#foreign stamp collecting

[casually-cool-collecting]

Sone Cat Stamps I got in the Netherlands!

[elspethdekarios]

Writing Prompt -

Gale and Elspeth are in the Great Library doing their own research and trying to ignore each other - They have had a bit of a falling out, and are giving each other they silent treatment until the other apologises.

aaaaaand what if they fucked afterwards?

Alright alright I see you. Enjoy 💖

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Pairing: Gale x Female Tav (named)

Word count: 2038

Rating: NSFW!!! 🔞

Warnings: PiV sex, angst, angry sex, makeup sex

The air was heavy in the grand library in the Temple of Oghma, perhaps because of the incense permeating from the main floor below, or perhaps because of the tension between Gale and Elspeth. Beams of afternoon sun shone through the windows, illuminating dust and particles floating about. Gale stood by the wall, alternating between propping his book up on a nearby shelf and pacing with it in his hands. Every few minutes, he’d let out a huff to blow the stray strands of hair out of his eyes, increasingly agitated at its unruliness. He found himself fidgeting with the book’s pages or absentmindedly combing through his beard, distracted not by thought, but emotion. He had read the same page three times now and retained none of it.

Elspeth emerged from the towering rows with two antique books, purposefully strutting past Gale, robes swishing behind her, as she sat at a desk facing away from him. She refused to make eye contact until he apologized for how he acted that morning. Their usual end-of-tenday morning walk to the library was marked by silence and rigid hand-holding–no discussion of the day’s plans or playful banter. Occasionally one of them would remark on something happening around them, the other only responding with a firm “hm.” 

A few other patrons were scattered throughout the library’s halls, the only sounds those of pages flipping and the occasional cough. The librarian, an aged devotee of Oghma, sat at her usual high desk, spectacles sitting on the very tip of her nose as she wrote in a ledger. She did not ever engage in small talk with the library’s patrons, but the few times Gale or Elspeth needed help finding a particular book, her stern mouth would curl into a smile and she’d speak in excited whispers about the library’s collection. She often greeted them with a head nod, and sometimes a quiet “Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios.”

Elspeth kept her head down, trying to scan the book’s pages for any mentions of infernal machinery, but words were foreign symbols on parchment to her, jumbled and meaningless. Her thoughts kept snapping back to Gale. She unpacked a quill and began to take notes, hoping the motion might help her stay focused. But her parchment remained mostly blank, and when she heard Gale shutting his book behind her, she slumped back in her chair, frustrated with the lack of progress. Frustrated, still, with him.

After an hour in the library, Gale had successfully read four pages of the newest published studies on time-altering illusion spells–next week’s lesson for his advanced students. He couldn’t force himself through it any longer. He approached El, admiring the way her shiny, platinum hair reflected the sunlight, forgetting for a moment that he was angry with her. He resisted the natural urge to touch her–to massage her tense shoulders or lift her chin up for a kiss. She was incredibly stubborn, that much he knew, but she owed him an apology. And no matter how badly he wanted to feel her near him, he would wait for that apology.

“Are you checking those out?” he asked as he stood next to the desk, gesturing to the books. She only nodded and slid them on top of the large tome Gale held in his arms. Gale brought their books to  the main desk and the librarian stamped a magical glyph on the inside of each book’s cover. He returned to El, handing her the two small books she had selected.

“Surprised you trust me with books at all anymore,” she mumbled as she slid them into her bag. “But these aren’t your books, so I suppose it’s different.”

“Yes, El, it is different.” His voice, though a normal volume, sliced through the quiet library, earning him a few stares and a “shush” from the librarian. “It is different,” he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Presumably you won’t throw them out with the bathwater.”

“I hardly threw it out, Gale!”

“Shh!” came from the librarian’s desk and somewhere further away in the room.

“What do you call it, then?” Gale whisper-shouted.

“I call it ‘donating-books-to-an-orphanage,’ as a matter of fact,” she whispered back.

“Well now you’re just making me sound like an asshole.”

“You’re being one.” El shoved her belongings into the bag and turned heel, Gale matching her stride.

“El–let’s just go to the orphanage and ask for it back. We can forget this little spat of ours, get the book back–no harm done.”

“I am not–”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios.” The librarian appeared before them, short and slender, pointed ears peaking through her silvered hair. “You would do well to remember that this is a library. If you must argue, then I must ask you to leave the Temple. You’ll be most welcome once you can follow the rules again.

Gale and Elspeth marched down the stairs and through the Temple in silence. Once outside and out of earshot of the priests, El turned to her husband, his windswept hair and the peak of collarbone through his robes almost making her forget their quarrel. She pushed the thoughts aside as Gale began crossing the street to Blackstaff Tower, motioning her to follow.

“I am not walking into an orphanage and demanding part of my donation back, Gale! Do you hear yourself?”

“I have no desire to take anything away from an orphaned child,” he said, pushing open the heavy oak doors. “But it’s one book–a book most likely too advanced to be of use to them. And I didn’t give you permission to donate it!”

“You gave me permission to donate the stack collecting dust in the cellar.”

“Yes, because they’re children’s books–I didn’t realize my first edition copy of Abjuration Accolades Through the Ages was on top!”

“That’s not my fault!” 

El followed Gale up the spiraling stone staircase, the building noticeably quiet as their voices and footsteps echoed. Out of breath, they reached Gale’s office.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” El lamented, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes were remorseful as she looked at him, silently begging for this feud to be over, but refusing to be the one to apologize. “You should have checked the stack first before agreeing.”

With a quick wave of his hand, Gale’s office door shut and locked itself. He stepped forward to where Elspeth leaned against the side of his desk, sliding one hand around her waist and using the other to push her hair away from her neck, baring the flesh for him to trail breathy, warm kisses from collar to ear. 

“Gale, we–we’re–” she began to protest, to remind him that they were still arguing. But she melted at his mouth on her skin, the scent of sandalwood dabbed behind his ears so close and potent that she forgot about their quarrel in an instant. She breathed out his name, clutching the back of his robes briefly before undoing its buttons and sliding it off his shoulders, revealing the toned forearms that always made her come undone.

In a quick movement, he had her on the desk, the books and bottles of ink vanishing with a hand gesture. His fingers trailed beneath the sleeves of her robe, pulling them down just enough to expose her shoulders. The sweet musk of her skin set his pulse racing as he sighed into her shoulder, taking desperate mouthfuls of her and leaving scarlet marks bursting beneath her skin. While his mouth wandered, his hands pushed up her robes, expecting to pull off the leggings she’d normally wear underneath. Beneath the fabric, however, was nothing.

“How scandalous of you, Mrs. Dekarios,” he teased, pushing her legs up for a full view of her cunt, glistening just for him. He ran a finger through her and grazed his lips softly against the pointed tip of her ear, his voice deep and quiet. “Almost like you wanted to be fucked on my desk.”

She could have come with those words alone. Already, the gentle circles he drew around that most sensitive spot threatened to send her over the edge. Whimpering and biting her lip in an attempt to reign herself in, she reached down to feel him, hard and eager beneath his trousers. She slipped the tied leather beneath her fingers and pulled the waistband loose, savoring the silky, hot skin of his cock in her hand. Gale moaned into her neck.

“Maybe I thought I could coax an apology out of you.”

“Hm,” he chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Elspeth could respond, he thrust himself into her, sending a wave of pleasure through her entire body as she held herself up on the desk and clutched Gale’s arm. She cried out, thankful they hadn’t seen a soul in the Tower on their way up, and not caring that there could be others in adjacent rooms overhearing them. Gale lifted her leg up, heeled boot resting against his shoulder as his hips moved rhythmically against her exposed bottom half.

Oh, she was angry with him. His suave words and bedroom eyes and beautiful cock that she worshiped, second only to her deity. Godsdamn him, smoothing over their argument by splaying her out on his desk and half undressing her, knowing the frustration she felt would melt away with a few magic words and a good fuck. It always did–though this was the only time that he had been the subject of her anger since starting their lives together.

But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping for this.

Gale’s own frustration was dissipating with every thrust. In truth, he knew he should apologize, but that realization only came about when he saw El’s ecstasy as he plunged into her. She was more special to him than an old book–than any book, really. He couldn’t be angry with her now if he tried. Truly testing El’s flexibility, he leaned forward, squishing her upright leg between them, and kissed her madly. His tongue lapped at the inside of her mouth, his moans harder to suppress, and he felt her hand slip between their bodies, finding the center of her pleasure. It was only seconds until she cried out. Her body tensed and her warmth pulsed around him, his release spilling into her as he groaned and clutched her close to him, the two of them finding their climax in perfect unison. 

Elspeth lowered herself to rest her back to the desk, still holding Gale as he lay atop her, panting into her chest. She smoothed out his now-disheveled hair as she caught her own breath, gently combing through the graying strands behind his ears. He raised his head to gaze at her.

“I’m sorry–” they both said in tandem. Giggling, he urged her to speak first.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have been more discerning.”

“No, love,” he said, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I’m sorry. I acted like a right fool. It was ludacris of me to suggest we ask the orphanage for the book back. The orphanage, of all places.” He shook his head in disapproval of himself.

“I know your books are important to you. I promise it won’t happen again, Gale.”

“And I promise to remember that you are more important to me than any book, first edition or otherwise.” He kissed the wrist of the hand resting in his hair. “Your generosity is one of my favorite things about you. I’d do well to take notes.”

He lifted himself up from the desk and extended his hands, pulling El up to her feet. 

“Well, my love,” he said as he redid the ties of his pants. “What else does the day hold for us?”

Elspeth smoothed out her robes and her hair, hoping she didn’t look too hot and bothered. “Let’s go to the bookstore. We can get you something new to fill the book-shaped void.”

Gale broke into a wide smile and pulled his beautiful wife into a deep hug, thanking the gods that she came into his life. 

“Does that sound okay to you?” she asked as he loosened his hold.

“That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked back out into the City of Splendors.

[daisynik7]

Requesting to spill your unhinged thoughts of Kishibe, please 🤲

Ask and you shall receive! Here are my unhinged thoughts about our favorite old man (somewhat SFW and definitely NSFW):

SFW:

Kishibe has no clue how to act around children. He’s only been around adults and devils for the past three decades, so the idea of talking to a child is foreign to him. On the rare occasion he has to, he asks them adult questions like, “So what are your goals in life?” or “How do you feel about the current state of the economy?” They’ll just stare at him with big doe eyes, fascinated and afraid by this grizzled old man. He’ll even vent to them about how the cost of cigarettes keeps going up, literally burning a hole in his pocket. 

For a while, he was involved in an underground fight club. He didn’t need the money, he just liked beating the shit out of people for fun. Got banned because he won too many times. 

Got a lower back tattoo of a butterfly in his youth after binging too many whiskey sours in one night. Finally got it laser removed when he was thirty. He was too lazy to do it, until a one-night stand had the same exact tramp stamp. 

Can sleep with his eyes open if he really wanted to (exactly like Gandalf the Grey). Freaks people out every time. 

NSFW

Spit kink, MASSIVE SPIT KINK. Loves to hack up a thick wad of frothy spit on your pussy, smearing it around your clit. Licks you up and down, collecting your juices, only to spit it back into your mouth, watching you swallow it. Loves that shit, can’t get enough of it. 

Before he met you, he never used sex toys in the bedroom. Ever since he met you, he tries to incorporate it every time. At first, he was shocked you had a vibrator. Maybe even a little jealous of that dumbass toy. But one day, you teased him, showing him how you used it on yourself. And from then on, he couldn’t get enough. Likes to use it during foreplay to make you come twice before actually fucking you. Uses it along with his fingers to get you squirting, get it slick enough so that he can just slide in easily. Likes to watch you fuck your dildo while his cock is in your mouth. 

HUNG LIKE A HORSE. He’s 6’4”, it’s expected of him. It’s also the same width as a soda can. Impossible? Maybe, but it’s true, I swear.

Homemade porn!! He’s very much into filming. Has the old-fashioned camcorder set up with the tripod and everything. Even changes positions mid-sex to get the angles just right. Gets the camera up close and personal to your pussy whenever he gives you a creampie. Almost created a Pornhub account to post them for the public, but you refused. 

Foot fetish. This dude doesn’t even mind if you haven’t showered yet, he’ll suck on those toes all day if you let him (most of the time you don’t, but sometimes, you do). Loses it whenever you wear sandals or open-toed heels. Instant boner too when you come home from getting a pedicure with French tips. 

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

hiii! first request ever so I'm a little nervous lol

I was thinking about BSD characters reacting to a reader who's been singing their whole life, but has been made fun of so much about other things that they just keep this passion to themselves the whole time. but they sing alone in their room, so the characters can hear them before coming into our world!

idk I think it could be very cute, what do you think about that?

Here you go. Hope you enjoy.

When you like to sing

Self-Aware! BSD characters x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language.

__________

When you were a teen, you have learned one thing. People can be jerks about other people hobbies.

"I like collecting vintage wines"

"Why? Better spend this money on something more useful."

"I like collecting post stamps."

"Why? What's so interesting in looking at pieces of paper?"

You also were laughed at a few times.

"I like watching anime."

"Aren't you too old for cartoons?"

"I like drawing for myself"

"Why not show your art to everyone? What's the point of drawing for yourself?"

After having some of your other hobbies been laughed at, you stopped talking about your interests. It's not like you were afraid of been laughed at, but, it feels unpleasant, when your interests called 'childish' or 'silly'.

One of your 'secret' hobbies were singing. You never tell anyone, that you liked singing and keep It to yourself.

You were singing in your room, when you were alone. You sing many songs, doesn't matter, where they were from. You sing songs in your native language but also songs in foreign languages

You were fine with keeping your hobby for yourself.

But, unknown to you, you got an audience.

__________________

🐾 The Cast likes when you are singing. Not only they can hear your voice, but they also are learning about songs from your world.

🐾 Will learn some of your favorite songs, so you can sing them together.

🐾 Doesn't matter, if you are not the best singer. Singing makes you happy, and you don't bother anyone with your hobby, so, they won't protest.

🐾 Many of the characters will have their favorite songs among the songs you have sang.

🐾 Were existed, when you were singing BSD openings and endings.

🐾 When they get into your world, will complement you for your singing voice.

🐾 Now you have fans.

🐾 If they see, that you are uncomfortable with sharing your hobby, won't talk about it until you are ready.

🐾 If you sing 'ear-wormy' songs, characters will be grumpy, but still will hum the lyrics under their breath.

🐾 Some of the characters (Dazai, Atsushi and Ranpo) start liking karaoke. Want to go with you, when they have a chance.

🐾 Adore the fact, that you are happy, when you are singing.

🐾 In general, very supportive, won't judge you for your hobbies.

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (3)

summary: you found your goal, but the path to truth was more complicated than it seemed

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4k

warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, people getting stabbed, bad narrating of action scenes (sorry it's not my forte), bad words, english is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake!

note: hi guys! thank u all for the support in this fic! we're getting closer to the imminent reunion between these three! captain america and the winter soldier starting next chapter! i'll try to post next part as soon as i can. love u all and thank you for the notes! <3

part 1 ; part 2 ; part 4

The days in Siberia were cold, but not as cold as that night as you returned home.

All the crumbs you had been able to collect from the mysterious culprits behind the death of Tony's parents had taken you to Siberia. From the moment you stepped out the door of the plane a sense of uneasiness was stamped on your body, having to look behind you every few moments to make sure you weren't being followed. Even if they were following you, you were sure it would be very difficult for you to spot them, because so far they were all doing a very good job of hiding, making your job up to four times more difficult.

You had been chasing ghost trails for eight months and if it weren't for that sixth sense that made you look over your shoulder, you would think you were in the wrong place. But you were on the right track.

Fury had told you that, once in Siberia, you would have to do reconnaissance on your own, because the people there were not as open to foreigners as in other countries, especially in the town where you would be staying.

So, in addition, you spent about two months camouflaging yourself among the people, trying to live a somewhat normal life among the villagers. Some already recognized you when you passed through their streets, just a nod as a greeting. But you were on the right track.

And that night you confirmed it.

It was late at night when you were returning to your small room in an apartment complex in the center of town. You had to cross a lonely snowy stretch to get into town from the place where you worked cutting and storing firewood. You already had that nerve-wracking feeling of surveillance making your hair stand on end like at no other time during your time there. If he wasn't a stalker, then this guy had fallen into the trap.

He started with light steps, and you knew he was doing it on purpose because he wanted you to know he was there, behind you, with the lead. So you gave in and picked up the pace, just beginning to notice the yellow and white lights of the entrance to town in the distance. The man matched your pace and you were incredibly tempted to turn to look at him, to see if it was him or someone else, even though you had no idea of his build. You were sure you could recognize him just by looking at his eyes.

But you had an act to keep up. So you slowly pulled your hands out of your jacket… and started running.

His response was immediate, but you were honestly surprised by the way his footsteps still sounded so light unlike yours. Not letting that catch you off guard, you kept your pace as a normal person would, letting him think you were running as fast as you could. And sooner than ever, you began to hear his footsteps getting closer and closer, louder and louder.

Sharpening your ears, you heard him take an almost imperceptible deep breath, which would totally take any normal person by surprise, but which you were foreseeing since you started chasing a ghost, a myth.

The Winter Soldier.

Hand in hand with the sound of his movements, you stopped abruptly and squatted down as you sensed him gain momentum to leap up and take you by surprise. But you took him by surprise when in the middle of his jump he continued straight, landing badly on the ground covered by a light layer of snow, but recovering quickly to turn around and look at you.

His entire face was covered by a black mask.

He stayed on the ground, just like you, with one leg outstretched and one hand on the ground for support. You started to get up without blinking a microsecond to risk losing sight of him, and he mimicked your movements as if he were your mirror.

He was intimidating and the stories you had heard about him seemed to have outgrown him.

That man looked like he could snap you in two with the minimal effort of his arms, his big shoulders and the line of his muscles bulging through his black suit.

You took a hesitant step forward, him mimicking you as if he was playing you, as if you were a fool to think you had a chance of beating someone like him. You could tell he was letting you feel like you had some control, because he easily understood your game with that little trick you played on him.

That was a very big risk for you to take. The moment the Winter Soldier realized you were no ordinary person, the decks would stop coming out in your favor.

So you kept approaching, willing to take the risk, because the only thing you could do from now on was to catch him off guard by doing everything as stupid as possible, the opposite of your survival instincts that implored you to run away from that place.

He came closer too, his steps full of grace and so light that if you hadn't seen him right in front of you, you would've thought there was no one there. His left hand imitated yours, when you reached for the knife you had hidden behind your back, under your trench coat. And when you uncovered your hand all at once, he also had a knife in his hand, a little smaller than yours, but no less lethal in the hands of an experienced killer.

So if he knew why you were there, because that was the reason he must've followed you, you must've made enough noise about mysterious murders, especially that of Howard and Maria Stark, which was the reason many townies stayed away from you, then he must've been working for the culprit or he himself was the culprit. There was no other reason that man had to have followed you so late at night, armed to the teeth if not to kill you for being a snoop in matters not your own.

The real killer could have sent him to finish you, the only person in that town who suspected that the murder he had passed off as an accident in the States hadn't been a mere accident. And he must've deduced that, if you had gone to the trouble to travel there and make such a fuss, it must have been because you knew something. Something about him. And he couldn't take any chances.

So here was the Winter Soldier, ready to take out the trash, looking sublimely menacing under the yellow sidewalk light.

You had to get that mask off him somehow.

So, following your incredible plan to disregard your survival instincts, you lunged at him, looking all inexperienced and foolish, to proceed to dodge one by one the flicks of his wrist in your direction, some too close to your face. Not lagging behind, you tried your best to hurt him anywhere on his body, moving in different directions as you tried to evade his stabs and trying to fit yours in when he moved less than a second just before you could hit him.

The bastard was as good as you had hoped.

He leaned forward, when with a hard blow to your side he knocked you back and you didn't have enough time to compose yourself when with more speed than you had seen anyone move, even Steve, he leaned forward and plunged his knife into your lower abdomen.

Because of the adrenaline you didn't even feel pain, but he took it upon himself to move as if he did, holding you with his left hand on your shoulder as he twisted the blade as if it was his intention to bleed you out on that half snow-covered dirt path under his watchful eye.

That probably was what he wanted. He probably had to give the report that he had seen you die. Maybe he had to bring your body to the real killer.

The only thing you knew was that the soldier lost his senses when he was about to kill someone, because he gave no sign of feeling your hand move across his side, the blade you were holding taking him by surprise as it plunged into his abdomen, close to his lung, letting out a choked exclamation.

An electric current whipped through your body at how his voice seemed to alert something inside your head, your body reacting first in surprise. But the familiarity that echoed through your body like a bell disappeared as soon as the man strided away from you, his right hand grasping the long knife stuck in his side, smart enough not to pull it out immediately or he would surely bleed out walking to wherever he had to go to hide. You couldn't get that mask off, but the tone of his voice kept repeating like a broken record in your head.

You grabbed his knife, right in the middle of your abdomen, barely feeling the twinges of pain as you began to walk backwards, the soldier mimicking your movements, returning to where he had come from. If he hadn't hurt such a crucial spot that you needed to treat as soon as possible, things would've ended very differently.

You walked backwards until he disappeared into the darkness and only then did you begin to pick up your pace, passing the entrance to the town and looking for the center.

If the few people who were around saw you, they preferred to turn a blind eye. It didn't surprise you, when many of them had warned you what would await you if you stepped into the lion's den.

As soon as you arrived at your apartment, with some melted snow near the wound, the first thing you did was to take the phone that Fury had given you before the trip and send the automatic emergency message. Next, you grabbed the first aid kit you had right on the living room table and collapsed on the wooden chair. Treating your own wounds was not something you enjoyed very much and you kept grimacing and moaning as loudly as possible as you tried to sterilize the wound around the razor.

A few minutes later, just as you felt you were about to pass out listening in the background to the blood dripping from your side to the floor, with the crimson on your left hand glistening in the yellow light of the living room, the door to the apartment opened wide. Faces you recognized from the town square rushed in, but your consciousness from blood loss barely allowed you to remember Fury's words as he handed you the phone, only to give you reassurance before succumbing to the darkness.

“SHIELD is worldwide. I know you've been out of that whole spectrum long enough and thanks to Peggy you've never needed it, but this time you'll need all the help you can get. This is an emergency phone. It doesn't take calls, it doesn't make calls. It just sends an emergency message by pressing the button in the middle and I want you to use it when you're at a point where you feel you're not going to make it. I assure you that you won't be alone and, when you least expect it, you'll be back with us.”

-

An incessant throbbing in your head was the first thing that greeted you as you opened your eyes, struggling because they felt extremely heavy. You could barely register that you were dying of thirst with a dry throat, when pain coursed through your body as you tried to get up.

“Hey, careful,” you recognized a male voice and arms land on your shoulders, pushing you back onto the gurney. You moved your gaze, still somewhat disoriented, to meet clear eyes looking back at you. “Are you with me?”

You tried to mumble something, but the lack of fluid generated a coughing fit almost instantly. You felt yourself being leaned forward a little and then a glass cup of water appeared in your vision. You quickly grabbed it, drinking it all in a few seconds. You ignored the throbbing headache and the discomfort in your abdomen to concentrate on your surroundings for the first time.

Steve had returned to sit beside you, a hand holding you by the shoulder just to keep an eye out if you needed anything. His touch brought back memories of the night before, the soldier gripping your shoulder tightly as he pushed by the handle the knife that…

The knife.

“Where's my stuff?”

The blond stood up, moving around the room. You brought a hand to your head feeling incredibly dizzy, the pain in your head wouldn't let up for a second and now everything was spinning around you.

The weight of a small backpack on your legs pushed the pain back into the background, your hands moving quickly to open it and spread its contents all over you.

“It's not here. It's gone, why isn't it- why not-?”

Holding up the backpack, your eyes darted to your hands, images of the night before rushing back into your head, like a fast-moving movie. But there was something you wanted to remember as you looked at your left hand, something you had also thought about when you were in the apartment after sterilizing the wound. There was something… something you wanted to…

“Where's the knife? Why the fuck am I so clean?”

“The knife you had buried in your abdomen?” you turned to look at Steve quickly as soon as you heard him, ignoring the whiplash of pain that shot through your head from the sudden movement.

“Where is it?”

“I don't know, Y/N, I only got here yesterday and you were still unconscious. I haven't even been able to talk to Fury.”

“Yesterday? Yesterday I was unconscious?”

Steve nodded, his confused expression sure matching yours.

No.

You raised your left hand, remembering the crimson glowing under the yellow light.

His blood.

No.

No, no, no.

“No…” you wailed, interlocking your hands before running them over your face, the bent posture causing you some pain in the wound in your abdomen.

“You should lie down,” Steve tried to grab you by the shoulders, but you jerked out of his grip, a seed of helplessness growing in your chest.

“Call Fury, please,” you grabbed him by the wrist, pulling his body close to yours, hoping he could see the need in your eyes and not make you repeat yourself.

“That won't be necessary.”

The voice of the aforementioned filled the room, the memory of his voice before you passed out in the apartment causing you another dizzy spell. You wanted to stop and worry, but as soon as you saw him you opened your mouth to speak, only to get your words stuck when Fury raised a ziplock bag with the knife inside to your full face. You felt a little more relieved, because maybe that would give them a clue, something much better to work with, and you hoped Fury thought the same, but his stoic expression left you much to be desired.

“There were only your prints,” the man confessed, your expression dropping faster than you could process. The incessant dizziness was making you want to vomit.

You felt Steve's gaze sweep the room, shifting from your profile to Fury's, surely full of questions, but fearful that raising his voice was going to cost him too much.

“No…” you wailed again, raising your hand in his direction. “Why did you wash my hand?”

“Were we supposed to let you rot in dried blood for two weeks?”

“Two wee-yes, Nicholas, yes!”

The man frowned at you, passing his gaze over Steve as if he had any idea what was going on.

“It was his blood,” you told the man in front of you, his expression dropping in comprehension. “He stabbed me, but I stabbed him back and had his-his blood all over my hand.”

You wanted to throw yourself on the floor and cry. You had spent ten months waiting for that moment, for that little chance to go one step further and now… now you had nothing. You were at the beginning, with no idea whatsoever of his identity and, worse, him knowing that he wasn't dealing with someone ordinary. He probably already knew everything about you, finding the address of this hospital and heading at this moment to kill you.

He should've known where you lived by now. Two weeks was more than enough. Now he had you on his radar and of course he had the advantage.

“So we're back to square one then,” Fury gave voice to your thoughts, hearing it come from his mouth making it so real you didn't avoid the frustrated growl that left you. “Steve, can you give us a moment?”

“Sure, let me abandon my friend clearly in a stress crisis instead of letting her rest like she needs to, because her wound isn't healing,” Steve spat the words at Fury, who glared back at him incredulously mid-sentence, with you raising your head because you rarely heard Steve talk that way since he came back.

Those were ways to talk about pre-serum Steve and meeting him at times like that really was a band-aid for your heart, but you needed to talk to Fury and you needed to do it right then.

“Steve, I'm fine. Please, I need to talk to him.”

“Why can't you talk about it in front of me?”

“It's confidential information, Rogers.”

“Then make it non-confidential,” the blond determined, his square shoulders showing the tension in his body. “I spent a whole week in the fucking cold of Greenland without hearing from her and every time I called you to ask you told me the same shit. That fucking mission you sent her on almost cost her her life.”

“That's the price for the job,” Fury blurted out, Steve moving back, his face incredulous, as if he'd just slapped him.

“Nicholas,” your low voice brought him back to look at you, his hands clasped behind his back moving to slap his sides, frowning.

“Make up your mind right now, Y/N, you want him to know or not?”

“Know what?”

You growled in frustration, agreeing with Steve that you'd have a meltdown if you didn't figure out a solution for that right then. The room was starting to spin on you the moment you unfocused your eyes on the two of them.

“Do we really have nothing?” you turned to Fury, the man taking that distinction as his answer.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, Steve catching every glance and word that bounced around the room. “The nurses cleaned up the blood completely after they stabilized you.”

“You didn't even consider it?”

“We did, but we took the wrong sample.”

You dropped your head in your hands, feeling defeat and accepting it because there was nothing more you could do.

“Then that's it,” you turned to look at Fury. “He's coming back for me.”

“Him?” Steve came into your peripheral vision, his disgruntled, worried face squeezing your chest.

“The Winter Soldier,” Fury answered for you as you looked down, feeling panic mix with nausea.

“Who?”

“A lethal assassin. Y/N suspected him of being responsible for some unexplained deaths that occurred a few years ago and was investigating him on her own.”

“On her own?” Steve turned to look at you. “A lethal killer?”

“Believe it or not, Steve, I can defend myself on my own.”

“Well, that's pretty clear to me,” he commented gruffly, pointing at you. The fact that you were on a stretcher, no, it didn't help at all, but you had been able to put up a fight before that final blow.

“Anyway, it doesn't matter now. He must have all the information on me by now and he must be tracking me like a damn bloodhound. It won't be long before he gets to this hospital.”

“Hospital?” Fury arched an eyebrow at you, barely seeing it through your eyelashes when you felt a sourness at the back of your throat.

“Wherever we are, Nicholas,” you ran a hand over your mouth, closing your eyes tightly. “I don't know if it's the horrible headache, but I have a severe urge to vomit. Do you guys have any dramamine or something?”

Fury and Steve shared a look and you frowned at them, incredulous.

“Want me to throw up on your feet?”

“You didn't tell her?” Fury turned to Steve, wagging a finger between you and your friend, the blond shrugging his shoulders.

“You didn't give me much time.”

“Guys,” you almost implored the sky, moving to lean back again, catching one of the bedroom windows out of the corner of your eye.

You didn't come across a parking lot or a green space. That wasn't a hospital.

“We're on the SHIELD helicarrier, Y/N, a long way from a hospital,” Fury finally spoke, your gaze falling on the dark blue sea that stretched for miles.

“Shit.”

“I'm going to go get that dramamine,” Steve spoke to Fury, as you lay back on the bed without looking away from the window. The sea sure wasn't going anywhere, but the overwhelming sense of panic at least you could chalk it up to something other than the Winter Soldier.

“What's wrong with her?”

“Sea-phobic.”

-

You took it upon yourself to take a long nap when Fury told you you wouldn't be returning to mainland anytime soon, much less now that there was the desperate possibility that the Winter Soldier was after you.

Steve stayed by your side every step of the way, meeting your every request with patience. He knew that when it came to the sea you turned to jelly, so he took it upon himself to cover the window and keep you stocked with dramamine.

Fury said he would send undercover agents to your apartment and surrounding locations looking for any sightings of the soldier and the very thought sent shivers down your spine. To think that, against all odds, you had faced a fearsome assassin who was almost passed for myth with a small knife, with almost zero chance of beating him and still came out alive. You didn't know how you could continue with the mission, much less now that Fury had told you that you would need more days of rest because the knife with which that man had stabbed you was made of vibranium.

There they had something to work with and Fury assured you, after doing the respective studies, that they would investigate purchases and sales of vibranium near Siberia, if they could get any kind of resource before having to resort to field agents.

That gave you some peace of mind.

“Feeling better now?” Steve was still sitting on the side of the bed, his arms folded across his chest and his expression stoic, though in his eyes you could sense the nobility and his concern. When you nodded, he mimicked your gesture and moved closer to the bed, pulling the chair over with him and resting his arms on the wooden edge. “Now, are you going to tell me why the hell you got involved in investigating a killer who has as many sightings a year as Bigfoot?”

You rolled your eyes at Steve so hard that the twinges in your head almost returned. You moved to lie face up, your face turned in his direction detailing his disgruntled expression.

“You heard Fury,” was all you could say, trying to keep your face as serious as his.

“Yeah, he mentioned some mysterious deaths,” he reminded, not looking at all pleased with that vague piece of information.

“Is that not enough for you?” you arched an eyebrow at him. “The lives of innocent people who have nothing to do with SHIELD are also important.”

“That's not what I meant,” Steve shook his head. “The Winter Soldier has been credited, without proof, with two dozen murders over the last fifty years.”

“So you did your homework,” you looked back up at the ceiling, hearing your friend's irritated hiss.

“He's been in the field for fifty years, and SHIELD started investigating him a year ago?”

“You said it yourself. Knowing if he existed was as rare as proving the existence of Bigfoot,” you turned, Steve's confused look falling in realization.

“You'd been looking for him for a while, but you didn't know it was him.”

“Correct.”

“Because of those deaths Fury mentioned?”

You nodded in his direction.

Steve fell silent, immersed in his own wild thoughts, for a few seconds of conjecture, before speaking again.

“There had to be something about those deaths that motivated you enough to be willing to sacrifice your life like that.”

You hated him. You hated Steve at that moment. Why couldn't he just stick with the simple fact that you wanted to stop a crazed killer? There was also another option you could take, to divert him from the main reason, but you didn't have enough evidence for him to believe you and you couldn't risk him not taking you seriously later on. If the Winter Soldier really started looking for you, maybe he would do you a favor. He would bring all the answers to your playground. Two birds with one stone.

In response you just snorted, turning to look at him once more.

“It doesn't have that deep a meaning, Steve. I found a practically empty report on it one day and Fury told me it was a myth. But there were some coincidences enough to make it not real. So I decided to look into it, yes, on my own.”

You felt horrible when Steve looked away, a layer of embarrassment adorning his features. He was right and he was so insightful and you wanted to tell him, but that truth involved too many burdens that you weren't willing to pass on to him. You and Peggy were in charge of that investigation, Steve didn't have to carry that burden.

[wedarkacademia]

dark academia stationary tips? ideas? please? i beg of you.

Deepen Your Dive into Dark Academia Stationery:

Crafting the Canvas:

Paper: Embrace the tactile – rough-edged parchment, marbled sheets, hand-dyed linen paper. Seek antique ledgers, vintage score sheets, or maps for a truly timeworn effect.

Ink: Let your words drip in history – deep emerald greens, rich burgundy, charcoal grey. Discover shimmering gold or silver for elegant annotations. For an extra flourish, explore calligraphy inks and vintage fountain pens.

Beyond the Basics:

Washi Tapes: Forget the neon, embrace botanical prints, celestial patterns, and antique library stamps. Layer them for depth, use them to seal letters, or decorate journal edges.

Stickers & Tags: Pressed leaves, dried flowers, and ephemera from library archives add a touch of natural mystery. Vintage anatomy diagrams, constellations, and old library catalog cards offer an academic flair.

Sealing Secrets: Wax seals & ribbons elevate simple letters into heirlooms. Choose deep green wax, embossed with a raven, a quill, or your own monogram. Tie with silk or hemp twine for a finishing touch.

Unleashing the Scholarly Spirit:

Journals & Notebooks: Opt for leather-bound volumes, with aged paper and ribbon bookmarks. Decorate with antique maps, pressed flowers, or handwritten quotes from your favorite poets.

Organizing Knowledge: Index cards, vintage library pockets, and antique file folders help categorize your studies. Label them with elegant script and adorn them with botanical sketches or scientific diagrams.

The Scholar's Tools: Antique brass compasses, vintage rulers, and magnifying glasses add a touch of academic ambiance to your desk.

Whispers of Antiquity:

Poetry & Letters: Handwrite in a flowing script, penning sonnets or letters to fellow scholars. Let foreign languages add a touch of mystery, or slip in quotes from forgotten classics.

Ephemera & Found Objects: Tuck pressed leaves, antique botanical prints, or ticket stubs from forgotten museums into your notebooks. Let them spark inspiration and evoke past journeys.

The Art of Storytelling: Create your own dark academia-inspired stationery. Make vintage-themed envelopes from maps, decorate boxes with constellation patterns, or craft your own wax seal stamp.

Remember, dark academia is about embracing an atmosphere. Let your creativity flow, curate your collection with intention, and transform your stationery into a portal to an enchanting world of forgotten knowledge and secret societies.

[peipurr]

sometimes I love to think of how the Generalfeldmarschalls are just .... human. beneath their military personality and after all the atrocities they may have done. and no, this isn't me justifying the n4zi's horrendous crimes, but sometimes I just think that people who wrote books abt them need to see that side of them too, like okay their military was great but c'mon, let's not forget about their interesting personality!

and some of the facts I often think are:

that my precious baby Model was a member of literary society during his youth excelled in Greek, Latin, and History (and some also say in Poetry — I wonder if he ever wrote a poem).

Von Leeb loved to collect stamps!!! and very fond of his family's chronicles.

There is a story in the Keitel Family that Wilhelm almost went to tears when he gave up his hope to become a farmer in order to stay in the military to support his family.

Von Reichenau was fond of German literature and classical music. He brought to the battlefield in the Polish campaign a small volume of a selection of German poetry.

Von Rundstedt loved detective thriller books but was shy to show it. He regularly read the novel in an open drawer which could be quickly closed whenever anyone came in to see him.

Rommel and Schörner's rivalry. David Irving wrote: "One of Schoerner’s frequent pranks was to plant silver cutlery from the mess in the pockets of guests at formal banquets and watch their embarrassment when the spoons and forks fell out. Rommel, when it happened to him, was not amused. Their rivalry persisted to the end. It was generally friendly, and once, after Schoerner had made a name for ruthlessness bordering on brutality in the Crimea ... Rommel solicitously took him aside and candidly urged him to try a different method."

Von Bock seemed to be very fond of boys —not in the negative way. In Sudetenland, he once "took his twelve-year-old son, dressed in a sailor suit, along in his car "to impress on his son the beauty and exhilaration that lie in soldiering."". In 1940, he sent a postcard to the same son, Dinnies von der Osten. Also, one of Fedi's last wishes to von Manstein was that he should take care of the 16 year old Dinnies after his death, which Erli did until his capitulation. Not that it matters, but Dinnies was not his biological son. It was his second wife's son from her previous marriage. I think it shows how much Fedi cared for the boy. Then, his diary entry on 8/9/39: " ... I was able to present the first Iron Cross of this war to a Private First Class of the 94th Regiment who acted bravely at Graudenz. The young man beamed; too beautiful these lads!". He's just ... adores his troops (and youngest stepson) so much :')

Wolfram von Richthofen always found studying language to be painful. His foreign language grades were either a borderline pass or an “unsatisfactory.” And "he was a somewhat indulgent father. When he returned home during the war years, Jutta would relate some minor misbehavior of the boys and ask that Wolfram, as their father, discipline them. Wolfram’s reply was usually something on the lines of “boys will be boys” and “they’re good kids—let’s give them a break.”". Then, Wolfram once described the Luftwaffe as “the army’s whore”.

Von Manstein's writing is something else. Even if he did lie about the breakout order in Stalingrad, I still enjoyed his memoirs, to be honest. His words are beautiful, the way he tells a story and the allusions — I got the impression that he was a highly educated person by reading Lost Victories.

Also, von Küchler and Busch's rivalry (which was bitter, unlike the Rommel-Schörner's one), which unfortunately I couldn't remember which book explained that and couldn't find it yet :(

Sources:

Hitler's Generals - Edited by Correlli Barnett

Generalfeldmarschall Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb: Tagebuchaufzeichnungen und Lagebeurteilungen aus zwei Weltkriegen

The Memoirs of Field-Marshal Wilhelm Keitel: Chief of the German High Command, 1938-1945 - Edited by Walter Görlitz

Same as 1

Lost Victories by Erich von Manstein

The Trail of The Fox by David Irving

Generalfeldmarschall Fedor von Bock: The War Diary, 1939-1945 || Manstein: Hitler's Greatest General by Melvin Mungo || World War: The Three Vons (Time Magazine, August 18th, 1941

Wolfram von Richthofen Master of The German Air War by James Corum || Stopped at Stalingrad: the Luftwaffe and Hitler's Defeat in The East, 1942-1943 by Prof. Joel Hayward

[henryfondler]

im starting a separate thread for this but do have any headcanons for the jurors?

I have a couple but I don’t think I can remember them all off the top of my head right noww so I’ll give one or two for each

Foreman: He’s left-handed + also infertile

#2: As a kid, he had a pet rabbit that ran away and he’s still distraught over it

#3: finds comfort gardening + he’d call it ‘collecting’ but really he just likes buying wristwatches. He does cherish each one though

#4: wouldn’t cook if his life depended on it but he likes to bake. If asked he’d say that cooking are too flexible which is partly true but he also thinks that cooking is more dangerous than baking and is scared of it

#5: was prescribed lenses (nothing drastic though) as a kid but he kept losing them so he stopped bothering with it

#6: kisses his kid goodnight every night without fail until they left home

#7: Fancies himself a professional golf player in the making and insists that he’d be famous for golfing if it weren’t for his workload ‘holding him back’

#8: his watch is set to the wrong time, he wears it purely for the aesthetic + when he’s in casual situations he lies nonstop. Just out of habit and he always apologises if whoever he’s talking to believes him. Started with joking and completely unbelievable stuff but stuff just spills from his mouth now

#9: Big into collecting foreign currencies + was gifted a doll on a birthday when he was a kid that he hated at the time (thought it was lame he was too old for it) but he still keeps it to this day. He tells her about his day and constantly makes sure she’s clean and in pristine condition

#10: went through a messy divorce over his business’ failure

#11: simple, but collects stamps

#12: Really into pastas. Never had a same combination of ingredients and toppings more than two times. Thinks that there’s always a better pasta dish out there for him to discover

do you have any headcanons you could share? I’d really like to hear about them!!!

[salvadorbonaparte]

Postcrossing obviously doesn't solve racism or war or anything and I would never pretend it does but I think it can play a small role in changing the way we think about the world. No full blown racist or nationalist signs up to something like that but there's people with some prejudice, biases, assumptions, stereotypes etc - I mean no one can escape this completely. There's people who don't really know anything about other countries or cultures but who are bored and lonely or who just collect stamps and that's an easy way to do it. Or they're curious but never really knew how to learn about these things. And then they receive a card from halfway across the world. Maybe it's a country they have never heard of. Maybe it's a country they only heard of negatively on the news. And maybe they painstakingly translate the message with Google translate. Or learn a few words in a foreign language. Or learn about a stranger's dreams and ambitions. And maybe their life is pretty different or maybe it's surprisingly the similar. Maybe they become pen pals. Maybe they learn about an interesting place in that country and now want to visit it. Maybe their first thought when hearing something about that country is no longer "where is that" or "isn't that that awful place where XYZ" but instead "oh that's where XYZ place is" or "I received a card from there once" or "That's where my pen pal is from".

[riicky-ye]

Furina headcanons:

• Can play piano, flute and violin.

• Ambidextrous, but the working hand is the left one.

• Fluent in Sumeru, Liyue, Snezjnaya and Mondstadt dialects to eavesdrop the foreign diplomats’ dialogues (paranoid behaviour). Her speaking skills are quite rusty though.

• Obsessed with good manners, a bit old-fashioned in that way. Always trying to show people her most poised and refined facade.

• Use ballet as a workout. Had a little dancing room in her suite in the Palais Mermonia to workout whenever she feels like it.

• More strong and agile than she looks.

• Knees hurt when the weather is too hot/cold or humid because she’s a dancer.

• Black is her favourite colour to dress in.

• Precise with time, annoyed by people who are tend to be late.

• Prefer her tea or coffee bitter to accentuate desserts’ sweetness.

• While being an archon, used to collect all sorts of things like plushies, cufflinks, stamps, wrist watches, hats, even insects or flowers in big leather albums. Left all these trinkets behind after moving out of the Palais Mermonia, except for a couple of her favourite toys and some jewelry.

• Can mimic other people’s voices and animals/birds sounds.

• Has an opinion about like everything in the world but often too polite to voice it straightforwardly.

• Very knowledgeable about a lot of topics, from art and literature to politics and from history to hydrology and a little bit of mechanics.

• Some of her literature works from archonhood time are published under a pseudonym.

• Sprinkles her plushies with sweet perfume so they smell good.

[rebel-walnut]

Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Steddie Season 3 time travel fic, Part 8

Ao3, Pt. 1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, Pt.6, Pt.7

Eddie doesn't know if he's breathing or not. He doesn't think he is. Doesn't matter anyways, seeing as he's dead.

The super-kid's words are ringing through his ears and all he can hear is not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be alive. He doesn't know what that means for getting back to '86, if he'll go through and die anyways, if they'll come back earlier, later, maybe they'll die in the process. As far as he's concerned, Supergirl just marked his time of death and stamped his forehead 'deceased.' 

His breaths are short and shallow, a constant influx of oxygen he shouldn't be allowed to breathe. Taking up someone else's air, someone else's space- what even happened to this version of Eddie? Is Eddie from '85 back where he's currently supposed to be, drowning in a pool of his own blood that isn't really his? Does he just not exist anymore? If Eddie thinks much longer about the implications of interdimensional time travel and clone duplicates he's gonna throw up. 

There's pressure on his wrist and the whirling of Eddie's vision subsides enough for him to see everyone staring at him expectantly. Steve has Eddie's right hand clasped between both of his own, and he's rubbing circles across the joint of Eddie's thumb while another finger rests across his pulse. He idly wishes Steve was holding his hand for a reason other than making sure Eddie isn't dead. 

Eddie's laugh is cruel around the edges, sharp in a way that it only ever is when he's putting effort into it. The sound hurts his ears. "So this thing- Vecna, or the upside down, whatever- is trying to kill me. Correction- has killed me. Wants to do it again, but sooner," The smile on his face is foreign and forced, he recognizes it as a shadow of his father's own malicious sneer that only ever wreaked havoc. Eddie wants to claw it out of his skin. 

Steve presses a touch harder into his pulse point and Eddie wants to scream along with his heart beat. "And! We don't even know if we can get back. Say we can. We get back to '86 where we left off. Then Stevie here," Eddie claps Steve on the chest with his free hand and ignores the vice grip that's somehow still gentle around his wrist, "gets to drag my lifeless, chew-toyed body back out of hell, because it turns out I'm dead anyway! Oh well, c'est la vie, at least I get to live out my last days trapped in a different timeline waiting for imminent death; likely in the form of crushing killer vines that'll pop the eyes out of my skull, creepy mind wizard torture, or more bats ripping tiny chunks of flesh out of my sides until I'm nothing but bone and eccentric fashion choices." 

The collective noises from the group could best be described, Eddie would say, as strangled, horrified, and wildly disgusted. Perhaps his monologuing skills leave much to be desired, but sue him. He just found out about his sealed fate, he's allowed to make it slightly funny despite the general aura of horror. 

Steve has given up on being gentle it seems, his nails dig in slightly to Eddie's skin and his fingers are wrapped tight enough to block circulation. He's stopped tracing over Eddie's knuckles, opting instead to just hold Eddie's hand still in the tightest grip known to man. The various children keep staring at him with ranged looks of devastation; Supergirl looking concerned but still with the tight set to her jaw that tells him the next words out of her mouth will be a solution to his problem, Red with mostly shock stricken through her eyes but with an undertone of disinterest that he knows she wears for show, and Henderson doing nothing to hide his reaction of absolute guttural horror. Eddie feels a twinge of guilt for subjecting him to his monologue.

"Eddie-" Steve starts but cuts himself off just as fast. He gapes for a second as his eyes burrow into Eddie's, the shock still settling in the air. "We'll find a way. We always do, we're not gonna-"

"No, Harrington!" Eddie wrenches his hand out of Steve's suffocating grip and ignores the way his expression falls. "I know your band of misfits has been at this for a while, but face it. You've lost people. I know you have. None of you should have the far-away look of a veteran when you're all just kids. You've lost people, and I'm gonna be one of them, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. I'm already gone."

Eddie pointedly pushes back the hot prickling in his eyes and forces his way out of the living room, keeping his gaze turned to the floor. He hears deafening murmurs as he leaves, passing by the kitchen on the way to the sliding glass door at the back. He lets it glide shut behind him with a click, wishing Harrington didn't have those fancy spring loaded door stoppers so he could actually slam it. The pool is glinting in front of him, cover half off and folded at the deep end. There's a small collection of leaves circling the surface of the water, catching the glint of the setting sun on their waxy coating. Eddie throws a rock from the edge of the pool at one just to watch it sink.

He shuffles through the pockets of his sweats for a second before finding a crushed half empty pack of Pall Malls and a bic with a melted corner. He's grateful he remembered to grab them from his vest when he changed and managed to salvage what cigarettes he could from the water damage, but he grimaces at Eddie from July of '85's brand choice anyways. He knows he only bought it cause it's cheap, and lights up regardless of his brand prejudice. The cherry glows orange and he takes in almost a third of the cig in one drag, only sputtering a little on the way out. He finishes it in two more drags and lights up another after smashing the butt into the concrete pool lip to snuff it. He's halfway through the second one when he hears the smooth glide of the door open and click shut softly. Eddie doesn't bother looking to see who it is, he already knows it's Steve. 

Steve pads up behind Eddie, giving him enough space that Steve's still out of sight. Steve clears his throat but Eddie doesn't turn, just flops down by the edge of the pool and watches the smoke curl around his fingers. The ash falls into the edge of the pool as Eddie flicks it, taking the last drag and letting the acrid buzz wash over him. It stings as it burns down to his fingertips around the filter, but he just watches as the flame trickles out.

The gravel crunches under Steve's shoes as he moves to gingerly sit next to Eddie, his gaze burning a hole into Eddie's cheek. Eddie watches him out of his periphery, Steve glancing between Eddie and the darkening sky with unhidden interest. Eddie fishes out another cigarette and lights it, wordlessly offering it to Steve after the first puff. Their fingers brush as Steve takes it and Eddie can't help but stare at Steve's relaxed posture betrayed by the tension in his shoulders as he takes a pull to rival Eddie's own first drag. He hands it back without looking, slowly releasing the smoke and letting it drift into the wind. Eddie can't help but think it's the sort of thing people write songs and make paintings about. They finish the dart in silence, stealing glances at each other and letting cheap nicotine steady their nerves. Steve clears his throat again quietly while Eddie stubbs the filter against the ground.

"I hate this pool," Eddie glances at him, but Steve's got a mile long stare trained on the surface of the water. "Back in '83-" He cuts himself off as he seems to so often do lately and drops his chin to his chest with a sharp exhale. Eddie brushes his fingers against the back of Steve's hand but doesn't break his silence when Steve meets his eyes. "Barbara Holland went missing from this pool. Died in the upside down because of it- because of me,"

"Steve-"

"No. It's true," Steve presses his hand against Eddie's fingers and he can feel it tremble as Steve looks back out to the water. "I was too preoccupied with trying to impress Nance, impress my friends, my parents. Which, not worth it. At all. Anyway, I was too focused on myself and we lost her, and I just- I didn't fucking care. I don't know if it was a defense mechanism or what, but I just tried not to think about it. Distracted myself with Nance, school, parties, anything to stay away from it. I just didn't want to admit it was my fault she died."

Steve's eyes are glistening a hazel gold in the sunset, a sheen of unshed tears catching the light. It's a melancholy stare, the look of grief and guilt and regret wrapped in one sun kissed gaze. Eddie doesn't know what to do except bump his shoulder against Steve's and hope the contact comforts him. 

"And I'm trying to be better. Be the person who would never let that happen, or at least never let it be forgotten. But sometimes I just catch the water out of the window of my room and…" Steve slumps into the comfort of Eddie's arm, his hair tickling Eddie's cheek. His expression is the most broken Eddie's ever seen it, every piece of it shattered and irreplaceable. Each exhale sends a tremor through Steve's body, and Eddie slides the fingers still pressed against Steve's skin around his hand before wrapping his other hand around their tangled fingers and squeezing. Steve gives a half hearted squeeze back, and Eddie pulls Steve's hand to his chest and holds it tenderly between his own. 

"All we can do is try," Eddie whispers against their hands, tracing circles across Steve's knuckles just as Steve had done for him. "You can't change your past. And yes, I realize the irony of that statement seeing as we're currently in the past, but," He halts his movements against Steve's hand to face him, Steve already staring when he goes to look. "As much as I hated to admit it before, and as much as it still surprises me now, you're good, Steve Harrington," A wounded noise breaks out of Steve and he leans a fraction closer towards Eddie as if trying to live off his words. "You're good. You're kind, and gentle, and you care about those kids more than anyone I've ever met. You couldn't have known what would happen with Barb. And you're living for her now, which is what matters," The tears brimming in Steve's eyes finally break free at the mention of Barb's name. Eddie lets his composure shatter at the sight, and presses a light kiss to Steve's knuckles.

"You live for her everyday through those kids, through everyone you're so desperate to protect from the things you've witnessed, the people you've lost. What happens- happened to me, it's not your fault. And it won't be again," Steve's shaking his head in little jerking motions that send waves of hair falling in front of his eyes. His hand squeezes between Eddie's and when Steve stops to look at him, the shattered expression is still there but this time it's sewed together with determination.

"You can't," Steve chokes, his grip strong with calloused grief. "We can't lose again, it can't happen. We can't lose you- it can't happen. Promise me it won't," Steve's pleading, their faces inches from each other and Steve's tears are catching on the ridges of his nose and the divot above his quivering lip. Eddie's own cheeks are wet with trails of salt water, and he can't help but clutch Steve's hand to his chest. 

"Stevie," He starts, and instantly regrets his next words. "I can't. You know I can't, my fate is practically sealed," His words are hoarse as Steve falls somehow closer to him, their skin buzzing with the proximity and the mourning in Eddie's words. Steve chokes.

"Lie to me."

Eddie chokes. Grips Steve harder and squeezes his eyes shut.

"I promise."

It wrenches a sob from both of them, their foreheads falling together and their hands clutched between them as they suffocate on grief. It's strange to be mourning his own death with a man he didn't talk to a mere week ago, yet their lives have become so intertwined that Eddie can't imagine going through this with anyone else. It's a broken sort of bond that comes with loss, and it's a little surreal to have someone other than his Uncle or Hellfire care this much. Grieve this much.

They're clutching pieces of each other, Steve's hand still wrapped in Eddie's, Steve's other hand tangling in the hair at the nape of Eddie's neck, Eddie's other hand pulling at the collar of Steve's soft blue tee. Their tears cling to their jaws and fall in droplets of the worst kind of rain on the concrete, a few dropping over the edge to mix with the chlorine. Eddie feels the tremor of Steve's sobs all the way up his spine and into his skull, buzzing in his forehead where they're still connected. The ache in their lungs lasts both an eternity and a minute as the tremors and initial grief settles into something worse yet also softer in their bones. It's almost acceptance. But Eddie knows it isn't. 

Eddie blinks a few times and waits for his vision to stop swimming, Steve's breath tickling his cheek on every exhale just as Eddie's sure he's doing the same to Steve. Their grasp on each other is heavy in a way that would take years to undo, and Eddie can't stop staring at the way Steve's cheeks are flushed from crying. They're tinged pink across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and his lips are slick from tears. Another stray tear falls from Steve's eyelashes and Eddie gently raises the hand from his shirt to brush the tear away. Steve leans into the touch and blinks his eyes open, his gaze jumping between Eddie's eyes and back down.

Eddie wills his heart to slow. The edge of mourning is not an opportune time to notice the smoothness of Steve's skin or the flecks of green at the center of his eyes or the way his lips hang open just enough. 

But. 

Steve is staring at him like he's an answer to something. He's flitting his gaze across Eddie's face, bouncing from eye to eye and landing on his lips, and he's leaning into Eddie's hand still touching his cheek, his skin warm under the movement of Eddie's thumb. He's swaying into Eddie's space, all warmth and softness and presence, and when Steve tilts his head up just a little their noses brush. His lips are parted in a way that would fit the apple from the garden of Eden, ripe and red and tempting. And Eddie is starving. 

"Steve," Eddie whispers, more air than voice. Steve doesn't look up from his lips, just tilts his head farther into Eddie's hand. He noses up the ridge of Eddie's nose, Steve's eyelashes brushing against his cheek as he leans a breath closer. Eddie wants to scream.

He thumbs Steve's cheek and pulls just soft enough to guide Steve closer, both basking in the warmth of the other's skin and touch. Steve puffs a breath over Eddie's lips, close enough to feel the sparks between their skin. It's electricity and kindness and grief, and Eddie wants nothing more than to take a bite out of the apple. 

What was left of the space between them dissipates as Eddie leans in just enough to brush their lips together, their tear stained skin sticking to each other. It's more of a touch than a kiss; just enough to test the waters, to get a taste of temptation. It's featherlight and golden, a gentle brush of just their top lips. Just to feel. Enough to know that Eddie needs to swallow him whole.

Eddie slides the hand that was cupping Steve's cheek around to the back of neck and runs his fingers through the hair curling there, pulling ever so slightly closer. He's about to bridge the gap between an almost kiss and a real kiss -capture Steve's golden light and sinful lips- when Eddie's vision whites out with a crack of lightning and a shock that rips through his skin. 

He lets out a cry and pulls away from Steve to claw at his forehead, frantically scratching and pulling at his skin. There's hornets stinging behind his eyes and biting at his skull, and all he can feel is pain and bright sharpness. It sends a ringing scream through his body that Eddie can barely hear over the pain, sucked into the shards of glass running up his veins and the feeling of acid biting at his skin. It's a sucking, endless feeling, like every bit of energy is being pulled from him and replaced with screeching tones and hot sand that's dissolving him bit by bit. 

There's a pressure on his arm and through his staticky tunneled vision he sees Max pulling him up. He can't tell what she's saying, nor can he really see her face, can just make out the shape of fiery red hair. She pulls him up to a half-sitting-half-fetal position. She says something, but it may as well be in a different language. Eddie's being simultaneously cut open and burned from the inside out, his head is switched to ten different radio stations that just play static interluded with guest appearances from the depths of hell, and every inch of his skin is on fire. 

Well, Eddie thinks, so much for that kiss. Which is honestly a ridiculous thing to think about when he's on the verge of death, but well, he's a little resigned to his fate. He doesn't want to go through another week or month or year of waiting for something to strike, having episodes of seizures brought on by dark dimensional wizards and whatever the fuck is happening right now. But still. It would've been nice.

His mind swims in an attempt to distract from the blades slicing through his brain, and Eddie thinks he's either become accustomed to it or he's actually dying this time. Again. His body is trembling from the pain and with the way his throat feels raw he thinks he's been screaming this whole time, and he just wants it to be over. Sorry Steve, he thinks. And then.

Fuck. Steve. Steve who is tied to the same freaky upside down shit Eddie is, who is probably about a foot away from him right now and going through something very similar if not the exact same thing. 

Eddie pries his eyes a fraction of an inch open which forces out a guttural shriek at the burn raging in his skull, but can once again make out the vague shape of Max still holding him to her chest. There's two other figures of what Eddie assumes Steve and Dustin huddled together in front of him, someone's hand flexing and shaking over Eddie's leg. Another figure is crouched in front of them with one hand facing the pool and one hand towards all four of them. Supergirl.

Through shaking screams and burning skin, Eddie's eyes manage to clear a little despite the constant influx of tears overflowing to soothe the burn that doesn't seem to exist to anyone else. Supergirl is whipping her head between the group of them huddled on the ground and the edge of the pool, and with a scream she plunges one hand into the water and slaps the other on top of Steve's hand that's covering Eddie's shin.

Her fingers dig into Eddie's shin and imprint Steve's palm into Eddie's skin where his sweats have ridden up, and the sensation shocks a cold into his skin that pulses up his body like menthol and chili, the sensation enough to make him convulse inward. The striking cold scrapes along his skull, and suddenly Eddie can see again. The vague figures of traumatized teenagers snap into view and the water in his eyes clears after a second, and Eddie can see the moment it happens for Steve too. The agony on Steve's face smoothes into concern as Dustin keeps yelling likely non-urgent questions at him and shakes at his shoulder. The pain under Eddie's skin is still there, but the burning fires of hell have extinguished into a more manageable stove top fire mishap. His head is fogged and achy, but the ringing and sharpened static in his ears has faded to a manageable level where he can make out at least fifty percent of the noise around him. 

Max must notice the difference since she removes her vice grip from his shoulders and leans over to scan across his face. He can see her getting ready to ask if he's okay when Supergirl lets out a howling shriek and throws her head back, crumpling in on herself yet keeping her arms strong against their skin and the water. Steve scrambles up first to Supergirl's side, casting a quick glance into the pool before muttering a string of expletives under his breath and turning to Eddie.

"I need your lighter," He says, and Eddie guesses his voice is in the same commanding urgency he uses everytime the world ends. Eddie shakily reaches a hand across the concrete and fumbles with the lighter a little, giving it a trembling toss over to Steve. Eddie notices the shaking in Steve's hands too, the residual coals left burning under their skin. Steve wastes no time getting to his feet, his balance slightly off kilter but putting no damper on the speed at which he rushes to the door and throws it open, careening to the right and into the kitchen. 

Supergirl lets out another cry that pulls Max away from Eddie's side, Dustin already there with her by the edge of the pool. Eddie's pulse is jumping again as he notices the tinge of black around her fingertips, the way it courses ever so slightly up her veins. Steve appears again through the glass doorway with a can of cooking spray in one hand, Eddie's melted lighter in the other. Steve throws out an arm to shove the kids away from the edge of the pool as he crumples to his knees, slamming the cap of the spray on the ground to knock it off and flicking the spark wheel before spraying directly into the flame and emitting a giant fireball that flushes Eddie's face with heat. 

Steve aims another fireball into the pool as Eddie struggles to get himself fully upright, clawing his way over to the edge with the rest of them. Supergirl is still letting out shrieks here and there, both her palms flexed towards the water with Max and Dustin holding her steady on either side. Eddie gets to the lip of the pool and peers over the edge to see some sort of bubbling sludge that he loathes to recognize. It's forming from what looks like three points, the dark matter forming tendrils that climb towards the surface, towards them. Steve shoots another stream of fire across the water and Eddie watches as the tendrils recoil and hiss from the sensation. 

Steve shoves the can and lighter into Eddie's hands and fixes him with an urgent stare. "Keep spraying," is all he says before disappearing back into the house with his usual grace of a reformed jock. Eddie spots other tendrils rising from the depths of the water to join the surface, and aims his half empty bottle of cooking spray at the largest section, frantically flicking the wheel to spark it. The lighter sputters with a small spark, but no flame.

He strikes the wheel again. Spark. Sputter. Nothing.

Strike. Spark. Nothing.

Strike-

"What the fuck is taking so long, Munson?" Max hollers from beside him, her arms wrapped protectively around Supergirl's shoulders. Supergirl shrieks and the sludge hisses, shrinking a little.

"I'm fucking trying, okay?! It's finicky-" Eddie sparks the lighter two more times still with no luck before Max reaches over and snatches both the lighter and the cooking spray out of his hand. She strikes it twice, the lighter coming to life with a bright orange flame and fanning over the pool with a whoosh as she lets out a stream of cooking spray. She doesn't stop after one stream of fire, instead endlessly holding down the nozzle of the spray and effectively flambéing the matter bubbling on the surface of the water.

"Useless goddamn-" Max mutters as a tendril shrinks in on itself and melts in tandem Supergirl's yell. "-Everything myself," Max drops to her knees and sprays directly at the lip of the pool, burning off a trail of sludge that was trying to slither over. Eddie is terrified of her.

Steve bolts back out of the door with what looks like 2 cans of women's hairspray and another lighter. He barely spares a confused glance between Max and Eddie, but shoves a can at him anyways and flicks the lighter to life between them. Supergirl and Dustin are still slightly farther back in the middle of the group, Dustin practically holding her up as she slowly shrinks back the growing mass of  tendrils. Max has worked her way to the edge on the left now, maniacal and determined in a way that makes Eddie think maybe she should talk to somebody about it.

Eddie and Steve stay on the right, Steve holding the lighter between them as he shoots a stream of fire into the middle. Eddie decides to shoot at the edges by the lip of the pool, the sludge still creeping out despite its mandatory near constant regeneration from the combination of the fire and whatever the fuck sort of telekinesis Supergirl is pulling off. 

"Is this even gonna work?" Eddie yells, struggling to spray his hairspray through the flame instead of beside it due to their shared custody of the lighter.

"Fire's their biggest weakness, it's all we got," Steve's voice is crackly but still carries the urgency from before as he shoots out towards a tendril rising out of the water, effectively burning it in half as it crumples back to the surface.

There's a clinking noise to his left, and then, "Fuck!" As Max chucks her can to the side and lets it rattle against the ground. "I'm empty," She says, her face fear stricken with only a small facade over it as she glances between Supergirl still shaking against Dustin and Eddie across from her. Eddie hucks his can over to her and hears the almost empty rattle of the can in the wind.

"I'm almost out, but there's still a bit left," Eddie says as he stares into the pool, the mass of sludge smaller than when they started, but not small enough to take out with two half-empty cans of hairspray. Steve's can starts to sputter a moment later, Max's new can likely soon to follow. Steve curses under his breath and aims the last consistent spurt of hairspray at the middle of the mass, left only to shoot small bursts of fire until the can's empty.

"Shit, this one's running low too," Max has given up her tactic of one steady stream of fire in favor of small bursts similar to Steve, both of them shaking the can in between sprays. Eddie hears Dustin gasp to his left and turns just in time to see Supergirl lurch away from him and plunge her hands into the slime. Her fingertips flex at the edge of the sludge and it lets out a withering hiss at the contact, Supergirl seeming to feel the same painful connection as her shoulders seize up and she tosses her neck back. 

"El!" Dustin calls and grips onto her shoulders to keep her from tipping into the pool, Supergirl clawing her hands in farther anyways. It rips a scream from her and it rattles in Eddie's ears, echoing off his skull. Her shriek cuts off with a gasp as her head drops forward and her arms go limp, the rest of the fire being sucked from the cans and into the mass of tendrils the second she drops. The suction makes Eddie's ears pop and he watches as the rest of the tendrils collapse in on themselves in a matter of seconds, endlessly folding together in a sick slide of black and blue until nothing remains in the pool. The last thing to disappear is three heavy black drops of slime closest to the edge of the pool, the droplets imploding and ceasing to exist.

The moment it's over both Steve and Max collapse at Supergirl's feet, Steve doing the primary flitting and worrying. There's a stream of blood trailing from her nose down to her chin and it's left spattered drops on the pavement. Her eyes are closed and she's panting against the embrace of Dustin and Max, Steve staying in front of her and tilting her head side to side, checking her fingernails and her pulse. Eddie stays awkwardly off to the side, opting instead to sit a couple feet away and attempt to compartmentalize the past ten or so minutes. 

His skin feels fuzzy again, but moreso in a familiar anxiety way than an interdimensional way. He feels lost in the staticy feeling running through his body, letting his vision cloud a little and get lost in the now normal ripples of the water. He thinks he's breathing again.

Steve enters his field of vision, hands up like he's approaching a wild animal and pace slow and intentional. "You feeling okay?" He asks and all Eddie can muster is a nod in return. He looks over at Supergirl. 

"She gonna be okay?" Eddie asks and lets himself relax a little at Steve's contented nod.

"Exhausted, definitely, but El'll be fine. We should get her somewhere safe though, who knows what else is tied to this place," Eddie's previous stare into the pool is echoed in Steve's face, both of their expressions a blank sort of anxious.

Steve tears his gaze away from the pool and towards Eddie, extending a hand to help him up. Steve's hand is warm in Eddie's when he takes it and lets himself be pulled up and into Steve's space, relishing in the closeness for only a second before stepping away. Now is most certainly not the time. Not that it would've been before, either. Steve coughs as Eddie steps back and gestures behind him, returning to El who's looking slightly more alert in Dustin and Max's arms, eyelids still heavy though and head lolling onto Max's shoulder. Steve says something to the three of them in a gentle and hushed tone that Eddie doesn't quite catch before scooping El up and tucking her into his chest to bring her inside.

Max and Dustin watch them go, Max getting up first and turning to look at Eddie. She sees the concern on his face before Eddie even realizes it's there, fixing him with a glare and stuffing her shaky hands into the pockets of her shorts.

"I'm fine," She says with a sneer and Eddie puts his hands up in surrender, watching her turn heel to follow Steve and El inside. Dustin does less to hide the fact that he's shaken up, getting up slowly from the ground and shaking out his arms. His breaths are trembling at the end of his exhales, and Eddie just wants to whisk each of these kids away from a seemingly endless childhood of Eldritch trauma. 

Eddie gently wraps an arm around Dustin's shoulder, simply quietly giving him support as he lets the kid breathe. Dustin melts into his side, Eddie in turn just melting in general, and rubs circles into his back. 

"Wanna go sit inside?" Eddie asks as hushed as possible, leaning in just for Dustin to hear. Dustin heaves another breath with a weak nod of his head and pulls away from Eddie but not out of arm's reach. Eddie offers a weak smile and a squeeze on the shoulder as they join the other's in the living room.

El is laid out on the couch with Max sitting on the floor next to her and dabbing at the blood drying around her nose, both with easy fragile smiles and gentle touches. Eddie does not let Max see him looking. Dustin joins them at the foot of the couch and Eddie stands awkwardly in between for a second before spotting Steve around the corner at the phone. 

"...For the most part, yeah. I just don't want anyone staying here… Yeah of course… And I know that we're- well, thank you… Yeah. In about ten. Thank you so much," Steve hangs up with a click as he puts the handheld back down, wringing out his hands and then running them through his hair. He scrubs his hands down his face and takes a moment to breathe a heavy sigh before Eddie sneaks out a bit more from behind the corner to make himself known. Steve catches Eddie out of the corner of his eye and startles anyway with a small jump and a hand to his throat like he's a '50's housewife clutching his pearls. The gesture is both endearing and oddly fitting.

"Fuckin' scared me, man," Steve says and swaps his startled expression for an easy smile that makes Eddie's heart jump. "Just got off the phone with Robin, she's very nicely gonna let us stay at her's for the night despite not really knowing me here. Said her parents are out for dinner with friends and will likely end up crashing at a friend's house," Steve laughs and cards his fingers through his hair again. "She says they're more like teenagers than she is," Eddie gives a half-hearted smile that he tries to pass off as normal, but Steve's brow furrows at it. "You okay?" 

Eddie worries his lip between his teeth and pointedly does not notice Steve glance down for a second. "It's just- do you think it'll follow us there? Like, it's tied to this house and probably mine, but also us, right? Is switching locations gonna be enough?" Eddie's voice comes out raw and full of worry despite his best efforts to keep it even, Steve grimacing at him.

"I don't know. But what I do know is we can't get back without El, and she needs rest. Our best bet is getting away from any sort of previous gate or tie to the upside down, and I think Robin is it. She didn't get involved until this year, and it was only ever at Starcourt, nothing happened at her home. Plus, she's far enough from any of the gates that I think it's probably our safest choice," Steve shudders and stares at his feet for a second, then turning an intense gaze to Eddie. "I can't guarantee any sort of total safety. But anything will be better than here for them."

Eddie nods and breaks the eye contact, Steve still staring for a second before dropping his eyes. He fiddles with the drawstring of his sweatpants and toes at the panels of hardwood before narrowing a determined gaze back on Eddie.

"Also I-" Steve swallows and makes an aborted movement towards Eddie, Eddie still just stuck staring and praying he isn't about to have the conversation he thinks they're about to have. He's about to get rejected for his weird almost-kiss and have to play it off like it was just end of the world jitters.

What? Why would you think I wanted to kiss you, Harrington? That was just an accident. You know, how you accidentally share tender and gentle kisses with people you've known for about a week and then have to save the world with?

"I just wanted to- uh…" Steve starts again with no more luck finishing his sentence than last time, just looking semi-awkwardly into Eddie's eyes. Eddie shuffles his feet a little and waits in awkward straight-dude agony for this to be over.

"You just wanted to…?" Eddie tries to help, rip off the bandaid if he must, but Steve just shakes his head and hums.

"Just- wanted to tell you to grab any stuff you need for the night, I'll go tell the kids and I'll meet you at the car," Steve doesn't look at him as he finishes the sentence, practically bolts past Eddie with a clap on the shoulder and rounds the doorway into the living room. Eddie tries not to let it sting too much as he trudges upstairs to retrieve his still sopping clothes.  Fucking awesome. He managed to make Armageddon awkward.

_______

This fic is almost done! If i write something this long again I won't be uploading chapters to tumblr, but I will post the Ao3 links so keep an eye out for that.

TAG LIST (reply to be added): @estrellami-1 @melodymeddler @songbird-garden @gregre369 @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @bestwifehaver @mediguro @goodolefashionedloverboi @huniiibee @rhyswritesreadsandcries @i-have-three-feelings @mightbeasleep @grtwdsmwhr @hirikka @starlight-archer @clumsiluni @celestialrebel1 @quarble @woolley-socks

[pwlanier]

Avetisyan Minas Karapetovich (1928-1975) "Friendship of Peoples." Sketch. 1960.

Paper, oil, 66×61.5 cm.

In the lower left corner, the author's signature (in Armenian) and the date: "Minas 60". On the back is a stamp of the Charitable Foundation of the Minas Avetisyan Center for National Culture.

"... Minas is a born painter, his color never becomes an auxiliary decorative element, as in empty salon performers. The play of spots and strokes has its own pattern and eventually creates its own holistic and colorful harmony.

... For Minas, the world of nature and people was interesting because it could be melted into artistic images, which he did with brilliance, with remarkable penetration" G.A. Anisimov "The world's delight is boundless: stories about artists in two books. Book II. Moscow, 2006, p. 96.

Expert opinion of the CHE named after I.E. Repina (Y.V. Rybakov).

Armenian painter, graphic artist, theater artist, honored artist of Armenia. He studied at the Yerevan School named after F. Terlemezyan (1947-1952), Yerevan Art and Theater Institute (1952-1954) and Leningrad Institute of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture named after I.E. Repin (1955-1959), where one of his main teachers was B.V. Johannson. The first exhibition was held in 1960, but wide popularity came to Avetisyan in 1962, after the exhibition "Five Artists", which was held in Yerevan. A lot of the artist's works died in 1972 in the fire. Between 1960 and 1975, the artist created more than 500 canvases, almost the same number of drawings, 20 large frescoes and projects for theatrical performances. The works are in the House-Museum of M. Avetisyan (Yerevan), the Museum of Modern Art (Yerevan), the State TG, the Museum of Oriental Countries (Moscow), numerous private collections in Armenia, Russia and many foreign countries.

Litfund

[ofasphodel]

OPEN!

for some people, college is about finding yourself. for others, it’s about enriching yourself as much as possible with top-tier academics, collecting as much knowledge as possible in these delicate years where your only job is to learn. for fitz, on this particular night at this particular party, college is about sleeping with as many foreign foxes as possible. what’s the point of being an expat at a university if you aren’t trying to get your passport stamped by as many people as possible? 

in a sea of attractive party-goers, a long-legged french girl is his target, although when fitz tried to talk to her, she seemed interested in very little more than lamenting about marcel’s disappearance and the future of meraviglia. with little luck on his own, he decides to head over to a familiar face to recruit reinforcements. “hey! funny running into you here. party rockin’ in the house tonight, am i right?” fitz says. “while i’ve got ya, i need a favor… see that hottie with a body over there.” he points out the french. “can you go over there, talk her up, and then slip something good about me into the conversation? definitely a lie, though – perhaps about my god-like dick that saved you in your darkest hour?”

[attorneysinphuket]

Thai Marriage Visa

If you're planning to marry a Thai citizen and make your home in Thailand, you'll need to obtain a Thai marriage visa. This visa allows you to enter and reside in Thailand for a specific period, usually 90 days. However, you can extend your stay and eventually apply for a permanent residence visa.

Eligibility Requirements

To qualify for a Thai marriage visa, you must meet the following criteria:

Marriage Certificate: You must provide a valid marriage certificate issued by a Thai authority.

Passport: Your passport must be valid for at least six months.

Financial Proof: You may need to provide evidence of sufficient financial means to support yourself and your spouse in Thailand. This could include bank statements, employment letters, or property ownership documents.

Health Certificate: A health certificate may be required, especially if you have certain medical conditions.

Application Process

The application process for a Thai marriage visa typically involves the following steps:

Gather Required Documents: Collect all the necessary documents, including your passport, marriage certificate, financial proof, and health certificate.

Submit Application: Visit the nearest Thai embassy or consulate in your country and submit your application along with the required documents.

Interview: You may be required to attend an interview with a visa officer to discuss your relationship and plans for living in Thailand.

Visa Issuance: If your application is approved, the visa will be issued and stamped in your passport.

Extending Your Stay

Once your initial 90-day visa expires, you can apply to extend your stay in Thailand. To do so, you'll need to provide proof of your ongoing relationship with your Thai spouse and evidence that you're still financially stable.

Permanent Residence Visa

After living in Thailand for a certain period, typically five years, you may be eligible to apply for a permanent residence visa. This visa allows you to live and work in Thailand indefinitely.

Additional Considerations

Work Permit: If you plan to work in Thailand, you'll need to obtain a work permit in addition to your marriage visa.

Visa Fees: There are visa fees associated with the application process.

Local Laws and Customs: It's important to familiarize yourself with Thai laws and customs to ensure a smooth transition to life in Thailand.

Conclusion

The Thai marriage visa is a crucial step for individuals who wish to marry a Thai citizen and live in Thailand. By understanding the eligibility requirements, application process, and extension procedures, you can increase your chances of a successful application and a fulfilling life in Thailand.

[stamp-scout]

discovered this really cool antique store earlier today that had a giant collection of stamps! i managed to find a bunch of different sets i’d had my eye on for a while now, as well as some really cool foreign postmarked singles.

looking forward to sorting through and uploading the new additions on here over the next couple days, so watch this space :)

[tomorrowusa]

Greg Abbott and Ron DeSantis are transporting migrants to other states to boost their standings with the far right and to draw attention away from festering problems in their own states.

DeSantis is governor of a state which doesn't even have a border with a foreign country, but he's been scooping migrants up in other states and dumping them in California, Massachusetts, and elsewhere.

California Gov. Gavin Newsom is now threatening criminal charges against DeSantis. THIS is what needs to be done. Other blue state governors and attorneys general, please take note!

For the second time in four days, Florida picked up people seeking asylum and took them by private jet to Sacramento at taxpayer expense, California officials said on Monday after another flight arrived at a local airport.

California’s Democratic governor, Gavin Newsom, on Monday branded his rightwing Republican Florida counterpart, Ron DeSantis, a “small, pathetic man”, and appeared to threaten kidnapping charges after the first incident in which a group of migrants was dumped at a Sacramento church.

Rob Bonta, California’s attorney general, said in a statement that 16 South Americans abandoned outside the Roman Catholic Diocese of Sacramento on Friday were “in possession of documentation purporting to be from the state of Florida”, and may have been duped into boarding charter flights via New Mexico after entering the US in Texas. On Monday morning, a second flight of 20 migrants arrived in the state’s capital.

DeSantis is using Florida taxpayer money to conduct these stunts. His rubber stamp legislature lets him get away with stuff like this.

The episode has parallels to what critics called a similar “soulless” stunt orchestrated by DeSantis last year in which his administration abandoned several dozen mostly Venezuelan migrants in Martha’s Vineyard.

Newsom, in a tweet posted Monday lunchtime directed at DeSantis, said: “You small, pathetic man. This isn’t Martha’s Vineyard. Kidnapping charges?” and linked to a section of California’s penal code stating anybody who “abducts or takes by force or fraud” a person found within the state “is guilty of kidnapping”.

Republican governors should not be allowed to conduct kidnappings at taxpayer expense. And their accomplices need to be penalized as well.

“While we continue to collect evidence, I want to say this very clearly: state-sanctioned kidnapping is not a public policy choice, it is immoral and disgusting,” Bonta said in the statement.

The flight was operated by Berry Aviation, an active US defense contractor, according to flight tracking data on FlightRadar24. When reached on the phone, the company declined to comment. Acorn Growth Companies, an aerospace investment firm, which owns Berry Aviation, did not answer calls.

Acorn’s managing partner, Rick Nagel of Oklahoma, is a major Republican fundraiser. He was the campaign treasurer for congressman Tom Cole, who chairs the House rules committee. Cole is a former head of the Republican National Congressional Committee and a fervent backer of Donald Trump’s anti-immigration policies.

Planes and buses used to transport migrants under such circumstances should be impounded as evidence and the companies which own them should be indicted.

Given the disproportionate number of mass shootings in Florida and Texas, DeSantis and Abbott are trying to deflect attention from their failure to keep assault weapons out of the hands of extremists and criminals.

If California and other states issue warrants for the arrest of Ron DeSantis, that might make his campaigning a little more difficult.