#I also do understand that it’s Russia & Russia is dangerous & that they can’t speak out

[volixia669]

Standing Strong in Current Political Climate

Alright, I mostly try to keep this to silly fandom and tumblr stuff, but with everything going on politically, it’s time for a serious post. About reality, about politics, and about how we survive. This is going to be about transphobia, queerphobia, and genocide, so I’m giving fair warning.

Buckle up.

Now, this is going to primarily US-Centric, as that’s what I’m familiar with, but make no mistake. There has been an authoritarian rise worldwide.

The UK has been Tory central for the past decade.

Australia has been putting climate refugees into concentration camps.

Israel has been using the pandemic to increase efforts to wipe out Palestinians.

Italy’s Prime Minister is Mussolini’s granddaughter (she’s proud of that btw) and is increasing queerphobia.

Russia is trying to recreate the USSR only with no fake pretenses of Communism (it was authoritarianism) this time around.

And the United States? Well the Republicans have been playing the long game since Reagan, and most of the Democratic party is perfectly fine with fascism since it makes them richer.

All this while the Earth becomes unlivable, people starve, and more. Oh, and covid never went away.

So.

The situation is...bad. Let’s just say it’s bad. There also seems to be a target on queer folks moreso than Jewish folks this time around, most likely since the Holocaust made most people a little twitchy about targeting Jewish folks, though that’s not to say those in charge aren’t perfectly fine with killing Jews.

Anyone who doesn’t conform to a mold is at risk.

But.

The situation is not hopeless.

I know it’s easy to read all that and think we’re all fucked, but I promise you, there is hope.

People have been unionizing, and striking at their workplaces.

Time and again, polls show that more people support queer people than oppose.

Time and again, polls show that the extremist view is a minority.

CPAC? That was practically empty this year.

More and more people are making it clear they want policies that help people and they’re tired of policies that help corporations.

People want to help the planet, they want to help other people. They don’t want to mass murder the “outsider.”

So what can you do?

Well, it varies depending on who you are, and where you are. Are you in Canada? Then vote and push for progressive policies, rather than right wing ones. In particular, you can join the push to allow asylum seekers to claim dangerous levels of queerphobia as their reason. This would help so many. Folks in other countries, I would reccomend the same. (Also maybe do something about that law preventing disabled people from immigrating to your country? Yeah, it’s a thing in a lot of countries. And there’s a lot of disabled queer people.)

You can join protests, and help local politicians canvas.

Unfortunately I can’t provide much info on what to do if you’re in most countries where being queer is either criminalized or being criminalized.

If you’re in the US though...

First off, for my white readers, are you familiar with the term antiracism? No? I recommend reading Ibram Kendi’s How to Be Antiracist. There’s a lot of racism in queer circles and it needs to stop. The way we solve these issues is through intersectionality, which means listening when black queer folks speak up. Listen. Learn. Improve.

This is important, because I need folks to understand that black queer folks are far more likely to be arrested, or worse. The cops will target black drag queens before they target white ones. They’ll target black trans folks before they target white ones.

Because this country is built on racism, and racism plays a key part in how laws are policed.

I’m not saying be careless if you’re a white queer btw, but recognize the levels of oppression here, work on improving yourself, but also? Use other people’s racism to protect black queer folk.

Weird sentence, I know, but let me explain, as this actually came up during the 2020 protests.

Say you’re at a protest, and the cops show up. The cops will try to arrest, injure, and/or provoke the black people there. But. If you’re white, you can stand inbetween the cop and the black person. If you get a bunch of other white people to join you, you can create a wall protecting multiple black people. And while you and the other white people aren’t immune from being arrested, injured, and/or provoked by the cops, you and other white people are more likely to come away unscathed.

There’s a bunch of situations this is applicable btw. Just don’t get all “white savior” about it, understand there’s a whole lot of history behind why black people might be wary of you and that’s okay, and ensure black people have the space to speak.

Alrighty, long spiel targeted to one particular demographic over. As for other things to be done? Be aware of the bills being passed in your state. Protest what you can. Make plans for escape if you need to.

Remember these things when crafting your escape plan: -Where?: This will effect everything else. A handful of states have passed bills making them trans refuge states, however getting to them may not be easy. You’ll also need to consider potential support structures that are there. -When?: This will depend on factors like what bills are being passed, how likely you are to be effected, and more. If you’re able to, consider making this a “normal” move rather than a last minute escape. -Finances: If you need to leave at the drop of a hat, can you? Are there any places you can cut back to save money? Are there any organizations that can help you? What about jobs? -Ease of escape: If you’re not in a position where you can move over the course of a month or two, this is where you need to really consider what you need and what you can leave behind. Also attempt to tie up as many loose ends as possible, and reduce the amount of objects you own as much as you can. Having a “go bag” can be extremely helpful. -Transportation: Can you drive? Do you have a license? Is getting a license feasible for you? What transportation is needed to get to the safe zone? Depending on the bills passed, you may want to have multiple options at hand. Documents: Linking back to finances and the go bag. What are your important documents? Where are they? What might you need in a new place and/or to claim asylum? Do you have a passport? Do you have a REALID? Currently you can fly domestically without one, but that could change swiftly. Keep everything together in a fireproof lockbox, until you need to throw it in the go bag. Lots of things to consider, which is why it’s important to think of this stuff ahead of time.

But it’s not all about escaping. Are you in a position you can help folks? Great! Look into mutual aid groups, find out what’s needed and how you can best help people.

So. This lengthy post is all to say the situation is bad, and we need to plan like it’s bad. But that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless. There’s places to escape, there can be even more with increased effort. We can work together to ensure that people stay safe, while also protesting.

And while I used the word “strong” in the title, it’s more complicated than that. You don’t have to be a bulwark. You don’t have to be stone. You can cry, and you can show weakness. This is stressful.

WHich is why, I want to be clear, this will not resolve in a short period of time. This may take years. The bills are passing incredibly quickly, but the resulting fallout? That’s the unknown variable.

The human body is not built to be stressed for years.

It’s just not.

That means the best way to remain strong against the tide of hate, is to have moments of joy. Watch silly videos, play silly games with friends, create beautiful art! Cry! Express your stress, and sadness. Then hold that ember of anger close to your chest, letting it motivate you, but not letting it take over until the moment is right.

Be prepared, be aware, but do not let the stress overcome you. On top of the multitude of negative physical effects, it can lead to snapping at those you love, or jumping the gun too soon. It leads to bad decisions at times those can be deadly.

But by having those moments of joy, you will survive. You will survive the hatred. Together, with the rest of us.

[thoughtdump]

Frustrating as fuck to see Evgenia’s statement on the ban of Russian athletes because I saw her as one of the more sensible/progressive Russian athletes….

They either really do not understand why their athletes are being banned or they do & they don’t give a shit/are being made to say pro-Russian statements. Either way, this whole victim persona they all put on is so fucking ridiculous. The only victims these athletes are are to their own countries abusive regime. Not any other country, not the IOC or ISU, nobody else but Russia. Don’t want to be banned? Have your government not start a genocide on Ukrainian people. Don’t want to have your team medal taken away? Don’t drug 15 year olds. Want your country to be represented? Don’t have a state run doping system where you cheat & lie & steal & expect everyone to just be okay with it because you’re you & we should all bow down to the “motherland”. Do you see any other country doing this shit? You know damn well if it were ANY other country who has the doping abuse Russia does that Russians would be beyond pissed off, throwing their tantrums & everything else because “it’s unfair”. Because guess what …!!! It IS unfair!!!!

And as for the reason they’re banned, the war, you are NOT the victims here. Ukrainian people & children are dying, they’re being raped & slaughtered & dumped around like garbage & their homes, lives, everything they’ve known & loved are being destroyed by YOUR government so shut the fuck up about being “migrants.” Especially when Ukrainian’s are forced to be literal Migrants because of Putin! Wtf! To even compare yourself to such a serious, very real humanitarian crisis is so beyond comprehension. How dare you. You’re so out of touch with reality it’s actually mind blowing. & I feel sorry for Russians who get this fucking brainwashed because it’s not fair to them & it’s not right. Even I gave them more credit but the distortion & overall Stockholm Syndrome of some Russians is so fucking sickening.

So many of us, myself included, tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, tried to cover all the bases as to why they say & think what they do. Is it all the propaganda & brainwashing? Or do they know better? Is it a statement they’re being told to make against their will? Or is it how they truly feel. Was she the vessel they used to spread this message because she did make seemingly anti-war posts so this is her “punishment”? Or do they just need their money now so they don’t care about the war anymore. Do they even know the truth at all? Can you blame them if they don’t know the truth? Is the silence because they can’t say anything? Or is it because they simply don’t want to. No matter the reason, at this point it’s too exhausting to try & hear them out when this type of shit keeps happening. It goes without saying that it’s not every Russian, I know that. The same way it isn’t every citizen of every country that has issues but my god. Two things can be true at once, we can know that they’ve been brainwashed & also not put up with their shit. I have no more patience for them anymore.

Russian athletes should not be allowed to compete & you fucking know it. IMAGINE, if the tables were turned. Hypocrites. No one wants you there because people don’t like cheaters & they want a fair chance at medals. Some of us don’t have to abuse, drug & treat our athletes like machines rather than humans to win medals. Take away all your cheating/abuse & you’re nothing. (& no, I’m not saying abuse doesn’t exist in other places because I know it does & I’m not saying none of the Russian skaters are naturally very talented because of course they are but come on) The ISU/IOC/whoever shouldn’t have even given you the right to be called ROC or OAR or any other bullshit “non representative” label they give you after Sochi just to appease you. There are real fucking issues in the world, people dying & Evgenia’s entitled statement, along with all the other Russian athletes who have done similar shit is so disappointing. Especially from Evgenia for me.

Nobody cares about Russian athlete’s feelings while their Ukrainian neighbors have to wonder if they or their loved ones will be alive for tomorrow. Get over yourselves, take it up with your own federation/country since they’re the problem here, not the rest of the functioning world. This is real life. (I understand that they’re put in such horrendous situations because of their government. I know that speaking out against Russia is serious & they’re in very tricky spots in regards to that but still, others have & regardless, that’s my whole point. It’s sad.)

💙💛

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Traumatized | Bucky Barnes x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: You get kidnapped and when Bucky finds you, you’re traumatized from being abused the entire time. 

A/N: Hope you like it! xx I started this a while back and finally finished it today. 

Usually I’m all for the bad ass reader, but I’m gonna change it up to a completely terrified/innocent reader. She’s technically not an avenger but is a part of the team working with Bruce and Tony on some high tech inventions.

!! Warning: mention of blood, cuts, torture, ptsd 

Also, I am not into technology at all. So, if there’s some misinformation in there, please just move along and continue reading :)

! Warning: talk of abuse/torture, blood, traumatized reader 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

!! Warning: mention of blood, cuts, torture, ptsd

“Hey has anyone spoke to y/n today?” Bucky enters the shared common space of the Avenger’s tower where Nat, Steve, Wanda, & Vision were, “She said she was going out to grab a coffee and a quick walk around the park, but she’s not back yet and I haven’t heard from her.” 

“She’s probably still at the park.” Wanda answers, moving a chess piece. Her and Vision were currently enticed in a game of chess. 

“You know how she is. She probably found some ducks to feed.” Steve chuckles. 

“yeah, maybe.” Bucky mutters, not completely convinced. You’d left earlier this morning and it was now entering the early afternoon hours. So, you should have been back by now. 

“Where’s Tony and Bruce?” Nat asks, shifting the subject. 

“Working on some new high tech.” Steve shrugs, “I didn’t understand a word after that.” 

“Wasn’t y/n supposed to be working on that with them?” Bucky takes the seat next to Steve at the table. 

Nat furrows her eyebrows, “Yeah.. Maybe she’s down there with them? She probably went straight to work with them after she got back from her walk.” 

Bucky nods, Nat’s probably right, “Yeah she probably did. She was all excited last night talking about the new tech her, Tony and Bruce had been working on. She said it’s almost done.” He finally lets the worry of not talking to you go. You were most likely in the zone with Tony and Bruce and usually the outside world disappeared. 

~ 

incoming video chat, Mr. Stark do you accept? F.R.I.D.A.Y asks. 

“I accept.” Tony continues his work with Bruce, not thinking much of it. Probably something to do with Stark Industries, “Yeah try that-” 

“Ah Mr. Stark, it’s been a while.” 

When he turns his attention to large computer screen, he’s met with a man who looks vaguely familiar but can’t picture where he’s seen him. “And who are you?” 

“It doesn’t surprise me that you don’t remember me.” The man sighs and steps back from the camera, showing the full view of the room. You were practically hanging from the ceiling, your hands pulled tightly together above your head and your feet barely touching the concrete floor below you. There were 5 other men standing near you, large guns in their hands and what looked to be masks over their face. 

Tony drops the tool in his hand, “What the hell is this?” 

“Oh now you want to pay attention!” The man comes to your side and a whimper escapes your lips as he holds the gun to your cheek, dragging it along your face and using it to push your hair out of the way, “I knew she would catch your attention.” 

Tony and Bruce exchange a look, “You realize you’ve just kidnapped someone very close to the Avenger’s and that means it isn’t going to end well for you,” He rounds the table to get a closer look at the screen, “So why would you be so stupid to kidnap her?” 

“Because she got what I didn’t.” He yanks your neck back by your hair, causing you to yelp.

“Who? Bucky? I don’t think he is into men.” He sarcastically replies. Deep down he’s actually very worried for your safety but choosing to be sarcastic in a time of danger is a way he copes. 

“Not Bucky.” The man seethes, “She got that position with you at the Avenger’s Tower. You three are working on something very high tech and I want it. I deserve it! And I’m going to get it.” 

“Then you probably should have tried to walk into the Avenger’s tower to take it. Not kidnapped one of our assistants!” 

“Oh I plan to get it out of her.” He taps your head with the gun, “She knows everything, everything about the tech you’re working on and she’s going to tell me. Even if I have to torture it out of her.” He smirks. 

You try to speak to beg tony, to beg someone to save you from this, “Tony please-” You were terrified. You weren’t trained to take torture and you knew this wasn’t going to end well for anyone, especially you. You were only an assistant to Bruce and Tony and Bucky’s girl, but you knew things about the avenger’s and about all the tech Bruce and Tony were working on. You could be the person to bring down the Avenger’s and the man knew that. He knew exactly which person would get him what he wanted. 

He ended the video chat. F.R.I.D.A.Y informs.

"Where’s the location of the video coming from?” Tony asks F.R.I.D.A.Y and Bruce who had been trying to pinpoint the location as well. 

There’s no clear location. 

“It’s bouncing off different wifi connections, there is no one location.” Bruce looks to Tony, “We’re blind. We have no idea where they have her.” 

~ 

Tony calls the team in for a meeting, calmly. He doesn’t want to panic them, especially Bucky because his judgment will be clouded by his love and attachment to you. He probably would destroy the city trying to find you. 

“What’s this about Tony?” Steve asks as the avengers fall into the room and settle in their seats. 

Tony clears his throat, “We have a problem.” 

As Bucky looked around the room there was one person missing, you. “Where’s y/n? I thought she was working with you two.” 

“That’s what I’ve called this meeting about.” Tony turns on the screen and there is a screenshot from the video chat of you and the men. 

“Oh my god.” Wanda gasps. 

“Is that-” Nat asks. 

Bucky swallows the lump forming in his throat, “Y/n.” 

“We received a video chat from this man here earlier. It’s unclear what the hell he even wants,” Bruce begins, “First it was anger for y/n getting the position he didn’t, then it was wanting the high tech we were working on. Y/n is close to the Avenger’s and she knows a lot of things; important information that could be used to bring all of us down. She also knows all information on that new high tech device we were working on. He’s planning to use her to get what he wants.” 

“She’s not.. She’s only a civilian.” Wanda says, “She’s not trained to hide information. To endure that kind of torture.” 

“Which is why we have to find her asap.” Tony says, glancing at Bucky. 

Bucky clinched his hands in anger. He knew how torture worked and to think of you in that position... “You mean you two don’t know where he has her?” 

“We have no idea.” Tony nods, “The man was good. He’s using different wifi signals which means there’s no pinpointing one location.” 

“We’re looking for her blind.” Bruce says.

Another video request, Mr. Stark. 

“Accept it, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Tony turns to the screen to see the same man, but this time you’re in worse shape. Your clothes are dirty and torn; your shirt wasn’t covering anything; There was blood dripping down your cheek. 

“Ah all the avenger’s are here this time! What a treat.” The man smiles, “Including Bucky. Aww.. if you should know your little girlfriend here has been begging for you.” 

Bucky stands quickly, the chair screeching along the floor, “I’ll kill you. Don’t you fucking touch her!” He gets closer to the screen. 

“Oh we already have.” he chuckles, glancing at you, “You want to see your little boyfriend? He seems very worried.” Pulling the video closer, you can see the avenger’s staring back. 

“Bucky.” You whimper, “Please..” 

“Shh.. doll it’s okay. We’re going to get you out of there, okay? Just stay strong for me.” His heart breaks to see you like this and there’s absolutely nothing he can do, “I love you, y/n.” 

The video pans back to the man, “how adorable. Not!” He chuckles, “I just wanted to show you what she looks like one more time. Once we’re done with her, she won’t look the same.” He smooths out your hair, “This girl here is very tough but she’s given us some valuable information.” He sighs, “But it’s just not enough yet,” His hand grips your hair and yanks your head back earning a yelp of pain from you. And with that he ended the call once more. 

~ 

It took Steve, Nat, Sam, and Tony to hold Bucky back from leaving the room. He didn’t know where he would be heading, but that didn’t matter. He was going to tear the city apart to find them, to find you. 

“Let me go!” Bucky thrashes against Steve’s tight grip. 

“Buck, we have to be smart about this!” Steve reasons, “We don’t know where she is!” 

A screenshot from the video is put on the screen, “This is the only thing I could capture.” It’s blurry and you can only see half of the symbol but all the Avenger’s recognize it, especially Bucky. 

Bucky calms as he stares at half of the symbol, “That’s.. That’s an old HYDRA base.” It was one step closer to finding you. 

“Do we know which one?” Wanda asks. She was on standby near Bucky in case they couldn’t contain him. 

“Shield took care of all the bases.” Tony says, “Or at least they thought they did. However, it was hard to determine if the ones destroyed were the only ones.”

Bucky’s gears are shifting as he tries to remember his time at Hydra. He tries to think of anything that could have been said to give off some kind of clue. “It had never been used but there was talk about a base on an island north of Russia. It was a backup in case HYRDA was compromised.” 

“That has to be where they are keeping her.” Nat speaks up from beside Steve, “Where else would there be a HYDRA symbol on a wall? Unless someone painted it but..” 

“It’s worth checking out.” Sam says, “There are only a handful of islands north of russia that a HYRDA base could be built.” 

~ 

The last island the avengers check turns out to be the correct one. Using Stark tech, they find out there is 10 guys inside and then another body in a room that they assume is you. They find a place to land the quinjet without the men noticing. 

“We can’t go in there guns blazing.” Sam grabs Bucky’s arm as he’s about to storm out of the quinjet. 

“Sam’s right.” Nat says, “We have the element of surprise and we need to use that to our advantage so that y/n doesn’t end up getting killed in the crossfire.” 

Bucky knows they’re right, but you’re right there in that building. He sighs and nods, “What’s the plan?” 

The plan goes right and within minutes the men are taken out. Bucky was the one to kill the leader for what he’d done to you. Bucky takes off toward the room and when he enters, you’re curled in a ball on the bed.

“Y/n?” 

You look up at your eyes go wide, pushing yourself back against the wall to put as much distance between you and Bucky. You couldn’t even recognize your Bucky. “Please.. please no more.” You whimper, “I’ve told you everything!” 

“It’s me... it’s bucky.” He takes another step closer to you, but it results in a scream from you.

“Please! I can’t take anymore.. I can’t!” You sob with a shake of your head. Your whole body starts to shake with fright. You couldn’t take anymore torture, anymore pain. You were passed your breaking point and you’d already came clean about everything, but that didn’t stop the torture. 

It’s like you don’t even recognize him and his shoulders slump with defeat, “Y/n.. please..” He starts toward you once more and that’s when Nat grabs his shoulder, “she doesn’t recognize you.” She motions to Wanda who uses her power to practically put you to sleep in a calming state. 

It’s then that Bucky can see the damage they did to you. Blood, cuts and bruises all over your body. You’re filthy with dirt and your hair is a mess. You’re only in a ripped t shirt and undergarments. He’s gentle as he picks up your body. 

“She’s asleep.. she can’t feel anything.” Wanda tells Bucky after seeing his careful hands.

“She’s.. covered in these marks..” He holds you against his chest and Nat takes another look at you, “Electric shock. They electrocuted her.” 

He follows behind the rest of the avengers toward the quinjet. He kisses your head, “You’re safe now, doll... I’m here.” 

~ 

It had been almost a month and you hadn’t spoken a word. You wouldn’t speak to anyone, not even Bucky. The doctor’s informed the avengers you’d been traumatized and that it might take you a while to get comfortable again and that it was best to give you time. You’d gone through a lot and you needed time. 

But it was hurting Bucky not to be able to hold you, to comfort or kiss you during this horrible time. He wanted to be there for you, but the closest he could get is watching you through the window on the door. You would start start screaming when anyone from the Avenger’s team came in. Recently you let Nat inside without screaming, but you didn’t say a word to her. 

He could hear your screams from the nightmares and it pained him not be able to hold you in his arms. It was something you did with him when the nightmares would return in the night and you were the only thing that could calm him. He just wanted to be that for you. 

However, one night he couldn’t help himself. You just continued to scream and cry out like you were in pain and he decided that was it. He needed to see if you were okay. He needed to be there for you.

He ran into your room to find you thrashing around in your bed having a nightmare. He rounded the bed to your side, “hey hey, it’s okay.” He shook you awake and your wide eyes met his. “It’s okay...” He waited for the screams to start once you saw him, but they didn’t come. Maybe this was a good sign. He started to back up toward the door in case this turned bad with you. He didn’t want to push it with you. 

Your eyes filled with tears and you didn’t move. The two of you stared at each other for the longest before you spoke the first words in a month, “Don’t go.” 

Relief flooded Bucky’s body and he had to hold back tears, “I’m not going anywhere, doll.” 

You made yourself comfortable in bed once more, turning on your side. Bucky didn’t want to push his luck and decided the chair by your bed would be a good place for him. 

You made sure he wasn’t going anywhere and then let your eyes close. He stayed there in that uncomfortable chair the rest of the night while you slept. You didn’t have another nightmare that night. It was like your mind knew you were safe and you could finally let yourself go. You were safe and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you again and when you finally realized that, you let Bucky back in. 

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[punemy-spotted]

Of Blackbirds and Barons: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You Make The Rain Fall Harder

Relationships: Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader; CEO!Billy Russo x Reader; Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader x CEO!Billy Russo

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con; Dark!Fic; Mob and Mafia Elements; Character Death (Minor and Major); Threesome; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Kidnapping; Mentions of War; Human Rights Violations; Contract Killing; Mafia AU; Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat; Complete Disregard for Actual Rules of Journalism and Style Guides; Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply

Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-con; Drugging/Date-Rape; Fingering (F-Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Unprotected Sex; Possible Breeding Kink; Kidnapping; Obsessive/Possessive Zemo; Dark!Zemo; Human Rights Violations; Discussion of Destruction of Novi Grad and Sokovia; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The problem with having sympathy for the Devil is that he will drag you down to Hell regardless.

Author’s Notes: Another series! Because I can’t get enough of Mob!AUs! Zemo makes his dark entrance. And this IS dark, so read at your own discretion. As always, all of my work is 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Masterlist

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia, that which once stood the test of time against the Tsars of Russia, began to crumble long before its borders did, its sweeping architecture and decadent mystery giving way to the sharp lines of Brutalism and the characteristic industrialism of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Sokovian people managed to maintain their identity in the face of a new kind of empire, bringing greenery and art to a brisk, concrete world.

There is no Sokovia now, not the way one would think, but there are still Sokovians scattered around the world, clinging to the traditions of their once-home and searching for a banner to be united under.

A banner carried by a man like Helmut Zemo.

The caret blinks back at you with a mocking sort of finality, a metronome counting down the seconds to your ultimate frustration. Once. Twice. Thrice — you lose count, staring at the screen until your vision crosses and the words blur together, until only his name remains.

Zemo.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

Your notes are expansive, excessive, papers strewn about you and you look at each scribbled anecdote, each carefully dictated word, each photograph you have annotated until it is more red marker than actual picture and you are… frustrated.

Where do you put all that passion? He asked you over champagne and charcuterie.

You know this man.

You know this man like you know your own soul. You know this man who has bared his soul to you in turn and how are you supposed to impress upon the world that he has shown you the broken heart beating slow and painful in his chest in just a thousand words?

There is nothing. Nothing you can do, nothing you can saywhich could even begin to encompass the horrors which he has experienced and now as you painstakingly tap out word after word describing the grand beauty of his apartment, you wonder if this really was what your life was meant to be.

These are… fluff.

This is a man who has managed to unite an entire fractured country under his royal banner and yet the project wants to know about the indoor garden of his apartment, wants to photograph him in fine suits and know his haircare routine and this can’t be it. This can’t be the face of the man you see everywhere now, moreso since you picked up the assignment, purple-masked and surrounded by brass wings, over the homes of Sokovians all over New York.

And not just there.

I am a man, he told you with his hand on your thigh, But I can become an idea. And an idea is immortal.

You let your eyes skim over the photographs you took, a collection of banners and graffiti and billboards all proclaiming the need for the Sokovian people to come together and heal. To show that their small country — broken and divided in the wake of an attack by a rich megalomaniac’s private military — could not be taken down simply because its borders had been erased and its capitol turned to rubble.

We live in an age of information, and through information we are boundless.

It should terrify you.

It does terrify you.

But inside of that terror is a sick fascination with the man, isn’t there? That’s the trouble with you investigative types — peel back the layers enough and you find yourself capable of feeling sympathy for anyone.

He flaunts his power, and yet it’s innocent. Is it so wrong, then, to want to bring my country back to its glory?

No, you remember answering shakily, but not as well as you remember the pinpricks of heat his fingers left on your skin when that gloved hand brushed over you arm.

Breathe deep, hover fingers over your keyboard and try not to feel like you owe him the weight of the world. He approved of this, even suggested a word count and a topic of conversation — any chance to put his name out into the consciousness of the public, it seemed, to raise interest for the gallery by raising interest for the cause. Make it indulgent. My people, they enjoy art. They enjoy knowing that their leaders have preserved the past for them.

So do it.

… Baron Zemo’s New York penthouse is its own garden amongst a sea of steel and stone, a veritable museum of priceless artworks rescued from what remained of Sokovian museums and ministry buildings. It is, in its own way, an ode to the spirit of Sokovia, which lives on in the hearts and minds of its people around the world. He displays artworks of the many displaced Sokovians, gesturing broadly to a 3D model of an art gallery he intends to have built near the memorial at Novi Grad — with the consent of the Slovakian government — and speaking fondly of his intention to showcase the lost art of Sokovia as a reminder that loss of land cannot be the loss of an identity…

The artworks, they will be painful at first. But the gallery will showcase more and more, and eventually we will have hope.

He waves a gloved hand over the pieces he has preserved. Sokovian history. Scenic expanses, fields and flowers, a city skyline dotted with domed cathedrals. Each painting marred some way too, you can see when you look close. Patched canvas, the dusting of ash and rubble in the corner of an ornate frame, a trick of the light revealing repainting to cover up damage.

A stone hoof sits on a bookshelf, The attached horse and rider blown to rubble in the attack. I’m told it was of Emperor Ferdinand, but my archivists have not been able to confirm, he tells you as he stands behind you, his hand resting soft on the small of your back.

Come. There is more to be seen.

More to be experienced.

His living room is a garden.

It smells like fresh jasmine the moment you walk in, ivy climbing the walls and you swear you can hear birdsong from more than the pigeons cooing outside. Flower arrangement is an often looked down upon art, but the gardens in Sokovia were impeccable. My father won several awards for his pieces before his…

He trails off and you watch him, seeing the pain paint his face as openly as if he meant for you to watch the facade crack and then back to that placid, pleasant calm, a serpentine smile on his face as he extends to you a hand and guides you to the open air of his balcony and bids you Sitbids you Enjoy bids you I have looked forward to his meeting.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Zemo, you begin politely, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trying to avoid the way his eyes follow your fingers, feeling seen, We’re grateful for the honor of your patronage for this piece, we know you could have —

Nonsense, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his butler and then leaning back comfortably in his seat as champagne and various cheeses are brought forth, You are my guest, and I am grateful you agreed to come meet me here, to assist with my… project. Now. Please, enjoy, I do not want to treat this as strictly business.

Is that why he had you come alone?

Don’t.

Don’t dwell on it.

It happens all the time, right? It has to.

A somewhat reclusive man, not keen to be in the limelight, in need of public attention to achieve his goals — you are a means to an end and he is your means to an end, surely you can understand.

Is that why he wipes the honey from your lips and kisses it off his fingers?

This is going to be a difficult conversation and you know it. You can only gush over houseplants and rose décor for so long before it becomes… trite, before you’re a part of the problem, painting a shining veneer over a half-decade old injustice

But he is warm, warm and friendly and you cannot help but laugh to his response when you draw attention to the architecture to draw attention from your blush — Very modern, yes. We are in New York, after all, and the old ways are fine for country houses but not so fine, for sunny penthouse apartments —not noticing the way he looks like he’s just smelled blood at the sound of it, the narrowing of his eyes and the hiding of his inscrutable expression behind a sip of champagne.

Well then. Shall we get started?

Of course.

Why don’t we start with your plans for opening night?Your notepad is out, the recorder sitting in front of you to pick up the sound of your voice and his, ready to commit everything to memory.

Of course. We cannot deny the… elephant in the room, I think you Americans call it. There are many who took pictures of the aftermath of the attack, and not enough who have seen it immortalized…

… The tragedy of Novi Grad and the consequential absorption of Sokovia into its surrounding countries weighs heavy in the Baron’s living room, draped in ivy and jasmine and hanging vines but also in photographs of what was left after a private military corporation chose to turn human lives into a war game.

No one knows who Ultron is, only that he is dangerous, that his technology rivals that of the SHIELD Syndicate’s Tony Stark, that he is willing to ally himself to the highest bidder, and that he is fully capable of unleashing endless destruction upon the world…

You will never forget the photographs he shows you, all that death and destruction in the golden light of his balcony, all that warmth and all you can see is cold bodies bathed in concrete dust.

They call to you, when you close your eyes — answer for our crimes — and you remember the way his voice changes too, so soft and solemn, the brush of fingers against yours when you touch the bombed out shell of a country mansion My home, in Sokovia, to the gray-and-blood horror which forms the centerpiece of his display, and you remember your research too, that the Baron is a widow, that his title is inherited from the most tragic of circumstances, that his son was an innocent lost in the attack and you are furious too, at the senselessness of it all.

It is a tragedy yet unanswered for, more than half a decade since the dust settled.

That quote sits front and center on your mock-up, wondering if you could make whatever editor who would inevitably rip this piece to shreds — just before publishing its corpse alongside some glamour picture of the Baron his coat — finally see the error of ignoring the tragedy. You won’t, but it’s worth a shot, as you lean back in your chair and stare at the screen again.

Sometimes you think about it.

Watching Novi Grad happen from the comfort and safety of your living room, wrapped in blankets as open war broke out in the capital city of what had once been a crown jewel in an ancient dynasty. A playground, a show of force.

Sometimes you hear the screams.

The blinking carat waits for you to add more to this story, to decide where you want to go.

… The Baron plays a game with his interview, insists on knowing his guests just as we insist on getting to know the enigmatic leader who has risen up a beacon for the displaced people of his homeland. We will not be recreating our answers in this article, as they were of course of a personal nature, but we do thank the Baron for taking the time to get to know us just as he bared his soul, his sorrows, and his hopes to a gaggle of strangers seeking to make him known to the world…

Tell me of you, sweetling.

Me? This interview is about you.

And so I must tell all my secrets for free? No, I insist. A secret for a secret.

He watches you with a hunger, coal-black eyes an invitation. Slide your gaze away or fall and who knows what depths he will drag you into and what you will find there?

No.

Don’t look, don’t look as you sip the tea Oeznik brought when you politely declined the champagne — Another time, probably — and let it brace you with its bitterness, let it clear your head.

Breathe.

You’re in too deep now, trapped in this cave of wonders… and wouldn’t it be worth it? Know him as he knows you, follow the trajectory of the smiling man before you.

What would you like to know?

Tell me how you taste his eyes whisper.

Tell me what it would take says the curve of his fingers over your hand.

Let me put you on display hums the razor-blade of his smile.

Tell me what drives a woman to take on such a … dangerous line of work, is the final inquiry, innocent and curious and gentle and you sip your tea and smile.

Is it dangerous?

You must know how many secrets you uncover — and the lengths the keepers will go to in order to hide them.

If people get hurt, shouldn’t I bring that to light?

How noble of you, he tells you with another hum, with his fingers squeezing yours, with his eyes fixed on the gaze you refuse to send his way, It must be quite thrilling.

Let me thrill you too, sweetling.

Pull away.

Do it.

Pull your hand away, make an act of it, pick up a candied strawberry and press it past your lips, let the sweetness soak your tongue and wash away the bitter thoughts, let yourself be bright and chipper and pretend you are not afraid.

Because you’re not.

Of course you’re not.

You are in control here, you must be in control here.

This is nothing. This is a casual interview with a handsome man in his handsome penthouse, an interview about architecture and art galleries and you were a correspondent once and you are meant to be friendly here, not afraid, so what are you afraid of?

What is it about his coal-dark eyes and too-sharp smile that turns your blood, that sends you back into your hutch, little rabbit, what is it about the way he prowls at the corner of your thoughts that makes you shudder so?

What are you running from?

Who are you running from?

Your turn, sweetling.

Mmh?

Our deal, or have you forgotten already?

Yes. You have.

It’s his eyes, you keep insisting to yourself. They drag you in, so dark it feels like you’re drowning in the void of them, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s a chase.

It’s what you’re good at.

Right — I’m sorry, I’m…

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The fog in your thoughts doesn’t fade, confusion crossing over your features and ill delight crossing over his. All you had was tea, tea and some of the candied fruit his butler brought for your enjoyment, how can you feel so…

Hazy?

So…

Upturned?

Something clatters behind you and you realize it’s the chair you were sitting on as you stand, unsteady and abrupt, lost in the moors of your own frantic thoughts and there is his hand on your elbow, so careful and soft and there are his lips before yours, so…

Tempting.

Somewhere, a woman croons to you of falling rain and rushing blood and the room does spin round as you stand still in the open air of a desire that is yours and not your own all at once. Shhh, shhh, let me help you whispered in your ear, a hand to your cheek and you…

You blink.

Reality flows into view like a sudden bath of ice water. Jerk away from his iron grip, raise your hands and try to resist, shake your head and N-no, I think. I think I need to go, I’ll just call a cab —

I cannot let you do that, sweetling. Not when you are finally within my reach.

His hold is steady. Unbreakable, even, as he pulls you close and you might even be dancing with the way his arm wraps around your waist the moment you fall into his chest, Don’t look so afraid, sweetling. No one will hurt you, here.

I will protect you like a jewel.

Your mind is still yours — the dose was just enough — but your limbs? Your limbs are tied to his strings, lost as he guides you right back inside, lost as he gestures for Oeznik to close off the balcony.

Your place is somewhere else now.

You belong underneath me.

He guides you inside, jasmine intoxicating your senses and wisps of smoke seeming to float past your eyes. Reality blends into the fantasy, the Baron and his prize, the gentle touch against your soft cheek, the cradling against his form and he is…

Determined.

A door opens. A portal into another kind of decadence, with soft sheets and softer touches, the sliding of a mouth over yours as your escape clicks shut behind you and you are pressed between wall and man and you are consumed.

Curl your fingers into the lapel of his coat, lose yourself to the pressure of his lips, the sharp nip of teeth against soft flesh. He tastes of champagne and honeycomb and you are saccharine on the tongue, a mess of sighs and admonitions left unsaid.

My precious thing, whispered into your unfocused sighs, I will take such fine care of you.

And you want to protest, want to insist you are free you are uninterested you do not want this man and his hands under the cotton of your blouse but the words tangle on your tongue and instead all you can do is whimper.

Whimper, and hear him chuckle against your skin, a line of kisses drawn from your parted lips along your jaw until he’s found the thrum of your pulsebeat to draw a gasp the moment his teeth scrape against the delicate skin. He must mark you his, after all, and this he will gladly renew, over and over.

Over and over as he draws you to bed, lays you amongst soft cushions and softer sheets, indulges in the soft curves of you in the golden glow of the room. Your clothes — so conservative, so professional, so unnecessary — he makes short work of even with what mild resistance you manage, Shh, shh, do not fight me.

The heat is yours and not yours all at once, warming your skin and leaving you flushed, leaving a trail of burning want along your skin where his fingers trace over you and centering in your core You need this, sweetling, look at you…

Do you?

Is it you who needs this or he, he who has begun to kiss along your skin, he who presses himself between your legs so impatiently? The accusation lives in your thoughts and passes past your lips as a strangled Nnh-no, ignored without ceremony or appeal.

Protests are useless when your tongue can form no words and your limbs can do nothing but writhe, seeking structure in the grip of his sheets as he unravels you with a press of his lips to that soft center of yours, slick with a need you cannot own and yet all yours.

He maps you with a hungry gaze, fingers already tracing the plushness of your folds, gathering slick like he might have been collecting nectar and you watch him pull back, watch him bring his hand to his mouth, watch him wrap lips around his fingertip and drag the taste of you onto his tongue, One day I shall make you taste how sweet you are…

One day, after he has savored you so deeply.

You are so full of words they burst out of you on a normal day and yet nothing you say comes to light, just the bare whimpers and anxious mewls of your needy self as he returns to inspecting, to enjoying, to savoring the reactiveness of your body.

He touches. He touches as if he has owned your body a thousand times, he touches as if you are delicate, as if you are breakable, as if his fingers might lead you to shattering around him here and now and you…

Are so close, already.

So close, trying to find the strength in your muscles to pull away, to speak something beyond desperation with every curl of fingers against your cunt, with every pleased hum he utters in response to the flex of your sex. Shh… no more fighting, sweetling, I know you can be good.

He knows you can be good, he says, with all the innocence of a man trying to convince his cat to stop clawing the couch, not a man presently holding your legs open with one hand at your thigh and the other curling against your walls while you arch your back. It builds, the pressure, it builds and builds and builds and — Let go, sweetling. Let me see your ecstasy.

Is that what this is?

You keen. You keen softly, desperately, brokenly, as skilled fingers find the spot which makes you, which leaves you breathless and flushed and sobbing, a trickle of tears making their path down your cheeks as you bite your own lip to muffle the sounds you did not know you could make. Wordless and pleading and he notices with a cold smile the way you seem to succumb, hips no longer desperate to escape the curling, stretching assault of two — no, three — fingers preparing you for him.

Hips pressing back towards him now, a betrayal of your conscious-yet-barely-focused mind, that lustful sweetness in you taking over and he can only watch in awe. Awe not at your surrender but at your perfection, muttering in a language you do not understand and yet you understand perfectly what he means — he will have you, all of you.

Ah, I shall so enjoy playing with you more, sweetling.

But not now.

Now his impatience outpaces your need and both outpace his cruelty, his desire to see you beg and so instead he pulls back his hand — and hears the desperate N-no, please don’t — to bring a cruel gleam to his dark eyes and even barely conscious as you are you know he is beautiful.

Beautiful and cruel, as he frees himself and curls fingers around his cock, rubs your own slick onto that soft skin, hisses at the very feel of you like it must be a preview to how you will make him throb, and presses himself over you. Presses himself over you, absorbs the cry of pain or anguish or relief which pours from your plush lips with the punishment of a kiss just as he sinks, hips pressing against yours, stretching you with his full length and Now we are one, my sweet.

Now we are one.

He will take fine care of you but you, you take finer care of him, so plush and tight around his senses, so desperate as you cling, so lost and wanton and he kisses away the tears which continue to sting your cheeks and hisses half-sensible promises into your ear — You will always be mine — as he ruts his hips and practically shoves you forward with every thrust, dragging you back with a snarl and the pressure builds.

Builds and you moan, builds and you sob into his hungry mouth, builds and you hold to him as if he were the last thing which made sensein the world builds and you are consumed and he is consuming, and the release is both of yours, spilling deep inside of you and that too is the final shackle upon your soul.

You sit. In the darkness of your office and you remember, worrying the cuticle of your thumb and staring at the words you have typed while your memory drifts back to that hazy reminder.

… A discussion with the Baron about Sokovia reveals a country rich with history. Once a Duchy of the Hapsburgs during the era of the Holy Roman Empire, the deeply Catholic country clings to the Austrian and Italian tradition of ceremony and indulgence. Baron Zemo plays an example of the hymns sung in the many cathedrals which once filled the country, a mixture of Sokovian and Latin to raise the soul to divine heights.

The Baron speaks of the country’s culture with a warm fondness, of how even during Soviet occupation, the people managed to enjoy games like ice hockey, and football (the European, variant, the Baron would like to emphasize), and even spent time indulging in horse racing. Surrounded by Slovakia and the Czech Republic, it keeps a similar tradition, with a twist…

No, that cannot encompass all that you discussed, and yet that is what the recording shows, words traded back and forth which you do not remember, a conversation of laughter and warmth and none of it slots into what your mind tells you occurred.

You erase. You rewrite. It is the same passage, over and over, fingers acting unbidden of your frantic will and eventually you give in, demand to be done with these words and this screen, eventually you desire peace.

… Baron Helmut Zemo is many things. A historian, an ambassador, a politician, an activist. He is a widower, a man trapped in the past, a man with lofty dreams for the future. He wears his sorrow as well as he wears his happiness, and for those who still call themselves Sokovian, he is their shepherd into a new age.

And as the door to your office opens, your keeper.

[sollannaart]

Hello, I've scrolled through your blog to make sure, this question wasn't asked before, but it would seem that it wasn't (though I could've missed it). Can I please ask you of prince Poniatowski's attitude towards Napoleon?

No, this question has not been asked yet, and thank you very much for sending it! It will be my please to write a answer to this.

Relationship between prince Józef Poniatowski and the emperor Napoleon Bonapart

I am sorry, this turned out to be a very long read, and on the topic a little bit wider than asked, so I had to specify the title and give the short answer for those who aren’t interested in details.

So in brief - Poniatowski respected Napoleon, but wasn’t a blind worshipper of the emperor. And in situations when in the balance there might have been Napoleon and Poland, and only one thing was to be chosen for prince Józef this one definitely would be his motherland.

Bronisław Gembarzewski, prince Józef and Napoleon

Emperor Napoleon, as all fans of the epoch knows, first arrived to Warsaw in December of 1806. But to start the long-read about relationship between the emperor and the prince properly we need make a step backwards, to understand what these two thought about each other on the moment of their first meeting.

Prince Józef, in comparison with many of his country men, participated in none of general Bonapart’s campaigns. What’s more - when the count of Provence, future king Louis XVIII resided in Warsaw in 1801-1804 he was an often visitor of Poniatowski’s palace. (So it may be said that before 1806 prince Józef was kind of a “royalist”.)

However, with Napoleon’s victory over Prussia and the emperor’s arrival to the former Polish lands chances of Poland rising from the dead skyrocketed! And prince Józef realized that he couldn’t have stayed away any longer, that if he wanted to participate in his motherland reappearing on the map of Europe he had to join the French.

As for Napoleon - in 1806 the emperor of Frenchmen didn’t have any warm feeling towards the nephew of the last king of Poland. One of the reason was that Claude Carloman de Rulhière, with whose book Histoire de l’anarchie de Pologne Napoleon had studied history of lands he was going conquer, wasn’t sympnathising the Poniatowski family. As other reasons there may be named a fact, that that time in French Army there were other Poles, whom the emperor knew better, like generals Jan Henryk Dąbrowski and Józef Zajączek.

Nevertheless, because when leaving Warsaw the Prussians kinda left the city “in charge” of Poniatowski, Napoleon had to meet prince Józef on entering the city. And from the data I was able to find it looks like the first meeting of the emperor and the prince happened on the 19th of December.

Prince Józef with Napoleon during the war campaign - drawing by Wacław Lipiński

With this image I am obliged to make a small digression. Napoleon, as recent investigation show, was not that short as he was thought to be because of English cartoons. Józef Poniatowski, on the other hand, was described by the contemporaries as a man of the middle height. So, in my opinion standing side-by-side these two must have looked like as people of the same height.

With the emperor so prejudiced against prince Józef, you may ask, how did it happen that less than a month later, on the 14th of January 1807, the latter was appointed as a Director of War? (In October of 1807, after the Duchy of Warsaw was created, Poniatowski’s post acquired the name of “Minister of War”.)

The answer is that behind the event there was a long and complicated intrigue, in which were involved such people as Joachim Murat (with whom, as you may remember, prince Józef quickly became friends) and Charles Maurice de Talleyrand, that time Foreign Minister of France. (As for the latter - his protection was asked by Pepi’s sister, Teresa Tyszkiewicz.)

And I can’t help but mention that Poniatowski’s nomination nevertheless had some advantages, because in comparison with his “rivals” he was a representative of the aristocracy, what might have provided support to Napoleon from the Polish high-society.

And speaking of high-society I can’t help touching a rather delicate topic, related with Napoleon’s love life, with which Poniatowski - in comparison with what is thought about him - had nothing to do. Yes, I mean the story of prince Józef (and other Polish dignitaries) supposedly forcing Maria Walewska to give in to the emperor in exchange for “Poland’s resurrection”.

SCREENSHOT FROM THE MOVIE “MARYSIA I NAPOLEON”. From left to right - Zdzisław Makłakiewicz as prince Józef, Gustaw Holoubek as Napoleon, Beata Tyszkiewicz as Maria Walewska, Ignacy Machowski as Duroc, Kazimierz Rudzki as Talleyrand, Juliusz Łuszczewski as Anastazy Walewski

Many people believe in it because it is written in so-called Walewska’s memoirs, but the investigations of Polish historians (like, fir example, Marian Brandys) prove that not everything might have happened like it was described in the memoirs. And prince Poniatowski’s involvement in the story is one of the facts. (The closest connection he might have had with this is that Mme Henriette de Vauban, his mistress, might have tried to influence Mme Walewska. But this is definitely a topic to continue in - if at all - a separate post.

So, let’s return to relationship between Poniatowski and Napoleon.

In 1809 the Duchy of Warsaw was attacked by the Austrians, and the Army of the Duchy showed its combat strength, winning the war and taking back from the enemy a huge a part of former Polish territories. The emperor was impressed by prince Józef’s inferiors’ performance, till such a degree that he awarded the latter with the highest imperial order of merit, the cross of the Legion of Honour.

But this was done “by proxy”, and the next, after year 1807, meeting of these two happened only in 1811 in Paris, where Poniatowski was invited to attend the christening of Napoleon’s son, the king of Rome.

Prince Józef arrived to Paris on the 23rd of April, and in the evening of that very day received an invitation from the emperor to appear next day in Saint Clou. What’s more, Poniatowski’s visit was to be happen at once, without an obliged advance as the ceremony of representation by the Saxon ambassador.

Prince Józef with Napoleon during the ceremonial audience at the Tuileries Palace - drawing by Maria Artwińska

And this is the image I like, because both - the prince and emperor - seem to have there the “correct” height!

Why was Napoleon so eager to see prince Józef? Well, at least because the latter brought with him news, which was dangerous to trust to paper. Namely - about planning Russian invasion of the Duchy and the tsar attempts to persuade the Polish Minister of War to switch sides and join the anti-napoleonic coalition. (Can’t help but mention there that Poniatowski revealed Napoleon mere facts, but not the names of the people communicating with him, in order not to put them in danger.)

And what about christening? Of course, prince Józef participated in the ceremony, and was even allowed to have an audience with the child-king. And, no doubts, there followed other court events, huntings, balls, etc. Old friend, Murat, and Poniatowski’s sister’s love interest, Talleyrand, introduced Pepi to the highest Parisian society. Also Pepi paid a visit to the ex-empress Josephine.

Prince Józef in conversation with Napoleon and the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand - drawing by Andrzej Zarzycki

And though initially prince Józef’s stay in the French capital was planned to be a couple of months, in fact it prolonged to four, till the emperor’s birthday. And leaving finally on the 27th of August Poniatowski received as a farewell gift a beautiful snuffbox planted with diamonds and a loan to… pay the debts of his sister Teresa.

And then there came the year 1812. Prince Józef was made the commander of the 5th Corps of the Grande Armée, and with the rest of the Army went to Russia.

However, above “The Polish corps” there was a commander not very competent and lucky, emperor’s younger brother Jérôme. And when it happened that the Russian Army under general Bagration managed to escape from the “second center” corps led by Jérôme, Napoleon blamed on this... prince Józef. 

In the battle of Smolensk, however, the Vth Corps managed to distinguish to such a degree, that together with its commander it was mentioned in a bulletin of the Grande Armée.

Jean-Charles Langlois, The Battle of Smolensk, 17th August 1812, detail

But after that battle there happened a very dramatic scene between the prince and the emperor. Because, as you might know, the city of Smolensk was the most eastern town ever belonged to Poland. So, if Napoleon’s goal was, as it had been proclaimed in the beginning of the war, to restore Poland, the Grande Armée should have stopped there, at Smolensk. Not to go further east.

And Poniatowski, as a witness of the scene, count Ostrowski, recalled, “begged Napoleon on his knees if not to direct the whole French Army to the south, to the former Polish lands, then at least to separated the Polish corps and send it along the Dnieper river, in the direction of Kiev...”

But emperor was implacable. 

What happened next we all know. The battle of Moscow, fire, retreat…

In December Napoleon left his army and speeded to Paris. Prince Józef returned to Warsaw, to rebuild “the Polish corps”, to reenforce the people left with new conscripts and to be ready to join with these people the emperor. When the latter comes with fresh forces, to fight the coalition back.

But the emperor of French didn’t hurry to return to the East of Europe. Failing to wait him Poniatowski had to leave Warsaw, going with his soldiers to Kraków. And was waiting here, for almost three month.

To no avail.

At the beginning of May all the territory of the Duchy of Warsaw, except Kraków, was occupied by Russians. A lot of Polish officers, acquaintances and even friends of prince Józef, resigned from the army. A lot of them were persuading the Polish commander-in-chief to follow, to join the anti-napoleonic coalition.

And… well, here I can’t write that Poniatowski rejected these propositions, all and at once. No, he was listening, thinking over… Asking for terms and thoroughly pondering on what would have been better for his motherland - to stay with France or not.

And on the night from the 6th to the 7th of May, on the eve of his 50th birthday the decision was made.

Prince Józef sees “the White Lady of the Poniatowski Family” on the night on 6/7 May 1813 in Krakow (drawing by Ludomir Ilinicz)

Having obtained no written guaranties from the other side, feeling that unconditional surrender - the only thing they were ready to accept from him - was not compatible with the soldier honor, the Polish Bayard decided to stay with Napoleon.

Although to make such a decision was for prince Józef extremely hard (especially if to take into account that he still had not got clear instructions from the emperor what to do). As Poniatowski confided next day to one of his colleagues that night thinking was so difficult to him that he even thought about shooting himself. Twice.

What is not proved - so this fact still stays a kind of legend - that that night prince Józef saw a ghost, the famous “White lady of Poniatowski family”. The fantom that was said to announce with its appearance very bad things to come…

And in 5 month there came… the battle of Leipzig.

Jean-Charles Langlois, The Battle of Leipzig (?)

This image is often signed as „the battle of Leipzig” though judging by the emperor’s, the prince’s and their horses’ poses I suppose it might be another version of “the battle of Smolensk”.

Of course, before Leipzig there was truce, then the battle of Dresden, then retreat and preparations. And in the beginning of the battle there was a moment when French victory still looked possible. But soon it turned out that it was an illusion.

And then the emperor… named general Poniatowski a marshal of France. Thus making him the only foreigner among that cream of French military elite.

Prince Józef Poniatowski receives the marshal baton, French engraving from the XIXth century

How did Poniatowski react to such a promotion? Did he become happy? Or, at least, glad?

No, not at all. (It looks like he felt that this appointment has more with his future attachment to France, than with military achievements.)

So prince Józef continued to call himself a general, sign documents according his old position. Furthermore, in the written explanation that Poniatowski sent to Warsaw it was stated that “if there was not war for Poland, no one would ever see him in uniform”. Which literally meant resignation. (In the very same letter, though, prince Józef announced that before leaving the army he had to escort Napoleon back to Paris.)

So, dear friends, who was interested in what might have happened with prince Józef had he not been killed at Leipzig - this is the answer. He would definitely retreat with Napoleon to Paris, than resigned and… here the certainty is a little bit less, but something tells me that he would have preferred exile to going back home. But I am not one hundred percent sure.

January Suchodolski, Napoleon and Józef Antoni Poniatowski at the Battle of Leipzig

And what about Napoleon? In his memories dictated on St. Helene he wrote that he should have made prince Józef the king of Poland (ha-ha, what would he have done if the latter rejected the crown?), regretted not doing this.

But what is, in my opinion, more interesting, is to learn what the ex-emperor thought on other Poniatowski-related topics? Did he regret blaming prince Józef for Jerome’s mistakes? Had he doubts on not listening the Polish commander’s pleas to take back former Polish land instead of going to Moscow?

Alas, I am afraid, this is a thing we’ll never know…

[kittyprincessofcats]

1. Why is World Team Trophy even happening again? Oh yeah right, because Russia wants more trophies and the ISU can’t just hand it to them but has to pretend this is a fair competiton and endanger everyone instead.

[EDIT: Also mostly because JSF is greedy and wants to sell tickets. Thanks for the addition/correction, @jennibeultimate :)]

2. I hate Russia and I hate Russian figure skaters and coaches. I’m so tired of pretending I don’t. I hate them. I used to think my personal feelings about Russia shouldn’t get in the way of me still supporting Russian skaters, but I’m tired. I hate that whole team and what they stand for. I hate how overscored they are, I hate how they keep being gifted other people’s medals, I hate their coaching drama and all the rampant child abuse those coaches keep getting away with, I hate how openly homophobic several Russian Olympic champions are, I hate how racist, xenophobic and homophobic their commentators are, I hate how this entire competition that puts everyone in danger is only happening because they want another trophy, I hate how the Olympic Team event (which is super unfair because small fed skaters have no chance of ever winning an Olympic Team medal) was only invented because Plushenko wanted another OGM and now all of Russia keeps treating Olympic Team medals like actual Olympic medals, I hate how there were rude Russian fans at every competition I went to (except for Challenge Cup because there were no Russian skaters there), I hate how the the entire Russian team ignored the (already meager) safely measures at Worlds, I hate how while the Japanese team had to quarantine before WTT (in their own country!), the Russian team was allowed to just fly in there without needing to quarantine, I hate how they’re already ignoring Covid safetly measures again and some of them (Liza T. again, surprise) are even openly mocking those measures. I hate their current behaviour and how fucking dangerous and disrespectful it is. And I hate how on top of that, they still somehow manage to constantly present themselves as the victims in all of this. “Boo hoo, they’re banning our flag.” Shut the fuck up, I wish they banned you cheaters completely, now wear your stupid mask. (*)

3. Apparently Rika injured her back yesterday and her foot injury is also still bothering her and now I’m just really worried about her in general. I hate that she even has to compete here. Couldn’t JSF have spontaneously sent someone else? I just hope she (and Yuzu, and Kaori, and everyone else) makes it out of this safely.

(*) - Before another one of you professional Russian victims gets angry at me here or tells me that I don’t know what I’m talking about: My entire family (except for my generation) grew up in Russia. 70% of them are currently refusing to get vaccinated. Every single one of them is homo- and transphobic, as are their Russian friends. Some of them are voting for right-wing parties. Don’t tell me this has nothing to do with where they’re from, because I know it does. (Also, I speak Russian. When I say stuff like how the commentators are nationalist jerks, that’s because I understand the shit they say, not because I’m “believing propaganda” or whatever you idiots keep claiming.)

[alligaytorswamp]

yellow , green , blue, turquoise , onyx , fuchsia , cream , mauve ( also genshin) & plum B)))

hey hi hello >:)

green: do you have a favourite flower?

nah i dont differentiate them.. every flower is just a flower to me jkhasjkdhkj...

if the flower is purple it gets extra points tho

blue: preferred type of weather?

rain!!! thunderstorms!!! <333

turquoise: favorite sea animal?

penguins or turtles :p

onyx: do you still play Minecraft?

nope, never did

fuchsia: favorite land animal?

cream: any piercings or tattoos? do you want any?

i have a helix one but it got fucked up.. so it looks weird :(

would love to fix it one day.. or maybe get rid of it completely hhh

no tattoos but i want some yes heheeheh

some longer answers will be under the cut jkahdsjkad

plum: a food you've never tried

oi.. dats like a lot of things... ;;

well I've never had anything "Chinese"/"Mexican"/idk what else people mention in a similar manner... i hear English-speaking folks refer to these.. "types" and yep never had any of that. also like.. any food chains that just don't exist in Russia? obv nope......... there is probably an insane amount of stuff I haven't tried, I'm picky and literally just eat at home 99% of the time so-

yellow: name of an artist you think is underappreciated

gonna give a dumb ass answer but... i can't...? i don't really know how much one should be "appreciated", like what is the "right amount" and whether or not this person receives it. the amount of notes/likes doesn't always represent that and also i don't look there at all.. also this one random artist can have multiple accs on different platforms with different engagements and all that... so how do i really know what's up with them? and once again i don't think i sit around thinking Damn this person needs more likes !! .. i just like/rb whatever i want and it's epic lashdjlksajdlk also i'm not sure if i have strong attachments to certain creators.. (at this point that is. i used to and some of it backfired lmao) ... the only attachments i have r ppl i'm friends with which is U Know... considered the right answer to this question and an adequate person would do just that but damn none of yall getting a free promo wtf 🙄 and i feel like mentioning one friend could lead to upsetting another or like .. i could just forget to tag someone... or I would waste time trying to figure out if it would be ok to mention them in an ask like this one and probably would decide against it anyways just not to bother anybody ....

and is getting tagged in a post saying u r underappreciated even a compliment? because i for one am not too sure about that........... much to think about uh huh

mauve: any unpopular opinions?

we entered danger zone.................... beware :з

uhhh well first of all I think childe x zhongli is like the most pathetic and boring "default" pairing this fandom came up with. they have 0 chemistry and I just hate everything about it. as much as I headcanon both as queers... together romantically it feels like 2 straight men put together by ya*i fans............ also before i blacklisted to ship and voluntarily looked through the ship tag... every post felt like a hard ooc. i could not understand what childe or zhongli are supposed to be as individuals, what they have in common, what kind of dynamic they have. deadass most crack ships with 0 interactions have more flavor than this tragedy

eng VAs are great people and appreciate their work but whoever decides the voices ain't doing it right. every male character sounds like a middle-aged white man.. and most of the youngest characters sound like very obvious adults trying to pretend to be babies. all of it irks me so bad god.. and there are so many characters that lose their little spark in eng........ (yet in korean and chinese they're completely fine??)

all of the playable adult male characters are shitty people in one way or another. none of them are good. they have reasons and different perspectives, yes, but they suck. every single one of them. stop ignoring it or trying to say only some are evil. none of them are inherently terrible.. but they're not these precious and righteous individuals. they're men.................... that says a lot, actually. :\

and as for women? god i hate the idea that they're all so uninteresting and weak. lichrally just a bunch of girlbosses, morals of most could be questioned as well... anyways some of the girls not having extremely dramatic stories doesn't make them any less cool. let them be

also all archons suck it's ok. you can still love them while acknowledging that they've done some shit. ALSO stop demonizing venti .. and now baal, while praising zhongli- he's an old loser stop lying to yourself. i hate when people present him as the only good archon, the voice of reason who is just so cool and collected but also ahh so cutely silly about mora !!!............. bitch the story quest of liyue is just one zhongli-is-a-fucking-moron campaign idk did yall skip it or something............ and even then it's ok to like him, he does have his logic/reasons/beliefs that justify his actions... he is not a good guy or archon tho.

shipping archons/adepti/whatever the fuck that isn't a basic human with a basic human is super weird. i mean the power dynamic will be completely fucked and ages? lord almighty... basically mortals should stay with mortals... the rest goes to baby jail except maybe ganyu she's a good girl

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh idk what else.................

maybe.. ahha... well.............. with how people hype up any vague new character that is leaked and declare how they will skip every banner ever for them - even tho all we know is... how the character looks like? it feels a bit too much. like truly what's the point of going crazy and then screaming at mihoyo every 3 seconds over some character that could be fake for all we know, or maybe they'll be a support you don't need, or they have a weapon you don't like to use.... can't you just wait till we get official info? jesus lawd- but regardless.......................... where is the same energy for baizhu :)

the man is literally in the game and people manage to forget him even in conversations about dendro specifically- how the fuck is that even real-

thanks for watching everybody don't forget to subscribe smash that like button and hit the notification bell ^_^

[a-long-walk-in-the-forest]

Do you think the villages are cults? In my opinion, they do score quite high on the BITE model

Hello, I’m going to give a very poorly thought out and messy answer so I apologize in advance. 

It isn’t really an answer to your question just my ramblings about my confusion about the term cult.

I’m not really qualified to speak on any matter concerning sociology since It’s outside my field of expertise and I’m kind of confused about what a cult is, the term to me, without further research, implies a vaguely malicious organization that engages in brainwashing and causes some sort of harm.

I looked at the definition of the word itself and it’s a word with several different definitions, most of which are very broad:

According to the Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (1971), the term cult originally referred to 

worship; reverential homage rendered to a divine being or beings ... a particular form or system of religious worship; especially in reference to its external rites and ceremonies ... devotion or homage to a particular person or thing.

More recently, the term has taken on additional connotations: 

A religion regarded as unorthodox or spurious...

 A system for the cure of disease based on dogma set forth by its promulgator...

a. great devotion to a person, idea, object, movement, or work... 

b. a usually small group of people characterized by such devotion (Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Tenth Edition, 1994)

If we go based on these definitions almost anything can be considered a cult.

I briefly looked at google scholar for articles regarding the topic (I’m not sure which sources are considered reputable in this field so that is also a problem). I had a brief look at this and this. I also looked at this which said:

Robbins’s (1988) review of recent sociological contributions to the study of cults identifies four definitional perspectives:

cults as dangerous, authoritarian groups

cults as culturally innovative or transcultural groups

cults as loosely structured protoreligions

Stark and Bainbridge’s (1985) subtypology that distinguishes among audience cults (members seek to receive information—e.g., through a lecture or tape series), client cults (members seek some specific benefit—e.g., psychotherapy, spiritual guidance), and cult movements (organizations that demand a high level of commitment from members).

Rutgers University professor Benjamin Zablocki (1997) says that sociologists often distinguish cult from church, sect, and denomination. Cults are innovative, fervent groups. If they become accepted into the mainstream, cults, in his view, lose their fervor and become more organized and integrated into the community; they become churches. When people within churches become dissatisfied and break off into fervent splinter groups, the new groups are called sects. As sects become more stolid and integrated into the community, they become denominations. Zablocki defines a cult as “an ideological organization held together by charismatic relationships and demanding total commitment.” According to Zablocki, cults are at high risk of becoming abusive to members, in part because members’ adulation of charismatic leaders contributes to those leaders becoming corrupted by the power they seek and are accorded.

Definitions proposed at various times by associates of ICSA tend to presume the manifestation of what is potential in Zablocki’s definition. These definitions tend to emphasize elements of authoritarian structure, deception, and manipulation, and the fact that groups may be psychotherapeutic, political, or commercial, as well as religious. One of the more commonly quoted definitions of cult was articulated at an ICSA/UCLA Wingspread Conference on Cultism in 1985:

This part is what I’m assuming you mean by cult

Cult (totalist type): A group or movement exhibiting a great or excessive devotion or dedication to some person, idea, or thing and employing unethically manipulative techniques of persuasion and control (e.g., isolation from former friends and family, debilitation, use of special methods to heighten suggestibility and subservience, powerful group pressures, information management, suspension of individuality or critical judgment, promotion of total dependency on the group and fear of leaving it…), designed to advance the goals of the group’s leaders, to the actual or possible detriment of members, their families, or the community. (West & Langone, 1986, pp. 119–120)

From what I understood, it goes on to say that it’s hard to label many organizations/movements as cults (has to be looked at on a case by case basis and a lot of the time there isn’t a consensus) and the lists are only things that could be cults and aren’t necessarily cults (it also greatly depends on which exact definition you are using). The other source mentioned how the term should be avoided in legal and academic matters for various reasons.

This made me question the validity of available predictive models as from what I know, having accurate and reliable data is necessary for an accurate and reliable model. A naive example would be if we wanted to predict an disease (Di) based on various symptoms (S1, S2, S3) we would have to have a bunch of data with these labels (so for example person Pi has Di and has S1 and S2 but not S3, we have these correctly labeled for n people) then we make a model based on a part of this data which will have a certain accuracy that we will check from the rest of this dataset. 

If we can’t say for sure if various organizations are really cults or not then the datasets that we are building our models from are very arbitrary and inaccurate so our model isn’t very reliable. I’m going to stress again that I don’t know the first thing about sociology and I only had a brief look at some articles.

There was another source that proposed looking at various key words that were published along with the word cult for various time period to get an understanding of what the term is mostly associated with during different time periods. This method obviously also has its shortcomings and basically I have no idea.

There was this fairly recent article that said this in its abstract:

I tried to introduce a new category, “criminal religious movements,” including groups that either (or both) consistently practice and justify common crimes such as terrorism, child abuse, rape, physical violence, homicide, and serious economic crimes, as opposite to the vague or imaginary crimes of “being a cult” or “brainwashing members.” The paper argues that there would be definite advantages in replacing categories such as xie jiao, “destructive cults,” and “extremist religions” (the latter now fashionable in Russia) with “criminal religious movements,” a notion that would refer to ascertained crimes perpetrated by each movement rather than to notions so vague that they become dangerous for religious liberty.

I only read the abstract but from this I concluded that it probably really is a vague (and somewhat problematic) term. This is to say, I have no clue what a cult actually is and what model is accurate, how to judge its accuracy, ...

I also don’t think the model you mentioned is very good. It has many parts that seem questionable and dangerous to religious freedom and the person who wrote it seems very biased to me. Still, I don’t know much about the subject and I’ll leave it to people who know what they’re talking about.

If I go by just intuition and that one definition (the ICSA/UCLA Wingspread Conference one) then I’m going to say yes (since we don’t know much about the other villages I’m only talking about the leaf). The excessive devotion is there (although what constitutes as excessive is up to personal interpretation to some extent, I think the grey of their case is close enough to black to be categorized as such), they employ unethical tactics for manipulation and control (much of it is canonically unethical, hence their insistence on hiding it and their various excuses), for the leader and to the detriment of the community part is somewhat grey but overall I do think it was more a personal matter than genuinely caring about the community for most leaders (particularly the council but others as well). In general though, I can’t say for sure. 

If you made it this far I apologize again for not being able to answer your question properly and hope you have a good day.

[uservillanelle]

Killing Eve ― 3x06 (Review)

The time has finally come for yet another review. I can’t believe we only have two more episodes and it will be the end of season 3. Seriously, Killing Eve should AT LEAST have 10 solid episodes per season as most of other shows do. It would be just enough content (more than we get now) and without having to stretch things out. Now, theres A LOT to talk about, so I’ll try my best to touch upon as many things and details as I can! So sit back, grab your tea/coffee and let’s get started!

Title cards

I covered this topic back in 3x04 review, but they did it again, and this time the title card game is somewhat different. It’s really apparent that they are experimenting with editing and trying new things and that’s good, because we know that not only they want characters to develop, but to improve and change the editing and production of the show itself.

It was a bit unusual when they swapped from location titles to character names back in 3x04, but this time it was actually fun. I mean “PISS OFF FOREVER?!” This cracked me up sooo bad, I had to rewatch it several times lmao!! And don’t even try to tell me that they left Niko alive for THIS. It’s not the first time he rejects Eve and wants to get away from her, so what is the point of that scene with him? We didn’t get any new information or knowledge. So... I’ll call that waste of precious screen time which, in this case, should be dedicated for Eve’s personal character story because hell, she’s the one who deserves it the most.

Then they did it again with CUBA/NOT CUBA and honestly it cracked me up, AGAIN! I actually loved they did something like this, even though it kind of gave this comedy type of feel knowing how dark and complicated this show actually is. And of course the “THIS IS BULLSHIT” was exactly what Oksana said at the meeting with Helene not so long ago, so them reflecting on that and showing the phrase as a title is so relatable and at the same time kind of expresses how Oksana feels and what she thinks. 

So far they haven’t really decided as to what kind of editing style they are going for, but I do hope that at the end of this season they realize how they will carry the show onwards starting with season 4, because them keeping this up and changing things constantly is not a good thing. Many people find it annoying and really, they aren’t used to any of that, so I hope season 4 will have a more consistent style when it comes to editing and carrying the main storylines, ect!

Niko (ft. Eve)

There isn’t really much to talk about here, other than... Niko being alive makes NO sense, whatsoever. I personally wasn’t expecting to see him being killed off or anything similar to that, but since they basically PITCHFORKED him, just let him die, okay? There is NO way he could’ve possibly survived something like this and that means they have to have a VERY big reason that would, you know, justify him surviving so fans can “ignore” the fact that it doesn’t make sense to begin with. So far, they didn’t provide any reason for that. Niko didn’t say anything useful to Eve... nor did Eve. She was just rejected again and had a confrontation with Niko’s uncle, I believe. Wow, someone of his family members don’t like Eve. What a shocker, right? 

One of the very few options that I could see happening and making sense is for Niko to be alive and for Eve to make a decision and choose Villanelle over him. Not because she lost everybody and she’s the only one she has left, but to be able to choose her because she WANTS to. Instead, what did we see? We saw a very desperate and determined Eve who’s willing to go that extra mile to find whoever hurt Niko. Despite everything, a part of her still has hope for them even now so maaybe, after those fancy “PISS OFF FOREVER” words, Eve will finally come to her senses? Even though most of following scenes had her feeling the same way. So I really have no idea what else to expect and why Niko is still there. 

There’s also a theory going around about how Eve should pull the plug and kill her husband lol. I mean, that way, their conversation from the very first episode about how Eve could kill Niko and that storyline could come full circle, but given what we saw of Eve and her values and mental state.. yeah I don’t see her doing that anytime soon, or ever, in fact. She’s still clinging to Niko somewhat and she must go REALLY wild and dark in order to do something like this. Though, I must admit... I kind of would love to see it as well! At the end of the day we all want dark!Eve to rise... and she is getting there, believe me!

Villanelle & Helene

I’m very conflicted about this duo. Especially after watching the promo/preview of upcoming episode. Yeah... I’m just going to throw it out there. I think Villanelle will end up killing Helene. The meeting wasn’t exactly successful, as Dasha of course lied to Villanelle about having all the control or probably, the description of a Keeper is quite different to Helene and Dasha than what Villanelle already knew about it thanks to Konstantin. So.. could it be that back in 1x07 Konstantin lied to her? Or that Dasha told Helene something different to get Villanelle in line and believing she is actually “moving up” in the world? Honestly, still much to think about.

I LOVED Villanelle’s, or should I say, Oksana’s outfit during the meeting and especially how big of a mess her hair was. I mean the hair perfectly reflects her inner state and yeah, she IS  a mess and she has every reason to be. Someone previously mentioned how Villanelle was the one who went to Russia, but it was Oksana who left it and now I’m starting to really see and feel just how true it is. I mean this episode was almost all Oksana, except a couple of moments where she tried her best to keep her defenses up, for instance being sarcastic with Helene. “Are you trying to seduce me?” I mean... I wouldn’t mind them getting some.. buut, it’s not going to happen. Still, those lines were hilarious as much as they were iconic and yeah, in that moment she was trying to play her main character, which is Villanelle but as soon as she spotted the post card it was over. Oksana took over and she freaked out. The bad thing about this is that she is very emotional and very vulnerable right now, her mind and emotions are all over the place and that could be why she didn’t really think about Dasha being the one who lied to her? Or maybe she did think about it but we aren’t aware of it yet? This can’t mean anything good and I am honestly concerned for her. 

What else I noticed from that scene is that Helene was quite open in terms of deciding to speak to her daughter I’m guessing, in front of Villanelle while not really you know, feeling like she could be in danger? Despite the fact that she is literally standing in front of a killer. I guess she is really used to that and her job is meeting a lot of assassins and other dangerous people? And then there is Villanelle who keeps asking her all kinds of questions, silly or not, she did ask whether Helene was her real name and yet she didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t answer any of Villanelle’s questions and that is again, concerning. So maybe Helene isn’t her name, but that’s kind of ironic, knowing that Villanelle isn’t really her name either. So yeah, seeing Helene be so...cool around Villanelle especially while she was freaking the fuck out should say something and that probably means she knows exactly how to handle such people and situations like this. I’ll definitely keep my eyes on her from now on. 

Eve

Our precious Eve is finally getting some quality screen time. Not enough, but at least she’s getting some. What I absolutely LOVED about her in this episode is just how confident and sure she is about Villanelle not being the one who hurt Niko. Yeah, let’s remember that the last time she and Villanelle saw each other was on the damn bus where they had a major fight and a kiss. That was Villanelle and she was such a smug asshole there and everything and thinking about this now, it’s completely different person from who Oksana is and it’s mindblowing actually. So to think that Eve didn’t consider Villanelle being the one who hurt Niko, despite there not being ANY evidence that state that is just... their connection is simply incredible. No matter how many times Villanelle and Eve end up hurting each other, they STILL have this hidden trust within each other that I find extremely fascinating and then Eve gets the photos of Bertha Kruger and of course, that’s what Villanelle was doing while Eve was in Poland coming to visit Niko. I’m glad that there is this alibi in Villanelle’s defense to show that she was doing something else, KILLING someone else at the time and the fact that Eve thought that it was Villanelle who killed her, even if she did it in a “nice” way... is beyond me. There is really no one else who knows and understands Villanelle/Oksana better than Eve. Period. 

Another important aspect that is worth mentioning is the fact that the writers are kind of robbing Eve of screen time and character development. We haven’t seen her much this season and especially during the previous couple of episodes and even in this one it seems like Carolyn got more screen time than she did and Villanelle as well, who JUST had her solo episode, which is kind of unfair. However, I do think Villanelle deserved to have her own episode now since her character is going through such a huge change, meanwhile Eve is going through her thing, but it doesn’t feel like it’s as huge and as extreme as it is for Villanelle. At least that’s what they’re showing us. But yeah, I think season 2 was way more about exploring Eve’s inner darkness than this season, which is more about acceptance of her dark self and her feelings for Villanelle. Let’s just trust the writers and see how they will handle Eve’s character during the next remaining episodes and only then we can actually judge the crew and the lack of screen time Eve received, because really, what I noticed this season is that Suzanne really wanted to show EVERY character and so far she has been sucessful in that for the most part, with one flaw, that is the screen time management and yeah, we shall see how that aspect is handled in the next episodes!

Villanelle & Konstantin

So we got the hockey game scene. I’m glad to know that Konstantin didn’t set Oksana up by sending her to some strangers. One of the highlights of their conversation was Konstantin’s comment about Oksana’s mother who he thought was INSANE rather than evil and was hoping for Oksana to awknowledge it instead of killing her. Guess she didn’t really consider it as an option? But does that mean then that Oksana as just as insane and isn’t aware of it just like Tatiana wasn’t? At the same time we know that Oksana KNOWS there is something wrong with her, at least that’s what everybody else keeps telling her, so I wouldn’t call her insane. At the same time seeing that Konstantin wanted to give this chance for Oksana to get some kind of closure by being with her family and especially her mother does show just how much he cares about her. Until... their conversation shifts. Again.

So apparently Oksana knows about Konstantin’s plan to “get out” and she is suddenly interested in joining him. Now this part of the conversation PAINFULLY reminds me of their last interaction of season 2 finale. Especially the part where Konstantin chooses his family instead of Villanelle, who is ALSO his family, whether he admits it or not. They might not be related by blood, but he IS her father and seeing not only her own mother reject her but her father as well will do things to you. So again, Konstantin leaning towards choosing to leave with Irina and leaving Oksana behind only to promise her that he will come and get her is not enough. He betrayed her several times... he left her at the prison in season 1 even though he “tried” to get her out of it. He betrayed her at the end of season 2 by choosing his family over her, and now... now it feels like ANOTHER betrayal is coming and to be completely honest I don’t think Oksana can handle so much rejection at the moment. Of course, Konstantin can’t just pick Oksana over his own daughter, but it’s wrong to play with her like that. She killed her own mother and left her blood family in order to get back to her REAL family who is Konstantin and Irina and neither of them show enough of determination to bring her along which really saddens me. I mean Oksana went through enough as it is... I’m not sure how she will get through this if Konstantin will leave her again... and I won’t have it either. They better not do it again.

Villanelle & Irina (ft. Konstantin) 

I just love, love, LOOVE these two together. I mean 1x08 is one of the most iconic Killing Eve episodes and they are the biggest reason why. I’ve been waiting for them to get together again and those a couple of scenes they got to spend together didn’t disappoint. I LIVE for their interactions. I mean what can be better than two sisters bonding? Especially when it’s Vasiliev sisters. Them fighting like true siblings do, having fun while both of them having this insanely chaotic driving session and at the same time touching upon going to CUBA as well as finding out Irina’s feelings towards her own mom and her boyfriend, who Villanelle doesn’t see any reason NOT to encourage her to kill him lmao! I mean, first Irina sarcastically calls Villanelle a “real role model” and 15 seconds later she is literally driving over her step-father LOL! I mean... I am SO proud of her. She really did take her sisters advice on this without much of thinking and at the same time I am kind of concerned about her. We all saw Konstantin’s reaction to her driving over the guy and well... that’s not exactly the best thing to do.

In Oksana’s defense, I do think she was trying to be helpful in giving Irina this advice, since we all know that’s how she normally chooses to solve problems. By killing. Plus, I don’t think she actually expected Irina to take her advice either way. Let’s take Tatianas case for example. Yes, it’s a lot different because she was mentally abusing Oksana for years and there was lack of affection and all that, so Tatiana definitely deserved it. In Irina’s case... she’s just “disgusted” of seeing her mom with her boyfriend all the damn time and I don’t think she should’ve killed anyone for that. Besides, she was already preparing to leave with Konstantin so what’s the point? She wouldn’t have to put up with them anymore, yet she did it anyways. And what stands out for me about this is that we see Oksana not wanting to do any of that anymore, no more killing, just wanting to get out of this assassin thing meanwhile Irina just had her first kill. Kind of beautiful in a way, of having one of them ready to quit this way of life while having one of them indirectly influence and push the other into the beginning of such dangerous path. And from the looks of it, Irina didn’t seem to feel bad for driving over her step-father, like AT ALL. So I wouldn’t blame Oksana for the whole thing. Yes, she planted the idea in Irina’s head but it was her who actually did it and didn’t feel bad about it.

This whole dynamic just makes me want to remember the lunch scene in 1x08 where Villanelle asks Irina “Are you a bad person?” “I don’t know yet” well, guess now we are starting to see the person she is becoming and yeah I don’t think any of us saw this coming, that their previous conversation could be a foreshadowing in this way!. I’m VERY glad they decided to bring Yuli back this season since she is one of fan favorites and like I said, the dynamic between Villanelle and Irina is just great!

Konstantin, on the other hand... guy is in serious DEEP shit this season and now having to witness his actual daughter kill someone... yeah, I think having to handle Oksana is complicated enough and she alone manages to drive him mad so now the idea of having TWO mentally unstable daughters... yup, it’s time to do something about this. At the same time I kind of see the parallel between Oksana and Irina and how they could be reflecting one another. Tatiana wasn’t there for Oksana most of the time and didn’t show her any affection, ect. Konstantin is of course not as bad as Tatiana was, but the fact is, is that he is not really there for Irina. She’s not really getting as much of his attention and love as Oksana gets from him since she’s so demanding. So it makes sense for Irina to become more like Oksana, having them both be neglected by their parents in a way.

ALSO!!! Is it just me or is Konstantin the FATHER of the entire show lol?! A lot of people thought that he might be the one who killed Kenny. Now, all out of sudden he might actually be his father?! Yes, the thought did cross my mind but I never expected them to address it in that way. So... based on Carolyn’s forried look and silence that followed afterwards... this is the confirmation? Konstantin is Kenny’s dad then? Or maybe Carolyn isn’t sure of that either? Life is SO much more complicated in Killing Eve, I swear lol! Then there’s the thing with Geraldine... not sure where they are getting with this yet. Feels like we don’t really know anything about Geraldine just yet and really.. so far it just seems like she has daddy issues which could explain her amazing bond with her father and him not being there anymore. (I assume he died). Funny enough, we see Oksana having mommy issues. Yes. It is a thing now. And I’m not very excited to see where Konstantin/Geraldine thing is going... 

Carolyn (ft. Geraldine)

We finally get to see Carolyn uncovering more information about Kenny’s case and actually it brings more questions than answers if you think about it. Kenny calling Konstantin, him possibly being his father, Geraldine kissing Konstantin and so on. This is suuch a mess. 

The long awaited conversation with Geraldine gave us more insight as to why Carolyn is so cold towards her daughter and I get it. Really. What I don’t realy get is the fact that Geraldine decided to not mention Konstantin coming to visit her while insisting her mother to talk about Kenny. If she wants them to be truly open about things and just have a honest conversation, she has to open up about other things as well. That includes Konstantin. And gosh, she better tell the truth in the next episode because I’ve had enough with all the lies. Plus the season is almost over and we hardly know anything about her. Please, Suzanne, don’t let us down on this!

Eve & Dasha

I just love how easily Eve teleported to Barcelona lol! I’ve been also waiting for their face off and it happened. I was expecting something a lot more... crazier, physical, but all they did was basically annoy each other by fighting over VILLANELLE and their importance in her life while having this bowling match. The fact that Eve has NEVER done it before makes the whole winning aspect sooo much more delicious and come on, Eve just HAD to notice how Dasha missed one of her strikes as soon as she mentioned that Niko was still alive. Makes me wonder if its THAT easy for someone to throw Dasha off her game, yet she’s soo narcissistic and so ahead of herself. 

Eve’s trust in Villanelle continues to AMAZE me, like no matter what Dasha told her she STILL denied all of her bullshit as if it was nothing and that is coming from someone who had only met Villanelle a handful of times. This is such a nice parallel to season 2 finale where Carolyn told Eve that Villanelle wouldn’t do the same for her. Not only did Eve figure out who Dasha was and that Villanelle was working for her, but she actually went to Barcelona to confront Dasha like that and call her out without much of hesitation. Again, Dasha mentioned “killing” Eve and that is concerning. There is a reason Carolyn told Eve that Dasha ended up killing one of her own... and that, I feel, is huge foreshadowing for upcoming episodes. Dasha IS the problem and she will cause even more. Honestly, I’m afraid she might do something to Villanelle or Konstantin for that matter. After all, she DID kill one of her own to save her own ass and I bet she can and will try to do it again.

Villanelle/Oksana (ft. Dasha)

To put it lightly, Oksana is a mess. She is going through a LOT. We’ve never seen her this vulnerable and emotional before and she has EVERY reason to feel this way. Now, it is sad that people seem to be struggling to separate Villanelle from Oksana. Like I’ve mentioned in my previous post, this episode was almost 95% Oksana and the rest 5% of her trying her best to look somewhat like her old self mostly at the meeting with Helene and during her next kill. After killing her own mother, she doesn’t see or feel the same way about killing. At least not right now. It’s a lot more difficult for her to turn her emotions off now that they are so intense and she can’t focus clearly. She is becoming sloppy at her job and she doesn’t want to do any of it anymore. Now that I’m thinking about it, we’ve seen more of Villanelle so far than we have of Oksana. The previous two seasons we saw only this confident persona that Oksana has created with several occasions where her real self comes to surface. And this season it’s all about peeling those layers, of slowly peeling away Villanelle and getting to meet Oksana. So, we are sooo used to seeing Villanelle in action, her interact with people that we can’t see her being emotional, let alone crying. It’s not like her. Because it’s NOT her. It’s Oksana and don’t know her enough to know what she is like and what is in character for her. Truth is, she is vulnerable, hurt and in pain. She is going through the death of her mother, the loss of her family, the loss of control and being manipulated (again)  by others in doing something for them. It all was building up and now she can’t escape those feelings anymore and she wants to quit. 

I feel like this time she REALLY means it. She really wants to quit and she is willing to give away EVERYTHING. The apartment, the clothes.. and EVE. The first time I’ve watched the scene I got really concerned and scared... because that means Villanelle is willing to leave Eve like that. At the same time I started to realize that this is sooo much bigger than Eve or them being together. This is Oksana wanting to have a new life... and she wants it so bad, she is willing to leave Eve behind. This, right here.. it called CHARACTER GROWTH and I am soo proud of her for reaching this point, of wanting this life, wanting something for HERSELF even if it means giving away everything she loves. That’s when you know she is being serious about it. So maybe this will turn out to be a good thing... maybe when Eve will notice and find out about this... she will be even more willing to accept her feelings for Oksana and they might end up just running away together because they can and because both of them want for this bullshit to end.

Now, Konstantin told Villanelle to NOT tell anyone about their escape plan. She promised not to do it but then she had a breakdown and ended up telling it to Dasha.Such a BAD move. I mean.. Dasha is the last person she was supposed to tell this to... and I’m sure it will cause major problems. Dasha will get someone killed and I don’t blame Oksana. She’s not in the right state of mind and really, if she haven’t told it to Dasha, we probably wouldn’t have as much action and drama happening in the next remaining episodes. So will see. But I really do hope Dasha will fail at whatever she will try to do.

I’ve probably said it plenty of times but Jodie Comer’s acting STRIKES AGAIN! So many powerful performances delivered each single episode, I am speechless and I really don’t know what else to say. Just see it for yourselves. She deserves another Emmy and more! 

Villaneve screen time

This is not really a part of a specific episode review, but more like me wanting to point something out. It’s been 6 episodes already and we only got ONE Villaneve scene. The bus scene. The kiss scene. Yeah, it was mindblowing and amazing but that’s not enough. And something tells me they might not even meet in next episode.. only see each other at the very end of the episode and that’s on it’s own upsetting... I mean I dare to say, even season 1 had more Villaneve screen time than season 3 has. I’m not even talking about season 2, where literally they spend together half of a season together occasionally meeeting up. This show IS about them and their dynamic and how can we have it if they are not interacting together? I get that this season is more focused on character development and them evolving separatelly, but Villaneve still has to be a thing... and they better give us the entire finale filled with Villaneve quality content or else... after all, they ARE the main plot of the show for me and there’s that. 

Overall Thoughts

Another solid Killing Eve episode. Since they have only 8 episodes, they can allow themselves to make such rich, intense and filled with information/action type of episodes and it shows. There were a couple of weaker episodes, but overall this season is getting stronger with each episode and I am very nervous as I am scared and excited for the remaining two! 

As always guys, if you have any theories or thoughts about this episode, Killing Eve in general or anything else, feel free to jump in my ask box or message me directly, I’d love to chat!!

[aphspain-pure]

Spanish Gold in Moscow

@hetaliamondaychallenge September 28: “Chaos isn’t meant to be understood”. 

Category: Fanfic. 

Pair: RusSpa (Russia x Spain).

Words: 2.073.

Genre: Historical, Drama, angst, shounen-ai. 

Note(s): During the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) the Sencond Spanish Republic was completely ignored by Europe, while the fascist that had rebealed were helped by some militar forces. Spain was basically used as a test game of the military armament and strategy before the 2WW. The only country that gave real help to the Republic was the USSR. To finance the war, the government spent all the Spanish gold. 

1938

With an absolute ill look in his face, Spain, who still liked to considerate himself as the Second Spanish Republic, moved his gaze to the door that opened a few seconds before.

Nations could perceive other nations in a certain rate, so he wasn’t really surprised when the other entered the room; he had sensed him from far away, knowing he was leading to his position. Weary eyes without the so-called typical Spanish shine looked at the other, a little smile crossing his feverish face.

- Buenos días, Rusia.

Right in front of him, heavy, enormous and clearly powerful, the actual leader of the giant Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, Russia, stared back at him with his famous sweet smile. Spain didn’t have known him till a pair of centuries ago, but he knew about this certain characteristic even before personally meeting him. He heard from France, England, Prussia, Austria and even Denmark about this “gentle look monster” that was so big and terrifying in the east.

Anyway, Spain didn’t have really hated this guy even once; he was actually grateful for his performance during the Napoleonic wars, though. If it wouldn’t have been for the Russian forces, France’s troops wouldn’t have retired from his vital territory and he wouldn’t have regained his independence. He sighed, trying to get rid of the thoughts of the past.

He was now, currently, going to lose his independence against his own people, in the middle of the worst civil war he had ever have –and Spain was certainly a country that had endured quite some civil wars-.

A strong ache tortured his mind while he suffered a new wave of deaths. Every time his people died, his body would burn and a painful sensation split him in two. They were dying at that very moment, out there, in the valley of the Ebro, killing each other in a battle that had been going on for months. He nearly cried, but couldn’t afford doing it in front of the power that was standing over there, staring at him with a complicated look in his eyes.

After a few moments, Russia, still smiling even if Spain’s looks were terrible, spoke with a calmed voice. – How are your wounds? –he had asked.

A quick smile was formed in the Spaniard’s mouth, quite ironic.

- Well, my right arm has grown up again, so I can’t complain.

Russia stared at the renewed arm, where a few days ago only a stump could have been appreciated. They, nations, received wounds just like humans but their bodies weren’t actually the same. If they were cut, they would recover; if they lost blood, after resting for a while they’d be up again; if they were burn till ashes, they would start to be reborn just like a Fenix. If they were killed, they wouldn’t die.

Only another nation could kill one.

Even if Spain had lately started to question if a nation could kill itself, just like how he was feeling during these days in which he thought he was actually going to be destroyed by his own people.

Russia’s hand reached him and touched his back. He jumped for a moment, sored. He then relaxed, looking far away and not giving attention to the hands that touched his still bleeding injuries. 

When a certain happening was so bad, so traumatic, that it gave the nations nearly-coma state, the injuries would still remain bleeding some time. Sometimes it lasted days, sometimes centuries. Those were produced by the bombing, the Biltz, in Guernica, and they still bleed after a year.

He trembled, just by remembering it. The hand in his back made him shiver in pain, but it was the most comforting thing he could afford to have those days, so he didn’t say anything.

Then, he gained composure and faced the other.  - What are you doin’ here, anyway? I thought you were going back at your place for some bureaucracy stuff.

Russia remained silent.

That silence made Spain worry.

He didn’t hate Russia at all. He was nice to him, and every time they had met he could only see a true innocence behind the brute and scary dude everyone saw. He liked him quite a bit, and he lately, during his few peaceful years with a Republic, found out that he was such an intelligent and interesting chat partner. Thanks to the leftist ideology of his government the relations with the Soviet Union had been pretty good, so they had become nearly friends at this point.

He even had became the only nation helping him in this suicidal situation.

During civil wars Spain, normally, stayed apart and watched his people decide his fate. He disliked choosing between his beloved people, so que stayed aside.

This time, he couldn’t.

He had seen what happened with Italy after the Great War. The fascism grow up and ate Ita-chan and Romano completely. The brutality that came with it made Spain shiver from his position in the neighbour peninsula. He didn’t recognise his cute Italian brothers with those black shirts and that dark look in their face. Then it expanded to Germany and developed into the National Socialism, which happened to be even worse. A virus was expanding all over Europe and even reached his brother, Portugal.

Spain could have seen it coming. He even spoke with a few general of the army and old requetés, he tried to create a flexible government just to evade the incoming clash. But it was all in vain.

The military coup happened, and while it wasn’t effective, war broke out.

It may be pathetic coming from a country that used to be a world power but, this time, Spain feared his people. That’s why he stayed with the republicans. That’s why he suddenly started dying from the insides.

And while Spain was in that desperate situation, Europe didn’t mind at all and, trying to avoid a Second World War, signed a No Intervention Pact in which 27 countries swore not to intervene in his civil war. That had broken Spain’s heart, who found himself suddenly isolated and left apart, left to die alone. It was even worse when, even if knowing it, the United Kingdom looked away while the Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy broke that pact and helped the rebels. He couldn’t believe England’s coward attitude.

But it was kinda worst when he watched his closest friends actually attack him, help the fascist rebels.

First, the Italian brothers; then, Germany, Austria and Prussia under the name of the Third Reich. Portugal also attacked the Republic by sending his Viriatos and even the American self-proclaimed Hero’s Ford Company sent help to destroy him. All his old friends were against him. He, on the other hand, only received some fusils from Mexico and a few airplanes from a very scared France, who refused to send more help. The only one who lent him it’s power was the Soviet Union, or preferably Russia.

He still remembered when he had met Romano in the site of Toledo. Romano had been excited, he spoke about autarchy, about having a great colonial empire, and about things such as war being the way through the future. His golden eyes sparkled when he had, for the first time in centuries, hugged Spain.

If you join us I promise we’ll bring this to an end.  –he had whispered, while speaking about how great it was being a fascist country.

He had been then, suddenly, pulled apart by a giant body that happened to be his ally, Russia, who looked at Romano with electric violet cruel eyes. Spain could have said something to stop a conflict, but, when he looked at Roma, he couldn’t longer see his cute tomato-like crybaby. In the past Romano would have cried and call him to save him but, then, he held his gaze prideful, strong and dangerous in front of the terrible Russia.

A bombing had made them react and, when he came to himself, he was with the International Brigades heading to Madrid.

Remembering all of that made him feel sick and hided half of his face while looking at the floor with a tired smile.  

He suddenly had an urge to vomit, but he managed to stay calm and recover a moment later. – Sorry, I beg you excuse me. My house is total chaos now, no, wait… EUROPE is a total chaos now, haha…! I don’t understand how or why, but it makes me think things a way too much.

- Chaos isn’t meant to be understood.

That statement made Spain stay quiet and, then, he looked with his nearly dead green eyes at the other.

- I’m going to ask again, Russia. –he said, this time, cautious-. Why are you here?  

- You haven’t paid me to help you lately.

And if he had frozen before, this time Spain had lost all the blood of his veins.

He started sweating. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t.

- Y-yeah, I-I know… It’s just that all the gold that I’ve been keeping in my reserves has been already taken to Moscow, so I-I…

Russia’s voice was sweet but cold as ice. – You’re not going to pay for my services.

The Spaniard’s eyes opened at his full.

- No! Don’t even think ‘bout that! I’ll pay, I swear it! It’s just that, right now, my people are starving, we don’t have armament and the industry it’s all stopped. I can’t now but, when we win, I’ll return what I owe! A-and I’ll even make it double…! I’ll work hard, I swear. But, now, with all my old gold gone, I…

- So you’re not paying.

The calmed voice made Spain feel like if he were to hyperventilate. He felt like crashing. Like glass about to break.

- I’m not. –he confirmed then.

The taller man stood up, and Spain followed him, clearly desperate.

- Y-you can’t leave me, Russia! If I don’t have your help I’m lost! –after hearing those words the Slavic turned around and faced him, with his so-typical smile in his face.

- So you’ll pay me?

The brunette looked away, clearly ashamed. – I have… nothing to pay you with. B-but I promise..!

- Нет. You can pay me. –response that took an ¿hah..? out of Spain. Russia laughed in a calmed way and then, explained. – Even if you don’t have anything you still possess your body, da?

And Spain’s eyes darkened.

Ah, true. Nation prostitution.

It had been a while.

It used to be so common in the past that he didn’t know why he felt so surprised when Russia suggested it. It may have been ‘cause Russia is fairly younger than himself, or ‘cause the times have changed. He had been so accustomed to it even when he was a child that it wasn’t so much of a surprise finding out that some new power wanted to take advantage of his position to appeal to this. Spain could easily remember when he was forced to be Rome’s or the Islamic Empire’s sex-boy, or even Turkey’s or France’s. Well, he had also been like that with some nations; but, well, let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and he was also a sinner after all.  

He looked back at Russia and sighed. – Is this old damaged body worth all the gold I could have had afford to pay you weeks before? –and Russia’s aura became surprisingly pink, just like a happy kid’s.

- And much more! I’m happy so I’ll help you.

And leaned forward to kiss Spain’s forehead. Spain rised an eyebrow, but let him be, anyway. He needed help and Russia was eager to help him only receiving some affectionate touches here and there in return. There were worst things he could have had to do.

Another wave of pain drove him crazy sored and let himself drown in the straw bed he had been using before. He took a deep breath. 

Then, when the fever started to be stable again, spoke directly to Russia.

- Well, then, how about a quickie? I have to go back to the battlefield in 30 minutes and I think I could come back quite worse than now, ha ha. –he had laughed, with his shiny –and now tiny- smile.

Russia smiled back, getting rid of his Soviet general military hat while getting closer to the sun-burned skinned nation. He sat, and grabbed the other’s cheeks with a gloved strong hand. That tranquil smile crossed his happy face.

- Let me tell you this is going to be a payment in instalments.

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (3/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack in Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 2020. Square filled: “Bucky’s Safehouse”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of wounds and accidents. A couple of uses of the word “shit”.

A/N: This chapter’s a little slower, but bear with me (and my terrible dialogue writing).

She’s pacing. Has been for half an hour, fists clenched at her sides as she tries her darnedest to wear a hole into the shaggy rug in front of the sofa he’s sitting on. All the windows are shut and bolted, every curtain drawn, midday light filtering feebly into the room just enough that none of them crash into furniture when making their way around the small space. Not that there’s much furniture to speak of: a small, handmade table in the corner that also houses the kitchenette, a sofa, and a bed against the wall opposite to where he is seated.

His knee bounces up and down, so fast it’s almost vibrating, and he clenches his gloved, metal hand around it to make it stop. Getting worked up isn’t going to get either of them anywhere, or so he tells himself, trying to work up the courage to say the same to her. Anything to make her quit pacing, because her movement is making his head spin. Her shock seems to have faded away, but his body is starting to catch up to the crash, a pounding headache settling in his skull. 

It had taken almost an hour to get here, and he’s now just as eager to leave as he was to arrive. They’re sitting ducks. Safer, sitting ducks, relatively speaking, but easy targets nonetheless, and they need to keep moving. The repercussions of the car crash, still aching in their rattled bodies, make that impossible, for the time being. 

After pinching the bridge of his nose, he reopens his eyes to find her staring at him with unabashed concern. An impatient tap to her toe, and he wonders if she’s waiting for something, or worse, someone.

Following his gaze to her feet, she immediately stops. Drags a chair from the dining table to sit down on it heavily, hands on her knees, the turmoil evident in the depths of his eyes such a contrast to the shield that has glazed his own over, no emotions escaping for her to interpret and misuse. Opening her mouth, she seems to think better of whatever she was about to say, and she shuts it again, pressing her lips together tightly. Bucky thinks that if she is a spy, she’s shit at hiding her emotions. He can read her like a book, he just doesn’t know what to make of what is written on the pages of her behavior.

“How long do you think we can stay?” She asks eventually, nervously, a tremor in the rapid breath she exhaled her question in, the content of it echoing his own thoughts from moments prior. 

“Not long. Rest tonight, but we should pack up some of the supplies here and leave early tomorrow.” He says, folding his hands together, rubbing at his knuckles harshly. They still smell of antiseptic.

His wound has healed completely, and hers are bleeding less, so he’d wager that there is little to be concerned about in the way of physical repercussions of the accident, but they’ll need their strength. Apparently, she agrees, nodding towards the bed as she gets up. “I’ll take first watch,” she says, and Bucky stands, watches her retrieve her map from her bag, unfolding it apparently to do some planning, before going to the bed. If she wanted to have him killed, he’d be dead already, he tells himself, turning to the wall, trying to relax in the presence of another person for the first time in his memory. 

---

He’s awoken by the scent of hot chocolate filling the cabin, its sweet, heavy scent covering everything in a damp layer of soft goodness so rich he’s dizzy by it. Sitting up, he can see her standing by the small stove in the kitchenette in the corner, stirring the concoction that is intoxicating his every sense. He can’t remember the last time he tasted chocolate, but the joy that comes with it is an association even he would be hard-pressed to forget. 

The domesticity of the scene, misplaced as it is with him having slept with his boots on, and her backpack ready and waiting by the door, strikes him with an unfamiliar pang in his chest. Even by moonlight, with her face turned away from him, her presence is magnetic. Shaking these impractical feelings out of himself, he gets up to go to the bathroom.

When he emerges, she’s sat at the small table. Rather, on the table, as there is only one chair, which she has graciously left for him, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of his spot. She watches him cautiously, eyes boring into his with a curious intensity, and that wit that indicates that she’s too clever to get relaxed around. The sleep did him good, and he tells himself he’s ready for whatever the rest of the night holds for him. 

“I’ve been looking at some possible routes, and I thought we could discuss what to do next,” she tells him, tracing the rim of her mug with the casualness of discussing the weather. After having seen her take the first sip, he drinks his, too, relishing the hotness pouring over his tongue and down his throat.

On the table is an outspread map and an open notebook, that he rises from his seat to look at more closely. Lines in blue ballpoints have been traced outwards from there location and there’s a red line -- in marker -- from Bulgaria, to Turkey, to-- “You want to go south,” he notes, following this highlighted route through the Arabian Sea and to the eastern coast of--

“Africa,” is her answer, and it’s all he can do to only raise an eyebrow in surprise, rather than let his jaw drop the way he wants to. She sighs. “Look, I considered Russia first,” -- he did, too, for the guarantee of not being extradited -- “but that’s where they’ll expect us to go and they’re monitoring the situation north too closely--”

“How do you know that?” He cuts in, standing up straighter now. Ordinarily, survival instincts and awareness such as hers would be a great tool, but it’s the source of said awareness that worries him. She’s a farmer, not a soldier, not a spy, so why is she so good at running away?

Deflection is a response that does not work with him, but he watches her make an attempt at it anyways. “It’s what I would do if I was them.” Impressive, her layman’s response, but Bucky isn’t fooled. 

He's staring her down, piercing gaze interrupted by a strand of hair that falls in front of his face. Somehow darker than the blackout curtains behind him. Pushing it back impatiently, he waits, still. Hopes for an explanation, something to alleviate even an iota of the anxiety that vibrates in his skin when he’s around her, his epidermis tingling with something he doesn’t understand. 

Surprised to find not only frustration and stubbornness in the blue of his ocean-irises, but also desperation and fear, she falters. “I’m not a farmer,” she says, as if Bucky doesn’t know that already. However, he is taken aback by her ability to voice his thoughts exactly; she can extract them from the depths of his broken mind and put them into the world. Her words are suspended in the air like dust particles in sunlight, a state of stalemate, between the light and the dark, words that neither of them are sure what to make of. So the memory of humor, embedded into the muscle of his tongue makes its appearance, inopportunely. 

“Yeah, no shit, sweetheart.” She laughs. Well, she starts to laugh, and is only able to stifle the sound into a short giggle that is as sweet in his ears as the hot chocolate starting to go cold on the table next to him. At his bemused gaze that comes across as confused, she loses it. Closes her eyes and shakes her head, hand -- with deep purple nail polish starting to peel off -- desperately pressed over her mouth to stop.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, regaining her breath, eyes shimmering. “I know it’s not funny, it’s just--” A sigh, and another exhale of a laugh. “This situation is just ridiculous, and I can’t tell you who I am, not yet, but I will.” Her tone turns serious, voice lowering now to convey sincerity, and Bucky watches her pick at the skin around her nails. A nervous habit, something to look at besides him and his questions. “I promise, I will.”

“You know that’s not good enough,” he answers, watching her raise her eyes to him, seconds, minutes, what feels like hours, after she’s spoken. “Give me a reason to trust you.”

“I don’t know if I can, James.”

“Try.” Try like your life depends on it, because it just might.

“I can tell you I’m a journalist.” Bucky wants to tell her that that doesn’t make him want to trust her any more. Reporters are just as dangerous to him as the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre that is surely still on their tail. “I was injured while working in the field last year and decided to go on sabbatical, to take some time for myself. Starting staying in Romania with my grandfather, who owns the plum farm I was selling for,” she says. “I recognized you the moment I saw you, but I didn’t feel the need to report you, and when the attack happened, I knew you had to leave, and I could help.”

It’s quite the story, he’ll admit, and he believes part of it. But there are a lot of moving pieces to this puzzle that she is, and he doesn’t have time to put it all together. For now, he has enough to stay. To follow and hope for a good thing, for the first time he can remember. She picks up on his hesitation, which colors the air in spite of the efforts he has been making -- and is tired of making -- and attempts to talk straight through his tensions.

"I'm sorry. I really am. The person who killed all those people at the UN is still out there, and he's trying to get away with it by framing you. If they catch you, he wins. We need to get you somewhere that can't happen, so we can work on finding him." When she speaks again, it's a low whisper, and he can tell that she regrets it. Hates that she sounds like a poacher trying to entrap its prey, when in fact, her purpose is quite the opposite. She's trying to keep him away from the poachers. Little does she know that he's shocked. Frozen again, for a different reason. He thinks this is the first time he's heard compassion. It's petal-soft and hits him in the gut. He reels from the impact of the honey-slow drip of her voice flowing through his ears. Gentle throughout their journey thus far, it is now vulnerable. And that's new. 

She breaks him out of his reverie with a murmur of his first name, and that’s when he realizes he never asked for hers. Winter Soldier though he may have been, he’s losing his touch. Maybe he does need a partner to get him out of this mess, this time. If that’s what she is, and the jury’s still out on that one. “Why do you care so much?” Bucky asks, watching her closely.

“I can’t help it. I just can’t watch them take you away,” she answers, and oh, how Bucky wishes he could believe her, and that honest-to-goodness smile, although now she seems to be neither. How he wishes the world was as black-and-white as she’s making it appear, that the swirling enigma he has been sucked into would stop, just long enough for him to see the clear picture, but alas. His world is a carousel, where the circus music is loud, blaring sirens, that she leaps to her feet at the sound of, and that has him reaching for his backpack.

[yeaahishowedupatyourparty]

@.JaneyPowellx: Thank you for the overwhelming feedback on chapters 1 to 3. I’m so glad that everybody has understood why I’ve decided to do this; not to romanticise or sensationalise my experience, but to raise awareness and give answers that I’ve never been able to verbalise.  I want to say again that if you choose not to follow this story, it doesn’t make you any less of a fan. In this book are experiences humans aren’t supposed to endure or witness, but unfortunately do. 

In the first instalment of this story, I gave you the build up to my abduction from my perspective. The purpose was so that you could see all of the mistakes I made, and all of the red flags I missed, and avoid making them yourself - or help somebody who you see in the same state of mind. In these next chapters, I’ll be talking about what actually happened while I was away.

So many people have told me that I don’t have to talk about it and that what happened while I was out there doesn’t have to be relived. But, I do understand the curiosity that coincides with stories like this. Most of us will never go through it but it’s something every single person fears to some extent. 

If you’ve read this far, thank you. 

Janey x 

TW: abduction, assault, murder

//OOC: This isn’t a full on story, just the outline! I think it’s taken her ages but she’d definitely record like a diary-styled retell of everything that happened to her involving the abduction that happened when she was 15. It’d be super cheap and available in stores AND online but all the profit would be go to appropriate foundations.

CHAPTER FOUR: MOVING DAY 

Janey would recall how she remembers falling asleep on the floor of the flat she’d been staying in and seeing the time on the microwave say 22:32 (10:32) on the last day of August. She was woken up abruptly at 03:00 by the men who were keeping her there. She was told to stay quiet and wait by the door. The boyfriend of her best friend dressed her in one of his hoodies and told her to keep her head down. She’d explain how she knew they were leaving because the police were getting way too close, but she also felt hopeful. If just one person caught her face while they left the tower block, she’d be safe. However, they didn’t take her out of the main exit but the fire exit, into a car that was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Janey would explain that she remembers running her fingers through the ends of her hair and trying to leave some on the stairs in a desperate last hope that someone might detect DNA. That was never the case as far as she knows.

She’d explain how she was put into the back of a seven-seater car and she had no idea where she was going, but knew they were moving out of the city because of how dark it got and the lack of buildings/street lights. She remembers thinking they might be going back to the Springs and if they were, she could make a run for it, but that never happened. They stopped off at a motel and picked up two other girls and a guy. The girls were also put into the back of the car and Janey remembers them looking terrified but never saying anything to her.  After more hours of driving and several stops at convenience stores and to get petrol, they ended up at a ferry port in Kent. All three girls were told to get into cases; which they did; and lay low. Again, Janey was almost certain they’d be found...but they weren’t. They were on a ferry and were kept int he car for another two days while the guys drove from France to where she now realises was The Netherlands and more specifically Amsterdam. 

The two girls Janey had been travelling with were dropped off with the guy and her friend’s boyfriend on the cusp of some city. The boyfriend’s friend and Janey were left in the car and she was allowed to ride up front. She remembers having to beg to use the rest room and get some food from a cafe. He let her and she’d explain how she tried to get a woman’s attention once she was in the bathroom, but there was a language barrier and the woman seemed almost scared of her.

The chapter would end with Janey arriving at a small house in Volendam. She would see out the rest of the year there and for the most part, she had a lot of her privileges back. She was allowed to venture out as long as she stayed close to the house. Most nights, guys would arrive and continue to sleep with her and she quickly realised this is what it was. As long as she didn’t draw attention to herself or kick up a huge fuss, she would be kept alive because she made good business. It didn’t make it any easier though; she was lonely and depressed and just wanted to go home. She didn’t speak the language and hadn’t seen anymore reports about her case since August. She felt forgotten and lost.

CHAPTER FIVE: WHERE DID SHE GO? 

Janey would explain how sneaky and subtle her traffickers were. They’d let her be in public and hide her in plain sight to not seem suspicious. She’d speak about how they went back to France briefly in the Spring of the following year and she was excited to see a brief broadcast of her case. But, she’d also recall how there were a lot of instances where she could have been rescued but she was scared - if something went wrong and she ended up having to stay with her capture, they could punish her for trying to speak. She’d mention how she was once approached by an English couple in Paris and just as she went to speak, the guy came out of the bathroom and took her away. It messed with her mind so she just focused on staying alive, rather than escaping. 

Janey would talk about how for the majority of her years away, she was moved around Europe; specifically Croatia, Bulgaria, Poland and Russia. She’d explain that how some nights were worse than others but now she’s writing about them, she can’t pinpoint one. The majority of her time away is a blur and she’s sure she’s blocked them out on a subconscious level for her own well-being.

Janey would specifically talk about her last year of being in these people’s possession. It was a summer night in Russia and she was staying in an apartment in Moscow; somewhere where she seemed to get a lot of clients. At this point, she was living in a tiny room with five other girls who more or less did the same thing; she was nineteen. They were taken to a party which wasn’t out of character; there was alcohol, drugs etc. But, this particular party got raided. Janey decided to run while everybody was distracted by the police showing up.  She didn’t get far and one of the guys caught up with her in his car. She’d talk about how she remembers breaking down and remembers asking him why her? But, he’d always say why not.

She’d explain how being upset would earn abuse because it drew attention to them. She’d talk about how it was the worst night in the four years of being away and she cried herself to sleep in the apartment. Before falling asleep, she remembers hearing the friend and her friend’s boyfriend discussing going back to London because of how they’d raised a lot of suspicion in other countries. That’s when she decided she’d try one more time to get away. 

CHAPTER SIX: THE COTSWOLDS 

January 2020 - Janey would describe how she arrived back in London via flying and fake passports. She’d given up hope of anybody recognising her but was heartbroken when they went past so many officers and security workers with nobody recognising her or any of the men she was with. But, the relief of being back home, in the country where her family and friends were, brought her some sort of comfort. They had to wait at the airport to be picked up by another friend and Janey woud describe remembering how she’d been at Violet Springs airport so many times with her family and distracted herself by thinking about times she, Annabel and Harvey would run excitedly around airports or be falling asleep in the back of cars.  She also spent time watching one family with two little girls returning from a holiday; both being carried by their Dad. She figured that once upon a time, somebody had probably seen her too and never would’ve guessed where she’d end up. Who would?

Once they were picked up, she had the agony of driving through Violet Springs; past her old school, the downtown shops, the lake, even a friends house. She remembered how she always said she’d run if she got taken back home, but she didn’t. She was too weak, tired and felt like at this point, it was her fate to just stay put.  Plus, she’d probably be putting others in danger if she tried to reach out. Once they got to St Judes, she remembers seeing a group of kids walking home from a night out and she briefly wondered if any of them still thought about her. 

They drove out of Violet Springs and into a house in the Cotswolds (the countryside beyond VS, I think?). At this point, it was less about being paid to sleep with people and just being held captive because they couldn’t let her go. The guys were still abusing her but she’d become numb to it. She rarely saw anybody else and was never let outside. The only time she would leave was when the men wanted to go to the pub that they apparently owned. They’d take her through the back and leave her with in the storage room while they enjoyed themselves. 

Janey would speak about how one day, just before her 20th birthday, one of the guys brought her into the living room. They sat her down and told her to put on dark clothes. They explained they weren’t going to be a part of the ring anymore but still couldn’t let her go because she knew too much about them. Janey, at that point, swore she wouldn’t and begged them to let her go to no avail. They told her that it’d be her last night with them; they had to visit a few friends in London; but then she’d have to die. She was instructed to wait in the house until they got home from London. She was locked in the upstairs bedroom. 

Janey would admit how weirdly, it was the least scared she’d ever be. There were two endings for her now; to escape and somehow get home or to have her life ended & escape the mind games and torture she’d be living in.  She’d explain how she waited for an hour until she was sure they were gone and then started trying to escape. Her first thought was to kick open the door, which she did, but then everything else was locked and she couldn’t get out. So, the next thing she did was smash a window and climb out. She cut her leg on the way out but wasn’t about to stop to check it out. She’d explain how she ran faster than she ever had even though she was weak and hadn’t eaten in a while. She ran all the way to the nearest train station and jumped he barriers, she didn’t once look back and got on to the nearest train heading to Downtown Violet Springs. She wasn’t sure if she was going to actually get off there or hide out somewhere else, but she knew she had to get away from the house. 

[mmimagine-40]

Wpam

Reader x Avengers   

KTO TbI? - Who are you

Peter sighed looking around the jet bored. They have been on the jet for a few hours and still have a few more till they reach their destination in Italy. Having to chase after a congressman that they think is working with Hydra or someone ,Peter wasn’t really listening in debriefing. They got tipped off that this guy and some other businessmen in the US are working with people about some type of atomic bomb. So him , Steve , Tony, Nat, Bucky , Sam , and Y/n are all going.  Peter was excited after not being about to go on missions for a while. But right now he’s bored out of his mind and can’t fall asleep. He looked around the jet and saw almost everyone was asleep. Laughing a bit at the fact that Sam and Bucky are passed out leaning on each other. He could hear the hush voices of Tony and Steve talking in the cockpit. Not understand why they don’t just shut the door to talk. His eyes then land on Y/n. She sat across him and nat reading, or that’s what he thinks. She's holding a book and her head is pointed down. But with her face covered it’s hard to tell. He thinks back to the year she has been with them, she never once was seen without her face cover. Sam told him she also always wears it when they meet her. But Pete wasn’t there for that so he doesn’t know much about it.

Year or so ago

Nat and Steve rush to the jet as people shoot at them. Tony and Sam were already there waiting for them. Tony had the jet ready so as soon as Steve and Nat stepped on he could take off. As soon as they jumped on Sam was yelling at Tony to go as he closed the door. “Everyone okay?”, tony asked from the cockpit. Both Sam and Steve say yes, But nAt yell out No clutching her thigh. As she jumped into the jet she was hit. Sam and Steve rushed over to look at her. Tony joined putting the jet on autopilot. “What happened?”. “I was shot jumping in. The bullet is lodged in my thigh.”, Nat says through clenched teeth. As Sam and Steve start to help her, an alarming noise from the cockpit brings Tony going back. “Guys! We have a problem!”, Tony yells as he takes over controls again. “What is it?”, Steve rushes to see the radar. There were two plans following them. Then the plain started shaking as the two plains started shooting at them. “What the hell is going on?”, Sam yells. “We have company! You two hold on it’s going to be very bumpy! You want me to take over Tony?”, Tony nods as they quickly switch so Steve can fly. Tony starts taping on a tablet looking through security stuff and sending shots their way as well. “Huh Steve?! They have a missile!”. “Damn! I won’t be able to out fly it and If we send one it won’t end well for us.”, Steve yells trying to think of something. “Shit it’s coming! Let's go, the cabin is strong and will have a better safety chance.”, Tony turns on auto pilot and grapes Steve rushing to the medical cabin with Sam and Nat. “Hold on!”, Steve yells just before the missile hit the jet, sending them tumbling down. The A.I of the jet Shut down the medical cabinet as the rest of the jet starts falling apart. Tony seals up his suit, as Steve holds Nat close using the shield to help protect her from anything that flies as they drop. Tony was right the cabin didn’t destroy fully as they hit the ground. The sides were crushed in some and the doors were crushed which meant that all electricity was cut off and destroyed to open the doors. Steve looked around after a bit of coming back to it. The crash knocked all three of them out. He moves around them to the crush door and starts to bang against it trying to get it open. But it wouldn’t bulge. Using his shield he finally got the door to slightly crack. Steve was able to shove his fingers through and push the door open enough to get out. He then drag each of them out laying them out of the ground away from the crash. They were supported by the pieces of jet on fire. In a snow forest area that looked to be surrounded by mountains. As Steve looks around he is meet with a blade to his neck. He looks up see someone standing on the other end of the blade but can’t really make them out. They wear dark jeans and a bag sweater type shirt. With a thick winter coat over it. They had gloves on their hands and a wrap that covered their face. “KTO TbI?”, they say. “I’m sorry I don’t understand what your saying.”, Steve says dropping his shield and holding his hands up. Showing the person he was no harm. The person tilted their head then looked down where his mask laid. “Captain America?”, They lower the sword but not fully putting it away. Not moving Steve nods. “Please help me. We were shot down out of the sky. I’m fine but my friends are knocked out. One has a bullet wound and needs medical help the other I’m not sure but the crash knocked them out.”. He points his head to the three body’s. The person looks them over and then at him. Seeing that the others were the famous Iron man , blackwidow, and the falcon. People they only heard about and saw glimpses of when having to go to town. They put the samurai away. “Y/n.”, A female voice says sticking her hand out to help Steve up. He smiles at her taking her hand. “Are you able to open his suit? He will most likely be easier to wake up and not have a concussion.”, Y/n says pointing to Tony as she looks over the other two. Steve works on getting the suit open , as Y/n looks over Nat’s injury. She takes her jacket off putting around the female as most of her suit is torn. She then checks over the next guy. Sam, as Steve told her. Y/n tries waking him up but he’s completely out and has a concussion. “Tony?”, Y/n turns to see Steve got his suit open and is shaking the man. She steps over to them checking him out. “He’s lucky, No concussion or brain damage. I have an idea to wake him up but you might want to back up.”, She says standing up. Grabbing the small bottle from her jacket , she pours the water on his face. Steve and Her stand back as Tony jumps up to the cold water hitting his face. “What the hell?! Where am i? What’s going on?”, He screams looking around till his eye’s land on Steve. “Sorry Tony. We had to get you up to make sure you're okay.”. Tony just nods looking around at the jet that’s on fire. “ It’s cold out here and it’s about to get colder as the sun goes down. We should really get them inside and warmed up. Especially her with the blood loss and the cold weather , it’s dangerous to keep her out here any longer. My cabin isn’t too far from here.”, Y/n says turning back to the other two , still passed out, avengers. “Wait, who are you?”, Tony asks, finally noting the person in all dark clothes standing next to Steve. “Tony this is Y/n. She’s helping us.” Steve says turning to Y/n thinking the best way to carry the two. “I’ll grab Sam. Tony got Nat.”. Deciding now isn’t the time to be asking questions he just nods. Y/n helps him pick Nat up making sure her wound isn’t touched and wrapped up. She then leads them away from the crash into the forest. It was about a 15 min walk to her cabin. From the outside it looks like a very old abandoned cabin. But inside was nice and warm and nicely furnished. Also somewhat modern. She had electricity. Lights , fridge, stove top, modern bathroom. A modern Cabin which you wouldn’t expect all the way out here. The only thing she didn’t have was tv or phone or anything like that. “ You can take him upstairs the room on the right. He’s most likely going to be out for a while. Her , set her on the table. We need to get that bullet out and sewn up.”, she tells them as she cleans off the table. Tony carefully sets Nat down and starts taking his suit off and reaches the Avengers Tower. Y/n rushed finding her first aid kit and getting some hot water. Once Steve gets back down stairs he helps her cut away Nats suit at her leg. He just watches as Y/n cleans the wound and starts to dig out the bullet.  Y/n worked quick as she got the bullet out and cleaned the wound out and put some medicine in it. Making sure no infection grows. She then sews up the hole and wraps it up. “Done. You can take her right down that hallway. Make sure you wrap her up in the blankets. I’m gonna go check up on the other one.”, Y/n tells Steve pointing down the hallway next to the stairs before grabbing a few things and rushing up the stairs. As she disappears upstairs , Steve walks out of the room to tony. “Are you able to get a hold of anyone?”. “No , the crash damaged the suit. The A.I is responding to the suit but not to anything else. But I think I can fix it from some parts from the jet and an internet connection.”, Tony says. “What’s up with this woman , by the way?”. “Y/n? What about her?”, Steve asks watching as Tony takes part in his suit. “You don’t think it’s weird that this person, in the middle of nowhere and who speaks perfect English, is just willing to help us and bring us to her house?”, Tony asks. “Actually I had your captain at the end of a blade before he asked for help. Also if you must know I’m actually from America original and know who the Avengers are.” Y/n says coming down stairs and joining them at the island in the kitchen/ dining area. Steve laughs as Tony lets out a sorry. “Are you able to contact for help or is there anything you need?”, she says looking over everything. “Just a few things I think I can recover from the Jet and you don’t happen to have an internet connection do you?”. “No, and the closest town doesn’t have anywhere with the best connection. Your best bet is to travel about 10 miles northwest there is a small hydra base on the border in Russia.”. “Russia? We aren’t in Russia?”Steve asked. Y/n Shakes her head , “No this is Kazakhstan. Like I said my cabin is about 10-20 miles from the border of Russia.”. Steve nods thinking of a plan, “Okay why don’t we rest tonight , get what you need tomorrow tony. Then figure out from there.”. They all nod agreeing. “If you move your stuff to the table I’ll make us something to eat.”, Y/n says, starting to pull things out of her fridge. 

After dinner Tony kept working, stopping every now and again to sleep. But only to sleep for a bit before waking up and working again. Steve and Y/n take turns sleeping and checking up on Sam and Nat. Around 3 am Nat woke up as Y/n was checking her bandage. Seeing this person with their face covered Nat tried jumping up but found her not able to use her body till Y/n calmed her down and told her what was going on and even got Steve in the room. Sam didn’t wake up till 7 am and walked downstairs , oh high alert, to Tony Steve , Nat and someone else sitting at a table eating breakfast. Y/n introduced herself while handing him some meds saying they will help with his head. He then sat down to eat as they let him know what’s going on. Tony couldn’t help as his eye’s kept going to Y/n. She kept the wrap on around her face and to eat she lifted the bottom. But making sure none of her face showed. But What Tony didn’t know was that Y/n was looking at him too and knew what he was thinking. Feeling uncomfortable she puts the fork down and pushes her plate away.  After breakfast Y/n got Nat some clothes to wear and dug out some old clothes of her fathers for boys. Mainly pulling out winter clothes. They then all headed out to the site of the crash. “Are you sure you're going to be okay to go?”, Y/n asked Nat. “Yeah this is nothing. Pulse the meds are helping keep the pain down. Just can’t walk fast.”. Y/n just nodded and decided to stay with her just in case. Up a head a bite Sam , Steve and Tony were whispering to each other. “Are we sure we can trust this girl?”, Sam has taken a quick glance back to Y/n and Nat. “I mean if she wants to hurt us or anything she would have. I mean she had me at the end of a blade and all of you were knocked out. If she didn’t help there's no telling what would have happened to you or Nat.”, Steve says to Sam. “I mean she knows where a Hydra base is and knows that it’s easy to hack into.”, Tony cuts in. “Why don’t you ask her? And if you two are so worried just keep an eye on her.``, Steve huffs. Tony and Sam just nod. A few minutes later they get to the crash site. There was still lots of smoke from where a fire started. But lucky it was all out. “Okay we need to be careful of inhaling the smoke as well as that some of these pieces can still be very hot.” Steve says. “We need to find the cockpit and see if anything from it survived.” , Tony says, starting to move stuff around. Everyone jumped in looking around. Y/n stayed with Nat helping her, after all she is still a bit weak. “This looks like it’s the head of the plane.”, Nat points out to the crushed piece. They both start moving things out of the way. “Tony! We Found it!” Nat yells to Tony. She winces as she tries to move more things to fully uncover the computers. Y/n reach out to her ,” Hey , take it easy, you're freshly hurt. Here sit down.``, Y/n helps her to lean against a pile of the plain as the other three come rushing over. Tony starts taking part of the computer to see what was salvageable. “How long is it going to take you? We are going to need to get her back soon for some meds and a re-bandage.”, Y/n ask stepping over to Tony. “It’s going to be a bite. There's a lot of pieces to plain computers and I'm the only one who knows how to and what to look for.”, Tony explains not even slowing his movement once bite. Y/n gets on her knees next to him and starts taking a part more of the computer. “What do we need?”. Tony looks at her shocked , “You know your way around?”. “You really think i’d hack a hydra base , the second most secure place, if I didn’t”, Tony laughed at the smugness in her voice. He then starts to explain what he needs. Glade he didn’t have to dumb it down for her. With her help they got all they needed in about 20 minutes. Once they got back, Steve helped Y/n to get Nat laying on the couch and changing the bandages. Y/n then gave her some water and Advil to help the pain. Which ended up knocking Nat out. She then turned her attention to Tony and helped him with the tablet like comtraption to get a hold of someone. Tony was impressed with her skills and how she kept up with him. “Steve, Can we keep her,please?”, Tony asks as Y/n explains another better way to build it. Y/n and Steve just laugh at him. “I’m in too for keeping her, This is the best damn sandwich I have ever had.”, Sam jumps in as he chows down on a second sandwich she made for lunch. “Sandwich?”, Nat pops up. Y/n laughs softly grabbing the one she set aside for her and a glass of water and bringing it over to her. Nat to one bite and moaned at the taste, “I agree. We keep her.”. “I’m sorry about them.”, Steve says laughing. “It’s alright, it’s been nice to have you guys around.”, she says putting the dishes in the sink to be washed later. “You don’t have much human interaction due you?”, Sam asked getting up to put his plate away. “Since the passing of my father no. I had a small bite but they turned out to be bad people.”. It clicks with all of them, “Hydra'', Nat lets out. Y/n nods, “ I escaped them a few years back and have been running from them but keeping an eye on them as well. there for Hacking them. Lucky for me they are to stupid to think I'd stay close to them.”. “ A brain like yours I’m not at all surprised they are after you.”, Tony jokes. “Actually they want me for my ability to not only control the minds of people and their bodies. But also cause I can hold an object and see through the person's eyes if it belonged to or is special to. Sorry it’s hard to explain, basically I can see the danger coming.:”, Y/n explains. They were all shocked. They have heard of mind control and mind reading. They do have Wanda  you can read minds as well. But not someone you can see danger from the persons eyes with just touching something. “Sorry I didn’t say sooner but…”, Y/n starts. “It’s okay we get it. You were protecting yourself.”, Steve speaks up. Her opening up helped settle their trust over her a bite. “DOne!” Tony breaks the silence that fell over the room. “It’s done. Tomorrow we head to the base and hack some connections and then we should be home within 2 days”,Tony says, showing them all the tablets. The rest of the day they just sit around and talk as Tony and Y/n make some last minute touches to the wire they will need to plug into a computer. Over dinner/after they talk about a plan. “Needing to be plugged in we have to go inside. Y/n already told us that it’s a small base. So taking them out shouldn’t be an issue. Only thing left is weapons. You don’t happen to have any due you?”, Steve turns to Y/n. Y/n stands up going to the study she has. They all follow her. She grabs a remote looking thing. Turning back to them, “ I hope this means we all trust each other completely.”. They all nod, Y/n has given a single thing not to trust them. Hell she saved them and is helping them get home. Y/n pressed a button and two of the bookshelves that stood tall and next to each other, moved apart and forward came a wall filled with guns. “The bottom draws have ammo and bullet proof backpacks.”, she explains. They each prepare a bag, then decide to go ahead and get some rest and get up extra early to be able to scope out the area fully. As the others get settled , Y/n sneaks out to the back patio. She sits on the steps and watches the rest of the sun set and the stars starting to come out. “You okay?” Steve asks, coming to sit next to her. “Yeah, Just going to miss you guys. It was nice having people around again. I never realized how lonely I was before now.” Y/n says letting out a little laugh. Steve smiles at her watching her side profile that was hidden behind the face cover. But he can still tell she was looking up. “Thank you by the way. You didn’t have to help us but you did. And saved Nat. She probably wouldn’t have made it if she stayed out there in her consciousness any longer.”. Steve says and watches as the stars start to shine bright as they come out. “No problem, It’s not everyday some gets to say they help the avengers.”, Y/n jokes and they both laugh. A small silence settles before Y/n sighs. “My dad is probably looking down at me jealous as ever right now.”, Y/n laughs out dryly. Steve turns to her with an eyebrow raised. She turned to look at him. “You were his favorite superhero. He used to go on and on about ‘THE CAPTAIN AMERICA’.”. Steve laughs shaking his head. “That man I swear the way he talked about you I thought he was gay for a bit or just in love with you. He had all kinds of news papers about you. And action figures , all kinds of stuff. Hell even baseball cards.” . “Sounds like someone else I know.”, they both laugh softly. Then Y/n wraps her arms around her knees pulling them closer to her holding back her tears. “He passed before you were unfrozen. Didn’t even get to hear that you were alive.”. Steve turned to her and reached out, rubbing her back. “I’m sure he knows and his smiling down knowing his daughter risked herself to help not only me but other superheroes. I would even say being a hero herself.”. Y/n laughs standing up. “Come we should get to bed.” , Y/n holds her hand out to help Steve up. They head into their rooms.  As soon as Y/n entered her room she locked it and started taking off the face mask. Her hand went up and touched her checks which hurt from laughing and smiling. She hasn’t felt this way in years. Steve put a smile on her face , even though he didn’t get to see it, that hasn’t been on her face since that death of her father. She looks in a mirror seeing a rose blush over her face. The smile fell down as her eyes ran over the part of her face that made her keep her face covered around not only others but even herself.

Part 1 of 2! I Hope to have the second one posted tomorrow or the next day along with the next part of crazy in love hopefully. - MM

[dialux]

I feel like the rest of the group knows Booker has done his best to kill himself before, but any time/fic theu find him at it post-exile (esp after he’s speaking w them again) always fucking gets me

As a counterpoint, nonny, I fall into the camp of Andy, Joe and Nicky not knowing.

Because I just love the idea of Booker being the forger and the hacker and the competent guy who nobody knows is falling apart until it’s way, way too late. But the real tragedy here? Is not only that Booker fell apart: it’s how good he was at hiding it!

Joe and Nicky are pretty observant, and Andy’s definitely no slouch in that department either.

So Booker’s being a good actor? It’s backed up by his criminal history, and also by how surprised everyone else is re: his betrayal, and, even more importantly, puts the onus of identifying all his problems on him as supposed to everyone around him.

(I mean, that would’ve been true no matter what, but there’s a difference between someone going abt being so drunk he cannot function and someone picking out missions for them and identifying homes for them and being a really good guy to have at their back and then spending his off-time drinking like he’s taking part in a cheeseburger eating contest, only with alcohol. For one, you’d expect people to say something; for the other, you might just treat it as a... personal decision. The sheer number of people I know who would, in a normal society, be told they’re addicted to alcohol numbers very, very high. But so long as it doesn’t stop them from doing their work or touches on their personal lives to a great extent- and especially if you spend extensive time alone, without family- I don’t see anyone saying anything.)

Imo, the best possible fic for this- and I’m writing one, yes, for another ask I got a couple days ago- is one where they might have known it on an intellectual level, but didn’t really understand until they’re all on a mission and suddenly Booker’s thrown himself into danger for no ostensible reason, and they all need to back up and think about... stuff. And what, exactly, that means, and why it happened, and, maybe, even, how to stop it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that pure whump is definitely not for me? I just love Booker being a pathetic, prickly asshole: emphasis on the prickly.

Accepting help isn’t for him! But neither is giving up.

I mean, it took the guy 250 years to really truly surrender himself. Otherwise, on a list of tragedies he’s gone through: the French Revolution; Napoleon’s invasion of Russia; buried all his children such that the youngest died at 42- which is so young; and by then everyone else is already dead, including his wife- and then spent about seventeen decades with someone who very clearly doesn’t remember her own mother and two other people who have decided and built their lives into each other, all the while killing people/throwing himself into the shittiest places in the world on the off hope that they might take some bullets and spare the people that won’t be able to survive that. It’s an utter tragedy on every level. It isn’t just the loss of what happened to him before 1842: it’s the continuous loss of it, reminded every time that he sees a mother crying over her dead children or a father burying the child that didn’t come home from the war.

And Booker doesn’t give up until 2019.

Idk, but that says something to me. First, whatever happened in 2018 to make Andy call for a moratorium was obviously vvv fucked up. Second, Booker trusted Copley to hold to his word on making the world a better place with his sacrifice.

Booker, even if left to his own devices for a hundred years, isn’t going to be spending the time drinking himself to as many deaths as possible- though he might attempt it for a year or two. He’ll do it, and then get to work on figuring out how to remove the immortality himself. He’ll do it, and then start working on setting up safety nets for the rest of the team. He’ll do it, and then take missions for himself, because the only person who’s ever given him a reason to live that can’t be taken from him is Andy, who’s told him to live for others, to live to help others.

And maybe one of those missions crosses with the other four. Maybe they realize that Booker’s far less inclined to care about his own safety- this is the man who walked into a bunker in Sudan knowing he’d be shot at by sixteen people, and didn’t hesitate the entire goddamn time- than any other human should be. Maybe they decide to talk to him about it.

But if they do, and if it happens, it’ll be a conversation that’s... tense, because there’s so much guilt on all sides, and hurt, because maybe there shouldn’t have been this many secrets between them, and grief, and loss, and all of those other things that make for the very best kinds of discussion. Not pure forgiveness; not pure hatred.

Just a family, trying to work through bad times together.

[joshslater]

Russian Dolt

Another Hank collab. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was just about ready to give up and head back to the hotel. I’ve spent 16 years being a sales representative across Southeast Asia, and I know all the regional variations on the prostitutes fairly well. Here in Manila, a Russian girl would go for at least twice the price of a local. A Malay girl would go for a discount. But too much of the same old thing grows boring, and that’s why I was out in the bars tonight instead of just calling an escort to the hotel for a “massage”.

I wasn’t sure what I was after, to be honest, which was part of the problem. Maybe a threesome? A gymnastics girl doing tricks for me – and on me? I’ve heard that in some countries the Olympic teams even earn some side money in brothels. I’ve never found it myself, but that would be something different at least. So far nothing I had found had really turned my crank. I was polishing off a mediocre whiskey when I was approached at the bar by the man.

The guy was younger than me, maybe 25, and looked very Russian. Buzzed hair, tank top, tight jeans, flip flops, cheap tats and the don’t give a fuck attitude that their entire nation has adopted since they lost the Cold War. He smelled of smoke and cheap cologne. He looked to be in great shape. I didn’t want anything to do with him.

“I overheard you speaking of freak sex, yes?”

The accent was heavily Russian as well. This could be exactly what I was after, but it could also end up with me robbed and dead in a ditch.

“What’s it to you?”

“We have proposal. Have you had sex as not you?”

Despite the hot and wet climate, I could feel a wall of heat radiating on my other side as one real furnace of a man stepped closer to me. I turned my head and looked right into a black tank top. It was filled with a huge pile of meat. I looked up at his face and he made a silent nod. Perhaps not as stereotypically Russian, but still very much old Soviet stock, and presumably lots of old Soviet hormones, not all his. His muscles seemed to have muscles.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Sex as not me?”

“We have a thing that lets you do sex as if someone else. Understand? You could be me?”

“I could be you? Who would you be?”

“I would be you, for short time. Very short. Then you as me do any things, dangerous things. Nasty things. But safe for you. When finished, you are you and I am I.”

I was thinking really hard on how this scam worked. Was this just going to trick me out of 5000 pesos, or was the end goal to take me for all I was worth? The setup was intriguing. Performing sex as someone else… I’d certainly never tried that before. I didn’t want to let fear hold me back, in part because I knew, loathe as I’d be to admit it, that it often did.

“What kind of nasty things?” I finally answered.

“Many different things. You chose. How about fucked by wrestler?”

He gestured towards the pillar of meat on my other side. That surprised me. Back home where I grew up there was a lot of "God hates fags" and crude gay jokes, but I always thought it was a bit obsessive. It's a free country so they can do whatever they want, as long as they keep me out of it. I’d never had sex with a man before, obviously. Never even considered it. I was about to protest how I wasn’t a fag, when a small little voice at the back of my head pointedly said “Damn straight, but apparently he is one.” Well, if I was going to be someone else, then why not go for something truly wild and different? Something I would never put my own body through.

“How does it work? How do we do it?”

“We put your body somewhere safe. To keep your mind off it. Then we swap. When you are done, we swap again. 3000 pesos per hour.”

Twenty minutes later, if even that, the three of us were standing in my hotel room. The lobby was deserted, save for the night manager who gave us a disapproving look on our way to the elevator. On the way up, I made a quick estimate of what everything I brought was worth. I only had my carry on, some clothes, my laptop, cell phone and travel wallet. If I was completely cleared out by these guys, I could stay an extra day, have the cards blocked and reissued, use insurance to buy replacements, and be on my way. Not much to lose, really.

The big hunk of meat was Boris, because of course he’d be a Boris. He didn’t speak any English. The sleazy guy in the wifebeater was Mikhail, and he was now explaining the details of how he proposed we do this. He had a handcuff with a really long chain, so I could be cuffed to the bathroom water pipe and still make it to the bed. This would allow Mikhail, in my body, to stay securely in the room, watch TV, use the bathroom and such and such while I was out in his body. I was full of doubt. Step one really can’t be that I chain myself with handcuffs to the bathroom pipes? Mikhail saw my hesitation without me saying anything.

“You want to see first, yes?”

“Please.”

From his pocket he pulled out two thumb rings. They were plain iron rings with no inlays, but with engraved symbols running around them, which gave them a brutish look. He gave me one.

“Sit down. Put it on, right hand.”

I did as I was told, and nothing happened. He sat down next to me on the bed and unceremoniously slipped on his ring. Instantly, everything shifted a few feet to the side, and I suddenly looked out of his eyes instead of mine. It worked. It felt amazing.

His body was in such great shape. I ran my hand over the buzz cut stubble on my head, feeling the prickliness of it against my palm. Then, swiftly, just as quickly as I had jumped into his body, I was back in mine, looking at my hand. Mikhail had just removed the ring.

“You can see it works. You want to continue, yes?”

I sure did. I could scarcely believe this technology was legit. Perhaps it was magic. I know, magic isn't real, but then neither are body swaps. I put the ring back on, and wow, the rush. I was back in Mikhail’s body.

Mikhail patted me and got up. It was so trippy to see my body moving next to me. He quickly locked the handcuff to to his left wrist and then stepped into the bathroom to attach the other end of the cuff. He then stepped out again and gave me the key.

“Here, keep this safe. My suggestion would be to put it in the room safe, so you don’t lose it in the excitement.”

To my shock, he was talking fluent English now, without any accent.

“I will do,” I answered, immediately laughing a dumb Russian laugh. Wow, how stupid my own voice sounded. I sounded just like Mikhail in voice, accent and whacked English.

I immediately realized that whatever these rings did wasn't simply placing my brain inside Mikhail's body. That would just change the voice. But to also changed my accent and even words and grammar, which hinted at something more complex. It somehow both frightened and excited me, and I felt a stir in my pants. I wondered what else would be different, what else this body I now inhabited might be made of.

I put the key and my wallet in the safe, and locked it with 7478. Same code as my old phone, based on the Boeing 747-8 plane. As an international businessman I've had many trips on those. Boris started moving and ushered me out of the room, almost impatiently. As the room door clicked shut, I realized that I’m standing outside of my room with no key, no ID, a different body, and next to this oversized hunk of meat. I reminded myself that I can, at any moment, just remove the ring and appear back in the room. I could then open the safe, grab the key, unlock the shackles on my own body, and pretend like nothing had happened. As long as I have my hand free to remove the ring, there is no need for a safe word tonight. I chuckled with Mikhail’s voice at my own internal pun.

The feeling was amazing, getting accustomed to the body. I could tell my first thought was spot on: this bod was in great shape. It was lithe, almost sprightly compared to where I was at normally. Toned and packed with just enough firm muscle to have a bit of a swagger, it seemed. As we strode out of the hotel and into one of the waiting taxis, I ran a hand through my buzzed hair once more, feeling the spike of the flat cut against my palm. I tugged a little and played with the studs in my ear lobes.

Is this how fags felt, I wondered? Are these sort of bodies part of where their pride and sex drive comes from? I hadn’t given any thought before to the idea that men who are attracted to men might find their own bodies hot, too. I looked down at my forearms, noticing the fit power in them, the veins lightly popping. It did look good to me. I could feel queer thoughts, but I wasn’t ashamed or repulsed by them. This wasn’t me, but I could tell it could be very hot to play the gay. And looking at my arms, I felt an erotic buzz. I was starting plump up a little. I was legitimately turned on.

“In Soviet Russia, you not find faggot. Faggot find you!” I said out loud, laughing, thinking that I sounded even dumber than Mikhail did in this voice. One of my favorite jokes finally had a body worthy of it. Both Boris and the driver ignored me.

I suppose Russians didn’t usually make such a classic Russian joke, did they? Or did they? This really was the most out-of-body experience I’ve ever had, quite literally. Talk about risk versus reward payoff. I had to do it again.

“In Soviet Russia, big dick find you!” I found myself slurring, stupidly, and just hearing the ridiculous accent come out of Mikhail’s mouth, a mouth that was mine for the time being, made me snort with laughter again. I didn’t expect that the first few things I’d be doing in this body would be laughing my ass off. It was truly surreal. But it was hilarious, I mean, wow. Maybe it was my way of trying to find my sea legs after such radical change.

We arrived at a different hotel only 15 minutes away from mine, but looking at it they couldn't be further apart. If Mikhail and Boris looked seedy in the lobby of my hotel, they would appear posh in this neighborhood. I was still not used to this body, and wobbled a bit getting out of the taxi. Boris stopped and waited by the hotel entrance while I made a few jumps to test that everything is fine.

“Boris,” I say, my voice reminding me of some squirrel and moose thing – Natasha – Rocky and Bullwinkle – I can’t get over this accent –

“Boris, where is room?”

I find that I almost have a feel for the way the Russkies talk, I think, and that if I just roll with it, I’ll be able to work with it almost effortlessly. Boris started leading me into the hotel and down a hall. He stopped by a door and opened it, with a real key. Not one of those card reader doors. He entered the room and I followed.

First thing I did was to swagger on over to the mirror. I didn't get a good look while in my room before Boris ushered me out. Yeah, I pretty much looked amazing. This body, or whatever sense of sexual desire was in this bod, recognizes male beauty in a way that wasn’t apparent to me at all as a straight guy. This body is fit, it is toned, it is more tanned than I would have expected from a Russian guy. He must have been in The Philippines for a while now, I figured. The tats, which I thought looked like cheap pieces of shit from a budget tattoo parlor before, looked masculine, tough, and sleazy.

I looked like the mirror image of a guy who lived to fuck, drink, smoke and party, I thought- And I could feel that I was craving a smoke, too. But man, that mirror… I was boned, totally erect over a man for the first time in my life, even if it just was myself, in a way.

Mikhail had been wearing that rich brand of underwear to try to act like he was worth something, I suppose. What’s the name of it? I can’t even remember, not being an underwear type myself. To me, despite whatever he must have spent, the briefs and tats all just made him look cheap and trashy. But I liked it. It’d be perfect for tonight. I fully intended to take advantage of it all, go out for a while, have fun and bring someone back tonight. If things stayed chill, I was ready to fuck. Boris looked bored, and wasn’t even really watching me, so I was guessing things were cool.

I recalled Mikhail had blurted something out earlier about “Fuck Wrestler,” which I presumed meant Boris. And I had been thinking maybe I’d do that, initially, not really being sure what I’d do. But now that I was attracted to men, apparently, I really just didn’t think Boris was my type. Or this body’s type. Or whatever. He didn’t seem to be into me, either. I like the look of Mikhail’s body for sure, and it’s almost mesmerizing to me. Breaking away from the mirror is a bit of a challenge, I notice, as I put my tank top back on. Maybe the old line about Narcissus isn’t so far from the truth after all.

“Boris, I want to go to bar,” I said. “Gay bar. You know where?” “да,” the oaf answered.

I understood it as "Yes", of course, but I understood it in a fluid way. Could I speak it, too?

“Вы можете общаться со мной на русском языке?” I blurted to see if he could understand me. My own words sound like something an insect would come up with. They buzzed. They sounded slushy, and they sounded like shit. I really don’t know how folks can speak such an ugly language, how anything could evolve in such a strange way.

“да.” he said again, without any emotion.

There’s some male jewelry on the counter, I noticed as I started to turn out the lights. Dog tags, a pendant. I picked them up and put em on. Looks good- Wonder if Mikhail walked around with that, normally. The whole walk to the bar, I couldn’t help but to act cocky, shifting my posture, feeling playful with this body. Boris, as I found out by trying to chat him up, despite him being a man of few words, did have a pack of cigarettes to help me out with. Soon I’m bumming a couple off of him, and as soon as I could get away with it outside of the lobby, I light up.

The guys walking around Manila that we passed – some are kind of, I don’t know how to put it…not ugly, but not really attractive. I wasn’t really drawn to the girls, I noticed, but not the guys either, all that much. Some of them caught my eye a little more than others. I hoped when we got to the bar that I would find one of the Russians I was expecting to be there. Was that what my genes were hunting for, or was that what I just was expecting to find? A Russian? Would I be attracted to a German, a Frenchman or an American if I ran into any? Good luck picking one up with this voice, I thought to myself. But this is a sexy body. I bet I could pick up a lot of different kinds of guys. Gays aren’t really known for being particular, I thought. At least they’re known to do a lot of depraved shit with anyone. They aren’t like women. They have it easy, so I should too.

The thought of trying to hit on a guy, though I had no clue how to do it, seemed amusing. I felt a tinge of nervousness, but then I remembered this isn’t my real body. I could say anything. There’s a wallet in these jeans and I flipped through it. Was that arranged? There’s enough cash in there, 400 pesos, to drink for a while depending on the prices. I wonder if Boris would loan me more, but how smashed would I really gonna get? It should be more than enough.

Soon we were in the bar. I eyed the field. I spotted my prey almost instantly. Dark beard, full, thick. Bomber sunglasses tank top, twists of tribal tattoo down one arm. I wondered what sort of guy wears glasses in a bar, and I was thinking, fag guys do. And that’s you too, fag boy, so hop to it. And it was alluring, even as I knew it was done for affect. I didn’t care. He was hot.

I didn’t sit down by him right away, though. Boris and I took a spot at the corner, by the entrance. Soon enough, though, I wink at him on his way to take a piss. Why not? Nothing to lose, man.

Once he was out of sight Boris stood up, and surprised I asked him if he was going to leave. I kind of expected he would stick around to make sure I didn't do anything too stupid with Mikhail's body. He smiled for the first time, patted me too hard in the back, responded "Ты справишься" and left. And with that I was on my own.

Well, that’s all fine with me, because I was worried these guys might think I already scored Boris or something. Didn’t want that crimping my game. I was totally comfortable on my own, too. Fuck, it’s not my body. Still can’t get over how liberating it was to just know it.

The night got rolling, more folks were trickling into the club, and Bomber Glasses and I were talking, finally. He is German, but does speak some English. This body did the work for me, I thought. He was into me. I couldn’t help but be fixated at his beard, man, and the chest hair that foofed out of the top of his tank. He has a dog tag of his own around his neck. It’s all so sleazy and fucked up. It’s weird, knowing that what once would have repulsed now allured.

Soon he was buying me a drink. I wondered if I was attracted to powerful guys, as this was the first one who caught my eye out of the bunch, not that there were many to choose from. He was at least a good three inches taller than me. Darker complexion. Thicker hair, and of course that beard. That chest. Mine’s got just a little fuzz. I started to wonder if Russians were a hairy people compared to Germans. I didn’t think they really were, but some definitely are. The train of thoughts caught me by surprise. I’ve never before considered how hairy guys are. Must be the fag in me for sure. Wondered what mixing with this body for the night is gonna do to my mind, long-term. You know, like what if it’s like the long-term effects of a powerful dose of shrooms? That might not be good, depending. It felt OK in the trial swap we did earlier, so clearly it reverts without any seeming issues, but then that was just after a few seconds.

No time to be nervous, though. I wanted to get my money’s worth.

Now the guy’s looking at me, intensely, right in the eyes over drinks, and I was feeling like maybe the gays have a point about wanting their public display of affection. I was feeling like if this guy wanted to fuck out in the streets of Manila with me, I’d do it, despite the filth and chaos. By the time he was kissing me, right in the bar, and I was feeling his thick beard press into my jaw, and we’re speaking our stupid, malformed English to each other, all I could think about was the hard cock that might end up in my ass tonight if this kept going well. I wantws this guy to come back to the hotel with me.

“You and I,” I said, between kisses. “Go wild, with sex, you make sex with me. Hot as sex,” I went, fascinated by the chest hair he was got spilling out of the neckline, rubbing it with my fingers, playing with it, all as best as I could. He was trying to slobber on my earlobe stud and probe my tongue with his ear. We’re making a scene in the bar. I couldn’t care less. He stripped my shirt off right then and there in the bar so he could see my chest. He was playing with my pecs, rubbing the muscle, slapping my firm belly, my firm biceps. “Flex for me,” he commands. I've never done that in my life before, and don't really know how, but somehow I manage to make some tight abs for him. He is lost in admiration, I could see.

We walked out the backdoor of the club, his fingers in the back pocket of one of my jeans, not just kinda steering me, as I’m rather sloshed, but claiming me. Showing who is the top. He squeezed an ass cheek through the denim, and I loved it. He leaned in for another kiss. It’s a steamy night. I needed a smoke, so I lit one up, buzzed up, feeling dreamy as hell, wondering what "nasty things” would actually going to be like. A cock up my ass? I could take one, fuck if I care. Sounded glorious right then. I wondered if I could feel that desire in my ass that they supposedly get? Not yet, I thought, searching my thoughts to see if I felt anything, and decided that maybe it’s because I haven’t tried it, yet. I wanted to try it. This German guy, a man, had me feeling like a creature of beauty. I felt beautiful in a way no woman had ever made me feel before.

I can scarcely remember the walk back to the hotel, for all the alcohol, hormones and groping. I remember wanting to be rather cautious the whole while. Manila is just loaded with chaos, deep pits and potholes you can step into, nothing in the way of sidewalks, not to mention motobikes and jeepneys. The hotel was much too close to bother with a cab.

I remember thinking that the longer I stayed in this body, the more risk I was taking, but I’d come this far tonight and intended to finish it. We didn’t set a time limit. “When you are done” was the deal. That made sense, as they got paid by the hour. They’d want to give me time to fuck until I’m sick of it, presumably by dawn at the latest, and I would obviously want my body back. This set of jeans didn’t even come with ID, and most of my few bucks had already been spent at the bar.

As for the sex, this guy was experienced. I figured as much, but found it out fast once we were in the bedroom together. I mean, I had barely latched the door behind me when he really flaunted his power, flipping me right around, pressing my back up against the door, passionately taking my jaw in his big hands and kissing me, licking me, tenderly and firmly, all at the same time. It’s hard to describe. He was even licking up my neck in broad strokes like I’m a fruit that’s ripe on the vine. It was hot. I suppose I must be a fruit, at least for tonight, haha. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, on my breath. I wanted to hear my dumb, hot, sexy Russian voice again. I was fumbling to get him out of his tank, which should have been an easy move, but I was too drunk.

“Chest, man,” I said. “You hairy, man. You are hairy. It’s hot.” I sounded like an idiot, I know, but it’s hot to hear my voice, too, my slurring, Russian voice.

”Yeah, boy,” he went, feeling up my pecs. I liked being called boy by this guy. Made me feel young, sexy, which I am. And I knew it.

He was practically ripping me out of my briefs and threw me on the bed. He got me naked, and he has got coke. It’s not my body, I think. I knew what to do, believe it or not. I've been to the bars around Wall street and seen what happens in the men's room. So I snorted up a line off the glass counter, walked over, naked, lit up a cigarette right in the room. Didn’t see any non-smoking signs, at least. This isn't the kind of hotel that bothers with smoke detectors. He slapped me on the ass and I couldn’t believe this was me, just hanging out casually, naked with a guy who’s occasionally slobbering all over my lower jaw.

I snorted another line. I felt amped, like coffee, only crazier. I took more at once. With a cross-fade like this, I know it’s more dangerous. Not my body, not my problem.

He was wrestling me down. I loved the feel of my muscles pushing back against his, and I loved trying to toss him, to pin him down, but he was stronger. We wrestled a lot that night, playful. I was so drunk it didn’t really hurt even when he threw me to the floor and body slammed me. It’s just fucking fun, don’t know how to put it, that state when you’ve got adrenaline and passion and lust and a few drugs pumping through your veins.

Man, his cock was a thick one. At one point I remember him shoving his hand in my ass, licking and slobbering all up in my crack, and I’m just on hands and knees, drooling, playing with my own dick as it flopped around and dangled down, making slimy fish line circles of pre-cum in the carpet. Although most dicks in the world are uncut, it somehow felt wrong  that my dick now was one of them. Like peeing with boxers on. I was on my haunches, and he was fucking the living shit out of me. It hurt and I yelped out, but guy knew what he was doing, I told myself.

At one point, I half cum, forcing myself to hold it back, not wanting the experience to end so soon. “Try,” I said to him, stopping, getting up off my knees. “Try not to cum,” I said. I had pulled back, hard, using my groin muscles to stop it so I could save my load. A minute later I was good to go again. He put a cock ring on me, telling me that will shut the dick up. I don't know if he brought it or if he found it in the room. Everything was a blur. “You are my pet now”, he told me. He was pushing me down, going for my armpits, slobbering and licking all over them. I had no idea men did that. I was shocked, but it felt great.

There were other surprises. I didn’t expect to be gagging on his thick cock, or expect that he’d seemed to want to pleasure in making me choke on it. But I sure as hell did choke on it. “Spit on it,” he ordered, so I did. “Lick,” he said, so I did, licking my own spit on his cock. I was slobbering up his cock as much as I could with my tongue, thinking that must be what he wanted. It felt good to do. I mean, what an iron rod, what a maypole. This was better than eating pussy, I thought, for sure. I wondered if I’d feel that way tomorrow, realizing I wouldn’t, so I’d better make the most of it now. This would have just seemed sick to me yesterday.

“Fuck me, fuck hard, fuck my ass,” I said to him. My ass had almost started to throb after getting fucked for a while, and it was starting to feel almost empty when it wasn’t getting fucked. Crazy but true, like I wanted him in there. I wondered if this was the prostrate being activated. I could feel it, almost like a heartbeat or something, inside my ass. “Put it in,” I said, wanting him to fuck me more, wanting to understand these sensations better. My ass was sore and yet it just felt so good. Fuck the pain away, and why not?

We took a breather and it was hard to even keep my hands off him for a little while. I wanted to at least massage his shoulders, wrap my arms around him, stroke his legs. If I didn’t have a life of my own, a successful, straight life, I could almost love this guy. The feelings were just so intense, drunk as I was. Probably the alcohol was causing the feelings, but did it matter? He was so beautiful to me. He made me feel sexy. We knew what to do with each other, even as new and awkward as I surely was. The dumb Russian voice Mikhail had was awkward, so fuck if it would matter if my technique was, too. This was all for my excitement, not for the sake of the performance, I remembered.

How long did we fuck? It must have been hours. Time passes at such strange rates when you’ve been partying. I remember my cock being sore, the skin rubbed raw, the thing just aching from the weight of the cock ring, swollen up, but not wanting to stop. I wasn’t sure if I could even get the ring off at this point, drunk as I was. Fuck the pain. “Harder,” I grunted at one part. “Fuck me harder. Deutschland!” I shouted, playful, in lust, this German sex king… my own command sounded like a woof. I really was his pet. But he was also mine.

I didn’t just pass out, I blacked out. I blacked out hard.

I was utterly confused when I woke up in a hotel bed, but then memories started trickle in. The body swap. I clearly was still in Mikhail’s body, I knew, because I could feel it. I felt sore. Wait, why was I still in Mikhail’s body? Looking around I could see I was in the bed in his shitty hotel room, no German to be found. I got up while the whole body was screaming in agony. The bed sheets were pretty much ruined with semen and other fluids. What a mess. My head throbbed with a hangover worse than I have ever experienced before. I stumbled over to the mirror.

Young, muscled, and well-hung were the bright side of what I saw. Everything else I saw in the mirror disgusted me, even more now than when I swapped into it yesterday. I was naked except for the thumb ring and a cock ring. The dick and balls looked bruised, a dangerously purple color. I tentatively touched the dick and pleasure tinged pain shot through my body. It was swollen and had a dull ache, but a small part of me even wanted to play with this dick some more, as I was still horny as fuck. I didn't remember cumming. I didn't even dare to think about the agony it would be to remove that cock ring. I needed to recoup.

I knew Boris and Mikhail were basically showboating a lot of this from the get-go, but after all that, I was really tired of this immersive experience shit. I didn’t know where the German went. I didn’t know if he even kissed me goodbye, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This was the wildest trip I’ve ever been on, and definitely worth it. But I didn’t want to deal with this body. I didn’t want to be a fag any longer. I reached to remove the thumb ring when a sudden fear came over me, like I needed to think this through. I paused.

When I remove the ring, where would I end up? Strapped to a cross in a BDSM dungeon? In a Filipino jail? Who knew what sort of Willy Wonka arrangement these guys had in store for me? Hopefully this is just part of the game, or it’s something else that I’m not thinking of. I was trying not to panic. I was not feeling amused anymore. I just wanted out.

I was hungry, thirsty, sore, emotionally drained, horny, and I had a godawful craving for a smoke. Whatever they’ve done to my real body, it couldn’t be any worse than this.

I removed the ring.

Nothing happened.

I screamed. I punched the wall. I screamed ‘fuuuuuuck!’ until I was sobbing on the filthy bed. I was reduced to a crying mess, not surprisingly.

This is my body now. A trashy fag’s body, with an unrelenting sex drive, a smoking habit, a drinking habit, and I no doubt more addictions waiting to be discovered. No surprise he was eager to ditch it. I'm sure my hotel room was cleared out by now, the credit cards emptied to the limit. What would I do with the stuff there anyway? Clothes that doesn't fit and a passport I can't use. This is who I am now, and there is no way to even begin to explain it to anyone, without seeming like a madman.

I really needed a smoke.

[tanadrin]

How /did/ things change after 2001? I was born in that year and everyone says it was different before, but I've never really gotten a sense of how.

It is difficult for me to emphasize just how different the world you see on the evening news is now, from what it was like before 2001, at least as I remember it. There’s a scene in Farscape, where after years of trying to get home, the astronaut protagonist John Crichton finally makes it back to Earth with his alien friends in tow, and when he’s reunited with his father, he’s shocked to discover his dad has gone from this optimistic, forward-looking, hopeful dreamer to a nervous, jingoistic conservative. His attitude is basically, “yes, there’s dangerous aliens out there who may or may not be trying to kill us--but the galaxy is a place full of wonders you’ve never dreamed of.” His father, in the meantime, has retreated from his hopes for a science-fiction future, and views his new alien friends with suspicion.

It’s not a subtle metaphor, but it’s true. The 90s--at least in the US, at least as I remember them--were a relentlessly optimistic period. Even if things were not yet at their ideal state, there was very much a sense they were heading there; politics was mostly down to what exact flavor of the neoliberal consensus you preferred, Clinton or Bush, and the international triumph of liberal democracy was either a fait accompli (cf. the erstwhile USSR), or just around the corner (cf. hopes for China’s liberalization in the wake of market reforms). Yes, in retrospect, this was kind of a dumb world view. If you actually lived in Russia in the 90s--to say nothing of the Balkans--it was a rough decade, and a lot of the relentless optimism of the period in the United States was down to the privileged position we viewed the world from.

The blunting of that optimism--the reminder that we were still embedded in history, and the final triumph of everything good and just was not foreordained--would not in itself have been a catastrophe. Terrorism was not a strange concept in the 90s, and even Al-Qaeda-style terrorism had its predecessors in attacks on American ships and embassies. 9/11 itself was confusing and chaotic and sad, but 9/11 wasn’t the catastrophe. The catastrophe came after, in how we responded.

I think something broke in America between 1945 and 1991. Something shifted, in a nasty way we didn't realize while we were occupied with communism and stagflation and the civil rights movement. I don't mean to say that America before 1945 was the Good Guys. But the American state and the American political class viewed the world with... humility? Like, sure, the can-do Yankee spirit before 1945 had its own special kind of arrogance (and greed, and hideous bigotry), but it still thought of the world in terms of obligations we owed other countries. By the time the Cold War ended, and the US was the sole remaining superpower, that wasn't how we viewed the world. It was still sort of how we told each other, and our children, what the world was like. We certainly talked a big game about democracy and human rights. But as soon as that principled stance was tested, we folded like a cheap suit. What we should have done after 9/11 was what we had done after every terrorist incident in or against the United States before then: treated it like the major crime it was, sent a civilian agency like the FBI in to investigate, and pursue the perpetrators diplomatically. What we did instead was treat it like the opening salvo of a war--in fact, invented a war to embed it within, to give ourselves narrative justification for that stance--and crank every element of paranoid jingoism instantly up to 11. It has never abated since.

Some of this is the little things. The TSA and the Department of Homeland Security--a name I thought was creepy Orwellian shit right from the get-go. The terror alert levels. (God! remember those?) The fact that airport security--despite being just as ineffective today as it was on September 12--is still routinely humiliating and invasive and just a total waste of everybody’s time. Some of it is the big things. The way security, and the need for security, trumps all other demands including the state’s obligation to protect civil rights. And the fact that this just isn’t even up for debate anymore. 9/11, as Chomsky presciently observed, was a boon for authoritarians everywhere. Suddenly, “counterterrorism” was the magic word that let you get away with anything, like “anti-communism” twenty years prior. At the most extreme end, this led to things like anti-atheism laws being promulgated in Saudi Arabia in the name of “counterterrorism,” but you don’t have to go that absurd to find ways in which the security state has fostered authoritarianism. In every aspect of our lives, this new, fearful outlook on the world justified a gradual ratcheting down of freedom, the gradual empowerment of petty tyrants everywhere, and the weak protests, fading into silence, of people who still believed in liberty as an important organizing principle for modern society. It wasn’t even that you’d get called a terrorist-sympathizer or anything that blatant. It just ceased to be regarded as important. It wasn’t that you were wrong, or misguided, or evil. You were just a non-serious person, someone whose opinion was clearly irrelevant, whose head was permanently in the clouds, if you thought that stuff still mattered. And that never went away.

And I think a big part of what changed between 1945 and 1991 was that the US started to believe its own jingoism. When did this start? Vietnam? Earlier? Korea? I don’t know. It’s hard to pinpoint, given that my understanding of the cultural zeitgeist of the decades before I was born mostly came from my dad’s old Doonesbury collections. I don’t know how to describe what we became--what we, hideously, revealed ourselves to be--except as a kind of machismo. A kind of ruthless, General Ripper-esque us-versus-them psychosis that gripped us where the Soviets were concerned, and never let up. And we still believe it. It still infects every atom of our political discourse. We don’t question the necessity of drone strikes, only who to drone strike and how much. We don’t really question the massive powers we’ve afforded the executive branch to wage war and conduct espionage--including kidnappings and torture--and we’ve kind of forgotten that we still have a prison camp in Cuba full of people who have never been convincted of any crime. In a way, we lost faith in law entirely: by God, we couldn’t try terrorists in American courts! (Why not? What’s wrong with American courts? Don’t we have faith in our own laws, at least?) No, justice wasn’t a matter for the law to decide anymore. Justice was a matter for the military only: justice came in the form of strength of arms. Ergo, shooting Bin Laden in the head and calling that justice; ergo, Jack Bauer; ergo, blowing up Yemeni weddings. Keep America Safe. I can’t begin to tell you how alienating and horrifying so much of the last 20 years has been, if the most consequential news stories of your childhood were the OJ Simpson murders and a discussion of the President’s cum stain.

In my opinion, the seminal text of the post-9/11 world was released in the year 2000. In the original Deus Ex video game, the year is 2150, and the world is a dark, depressing place. You, the game’s hero, work (initally) for a UN counterterrorism agency while a plague ravages the world. You hunt terrorists whose existence has provided the justification for an authoritarian crackdown on dissidents everywhere. You visit a Hong Kong firmly under the control of the CCP, you fight genetically engineered mutants created by huge businesses run amok, FEMA (no DHS then) controls the federal government, and, it turns out later in the game, the bombing of the Statue of Liberty that precipitated the creation of your organization was a false-flag attack used to justify its existence in the first place. Drones patrol the streets of NYC, and the whole thing is steeped in late-90s militia movement-style conspiracy theories about the Illuminati and the New World Order, that look weirdly out of place now that these things are more clearly aligned in the popular consciousness with right wing extremism, when back then they were just seen as kooky weirdos in Montana--but every year since then, we’ve been inching closer and closer to that world, and you know what? It wigs me out a little.

In 2000, Deus Ex was an absurdity, a fever dream of cyberpunk and early-internet conspiracism. It’s a shame that tonally speaking it’s been dead on for the two decades after. But honestly, I think the biggest thing that’s changed about the world since 2001 is our cultural capacity for optimism. I don’t mean in a sentimental way--although if you compare other texts heavily influenced by the post-2001 political milieu, you definitely see a sharp contrast with the optimism of cultural artifacts from earlier eras; science fiction was hit especially hard in this area (cf. RDM’s version of Battlestar Galactica). But I also mean this in a political/ideological sense. We cease to imagine that the world can be made better. We cease to imagine the possibilities that are afforded to us if we are willing to strive for our ideal society, even if we, personally, may never reach it. We make deals with the devil, we let the CIA violate the constitution and federal law six ways from Sunday, we don’t question the prevailing political-economic consensus even if it’s setting the planet on fire and pitching us headlong toward social disaster, because we forgot what it was to feel like those sunlit uplands we’ve been hoping for were just around the corner.

In the same way that my Catholic faith was eventually done in because the ethical principles I was taught were at odds with the manifest monstrosity of the organization that taught them to me and the metaphysics it espoused, my patriotism and my faith in America was done in because when I was a schoolkid, I really did believe that democracy and human rights and equality under the law were important. Some people probably had their illusions--if they ever had any--about the US government stripped away long ago, but I was a white kid from a reasonably prosperous part of town, so it took until the 2000s and my growing political awareness to realize just how flimsy these principles were when they were put to any kind of test. It made me angry; it still makes me angry. I was raised to believe there are some principles that are important enough that you don’t compromise them ever, no matter how scared or worried you are. Just as I was old enough to understand what was going on on the evening news, the United States betrayed everything I had been taught the United States stood for. And as a nation, we never turned back; we never apologized; we never repented. America, as an abstract entity, never was what I thought it was as a kid. But I think it could still become that, if it tried. Alas, very few people seem to believe such a thing is possible anymore. Most days, I’m not sure I do, either.