/s, that they think the US knows something special.”

Uh uh. To an extent, they are in fact looking on in horror, and wondering if we should have put anti-psychotics in the water a while back. In fact, their tone reminds me exactly of the tone I heard around me in 1968 (about the earliest I remember hearing the US mentioned) and it has this undertone of “Whatever the hell is going on in America, can you guys fix it already?” To the extent they are worried about the bug in their own countries, it is because they have this, totally unwarranted, belief that the Americans are possessors and learners of secret knowledge, and that if we are going ape shit, there must be something they aren’t seeing.

…

Who in hell is horrified? Poles? Swedes? Spaniards? Europe, despite the EU is — for purposes of culture and communication — not a version of the US with the countries instead of states. Europe, fragmented into languages and dialects and broken into very, very different cultures (yes, the US has very different cultures per state and region, too, but not that different. For those differences you need to marinade in insularity for a few centuries) is a fragmentation of peoples most of whom until the EU would need a passport (for the cat) to swing a cat, and would need a translator to tell their neighbor to duck while the cat is swung.

If Europe is horrified at our number of cases, exactly why are they so?

Is it because they have no idea that our population is somewhere between 300 million and 350 million? Or is it because their governments lie to them and tell them they’re doing much better? Or is it because their entire information about our country comes via CNN who makes up shit to make it seem like we’re all dropping dead in the streets and then is spun by THEIR individual press, in their individual countries who firmly believe the government in the US has some control over the press, and therefore what they hear via CNN is dressed up to “best case scenario?”

Yeah, I imagine Europe (Whoever the hell is meant by that) looks on in horror at the US. But they also look down in horror at our crime situation, which they believe to be something out of Fast and Furious, our gun ownership (speaking of fast and furious) because — I swear I’m not making this up — they believe we all fight duels in the streets all the time, and our health (in general, not just winnie the flu) situation, because they believe that our hospitals refuse to treat the uninsured, and therefore we’re all piling up dead at the door to the hospitals. (Which of course means they’re horrified. As many decades as they think we’ve been shooting/murdering/refusing care to each other, not to mention the fact that they take those idiotic “hunger” surveys from the Obama years (remember, when they asked if you ate everything you wanted to that day and took a no to mean you were suffering from hunger. (To be fair, most of us are dieting, so that too is not even wrong.)) and assume we’ve been starting for decades. I mean, at this point they probably think the last half million Americans just fell down dead.)

And given the silliness of that picture above, and the bizarre ideas of the trolls who regularly come here to school us about what is “really” going on in America, bring up the most interesting question of all: Who the f*ck actually cares if Europe is “horrified”? They neither pay our taxes nor are in any state to make war on us. They have nothing we want, and know nothing about us and why PRECISELY should we give a d*mn if they’re horrified, elated, jumping for joy, or picking their nose?

Of course, this plays on the insecurities of the pseudo intellectuals with journalism degrees, who have been taught that Marxist Europe is the be all and end all, the pattern card of perfection of which we will forever fall short. They’re afraid that some random European will tell them how backward America is.

I have a solution: leave. Go to Europe. Leave there. Only before you go give up your citizenship, because when you try to come back — and you will. It will in fact take tops 5 years — I want to be able to make sure you’ve learned better.

But this is the kind of nonsensical headline people are being scared with. The ridiculousness is at a point some survey found that Americans thought “10%” of Americans had died of Covid-19.

…

So– what in actual hell? Why do people believe that ten percent of the population have died?

Well, it’s the news. In the few times I had to read a local paper for some reason, or was trapped in front of streaming news, or got input from the MSM in some way, they always fudge “cases” with “cases actually needing treatment” — the second is a fraction of the first — and “deaths” which is a much, much smaller fraction, and even that inflated by the fact that they are counting people dead while positive for covid, instead of people who died of COVID-19.

And always, always, our media sneeringly implies that other countries did much better/are doing much better. Even if they were — they’re not — when is the last time they told us we were so much harder-hit by the flu or the common cold than oh, Spain, and therefore Spain is better? Never?

But no, they’re not. In fact if you take away the cases in places that are hives of humanity, like NYC or Chicago (where being ventilated with a shot through the chest causes COVID-19) our cases are right in the middle of the pack for north European and Scandinavian cultures, whether they locked up or not. Which makes perfect sense, of course, because what actually matters is not the measures but the culture. And in the US, the chances of you coming cheek to jowl with humanity is zero or close to it.

Which, btw, bring us to “But Korea” well, yes, Korea — and other Asian countries — had to do a lot more control and be a lot more proactive because they live in density and proximity and social conviviality that would in fact make most Americans start singing “don’t stand so close to me.”

Look, guys, if this virus hasn’t actually utterly depopulated North Korea? No big.

#sarah hoyt #coronavirus #journalism in action #europe

[thornescratch]

Capitals: serving friday the 13th

This man is contemplating killing so many people.

#Oh no here comes Murder Swede #Nicklas Backstrom #Washington Capitals

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 4

Lily of the Lamplight by George deValier

"East flank, stragglers. Shoot!"

"They're retreating, save your bullets…"

"Grenade incoming!"

"Get down!"

Roderich thought he'd be terrified by battle. After all, he'd been terrified by everything else out here, as much as he tried to hide it. But hunched against this deep trench wall amidst this onslaught of commotion, Roderich felt nothing but overwhelming, head-spinning confusion. This place was too mad for him to fathom; too unreal for him to think. This was all too strange for Roderich to feel fear.

"Reload, fast, they won't take long to regroup."

"I need more ammo, here!"

"We all need more ammo, pal."

The shouts were muffled in Roderich's ears. Nearby explosions rattled the lines of wire overhead; ear-splitting whistles pierced the smoky sky. Groups of men stretched along the dirty ditch, on steps cut into the wall, aiming weapons over a blockade of broken doors and tables. But it was the captain whom Roderich could not take his eyes from.

"Run, assholes! Cut 'em down, soldiers!" Captain Zwingli stood on an upturned cart above the trench, a cigarette between his teeth, grinning madly as he emptied another magazine of ammunition into the foggy air. Four bullet cases lay empty at his feet. Even as enemy fire shattered the wooden barricade around him, Zwingli looked like he was having the time of his life. When his rifle finally emptied he simply tossed it to the ground, took another from his back, and kept shooting.

"Holy Mother of God." Roderich startled at the exclamation, then choked back an embarrassing gasp of relief to see Gilbert make his way back through a pile of packs and weapons. He sat heavily onto the step beside Roderich, flicked a cigarette butt to the ground, and glanced up at Zwingli spraying bullets into the air. "This bastard is fucking insane."

"Yep." Oxenstierna drew back his rifle and crouched beside them. His blue eyes were like steel behind his glasses. "He's finishin' off the wounded."

Roderich's already queasy stomach churned at the words. Gilbert just reloaded his rifle, shaking his head suspiciously. "How the hell has he not been shot? Crazy fuck should be dead by now." He slammed the steel bolt into place, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and fixed Oxenstierna with a concentrated stare. "I managed to get a look at our left flank. They've come close, but they're just looking for weak spots. I'd say this advance is only a distraction before the main assault."

"They're massing in the trees. I can make out a dozen or so from here." Feliks dropped to the ground from the crate he was using to scout over the trench. He tucked his binoculars into his belt and reached for his rifle instead. "You all right there, Fred?"

Roderich was not all right. Roderich was lost and disoriented and simply more confused than he had ever been in his entire life. He was also determined not to show it. "I'm perfectly fine." He tried to straighten up. Gilbert immediately pushed him back down.

"Keep your goddamn head down, how many times do I have to tell you! Oxenstierna, you keeping an eye on those SS bastards?"

Oxenstierna answered before Roderich could even think to feel insulted. "Hesse's got a pistol. 's'in his belt."

"A pistol?" Gilbert's eyes gleamed red. "Now, where did our old friend get his filthy hands on one of those?"

Feliks shot a narrow glare at the team a few feet further down the trench. "Same place he got that machine gun, probably."

Roderich followed the blatantly hostile stares. The team beside them consisted of Hesse, the sergeant Gilbert had provoked in the transport truck, and Saxon, the former SS officer whose cigarettes Gilbert was currently chain-smoking. Unlike the other men in the unit, they were using one gun between them. It rested on a tripod and was much bigger than the rifles the unit had been armed with that morning. Roderich's own rifle was slung over his shoulder, unused. He still did not know what to do with it, and Gilbert seemed intent on refusing him the chance to find out.

"They're shootin' too often," said Oxenstierna, his normally blank expression tinged with disdain. "Gonna overheat th'barrel."

Gilbert spat at the ground. Roderich glanced away in disgust. "They don't know what the hell they're doing. We've gotta get that gun off them."

Oxenstierna raised an eyebrow, cautiously intrigued. "'f we take't, we'll start a fight."

Gilbert looked delighted by the possibility. "Probably, yeah."

Oxenstierna's lip curled slightly upwards, his eyes flashing calculatedly. "Not a good idea."

Gilbert grinned and winked. "Probably not."

"Another wave, incoming!" Captain Zwingli's voice boomed down from above. Roderich looked up to see him rip a grenade from his belt, tear the pin out with his teeth, and hurl it into the field. He spat the pin into the trench. "Am I defending this village by myself? Prepare for incoming, you idiots!"

Gilbert and Oxenstierna hastened to their feet as a flurry of activity erupted around them, orders shouted down the line while men scrambled to their positions. Roderich's stomach fell and his spine turned cold. Incoming? What did that mean? Were the Russians advancing? What was he supposed to do? Roderich could see nothing outside of this narrow trench. He tried stretching his neck to make out what was going on, but Gilbert just pushed him down again.

"Head DOWN little prince!"

Roderich's hands clenched in frustration, anger heating the cold anxiety in his veins. How could he know what to do when no one told him anything? "But… but there must be something I can…"

"You can sit there and you can shut up." Gilbert did not even look at Roderich as he said it.

Now Roderich was insulted. That was too far. That was too far, and this was too much, too fast, and his head was spinning, and… "Hi, Fred." Feliks crouched beside Roderich, smiling, and took an unlit cigarette from his mouth. "How are you going?"

Roderich had never been asked a more complicated question in his life. "I… I thought you didn't smoke."

Feliks looked at the cigarette. "Oh, I don't light it. I just like to have something in my mouth."

Roderich had to close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Feliks was extending a little green packet towards him. Roderich just stared at it.

"You can hold my mints if you like," said Feliks cheerfully.

"I…" There was nothing to say. Roderich took the small roll carefully.

Feliks continued unfazed. "I remember my first battle." He raised his eyes to the sky and whistled. "Now that was really crazy, yeah? We weren't lucky enough to have a trench. We had nothing but a bombed out street, a few broken walls, and a thousand Englishman armed with grenades. I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know we were supposed to be fighting the English."

Roderich swallowed another wave of nausea. Feliks seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and to have no idea at the same time. He also seemed completely unperturbed by this entire situation. "What did you do?" Roderich asked hesitantly.

"I shot 'em."

Roderich suppressed his surprise. "Oh."

"I don't like killing people, Fred. But you've gotta remember - they're trying to kill us. And if it's them or me…" Feliks shrugged bluntly. "I choose me. You're lucky you've got someone looking out for you. Sir Gil is totally hot."

Roderich struggled to keep up with this erratic dialogue. He could not think how to respond to something so ridiculous. "Do, uh… do you think so?"

"Um, are you, like, blind, Fred?" Feliks giggled and nudged Roderich's shoulder. "And he must really like you."

Roderich paused for the briefest second, his gaze turning almost unconsciously upwards. Gilbert leant over his rifle, deep in conversation with Oxenstierna, his entire attitude one of complete confidence. Why did the German insist on trying to keep Roderich safe? Surely… "No." Roderich shook his head firmly. He could not begin to fathom why Gilbert was intent on protecting him, but it was quite obvious the man despised him. "No, Feliks, that's not it."

Feliks did not look convinced. "Well, whatever, just keep doing what he says. I've been out here long enough to know that his orders are worth following."

A heated explosion erupted nearby and Gilbert shouted abruptly. "Feliks!"

"Excuse me, Fred." Feliks replaced the unlit cigarette in his mouth, stood, and set his rifle beside the others.

Roderich ran a shaking hand over his head and watched the three soldiers aim their weapons. "Take your time," said Gilbert, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Make each shot count." It suddenly occurred to Roderich that he was the only one experiencing this tremendous confusion. These men knew how to defend a position, knew how to fire at an enemy. For the first time, Roderich felt just a little ashamed of how useless he was out here.

But when the shooting started, the shame vanished. Roderich's head turned light; his breath came too fast. The sound of fifty rifles firing, of the machine gun blasting, of the explosions outside the trench; it all drove like knives into his skull, a dissonant cacophony he could not comprehend. All Roderich knew was that he should not be here. This was still too dreamlike, too bizarre to be real. Yet here he was, burning with cold sweat in a filthy uniform, huddled in a dirty ditch with a group of murdering criminals. Forced to rely on a dim Pole, a silent Swede, the most unfathomable German he'd ever met, and an insane captain who seemed intent on getting them all killed. He should not be here. He was better than this. Roderich was better than this, yet here he was.

The attack did not last long this time. A short barrage of deafening gunfire, a final shattering burst from the machine gun, and silence fell again. When Gilbert turned and fell against the wall, Roderich could only raise a quizzical glance. "Retreated," Gilbert explained gruffly.

But it was over so fast... "Why do they keep charging?"

"They've got enough men to waste." Gilbert loaded a magazine of ammunition into his rifle. He didn't seem flustered by any of this. He switched easily between a sort of stern vigilance, and disdainful cavalierism. Roderich supposed after four years, the German had probably seen worse.

Along the trench, chatter broke out amongst the men. Some sat and reloaded; others remained watching over the barricade. Oxenstierna handed Feliks a canteen of water as they leant against the wall. Everything seemed to slow, and calm, until a green-suited figure jumped heavily into the trench before them. Captain Zwingli grinned broadly at the team of four, a rifle in one hand and a small black carry-case in the other. He was breathing heavily, but he looked positively gleeful. "How goes it, boys?"

Gilbert gave a small wave in reply. "Marvellous, sir."

Zwingli swung the rifle onto his shoulder and bounced once on his heels. "Wonderful."

"I just have one question," said Gilbert airily, removing his helmet and smoothing back his hair.

Zwingli arched an eyebrow.

"How are you not dead?"

Zwingli laughed manically. "Not my time, Prussian. Not my time. Polack!"

Feliks swallowed his water heavily and spluttered a reply. "Sir?"

Zwingli nodded at Feliks' weapon. "I see you know which end of a rifle to point. That's slightly more than I expected, and deserves praise. How's that Mosin holding up, Oxenstierna?"

Oxenstierna grunted in response.

"Prussian, teach this man German. Héderváry! What are you doing down there?"

Roderich managed to feel annoyed when Gilbert answered for him. "He's staying out of the way."

"I see." Roderich shrunk from Zwingli's piercing stare. This change from the captain's disturbingly blank demeanour was mildly terrifying. "Tell me, Austrian," Zwingli continued, "You might be useless, but you can talk, yes?"

Useless. Roderich let out a short, resigned breath. After all, what was the point in feeling offended all the time? "Yes," he replied flatly. "I can talk."

"Here." Zwingli dropped the black case onto the wooden step. Despite himself, Roderich regarded it curiously. A small silver plaque was embedded into the black leather, engraved with random words beside each letter of the alphabet. Zwingli fell to one knee and clicked the case open to reveal a telephone with a list of numbers. "When I give the order, get on to HQ and call down an artillery strike on the coordinates I give you. You can use this any time you need to call in support, understand?"

Roderich was so tired of not comprehending a word anyone said. He drew his eyebrows together and slowly met Zwingli's eyes level with his own. "No, I… I don't think I understand."

Zwingli took a deep breath through his nose, closed his eyes, and muttered something unintelligible. It sounded oddly like he was counting. Then he swiftly turned his head away. "You will."

The moment Zwingli stood, a runner raced up beside them. Zwingli turned to the soldier, rubbed his palms together, and barked, "Right. Who's dead?"

The soldier replied breathlessly. "Two from the left flank. Grenade."

"Good." Zwingli nodded shortly before marching off. "Get me their ammo. And their boots."

Roderich looked down at the strange phone in the black case. It was as unfamiliar and confusing as the unused rifle on his back; as this entire insufferable situation. Why had Zwingli even given it to him? Roderich was useless. He put a hand to his head, wanting to steady it, then with a flush of heat noticed Gilbert staring at him. Roderich immediately straightened his shoulders and tried to shake this helpless feeling away. The last thing he needed was another of Gilbert's insults. He reached for the rifle across his shoulder. "Well, um… what else can I do?"

Strangely, Gilbert's eyes softened. He knelt on the step and took Roderich's hand from his rifle. "Stop, you don't even know how to hold it. It's not your fault the military gave you no training. When we make it out of this, I'll teach you to shoot."

Roderich's cold hand burned where Gilbert touched it. He quickly snatched it away. "You'll teach me?"

"Yeah. But right now, for Christ's sake…" Gilbert's eyes hardened again as he stood. "Stay down."

.

Gilbert kept his head low and his Karabiner rifle covered as he surveyed the flat, tree-bordered expanse before the trench. The barren battlefield was dotted with smoking shell-holes, with mounds of dirt, with lifeless Russian bodies caught in barbed wire and strewn across the ground. He'd seen better, but hell, he'd seen a lot worse. Maybe this wasn't exactly the hopeless situation they'd been led to expect.

"Yer doin' good, Héderváry."

Oxenstierna's quiet mumble broke Gilbert's fixed attention from the terrain. He blinked down to see the Swede take a seat beside the Austrian, carefully organising cartridges of ammunition into the clips on his belt. Gilbert actually liked this Lion of the North. He was quiet, he did as he was told, he unwittingly intimidated the majority of fellow prisoners, and he had one of the best aims Gilbert had ever seen. As for Roderich...

"I'm not doing anything." Roderich sounded impatient as he answered. He sat with his shoulders tensed, his arms folded and his gaze set straight forward. "And I am not a coward."

Gilbert gritted his teeth. Of course this was the hopeless situation he'd been led to expect.

Oxenstierna's expression barely changed. If anything, he looked faintly amused. His Mosin-Nagant rested over his shoulder – that photograph remained in place always, even when he fired the weapon. "Never said ye were."

Roderich paused. He darted his eyes to the side, bit his lip, took a deep breath. Finally, he answered, "…No. Sorry. And... thank you, Oxenstierna."

Gilbert's eyebrows shot up and his cigarette nearly fell from his teeth. Had Roderich really just apologised and expressed gratitude in the same breath? Gilbert felt the sudden urge to clean his ear out with a fingertip. Oxenstierna simply replied, "Ye can call me Berwald if ye like."

"Oh." Roderich slowly brushed the hair from his forehead. How the hell did it manage to stay so clean in this dust, anyway? "Yes. Very well, all right. And, uh... you may call me Roderich. Or Fred, I suppose, if you must."

What? Gilbert just about spluttered in indignation. Why was this prissy Austrian able to attempt civility with everyone but him? Gilbert blew out an angry breath of smoke. It wasn't like he cared, after all. This was a goddamn battle; he had more important things to care about. Like Roderich's inability to shoot, to fight, to do anything really but sit looking indecently pretty and annoyingly vulnerable. Or like the fact Gilbert had just offered to teach him to shoot a rifle, as though the delicate prince could even lift it. Or like…

The bone-rattling sound of a blasting MG42 abruptly punctured the relative calm. Like that machine gun, for instance. How the hell had Hesse and Saxon, of all men, ended up in control of the only heavy machine gun in this unit's possession? Hesse was currently firing the weapon at nothing, erratically letting it off in short, sharp bursts, while Saxon leant beside him, laughing inanely. Gilbert exchanged a brief look with Oxenstierna, who raised a single eyebrow. Gilbert could see the Swede's thoughts perfectly - that gun was the best hope this unit had, and it was in the hands of idiots who didn't know how to use it.

"Psst. Sir Gil." Feliks motioned Gilbert closer from the floor of the trench.

Gilbert crouched so they were eye level. "What's the problem?"

Feliks leant forward, lowered his helmet, and muttered softly. "They're, like, totally doing it wrong. The MG42 operations manual specifies one hundred and fifty rounds before changing the barrel. That gun is going to jam. Plus, they're shooting at nothing, and totally wasting ammo."

Gilbert didn't know whether to be amused or impressed. "Operations manual?"

Feliks gestured vaguely. "I had to teach myself these things."

"Don't worry." Gilbert winked and flicked his cigarette to the ground. "I'm gonna get us that gun. The pistol, too." Gilbert briefly regarded the growing mountain of Aviatik butts at his feet. "And their cigarettes."

Feliks' face brightened and he gave a tiny salute. "Good work, sir. I'm right behind you. Can we take their mints, too?"

Gilbert bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Sure, Feliks was a little slow on some things and his whistling sort of got on Gilbert's nerves and he had an almost pathological obsession with Vivil mints, but it was a nice change to have someone around who wasn't so damned serious all the time.

"Sure thing, Feliks. Now, the plan is…" Gilbert broke off abruptly. Shit, what was the plan? He glanced desperately past Feliks' expectant expression, and instantly spotted his answer. The plan was marching past them down the trench. "Sir!"

Zwingli stopped in his tracks when Gilbert scrambled to the ground and offered him a cigarette. "There's only one machine gun."

Zwingli sighed heavily, took the cigarette, and placed it behind his ear. "Prussian, what did I ever do without you around to point out the goddamn bleeding obvious?"

Gilbert ignored him. "Listen, if those incompetent arseholes keep on the way they are, they're gonna use up all our ammo - if they don't overheat..."

Zwingli interrupted. "Is this leading to something, Corporal? Because as fascinating as this little chat is, you do realise there's about three thousand Russians out there right now, all about to come charging towards this trench screaming 'Urrah' and intent on blowing your Fascist brains out in the name of the Motherland."

Well, Gilbert had to admire his honesty. "Which is why I need that machine gun."

As though to prove his point, another deafening round fired from the weapon in question. Zwingli immediately spun on his heel and bellowed, "Hesse, you fucking idiot! Hold your fire before I jam that barrel up your arse, if Private Saxon hasn't got there already. Off the gun, it's going to Team Fairy."

Gilbert was starting to like this crazy captain. He snorted with laughter while Feliks broke into outright giggles behind him. Hesse and Saxon reacted immediately to the order, their expressions furiously incredulous. Saxon tore off his helmet, his long, blond hair matted to his forehead. "What?" he spat.

Hesse took a step into the trench, his stance threatening and his scarred face red with anger. "You're giving it to Beilschmidt? Why?!"

Nearby soldiers turned to watch – even in a besieged trench they seemed to sense potential violence, and hunger for it. Zwingli's hard, calculating gaze swept carefully over the prisoners before settling on the two gunners. He approached them slowly, his head tilted dangerously. "Are you questioning me?" He did not stop until he stood inches from the ex-sergeant, a full head shorter.

"You bet I…" Hesse got no further. In one swift movement, Zwingli tore the pistol from Hesse's belt, slammed it viciously against his ear, and struck him to his knees.

Not much really shocked Gilbert anymore. But this fairly small captain incapacitating a much larger man with one bloody, unexpected blow was, at the very least, surprising. Saxon took a wary step back; nothing but stunned silence came from the watching men.

"I said," Zwingli continued, his voice low and coldly controlled as he stood over the subdued German, "off the fucking gun."

Gilbert was really starting to like this crazy captain. "You heard the man." Gilbert flashed a grin as Hesse fought to pull himself to his feet. "Off you go."

Saxon took a threatening step forward, but Zwingli broke in before he could respond. "Swap positions, now. The rest of you – is this a battle or a fucking sideshow? Eyes forward, soldiers!"

The men quickly turned back to their weapons. Hesse and Saxon glanced at each other, picked up their packs, and moved reluctantly down the line. Hesse passed too close, hand pressed to his bleeding ear, his sneering face inches from Gilbert's own. "You wait, Beilschmidt."

"Oh..." Gilbert narrowed his eyes into a threatening glare. "I really can't." Then he smirked. "And that's Corporal to you, Private."

"Shut it, Prussian." Zwingli gestured firmly with the pistol. "Move it, I've got no time for this shit."

Gilbert laughed softly, motioned for his team to follow, and promptly forgot about the two unimportant soldiers who threw him furious backward glares. Before he left, Zwingli grabbed Gilbert roughly by the wrist and pressed something into his hand. "I'd be a little more careful about making enemies, if I were you."

Gilbert looked down at the pistol Zwingli had taken from Hesse's belt – a good old Dreyse 1907. Pistols were hard to come by out here. Why was Zwingli giving him this one? When Gilbert lifted his gaze curiously, the captain was already marching away. "Tell me to be careful, crazy bastard." But Gilbert placed the pistol carefully in his jacket.

Feliks dumped his pack and put his hands on his hips, glancing around the new position appraisingly. "Well, this is nice."

Roderich hovered uncertainly, lost and unsure as he clung to the field phone case. "Should I… um…"

Gilbert pointed at the step. "Sit."

"Excuse…."

"Right, Feliks, you said you've read the manual." Gilbert swung himself onto the step and whistled as he inspected the MG42, perched on a rather battered Lafette 42 tripod. Now this would do more damage than a clapped-out old Karabiner. "Can you reload one of these things?"

Feliks leapt up beside him, rolling his eyes as though insulted. "I was in a combat unit, you know. I can change that barrel in four seconds flat."

Berwald gave Feliks a skeptical glance and rested his rifle gently on the parapet. "Four s'conds?"

Feliks raised his chin superiorly. "Four seconds."

Berwald did not look convinced. "Never seen one loaded under six."

Feliks shrugged offhandedly. "Yeah, well, you were fighting in Finland and it's so cold up there."

"Shut up, I'm thinking." Gilbert ran a quick eye over the supplies – not too many bullets, but enough grenades if the fighting got too close. "Right, Feliks, you're on reloading duty. Oxenstierna, I'm gonna need you to feed the ammo belt, but don't be shy with that rifle if you need it. Roderich, keep your goddamn head down."

A sharp whistle pierced the air and Gilbert reacted instinctively. He took control of the gun, just as a thick line of Russians advanced from the trees across the field. Shouts roared down the line as rifles started to fire. Feliks dove for the barrel case on his right; Berwald took hold of the ammo belt on his left. For one brief moment Gilbert's eyes flicked to Roderich, hunched into the step with his arms across his chest. But then that familiar Russian war cry twisted Gilbert's stomach in knots and forced his head into narrow focus. This was a battle, and he had more important things to care about.

Gilbert's hands steadied, his heartbeat even and controlled. "All right." He carefully tucked a cigarette behind his ear, his eyes fixed on a charging target. "Here we go."

.

The machine gun sawed through Roderich's head like a drill, driving all other sound from his ears, trapping his senses in harsh, relentless cacophony. He could feel it in his bones; taste it in his teeth. The very ground shook with that disorienting, unbearable noise. His team, however, barely seemed to notice. Roderich could not understand it. How did Gilbert not even flinch as he fired? How did Feliks know when to open the gun and replace the metal cartridge and slam the latch shut? How did Berwald manage to scan the field with binoculars, feed a line of bullets into the weapon, and occasionally fire a shot from his rifle without a moment's delay? And how did they seem so calm as they did it?

"How long was that?" Gilbert called during a brief lull, leaning back slightly as Feliks replaced another cartridge with lightning speed.

Berwald lowered his binoculars and shouted to be heard. "Five seconds."

Feliks shouted back indignantly. "It was totally four!"

Berwald shook his head, unmoved. "Five."

"Still under six!" Feliks shot back.

Gilbert nodded. "It was under six."

Berwald lifted his rifle and fired a single shot. "Still not four."

Again, Roderich could only watch his team, with no way to see the enemy. Again, it was over so fast, and all he could do was lower his head and breathe in relief. At least his bewildered confusion was finally fading – it was simply too tiring to maintain.

The guns barely fell silent before Gilbert sat heavily on the step beside him. Roderich glanced sideways, and his chest turned strangely when he realised Gilbert's hands were shaking. Gilbert noticed at the same time, and quickly busied them by reaching behind his ear for yet another cigarette. He seemed to rely on them somehow. To his surprise, Roderich did not actually mind the smell. What he really minded was this deep relief he felt every time Gilbert sat beside him.

"You are going to run out of those at this rate." Roderich nodded at the cigarette.

Gilbert did not appear worried. "I'll find more. Always do."

Roderich slowly looked away. It seemed an unending cycle; once again, soldiers along the line reloaded rifles and filled ammunition pouches. Once again, it was astonishingly quiet after such violent noise. These small bursts of fighting were utterly bizarre – just as Roderich got used to the chaos, this silence fell again. It was like a constant controlled anxiety in his head and in his gut, occasionally rising and peaking, only to subside once again. "I did not expect these periods of..."

"Boredom?"

Of course Gilbert would misunderstand. Roderich explained, "Silence."

"You need to stop expecting, Roderich. Ain't nothing gonna be like you expected." Gilbert paused to light his cigarette. "But yeah. There's a lot of that out here. Endless stretches of bored silence, interrupted by flashes of fire, which pass almost before you realise they've been. It's like life, really. You spend so long waiting for something to happen, then when it does, it's over so fast you barely notice. But it's those brief moments that matter."

Roderich was speechless. Whenever he decided Gilbert was nothing but an uneducated brute, the German came out with something like that. But what really disturbed Roderich, was the realisation – he could not remember a single moment of his life that really mattered. "Do you…" Roderich asked without thinking. "I mean... You've had many moments like that?"

Gilbert breathed out a swift lungful of smoke. "Enough to fill a lifetime." His lips turned in a tiny smile. "Why d'you think I ain't afraid to die?"

Roderich was not even sure why he asked it, or why Gilbert answered. When their eyes met, Roderich shivered, and for the first time he realised just how utterly freezing it was out here.

Feliks fell abruptly between them and reached for his canteen. "I wonder when we'll get leave in this unit."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Really, Feliks?"

Berwald crouched on the floor and accepted the water from Feliks. He almost looked fondly amused. "Won't be gettin' leave fer a long, long time."

Gilbert rested back against the trench wall, one hand behind his head. "It's been too long since I went on leave. Early '42. Paris. I went to this movie theatre, in an alley off the Boulevard Saint-Michel. You know the type – small, dark, suspiciously stained seats. Naturally, I was really disappointed when they just showed some American rubbish called Citizen Kane."

"Any good?" asked Feliks eagerly.

"It was his sled."

Feliks tilted his head. "Huh?"

Gilbert took a draw on his cigarette. "Nothing."

"I liked Casablanca." Feliks leant on the phone case beside Roderich, looked up at him with a small smile and pleading eyes, and spoke in perfect English. "Play it once, Sam. For old time's sake."

Berwald made a small noise, which might have been a laugh. "He don't know what y'mean, Miss Feliks."

Feliks flashed Berwald a wide grin, genuinely delighted. "Play it, Fred," he continued with a dramatic sigh. "Play… 'As Time Goes By.'"

Roderich discreetly edged away. He hadn't the slightest idea what they were on about, and in all honesty was starting to wonder if they'd gone a bit strange. Gilbert snorted derisively. "Sappy American crap."

Feliks sat bolt upright and put an indignant hand to his chest. "How dare you!" he gasped. "Casablanca was totally romantic!"

Gilbert's lip curled in disgust. "Romantic? He didn't even get the girl!"

Feliks groaned and flopped backwards against the wall. "He loved her enough to let her go," he explained slowly, as though exasperated Gilbert could not understand.

"Bullshit," spat Gilbert, gesturing emphatically with his cigarette. "It's all bullshit. Like that other one, that Gone With the Wind. The only thing that made those three hours bearable was..."

Berwald finished for him. "Clark Gable."

There was a silent moment of mutual appreciation.

"Who is Clark Gable?"

Three pairs of wide eyes regarded Roderich in silent disapproval. Feliks looked frankly horrified. "Bad Fred. What sort of homosexual are you?"

Heat rose to Roderich's face, his stomach twisting uneasily. "I'm... why would you… what makes you think…" By now Roderich was quite aware of these men's personal preferences. As for his own, it was something he'd refused to think of, and this was hardly the time to start. He searched helplessly for an explanation. "I'm married!"

Gilbert snickered knowingly and pointed a thumb at Berwald. "So's he."

Feliks ignored Roderich's spluttered protest. "Clark Gable," he breathed expressively, "is the second most beautiful man in the world."

"Second?" Roderich asked it to draw attention from himself, though he had to wonder why he was even participating in this inane conversation. "Who's the first?"

Gilbert straightened his collar, grinning. "Me."

Feliks tossed a mint at Gilbert's head. Gilbert caught it easily and put it in his mouth. "You're gonna run out at this rate," he said, winking at Roderich.

"Kociak gave me his."

"What a gentleman."

Roderich had to look away, at the other soldiers also sitting and talking, furious gunfire forgotten. It almost felt normal - well, as normal as anything could out here. A few men kept watch over the trench with binoculars and ready weapons, but this did not feel like the same frantic battleground as earlier.

Until a single shot shattered the fragile calm. A sentry soldier down the line jerked backwards and fell to the ground, dead. Roderich barely registered the sight before the cry rang out. "Sniper!"

Feliks and Berwald dropped. Roderich's mind went blank when Gilbert grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him off the step, and threw him to the ground. Pain thudded down Roderich's spine as he hit the floor.

"Get down!" Zwingli's bellowing voice carried over a barrage of disordered shouts and nervous bursts of gunfire. "Sniper alert, get down!"

Roderich fought to breathe from the sudden shock of impact. His head pounded, hazy and unreal. It took a few white, spinning moments to realise that Gilbert was lying over him, arms over his head, lips moving and red eyes blazing into his own. "… all right? Roderich, answer me, are you all right?"

No. No, I am not all right. Roderich could not speak, but he forced himself to nod.

Gilbert twisted his head. His breath brushed Roderich's cheek. "Feliks?"

"Fine, Sir Gil."

"Oxenstierna?"

"Unharmed."

"Right, good. Both of you, stay down until we know what's going on."

The edgy gunfire stuttered to a halt as the shouts gradually quieted. Roderich could not move, Gilbert's body pinning his to the ground. He could feel Gilbert's heartbeat against his skin. Roderich realised, with a sickening lurch of his chest, that he actually felt safer like this. Oh, God, no, that was too much right now…

Thankfully, Gilbert abruptly pushed himself away and leant against the firing step. Finally able to breathe, Roderich gulped air into his lungs. The heavy silence became almost unbearable, until…

"I like Cary Grant, too," said Feliks casually.

"Is he number one?" asked Gilbert, his voice a little rough.

"No, he's number four."

"What'bout Errol Flynn?" asked Berwald evenly.

"Ew, no, you're totally not serious!"

Roderich stared up at the grey afternoon sky in disbelief. How could they possibly chat so calmly at a time like this? He did not dare to move, but he hissed, "What are we doing?"

Gilbert answered like it was obvious. "Waiting for her to give away her position."

Roderich must have misheard. "Her?"

"Probably. Oxenstierna, catch." Roderich watched as a red Aviatik packet flew over his head. Gilbert continued lightly, "These Russian snipers are usually women."

Roderich turned his head at that, horrified. Just when he thought things could not get more barbaric... "Women fight out here?"

Astoundingly, Gilbert managed to look amused. "Of course. Look at Feliks, he's doing a marvellous job."

Roderich narrowed his eyes. "That was very rude, Gilbert."

Feliks replied brightly. "Oh, I consider it a compliment."

The sound of a match flared, then Berwald muttered, "She's keepin' us down t'give em a chance t'advance. Gotta get her position."

"Yeah, I know, just..." Gilbert broke off mid-sentence.

Roderich's chest twisted anxiously. "What?"

A sharp, punctuated trilling pierced the eerie silence. Gilbert spoke slowly, distantly, as though remembering something. "I know that sound…"

Roderich suppressed his rising panic. "What? What is it?"

The high trilling turned to a clear, chirping noise. Just as Roderich realised, Feliks cried, "Oh! It's a bird!"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed in concentration, his forehead furrowed as he listened intently. He spoke to himself. "A canary – a Belgian Waterslager. Male, probably around two years old. Definitely domesticated. He's in distress…"

Roderich was actually a little intrigued. Birds - of all things... "How can you possibly…"

"Shut up." Gilbert raised a hand, listening to the frantic chirping. "He's about ten metres in front of the trench, to the right. Must be caught in the barbed wire."

An uneasy dread grew in Roderich's mind. He began to push himself up from the ground. "Gilbert, what are you…"

"Get on the field telephone," Gilbert interrupted, staring directly into Roderich's eyes. His own were blazing red. Roderich was starting to recognise that look, and it sent a chill of alarm down his spine. "Call down artillery on the sniper's position."

Roderich had to choke out a response. "Zwingli said to wait until he gave the order..."

Berwald's normally blank voice sounded unusually wary. "Beilschmidt, we don't know th'position yet."

Gilbert drew himself into a crouch against the wall and took his rifle from his shoulder. "Come on, Oxenstierna," he grinned. "You can give it a guess." He put his helmet on the rifle-end and raised it just above the trench line. "And I'm giving the order." A shot to the helmet sent it spinning. Gilbert immediately dropped the rifle, jumped onto the step, and threw himself over the trench.

"NO!" Roderich cried out, unthinking, and tried to scramble to his feet. Feliks immediately grabbed him by the belt and pulled him back. The silence shattered as all hell broke loose. Confused shouts echoed down the line, bursts of cover fire tore through the air; Berwald was on his feet and firing over the barricade in seconds. Roderich could not think through cold, choking terror. "Where... what... no..."

Feliks pushed Roderich heavily to the ground and shouted in his ear. "Call it down, Fred!"

"Where did he go?" Roderich shouted frantically, struggling against Feliks' hold and ignoring his words. "What is he doing? Oh God what's..."

"Listen!" Feliks gripped Roderich by the shoulders and shook him firmly. The grim urgency in his eyes was enough to snap Roderich back into focus. "Calm down, now. You need to get on the phone and call down a strike on that sniper."

Roderich nodded, forced back his fear, and reached for the phone case on the step. He could do this. He had to do this. But when he fumbled open the phone case, the numbers swam before his eyes. Roderich's blood froze in terrified confusion. "I don't know how!"

"Here." Feliks dove past Roderich for the case, swiftly turned the small black winder, and held out the receiver. Roderich took it with shaking hands. Bullets churned up the dirt above their heads. If Gilbert didn't make it back… Roderich felt violently ill as a voice answered over the phone line.

"HQ, go ahead."

"Good afternoon, yes, um, I would like to request an artillery strike, if possible… please…" Roderich spoke in a rush, unsure what he was saying.

The operator's voice replied sarcastically. "Why certainly sir, no trouble in the slightest! If you would be so kind as to supply me with co-ordinates for the strike, if possible... please?"

Roderich could barely hear over the cacophonous noise, but it was insultingly obvious the phone operator was mocking him. Feliks still gripped Roderich's arm, as though worried he would try again to run. Roderich was simply bewildered... how was he supposed to answer? Before he could panic, Berwald jerked back his rifle, snapped his head and shouted down at him. "Position, A-Brava-K, four-eight-two. Fire for effect."

Roderich repeated Berwald's strange words into the phone, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

"Copy that, prepare for incoming. Good day, sir!" 

Roderich hung up on the operator's laughter. Almost simultaneously, Berwald reached over the parapet, grabbed Gilbert's arm, and pulled him into the trench. Roderich's world turned briefly black as the German immediately fell beside him, laughing breathlessly and clutching something carefully between his hands.

Feliks released Roderich's arm and sat back with an almighty sigh; Berwald crouched to his knees, his forehead drenched with sweat. Roderich was simply struck still. He'd never experienced such a sensation of relief in his life. It was all over so fast it didn't feel real; but through the relief, Roderich was utterly furious.

"That was not okay, Sir Gil." Even Feliks sounded rather annoyed. "You, like, scared the shit out of me. How did you even do that?"

Gilbert just grinned, and Roderich's blood boiled at such infuriating arrogance. The mad German was not troubled in the slightest. "These snipers are all the same. It takes 'em a moment to make that second shot. You just gotta judge the time then hit the dirt, roll, feint left, and bolt."

Berwald shook his head. "'t's not that simple." His steely expression faltered slightly, both angry and impressed. "How'd ye know t'feint left not right?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Fifty-fifty, ain't it?"

"Oh my God." Feliks pushed his tangled hair from his forehead. "You should totally be dead."

"Nah. It won't be a sniper that gets me, will it, little bird?" Gilbert opened his hands. There, sitting perfectly still on his palm, was a little yellow canary. Feliks froze. Roderich blinked in stunned silence. Berwald leant forward curiously. The bird gave a tiny chirp.

"Aw," said Feliks, his eyes softening. "He's cute."

Roderich couldn't believe this. He could not handle this. A bird. He stared for a moment more before finally exploding. "A bird? A BIRD? You IDIOT! What the hell was that? You just... you just... you just risked your life for a BIRD, Gilbert! You COMPLETE and UTTER FOOL!"

Roderich was quite sure he'd never yelled so loud in his life; sure he'd never felt such strong emotion as this horrified anger mixed with this bone-weakening relief. But Gilbert was too focused on inspecting the canary to notice. When he seemed satisfied, he placed the little bird on his shoulder, where it immediately settled into the cloth. "Steady on, Roddy. You'll hurt his feelings."

"I won't steady on! That was the single stupidest thing I have ever witnessed! What am I supposed to do out here if you..." Roderich forced himself to stop. He took deep gulps of air, his hands clutching his sides. In the descending calm, he fully understood just how scared he'd been that Gilbert wouldn't come back. That he would leave him alone. After only a few days, Roderich was completely reliant on this mad German... and it was terrifying.

"Calm down, the lot of you," laughed Gilbert. "I'm too smart to be taken down by a sniper. Isn't that right, my little friend?" The bird warbled in reply.

"Here, Fred." Feliks pushed a canteen of water into Roderich's shaking hand, his expression concerned. "You're, like, totally white."

"I'm fine," Roderich snapped, though he took a long steadying gulp of water. He refused to look at Gilbert. Seconds later, a massive explosion tore through the air.

"There you are, little prince, it all worked out in the end." Gilbert slapped Roderich on the shoulder, a wide grin on his face. "Good work."

Roderich flinched from his touch. Once again, he was completely confused. He was certain he couldn't stand this man. He was also suddenly, painfully certain that he could not survive this war without him. He tried to form a response. "I did not do anything. It was Berwald who gave me the coordinates, and Feliks who..." Roderich trailed off when the little bird flapped its wings, turned a quick circle, and settled back onto Gilbert's shoulder. Roderich narrowed his eyes at it. It chirped back.

"A bird." Roderich actually laughed, this clash of shock and relief and still constant confusion overwhelming his senses. He fell back against the wall and put a hand to his head, sweat dripping from his hair. Gilbert sat back beside him, and their shoulders brushed.

"You're doin' all right, Roderich."

Roderich did not respond. The guns were still, and he needed this moment of silence. But slowly, low and rising and rumbling in the distance, the ground began to shake.

.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Lily of the Lamplight chapter 4

[jlf23tumble]

1D Day, Hour Two

The file I’m watching on YouTube is much shorter than an hour (44 minutes!!), but that’s because the poster kindly removed the “VT” (shudder) from random countries (it always boils down to [insert country’s name’s] fans wilding, and there’s only so much of that I can take).

Still, hour 2 is fucking ICONIC for many reasons, the biggest being Harry’s barely constrained rage. Yes, Louis’s “done with it all” demeanor on 1D Day is (justifiably) legendary, but Harry’s right there with him (twin flames, y’all). I can’t tell if he’s coked up, genuinely angry, or just passive-aggressively petty because someone told him he had to speak more quickly, much more loudly, and with some enthusiasm, for chrissakes. Oh, he delivers, all right, so much maniacal shouting. Deets under the cut.

Hour 2 is all Lirry, and I, for one, love Lirry, so it’s 44 minutes well spent. Liam tells us, “We’re kicking it off with VT from  France, give it up for France!” (“FRANCAIS!” Harry yells), and after the missing bit of French VT, we’re back to Lirry, with Harry vacillating between murdering the French language (“Mercy boo coo to France”) and shouting “I ATE SNAILS” as his contribution to what they did in France last time they were there (Liam played football with some guys near the Eiffel Tower, fwiw).

The first guest is Dynamo (or, “DYNAMO, EVERYBODY” if you’re Harry), and he’s here for card tricks and more (“OH, SNAP” is Harry’s response to Dynamo nearly twisting his own finger off, and god, it’s horrifying). Harry’s fairly manic through the entirety of the card tricks, but I love Liam because he’s me in every card trick (“I’m glad mine’s easy to remember because I’d probably forget,” which is true of any card you take, like, ever???):

“WHO LOVES MAGIC!” Harry shouts, and there’s a needlessly complicated special interactive trick that gets introduced here, with Dynamo saying that he wrote a prediction on a piece of paper and sealed it in a box at the beginning of the day, so he needs to Harry to keep the key safe. Points if you correctly assumed that Harry will stuff that key right in next to his dick as a joke.

Because nobody rehearsed or prepared for this epic full-day live event, there are all kinds of problems with the cameras, and if you want a fun drinking game to get you hammered within 45 minutes, take a shot every time you see a variation of this (Liam looking vaguely concerned while Harry aggressively points at the sky or the camera while shouting):

A horrifically bad segment that’s a poorly disguised advert for Google Hangouts (lmaoaoaoaooaoaoa) kicks off questions from all over the world (the audio is bad, none of the visuals syncs), but we get some iconic answers to deeply important questions, like, “If you were in the Hunger Games, who would  survive the longest?” Liam says he’d hide and then kill passersby (yikes), and Harry says he’s more of a lover than a fighter, so he’d hide in a tree until it all blew over. Liam: “Oh, yeah, you’re definitely more of a lover.” Harry: “Easy there, Piers Morgan.”

The next question is from a group of girls wearing Christmas sweaters, which annoys Harry because “it’s a whole month and two days early,” but I think his issues are bigger than jumping the gun on holidays (and honestly, the UK doesn’t have the twin buffers of T’day and H’ween, so you KNOW this is just part of his general rage). Anyway, they want to know what other careers these two would be involved with, sans the D, and because they’re five, Liam says spaceman and Harry says baker.

After a series of horrible glitches, the next question is about which superhero they’d be, and me as Harry, blowing a giant raspberry as he ponders this important question with the level of exhaustion he surely must feel, three years into this band/interview technique. Liam can read the room, so he picks this one up and says he’d be Kung-Fu Panda, which makes it easy for Harry to say Hong Kong Fuey (!!!) or Top Cat.

With that mess done, it’s time to “ROLL THE VT!” (according to Harry) for Switzerland, and because the producers here are nothing if not cliché lovers, that means tiny cowbells for Harry to play with when we come back. He quickly tires of this, throws the cowbells off stage, yells “WE NEED A CAMERA,” and walks straight into the call box with the overwhelmed girls from hour 1. These girls are still weeping, but Harry says, “Thank you for listening to the album, you’re getting kicked out, sorry,” in the flattest voice possible, so good cop Liam hurries over to ask the weeping girls which song they liked and usher in two new people.

“Happily” is debuted, but we don’t get to see it, boo, but we do get ushered over to a theater with some contest winners. Or as Harry says, “We’re here backstage to meet some fans who have won a chance to be here…SHUT UP…in our VIP cinema,” and then, “You’re crying…is that because I told you to shut up? I didn’t mean it.” Liam is there again to save the day, but there are lots of sound problems, so it’s hard to tell what’s happening, tbh.

Anyway, these fans get to ask some iconic questions, such as, “What would we find in your fridge?” which gives us this classic from Harry: “I DON’T LIVE ANYWHERE, SO NO FOOD,” as the audience says, “awwwwww” in the background.

There’s a question from a lady on the screen, saying that she’s in front of the X Factor studios, and she wants to know what they would change their audition song to, if they could go back in time, and because Harry’s well aware of his various stalkers, he says, “I saw her the other day at the X Factor studios, 100 percent” (fwiw, Harry would do “Wrecking Ball” with props, and Liam would do “Mirrors”).

The last question is what they would change if they could go back in time, and Liam says probably his older haircuts, and Harry says that one day in April (and he mentions April again later in the hour, so someone investigate), he had a dodgy breakfast burrito, so he’d probably change that (he also had a dodgy batch of prawns one time, too, but that’s a different story, and god, he’s an underrated comedian). The sound is for shit, but Liam doubts this, prompting Harry to scream, “DON’T JUDGE ME, LIAM, I’M TRYING MY BEST,” and whyyyyyy is he so on fire (and why do I love it so much):

We get back to the studio with an inexplicably breathless Scott Mills (he says he ran…but from where, lmao) and do another spin to figure out who the official 1D account (????) will follow on twitter. Harry starts cheating before people start yelling at him to stop, which is a shame, really, just follow all of these poor bastards, honestly!

We don’t get to see the VT from Germany, but we do get to see Lirry bickering about camera problems and stolen lines, plus an exhaustive rundown of all the thrilling things to come, and I’m so thankful to the person who made this moment a Dua Lipa meme all those months ago:

One of my favorite segments has a really awkward setup, but tl/dr/dw, Harry brags, “I’m a bit of a chef myself, and if I’m honest, Liam, I’m pretty damned good at it,” so we get a “ROLL VT!” and an aggressive finger point, both from Harry, and a silly but charming cook off with the tour chef, who seems like a lovely lady (p.s. look at how glorious his hair was under all those tablecloths…also, he’s chewing gum in a gross way, but this whole bit is worth watching in full):

The cook off is genuinely funny and results in a beautiful pavlova from Sarah and a basic sandwich (with pickle and paprika) from Harry, judged by Mark Jarvis, Gemma Styles, and Lou Teasdale, all of whom Harry bribes. I’m more fascinated with this ring, and my head canon has it either saying ILY or JEN (both of which make me smile):

With that bit over, we move on to more rapping of random tweets, and it’s embarrassing, so I won’t get into that. But the VT of Liam surfing is something special, not only because he looks so obviously happy while he’s doing it, but also because he says some very profound things in the interview around it: “I get followed a lot, so it’s quite nice to get out in the sea where nobody can follow you […] it’s so nice and peaceful […] it doesn’t matter what you look like, you can just have a good time, it’s a bit of an escape,” and ouchhhhhh, that’s some real talk.

We head back to the studio for a fashion segment with Louise someone; a handful of lucky fans in Sweden won a t-shirt design contest, and Lirry are gonna do some modeling. Louise is happy that Harry knows where Sweden is (Harry:  “I got a B in geography…might have been a C, can’t remember”), and some poor shlub working on this trainwreck in the shadow gets dragged out on camera because he’s wearing green jeans, but he’s not there for long (Harry: “GET OUT” *shove*). Louise describes the fashion show to come, and Harry says that he’s quite good at walking in straight lines, but Liam reminds him that he tends to fall over a lot on stage and that the tiny catwalk is actually pretty shiny (god bless Liam for being so responsible).

Luckily for all of us, professional model Cindy Crawford is there to help with some tips (she’s introduced as “IT’S ONLY BLOODY CINDY CRAWFORD” by Harry, and I die with Cindy’s “Hello, boys,” and Harry’s “Hello, Mrs. Crawford”…followed swiftly by Cindy’s, “Please don’t call me Mrs. Crawford”). There’s some sexi modeling, and even though he only wears two shirts to Harry’s three (*and* Harry gets down on the ground to pose), Liam wins, according to the Swedes. He requests a model  off with Cindy as his prize, and he’s surprisingly good?

The last segment is with Dynamo, the magic man, and for some reason, Harry’s weirdly agro about his own shirt mic, like, unnecessarily so, ripping it off to speak with Dynamo before gently putting it back where it belongs. Maybe he’s just frustrated about how they have to use Google+ (lololololol) for a totally convoluted imaginary concert that ultimately doesn’t work (me as him, tbh). 

While Liam does tech support live on air (!!), Harry asks Dynamo to do some card tricks to stall for time after literally nobody says a word when he monotones, “We’re having a technical difficulty…does anybody know any jokes.” Harry pulls a card as directed, but then, for seemingly no reason, he suddenly starts yelling, “THIS ISN’T WORKING, SHALL WE SEE SOME HIGHLIGHTS? HIGHLIGHTS!!! ROLL HIGHLIGHTS [aggressive pointing]!!” and the highlights are truly awful, and I hope he’s enjoying his smoke break for hour 3, jfc.

#recap #1d day #hour 2 #he is NOT HAVING IT

[shinymooncolor]

Should I be embarrassed to use the same sweaty backy gif? No thank you. But also it’s three very similar gifs. Here is the last one for the ones in the back

Thank you to whoever made these gifs - I love you

#washington capitals #nicklas backstrom #oh no here comes murder swede

[calleo-bricriu]

Well, the book is finally getting into the title’s namesake, even if the definition of “pervert” so far is pretty tame.

This book, if you’ve missed it so far.

Oh, and even though I didn’t bother getting into chapter 13, I did skim the first page and had one of those, “Well, there it is, what he’s been hinting at the entire time with the descriptions of Mizpra.”:  “Her maternal and reproductive instincts had been starved and enfeebled by a life of wrong training and misdirected study, augmented by the unphysiologic life of the disappointed femme sole, and environed by the false and unhealthy ideas of the New England women suffragists."

So, Mizpra, basically:

Anyway, on to the chapters I did force myself through.

Chapter 10!

Three week time skip where Leigh had himself locked away in what amounts to a drunk tank despite the fact that he hadn't gone out drinking.

Also, he apparently didn't eat OR drink (anything) for those three weeks which is one of those sorts of things that, if you tried to do it, you would actually die.

Alas, I'm not so lucky. Leigh is still alive to bore us for a few hundred more pages.

No surprise he's having wild ass mood swings, not eating or drinking or sleeping for three weeks. Surprised he remembers his name is Leigh at this point. Thankfully, the author has remembered and rambled on for a good ten or so pages about how we should all feel sorry for the tortured genius of Leigh.

I realised another reason I dislike Leigh: He smokes cigars, and I just hate the smell of cigar smoke so not only do I have to hear this moron pretend he's a genius philosopher in my own head as I read this book, I can now also smell him while he's doing it.

Anyway, skipping the dozens of pages that have nothing to do with the plot and are Leigh going on about how he thinks religious people are stupid and why he's so smart and so burdened under the weight of all of his absolute genius.

A genius wouldn't name their kid Mops, as an aside.

Skipping more pages of an irrelevant exchange between some guy outside trying to sneak some guy inside some alcohol.

Now we're up to some thing about a Catholic woman who's gone off the rails, is fully nude because that's a relevant thing to bring up you creep, and is very clearly mentally ill and is locked up. Of course they want Dr. Bell and Leigh (who, I might remind everyone at this point, is still technically inpatient at this place) to see her because geniuses or something.

Don't care, not relevant to the plot. We get it, Leigh, you're a genius.

"She then uttered a string of filthy pornographic oaths that would have put Emulphus to shame." and the author isn't going to share a single one with us.

So, Leigh the genius, declares this naked raving woman perfectly fine and says she--just needs a cold bath. Okay.

So that's the end of chapter ten.

Chapter 11:

Leigh is back home and his wife is not concerned abou tany of this, only "exceedingly interested" in hearing about his struggle with his "other self".

This makes her, in the author's judgement, reasonable.

Obera is, however, getting really antsy to get Mizpra killed, so there's that.

Rev. Bell comes to visit and as part of his groveling hello, "I have heard your pæans shouted from the housetops, and have been anxious to meet such a well-known man." I already dislike him.

Also, sin is the root cause of all illness. Of course Leigh had to go on and on about that so he could be sure it was still clear that he is, in fact, a genius in every way.

10 pages and he's still talking about that.

All right, so Leigh finally said one reasonable thing: "The words 'insanity' and 'insane' should disappear from our scientific vernacular, as they carry with them an atomsphere of medieval superstition and prejudice. There should be no distinction drawn between a person ill with typhoid fever, consumption, or any other physical disease and one ill from disease of the brain; it is only a difference of the organ affected."

Probably the only reasonable thing he'll say.

So, he finally shuts up and Rev. Bald tries to ask him to hang out outside of the house sometime and gets immediately shut down by Obera going with, "Dr. Newcomber prefers his home and books," and he just sort of parrots that back as well.

Obera asks Leigh what he thought of Rev. Bald and gets, "He is an ecclesiastical bunco steerer," and she tells him he's not allowed to hang out with the guy because of--the thing with Mizpra trying to straight up murder Mops.

He tells Obera not to blame Mizpra because "she is not morally responsible" due to being mentally ill, which is all good and well, but she did try to murder a child and should maybe be made to take a tiny bit of responsibility for that.

His solution is to send Obera and Mops away. Cool.

Dr. Bell visits the next morning to tell him the hysterical naked woman ran off with "our big Swede, Andersen. He was a mere animal. We kept him under control by giving him the furnaces to attend".

Turns out, the naked raving woman was relevant as it was Leigh's sister, Marcia and he's not--at all concerned by any of this, just, "Eh, oh yeah, I forgot to mention, she's my sister and she's fucking bonkers, it's no big deal."

And that's chapter 11.

Back to Mizpra for Chapter 12.

"To stand upon the wreck of her brothers and sisters, offering them enough assistance to prolong their misery, was her ambition." Settle down a little Mizpra.

She decides they should all go to Chicago to look at real estate instead of to California, then sort of goes on for awhile about how real estate agents are all crooks.

Long rambling introspection to determine that her mother's side of the family "suffered from weak arteries in advanced years" (like everyone else?) which made her prone to having a stroke or three and that she's arthritic.

So the switch to going to Chicago was to "keep her mother in a low altitude for a few days, then rush her rapidly up the Rockies" hoping to trigger a stroke that would HOPEFULLY not be fatal and if she did die, oh well, can't murder someone by stroke, so she'd not be arrested.

"She must witness torture and cause pain. This was her life." That's the intro for a good few pages of Mizpra thinking over all sorts of torture scenes from mythology which I'm sure are meant to be shocking but the author is what the author is and there's not much for detail. You'd get more detail reading the actual myths.

At the end of that she decides not to throw diphtheria infected toys at Mops anymore and she's going to aim straight at Obera with some method she'd seen but we're not told yet.

Great.

Oh, it's just anthrax.

I was hoping for something a little more creative than more small scale biological warfare.

Trying to murder people by sending disease via post seems to be some sort of fetish for Mizpra.

By now Burke is getting kind of annoyed that Mizpra is treating him like a secretary and errand boy but, honestly Burke, she basically told you that was the arrangement from the start, why are you surprised?

"Burke Wood was one of those unfortunate bipeds whom men despise, women hate, and the females of pervasive instincts employ as useful adjuncts to their much-scorned skirts." Well, we all know what the author thinks of Burke now. Also, all we’ve seen from Burke so far is that he’s a genuinely decent guy who adores Mizpra.

So mom comes in and asks Mizpra if she thinks she's treating that poor idiot Burke correctly and we find out that she somehow made this man with no training her LAWYER not just her secretary. Anyway, her mother reminds her if she keeps being nasty to him he's probably just going to leave her.

Then it just gets weird with her mom trying to not so subtly hint she needs to start with the sex where Burke is concerned and reminds Mizpra that she has "sex instincts".

Not the sort of conversation I'd want to have with my mother and, apparently, Mizpra doesn't want to have it with hers either. She brushes it off and tries to change the topic but this is what mother wants to talk about tonight so here we go.

"I preferred to see you enthusiastic over the dissection of a cat rather than playing with feminine foibles," what is this family even? Well, she regrets doing that now because apparently she's even noticing that Mizpra has some--interesting--obsessions.

Now even her mother is remarking on Mizpra's big, coarse, bony, manly hands. No wonder Mizpra has bizarre anger issues.

Mother figures out, finally, that Mizpra doesn't love Burke and isn't even remotely attracted to him like everyone but her and Burke figured that out at the wedding.

What mom's concerned about is that Mizpra doesn't want to fuck Burke; mom needs to mind her business, and this is not her business.

The problem, of course, is that Mizpra has had TOO MUCH education not that all we've seen of her is everyone else going on about how ugly and mannish she is.

I don't really want to read this old woman lecturing Mizpra on how she needs to fuck more then maybe she'd be happier.

So Burke interrupts them as Mizpra sent him to pick out some books she might like to read and pack the rest, and he interrupted to ask about one and we find out that if the "History of Flagellation does not meet with your approval, then it is because you do not understand the degredation of the woman of the past and my efforts for her enthronment in the future."

She then orders him to sit down then just kind of jerks his head back (with those big ol' coarse, manly hands of hers) and STARES at him before kind of sarcastically asking if he sees "anything but love" in her eyes then gives some, "Sorry if I've been cruel, I'm worried about my mother."

...then she tries to hypnotise him to sleep only she does it...loudly. While holding his eyes shut with her fingers.

To test some of that, she takes her scarf pin (which was holding together her, of course, “masculine necktie”) and jabs him in the forehead with it, then pierces his ears with it, then opened one eye and just jabbed her finger onto it so apparently holding someone's eyes shut then loudly commanding them to--be hypnotised works.

On Burke, at least.

She could have given him earrings or something.

Anyway, she then stabs the pin through his entire cheek then decided this is all making her way too horny and runs off to the sink to dunk her entire head into cold water.

So Mizpra's got a fetish.

For stabbing sleeping men with scarf pins.

I'm going to just stop here.

#hp rp #books #blood cw #torture cw #shocking in 1901 just called play piercing today

[convenientalias]

omg omg okay. platonic Raoul/Christine soulmates plus "The soulmate goose of enforcement AU" (with Erik misunderstanding Everything)

fuckign gold.

Posted on AO3 here.

The Opera Populaire was packed nearly everyweek, if not every night. As such, many peculiar things had happened in it.Soulmate geese did show up from time to time to hassle poor audience membersout of their seats, down the row and into the city, to the cheers or boos ofthe rest of the audience and the annoyance of the actors who had to deal withthe distraction. However, it had never occurred before that a soulmate gooseshowed up in the middle of a performance and landed squarely in the middle ofthe stage.

Christine had seen the goose flying in, and shehad not faltered in her singing. She hoped it would be out soon, and whateverpoor soul it chased would be gone with it, and the show could go on. But now,with the goose squinting at her, she paused.

Carlotta, already pissed at being forced to playa supporting role, glared at her. She took up her song again. The goosesquawked. It projected almost as well as she did.

Then it lunged for her legs. Today she was in atrousers role, worse luck—less to protect her calves and thighs. She dodgedquickly, sending a nervous grin at the audience, trying to make it look like adance. The goose pecked at her again and again, sending her across the stageand back.  She finished her solo hastily.As Carlotta began to sing, she hissed down at the goose, “Not now!”

The goose honked and landed a solid bite on herknee. She screamed.

Carlotta was fed up. “A pause!” she called outto the director, who obligingly called the music to a halt. She took the fanshe was using as a prompt and hit out at the goose. “Out! Out! Can’t you tell we’re in the middle of a show? Good lord, I’ve neverseen the day…”

She seemed more annoyed than Christine, even.Christine wondered with a wince whether this was because the goose hadobviously not been chasing Christine towards her, and there had been thosecouple of times they had hooked up—nothing serious, they both knew, but to haveit rubbed in her face…

The goose flapped its wings. It lunged atChristine again, but Carlotta was ready. She stepped in front of Christine,grasped the goose by the neck, and hurled it offstage.

It barely recovered before hitting an audiencemember, flapping its wings and still landing less than gracefully. For amoment, it stared at Christine, beady eyes menacing. Christine sweated. Shecould go backstage, maybe, and they could get her understudy… a bit of a blow,with this being the opening night for this show, but it it was necessary…

Then the goose turned and took to the air.Every person in the audience tracked its flight, up to one of the privateboxes, the de Chagny box, where it landed in front of Philippe and Raoul deChagny. It didn’t hesitate before grabbing Raoul by the collar and lifting himstraight up out of the box.

Soulmate geese were, after all, stronger thanthe average goose.

As the startled Vicomte flailed his legs andheld on tight to his collar—he almost fell out of his jacket and into thecrowd, a far fall—the goose swept back to the stage and dumped him right infront of Christine. It then circled around Christine and shoved her on top ofhim.

The audience was completely silent.

Christine tried to get off Raoul—she was surehe had at least some bruises from the way the goose had dumped him, and shedidn’t need to squash them—but the goose made this difficult by jumping up anddown on her back. At last, with a final triumphant squawk, it launched into theair again and flew out the open doors.

Christine got off Raoul. “Raoul! Are you allright?”

“Perfectly. I’m sorry to interrupt your show—I’llbe right off—” He was already scrambling to his feet.

“You’ve cut your forehead!”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Christine glanced at Carlotta, who was stillglaring. “Shall we go to my room?”

The audience had erupted into murmurs—well, tocall the talk merely murmurs would be generous, as it ranged from loud gossipto actual hooting. It would take time to call them to heel, and perhaps anunderstudy would be best after all. For tonight, even her face would be adistraction.

Raoul flushed. “You can’t imagine—”

“Shh.” She pulled him along with her, off thestage. “I mean what I say, no more. Our minds needn’t be as dirty as theirs.”

“Of course.”

She squeezed his hand. “For what it’s worth,there’s no one I’d rather have. And we would always have been friends anyway.”

He was blushing now. Declarations of friendshipembarrassed him as easily as romantic overtures. She shook her head. “To myroom, before we are attacked by the press.”

The noble class heartily disapproved. Everyoneshaking heads and tutting. Most of them secretly enjoying the scandal—a Vicomteand an opera girl, how rich!—except for a few who had been considering Raoul asan eligible bachelor. Philippe was the most put out—“So there’s nothing betweenyou and the Swede, hm? Really, Raoul…”—but he was also one of the few who wouldbelieve it really was just a platonic bond. Probably because that was all hewanted it to be. He still had hopes of Raoul having a proper marriage.

Everyone outside the noble class, of course,was having a ball. The newspapers didn’t run it as a headline because there hadbeen a lurid murder that week, but it still hit the front page. Every womanwith dreams of a Cinderella story for herself sighed over the romance of itall. And everyone at the opera house congratulated Christine for an excellentmatch, except for Carlotta, who Christine managed, with some difficulty, toappease. So it went.

Christine didn’t try very hard to quiet therumors. No one would believe her, anyhow. Platonic bonds were a well knownphenomenon, but they were only expected between men and men or women and women.Between a man and a woman? One could claim what they wished, but still eyebrowswould raise and whispers would circulate. Sooner or later it would all diedown, and in the meantime it was good publicity.

She only regretted her failure to clarifymatters when, four days after the event, she received a rather menacing notefrom Erik. Summoning her down to the tunnels to visit—where, he said, hersoulmate would be waiting for.

She pinched her nose in exasperation. Whycouldn’t the soulmate goose have stayed around to chase off troublesomephantoms? If it was so invested in her and Raoul’s eternal bliss… But the goosedid what it was called to do, and the rest was left to mortals. With a sigh,she headed out.

“You chose thisover me? This?” Erik flapped a handangrily at Raoul, who was currently tied to a chair and not looking veryamused.

Christine’s hands were on her hips. “TechnicallyI didn’t choose him at all. The goose did.”

“You told me I had nothing to worry about from—”

“I told you I wasn’t interested in men at all,so I don’t see why you’re acting like his rival.”

“Not interested in any men, and yet yoursoulmate is a man. You told me he was a childhood friend…”

“I told you the truth and nothing else. Myaffairs are none of your business, at any rate.”

“Christine would never lie,” Raoul put in. Hedidn’t seem all that intimidated despite Erik’s looming. In fact, he mostlylooked a bit tired. Poor Raoul. She’d barely seen him since the goose hadpushed them together, but she knew what a lot of badgering he was getting. Allthat and this on top of it… she should have seen it coming, really, but poorRaoul…

“Shh,” Erik said, not looking back at him. “Well,Christine? Explain yourself.”

“Oh, you’re not a cheated husband. Stopgrandstanding.” She was tired too, and irritated. “Raoul and I have been bestfriends for years. I already told you that—we didn’t need a goose to…”

“Geese,” Erik said, “don’t come to best friends.”

“And yet you told me one once came to drive youinto the arms of your Daroga, and the two of you were only friends.”

Erik angrily sat down on the chair next toRaoul’s—they were at a table with four chairs total, more guests than Erik hadprobably ever had at a go. “Don’t presume to know my relationship with Nadir.It is none of your business.”

Raoul and Christine exchanged glances. Well.This was almost worth it for that tidbit. Christine and Raoul had suspectedErik had some romantic connection to Nadir in the past for sometime—the twowere awkward enough about it—but Erik would never give a straight answer.Though this was hardly proof positive; he might just be avoiding the questionas always.

Now was probably not the time to probe.

Christine cleared her throat. “Well then, wecan agree that one’s soulmate is a private matter?”

“Minx,” Erik muttered petulantly.

“Don’t insult Christine,” Raoul said.

“Oh, you shut up.”

“We can agree on that?” Christine said, raisingher voice slightly.

“Fine, yes. I’ll admit to the possibility of…friendship… between you and this goose-driven piece of—”

“That’s my soulmate you’re talking about,”Christine warned.

“…Vicomte,” Erik finished. “But if I hear aboutthe two of you getting engaged in a couple months, you’ll see the consequences.Don’t think I’ll be soft just because you’ve found your soulmate. You made anoath to follow only your career, to never love a man…”

“Then we’ll talk then.” Christine smiledtightly. “And for now, would you mind untying my soulmate from that chair?”

Erik huffed. But he obeyed, and grumblinglyoffered them the use of his gondola so they could take the watery shortcut out.

“You know,” Christine mused, as they made theirway down the stream, “it wouldn’t be the worst idea for us to get married.”

“Philippe,” Raoul said, “would murder me. Oryou, more likely.” He smiled apologetically.

“You’re probably right. Might be funny, though.”

“Christine.”

“I’m joking, dear. No need to work yourself up.Do you want me to row for a while?”

“If you don’t mind.”

She took the oars. “Of course not. Now tell me,have any reporters been to see you since last time we talked? They haven’t leftme alone… of course it’s easier to approach a singer than a Vicomte, you haveyour distance from the press, but that’s all the more reason you should beprepared, you have no experience…”

So they went on, following the flow of thewater. Far away, on the banks of the Seine, a goose was gobbling down waterrushes. It needed the energy. Only the next day, it had been assigned a moredifficult target: Carlotta Giudicelli, a woman who had already swatted it once.It grinned—as much as a beak could grin—thinking of the challenge. Ah, a chanceto use its teeth on a worthy opponent! And to be in the public eye again. Itpreened the feathers of its wing, thinking of how the audience would stareagain. Oh, but these were delicious rushes. Better not to get ahead of onesself. It took another bite of greens. One lived for small pleasures, after all,not merely for fame and victory: the savoring of a quiet dinner, the pleasureof a job well done.

#christine daae #raoul de chagny #i wrote a thing #still open for crack prompts btw #thanks for the prompt!