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@disgracedjournalist-blog
get to know me meme | favorite female characters → Lisbeth Salander.
Do you doubt anything I’ve said? Do you doubt what’s in the reports that have followed me around all my life? What do they say, if you had to sum it up? They say I’m insane. No, it’s okay. You can nod, because it’s true. I am insane.
"L---" He couldn't say her name. Not yet. Not without breaking the cool facade he'd established since meeting her after their abrupt parting ( one that even HE didn't fully understand yet ). But he does manage to look her in the eye, refusing to be the one to break eye contact. "Be careful."
Bells of victory should have rang a melodious tune so delicious even the smell of freshly baked pepperoni pizza would have been thwarted for dance. But that wasn’t the case was it? There was only affliction in a warm voice, torment at the sight of a pale five o’clock shadow, and nauseous expensive cologne to deflect pained eyes from looking towards an offensive weakness.
‘Be safe yourself’
Lisbeth wanted to return the well-wishes, but made a short nod instead. She would be brave in her silence, inner turmoil running a rake through her churned guts, but never the less, cool, confident, just the way she has always been when faced with disorder.
In truth, if she truly had been open about her feelings, truly embracing their pull, she would have grabbed his hand, steal a hug, and whisper to him a confession she would NEVER speak–I miss you. There were lots of things Lisbeth didn’t fear. Not death, not opinions, not even solitude, but there had been one thing that ate her mind like a rabid disease: love. The attachments that came with love, the feelings, and everything she felt for Kalle Blomkvist.
She needed to walk away.
“Because it’s cold outside. And you don’t seem to have prepared coffee yet.”
Stupid. Should have known better. He still remembered any misgivings he had about the way things turned out, and these still remained. But he also stood by his wish of wanting to be her friend, though if she rejected any notions of getting coffee, he wouldn’t force the issue.
“But it’s fine if you don’t want to. I can just go.”
Glancing to the side, he exhaled slowly, sliding his gloved hands in his jacket pockets to keep these warm.
@disgracedjournalist
Lisbeth had just risen out of bed when sweat soaked through one of her more insulting t-shirts ushered an annoyed sigh. Her dreams were becoming more and more threatening, and it had nothing to do with the encyclopedia of reptiles she had been reading for distraction. No, they consisted of a certain agent by the name of Zala whom she hardly wanted to acknowledge and another of her legal guardian. No—not the Palmgren—the sword fighter, Nils Bjurman. Both men, of course are dead, and unfortunately neither by her hand, but somehow they have transcended the living plan and have revived themselves in her self-conscious. It was infuriating and frightening at the same time, but nothing a cigarette could fix with a long soak in the tub.
But somehow even that hadn’t made her loosen up. To be honest, there was another factor in her dream. An entity that made Lisbeth bite her nail flicking the ash into a tray thoughtfully situated by the tub. Regrettably, the bath could only rinse theoretical disgust. However, there is another way that Salander can subdue this itching that crawled on her skin a million spiders. With nothing but a sloppy robe to cover whatever it could, Lisbeth walked to her computer and booted the device. She tapped her nails anxiously on the table while puffing her cigarette impatiently through her lips. It nearly seemed whatever it was, is of dire consequence. As if not clicking on her driver programs to hack into a journalists system would be the death of her, or at least an annoying maw nibbling on her ankle. She needed to do this, get it off her chest.
Ignoring the familiar background of a loving father and daughter smiling, a rouse to the truth, she dived into the computer’s files filtering through useless data she could care less about, or half-assed articles incomplete until a familiar folder with a simple tagline stood out to her. Which it should have of course, for it is her name on it in connection to ‘things’. Lisbeth must have looked stupid, in fact she knows she does. It was hard already to bite back the excitement to run to her laptop and begin, but now she could hardly contain the growing smirk on her face.
[…]
was all she managed to type before she stopped and starred at the blinking icon. Exactly what was she going to say to Mikael Blomkvist? A number of things could be written—an insult or two, maybe a jab, or maybe she should just abandon this stupid idea, after-all it was only just a dream. A few more seconds pass and the keys on her laptop begin to click.
[…Stop invading my sleep.]
He’d long since given up trying to convince her to stay out of his computer; years after spotting her sift through his encrypted files during the ‘Harriet Fucking Vanger’ investigation, Mikael had adopted a rather blase outlook on the way she accessed his files. It wasn’t that she’d tried to change anything, really. It was the fact that she did absolutely NOTHING to those files that confused him. Hackers would have given an eye tooth to view the documents she no doubt had displayed over her screen at that very moment, yet she focused only on select folders.
Mikael finally gave up and decided to give her a personal folder, proudly bearing her name and one that she could -- and DID -- change whenever she felt like it. It was still one in the morning when he noticed the changes. Small ones, really, but for a journalist with a keen eye for detail, it lit up his screen like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. She was awake.
The possibility that she had trouble sleeping never really occurred to him until she’d finished typing, as he knew her to stay up well into the night reading. As the period was struck, he smiled even though she couldn’t see him. Or maybe she could; the web camera of his laptop was fixed right at his face.
And stop browsing my computer.
One that he could have easily said, opting instead for a solution she could easily dictate on her terms.
[....I’ll have more coffee next time.]
No questions when she’d visit, nor an apology for interrupting her sleep. It wasn’t what she wanted, and any attempts to try and engage her in a conversation would only end in dead air. Cold silence. Not that he minded; she had other things to do, other assignments to work on. But at least that entire issue with August was over, and while he was still reeling from his run-in with Camilla, they hopefully had more time to tie that loose end.
“ --- Wasp.”
Nothing but a whisper, a way to test how it sounded. It didn’t appeal to him as greatly as it did her real name, and he shook his head at his apparent silliness and switched the tab back to the browser.
Florence + The Machine // Seven Devils
@disgracedjournalist + @lordofelves
Once you start wearing a mask, it is almost impossible to take it off.
Jaz Marie (via saiidyes)
favorite fictional ladies | lisbeth salander (millennium trilogy) She had discovered that the most effective method of keeping the fear at bay was to fantasize about something that gave her a feeling of strength. She closed her eyes and conjured up the smell of gasoline.
ofdragontattoos.
Salander was not, for once, in the bath when Blomkvist came to call on her. It had to be Blomkvist, after all, since he was the only living person who knew of her new address. She would have preferred no one knew, and yet fate chose differently. With her dark hair tied at the base of her neck, red roots starting to show because she couldn’t be arsed to freshen her dye job lately, she leaned in the doorjamb to watch his face.
“What are you doing?” she asked after a long silence..
He wasn’t exactly sure. Did she even go out on dates for coffee? Probably no to the former, yes to the latter. Still, even the possibility of rejection didn’t deter him, and he stood at the doorway, not at all bothered by the silence.
“Asking you if you’d want to get some coffee.”
A repetition. Patient. His gaze did wander to the room behind her, before focusing on her again. Stop trying, Micke. It won’t work. But even with that nasty voice in his head, he waited, staying firmly in his personal space.
disgracedjournalist
You have to know what you stand for, not just what you stand against.
Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak (via showmaxter)
tattooinsxnity.
Lisbeth had a devil of a time adjusting to an impulsive decision made, and to say as such meant plenty. She could be compared to the devil, both sinister and contemplative in every way. Nothing honest hardly came out of Salander, except on occasion when actions spoke louder than words. And that is exactly the type of woman she is, an action based individual, all five feet of her. If small breasts and large attitudes were a man’s cup of joe, then she is quality roast. However, as warning labels go, one could say ‘Extreme caution! Contents may be too hot and burn.’ It was something Blomkvist could have possibly needed. Even through his distinguished well educated eyes,he could have never guessed the enigma Salander is and would be in his existence.
Mikael, on the other hand, was one of her books on Black Holes that she could sit back and read to her leisure. He is a man driven by his passions to write and fuck. Lisbeth hardly blamed him, it is a very human thing to do. She herself is driven by lust when her nose isn’t buried in her computer screen logging algorithms into codes or snooping through the files of some corrupted bigwig. Mirriam ‘Mimi’ Wu, the French-Chinese hybrid that often shared drinks with Salander, typically was the victim to her blunt demands for sex, sometimes refusing, but still gave in as a parent would to their child, finding it much easier to cope with a content Salander. It wasn’t on whim Mimi would comply and it would be an insult to call it pity. Mimi knew exactly the rough life Lisbeth had once told in confidence after finishing a round of sex laying naked on the floor. She is one of the rare few that knew more than the brand of boxer briefs the hacker wore when she felt like dressing as a civilized human being.
Regardless of common similarities, her affections for Mimi are not the same as those for Millenniums head reporter. Mikael, unlike his lack of competition, meant more to the goth than the allure of crispy golden fries. Lisbeth loves him. Never would she outwardly admit it, still injured by unmentioned rejection, catching Blomkvist and Erika Berger, vice chair of Millennium and Mikael’s fling, going out Christmas evening, and no matter the amount of attempts made to forget him, she simply could not. Even nervously checking her e-mails or hacking into his computer to see if she messaged or investigated her, liking it when she found more than expected.
Maybe this is why she currently is smothered in the scent of linger aftershave and coffee. It would definitely explain her once a month presence, the need to feel needed. And if what she saw when hacking Mikael’s computer revealed anything, he needed her. It definitely explains Lisbeth’s shift to straddle khaki pants rather then hug his wool sweater at the mention of her name.
Lisbeth searched Mikael for what felt like seconds, darting between his eyes questioning and figuring what made him want a creature like her. She wouldn’t ask aloud. Silence would hang a festive mistletoe between them before she leaned on propped elbows and pushed her nose into his.
“Who gave you permission to say my name?” eyes twinkled in her slight smile.
When he’d first seen Lisbeth, he understood why Armansky had felt the need to be protective of her. Then there was the urge to tell her to put some clothes on -- he didn’t need an imagination to know what she’d been doing before he arrived at V. Kulla -- and have her talk to him. She owed him that much for prying into his personal life by doing whatever technological tricks she did to gain the information she gave to Froder. He had had a lot to say to her then, while trying to keep the impression of an unruly child out of his thoughts. Anyone who could develop a well-written piece with accurate information and a firm grasp of grammar and proper verbiage deserved to be listened to.
If she was in the mood to speak.
Now, however, with her familiar weight on his lap and her eyes searching his face, he found that he didn’t have anything to say. Which was becoming a rather annoying habit of his whenever she surprised him. For someone who’d published articles and books, the only thing he could say was eight paltry words.
“ ---- and what am I supposed to call you?”
Not exactly his best, but he was curious. She didn’t protest when he’d asked her if he could call her Lisbeth, though it was possible that she was actually teasing him. If she was, then that would explain the smile. One that sent a slight thrill through him, and he cleared his throat in case she felt it. She...she was a definite mystery, a cryptex that he hadn’t had the chance to crack yet. Or maybe he never would, and he’d just have to deal with the Lisbeth Salander that he knew through their brief interactions.
Once every month wasn’t often for Mikael, but he wasn’t the type to cling to someone. He and Erika had moments where they didn’t see each other for months, but they always ended up together. The same could be said of him and Salander, but mostly it was through her own terms how often -- and IF -- they saw each other. It was both frustrating and normal. Frustrating in the sense that he’d preferred to see her often but couldn’t, and normal because this happened regularly. He was used to it, but a change in the routine would be nice.
Since most of his vision was blocked by a dark shirt and leather jacket, he had no choice but to set aside the papers in his hands. Finally meeting her gaze steadily, he tilted his head down a little, as if prompting her to reply. The corner of his mouth curved upwards in a small smile as well, and he resisted the urge to stroke the dimple that had formed on her cheek.
ofdragontattoos.
Salander was very well accustomed to putting up defensive barriers, protecting herself against leers, taunts, catcalls, derisive mutters of dyke and punk slut. She wore her leather and barbs like armor and closed off her mind to the rest of the world when they never seemed to have a good thing to say about her – to call it the illusion that she didn’t care was an exaggeration, she couldn’t give a fuck – to prevent her mauling anyone who pissed her off too badly. Strangers never had a kind word and that didn’t matter, she tuned it all out, but–
Thank you.
She heard that. It was a lot more than most would offer the freaky chick with a dozen piercings, even if she did make them coffee.
She took her bike to the Konsum and bought bread, cheese, more marmalade to replace the sticky jar sitting in Blomkvist’s cabinet, and a bottle of painkillers in case he was really hurting after last night. The woman behind the counter stared bald-faced as she paid in crumpled notes. Salander could give a fuck.
Blomkvist was in the door waiting when she returned, and Salander was struck by the compulsion to kiss him as she passed through the door, like couples did on TV. Stupid girl. A storm cloud passed over her features and she brushed past him into the house, muttering, “I got it. Go sit down.”
No, she didn’t need his help at all.
He probably should be offended, but he wasn’t. Mikael wasn’t fond of political “-isms”, and while sexism was more of a societal concept, he was a firm believer of equality. Most of the women he knew were strong and independent -- Erika being one of the foremost -- and he’d seen what Lisbeth was capable of doing. He’d be a FOOL to insist that she was incapable of something as simple as carrying a bag of groceries inside, but he did shut the door behind her.
“We’ll have to tell him something.”
Probably an unnecessary statement, but with Henrik’s recent condition, he had hoped that he would come up with something more definitive. Something POSITIVE, to be precise. But they can’t get everything they wanted, and they would all have to live with it. He settled on the couch with a huff, not even bothering to blow on the hot liquid as he drank. A rush of warmth seeped through his veins, and he watched her for a while, thinking.
“ --- you figured it out as well, didn’t you? That’s why you knew where to find me.”
He’d been so convinced that he was going to die in Martin Vanger’s basement of horrors that the sick thwack of the golf club had been a surprisingly welcome sound. Nor did he hesitate to nod when she’d asked him if she could kill Martin. He had seen what the power of money could do when it came to setting a corrupt man free, and for a split second, he had hoped that they could bring their own sense of justice. Martin hadn’t given his victims the chance for a proper burial, so why should HE be given the same?
Shameful thoughts, yes, but before he could change his mind, she’d left. The only thing he was grateful for was that she would be blameless.
Blood Slave - Wishlist - Open to All
Vampires have taken over the Earth. They have killed more than half of the human population, and what mortals are left they feed off of as they please. Muse A is a vampire from one of the wealthiest families. Muse B is one of the few rebel slayers in hiding, who spends their time killing as many vampires as possible without getting killed.
During one of their attacks, Muse B becomes careless and gets caught. As punishment, rather than being killed immediately, they are taken to the auction, a place where only the most elite vampires purchase personal blood slaves.
From the moment Muse B is brought in, Muse A takes a liking to them, placing the highest bid.
Partner can choose either Muse A or B.
Loosely based off the novel Captured by Erica Stevens
ofdragontattoos.
“Of course I did. I know Kalle Blomkvist doesn’t get out of bed for anything less.”
She was teasing him again, but Salander feared she wasn’t any good at playfulness that didn’t resemble a cat toying with its prey. Gently scrubbing a hand through his hair, she sat up and pulled off her shirt to replace it with a fresh one – one of his, more like, because she only brought so many out to Hedestad.
Her stomach was growling the longer they lie there. Salander was always hungry. She could go for a pizza (or two) but knew that Blomkvist led an almost monastic lifestyle where it came to food. A quick trip to the Konsum would take care of it. And she would care for him. Salander had never cared for anyone before, didn’t know where to begin, but food always seemed a good place to start.
“Take a shower, you stink. Breakfast will be waiting.”
His first reaction was to grimace at the nickname. It wasn’t because she’d said but, but because he never really got over being called that. Silly connections to literary characters weren’t his thing, which was why he never called her Pippi Longstocking. Or even considered it. He murmured something incoherent when he felt her stand up, and rolled onto his back just in time to see a glimpse of the black dragon tattoo on her back. One of many tattoos, but it was what made Lisbeth...Lisbeth.
“Thank you.”
Mikael just hoped she’d heard that before she left, and he lay in bed for a few more seconds before getting up. The water was cold, but in a way it helped wake him up out of the slump he was in. He’d just poured himself some coffee and was going through the files again when he heard the roar of a motorbike. Nothing unusual by now, but he still walked to the door, coffee mug in hand, just in case she needed something.
are u ever so attracted to someone that u just groan internally every time u see them like it’s physically painful how attractive they are
