ach nein

Diese Generation ist eiskalt.
Ich bin an diesem Punkt an dem ich jeden Mann der mich nur anschaut am liebsten ins Gesicht kotzen würde.
An diesem Punkt wo ich weiß, dass wenn ich mir noch einmal anhören muss “Du kannst nicht alle Männer über einen Haufen werfen” “Du bist traurig dass du sagst alle Typen sind gleich” “Ich bin anders urteile nicht wenn du mich nicht kennst” “Gib mir eine Chance dir zu zeigen..”, ich straight Mord begehe. Weiß nur noch nicht ob ich mir dann nicht selbst die Kugel gebe oder dem Typen von dem ich mir das Gelaber geben muss.
An diesem Punkt an dem ich einfach nur denke ich bin naiv und dumm, nur weil ich jedes Mal aufs neue gedacht habe, dass jeder Mensch eben eine Chance verdient hat. Dass es dieses Mal vielleicht anders wird. Ich habe an das gute in Menschen geglaubt und ich wusste nie dass Ehrlichkeit heutzutage so schwer zu finden ist. Aber Menschen lügen ohne das Gesicht zu verziehen und Menschen sind gewissenlos. Daraus habe ich gelernt, dass man niemandem vertrauen kann. Erwarte niemals, nur weil du alles für eine Person geben würdest, die dir wichtig ist, dass diese das selbe für dich tun würde. Erwarte einfach nichts denn das einzige was du davon hast sind Wochen und Monate, die du da sitzt und dich fragst: Wie konnte er nur? Wie kann ein Mensch so dreist lügen ohne Gewissensbisse zu haben? Wie konnte ein Mensch dich berühren und sich das ganze so echt anfühlen wenn alles nur leere Worte, leere Versprechungen waren?
Und dann sitzt man da, will es nicht mal wahrhaben, weil man nicht mal annähernd verstehen kann wie der andere so handeln konnte. Weil man selbst nie zu so etwas in der Lage wäre. Weil man jemand anderen niemals so hätte leiden lassen wollen wie man selbst jetzt leidet. Weil man ein Herz hat. Am besten fragt man sich dann noch, ob es an einem selbst liegt.
Und jetzt kommt es zu den Ratschlägen und Worten der “Freunde”, der Familie, der Gesellschaft:
“Wie konntest du so leichtgläubig sein?”
“Vertraue nur dir selbst”
“Dachtest du wirklich, er meint es ernst?”
“Wie konntest du immer und immer wieder verzeihen? Wieso lernst du nicht aus deinen Fehlern?”
“Du musst eiskalt sein, du bist viel zu nett”
“Lenk dich ab”
“Wie oft willst du dich noch verarschen lassen?”
“Das wird schon wieder”

Ich weiß nicht ob ich jemals zu einem eiskalten Menschen werden kann. Viele sagen wenn dir zu viel passiert, du zu oft verarscht wirst lernst du dazu.
Aber ich lerne nicht dazu. Ich habe niemals eingesehen ein schlechterer, herzloser Mensch zu werden, nur weil andere Menschen sich wie Arschlöcher verhalten. Viele nennen es Dummheit. Aber ich gebe die Hoffnung immer noch nicht auf irgendwann einen Menschen zu finden, der genau wie ich versucht hat, einer von den Guten zu bleiben bzw. es einfach nicht geschafft hat sich zu ändern.

Ich kann die Menschen, die eiskalt geworden sind trotzdem verstehen. Sie sind es leid verletzt zu werden, sie haben die Hoffnung aufgegeben.
Aber es ist wie ein ewiger Kreislauf jeder verletzt jeden durch diese lieblose, gefühlskalte Art. Gefühle werden ausgeblendet, denn wer heutzutage Gefühle zeigt hat verloren.

Das einzige was ich seit langem versucht habe zu finden war ein Mann, der mich anschaut als wäre ich das schönste auf der Welt. Ein Mann der alle Freiheiten der Welt haben kann, weil ich weiß, andere Frauen interessieren ihn nicht. Ein Mann, der mich fragt wie es mir geht und sich für die wahre Antwort dieser Frage interessiert, jemand der alles von mir wissen möchte. Jemand der mir alles anvertrauen kann was er auf dem Herzen hat. Jemanden der für mich da ist und ich für ihn da bin. Jemanden der meine Liebe und das was ich alles für ihn tun und geben würde wirklich verdient hat. Einen Mann der mich als Menschen respektiert. Aber heutzutage möchte keiner mehr über Gefühle sprechen, heutzutage werden keine Beziehungen außer “Freundschaft Plus Beziehungen” geführt, in denen es darum geht seinen “Spaß” zu haben aber bitte keine tieferen Konversationen zu Stande kommen und erst recht keine Verpflichtungen zu haben und schon gar nicht sich vor jemandem für irgendwelche Taten rechtfertigen zu müssen.
Heutzutage wird man von einem Mann immer noch nicht als Mensch respektiert und das ist meiner Meinung nach ein Fakt. Andauernd höre ich Dinge wie heutzutage sind alles Bitches. Das traurige an der Sache ist, Männer machen Frauen zu Bitches. WARUM VERSTEHT DAS KEINER? Man lernt jemanden kennen und erhofft sich JEMANDEN WIRKLICH WIRKLICH KENNEN ZU LERNEN. Man denkt WIR VERSTEHEN UNS GUT MAL SEHEN OB AUS UNS WAS WERDEN KANN oder man denkt WOW ICH GLAUBE ER MEINT ES ERNST MIT MIR ICH MÖCHTE IHM EINE CHANCE GEBEN. Nur teilweise schon beim schreiben in Whatsapp fallen Bemerkungen wie “Lass uns doch Filme schauen - wir werden eh nicht viel davon mitbekommen” “Lass uns doch zu dir gehen” “Netflix and chill”
Beim ersten oder zweiten Treffen fassen sie dich schon an, haben Erwartungen dass sie “wenigstens einen Blowjob” bekommen oder Hoffnungen dass sie gleich zum Zug kommen weil wofür sollte man sich sonst treffen. “Jungs und Mädchen sind nicht einfach so befreundet” und eine “Beziehung in diesem Alter hat doch sowieso keinen Sinn”.
Als Frau steckst du so wirklich in einer richtig schlimmen Situation. Das ist der Zeitpunkt an dem du entweder mitmachen kannst und dich somit zur Bitch machst (obwohl du das ja sowieso eh schon bist nur wenn du sie selbe Luft wie ein Typ atmest), oder du sagst “Können wir das ganze nicht langsam angehen?” “Ich möchte das noch nicht.” “Ich bin noch nicht bereit” “Wir kennen uns zu wenig”
und dann wirst du direkt abgeschoben, dann heißt es bye bye für dich, kein Interesse an so etwas.
Ich habe mir schon so viel angehört, dass ich unreif bin, dass man als erwachsener Mensch einen schönen Abend “genießen” muss, dass ich mir zu viele Gedanken darüber mache was andere Leute sagen würden, dass ich doch keine Bitch bin wenn ich das jetzt machen würde. ACH NEIN? BEI EUCH BIN ICH KEINE BITCH WENN IHR MICH FICKT ABER BEI JEDEM ANDEREN DEN ICH RANGELASSEN HÄTTE WÄRE ICH ES.
Es geht mir verdammt noch mal nicht darum was andere Leute über mich denken, das ist mir vollkommen egal. Ich möchte dass ich mich wohl fühle bei den Dingen die ich tue und das tue ich sicherlich nicht, wenn ich nicht mal weiß ob derjenige mich überhaupt für meinen Charakter und als Menschen mag! Ich sehe es nicht ein, beim ersten Treffen einen Mann mit mir nach Hause zu nehmen den ich kaum kenne. Wer bist du und womit hast du es verdient schon so viel Privatsphäre von mir kennenzulernen? Ich sehe es nicht ein mich von einem Mann anfassen zu lassen, der sich nicht mal die Mühe machen kann, mich respektvoll zu behandeln und mich eben nicht direkt anfasst, weil es sich einfach nicht gehört. Weil er sich vielleicht denkt, das Mädchen ist es wert sie kennen zu lernen, ich bin nicht nur auf ihren Körper aus. Ist es wirklich so viel zu viel verlangt jemanden erst mal richtig kennenzulernen? Mit jemandem Sachen zu unternehmen, zu lachen aber auch tiefgründige Gespräche zu führen? Immer wieder höre ich “Das gehört doch dazu” und ja das tut es verdammt noch mal auch! Aber du bist nur ein dahergelaufener irgendjemand bei dem es sich noch längst nicht rausgestellt hat ob diese Berührungen, dieser sex überhaupt zu irgendetwas dazugehören kann! Ob du es verdient hast und es wert bist mich so intim und entblößt vor dir zu haben! ES IST NICHT SELBSTVERSTÄNDLICH.
Und wenn Frauen dann noch so “dumm/naiv” sind und es mitmachen in der Hoffnung “vielleicht entwickelt er so Gefühle für mich” oder Angst haben die Person zu verletzen wenn man sie korbt oder die Person nicht verlieren möchten und dann eiskalt abgeschoben werden sobald es um Gefühle geht oder mit leerem Gelaber von vorne bis hinten ausgenutzt und verarscht werden und das ohne Scham! Dann steht die Frau im Endeffekt als dumme naive Schlampe da obwohl sie niemals die Absicht hatte rumzuhuren. Und ich hab das Gefühl das wird niemals jemand verstehen. Niemals jemand respektieren. Und niemals jemand versuchen zu ändern. Zumindest nicht in dieser Generation.

—  crybvbym
Language Learner Problem #222 - The Curse of the Neverending Synonyms
  • First time shopping in Germany
  • Me: Thanks!
  • Cashier: Would you like your Quittung (receipt)?
  • Me: No thanks, have a nice day!
  • Second time shopping in Germany
  • Me: Thanks!
  • Different cashier: Would you like your Kassenbon (receipt)?
  • Me: Emm...no thanks...?
  • Third time shopping in Germany
  • Me: Thanks!
  • Different cashier: Would you like your Beleg (receipt)?
  • Me: *dead*
Broken Strings

Author: bookreader525 (tumblr: @bookreader525​)

Artist: Skulpin (tumblr: @skulpin)

Summary:
While roughhousing in the theater, a few animals accidentally break Ash’s beloved guitar. As a result, Ash thinks back to the day she received the guitar as a gift from a former special someone. 


Meena careens around a corner, giggling as she hops over a prop. Gunter is right at her heels, his glittery leotard barely containing his jiggling belly. Dangling from one of her hands by its laces is one of Johnny’s precious Converse sneakers. The shoes may very well be made out of solid gold, seeing the way Johnny treats the things. Meena would not put it past him to place the shoes on a soft pillow every night like some type of precious jewel.

        So, when Gunter approached her with the idea of stealing one of Johnny’s prized Converse, she could not resist. After all, her mischievous side needs to be fed a little every now and then.

        It did not take long at all for Johnny to discover his missing possession, and it only took him a matter of seconds to trace the path of the culprits. Mike did not care enough to steal a shoe that was not actually made of gold; Rosita would never think of doing such a thing in the first place; Ash was out buying sandwiches for the group, or otherwise she would totally be in on the joke; and Buster was completely, genuinely oblivious. So was Eddie. All that left was…

        “Meena! Gunter! Dang it, stop runnin’ away from me. I want my other Converse back!” Johnny yells.

        Meena can practically feel his angry, puffing breath on the back of her neck. Gunter jerks his head to the left, and leads the chase down a new back hallway of the theater.

        “You have one shoe! Isn’t that good enough?” she teases gently.

        “Not if I wanna be balanced when I walk, no,” Johnny protests.

        “Then just take off your other shoe! Problem solved.”

        “Urrghhh…”

Keep reading

Ever since seeing this art (the second one) where Klavier’s leaning back against Apollo, who’s in his thinking pose, I thought ‘what if this is a thing where Apollo’s supposed to be off duty and on a sort of ‘weekend’ after the Misham trial but before Phoenix gets his badge back, and meeting Klavier was more by chance than anything - Trucy’s annoyed she isn’t there - and of course, nothing ever goes easily.

A case happens. Someone dies. Apollo starts investigating, as he does, half doing his own thing and half watching Klavier, mostly expecting that he’s going to have to end up defending some poor soul in court against said prosecutor.

Except… things don’t go down like that. 

The police bring in and arrest someone who matches all the evidence they’ve both found so far. 

Klavier glances at Apollo, who he’d been noticing had been staring at the suspect in a familiar way, and sighs - ‘I suppose I’ll see you in court, hm?’ - except Apollo comes back to the here and now after some long thought, and shakes his head. 

‘I’m not taking him on in court, if that’s what you mean,’ he says.

Klavier’s hand freezes as he realises that he’d been using it to play with his hair somewhat, and laughs the situation off as Apollo ‘not wanting to fight a losing battle for once’.

Apollo just shrugs, and bites his lip, and begins to leave, before the scene is completely taken over by detectives. Turns around, and tells Klavier to follow down a few leads he’d picked up through tells while the man - now defendant - had been present.

Apollo had meant to leave it all at that. Klavier could handle it from there, he’d seen the prosecutor work cases far more complicated than this one.

But something has been bugging him, and he ends up at the prosecutor’s office the next day just to vent off about it. Still in his casual clothes, and having felt more than a bit out of place on the way up, but not so much since coming into Klavier’s office, where it’s not like Klavier is the smartest presence in the room, compared to everyone else in the building, if you put them all in one room together.

They’re talking about something - a revelation in the case - later that day when Apollo notices a twitch.

‘You’re smiling,’ he says, bluntly. Because it’s odd, to be smiling there and then, when the case details are sad and the kind of thing that gets him angry, and not something he’d hope would make anyone smile.

Unless it was because they were going to nail this bastard within an inch of his life - then he’d be okay with it.

‘Ach, nein.’ And there it is again. ‘Just, I am realising how good it is that you’re on my side for this one. I rather pity the poor attorney, ja?’

He even bends down slightly, to emphasise the point. And Apollo notices another tell or so; but this time he doesn’t feel the need to call the prosecutor out on them. Not when he’s pretty sure he knows what they mean.

I think I like working with you instead of against you - we should do this more often, maybe.

Thing is, he thinks he more than sort of understands.

Findet ihr es nicht irgendwie schon traurig, dass ihr eurer Tochter solche Sachen an den Kopf knallt? Ach nein, ich vergaß: Ihr denkt ja nichtmal drüber nach, obwohl ihr wisst, was das mit mir macht!

’Badass’ and ‘Dad’ are not mutually exclusive

  • Die Welt: Werden Sie zusammen alt im Fernsehen?
  • Joko Winterscheidt: Nein! Ach so, im Fernsehen. Ich muss ehrlich sagen, dass ich dem Ganzen eine romantische Vorstellung abgewinnen kann, dass wir im Alter immer noch zusammen zu sehen sind. Mich würde wirklich interessieren, wie das wäre.
  • Klaas Heufer-Umlauf: Dann spielen wir "Aushalten – Tabletten tauschen".
  • Joko Winterscheidt: Wenn wir dann noch eine Sendung machen würden, wäre es etwas anderes. Ich habe Klaas vor einem halben Jahr im Flugzeug mal genau diese Frage gestellt. Manchmal muss man ihn nämlich überraschen, um eine ehrliche Antwort zu bekommen. "Kannst du dir vorstellen, dass wir im Alter noch zusammenarbeiten?" Und er meinte sofort: "Ja!" Und ich dachte: Oh mein Gott. Aber jetzt stelle ich mir das eigentlich ganz nett vor. Klaas ist ja ein niedlicher Typ.
Day 175: Rock Dove Love

Inspired by this amusing comic strip. When I saw it, I thought of Medic.


“Did you know humans are not the only creatures to find a single partner to love?”

Heavy didn’t look up from his workbench when he felt Medic’s hands alight on his shoulders, but he did stop his work and lean into those talented fingers as they gently massaged the tenseness that had built up there. Hours of bending over Sasha as he continued to maintain and refine her workings routinely left him sore and, after muttering about it last night, it was no surprise that the doctor stopped in on him today.

“Is true.” he replied after a minute. “Wolves and horses have their families.”

“Ach, nein.” Medic tutted behind him. “Not families, mein Heavy. Life mates. For example, the rock dove takes one mate for their entire lives.”

“Is that so?”

“They properly court their chosen partner, as well. Very civilized little creatures.” Medic’s hands continued their work, slipping up Heavy’s shoulders to start rubbing circles into the thick muscles of his neck. “More people should emulate them.”

Heavy couldn’t hold back his chuckle as he turned himself around on his stool. “Does Doctor court Heavy like one of his little birds?”

“I should think we were a little ways beyond that.”

The big man shrugged. “Heavy is romantic. Show me how the little birds court.”

Medic chuckled as he stepped back, flipping up the tails of his white coat as he gave Heavy a sweeping bow. “Well, first he will bow to properly introduce himself. After all, he is a gentleman.”

Heavy leaned back and watched Medic. He could easily the flapping of wings in the long tails of Medic’s coat, and the puffed out chest as he stood proudly before him. “And then?”

Stepping closer, Medic smiled. “Then he will call to his chosen. It is hard to say what he is saying. Perhaps he is serenading, or perhaps it is his way of whispering sweet things into his darling’s ear.”

A large arm reached out to pull Medic closer and wrap snuggly around his waist. Even seated on the stool, the two men were eye to eye

Medic leaned in, gently rubbing his cheek against Heavy’s before nipping at his jaw “Then he will nibble his beloved’s feathers.”

“Is that romantic?”

It was Medic’s turn to reach out, as one hand snaked around Heavy’s head. He let his fingertips brush against the skin of Heavy’s neck and smirked as a shiver ran down the man’s spine. “Touch is a very important part of the mating ritual.”

Large fingers pressed into Medic’s back

“And then the male will, er…”

He ran his hands over Medic’s hips and smiled. “Da? What will he do then?”

Medic paused for just a moment, and Heavy watched as his face grew red. “He, uh, will throw up in her mouth.”

Heavy’s laugh bellowed through the room. “Moy lyubov, you did not think fully.” He nuzzled Medic’s hair as he pressed the man’s face to his chest. “But is okay. We can do other things with our mouths that will be just as good.”

“It is loving gesture in the animal world.” Medic gave a weak shrug.

He was about to open his mouth again, but all that came out was a yelp of surprise as Heavy slipped off the stool and scooped him into his arms in one smooth motion.

“Courtship over, little Doktor bird.” He grinned down at the man in his arms. “Now, let Heavy show you how Russian bears keep their mates.”

Ein Schnitt, zwei, nein drei, ach was macht noch ein vierter und ein fünfter, sechster, siebter, achter, scheiß drauf ist doch egal wieviele noch dazu kommen, macht doch jetzt auch keinen Unterschied mehr.
You better come back

Title: You better come back
Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader
Words count: 1,190
Your powers: Reality Warping (shaping reality according to your will) + Telekinesis
Warnings: Language?
Summary: (Y/N) and Peter have been best friends since as far as they can remember, and funny thing, they are in love with each other but don’t know the feeling is mutual.  After escaping the Military facilty guarded by Stryker’s men thanks to Scott, Jean, Kurt and some kind of human beast, they head to Cairo to kick Apocalypse’s ass.
this gif isn’t mine

Your eyelids still seemed very heavy, as you just woke up. Everything was still blurred around you and the first voice you heard was Mystique’s.

- …I told you, I’m not a hero.
- Well, you’re a hero to us. Seeing you that day on TV changed my life.

And that was Jean’s voice. Finally awake, you looked around you. You were probably sleeping on Peter’s shoulder since he was the first one to notice you were awake. He looked at you as if asking if you were alright, the cutest smile on his lips, and you just nodded with a slight smile, entering the conversation, soon followed by Scott and Peter.

- Mine too.
- Mine too.
- Mine too. I mean, I still live in my mom’s basement, but…Pffffft.

Sighting, he shrugged poorly before ending his sentence.

- Everything else is…Well, it’s pretty much the same. I’m a total loser.

Everyone laughed lightly and you laughed along, even though you felt the urge to playfully punch him right in the shoulder you had just slept on.

- Ouch! What was that for?
- You’re not a total loser, dumbass. You’ve still got the privilege to have me as a best friend.
- Oh yeah, that makes sense. You must be some kind of medicine against losers or something that kind…
- Shut up, you know exactly what I meant.

When you turned to look at him, he was already staring, a wide smile crossing his face. You chuckled before sighting with a kind of relief. You were about to fight a group of powerful mutants including one who thought about himself as a god and owned the powers of hundreds of other mutants…‘bit intimidating, even for someone as bold as you were. So being able to let go of all this pressure for a few seconds was something you were really thankful for. But Peter always seemed to make you feel better in every stuation, so you were not that surprised either. Silently, you stood there the rest of the trip, heart beating fast, your eyes closed to keep as much control as possible on your power. You had learned very young to control your powers, but they were really powerful, so they could get out of control sometimes. Which was often a catastrophy if no one could help you like Professer X did.
When Raven stood up you looked at her with curiosity as she explained the plan. Get Nightcrawler in, take Charles inside of the plane. It nearly seemed easy. Next thing you knew, a silver flash passed in front of you and Peter was next to Raven, nodding towards Eric and the metal flying all around him.

- How are you going to get through that?

She looked at him, looking like she was thinking, before he added:

- I can get you in there. I came here for him. Let me help you.

As she nodded, your heart skipped a beat. What if anything happened to him? If he was next to you you could still do something to help, but if he was alone with Mystique and Magneto…

- The rest of you, get Charles on this plane and get him out of here.
- We’re not leaving without you.

You had answered, anxiety slowly makng its way inside you, making your heart beat even faster. But you were a warrior, so you hid your fear as great as you could.

- Don’t worry, we’ll catch up.
- Oh, you better catch up, Peter, because if anything happens to you I’ll kill you myself just to bring you back and kill you again!

Everyone was now watching the two of you, the two best friends who spent their time throwing cheesy pickup lines at each oher to find out which one of you was the best at ths game. Of course, Jean knew what was up, but everyone else thought about you two as an old married couple too. So every single time you and Peter talked together, all eyes were on you. He gasped, faking a hurt look before asking, his dimples showing through his smile.

- You’d bring me back again after killing me, right?
- I’m not so sure…
- You’d miss me too much.
- Stop it!

You were both amused and annoyed by his behavior. But you could feel your cheeks blushing. He was so confident about this that you started to ask yourself if he knew. Which he didn’t…Right?

- You need me too much to let me die.
- Oh my god, stop!
- You love me too much to let me die.

He stated like it was the most obvious thing ever. Just a friendly reminder that you were supposed to love him, yes. But only as a friend. You crossed your arms, laughing to hide the terrible feeling you had, still playing this stupid little game even though you were really really uncomfortable right now.

- Fuck you, Maximoff!

God, was he so blind? Or maybe you were the blind one…He shrugged with his dimpled smile, turning to the front of the plane to watch the area where Hank was about to land the plane.

- It’s okay, though. I love you too much to die here and let any other idiot have you.
- Geez, could you shut up?
- Make me!

No one said a word, while everything in his behavior challenged you. You caught in his eyes a glimpse you couldn’t quite define until something clicked in you. He wanted you to make him silent? Alright then, you’d make him silent. With a total lack of delicacy, you reached for the collar of his suit and pulled him towards you, your lips smashing against his. The kiss was rough, but surprisingly, he responded to it, moving his lips in sync with yours, a hand shyly reaching for your hips. When you let go, his face was stil showing surprise, and you blushed even more. He stared at you, a few seconds ,totally silent, and you stared back with a face as red as one possibly could be. And then, using his legendary speed, he was the one reaching for your lips, kissing you. His hand was behind your neck while you reached for his waist, to pull him closer to you.

- Alright kids, we’re landing. Stop making out behind my back and sit!

You didn’t even listen to Hank as he talked. You should have, though, because the plane shook, resulting in both of you falling on the poor Kurt, who instantly pushed you off of him, both awkward and offended.

- Ach nein, that is gross!

Laughing, you an Peter rolled on the floor looking at each other. When the plane touched the ground, you stood up and got out to stand next to Jean, who looked at you with a light smile. You rolled your eyes, sighting.

- I don’t need to see inside of your head to know what you think, you know?
- I didn’t say anything!
- You don’t need to!

Looking at a Mystique back in her blue form, you saw Peter placing his hand behind her neck, to avoid the “Whiplaaaash”, and you smiled, throwing him a last “goodbye”.

- I was serious though, don’t die!
- I don’t intend to! Love you!

And with that he ran away with Mystique, letting you mutter to yourself.

- I love you too, asshole…

  • Ich: Ach? Sind wir Freunde?
  • ♥: Nein.
  • Ich: Oh, achso, eigentlich kenne ich dich nicht einmal, ich weiß nicht einmal wieso ich jetzt gerade mit dir hier auf einem Bett sitze.
  • ♥: Wir sind keine Freunde, wir sind zwei Verliebte die sich nicht trauen die Wahrheit zu sagen, weil wir zu dumm dafür sind offen zu unseren Gefühlen zu stehen.
Fic 421: Art Appreciation

So I’m on vacation right now, so I apologize for my somewhat sporadic posting! Here’s some Red Oktoberfest for you!


How long had they been here?

Medic’s sigh echoed through the open gallery, earning him sideways glances from the other patrons. He scowled as he saw Heavy’s posture stiffen in front of him, fully aware of the doctor’s ever growing boredom and displeasure at being dragged to yet another museum, but also as resolved to ignore it which only lead to Medic’s frown tugging down the corners of his mouth all the more. He sometimes hated just how well the giant knew him.

If there had been even the slightest acknowledgement of Medic, he would have had an in. He would have been able to start poking and prodding his schatz that hadn’t they spent enough time inside for one day? They were in New York, after all! There were so many things that they could be doing instead of looking at pictures painted by people too dead or too avant garde to care about the appreciation that two mercenaries on furlough. There was that lovely Central Park, for example, which had more than enough nooks and crannies that they could hide away for an hour or two. Or that exceptionally seedy side of town where they could find some thugs to bait into an exhilarating little sparring match. At this point anything would be better than looking at yet another Monet, Rembrandt, or Raphael. But Heavy’s back remained steadfastly in front of him while he took in the brushstrokes of Gustav Klimpt, leaving Medic to his thoughts as he stood there quietly stewing.

To be fair, Medic had agreed to the whole affair before they’d even left Teufort. It only seemed right after Heavy had squeezed himself through the catacombs in Paris, and the helped him harvest spare body parts in Tijuana. He just hadn’t realized how dreadfully boring the whole thing would be.

When he looked back up, Heavy had moved on. It took him only a minute to spot him as he towered over the rest of the crowd, and he quickly moved to follow. His shoes rapped loudly across the marbled floor, earning him more raised eyebrows as he left the gallery to catch up with him as he stood considering a pristine white sculpture of some Roman or Greek god or another. His large feet were planted with the same set determination as they would be facing down a wall of BLUs. The Russian was going nowhere soon. Medic let out a huff before dropping down onto one of the small benches that sat in the middle of the room and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Give the art a chance to speak to you, dorogoy.” Those were the words that Heavy had said before they had left their hotel room that morning. “The museum is filled with the greatest art in the world. Surely there will be something there that will appeal even to you.”

So far Medic had managed to defy the odds.

The tips of his fingers brushed across something in his pocket. His ticket stub along with the small map that they’d been given when they arrived. It was something at least, and he pulled out the map and started folding it idly as he let his gaze wander around the room. The walls of the gallery were white and boring, reminding him all too much of his years back at school and then the hospital. The hospital had at least had some excitement. All around were men and women milling about and talking in hushed tones as they pretended to know about art. There were society men and matrons in long black coats standing next to a few of the bohemian set who were dressed in the garish fashions that seemed to be the style in the city now. Medic held back an eye roll at them all.

Heavy at least seemed to be truly admiring the statue in front of him. Whether due to his native tongue or his nature taciturn personality, he had been largely silent since they’d arrived. He hadn’t stopped at every painting on the wall, but had strode through the halls with a sense of purpose until he found what he wanted. Medic had to admire that, at least. There was no fake posturing, only pure artistic interest. It was that earnestness that really was the man’s ultimate charm. Heavy did nothing by halves. He lived, learned, and loved completely.

Of course, the entire body of work wasn’t bad, either. That gentle nature was wrapped within a body that was just as strong as the resolved that it housed. From a purely academic standpoint, Heavy was not what could be termed “classically handsome”. That appellation was much more appropriate to the statue that he was currently admiring. Where the young man captured in stone had broad shoulders that tapered down into a narrow waist, Heavy’s shape was reminiscent of a rather broad rectangle. The stone youth’s jaw was gracefully shaped and his nose romantically aquiline. Heavy’s jaw was like a block of stone, with a nose that had been flattened from several fights too many. Curly hair sat upon the statue’s head like a marble crown. Heavy’s shaved head shone slightly under the gallery lights. No. Classically handsome was not something Heavy would ever be.

Perhaps postmodern handsome would be better? Medic mused on the thought for a moment as he watched Heavy shift slightly on his feet. A rejection of classical beauty that, if you used it as a measure, would have most people ranking Scout of all people as more attractive than his Schatz. It was such a ridiculous notion, the ranking of such shallow aesthetics over the deeper nature of a man. Heavy’s brilliant mind aside, there was a raw physicality that had to not just be seen, but felt, experienced in order to truly appreciate. It was a physicality that Medic was intimately familiar with both inside and out after hours and hours of laborious study. He caught the sudden laugh that welled up inside him before it escaped.

He should start his own artistic movement. Mishaism, he could call it. An appreciation of the man who stood in front of him. A movement of one, founder, student, and master all wrapped into himself, as he would never allow anyone else near enough to that precious subject for even the most elementary of study.

“Doktor?”

Medic blinked, and Heavy seemed to have suddenly moved. He was no longer looking at the statue that still stood motionless before them, but rather fixing his gaze down at him with a bemused expression on his face. His large hand reached out to take the map that had been wrinkled almost beyond usefulness by Medic’s fingers. “Doktor is getting bored. Should pick next exhibit.”

“Ach, nein, nein.” Medic waved his hand. “This is your trip, Liebe. You pick.”

“But you have not found one yet that you enjoy looking at.”

Medic smiled up at him. “Oh, but I have.”

Day 248: Morning Dialog

Got back home a little later than planned (stupid Virginia traffic), so one more drabble day, then back to the gift fics tomorrow!


“Doktor…”

“Hmmmm..?”

“It is morning, dorogaya moya.”

“Mmmmh.”

“It is time to wake up.”

“Hmmm… Nein.”

“Da. I am missing talking to you for two months.”

“It is six in the morning. Too early.”

“Doktor, pozhaluysta…”

“Come to bed, Schatz.”

“I am awake.”

“And why should I be made suffer that same cruel fate this early?”

“Doktor is being silly. But It is hard. It is late afternoon in Siberia right now.”

“And we are in New Mexico. Which is why you should be asleep. In bed. With me.”

“Am not tired.”

“Schatz…”

“Am sorry Doktor. Will come back later.”

“Ach, nein, nein. Come to bed. Give me an hour more, and then we will talk.”

“Hm.

“And after we talk, we will get breakfast…”

“Dinner?”

“Or dinner. And then I shall endeavor to keep you busy all day, so that you will not be waking me up at such an ungodly hour tomorrow.”