#I need to practice drawing his tactical vest

[geek-freak0263]

I recently got into Modern Warfare. Have some sketches of our favorite sergeant, Soap

[kikiiswashere]

Terms of an Agreement - Chapter 2

Summary: Silco and Vander are happy. For the most part. In order to keep their dream of Zaun moving forward, they each have jobs that makes the other uncomfortable. And discomfort for Silco comes out in anger. Luckily, Vander is there to remind him that he has nothing to worry about.

Pairing: Established Silco/Vander, pre-betrayal

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Summary: Vander uses actions rather than words to remind Silco that his heart belongs to him.

Word Count: 3.3k

Previous Chapter

CW: Shower sex, blowjobs, anal fingering, anal sex

Notes: A request from my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable! I posted this story in the new year, but never finished it. I wanted to re-work it (and finish it) for pride month. So, here is the first chapter of what will be a three-chapter novella. Happy Pride!

Warm, sticky steam enveloped Vander as he stepped inside the small, tiled room. He closed the door quietly behind him and tossed Silco’s shirt onto the rest of the dirty clothes piled by the toilet. He shrugged off his vest and began to undo his belt.

“Mind if I join you?”

Silco’s silhouette paused behind the shower curtain, considering.

“It’s your bathroom, too.”

Vander refused to bite on the passive aggressive statement and finished undressing, dropping his own clothes on top of Silco’s. Carefully, he slipped into the shower behind his partner, and sighed at the sensation of hot water against his skin. Silco’s back was to him, and his gaze raked down his slender form appreciatively.

Vander enjoyed all body types, but Silco was by far his favorite, the most beautiful. His silver eyes tracked the breadth of those sinewy, strong shoulders; down the narrowing planes of his back to a slim, slim waist. He lovingly smirked as his gaze dropped to Silco’s almost comically small, perfect ass. He loved to grope and bite those pert and round cheeks, like they were the sweetest pieces of fruit from the market. Below, his long and lean legs sprouted. Like the rest of him, the muscles there were cut close to the bone; their shapes and lines defined by Silco’s minimal amount of body fat.

Vander felt his cock stir, and he took a grounding breath. With practiced effort, he tamped down its excitement. He had to play this just right. Tentatively, he reached out to run the tips of his fingers down the knobs of Silco’s spine. The hands running through his hair stopped at the sudden touches, but he still did not turn to face Vander.

“I missed ya, Sil,” The Hound murmured.

He stepped closer. Vander’s skin tingled at the proximity, and he was quietly elated to see the skin on Silco’s shoulders pucker with goose flesh. Their bodies had always responded to each other. Long before they fell into bed even. The magnetic push and pull between undeniable and electric. He knew Silco felt it, too, by the small shift in his breathing. Something shallower, chesty. Instinctively excited.

Despite this, Silco snorted and reached for the bar of soap nestled in the shower’s corner. He began lathering his arms and chest with feverish attention.

“Did you now?”

Vander’s lips thinned, growing tired of Silco’s venom. So, he tried the same tactic, but with more vigor.

He sighed, dropping his head. His brow pressed against Silco’s damp crown. Giant hands settled on narrow hips and Silco stilled again. Only this time less with irritation, more curiosity.

“I did,” Vander said, and stepped closer.

Finally, their bodies to molded against one another. Vander’s heart thudded elatedly to feel Silco go ever so slightly slack against him. A bodily response even Silco’s conscious mind couldn’t fight against. Proof that they had been meant for each other, Vander thought.

“I haven’ seen ya for three days. I get fuckin’ worried sick when yer out there. By yerself.”

Silco began soaping himself up again. “You seemed to be managing just fine.”

“Sil – “

“Aren’t you needed up in the bar?”

Vander flinched at that. But he rallied, and slid his hands around Silco’s middle, drawing him in tightly against his belly and chest.

“Benzo’s got it covered,” he said, nuzzling at Silco’s temple, kissing the hair plastered there.

“Benzo can manage the bar, yes,” Silco scoffed, “but what about your friend?”

Vander loosed a weary sigh. “It’s just business, Sil. I didn’ know you’d be back t’night. An’ I didn’ know she was comin’ by.”

“I told you I’d be back in one to three days.”

“Yeah, an’ half the time ya say that an’ it ends up bein’ double.”

“Sometimes things happen – “

“I’m not blamin’ ya, Silco,” Vander insisted, firming his grip on his partner enough to spin him around. He took the soap and placed it in back in the corner. Silco glared up at him. “It’s just . . . we agreed. I let you do these missions – “

“You let me?”

“ – An’ I help Zaun on the home front by . . . well, ya know.” He waggled his head from side-to-side, not quite meeting Silco’s ire-filled glare. He sighed again. “It’s just business.”

“Yeah, well, it hurts me when you bring your ‘business’ into our home,” Silco spat. His glare became watery and he broke Vander’s gaze. “I know you are only doing what we agreed. I know it’s not . . . personal. I just . . . don’t want to see it,” he muttered, his voice barely louder than the running water.

Vander’s face softened and he drew Silco closer to him, a large hand splayed on his lower back. His other hand cupped and lifted Silco’s chin, bringing their gazes together once again.

“’M sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’ mean to hurt you. I won’ bring it here anymore.”

After a moment, Silco’s face softened and he felt him give the tiniest nod against his palm. Slowly, Silco’s head dropped onto Vander’s chest and his arms looped around his broad back. Pleased, Vander readily returned the embrace, his heart relaxing as Silco’s poor mood was washed away.

“You missed me?” Silco coyly asked after a minute.

Vander chuckled. “You bet yer sweet ass I did.”

To make his point, he playfully pinched at Silco’s rear. The smaller man yipped and tried to pry himself out of Vander’s arms. But he was unable to escape from the hold. Not that he actually wanted to. The thrashing was mostly for show and play, his true intentions revealed by the devious grin hooking his lips.

Vander held tighter, and leaned down, closing the distance between them. As their lips met, Silco stopped wiggling and wound his arms around Vander’s shoulders. He pressed up into the kiss, nearly moaning into it.

Mentally, he was kicking himself for being such puddy in his partner’s hands.

Physically and emotionally, he was flint – Vander, the spark. Together, they became aflame with desire.

Silco slanted his thin lips against Vander’s full ones, his silver tongue flicking across his partner’s lower lip. A soft rumble rolled at the back of the Hound’s throat, and he thrust his own tongue forward. It slid across Silco’s and probed the roof of his mouth.

Silco couldn’t help it. He whined, Gods damn him. Gripping Vander’s shoulders tighter, he lifted himself onto his toes and tightened his arms. The action pressed their mouths together more intensely.

Insistently.

Desperately.

One of his hands slid up and fisted itself in Vander’s brown hair. His locks were smooth and thick between Silco’s fingers.

“Did ya miss me too,” Vander teased, pulling away to nip at his partner’s ear.

“Shut the fuck up,” hissed Silco, wrapping his lips around Vander’s throat and sucking fiercely.

He left his mark on the Hound. Then another.

Vander grunted and his hips tilted forward, his dick half hard and well on its way. He felt Silco’s own cock beginning to firm up and press into his lower abdomen. Vander’s balls tightened, and something small and excited fizzed tantalizingly low behind his navel. He wrestled Silco back into a kiss that was all tongue and lips. His right-hand slip down and around his partner’s small ass. His fingers pet the defined cut that bisected his buttock from his leg. And then slid lower. And under.

Silco started and gasped at the first tender stroke placed on that sensitive strip of flesh between his balls and anus. His hips pressed back into Vander’s digit. Vander did it again. And again. Each time, the swipe would end nearer and nearer toward that tight ring of muscle.

Silco whined and panted into Vander’s mouth, kisses becoming too wide and hungry. His cock grew and thrummed between them, the tip of him pointing up seeking attention. It was pressed between Vander’s flat, strong belly, and his own slender form. The pressure was as euphoric as it was maddening. Silco groaned, his hips rocking between Vander’s finger and stomach.

The Hound broke away and looked down between them.

“Janna Almighty, Sil,” he breathed, crowding his partner against the shower wall, and sinking to his knees.

Vander’s hands raked up and down Silco’s front – just as slim and defined as his back. In the glistening light of the bathroom, under the spray of water, the delicate cut of his physique glimmered and shone. Like starlight on the Pilt. Vander’s cock ached at the sight of him. He was so beautiful. How could he ever think Vander would prefer anyone to him?

His thumbs flicked Silco’s dusty pink – nearly mauve – nipples, and raked down his ribs. Silco shuddered. Not only at the sensation, but at the sight: The Hound of the Underground on his knees in front of him.

For him.

It made Silco feel loved. And powerful. He reached out and ran his hand threw Vander’s hair, guiding his head to tilt up. They looked at each other, eyelids heavy with lust, lips kiss-swollen. Vander grinned at Silco, and nuzzled the thatch of wiry hair near his hip crease. His erect cock caressed his cheek, it’s warmth and silkiness sending Vander’s stomach fluttering.

“I missed ya, Sil,” he murmured into the hipbone beneath his lips.

Then he licked a long, wide stripe up the groove of his hip flexor. Silco sighed and shuddered, his hips jutting forward into nothing. His cock seeking out something, anything. A low chuckle rippled through Vander’s throat as he shifted his head over – making a point to lightly drag his lips across the purpling head of Silco’s dick – to the other hip crease. Another teasing, erotic swipe of his tongue.

Silco grunted, the back of his head bumped against the tile. In frustration. In elation.

“Vander – “

Before he needed to ask, there was wet, delicious heat tracing the underside of his shaft. Then a seal around his head. Light suction before Vander bobbed his head down in increments, running his tongue along bulging veins, until he was nestled at the root of his partner.

Silco’s hands threaded through Vander’s hair as his eyes closed, his eyebrows pitching up in ecstasy. Vander drew back slightly, adjusted the angle of his head, relaxed his throat, and began a gentle rhythm.

Pleasure rattled up and down Silco’s spine as Vander repeatedly swallowed around his cock. When his hips jerked forward, Vander’s hands gently, but firmly, held Silco in place. A touch that said ‘I got this. Let me take care of you.’ He created a particularly tight seal and swirled his tongue around Silco’s flushed glans. A gesture to assure, tease, elate, and promise.

“Y-yes-s,” Silco moaned, scraping his nails against Vander’s scalp.

Vander hummed in thanks and the sound vibrated through Silco’s sensitive cock wonderfully; another bolt of pleasure rocketing up his spine, his abdominal muscles flexing excitedly. Slowly, Silco’s mind began to wobble under the pressure of pleasure. The usually tight and methodical hold he had on his words unraveling as Vander’s actions unspooled him.

“I missed you, Vander,” he whispered up toward the ceiling.

Vander hummed, pleased. His right hand stroked down Silco’s thigh once, twice, before carefully lifting the back of his knee, and slinging his leg over his shoulder. Before Silco could question what he was on about, there was a gentle press against his anus. He gasped, and accidentally pulled Vander’s hair. He winced, but chuckled around Silco and pressed his index finger against him again, circling. His heart soared when the tip of his digit was welcomed in. Water was fine, but it wasn’t lube. So, Vander very slowly and very gently pumped his fingertip in and out. Above him, Silco whimpered and cursed, his body opening effortlessly. His hips pressed down as he took in Vander to the second knuckle.

“Faster,” he ordered. Although, Vander knew it was a plead.

He obliged, pumping his finger in and out in time with the contracting of his throat. Silco’s thighs began to tremble.

“Another. Give me another.”

Vander pulled off Silco’s cock, a thick string of drool hung between its head and his bottom lip. He grasped the shaft in his left hand and began a languid, but steady pace. Hand jobs were easier to give when his attention needed to be elsewhere. His middle finger zipped up tightly against his index, and the pair slowly breached Silco’s opening.

Silco flung his head back and moaned, fighting the urge to just sit on Vander’s hand. His cock pulsed. Vander’s fingers bottomed out, and a sly grin cut across his face as the pad of his middle digit lightly pressed against that spot he knew so, so well. Silco jerked and choked. Vander drew his fingers back and slid them in again and again, each time brushing that knot of nerves with more conviction.

Vander smiled as he watched his usually calm and collected lover become more and more undone. Silco’s face pink with pleasure and open; his slender body trembling. He looked so good like this. And it was only for Vander. Gods above, he loved him.

With the pace set, Vander prepared to take Silco back in his mouth. To finish him off and take his cum down his throat. But as his lips pressed against the tip of him, Silco batted him away.

“No,” he gasped, shaking his head. “No, no. I want – I want you inside.”

Vander’s heart leapt. He chuckled, “I am inside ya, Sil.”

He rubbed the tips of his fingers against his prostate pointedly. Silco cried out and ground his hips against Vander’s hand, before reluctantly lifting off of it.

“The other way,” he panted, swinging his leg off Vander’s shoulder. “I want your cock. Please. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you.”

Silco couldn’t bring himself to care how desperate he sounded. He had missed Vander. Had missed being with him in all the ways people in love got to be with each other. He missed the intimacy, missed the sex, missed his cock. It was all true. He would deal with the vulnerability hang over later. Right now, with his prostate and dick well-primed, he just needed to be fucked by Vander.

As Silco pulled away, Vander was reminded of his own dick. He’d been so wrapped up in and around Silco, he’d forgotten his own turgid member. Since dropping to his knees, it had grown and swelled in the wake of the sounds and sensations of his lover. It ached and dribbled.

Vander took himself up in his own hand. He allowed himself a couple strokes to soothe the pressure in his rock-hard dick. He stood, cock bobbing proudly before him, and turned toward Silco.

His partner was bent over at the waist, hands braced on the tiled wall, that perfect ass presented and ready. Blue eyes glanced over his shoulder, hazy and lust-filled. Vander’s mouth went dry with want. He surged forward and grabbed Silco’s narrow hips.

He curled over his back and whispered, “’M gonna make ya feel so good.”

“You better,” Silco purred, tilting the cleft of his ass to catch the cock prodding him.

Vander laughed lowly, before taking hold and guiding himself toward Silco’s winking hole. A zip of pleasure rocketed up from his toes to the crown of his head as the tip of him was pulled in.

Heaven. Silco felt like heaven, if there was such a place. Vander drew back before pressing forward again, digging deeper. He didn’t suppose he’d ever make it to heaven, but he didn’t care. Not when he could hold it in his arms; not when he could be wrapped up in it, feel it from the inside out.

After another couple rocks and sways, Vander was seated to the hilt – his pubic hair scratching at Silco’s cheeks, his heavy balls caressing the back of his slender thighs. Vander sighed in relief and bent over, resting his forehead between Silco’s shoulder blades. Beneath him, the smaller man trembled and panted.

“Ya okay?”

“More than okay. Move. Please.”

“Anything fer you.”

Vander kissed between his shoulder blades and stood. With a secure hold on Silco’s hips, he began steadily thrusting back and forth. The sound of wet skin slapping together rang throughout the bathroom. Vander’s grunts and Silco’s whines were quick to join, the small space becoming a cacophony of pleasure. Neither had enough bandwidth to consider or care if the sound of their love-making traveled up to the bar.

Silco’s nails scraped against the tile wall. His ribcage swung frantically with his breath, like the bellows that kept the furnaces alive in Augmentation Alley. Intense pleasure built up his spine like a heating thermostat; his cock jumped and dripped. With each pass and press of Vander’s dick against his insides, he didn’t know whether to push back or pull away. His thighs began to tremble, his knees began to knock.

“Fuck, Sil,” Vander gasped behind him. “So tight. So. Fucking. Good.”

He grit his teeth and increased the pace. The now relentless pressure on his prostate had Silco crying out. His back bowed at an intense angle. He babbled and agreed.

“Vander!” Silco cried. “I ne – I need – “

“I gotcha, Love,” Vander assured.

His right hand released Silco’s hip and swooped under him. He took a hold of his impossibly rigid cock, and the smaller man moaned and bobbled his head up and down. With a tight fist, he began stroking him. Silco gasped and pleaded and rocked his hips into Vander’s hold.

“Yes yes yes yes – hng – YES!”

Silco came with a cry, ropes of himself splattering over Vander’s fingers and against the tub.

After working him through his orgasm, Vander made to pull out, but Silco reached his hand back and grabbed his thick wrist.

“No. Inside. Inside, please,” he breathlessly asked. And then, with more snark, “You’re not done making me feel good.”

A grin that toed the line between sweet and wicked curled Vander’s lips, and he renewed his grip on Silco. Truthfully, he was grateful for the request. There was something about finishing inside his partner that felt untouchably intimate.

Vander set a vigorous pace, as much for himself as it was for Silco. The muscles cradling his cock squeezed and massaged the length of him. The fizzing behind his navel swelled and bubbled in mounting pleasure.

“Oh, Gods, Vander,” Silco warbled, the repeated pressure against his prostate threatening another release. Vander’s hips stuttered. His cock swelled. “Fuck, I love you.”

Vander erupted at the proclamation. Yelling in relief as he unloaded inside of Silco, his hips rutting against his backside. The firm, consistent sensation of Vander’s cock massaging him, coupled with the feeling of the seed filling him up, tipped Silco over the edge for a second time. He moaned lowly as the deep, gooey feeling of release seeped through his muscles and bones, threatening to shake his legs right out from under him.

Before he could slip away, strong arms were gathering him up and lifting him away from the wall. Vander pulled Silco into his chest, his softening dick slowly slipping out of him. He winced at the emptiness and sighed. Vander kissed his temple and held him tighter.

“I missed ya, Sil. I love you, too.”

Silco hummed appreciatively and wrapped his arms over Vander’s. He turned his head, and Vander ducked down, kissing him softly.

Belatedly, Silco heard the patter of the shower. Then he felt the water. He’d forgotten where they were. He shivered.

“The water’s gone cold,” he said against Vander’s lips.

The Hound huffed a small laugh, and reached behind him to turn off the spigot. “Let’s get ya into some warm clothes, yeah?”

Silco smiled and nodded, following his partner out of the tub.

Notes: Well, I think Silco's world has been thoroughly rocked, wouldn't you say?

Thank you so much for reading! If you would, please keep this story's fire burning by commenting and reblogging ❤️

Coming Up Next: Silco reminds Vander to whom he belongs

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

Smuttttt, horny reader, horny König, sub König, wall sex

Welcome to ending 2!

After how I wrote Ghost in Ending 1, I owe you guys some non-villianous behavior from our favorite Ghostie boy. For everyone dreaming of taking both of these big guys (and not in a fight lol), this ending is for you~

Reader POV:

To christen your new honorary status, the team invited you to join them for EMT training. But though the idea was tempting, you still felt a bit exhausted from sparring. So, despite their disappointed expressions and attempts to change your mind and drag you along, you assured them you’d see them all later that night. As the mess hall emptied and everyone rushed off to their next tasks, you headed back to König's room with him so that he could change into more suitable clothes.

Once there, you hopped onto his bed, kicking your legs as they dangled off the edge.

"What does EMT mean?"

König smiled as he shut the door and headed for his closet. "It means emergency medical technician. For the training, we like to practice things like basic patient care, minor surgical procedures, and how to evacuate fallen teammates. It never hurts to practice. That way, you don't get rusty or forget when you really need it."

He undid his tactical vest and set it down on his chair. All of the pockets and hooks were stocked with a wide array of equipment on both the front and back of the garment. You spotted a few signal flares and a grenade. Beyond that, you had no clue what each of them were for. But if they had earned a place on his vest, they must be vital for his line of work. It was details like these that easily fascinated you. So you stared at it, overcome with curiosity.

"Can I see your vest for a minute?" You asked, timidly.

He looked at you, a bit puzzled. But he still took it in his hand and walked over to you.

"Sure," he laughed. "But it's just a vest. Nothing special."

"I know. It just looks so cool!"

"Just be careful," he said as he set it down on your lap, quickly removing anything he considered dangerous before letting you examine it. "My tools are not just to look cool."

As he headed back to the closet, you sat fully enamored as you took a closer look. You inquisitively fingered the stiff fabric of his vest, exploring hidden pockets you hadn’t noticed from afar. From the way it looked, you couldn’t help but imagine it'd be uncomfortable to wear. But then again, König wore it everyday without fail. Letting your curiosity take full control, you carefully raised it above your head and slipped your arms through their respective openings. Your shoulders sagged slightly under its weight as it fell into place, hanging off of your body like a weighted blanket.

"Oh my god," you giggled. "This thing is really heavy!"

"It's not too bad once you get used to it.” He shrugged, smiling as he looked over his shoulder at you. “But you look cute like that. Now you're really one of us."

You laughed, hefting the vest off again. After carefully placing it beside you on the bed, you looked up just in time to see König pull his shirt over his head. With his back turned, he unknowingly gave you the perfect view at his arms and back. His broad shoulders were toned and defined, the muscles beneath them rippling as he moved. And those arms. You'd never seen them bare before!

He turned to retrieve his vest and immediately noticed you eyeing him, unashamedly checking him out.

"What?" He said, his voice bashful as he returned his vest to its place on the chair.

"Nothing," you whispered, practically drooling as you drank in every detail of his torso. The way his stomach rippled with muscle, the way his chest protruded a bit, casting a soft shadow along the top of his abdomen. And the firm bulge of his biceps framing the entire image on either side.

Your feet moved as if they had a mind of their own, drawing you off the bed and towards him. Your hands responded much the same way, gently trailing over his body as you spoke.

"How much time do you have before practice?"

"About t-ten minutes," he answered, stuttering around a gasp as your hands caressed his hips and your thumbs dipped beneath the waistband of his pants. "You're gonna make me late, Maus."

He closed his eyes, a willing slave to your touch as you tugged him towards his desk. You grinned as you spoke, full of mischief and more as he let him pull him along after you.

"I guess we'll have to be quick then."

You raised his hood just high enough to pull him into a heated kiss. It wasn’t slow and romantic this time. This one was passionate, sloppy, and hungry as your lips collided. Teeth grazed lips and tongues began a dance all of their own as you drank him in. Your desperate movements were like two weary travelers finally able to quench their burning thirst.

König picked you up and sat you on the edge of his desk, lost in the feeling of your lips on his as he tugged at the bottom of your shirt. But you were one step ahead of him, yanking the shirt over your head in one fluid motion. His hands fell to your breasts and he tugged at the fabric. His fingers fumbled for a moment as he frantically searched for the series of hooks that held it in place. But his increasing excitement made the intricate hooks impossible to undo fast enough. So, with an impatient huff, he took the neckline in his fists and tore the fabric with a firm yank.

“König! That bra was expensive!” you gasped. But the protest died on your lips the minute his hands enveloped your breasts and pinched at your nipples.

“I’ll buy you as many as you want,” he panted, his voice gone husky and low. “Right now, I need to touch you. To feel you.”

And God, did he do just that. A hot, wet heat overwhelmed your senses as he hungrily suckled at your breasts. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin and tugging you closer. Your eyelids fell closed as he repeatedly sucked you into his mouth with needy moans. And you moaned right back, clutching his head to your chest and never wanting him to stop. You pressed the palm of your other hand to his back. You would have wrapped your arms around his shoulders. But since he was so tall, his shoulders were a bit out of reach. Though he was hunched over you, his form still dwarfed you by comparison. He was just massive! But you were content to stroke your hand along his side and hip.

You shoved your hand further into his pants, wanting to give him pleasure too. When your fingers brushed against the erection straining against the front of his pants, he jolted with a whimper. König wasted no time to assist you, moaning against your chest as he fumbled with his belt and the fly of his trousers. The minute he was sufficiently disrobed, he tugged your shorts down until he could toss them across the room behind him, your panties quickly following after them. The desk was cold against your bare skin, but that was the last thing you were concerned about at that moment.

The only thing on your mind was the way König’s hands gripped the flesh of your ass as he lined himself up with your entrance. And, after meeting your eyes, he entered you with needy urgency. The abrupt fullness sent your head back against the wall as he groaned at the sensation, quickly developing a steady pace.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck!” You whined as your body stretched all over again to accommodate his length. There was no pain, only immense pleasure as his firm thrusts brushed against sensitive areas buried deep within you. Places no one else had ever come close to reaching before, but that König hit without even trying.

He nestled his face into your neck, the fabric of his hood draping over your shoulder like a cape as he marked your skin with kisses and nibbles.

“You feel so good, Maus,” he ground out through gritted teeth as a light spasm flickered through your core, the added pressure making his body quake in a pleasant shiver. “Du bist verdammt gut. Oh fick mich!”

A precursor of what was to come. A preview of the ending that both of you frantically chased as your bodies writhed against each other. Though you wanted that ending with every fiber in your body, you simultaneously never wanted the moment to end. Your body taking every inch of him, the slap of his hips against your thighs and ass, the way his thrusts made movement ripple through the rest of your body. His hands gripped your ass almost painfully as he pounded into you. As was his way, he kept his movements as gentle as he could. But there was definitely a bit more fervor than before. He really needed this right now. And so did you.

Without warning, König picked you up from the desk. With both hands cradling your ass and supporting your thighs on his forearms, he effortlessly kept you suspended in the air as he returned to slamming his hips against your own. With him now in total control of your movements, you clung to his back and let the sensations sweep you away. Every thrust of his hips, every tug of his arms forced a high-pitched whimper of pleasure from your lips. You could feel the rumbling vibration in his chest as he moaned incessantly. This was it. This was paradise. This was all you needed.

His frantic pace quickly overwhelmed you, sending you reeling into your first orgasm. And König let out a deep groan of pleasure as your inner walls clamped down on him deliciously. Seeing you ride out your climax while still riding his cock drove him wild. And the repetitive spasms greedily sucked him deeper into your depths with every move he made. But he wasn’t quite there yet. He needed more. He needed to feel you squeeze so tightly around him one more time.

He repositioned again, this time turning to press your back against the wall. Only when you were securely sandwiched between the wall and his body did he resume his pace. The added leverage changed his angle ever so slightly, giving him access to new unseen targets within you. And after his first few thrusts rammed against a particularly sensitive area without a single miss, you braced for the second orgasm you knew would soon follow.

“Maus,” he whined, groaning before leaning his forehead against yours and gazing deep into your eyes. His rhythm was beginning to falter just slightly. “I want to come inside you. I want to fill you up and never stop. Bitte, Maus, machst du mich geil. Tell me to come for you, please.”

He was begging? Here you were helpless in his grasp and the furthest thing from having the upper hand in any conceivable way. And yet, this mountain of man was begging you for permission! Pleading for you to tell him what to do. He had willingly given you control over his greatest pleasure and wouldn’t let himself have it without your command. It was startling. It was touching. And God, it was so hot.

You gasped as another wave of pleasure thrashed through your body and König whimpered loudly in response. His length throbbed and twitched within you. But though he didn’t stop moving inside you, he held out and continued to wait for your order.

“You want to come for me?” You gasped, playing along and moving your hand to the back of his neck. Molten heat pooled deep within you as you felt your own climax quickly approaching.

“Yes, mein Engel!” he gasped, his eyes desperate with need. He trembled, his voice strained. “Please!”

“Come for me, König.”

With those few words from your lips and few powerful thrusts, König finally let himself fall into a powerful finish. You clung to him as your body locked up, your core clenching around him repeatedly as it practically milked him for all he was worth. And as the warmth of his orgasm erupted within you, he stiffened and slowly offered a series of short, sharp thrusts. Once he’d finished, a peaceful stillness fell over both of you like a warm blanket. Both of you paused for a moment, gasping for breath as you came back down from your respective highs.

After giving him a tender kiss, you patted his arm to signal that you were ready to be put down. He did so slowly, carefully making sure you wouldn’t immediately fall over as he did. But after a second or two, he let you go and sank down onto the bed with a blissful sigh.

“That was very good,” he chuckled, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

“I agree,” you giggled. After a few wobbly steps, you soon made your way to the bed and joined him in his relaxation. “Do you speak German a lot when you get turned on?”

“A bit,” he said, cuddling up against you. “It tends to happen whenever I’m really relaxed or excited. Or when I’m really scared.”

You laughed, stroking the top of his sniper’s veil with your hand. “Well, I certainly hope you weren’t scared shitless this whole time.”

König took your hand and squeezed it affectionately. “I’ve never felt better.”

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Hills of Marigold

Before that, we must find love and fill the vessel with it. (Chapter 500) | Discord Secret Santa 2020 for @chavelink​. | AO3 | Holiday Prompt: Day of the Dead.

                                ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts with Kakashi’s sticker chart.

Naruto is not quite old enough for the Academy yet, but his eagerness to become a shinobi is almost as vast as his ability to turn his home upside down the minute his parents look away.

Though Kakashi’s duties don’t usually leave him much time for babysitting, he knows more than most how rare it is that the Hokage gets free time, so he volunteers himself twice a month to be subject to the hurricane that is five-year-old Uzumaki Naruto in his sensei’s stead.

Out-running Naruto is not the problem. Kakashi is certainly fast enough to reach him before he can do any permanent damage. What really perplexes Kakashi is how to keep a five-year-old entertained. Naruto is more loud, curious and insistent on clinging to Kakashi every minute of he’s around than anyone he’s ever met. (Even Gai can be reasoned with, Kakashi thinks, trying to make rice with two sticky hands tugging on his jōnin blues.)

“Why can’t we eat ramen instead, Kakashi-niichan?” Naruto complains, scrunching up his face.

“It doesn’t have any nutritional value,” Kakashi replies, sighing.

Naruto pauses, and though Kakashi’s eyes are on the stovetop, he knows the younger boy is frowning. “What’s that?”

“Vitamins and minerals. Those things are in the vegetables you’re going to eat.” He eyes the other pan, and decides it’s time to plate the sweet potato and broccoli. Naruto doesn’t look particularly enthused, so Kakashi reminds him, “If you want to become a ninja, you’ll have to eat the kind of food which makes you stronger.”

At the mention of the word ‘ninja,’ Naruto’s face lights up. “Hey, Kakashi-nii, teach me a jutsu!”

It’s not the first time Naruto has asked, and Kakashi usually flat-out refuses. Naruto is destructive enough without any shinobi techniques. But an idea suddenly strikes Kakashi. “How about we make a deal?”

The deal Kakashi proposes is premised on the most basic of tactics Minato-sensei has instilled in his team: Positive reinforcement. If Naruto behaves well enough, Kakashi will teach him something.

It becomes clear to Kakashi in the first hour or so that Naruto’s impatience outweighs his focus. With the prospect of a ninja technique on the line, he is far more concerned about hassling the information out of Kakashi than he is about washing up after lunch, or cleaning his room. So it falls on Kakashi to improvise.

Kakashi holds up the latest Ichiraku flyer. “You see these stickers?” he asks.

“So we are getting ramen?” Naruto asks, bouncing on his heels.

“Not today.” Carefully, Kakashi peels up a circle which announces a 10% off deal on yakisoba. “If you can earn five of these stickers, I’ll teach you how to knock someone my size off of their feet. But I’ll keep the flyer with me, so there’s no cheating.”

Kakashi’s plan is more effective than he could’ve predicted. Not only does Naruto manage to keep himself clean the rest of the afternoon, but his attempts at taijutsu tire him out to the point where, for once, he is asleep in bed by the time Minato and Kushina come home.

“Are you interested in becoming a jōnin-sensei, Kakashi?” Minato asks him with a wide smile.

“Not on your life,” says Kakashi, shunshin-ing away with a wave.

—

Whether he likes it or not, Kakashi does become something of a teacher to Naruto. The young boy, distracted as he is, doesn’t shy away from hard work, as long as it’s something that interests him. After a while, they make their way through some basic attack and defence strategy (though Naruto seems to rely much more heavily on the former). Kakashi even tries to work with him on chakra control, but despite his size, Naruto’s chakra reservoir is enormous, so even gathering chakra to his palms proves difficult.

By the time they take a break in the late afternoon, Kakashi half-wishes he could reach for the book in his pocket and spend the rest of the day letting Naruto practice, but he knows shinobi at this age usually need supervision. He sighs, passing his hand over the dandelions wistfully.

“It’s not fair, y’know,” Naruto complains, sprawled out on the grass. “How come I can’t make my hands work like yours, Kakashi-nii?”

“You’re five,” Kakashi tells him, as if it’s that simple.

“But Sasuke can—”

Kakashi hears Naruto complain about Sasuke, his habitual playmate, often. Itachi’s little brother, if the name is anything to go by. Kakashi isn’t sure if Naruto sees Sasuke as his greatest enemy or best friend.

“It doesn’t matter how quickly you can learn. What’s important is that you work at it.” Kakashi says firmly. Sensing Naruto needs more reassurance, he adds, “Besides, Sasuke may not have as much chakra as you do.”

Naruto mulls this thought over, tugging the grass into his small fists. “Why not?”

Kakashi thinks of Kushina, and the overwhelming energy it must take just to contain her presence. “It seems to run in your family.”

As if summoned by these words, Kakashi feels a shift in the air which marks Naruto’s mother’s arrival. The sure-footed sound of her sandals landing on a tree branch, the smell of coconut oil from her hair, and the loud chakra signature which matches her son.

“It’s time for dinner, y’know!” Kushina announces, hands on her hips as she jumps down. “Minato made grilled saury, and I won’t have you boys coming back when it’s already cold.”

“Food!” Naruto says, hopping to his feet with a grin. He grabs his mother’s hand. “Let’s go, kaa-chan!”

Weakly, Kakashi tries to raise his hands in a warding gesture. “Actually, I have some food at home—”

“Nice try,” Kushina says, grabbing the collar of his flak vest with her free hand. “You’re coming too, Kakashi.”

Kakashi sighs, letting himself be tugged along. “Aren’t I too old for you to still be force-feeding me?”

“If you want to be a ninja, you have to eat strong things,” Naruto pipes up from Kushina’s side helpfully.

“You tell him, Naruto!” Kushina says, grinning at her son.

“I don’t like being a sensei,” Kakashi mutters under his breath, while Kushina and Naruto laugh at him.

—

Despite Kakashi’s words, dinner at the Uzumaki household isn’t so bad. Kushina may give him too many helpings of saury, Minato might be far too concerned about his social life, and Naruto might try to dump his vegetables on Kakashi’s plate, but there is a warmth in their home in which Kakashi cannot help but feel caught up.

It is this same warmth which has him linger after dinner is over, handing plates over to Kushina as Minato carries Naruto off to bed.

“I want to thank you, y’know,” Kushina says gently. “Naruto thinks pretty highly of you.”

Kakashi ducks his head, cheeks ruddy over the edge of his mask. “I’m not doing much.”

“He really looks forward to those stickers, and your lessons.” she says. Her eyes drift towards the fridge, where Naruto has stuck a colourful paper with his assortment of Ichiraku coupons. “I was wondering, do you mind if I join you both next time? There’s a place I’d like to show Naruto. And you, if you’re willing.”

The request leaves Kakashi taken aback. While Kushina doesn’t often leave the village, he knows she’s as busy as Minato-sensei, overseeing most of the genin and chunin missions in his stead. But Kushina’s eyes are sincere and bright, so he cannot bring himself to question the request.

“Ah, sure,” he replies. “What did you have in mind?”

What Kushina has in mind, it turns out, is a week-long trip to the coastline. It requires Kakashi to turn down a two-man mission with Tenzō, and an invitation from Asuma to join his former classmates for Yakiniku, but he is curious about what could Kushina could want to show them so much. A curiosity which only grows when he realizes that Minato-sensei will be joining them.

Kakashi leans against the doorframe, straightening up when his sensei walks in, backpack in hand. “Is it really okay for you to be leaving Konoha for a week, sensei? I mean, Yondaime-sama?” he corrects.

“I wouldn’t be leaving if I didn’t think so,” Minato replies firmly. “Our village is made up of more than just the Hokage, Kakashi. Shikaku-san will look after the the jōnin, and Chōza-san will see to the genin and chunin. Sandaime-sama has agreed to deal with any emergencies. Konoha will be fine without us.”

Kakashi’s brows draw together. “Whatever Kushina wants us to see must be important.”

Minato smiles. “I’ll leave it to her to tell you the rest. Let’s get going.”

—

It occurs to Kakashi, as they head east, that he has never seen Minato and Kushina on a mission together.

It is something to behold. They keep pace with each other naturally, even with Kushina carrying Naruto on her back. And though Kushina’s presence is louder and bolder than Minato’s, there is a synchronicity in their movements which makes Kakashi think of celestial bodies moving in each other’s orbit. It strikes Kakashi with the memory of being five years old himself, seeing two smiling faces looking down at him in the moonlight.

As they stop to rest for the night, Kakashi puzzles over if he’s ever taken a trip like this, just for the sake of it. If he has, it’s hard to recall. At Naruto’s age, his world had been so different.

Even his sensei has changed somehow, he decides, looking at Minato, Kushina and Naruto piled beneath one blanket. More at ease with the world, he thinks, watching as Naruto’s knee digs into his father’s chest. He hears Minato whisper something to Kushina, and watches their hands intertwine, musing on what it would be like to look so certain of his place in life.

“Don’t look so gloomy,” Kushina tells him the next morning, as they pack up. “You’re not on duty today. You can relax. Maybe even smile.”

“I relax,” Kakashi replies, crossing his arms.

Kushina laughs, reaching upward to muss up his hair. He wonders when he outgrew her. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The last half of their trip passes quickly. They stop in a seaside village long enough for lunch, but from thereon out, the rest of their trip is past far enough from the forest that the landscape remains full and vast before them.

Kakashi takes note as they pass over rolling hills filled with marigolds, adding unusual brightness to their path. Kushina’s speed finally slows down to a walking pace, and it allows Naruto to stare with open-mouthed appreciation at their view.

“Orange is my favourite colour,” Naruto announces, holding up a flower right up to Kakashi’s visible eye.

“I believe you,” says Kakashi.

Kakashi wonders if this is another trait that runs in their family, as he watches Kushina gather a bouquet of her own. Minato looks on with fondness, taking their son into his arms instead, so that his wife can move more freely.

When Kushina is nearly done, Minato approaches her and tucks a flower into her hair. His gaze is warm and soft in a way that makes Kakashi feel like he should look away. He wonders yet again why Kushina has asked him here, with their family, bright and orange and whole.

Kushina turns to Kakashi. “We’re almost there.”

Flowers clutched in hand, they walk until the flowers give way to grass, and until that grass shifts to sand. Though it’s approaching sunset, the water still shines with its warm reflection, straight through the lapping waves to let its bright golden twin rest at their feet. The salted air fills their lungs with every breath.

Wordlessly, Kushina removes her shoes, and Minato takes them into one hand and watches her walk slowly across the sand. Kushina approaches the edge of the water. Marigold petals fall into her footsteps, somehow unmoved by the changing winds.

“Mito-sama,” says Kushina, clear and certain over the breeze. “It’s good to visit you again.”

It only occurs to Kakashi then just where Kushina has taken them. Beyond the horizon line, though he’s never seen it, he’s almost certain there would’ve once been an island. The tide looks calm now, but he’s heard of the powerful current that few shinobi would be able to navigate unscathed.

Kakashi doesn’t expect Kushina’s call to be answered, if her words are for the person he suspects. To his surprise, however, he does hear something, a melodious whisper, by wind or water, that makes Kushina turn to them with the widest smile Kakashi has ever seen.

“Mito-sama,” Kushina says, with nothing pride in her eyes, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Naruto?”

Minato sets his son down on the sand, and lays an encouraging hand on top of his hair. “Go on.”

Naruto is uncharacteristically quiet as he approaches his mother, gazing up at the horizon as he might a new friend. “The name is Uzumaki Naruto!” he proclaims, to the sea.

Kushina’s arms come around Naruto, allowing him to lean his back against her legs. “You told me once that I needed to fill this vessel with love. Naruto... it’s more like he makes the vessel bottomless, because he fills it with more to love than we ever thought possible. He eats lots, and grows every day. He’s really good at making friends. He’s not in the Academy yet, but he’s always doing his best to learn. He’s probably a little too much like me, but I see Minato in him too. We’re a family now, y’know?”

With that, Minato steps forward. Kakashi’s eyes are so fixed on the scene in front of him, he doesn’t notice Minato looking at him until a hand touches his shoulder. “Kakashi,” he says gently, inclining his head towards the water.

Hesitantly, Kakashi walks in step with Minato. When the sand grows wet beneath his feet and his toes are lapped at by the tide, he feels Naruto grab for his hand. He stares at the small fingers for a moment, feeling Minato’s palm still resting on his shoulder, and strands of Kushina’s long hair brushing against all of their backs.

Kushina listens to the wind’s rhythm intently, and continues. “You know Minato. We’ve been walking side-by-side since we were kids. And now, we look over the village together. I think you would like the way it looks now.”

Kakashi feels Kushina’s eyes turn to him. “And this is Kakashi. He’s like a little brother to me. Or like... an older brother to Naruto. I think he’s still too scrawny to be someone’s uncle. He takes too many missions, and he doesn’t spend enough time being a teenager, and he’s always slouching— but he also cares about people more than almost anyone, in this land or the next. I think he likes being Naruto’s teacher, no matter what he says. He’s family too.”

Swallowing against a suddenly tight throat, Kakashi tries not to let Naruto feel his hand shake. “Nice to meet you, Mito-sama,” he says, when he can find his voice.

He cannot make out the wind’s song over the sound of his thudding heartbeat, but he does feel a light breeze against brush against his forehead, leaving the same warmth in its path as his mother and father did when they pressed a goodnight kiss to his temple. His eyes widen.

“I’m glad you could join us, Kakashi,” Minato says, squeezing Kakashi’s shoulder.

In turn, Kakashi’s grip on Naruto’s fingers becomes tighter, if still gentle. “Me too.”

[emersonfreepress]

ok ok in the spirit of community, how would the ros fair in a paintball war?

(referring to this ask! like the zombie au post this ended up making me think a lot 😅)

ohh... interesting, interesting... p sure the only paintball wars i’ve really seen were the ones featured in The League, Peep Show, and Community... but let me wrack my lil head...

ok, i ended up coming at this from multiple angles like the zombie au post 😅 always so much to consider in battle environments! and in the spirit of community, I'll stick with the individual player elimination style paintball match. in the woods with other e prep seniors. last one standing wins bragging rights

Gabe

Shooting skill | 6/10 - Experience with shooting and practice with Kile ofc

Stealthiness | 8/10 - He's done a fair amount of sneaking around during his after school activities, is super observant (or just paranoid lol), and naturally light on his feet. Good luck ambushing him.

Strategy | 8/10 - Strike deals. Do favors. Form alliances. Shoot 'em in the back once they’ve outlived their usefulness. ...What? It’s just paintball.

How does he win? | Graciously. Gabe likes winning, and especially via strategic manipulation, so it puts a smile on his face. And he's in a good mood so he treats a bunch of you to ice cream or smth 👀

How does he lose? | Slumps in frustration at being outwitted or taken off-guard, sulks about it for a little while. He's not that sore of a loser but needs time to lick his wounds and stop thinking of the different choices he could have made.

Kile

Shooting | 9 - The most accurate shooter of the cast and easily one of the best shots at E Prep. Lots of practice + talent

Stealth | 10 - They're stupid good at climbing trees and 100% consider that a valid method of ambushing their classmates. People start having flashbacks to 3rd and 4th grade recess and P.E. Scanning the trees. They just start taking people out with such efficiency it quickly starts ruining the game 😂

Strategy | 0? 10?? - “...Strategy? You just stay out of sight and kill 'em all, right?” (immediately scolded by Gabe for word choice 🙄) They really do mainly stay out of sight and pick people off with max stealth, like 😆 they'd be such a terror, people would need to take them out early for anyone else to stand a chance! They spend a lot of the game staking out the most frequented paths in the area and taking out groups quickly, all at once. Then they'll get around to stalking and picking people off one by one. The real fun...

Winner type | Stoic. Likes winning combat but the stakes were non-existent, so... the win is meaningless! this just infuriates the losers more 😅 such disrespect

Loser type | Sucks their teeth and tosses their paintball gun to the ground. "Y'all suck." (they're over it five mins later tho lol)

Jack

Shooting | 3 - This is nothing like shooting light guns... ��️

Stealth | 5 - Not just due to his size making him an easier target, but homeboy is liable to get distracted by a cute squirrel or some pretty flowers 😂 He's not great at keeping his voice down either so good conversation would make him easy to seek out. He's just out here enjoying a beautiful day 😅

Strategy | 7 - All that movie-watching (and DMing) make him a valuable creative mind for problem-solving, but he needs a cooperative team to be effective. Rescued and recruited by Rupan/Rohan early on in the game ^ ^

Winner type | Disbelief! And everyone’s content and satisfied with him winning. Except Vivian/Vincent, that jealous fool

Loser type | Doesn't mind losing at all! He just hopes he was a good teammate and was glad to have fun ☺️

Jessie

Shooting | 7 - Comes from a family of hunters, girly knows how to shoot.

Stealth | 6 - Familiar enough with woods and stalking prey to be capable of sneaking around. Having too much fun to not giggle and get overly invested in the developing plot of the game. Even more easily distracted by critters and flora than Jack 😅

Strategy | 5 - Oh, she's just here to have fun. She'll go with whatever the person she's teaming up with decides, but can adapt easily enough.

Winner type | Surprised... then elated! Bouncing and happy and it's completely contagious. No hard feelings about a single thing. Convinces Heidi to invite people to the Emerson Estate—it's a hot day and they have a nice pool

Loser type | Same as Jack! Congratulates the winner with a hug because she's sweet like that 🧁

Rain

Shooting | 2 - This... thing is so cumbersome. And ugly. At least it shoots pretty colors.

Stealth | 7 - Small and used to sneaking around different environments and seeking out hiding spots. Their height and frame makes them harder to spot too.

Strategy | 4 - Hide!!! They’re not getting assaulted with paint and pellets!! Especially not after managing to make this ugly jumpsuit look cute?? Waiting it out is perfectly legitimate. Might share snacks if you decide to join them in hiding 😆

Winner type | Falls asleep in an unexpectedly cozy hiding spot and emerges as everyone thought they’d declared the winner. I imagine R and others yelling at them to get their gun while the original winner scrambles to get theirs, just for Rain to win by pure luck of the draw. Won’t stop them bragging about it, though! (I want this spurned runner-up to be Vi bc ofc)

Loser type | "So I can stop holding this thing?" Yawn. "I'm so hungry and bored, we've been at this for hours..."

Rupan/Rohan

Shooting | 4 - Ah, shit. These don't shoot anything like light guns.

Stealth | 7 - They sneak out and around town a lot 😂 They just force themself to be careful about how loud grass and bushes are.

Strategy | 7 - They’re treating this shit like an action movie and banding together a ragtag team of misfits to take down the strongest alliances and players. Savvy enough to reject Gabe’s and Curt’s offers to join, not opposed to strategic backstabs. They're very clearly just as focused on having fun as they are on winning—and playing Predator, which honestly works with Kile runnin around. They even brought war paint and borrowed a tactical vest. Is it mostly packed with snacks and weed? Maybe. Does it prove useful for negotiations? Hell yeah.

Winner type | Raucous celebration, just pure joy and adrenaline ☺️ Celebrates with their team, brags a bit, rubs it into Vi's face, makes fun of Curt, the usual. Then invites allies out to get pizza because it's the obvious next step

Loser type | Mostly disappointed they can't keep playing. They're a little sore about being left out of the action, but soon just start chatting with other marked players about how the game went for them. Plenty entertaining on its own, they want all the details

Vivian/Vincent

Shooting | 5 - They've got a little bit of shooting experience.

Stealth | 4 - They're overly sensitive and hate being in nature. Their skin is sticky, they keep feeling bugs everywhere, they've gotten dirt all over their pants, it's so hot, they keep WALKING into SPIDERWEBS, [flails about, screaming furiously]

Strategy | 8 - They have good ideas, they're just difficult to execute alone, especially since they're getting sunburnt and getting crankier and can't stop swatting at insects 😅 they're one of the first people to figure out that someone's taking out groups from the trees, so they stay solo and try to find a single person to team up with. Really what they need is someone who's a better shot but easy to boss around. They can probably just owe them for an in-school favor...

Winner type | Barely suppressed gloating. Vi somehow finds a way to be an obnoxious winner almost entirely by the look on their face. Once they're in a smaller group, they're passionately discussing the details of the game and happily boasting about their triumphs (while glossing over all of the whining and and slip-ups lol)

Loser type | Booo, such a sore loser. (Especially in the scenario where Rain wins 🤣) If they're outsmarted or outgunned in a clear, transparent way they'll growl and stomp off, then quietly glower and sulk for way too long. If they're double-crossed or beaten in an underhanded way oh lord —they're fighting it to the end. R can't help but get involved either way, reminding them it was a damn game with literally no prize. "C'mon, Vi, chill. You want ice cream? Let's get you ice cream."

Heidi

Shooting | 6 - Some shooting experience.

Stealth | 8 - She's very aware of her surroundings and her body. Perceptive yet quiet. Tactical. All residual traits picked up from her many activities over the years.

Strategy | 9 - Most likely to outsmart everyone. The first one to figure out groups are being targeted from the trees. Goes it alone and only open to trading (unless she sees Curt with Jess in which case she puts a quick pin in her plans to rescue her 😂). She also immediately figures out it's Kile, because ofc it is. Keeps close tabs on what groups are doing, knowing that eventually Kile will come down to ground level to pick off individuals and couples. Predator becomes prey 👀

Winner type | Proud but not boasting. She doesn't need to be. Victory looks good on her, natural and fitting. Thanks everyone for a good game then takes the girls for a long ride in the Cadillac 😎 top down on a bright day, baby

Loser type | Damn. She should have won this. Maybe if she'd... She probably could have... Then she snaps out of it, roped in by the celebratory mood of congratulating the winner. She's over any feelings of frustration or regret after getting to discuss the match with the person that took her out/the winner and there's no hard feelings. If anything this was fun as hell, it should be an annual thing. ☺️

Curt

Shooting | 8 - Some shooting experience and a natural knack for it. Good reflexes.

Stealth | 8 - Curt likes to say he gets along with the woods around these parts. Sneaking around is second nature to him. Really good hearing too. He's an easy target if you manage to seduce him though, having no issue leaving himself vulnerable if it means that kind of fun 😂

Strategy | 7 - Honestly, he's most interested in seeing how long he can get away with using charm and seduction for both protection and double-crossing 😂 Eventually becomes persona non grata and gets all of his ammo stolen by a vengeful mark, barely getting away in the process. Since that jig is up, he finally starts thinking a win might be nice... and so he teams up with the only competent player who would never betray him and also inspires the least vitriol in others: Jessie. What? Is his back-up plan using her as a human shield? No! 😚 Of course not! 👉👈

Winner type | Insufferable and gloating. Rubs it in a lot of people's faces, specifically Heidi, Rupan/Rohan, and any participants who genuinely don't like him. Brags to Gabe (who is completely disinterested in gassing him up 😂), then promises he'll make things up to Jessie (who didn't mind and had fun lol). Then celebrates by asking whoever he's flirting with these days for a quick date—and a ride in the Ferrari. Makes a scene pulling out of the parking lot. Ass.

Loser type | Doesn't care one bit as long as he had fun! And he always finds a way to have fun, it's why he's so carefree 😅

[cdyssey]

Exit Strategies

Summary: Before they break Alexei out of a maximum security prison, Yelena convinces Natasha that they should rest, that they need to.

A/N: I finally got the chance to see Black Widow today and ugly sobbed through almost half of it. Natasha and Yelena deserved so much more—oh, my GOD, it's not fair.

AO3 Link

—

It’s only when the gas needle edges precariously below a gallon that Natasha frowns, the stark cut on her lower lip curving like a bow just begging to snap.

“We need gas,” she breaks the long silence between them. Yelena glances over at her sister’s profile, sharp and distinct even in the semi-darkness, slightly tinted blue by the BMW’s luminescent dashboard. Her angular jaw. The ribbon-like strands of red hair plastered to the side of her face. The bruises beginning to feather the column of her neck from their recent fight.

And the purple shadows beneath her visible eye.

The lines.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Yelena quips because it’s easier than being sincere, easier than dealing with all of the effed-up history between them. They used to snuggle in the same bed, wrists crossing wrists. Mere hours ago, they came close to strangling each other to death with curtains. 

“We also need to rest. Can’t go taking down a multinational child soldier complex on zero hours of sleep, y’know.”

“Mmm,” comes a noncommittal reply, short, patronizing. “You sleep. I’ll drive.”

Yelena simply stares at the older woman, searching, incredulous, and frankly, a little miffed. Has she always been this much of a martyr? She interrogates her own memories—the ones from her childhood are the clearest she has—and surprisingly concludes that, yes, she’s always been this way. 

Natasha would get into fights on the playground when older kids tried to bully Yelena.

And she was good with her fists.

She would always win.

“Don’t be stupid, Natalya. You’re not superhuman. Let’s pull off at an exit and get a motel room.”

“We don’t have time for that. My contact’ll be at the rendezvous spot at twelve tomorrow.”

“A few hours tops,” she promises, wheedling, glancing at the car’s central display. It’s 2:07. There’s plenty enough time for them to get some sleep and make it back to Norway, especially with how fast Natasha drives. They’ve never been under eighty-five the entire time they’ve been on the freeway. “C’mon. I stink. You stink. We both need showers and a vodka shot.”

“I don’t stink,” Natasha wrinkles her nose disdainfully. But even as she says it, she lets off the pedal and eases into the right lane. The speedometer slowly sinks from over a hundred to ninety… eighty… seventy…

“You do,” Yelena snickers, mischievous, triumphant, a little kid again teasing her older sister about a hopscotch victory. She arches a smug brow. “You smell like shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

But she watches, with fascination, as the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches, the cut on her lip quivering too.

—

They get gas at a twenty-four hour station and buy a few necessities inside—some snacks, a bottle of cheap vodka, gauze, painkillers, a pack of Skittles for Yelena.

It’s been a long time since she’s had Skittles.

They’d once been her favorite candy.

Natasha had always preferred chocolate bars.

And behind their mother’s back, their papa would indulge them. 

Hush, my little kittens. He would raise a conspiratorial index finger to his mouth. Don’t tell Mama now.

“Jesus hell,” the clearly sleep-deprived cashier says, taking in their haggard, bloodstained appearances.

“We just got back from fight club,” Yelena supplies cheerfully.

“Do you got change for fifty euros?” Natasha asks.

—

At 2:40, they finally pull into a motel, a dingy, little dump far away from the main part of the city. The stolen BMW looks out of place against the worn-down building, all sleek and shiny and new. This is the kind of establishment that most people settle for, not actively choose—unless, of course, said people are two Russian killers trying to evade detection from a militant Taskmaster.

Yelena and Natasha are silent as they creep into the motel room that had been designated theirs by the scruffy faced twenty-year old working the night shift at the front desk, handguns drawn as they flick on lights and canvas the room as they had both been trained to do.

Two queen sized beds.

A boxy TV that looks like it could have been at home in the nineties.

A musty smell in the air.

A spluttering air conditioner in the window.

A framed painting on the wall of something that looks vaguely phallic.

“Clear in the bedroom,” Yelena calls after she checks under each bed. 

No monsters under there.

“Bathroom’s clear too.” Natasha walks out of the side door, replacing her Glock in her thigh holster. “If the front door gets blocked, our exit strategy’s the window in the bathroom. Leads out into some woods. We can climb a tree and pick threats off from a decent vantage point.”

Again, Yelena stares at the woman in front of her, trying to reconcile her bruised and scratched face with the kid from twenty-odd years ago, the one who used to make shadow puppets on the wall for her to laugh at, who’d comb her wet hair at night when Mama was working. 

There’s so little light in her eyes left, the particulars of her voice perfectly calculated to be distant.

Yelena wants to pull her hair out, wants to stomp around a little, wants to throw a tantrum and scream.

They lived together for three years.

They were sisters.

And Natasha… Natasha is distant.

“Do you always have an exit strategy?” Yelena blurts out a little stupidly. Of course she has an exit strategy. They’re trained fucking spies for God’s sake! Hell, Yelena even has a tentative exit strategy! 

(She's just gonna crash through the window and start shooting.)

But she is and really isn’t asking about exit strategies. 

Even as her lips formed the words, she knew this. Even as the words fell from her tongue, she felt their insufficiency and knew the depths of her own vulnerability.

Is that all you can look me in the eye and talk about, Natalya?

Exit strategies?

This is our first night together in twenty-one years, and you can stand here and tell me that the trees are the best place for blowing people’s brains out?

Natasha shrugs a single shoulder before limping over to the side table, where they’d placed their singular grocery bag.

“Go take a shower, and make sure you get all the dirt outta your wound.”

Yelena’s eyes flick downwards at her bandaged arm and then back to her sister again.

“You’re such a mom,” she repeats herself numbly as Nat draws the vodka bottle out of the bag, untwisting it with a deft motion and taking a long, practiced drag.

“Shower,” she exhales once she’s done, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “We’re leaving in six hours.”

—

Yelena takes a quick shower, ten minutes to the dot, and feels a little like a human again, even though the water was only lukewarm at best, and she has to put on her sweaty clothes from the day before. At least her hair and face are clean, the grime beneath her nails all scraped off, her wound cleansed of dirt. After she towels her hair off, she doesn’t put her jacket and tactical vest on just yet, remaining stripped down to just her undershirt and pants. 

She’s slept with her gear equipped before.

On most nights, really.

Tonight, though, just for a few hours, she doesn’t want to.

(She knows she doesn’t have to—her older sister is here.)

As she hangs her damp towel on the nearby rack, she notices that the window behind the dinky toilet has been cracked open about an inch, propped up by one of motel’s washcloths.

A handgun has been strategically placed on the back of the toilet.

A Glock-22.

An exit strategy.

When Yelena enters the main bedroom again, she sees that Natasha is sitting on the bed closest to the window—(the most vulnerable position, she briefly thinks to herself)—shirt off, tenderly probing a nasty-looking laceration just below her ribs.

The dried blood blooms across her stomach like a flower.

Crimson.

Replete with thorns.

“Damn,” she breathes, and Nat quickly looks up, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“It’s not deep,” she says immediately. “Just long.”

“It’ll scar,” Yelena shakes her head.

Wounds like that always scar.

“I’m no stranger to scars.” A proffered grin—slight, elusive, wry. And no sooner than she says it, Yelena spots the long, telltale surgical incision where the hysterectomy had been performed, and to the left of her belly button, there’s a scar that had once clearly been a bullet’s entry point. “I collect them everywhere I go.”

It’s an innocuous enough statement, but the contents of it jog her memory.

She's reminded of what that their mama said long ago in a military camp somewhere in Cuba.

Pain only makes you stronger, remember?

Yelena has always drawn vague comfort from the words—usually when she’s nursing her own sundry wounds, doing her best to recover from them.

But tonight, looking at Natasha’s body—which surely mirrors her own—she can’t help but think that those words might’ve been bullshit said by a poor, dying woman.

Sometimes, pain can only hurt.

“Your turn to shower,” she says, jerking her thumb emphatically at the bathroom door.

A half-smile.

Her lips are dry and cracked.

“Make sure you get the dirt outta that wound.”

“Asshole,” Natasha chuckles, the sound low and hoarse, and maybe even a little painful because she winces at the end, her bloodied fingers involuntarily drawing themselves up her ribs. 

“сука,” Yelena returns, throwing herself unceremoniously onto her bed, hiding her own laughter in a pillow.

Bitch.

—

When Natasha returns some thirty minutes later, she’s already twisted her damp hair into a messy plait, and she’s fully clothed, dressed like an armed gunman is going to burst through the curtained window at any moment.

Yelena had already flicked off the lamp and bunched the stiff blankets up to her nose in an attempt to get comfortable… but she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

Waiting.

She watches, ever observant, as her sister lithely winds through the room without making so much as a sound, the graceful ballerina that the Red Room tortured her to be. She’s similarly silent as she slowly lowers herself onto the other bed, gingerly propping herself up against the headboard, angling her torso towards the door.

But this is apparently too sudden of a movement for her body to currently handle.

A hissing noise escapes past her clenched teeth.

“You should sleep,” Yelena croaks aloud, having seen enough, having heard more. “I’ll take the first shift.”

Her sister’s hawklike stare finds her in the darkness. 

“What? No. Go to bed,” she snaps, obviously annoyed. “You were the one who wanted to stop for the night.”

“Yeah, because I looked over and saw that you looked like death warmed over!” She retorts haughtily. “However much you might pose otherwise, you’ve gotta have needs too.”

This quiets Natasha.

At the very least, it makes her look away.

She shifts (very incrementally) on her bed.

She plays a little with the end of her braid.

“An hour,” she says, so quietly that Yelena almost thinks she’s saying “an oar” for some bewildering reason.

“Чего?” What? 

“An hour,” Natasha repeats emphatically. “Wake me up in an hour. It’s… all I need.”

“Okay.” Yelena sits up abruptly, eager to please, desperate to show that she still cares.

It’s a bit sickening, really—the woman practically abandoned her.

She got out and never looked back…

“I mean it.” Her sister doesn’t quite lay down, but she does slouch a little more comfortably against her pillows. “An hour.”

“Yah.”

—

Yelena isn’t a woman of her words, though.

She lets her sleep for two.

“Dammit, Yelena,” Natasha groans, pulling her fingers hard over her eyes. “You told me you'd wake me up."

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natalya,” she yawns, finally slumping her head against her pillow. "It didn't kill you to get a little more beauty rest."

"Asshole."

As the dark takes her away, she smiles.

Bit—

—

A soft hand on her shoulder, a gentle shake. 

Yelena blearily opens her eyes to see Natasha standing over her, staring at her with that same inscrutable expression—complicated…  and utterly unreadable. It gives her the impression of being pierced through all over, analyzed and deconstructed.

Even though she’s quite clothed, she feels naked.

Seen.

“We gotta get moving,” she says matter-of-factly. “There’s coffee on the nightstand. Once you wash your face, I’ll change your bandage again.”

And then, stepping away, she disappears from view. From the sounds she’s making, she’s clearly cleaning the room, thoroughly removing all traces of their less than six hour presence in this motel in the middle of practically nowhere. In mere minutes, it will be like they had never been here at all.

And so it goes for Red Room operatives.

So it went in Ohio.

When Yelena sits up to stretch, blankets that she hadn’t fallen asleep under cascade heavily to the floor.

She glances to her left.

Sees a bed that’s been all but stripped clean.

—

In the bathroom, the gray light of dawn leans against the partially opened window. Yelena sits on the side of the half-bath as Natasha makes quick and expert work of cleaning her wound and bandaging it up again, snipping the excess gauze off with her penknife.

“Looks better today,” she simply comments as she replaces the knife in her utility belt. “Might not scar if you’re lucky.”

Unspoken between them but nonetheless understood, neither of them have really been lucky.

They were orphans abandoned by their mothers.

They were children who were trained to kill.

And now they have so much blood on their hands.

Red dripping from their ledgers.

Scars on their bodies, so many wounds on their souls.

Yelena’s not even thirty yet.

(Her life has given her plenty of reasons to suspect that she might never be.)

“Pssh,” she snorts derisively as her sister finally yanks the washcloth out from the window. 

It closes with a smart snap.

A decisive finality.

Yelena is just bending down to lace her boots up when Natasha suddenly speaks again, apropos of absolutely nothing.

She could have just left.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Gripping the washcloth loosely in one hand, she stays.

“There was... this S.H.I.E.L.D. guy,” she says, her voice reluctant, full of clear misgivings, “who used t’complain all the time that I never had an extraction plan. No exit strategies either. I’d just go in… complete my mission… and it’d be up to my enemy’s aim if I made it out intact.”

Yelena looks up to see that her sister’s back is turned to her, her back stiff, the sharp ridges of her shoulder blades jutting visibly through the black fabric of her shirt.

Somehow, even in a bathroom barely big enough to admit the both of them, she seems strangely small.

Young even.

She curls her fingers around the nearby towel rack like a kid gripping the monkey bars.

“I used to think that maybe that was the best way to atone for everything I’d done,” she continues, her voice ever distant, so perfectly controlled. “To be so reckless with my life that if I died during a mission, someone might actually call it heroic.”

A laugh, short and humorless, entirely disaffected from the horrible words that the same voice just spoke.

Yelena wraps her arms loosely around her stomach.

And represses the primal urge to shudder.

But wish though she could, she can’t look away from Natasha Romanoff.

Mesmerized.

Horrified.

Concerned.

She should hate this woman.

For all of these many years, she has loved her unconditionally.

“But then I got with the Avengers, you know, and I was suddenly in the public eye, tasked to save people, to try and protect my team…”

A violent pause. 

Natasha lets go of the towel rack rather abruptly but neatly folds the rag over the top of it.

“It’s different when you’re on a team,” she finally shrugs. “You start making exit strategies because it’s not just your life on the line anymore.”

“So that’s what we are, huh?” Yelena can’t stop herself from asking. Her voice drips its own sarcasm; it relishes in mockery; she hopes it’s enough to hide her hurt. “A team?”

They’d once been family.

Every night, Natasha told her that she loved her.

Every night, Yelena replied just the same.

And in all the years afterwards, there was always a small part of her that hadn't lost hope that her big sister was going to come back for her one day, that she was going to bring the Avengers and rescue her—rescue all the Widows—from Dreykov.

She got out.

Thousands of girls didn't.

“For now,” comes the quiet reply. “C’mon. Finish getting ready.”

Natasha doesn’t look behind her when she walks out.

Yelena is starting to think she never does.

[dindjarindiaries]

A Bullet For You

summary: When your office comes under fire by Escobar’s men, Javier and his men come to the rescue, where he promptly offers you his bulletproof vest to keep you safe.

note: translations included at the bottom

pairing: javier peña x colombianf!reader

warnings: violence, blood, death, shooting, smoking, angst, fluff

rating: R

word count: 2.723k

masterlist

“Te amo muchísimo, cariño.”

Those were the last words you’d said to Javier before this very moment, where you now find yourself cowering in the corner of your office with your coworkers—pinned to the spot by the guns of Escobar’s allies.

You’ve never expected to see such action at your accounting job in Medellín. You’ve lived in Colombia your whole life, watching the drug crisis unfold before your very eyes. Nevertheless, you’ve always avoided it, simply desiring to live your day-to-day life with a job that, honestly, could be more boring—just so you could play it safe.

That was, until Javier Peña walked into your life. Or, rather, stumbled.

You’d been hoping for a hookup that night at the bar, needing some kind of change in your everyday life. When you saw the man who practically glowed even under the shitty lighting of the bar, you instantly knew who you’d wanted to go for—but you felt something you weren’t supposed to. After the first few drinks, casual conversation, and sharing the heated dance floor together, you realized you were in deeper than you’d first bargained for. Javier, on the other hand, was completely gone by the time you wanted to head out with him, in no good shape to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other.

So, you’d helped him get back to your apartment, providing him with a glass of water and your bed before he passed out for the night. You took the couch, and by the time he was wandering into the kitchen the next morning with a furrowed brow, you’d already prepared something for him to eat. According to him, that’s when he knew he was in love with you—and you’d told him that you had the same realization around the same exact time.

Now, it’s been a few months, and you’ve at least gotten to the point where you don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Javier told you all about his job with the DEA and his life growing up in the States, and you were impressed that a gringo could have such skill with Colombian culture and the language. You’d taught yourself English by watching American television growing up, and Javier helped you fill in the gaps. Though he was very solid at Spanish, you still helped him whenever he needed it, and it’s become just another way in which you’ve bonded over these past few months. If you’ve noticed anything about Javier, though, it’s his protectiveness. Even in the first few weeks of your relationship, he was hesitant about letting you go out on your own—despite the fact you’d been doing so ever since you could remember. He was relieved to hear that you had such a normal job, one that wouldn’t easily be infiltrated by the chaos he witnesses on a daily basis.

Yet, here you are, watching Escobar’s allies violently interrogate one of your coworkers—who you’ve now discovered has been doing some work for Escobar—while you and the rest watch on with horrified eyes.

“¡Puta rata!” one of them shouts, giving your coworker another punch across the face. “¡Has estado hablando con la policía!” He chuckles darkly, placing the barrel of his gun against your coworker’s temple and giving it a nudge. “¿Pensaste que podrías safarte de nosotros tan fácilmente?” The man clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he gives your coworker a hard hit with the barrel of the gun. “¿Qué les dijiste?”

Your coworker looks on with a terrified gaze. “¡No dije nada!” they insist, their voice cracking in their panicked emotion. “¡Por favor, créeme!”

The same man from before gives his head another shake. “Es demasiado tarde, rata.” With that, he lifts his gun and pulls the trigger, and you along with your coworkers give a terrified shout as you try to look away from the gory sight. You close your eyes and keep your face tucked away, feeling your heart race a mile a minute as your mind only starts to think of Javier.

“Voy a regresar a las cinco esta noche,” Javier had said to you this morning, his hands resting so gently yet so securely on your hips as you stood just in front of your apartment door.

“¿Me lo prometes?” you’d remarked, your voice barely above a hushed whisper as your fingertips trailed down his cheek.

Javier had given you one of his infamous smiles, making you drown in his dark gaze of deep affection. You knew he was going to stay true to this one—because the recently late hours and time spent away from you had been taking even more of a toll on him than it had on yourself. “Tienes mi palabra,” he’d assured you, placing his soft lips against yours. The touch had left you a melted puddle of pure love on the apartment floor, leaving you to grip onto his neck for fear of your knees giving out beneath you. When he pulled away, Javier had left another tender kiss on your forehead, reestablishing his eye contact with you. “Hasta pronto, mi amor. Cuídate.” He took your hands from around his neck, holding them in his as he left a kiss on your knuckles. “Te amo mucho.”

“Te amo muchísimo, cariño.” Your lips couldn’t stop smiling despite the fact you were watching him walk through the door, unsure of what would befall him that day but knowing you’d see him sooner than you were getting used to.

And now, you’re not so sure you’ll get to see the end of Javier’s promise—but at least, you try to comfort yourself, it’s not his fault. The thought of your lover keeps you relatively calm until Escobar’s men cock their guns at you and your coworkers, giving you their full attention. The man who’d shot your other coworker steps forward, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Entonces, ¿quién sabe qué le dijo la rata a la policía?”

You and your coworkers begin looking at each other nervously. No one even knew that man’s been working for Escobar, and since none of you have any information for these men, that means you’re going to die at their hands.

Meanwhile, at the embassy, Javier’s had a pit growing in his stomach all day for no good reason. It’s only just past noon and he’s already almost gone through an entire pack of cigarettes. When Javier lights his last one, Steve’s whistling pulls him out of his funk, drawing his attention to see a raised brow looking back at him.

“What’s up, Peña?” Steve asks almost cautiously.

“What do you mean?” Javier remarks, taking his first puff with agitation.

“I’ve lost track of your cig count for the day,” Steve says, leaning forward on his desk in a questioning manner. “So, you’re stressed over some shit. What is it? Is it your girlfriend?”

“God, I hope not,” Javier mutters, temporarily setting the cigarette onto his ash tray. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, Murphy. I’m just…” Javier trails off, shaking his head as he tries to justify his odd feeling.

“… paranoid?” Steve tries to finish. “I know that sometimes I can start thinkin’ about Connie and get all worked up for no good reason.”

Javier shrugs, picking up the cigarette again at the thought of you being in danger. “I just gotta be home by five,” Javier mutters, tossing a file from his desk onto the large pile behind him. “I’m probably just worried I won’t make it on time.”

Steve’s about to say more, no doubt asking why Javier had to hold such a tight schedule, but gets cut off by the ringing of his phone. He raises a curious eyebrow at Javier before picking it up, his eyes widening the more the voice on the other end speaks. The pit in Javier’s stomach begins to grow, to the point where he has to put his cigarette down again in fear of making himself sick. Steve writes down an address and gives a reassurance, hanging up and rising from his chair. Javier stands up with him.

“What’s goin’ on?” Javier asks, trying not to make his nerves so obvious.

“Hostage crisis, with some of Escobar’s men,” Steve informs him. “Guess the police has had contact with an accountant who was working for Escobar and was giving them information—and Escobar found out about it.”

At the naming of the profession, Javier’s blood practically turns to ice, and he takes an urgent step towards Steve as his brow furrows. “Accountant? At a company?” When Steve gives a nod, Javier’s heart nearly stops. “What’s the address?” Steve offers the piece of paper, and Javier takes it in his shaking hands to see exactly what he feared: your workplace. “Shit. Fuck!”

Steve’s slightly surprised by Javier’s outburst, watching as he lunges for his gun and bulletproof vest with intense urgency. “Javi, what the hell—?”

“That’s her office,” Javier explains in a quick breath, already starting to head out of the office. “We gotta go!”

Upon hearing that, Steve’s soon going at the same speed as Javier. His heart’s practically in his throat the entire way there, his mind only able to go back to the same memory as yours—the morning that could be your last one together.

Back in the office, you’re thankfully at the end of the line, watching as your coworkers endure violent tactics in an effort to get them to reveal something—anything. You try to think of bullshit excuses in your mind, wondering if you can offer them something that’ll keep them from killing all of you. But you’re not that quick on your feet, and you suddenly wish more than ever that you had the quick thinking of Javier to assist you.

“Mentirosos, todos ustedes,” the main man scoffs after he’s given another one of your coworkers a hit of their gun to their head. “Alguien tuvo que haber oído algo de lo que el puto soplón dijo.”

“¡No sabemos nada!” someone speaks up, their voice full of nothing but fear as they look pleadingly up at the man in front of them. “Si supiéramos, ya te hubiéramos dicho todo.”

“Habla por ti mismo,” you scoff, your eyes widening as you realize you’ve said the thought aloud.

All eyes turn to you, and the man’s soon making his way over. “¿¡Qué dijiste!?” he questions, his voice hauntingly dark. “No te escuche bien.”

Instead of freezing up like the others, you think of Javier again, and your blood boils. These are the men who would shoot at him in a heartbeat, with the intention of taking him out. These are the men who keep him away from you each day. These are the men who make his life a living hell and take such a heavy toll on him that some nights, he just has to cry to you. So, rather than taking back your words and offering some bullshit, you tell them the truth. “Come mierda,” you mutter, spitting on his shoe.

The man’s face darkens immensely, but before he’s able to do anything to you, there’s the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway stairs—a practical stampede of them. Every head turns to the door, and you barely have time to see it fly open before the bullets start flying. You gasp and keep yourself ducked down, trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Your arms remain over your head as you kneel on the ground, shaking in your sudden horror. Despite the threat of your own safety, you can’t stop thinking about Javier—until you feel a familiar touch on your arms. When you lift your head, you see him kneeling there in front of you, and the pure sight of him practically brings you to tears.

“Mi amor,” Javier breathes, barely audible over the shooting as he holds your face in his hands and inspects you for injuries. “I thought that… that…” Javier can’t finish the thought. Instead, he reaches to take off the bulletproof vest he’s wearing, beginning to put it around you. “Wear this. You’ll need it while I get you out of here.” He straps it on you as quickly as he can, but you’re unsettled by the idea of it.

“No, Javi,” you insist, grimacing with disapproval as he finishes securing it. “It’s yours. You need—.”

“I’ll be fine,” Javier insists, still having to raise his voice above the gunfire. “But we have to get you out of here, now!”

You give him a nod, letting you wrap both your arms around one of his as he holds his gun securely in his free hand. Javier begins to guide you back to where he’d came from, looking around whenever he can for any potential threat. You’re still shaking as you grip onto his arm for dear life, still unable to believe that you’re back in the security of his presence. Javier notices this, and he looks back for a moment to calm you with his dark eyes.

“Relájate, mi amor,” he assures you softly. “Voy a sacarte de aquí sana y salva.”

You offer him a nod, but soon find yourself gasping when a bullet whizzes by your ear. Javier turns around to shoot the man who’d almost gotten you, and you see him fall to the floor in pain immediately. Javier continues to move forward quickly, taking you with him as you refuse to loosen your grip on his arm. When you reach the staircase, you can barely descend them with the shakiness in your legs, but thankfully Javier keeps you propped up as you’re soon exiting the building and entering the security of the blockade that surrounds the perimeter. Javier tries to get you to sit on the hood of his car, but all you can do is wrap your arms around him tightly, hiding your face in his shoulder. He holds you back, running his hand through your hair to calm you.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, hermosa,” Javier mumbles in your ear. “When Steve showed me that address, I thought I’d never get to hold you again.”

You hold him tighter, pressing your cheek against the fabric of his shirt. “Solo podía pensar en tú, Javi.” You sigh shakily, feeling Javier run another hand down your head at the sound of it. “I wanted to say that I loved you a thousand more times.”

Javier’s smile is nearly audible, but he continues with an interrogation of your wellbeing. “Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head, still keeping it against his shoulder. “They were about to.” When Javier tenses, you let out a quick chuckle and continue. “When they asked us for information, I may or may not have told them that I wouldn’t have told them even if I knew—and then told them come mierda.”

Javier lets out a low laugh at your words. “Ay, mi amor, eres muy fuerte. Estoy orgulloso de ti.”

You chuckle once again and then pull yourself away from him, holding onto his shoulders as you’re suddenly very aware of the bulletproof vest you’re still wearing. “You walked through a shootout without a vest for me.” You bite your lip to keep your emotions tucked away as Javier gives you a small smile and a nod. “How?”

Javier tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “I would take a bullet for you any day, mi amor.” He says the words without hesitation and with such certainty that you can practically feel the truthfulness in his core—and as much as you love it, you always feel terrified by it. Javier sees this, and he cups your cheek in his hand before he goes on. “But hopefully I won’t have to.”

You finally give him a smile at that, leaning up to brush your nose against his. “Te amo más que a mi propia vida, cariño.”

Javier leaves a short yet very sweet kiss on your lips, pulling away to leave an additional one on the tip of your nose. “Te amo muchísimo, mi amor.”

translations:

Te amo muchísimo, cariño. = I love you so very much, sweetheart.

¡Puta rata! = Fucking rat!

¡Has estado hablando con la policía! = He’s been talking with the police

¿Pensaste que podrías safarte de nosotros tan fácilmente? = Did you think that you could get away from us so easily?

¿Qué les dijiste? = What did you tell them?

¡No dije nada! = I didn’t say anything!

¡Por favor, créeme! = Please, believe me!

Es demasiado tarde, rata. = It’s too late, rat.

Voy a regresar a las cinco esta noche = I’m going to come back at five tonight

¿Me lo prometes? = Promise me?

Tienes mi palabra = You have my word

Hasta pronto, mi amor. Cuídate. = I’ll see you soon, my love. Be careful.

Te amo mucho = I love you so much

Entonces, ¿quién sabe qué le dijo la rata a la policía? = So, who knows what the rat told the police?

Mentirosos, todos ustedes = Liars, all of you

Alguien tuvo que haber oído algo de lo que el puto soplón dijo = Some had to have heard what the fucking snitch said

¡No sabemos nada! = We don’t know anything!

Si supiéramos, ya te hubiéramos dicho todo = If we knew, we would have told you everything already

Habla por ti mismo = Speak for yourself

¿¡Qué dijiste!? = What did you say!?

No te escuche bien = I didn’t hear you well

Come mierda = Eat shit

Relájate, mi amor = Relax, my love

Voy a sacarte de aquí sana y salva = I’m going to get you out of here safe and sound

Solo podía pensar en tú, Javi = I was only able to think of you, Javi

Ay, mi amor, eres muy fuerte. Estoy orgulloso de ti = Oh, my love, you’re so strong. I’m proud of you.

Te amo más que a mi propia vida, cariño = I love you more than my own life, sweetheart

Te amo muchísimo, mi amor = I love you so very much, my love

[cat-in-a-fedora]

Reunion Falls

I think I found something for the reunion falls au of Gravity Falls on the original creator’s blog. The reblog and like functionalities weren’t working for some reason, and I couldn’t find it in the creator’s archive. I really like this, though, so I’m gonna put it here and give credit.

This was originally on @sailorleo, and I couldn’t reblog it for some reason.

`-i dunno, he’s like, really weirdly clingy, but when we’re together all he wants to do is talk about his band…

-dump him.

-dipper that’s the same advice you’ve given me for every boyfriend i’ve ever had

-then why don’t you ask mabel?

-fine, maybe i will. mabel, what do you-

-no actually i think dipper’s right you should dump him

-teen soos playing with baby dipper and getting all excited when he says his name

-it would work better if stan actually knew mabel was coming beforehand, but just couldn’t work up the nerve to tell dipper until the last minute. by some fluke, mabel arrives a day early, and makes contact with dipper while stan is out.

-stan tells dipper that at the time of his birth his parents weren’t expecting twins, and couldn’t afford to take care of two children at once. he only told the kid they were dead because he thought it might be easier to handle than the idea that his parents didn’t want him.

–

-what are you still doing up?

-’m makin’ a sweater for grenda. she’s bigger than me, so it’s taking longer. you had a nightmare?

-no big deal, it was just an anxiety dream.

-a what?

-it’s like a nightmare, but instead of being scary it just makes all your deepest insecurities a reality. grunkle stan says they’re the brain’s way of reminding you that life could always be worse.

-…that sounds dumb.

-yeah, well, life isn’t fair, mabel.

–

-that corduroy girl out sick today or somethin’?

-what? um, no! i was just, uh… i tripped. on a rock. a lot of rocks.

-oh c'mon, kid, you think i never got the snot kicked outta me in elementary school? i know a fist to the face when i see it. c'mere, let’s fix you up.

–

-what can i do, though? they’re all bigger than me, and if i tell the teacher i’ll just look like even more of a wimp.

-ha! if you don’t wanna look like a wimp, you should stop letting other people fight your battles for ya.

-but i can’t-

-now hold on. i know you can’t, you’ve got about as many muscles as a soggy piece of toast. but one thing i know about the world is that guys who were born bigger, stronger, and smarter are always gonna punch down. and guys like you an’ me are stuck right at the bottom like old gum. so if your wits can’t save ya, all there is to do is punch back up.

-….do you mean that metaphorically, or….

-i was wondering when i’d have to dig these old things up again! …see, kid, all I’m trying to say is, when the world fights, you gotta learn to fight back.

–

-oh, shit. we’re not getting anywhere like this.

-*gasp* dipper!!

-what??

-you just said the ’s’ word!

-so? we’re practically teenagers, mabel. we can swear.

-i have friends back home who won’t even say ‘crap’! you must be getting it from somewhere

-i don’t know what you-

-[wendy enters] AYYYYYY DICKWEEDS WHAT’S FUCKIN HAPPENING

–

-ugh, sorry about all that, man. i don’t know why robbie’s always such an asshole to you.

-you don’t think he’s like…..jealous of me, do you?

-HA! ohhhhh my god. oh my god you’re probably right.

-what, does he think I’m gonna like, steal you away? like he’s INTIMIDATED by me? …that feels kinda good, actually.

-oh man, can you imagine? dipper pines, casanova extraordinaire! refined older women such as myself just….COLLAPSING at your feet!

–

-grunkle stan, um…. where are my parents?

-uhh……….. they died.

-oh…. how did they die?

-they………………died.

–

-you know when you’re wearing just the vest without a sweater you kinda look like……. someone. it’ll come to me

–

-mabel, what did you do to the journal????

-what? you told me to pretend it was my diary!

-i said to PRETEND it was your diary, not actually use it as a diary!! you didn’t mess with the stuff inside, did you?

[cut to: a shot of the interior of the journal, filled with stickers and cute little drawings and tiny diary entries about boys and the like]

-…….nnnnnnnope.

–

-if you’re going to be a monster hunter, you’ve got to have a look.

-hey, i’ve already got THAT covered

-no, i mean a look that tells people you mean business. like what i’ve got!

-what’s more businesslike than a leopard wearing sunglasses?

-i can think of a few things. what about like, a jacket? or…. a jacket? something besides a big fluffy sweater.

-listen dip, we’ve only known each other for a few days so i’ll let you off the hook this time. but first rule of mabel? the sweater STAYS.

-ugh, fine, but you’re gonna overheat. hey, what about this? it’s big enough to wear over a sweater. and it’s got pockets!

-but does it have PERSONALITY?

-you can decorate it or whatever i don’t care.

–

-mabel, have you seen my gel?

-nope. why do you gel your hair, anyway?

-i don’t want my bangs to cover my birthmark.

-can’t you just cut them off?

-it’s part of the look.

-ohhh, the 'look’.

–

-soooooo dipper had a crush on you, huh?

-haha, yuuuuuup. he thought he was being super smooth about it too. 100% convinced i had no idea. oh shit, dude, you wanna see this valentines card he made me when he was like, seven?

-you KNOW i do!

-boom! check it. all the blackmail you’ll ever need on one piece of construction paper.

-oh my gosshhhhhhhhh…..wait,  "love, ty"?

-oh yeah, ol’ dipstick used to go by 'tyrone’ before he was dipper. just between you and me, dipper suits him better. tyrone is too cool for him.

-why’d he switch?

-dunno, really. he used to hate his birthmark, people would make fun of him for it, yknow? and then one day he just started being super cool with it. he like, reinvented his entire image around the thing. you should’ve seen him before that though, always brushing his bangs down over his forehead… well, at least he puts some effort into his appearance now.

–

-FUCK!

-KID!

-oh no.

-where’d you learn language like that?

-i… uh….

–…..wasn’t from me, was it?

-n-no! it was from…. nobody! i mean, you hear stuff around, and-

-WAHAHA! this is great! now i don’t have to keep my mouth shut around ya! and it isn’t even my fault!

–

-mabel, take out the trash

-booooooo!

-…aren’t you going to do what he said?

-sure, just as soon as i finish kicking dipper’s butt!

-i will dance on your grave, mabel.

-but…he’s your uncle. you should listen to him before he gets mad, right?

-pff, what’s ol’ stan gonna do, throw his dentures at me? (don’t tempt me, kid) half the fun of being a kid is not doing what adults tell you to do! consequences be darned.

-…paz, really, stan loves us. he’s not gonna like, hit me or anything. yikes.

–

-dipper, seriously, what the heck happened between you and gideon!

-i told you, nothing! he’s just a creep.

-oh, is THAT why he won’t stop talking about you? even on our dates! it’s WEIRD. ….you two aren’t like, exes or-

-ew, no!

-haHA! you dated gideon! gideon and dip-per sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-

-we were FRIENDS, okay?? …sort of. i dunno. it was a long time ago.

-heyoooo my drama senses are tingling! now you HAVE to tell me! deets deets deets!

-uuugggghhhhhh fine

-dipper and gideon have been rivals since childhood, but back then it was on somewhat friendlier terms. they would get each other in trouble, start fights over nothing, ruin each other’s stuff, but they would always walk away with smiles on their faces, like an unspoken pact to annoy the shit out of each other forever. but things started to change after gideon found journal 2. dipper didn’t see him around with the other kids as often. his tactics got nastier. he started “winning” more often. things came to a head after stan started teaching dipper to box. one day when dipper and wendy were hanging out together, they ran into gideon, who took the opportunity to tease them mercilessly. when he started going after wendy, dipper socked him, hard, in the nose. “i dunno. i was really mad, but i think i also just wanted to prove i was strong. wendy was always protecting me, so i wanted to protect her back.” after that point, gideon declared them mortal enemies.

-stan and wendy were definitely elated at the fact that dipper punched gideon. stan probably tried to bake him a cake.

–

DOUBLE DIPPER

“BAM! look out party, this girl’s on a mission! and that mission is to find a summer getaway friend group. woah, huddling crowd of teenagers! that’s perfect!”

-paz is talking with everyone listening when mabel interrupts her. “heyo! guess who’s here, it’s mabel, and that’s me.” “…..that’s great, sweetheart.”

-mabel is really excited to make new friends at the party, but most everyone starts hanging around pacifica. mabel tries to make friends with pacifica but paz rejects her, saying “listen, youre new so i’ll fill you in. it might seem like people like you and are interested in you because youre 'quirky’ or whatever, but you’re just a cheap novelty. around here? i’m the one who matters. nobody ignores pacifica northwest. adoring fans?” paz snaps her fingers and the crowd begins to shove mabel out of the circle until she finally falls on the empty dance floor. defeated, mabel shuffles off to the only people not part of the crowd (candy and grenda) “you too, huh?” “don’t worry. when we burn, we burn together.” paz then steps up to the mic and points at them, shouting “hey everyone, check out this adorable new attraction! it’s the reject corner!”

“aww, we don’t need this. the true merit of a partymaster is knowing how to take the party with you. this calls for an impromptu sleepover!”

-mabel offers to cheer up her new friends by ditching the party and having a sleepover instead, candy remarks that they were planning a post-party sleepover together anyway, grenda says how she stole a raunchy romance novel from her mom- wolfman bare-chest. grenda shows off that the book has a full-color illustration of gerard, candy remarks how she wants one of her own, mabel remembers that they have an old copy machine downstairs.

-“i don’t understand. i’m having fun, but i still feel this burning desire to go back downstairs and make her suffer for her crimes. crimes against friendship and partying.” “hey, i know what’ll curb that thirst for vengeance! theft! look what i stole from my mom’s bedside table!” “grenda, you wild girl! this is perfect!” “and it comes with a full-color illustration! his pecs are holographic!” *all three girls scream* “aah!! he is so rugged and brooding, i want to take him home with me and make him my trophy husband!” “ooh, i think we have an old copy machine downstairs! that way we can all keep the poster! come on girls, let’s go make our dreams a reality!”

-the girls end up bringing gerard to life because fuck the laws of reality, he emerges and says “which of you fair maidens brought me into this realm?” candy points to mabel. “girls, i think the party is back on!”

-“hey, fursuit, i don’t know if anyone told you, but this isn’t a costume party. although that would explain YOUR outfit, mabel”, gerard gets angry and tries to defend her by attacking pacifica. pacifica gets a small scratch on her arm and shrieks “are those REAL claws?!” mabel and candy struggle with gerard and finally subdue him (after he loses an arm to the punch bowl) by stuffing him into a closet. “you can come out after you learn to stop being such a butt!!” candy makes some remark about “at least we didn’t make any more!” cut to grenda either using the copy machine or already surrounded by wolf men.

-after the gerard squad starts running wild at the party, mabel gets an idea. “grenda, they’ve already like, werewolf-bonded to you, right? so if you’re in danger, they’ll come and save you!” “..i know what i have to do. hey northwest, be mean to me!” “ok, ok, just… give me a minute. ….hey circus freak, you’ve got arms like a gorilla and a voice like a wrestler, so it’s no wonder that the only boys interested in you are a bunch of wolves!” “…..pacifica, that was really mean.” “YOU TOLD ME TO!!!”

-maybe have pacifica get on the mic again so all the wolves hear her insult

-“grenda I’m sorry you have the body of an amazonian goddess and a voice like ten angels singing one direction!!” “yeah, maybe if one direction were all chain smokers.”

-the girls use this plan to lure the wolfpack into the kitchen, where there’s a sprinkler system connected to the fire alarm. the plan is that once all of the wolves are present, mabel will signal for candy to pull the alarm. however, once mabel gives the signal, it’s revealed that candy has been captured. “i’m sorry, mabel…. their pecs were just so shiny!” “i’m sorry i dragged you into this, pacifica.” “yeah, i’m sorry you dragged me into this, too.” maybe have them cowering on top of the fridge. but just when it looks like all hope is lost, the sprinklers come on anyway. it’s revealed that the first gerard was the one who pulled it, sacrificing himself to save mabel’s life.

-“you will always be in my heart, mabel pines. and i hope…..that i will be in yours…..”

-“well, pacifica, maybe now that we’ve worked together as a team, we can come away from this knowing that our fighting was petty and pointless, having gained a mutual respect.” “are you SERIOUS? all this proves is that you’re a freak, and your friends are freaks, and even though I’m gonna make sure to stay as far away from your little circle of lost causes as possible, the next time we meet? you’re going DOWN, and I’m gonna make sure EVERYONE is watching.” “……welp! i didn’t gain anything from that! maybe next time.”

-“i’m sorry that all this happened, girls. if you don’t wanna hang out with me after this, i get it.” “are you kidding? that was incredible!” “i feel like my heart is on fire! but in a good way!”

-in the aftermath, the girls (sans pacifica) burn the book. as they watch the illustration of gerard smolder, mabel solemnly says “this ends once and for all.” “….my mom’s gonna want that book back.” “once. and. for all.”

IRRATIONAL TREASURE

-pacifica overhears what the twins are trying to do and tails them, then ends up getting captured along with them

-LET ME OUT OF HERE! I AM A NORTHWEST!

-i thought we just established that doesn’t count for anything anymore.

-pacifica yells at mabel for doing something as stupid as leaving a trail of candy wrappers, dipper interrupts to ask her why she always feels the need to shut people down like that. pacifica tells him that its her duty as a woman of status to let everyone know what their place is. “orrrrrr you just feel so threatened by the idea that you’re not as well-liked as you think you are that you need to make everyone else feel bad about themselves.” “WHAT was that?” “threatened?”

-mabel gets her nerve back and yells at pacifica that why would she ever want to be liked by a stuck-up shallow primadonna like her, and throws a hunk of peanut brittle at her, freeing trembly.

-after returning to town, the twins see pacifica being berated by her parents for disappearing and getting her clothes dirty. mabel feels sorry for her and goes over to explain that oh, it was actually my fault, i was trying to uncover dirt on the northwest family and pacifica stepped up to intervene, and we got into a fight. also we totally didnt find anything to shame the northwests so you can thank pacifica for that too. the northwests then threaten to sue the pines family for hurting their daughter, but paz holds them back, saying something about how it isnt worth it to waste time on poor people like mabel.

-this is the start of mabel and pacifica’s budding friendship, and pacifica’s redemption arc

SUMMERWEEN

-hey, little man!

-oh, hey wendy! ….and robbie.

-so….. chilling in the bushes without a costume on? what’s that about?

-nah, i’d say he’s got a pretty solid 'loser’ costume lined up already.

-i’m just hanging out with mabel and her friends, i guess. this big legendary monster thing says its gonna eat us unless we collect 500 pieces of candy but y'know. no worries.

-sick, dude. and you didn’t even have to go out and find this thing yourself? your sis must be like, a monster magnet.

-yeah, she…really is.

-well, i’d help you with the mission if i could, but i’ve got this whole 'aloof teenager’ thing to keep up, yknow? no trick-or-treating for these old bones. but I’ve got a few extra sweets in my purse if you need some more handouts! we can go find mabel, and-

-NO! i-i mean… no, don’t find her, its ok, i got it, give it to me.

-woah, chill out, you little freak! you’re not HIDING from her, are you? …is everything ok? and don’t say it is, because nobody sweats that much when everything’s ok. not even you.

-……i dunno, it’s like, i don’t mind having her around, but we’re always together and she wants us to do all these “twin” things now and I’m just not sure I’m ready for it yet.

-yeah, i getcha. its gotta be a lot to take in. hey, if you need somewhere to decompress after this whole candy deathmatch thing is over, tambry’s throwing a party at her house in a few. text me when you’re free?

-just try not to dork up the place if you show.

-robbie, if you don’t lay off I’m gonna punch you in the dick.

-i just….. twins are supposed to have this special bond, y'know? like a mind meld or something. and i just feel like i’ve missed so much. things could've….should’ve been different. and i came here because i wanted to make things the way they were supposed to be. i thought like, maybe if we were together we could pretend that its the way things always were and everything was ok. but i cant. its not.

-yeah, i… i’m sorry, mabel. everything just happened so fast, and i couldn’t handle it, and i avoided thinking about it, and….i ended up avoiding you, too. i’ve been kind of a crummy brother so far, huh?

-no, no, i get it…. i’m weird, and this is weird, and you’re one of those weird people who likes to be by yourself. and i understand if you don’t want to be siblings. but… can we at least be friends?

-i don’t see why we can’t be both.

TOURIST TRAPPED

-hey, mabel, i was wondering, uh…… how did our parents die?

-woah, what? they’re not dead! are they?? you’re freaking me out, dipper!

-'sup, hambone?

-oh, hey….. soos, right?

-you got it, lil’ dude! so, what’s eating you? besides the mosquitos anyway. nice, good one soos.

-soos, have you ever tried to do something that you thought would make everyone really happy, but instead it just blows up in your face and everything is awful and it’s all your fault?

-story of my life, dude. probably not on this scale though. just a minor everyday occurrence.

-they probably hate me, don’t they?

-what? no way! i just met you a few hours ago and i can already tell you’re like the least hateable dude I’ve ever met. you’re like if they found a way to combine a smiling puppy with an anime fairy princess.

-but i ruined everything!! that’s what they��ll call me in the history books. mabel, queen of ruining everything. everyone was fine until i got here.

-it’s not your fault, dude. mr. pines had to tell dipper at some point. and dude, if it makes you feel any better, i am PSYCHED to have you here. i was telling customers about it all day!

-thanks, soos, but…. i should probably just go home. maybe if I’m gone dipper and stan can just forget this ever happened and go back to normal.

-you kidding, dog? nothing’s ever normal around here. i know this is like, a huge bombshell, but dipper and stan love each other. they’ll work it out. …hey, my brain just came up with a totally neato idea! why don’t we pitch a tent and have a sleepover out here under the stars? we could swap stories, eat raw marshmallows, and if you still want to go home tomorrow morning you can.

-….only if you’ll try to throw the marshmallows into my mouth with your eyes closed.

-deal.

-hey, mom. yeah i got here ok! it’s great, the woods around here are so cool and mysterious! oh, and i met this really cute guy but he turned out to be a bunch of gnomes under a hoodie. i know!! wild, right!

-h-hey mabel….can i….talk to them?

-…oh, mom, dipper wants to talk to you. is that ok?

-….hi, mo- ..mrs pines. it’s dipper.

-“oh, you must be the friend mabel was talking about! she was so excited to meet you! i hope you two are having fun!”

-yeah, it's…. it’s good to have her here.

-“are you all right, dear? you’re sniffling.”

-yeah, i’ve just got a cold. it’s ok.

THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE MABEL

-mabel sees a commercial for the tent of telepathy on tv and gets excited, pulling dipper over to see the famous “psychic”. dipper is annoyed at best and just groans, expositing that he and gideon have been rivals since they were little. he says he’s been trying to catch gideon in the act of something, ANYTHING, for as long as he can remember, and now with the help of mabel’s journal he’s devised a new theory: that gideon might actually be a vampire! he’s always coated in lotion, has stark white hair, speaks like an old southern man, and it might also explain his psychic powers. but dipper isn’t allowed in the tent of telepathy anymore, and he hasn’t been able to get close to gideon in his personal life. mabel offers to go investigate in dipper’s place, but he warns her that it’s not worth it and gideon is a “creep”, offhandedly mentioning that mabel probably doesn’t have the investigative skills necessary to crack the case on her own. determined to prove herself, mabel goes anyway, in “disguise” as a journalist so she can ask gideon questions when the show is over. during the questioning gideon becomes enamored with her, and when mabel asks if he’s a vampire he flirts around the issue, suggesting that he is simply to win mabel over. it works, and she agrees to go on a date with him.

-mabel takes notes on gideon’s mannerisms in the journal while on dates

-over time, gideon begins to reveal his true colors, and mabel realizes that dating a supposed vampire doesn’t really make up for gideon’s behavior.

-actually i changed my mind about the vampire plot, probably dipper just tries to keep mabel away from gideon because of their checkered past together

BOYZ CRAZY

“….can i confess something?”

“yeah, of course.”

“I’ve never like….. LIKED anyone. I’ve dated plenty of guys, and even a couple girls, but i don’t think i felt what i was supposed to be feeling for any of them. i thought that eventually if i went out with enough people, i would start to like at least one of them, but…. i dunno. I’m starting to think that i’ll never fall in love. maybe i CANT fall in love.”

“well… that’s not the end of the world! love kinda. sucks. especially when someone doesn’t like you back.”

“ugh, that’s what I’ve been doing to all these people! for years! i suck. i keep trying to be like everyone else, but i just end up pushing people away. I’ve lost so many friends…”

“hey, it’s not your fault. robbie’s a turd, you know that.”

“yeah, i guess you’re right… i dunno, you ever feel like there’s something, like, fundamentally wrong with you? like something fucked up in the womb and now you can’t ever be a normal person?”

[dipper pulls up his shirt slightly, looking at his binder]

“yeah. i do”

DREAMSCAPERERS

bill: I WAS WONDERING WHEN I’D RUN INTO YOU! QUESTION MARK, SHOOTING STAR…. AND DIPPER OF COURSE!

mabel: whoa, hey, how come soos and i get special names, but not dipper? that’s not fair!

dipper: uh, mabel, that’s not really-

bill: THAT IS HIS SPECIAL NAME, KID! ALWAYS HAS BEEN. HE JUST ADOPTED IT A LITTLE EARLY IS ALL.

dipper: wait, what?. you…you were the one in my dreams? all this time, it was YOU?

-new scene-

dipper: it’s just… the name was a big part of my like, identity, yknow? i thought it was so cool and special and for the first time in my life i was starting to feel NOT like a freak. i thought i was being cool but i was just doing exactly what bill wanted! [pulls his jacket over his head] aaaargh, what have i been doing all this time?!

mabel: di- …..bro, listen to me. your whole like, supreme tough guy monster hunter thing? it’s PRETTY silly. but that’s what i like about it! it’s all you, and you own it! and nobody chose to make you like that but you! and you didnt choose the name dipper because bill told you to, right? that was still all you. so, i don’t know. even if the guy who made it up turned out to be kiiiiiiind of a major jerk i dont think that means all of that is ruined forever. and if you stop going by dipper i’m going to have to start going by shooting star as revenge. star for short!

dipper: ….i think i like you as mabel better.

mabel: aww no, i was already getting used to it! star sounds like the name of a princess, doesnt it? or a galactic warrior!

-BUT DON’T YOU WORRY YOUR GEL-COVERED LITTLE HEAD, KID! I WON’T BE BOTHERING YOU LIKE THAT AGAIN. YOU’VE PROVEN YOURSELF TO BE EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTING AND USELESS. CONGRATS.

SCARY-OKE

-in this case obviously dipper wouldn’t want the agents around, since stan has taught him better than that.

-dipper decides that he’s finally ready to talk to his birth parents over the phone, but when he does they insist that they never had twins and mabel has always been an only child, and he realizes they don’t know who he is. everything he knows is once again called into question.

-mabel tries to get the agents’ help in figuring out the mystery behind dipper’s birth and proving that the two of them are siblings

-maybe dipper raises the dead as a way to threaten stan? like, oh you’re so afraid of the supernatural, what if i do this

-or mabel tries to lure the agents back to the shack by creating a supernatural disaster, like oh, say, zombies

-stan finally admits, with zombies breaking down the door, that he got mixed up with the supernatural and made some very bad decisions, although he isn’t specific about what happened. he relinquishes that he kept the truth from dipper all these years not for his sake, but because he couldn’t bear to admit that he was responsible for separating dipper from the family he should’ve grown up with.

THE GOLF WAR

-mabel and pacifica run into each other at the mini golf course, and after watching mabel sink the winning shot pacifica realizes she has feelings for her. furious with herself for developing a crush on somebody like mabel, pacifica challenges her to a rematch and vows to destroy her.

-dipper and stan are worried about pacifica’s behavior, but mabel assures them that she probably just wants a little one-on-one game and had to disguise it as a fight to the death since her parents were with her.

-pacifica gets to the golf course early to get some extra practice in, discovers the lilliputtians, and decides to use them to win against mabel, convinced that if she proves to herself that she’s better then her crush will go away.

-mabel becomes concerned with pacifica’s attitude and worried that she’s gone back to her old ways, bribing somebody to help her cheat. eventually she’s captured and tied up, and pacifica has to save her.

-in the aftermath, pacifica can’t stomach apologizing, so mabel does it for her. “hold on, dip. i think i know what’s going on here.” “what? no. you definitely don’t. whatever you’re about to say about me is completely and totally wrong.” “so i just want to let you know, pacifica…. it’s ok. i understand.” “understand what there’s nothing to understand” “yes there is! and i’ve felt that way before, too. even about you sometimes.” “wh…..huh? you have?” “yeah! all that pressure to compete really gets to you sometimes. but just because i beat you at something it doesn’t mean that you’re any less cool than you were before., ok? so i don’t want you to feel like you have to prove that!” “oh. yeah. yeah, that. yeah.” [awkward pause] “soooo…. you don’t hate me?” “of course not!” “ok good. that’s like, good to know. i don’t hate you either.”

-theyre playing truth or dare and mabel dares dipper to hold candy’s hand for the rest of the night

-mabifica bullshit: 'let me see those beautiful eyes’, holding hands post-confession in nmm, arguing about whether or not to run off into the woods together at night

THE LOVE GOD

-during a conversation with wendy, dipper casually mentions that he’d like a girlfriend. mabel overhears and decides to try and pair him up with someone. she enlists the help of candy and grenda for this secret mission, but notices that candy seems uncomfortable with it. eventually she admits that she’s had a crush on dipper for a while, and mabel is ecstatic. she conspires to set them up on a date at the woodstick festival. candy makes mabel promise not to tell dipper, but of course she can’t keep her mouth shut and blurts it out while the two are having breakfast at the diner. mabel expects dipper to leap at the chance, but instead he just feels awkward. he tells mabel that although he likes candy and thinks she’s great, he’s never thought of her like that. mabel urges him to give her a chance, but dipper argues that it will end badly. he spots candy nearby, freaks out, and runs for cover. it’s at this point that mabel meets the love god.

NORTHWEST MANSION MYSTERY

-“….and grenda can take a hit pretty well so she’d be the best choice for a distraction while i spray 'em with the anointed water from behind, but we might need pacifica to-”

“actually, dip, i was gonna ask if i could handle this one on my own.”

“what? why? we don’t know how powerful this ghost is!”

“because i, the wonderful mabel pines, am going to confess my love for pacifica tonight!”

“you only realized you liked her two days ago!”

“exactly! no time to waste when romance is afoot!”

“you don’t even know if pacifica LIKES girls!”

“well i don’t know if she likes BOYS either. she always seemed kinda indifferent to-

"even if she does, what if she doesn’t like you back? and you know what her parents are like, they probably wouldn’t want her dating another girl anyway…”

“why do you always have to shoot me down like this”

“…..i’m sorry, mabel… i just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

-“we did it!” “haha, yes!!”

-(internally) “this is the perfect moment, mabel, just go for it!”

-“umm, pacifica? now that we just beat this big scary ghostman together, there’s something i wanted to-”

-“YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, FOOLISH CHILD”

-“….on second thought, I’m gonna go exorcise screamsville here first.”

-“that’s probably a good idea”

-{“WITCH! SERVANT OF EVIL!”}

-“i’m sorry. i didn’t want you to know this about me.”

-“ok, so, your family’s gotten mixed up in some bad stuff, that doesn’t mean-”

-“no, it does. you’ve always been so nice to me, and i never did anything to deserve it… hanging out with you, and dipper, and everyone, hanging around the shack….i started to realize that this isn’t normal. my parents aren't……normal. and now I’m just so scared that no matter what i do, i’ll end up just like them.”

-“….pacifica. i know you. your outsides may be crusted over with gold coins and expensive body lotion and hairspray, but your insides are made of bubbles and kitten kisses and rainbow dolphins high-fiving each other. your parents are a couple of stinky poo-heads inside and out and you’re not anything like them.”

[pacifica, crying, kisses her]

-“oh no. this was a mistake. I’m leaving.”

-“pacifICA WAIT”

-“what would you say if i said i was in love with you?”

-“i’d say you only wanted me for my money”

-“oh pacifica, your heart is gold enough to last me a lifetime!”

-“shhhhhpsshh stop!!”

-[mabel kisses her on the cheek]

-“no but really stop i don’t want my parents to see”

-“ohhh yeah sorry”

THE LAST MABELCORN

-things start out much like they do in canon, but when mabel meets the unicorn and it tells her that she’s not pure of heart she jumps to the conclusion that bill has “tainted” her in some way by taking over her body. the abuse metaphors here are obvious. she sadly returns home and begs ford to help her in some way, and he takes her down to his study. meanwhile, dipper sets back out with the girls in mabel’s place.

-“…..but it wasn’t me….” “what?” “i…..i have to go.” “mabel, wait!”

have it so like, she’s not necessarily visibly distraught when she talks to ford, or even to her friends, but more determined to “fix” herself, hiding the worry that she’s a bad person beneath her insistence that it must be bill’s fault.

“GRUNKLE FORD! bill gunked up my soul and i need you to fix it so i can be pure of heart again!” “…mabel…” “please please please PLEEEAASE!”

-“no offense, but you break the law daily, you two have kind of a…. mutual violent streak, and you……” “don’t say anything.” “and if being involved with bill really did disqualify mabel, then I’ve been doomed for years.” “you’re also not a 'maiden.’” “good point.”

-“man, this is bullshit.” “i know. how are we gonna find someone more pure than mabel?” “no, i mean. the game’s rigged. nobody’s completely 'pure of heart’ or whatever, and how do you even measure that? that glitter-snorting poser doesn’t ever have to give up the goods because she’s asking for something that doesn’t exist.” “…so how do we get the hair?” “well, i say if princess unattainabelle back there doesn’t wanna play fair, we shouldn’t have to either. alright, kids, who’s ready to add a few more bad deeds to the naughty list?” “YEAH!”

-meanwhile, mabel’s mind begins to be encoded. “i can’t undo what’s already been done, mabel. but i can make it a lot harder for bill to hurt you again.”

-mabel’s thoughts: “do you a favor” “have craz and xyler ever kissed?” “adopt every kitten in the world” “PACIFICA PACIFICA PACIFICA”

-mabel ends up putting the helmet on ford because she starts to have intrusive thoughts worrying that he could be possessed by bill, and she decides that proving herself wrong would put them to rest. “ugh, shut UP, brain! this is why we don’t talk anymore.”

-when mabel reads his thoughts, she freaks out and, unlike dipper, actually succeeds in hitting ford with the memory gun. he’s knocked to the ground and she approaches him cautiously as he rises back to his feet. when he explains that he’s not bill and the gun didn’t work anyway, mabel starts crying and hugs him. “its ok, mabel. you did the right thing. when dealing with an enemy like bill, you can’t fully trust anyone, not even the people closest to you. …maybe if i’d known that when i was younger, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

-“….i’m a bad person.” “oh come on, you don’t still believe that unicorn, do you? i thought dipper told you she was full of it.” “no, i… did something really bad today. i thought bill did something to gunk up my heart but it was really just me all along.” “wow, what did you do?” “nn. you’d hate me if i told you.” “mabel, you could kill a dog in front of me and i wouldn’t hate you. and if you don’t tell me i’ll just assume the worst.” “i AM the worst.” “ohhhh my god. …..ok, let’s say that bill did break your soul for all eternity or whatever. so what? you’re still my girlfriend. and in case you haven’t noticed, i’m pretty messed up too.”

ROADSIDE ATTRACTION

-“aww, come on! think about it…. just us girls, alone under the stars…” “eww, fine! i’ll come if you stop being gross”

-“i can’t believe my own sister got a girlfriend before me!”

-“romance ain’t a contest, kid.”

-“…yeah, you’re probably r-”

-“just kidding its definitely a contest. one you’re losing.”

-“he was… flirting with me! i think he actually likes me back!”

-“AAAAAAAAA!!” “get it, girl!” “candy wins!” “i wouldn’t get your hopes up, chiu. he’s probably just being a tool.”

-“pacifica, how could you?” “why must you deny true love?” “hey, dipper’s my friend and i think he’s great, but he sucks. I’m just being realistic.”

-“oh, no. i think i just agreed to take candy out on a date.”

-“….aaaaand do you LIKE her?”

-“well, yeah…………….as a fr-”

-“UGGGGGHHHHHH I KNEW IT. listen, 'dopper’, you got yourself into this mess, and its not up to me to help get you out. you deserve it for toying with a woman’s feelings, anyway.”

“candy…. saved my life. even after i broke her heart. she’s so cool…………………………………oh, SHIT.”

-“it’s ok, dipper. if dating pacifica has taught me anything, its that the way to a woman’s heart is through emotional angst and near-death experiences. and we get those every day!”

-“you deserve this and i have no sympathy for you.”

–

DIPPER AND MABEL VS THE FUTURE

same basic setup, with mabel hitting up all her friends for party plans, but the focus is on having to return home without all the friends she’s made rather than anxiety about growing up (although that’s still a factor). in addition to discovering candy and grenda won’t be around, she also finds that pacifica’s parents are becoming suspicious of her frequent outings so she’s trying to lay low for a little while, so she won’t be able to hang out for the last week of summer.

ford invites dip along for the alien hunt, and doesn’t exactly offer dipper the chance to be his apprentice, but is impressed with his adventuring skills and the fact that dipper has been training in the art of mystery solving for years. au dipper is quite a bit braver than canon dipper after all, and quicker to spring into action right after ford. theres still a bit of hesitation involved, and when ford praises him for his courage, he laughs and remarks that mabel would’ve jumped right away without any thought. ford then confides in dipper that although mabel uses her heart before her head, he can still see how scared she is inside and thinks it would be best for mabel to return home and cease connection with gravity falls, because he’s seen first-hand how much bill has hurt her already and he doesn’t want it to get any worse. he also tells dipper that he can tell mabel’s heart isn’t in any kind of study or quest for knowledge like he is, she’s just a kid having fun, and he can tell that its mostly because she wants to impress dipper and it might be better for her to focus her energy on her own interests, which can’t happen if she stays in gravity falls. dipper reluctantly agrees, saying that he’s always sort of worried about the same thing. of course, this is the part that mabel hears over the walkie-talkie.

for all that mabel and ford’s relationship is better, he still sees her as a child while he sees dipper as more of an equal. he warns dipper that letting mabel become dependent on him, or he on her, is a bad idea, because one day they’re going to have to go their separate ways, and mabel might not be able to handle it (implying that she’ll do something drastic to keep him around, like stan did to him).

theres a scene midway through the episode of pacifica sulking on her bed, hugging a pillow to her face. her mother’s voice calls her for dinner from downstairs, and she groans and gets up. looking in the mirror, she realizes her mascara has run and she scoffs and rubs at her eyes. when she opens them up again, the mirror is full of eyes. “something wrong, blondie?” it cuts off there

after mabel runs away into the woods at the end of the episode, pacifica emerges from the bushes in her full incognito gear, saying she came to warn her about bill. that bill tried to make a deal with her but she refused everything he offered, and that he’s getting desperate and is going to try again with someone else, probably before the summer ends. she tells mabel that if neither of their families want them, they’ll run away, out of gravity falls, together. when mabel realizes she has the rift, she groans, annoyed that she has to go back home and return it. but pacifica insists that this actually makes the plan better, that if they leave gravity falls with the rift it can be kept safer… and that, maybe it would be better if pacifica held onto it, since bill is targeting mabel. mabel agrees and hands it over…. at which point pacifica takes a moment to admire it, and then smashes it to the ground. she laughs, takes off her sunglasses, and is revealed to have been possessed by bill. then the world ends.

WEIRDMAGEDDON 1

-after ford is captured, dipper runs into grenda, as in literally runs into her, while she’s attempting to chase a monster in process of carrying off candy. the two travel together for the next three days, finally deciding to explore the mall in search of mabel and the others. on the way there, though, the two are ambushed by bill’s lackeys. before the fight can begin, grenda tosses dipper out of harm’s way and shouts for him to go on without her while she holds off the monsters. dipper reluctantly escapes, leaving grenda to an ambiguous fate.

-during that time, candy finds pacifica huddled in a pile of rubble, and urges her to come help find the others, but she’s reluctant. “look, mabel’s not here anymore, alright?! she’s gone. bill got her. so you can stop pretending to like me.” “candy does not pretend. not when it comes to friendship.” “….if you just left me here, nobody would have to know.” “on your feet, northwest.”

“augh, my poor hair… it’s got like, twigs and shit in it.” “do you want me to cut it off?” “what? no. why would i do that.” “it’s a symbol! in stories, girls cut off their long hair when they are going on journeys and breaking free, leaving the past behind… it is cool and majestic and– pacifica, YOU should cut off MY hair!” “wait, seriously? …ok, whatever, fine, do your weird impulsive nerd thing. you got any like, scissors?” “let me see….. six, seven, eight pairs! i also have a knife.” “candy, what the fuck.”

-dipper finds wendy, pacifica, and candy all hiding together in the mall. dipper is surprised and relieved to find that candy is safe and she talks about how she bit the monster’s hand to get it to free her, proudly revealing that one of her teeth has turned completely red as a result. dipper admits what happened to grenda, and while pacifica and wendy look worried, candy remains adamant that she’s strong and will be all right. hesitantly, dipper asks if any of them have seen mabel. the room goes quiet, and pacifica confesses what happened, that bill came to her and threatened to possess and torture mabel again if she didn’t let him use her body. she thought that if she agreed, she’d become a ghost like mabel did and be able to use a puppet as a vessel in time to warn somebody. instead she simply blacked out, and when she came to she was just in time to see mabel being sealed in a bubble and taken away.

-at some point pacifica confesses to dipper that bill never threatened to hurt mabel. she made the deal willingly because he promised her that mabel would be able to stay in gravity falls if she let him borrow her body, and she was just so scared of losing her, and everyone.

-candy’s arm is broken in the car chase and ensuing wreck against gideon’s crew. in the aftermath, pacifica uses the remains of her jacket to make a sling.

ESCAPE FROM REALITY

mabeland is nearly the same as in canon, though maybe with some minor alterations to reflect the events of the summer. dippy fresh is replaced by a series of “dream dippers”, versions of dipper that mabel had imagined he might be like before actually meeting him. most are unrealistically cool, but one in particular is just someone who would be the ideal brother, always looking out for her and wanting to be with her. in the end of course, mabel has to look at all of this and decide that real dipper is the one she wants. (theres also a fake pacifica who shares all of mabel’s interests and is hopelessly in love with her, always flirting and offering romantic gestures, but without any of the sass and personality that make her who she is. pacifica ends up snapping her neck.)

mabel introduces the dream dippers one by one like they’re contestants on a game show, but one spot is left empty. dipper asks who it’s for, to which mabel nervously replies that it’s more convenient to have something extra just in case. later on, in the wilderness of mabeland, dipper overhears mabel talking to someone. “i don’t understand. everyone can finally be happy here. wendy can break all the rules she wants and never get in trouble, candy can be herself without people making fun of her, pacifica can get away from her parents, and dipper…. well maybe i can understand why HE wants to leave, since he apparently doesn’t want to deal with me….” suddenly, dipper hears his own voice reassuring her that everything will be alright, and he’ll stay by her side forever, that the summer never has to end. she says “do you really mean that?” to which he replies “of course. you know i’m the best brother ever.” the voice is revealed to be perfect, ideal brother dipper.

crushed by this, dipper retreats to the pond, where instead of being approached by wendy he’s approached by candy. she sits down and asks him what’s wrong, and he tells her how awful he feels that he couldn’t have done better for mabel. she assures him that he’s a wonderful person, and mabel’s being silly for not wanting someone like him as a brother. she then tells him that she was being silly for being mad at him, too, that she’s realized he was right all along, and she should’ve forgiven him earlier. “really? …'cause i was totally with you on the whole 'i was a jerk’ thing.” then candy ups the ante, going on to talk about how oh, he’s so much smarter and braver than her, and she was just upset because she thought she stood a chance with him, but she’s such a loser, she could never- dipper stops her there, worried. he continues to insist that it was his fault, he WAS being an asshole, and he should’ve apologized to her a long time ago, but he was nervous “because…. i DO like you, candy. like, like-like you.” he tells her to stop berating herself, that he likes her because she doesn’t let anybody change how weird she is and that she’s not acting like…. herself. it’s at that moment that he realizes what’s going on. as “candy” begins dissolving into bugs, a fist collides with her head and she explodes. its revealed to be grenda, who managed to find her way in because “the door was unlocked.”

when it comes to the trial, mabel’s memories are similarly flipped through, but instead of having a twin to be there in her time of need, she had nobody. she’s never had anybody like that until she met dipper.

TAKE BACK THE FALLS

-candy and grenda’s symbol is a disco ball. “…and this one could mean a person who can see the fun in any situation! or just a party animal.” “hey, that’s me!” “that’s me too!” “it’s both of us!! SYMBOL SISTERS!!!” [grenda lifts candy up onto her shoulders and they each take a hand, candy on her right side since her left arm is broken and grenda on the left]

-“we’re proud of you, daughter. saving the world will be perfect for salvaging our reputation! i still think those pines kids are a bit of a bad influence on you, though.”

-“oh YEAH? how’s THIS for a bad influence?!” [she pulls mabel into a passionate kiss] “news flash, dad! your perfect daughter’s a big fat gross lesbian! and when i grow up I’m gonna marry this riffraff right here, and change my name to pines too!! so DEAL WITH IT!!!”

stan still loses his memory as he did in canon, but dipper is the most visibly distraught and won’t stop begging him to remember. he tells him how even though they fought a lot over that summer, he loves him so much and he’d never ask for a better grunkle. he desperately tries to jog his memory with baby pictures, but they need to trigger more immediate memories first.

the solution for mabel to stay in gravity falls would be to fabricate a lie that dipper is ford’s grandson, ford being the twin that faked his own death to escape a life on the run, but they’ve just come back to reconnect with the family (since dipper lost his parents apparently), and mabel didn’t want to tell her parents at first because she was afraid they wouldn’t want her staying with an estranged family member/ex-con. but she’s made so many great friends and she loves this town and wants to stay with her “cousin”.

while the northwests go house hunting, mabel invites pacifica to stay at the shack until they can find a new home.

rather than leaving for a new adventure, ford and stan decide to stay at the shack and rest for a while, just settle into their new family dynamic. soos, melody, and abuelita all still move in, and so the house is renovated to make room for the huge family.

with the journals destroyed, the mystery squad now has to start from square one…. but dipper tells mabel that she doesn’t have to do anything to impress him anymore. that he’s ready to try just being a kid again.

[jed-thomas]

Addiction as a Political Strategy

On Saturday, the Gaza headquarters of international media groups, including Al-Jazeera and the Associate Press, was felled by an Israeli air-strike.

According to the Independent, a spokesperson for the Israel Defence Force revealed that the building housed ‘Hamas military intelligence’, remarking that such a situation is common-practice for the organisation: ‘Hamas deliberately places military targets at the heart of densely-populated civilian areas in the Gaza Strip’.

Gaza’s contemporary population is estimated at just over two million. In terms of density, this estimate considers there to be, on average, around five thousand inhabitants per square kilometre. For comparison, according to the 2011 census, the population-density of the City of London is roughly equal. Can an area of this sort of density ever be a legitimate military target? Our nation’s capital remembers the Blitz with a shudder, still.

Indeed, there are serious questions to be asked. Asked of both sides, of course. For starters, if an offensively- and defensively-advanced nation-state is attacked by a far weaker neighbouring power, is it decent to expect some form of restraint from the former? Of course, it depends on the extent of the disparity between the two. But, given that there is such an inequality in terms of firepower, it is hard to discern what a proportionate response to certain attacks could be - one side simply cannot match the other, in any reasonable sense. Therefore, a focus on defence must be the answer. Perhaps, if paired with diplomacy, such a stance could contribute to meaningful, long-term de-escalation. But can a nation-state bare to suffer civilian casualties - or, even, fatalities - as a price? As has been evident from reporting on the latest conflagration, casualties in non-occupied regions of Palestine always outnumber the casualties in Israel. If you know that retaliation will endanger more of your opponent’s civilians as a rule, does it mean you must simply stomach the endangerment of your own civilian population? Nevertheless, that’s treating it like they are mere numbers, not human lives. On this asymmetry of death, however, must we simply reject claims that guerrillas use, to borrow a somewhat cynical phrase, ‘human shields’? Hiding amongst the crowds and the landscape is the recourse of the less armed. This does not, of course, justify the practice morally. But, again, given that you have considerable (but, necessarily, imperfect) defensive procedures, can your opponents’ guerrilla tactics justify your endangering civilians? Finally, is it proportionate to respond to evictions and police brutality with indiscriminate rocketing of civilian areas? In no uncertain terms, this is a terrorist tactic. But if you can expect nothing short of devastation, what do you have to lose? It may not be rational or moral, but it is understandable. It’s all understandable. Who of us would be rational?

In Britain, there is a species of common-sense which draws lines around areas of human activity deemed exempt from discussions of ethics and justice. Of course, in general, words like that tend to get laughed at or ignored - they smack of un-seriousness, a teenager’s petulance at reality. But of these international waters of morality, the war-zone is the most grey. Perhaps, this foggy British intuition grasps something: matters of war are also matters of the human condition, not only matters of geopolitics or morality. Despite the cynical manner in which it’s usually uttered, it allows us to raise questions about the nature of war which side-step the labyrinth of moral calculation as a facet of military strategy.

Last week, in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz, former Israeli politician Zehava Galon raised these questions and others, penning a column entitled: ‘Human Beings Are Able to Talk, Not Only to Carry a Club’. Her writing is fiery, polemical, but one turn-of-phrase in particular is fascinating: ‘addiction to the club’.

In Israel, all Jewish citizens over the age of 18 are required by law to undertake at least two years of service in the Israel Defence Forces. Usually, states introduce conscription in times of war. For around a decade, the IDF has adopted a set of strategies with regard to the Gaza Strip that are colloquially referred to as ‘mowing the grass’. In short, it is a strategy of long-term deterrence, periodically weakening militias in the area in order to produce periods of respite. The Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies, which researches ‘Middle Eastern and global strategic affairs, particularly as they relate to the national security and foreign policy of Israel’, produced a study of the strategy, concluding that ‘Israel finds itself in a protracted intractable conflict’ requiring ‘a strategy of attrition designed primarily to degrade the enemy capabilities.’ The Center chalks this up to the nature of the conflict - it being against ‘hostile non-state groups’ - but, as Galon alleges, there may be an additional reason.

Personally and nationally, national service can take on a definitional function. To be blunt, if you have an enemy, you have an identity, a role, a community to which you belong. Perhaps, such negative-identifcations are an inevitable by-product of nation-building. But a video has been doing the rounds on Twitter which compiles a series of vox pops in Jerusalem that portray a violent scorn - ‘I would carpet-bomb them .. It’s the only way you could deal with it’ - for those in Gaza/Arabs/Palestinians - a sort of composite figure of the objects of the IDF’s strategies. One interviewee suggests that ‘Jews should have rights to hate them’. The interviewees justify these attitudes via the facts of the historic embattlement of the Jewish people, casting the state of Israel itself as representative of ‘divine justice’ or an incarnation of some redemptive new direction of history. Another video supposedly recorded by IDF soldiers has been shared widely. From the translated chatter, the video itself appears to have been recorded as part of attempts to capture exciting killings. This particular killing, seemingly of an unarmed young person milling around with another, is terrifically exciting to the group, the cameraman’s voice resounds with sheer glee at having caught it: ‘What a legendary video … He flew into the air and his leg was like…’

The Covenant of the Islamic Resistance Movement, the founding charter of the organisation now known by a colloquialism, Hamas, abounds with poetic images of war. Article 33 reads:

Ranks will close, fighters joining other fighters, and masses everywhere in the Islamic world will come forward in response to the call of duty, loudly proclaiming: ‘Hail to Jihad!’. This cry will reach the heavens and will go on being resounded until liberation is achieved, the invaders vanquished and Allah's victory comes about.

In the ruins of the Gaza Strip, some may have sought to make a pact with their fear and despair, to discover in it the howlings of history. Let it point the way. The recklessness of the militias’ attacks on Israel resonate with this particular desperation - and the scorn for human life that is its price. In the Covenant, ethnic hatred is expressed openly and in unashamedly violent terms. Article 7 reads:

The Day of Judgment will not come about until Moslems fight Jews and kill them.

In the Covenant’s view, the Jewish people represent a grand historic force which all Muslims must devote themselves to curbing. Article 22:

The enemies have been scheming for a long time […] They stood behind the French Revolution, the Communist Revolution and most of the revolutions we hear about […] They stood behind World War I […] and formed the League of Nations through which they could rule the world. They were behind World War II, through which they made huge financial gains […] There is no war going on anywhere without them having their finger in it.

Organisations like the IDF and Hamas blend claims to land with existential certainties, rationalising violent desires. Like a junkie rhapsodising about his creative break-throughs, these are political and historical arguments which obscure an addiction. A newsletter from the National Institutes of Health, a branch of the U.S. Department for Health and Human Services, notes that at a certain stage of addiction, ‘people often use drugs or alcohol to keep from feeling bad rather than for their pleasurable effects.’ All addicts are, to use a pop-psych phrase, running from something. Under the influence of addiction, one’s despair and fear become engines of joy, pressing you onwards towards release. Therefore, like some anti-Addicts-Anonymous, organisations like the IDF and Hamas provide infrastructures of protection and facilitation for war-addicts.

And that is the kicker: none of this constitutes some personal particular fault with Jewish Israeli citizens or Arabic Palestinian Muslims. Nationalist political organisations are cynically perpetuating themselves through these methods. Indeed, they are the agents of these conflicts, ordinary people are merely their addict-conscripts. Your dealer is not your friend.

Therefore, we raise issues of justice in matters of war to avoid these all-too-human eventualities. Raising those issues retains our focus on the central questions of the validity of a violent action, of vested interests and consequences. What is needed - in any war, anywhere - is an orientation towards the discourse of war which accepts that it is always susceptible to the distortions of the addicted mind. Forever, the question is: should this war-zone exist at all?

Galon and Tair Kaminer - a 24-year-old Jewish Israeli citizen who, having served a short sentence for refusing national service, was arrested in Jerusalem over the weekend for organising a solidarity protest of Jews and Arabs - and the legendary Hanan Ashrawi are pointed examples of a banality which is nevertheless worth re-emphasing: no nation falls totally under the spell of this addiction. The collective delirium of war never swallows populations nor individual minds whole. Always, always there are other ways. For instance, questions of rights to land are the (literal) solid ground to which we can return. Bring them into focus.

Footage from the Snapchat of an attendee at a Free Palestine protest in Nottingham City shows a car aggressively parting a line of protestors. The perpetrator has not yet been identified.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans  are Space Orcs “Lions and Tigers and Bears.”

I’m trying to do writings that cater to what everyone wants. Some will be stories some will be short report style, and I might try other styles upon  request if you have an interesting idea.

Also a note, I love comments, questions, messages, and anything else you can think of. If you want to draw something, you don’t need to ask. Just do it, I would love to see what you come up with. :)

We used to think that humans were apex predators, and I suppose we weren’t wrong. Compared to the rest of the galaxy, humans are an amalgamation of teeth, claws, and the nightmares of our children, but on their own planet, humans have only survived based on their guile and pack bonding instincts. They keep animals in their home that could rip them apart if they were so inclined.

If this wasn’t enough, the humans are intent on keeping their natural predators alive despite a period of mass extinction that followed the rise of human domination. For years they have, captured, hunted, protected, and fought for the lives of creatures that would happily rip them apart.

No one really understands it, but the humans are desperate to keep these creatures alive.

Because humans can’t just pack bond with themselves, they have to pack bond with their entire planet and everything on it.

***

“So what is this place supposed to be?” Krill wondered scuttling along at Captain Vir’s feet glancing upwards at the massive gated archway.

“It’s a zoo…. Or technically it’s a nature preserve, I guess.”

“What is…. A Zoo.”

“You’ll see.”

He stopped at the counter and passed his arm under a chip reader. Krill crossed his two sets of arms, a habit that he had picked up from the humans.

“You understand you say that a lot, and I never appreciate when you do.”

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.”

“You say that a lot too.”

“Well this time I really mean it.”

Krill sighed, but kept at Vir’s feet as they passed through the doors and into the park.

His first impression was stepping onto another world. One that was confused and didn’t particularly know what it was doing… so earth, but condensed. Hundreds of large enclosures dotted the intervening space all boasting complex contained ecosystems. A tiny slice of ocean rolled and sloshed inside one of these massive containers, while another showed the burning sand of a windswept dessert. A Burst of orange sand was kicked up into the air and swirled slowly around. The ground shifted creating a new landscape as they watched.

“Pretty cool huh, they didn’t used to do that, but now they keep tings changing to make the animals more comfortable.

“Animals?” Krill wondered nervously.

“Yep, animals.” Captain Vir responded making his way over to one of the enclosures, “It’s time you got to see a real predator.”

Then entered a crowd staring up at one of the enclosures, and a woman wearing a green vest standing atop it. The invisible force-shield glinted blue under her feet. Otherwise it would have appeared that she was just standing on air.

Below her, a massive creature prowled, pacing back and forth muscle rolling and churning under its orange and black striped hide. Massive claws glinted at its feet. Snarling, the animal showed huge glittering teeth. Krill stepped back.

“The world record for the Olympic high jump is somewhere in the ballpark of eight feet.” The woman was saying, “But the Tiger, can easily jump an astonishing twelve feet. Two men stacked on top of each other, or even onto the roof of your house.” As If in response to her words, the huge creature sprung from the ground flying through the air to snatch a piece of meat dangling from the ceiling. Its teeth glinted, as it ripped the chunk in half turning its head back to swallow, “He can bite with a force averaging 1,000 pounds of pressure per square inch.”

Vir chuckled, “Damn those things are cool, scary as hell though.” At his side Waffles, the dog, sniffed the ground licking up a stray bit of popcorn.

Krill couldn’t help but glance at the animal and her glittering teeth. Were humans stupid? He had a 100 pound predator on a leash right now, and did it bother him, no.

Then again, the tiger was significantly bigger. It ripped another chunk from the meat

Krill didn’t like this place, so he pulled the captain away and into the crowd.

That wasn’t a great idea, since he suddenly came face to face with a reptilian head….. One with no limbs, and to his horror, the creature lifted itself upwards to stare him in the eye. As if this couldn’t get more horrifying, the death noodle unhinged its jaw and hissed at him showing a massive set of fangs. He leaped back in fear caught by Captain Vir, “Mmm a cobra, they use neurotoxin you know. One bite is potent enough to kill 20 people.”

Krill stared at him incredulous, “And you still want to STAY on this planet?”

He laughed as if he was a joke and not a question.

The cobra lowered its head slithering away like a ribbon of death’s cloak.

Krill detested almost every moment of this place, the giant death fish called a shark that could practically bite a human in half, and hid within the depths of the earth’s ocean just waiting to strike fear into the hearts of men…. Which, he was reminded, took up about 2/3s of the globe

He hated the furry doom that looked sort of like a fat dog, but was, in fact, 12 feet tall could and would maul you to death, when it wasn’t sleeping all winter to protect itself from starvation at the behest of harsh winters.

Even though the stripy hallucination ponies weren’t all that scary, he wasn’t sure how he felt about their use of black and white stripes to confuse predators in large numbers. It seemed like an animal who used a mild acid trip to confuse predators wouldn’t really be worth hunting.

Then there were the tall spotted ponies who used their heads to beat each other to death because none of the human animals could be normal, no, not one. If you didn’t have death noodles, you had psychedelic ponies and neck fighting.

Oh and let’s not forget the thousands of varieties of tiny flying dinosaurs that were known for carrying diseases and feeding on the carcasses of the dead, and some of them weren’t even all that tiny. The big knife-face bird with the white and brown feathers had a wingspan nearly eight feet wide, and had the ability to chuck goats off cliffs.

The actual F***k.

There was also the stabby-tree head pony (a few varieties of these actually) hunted by humans often, but they used their tree horns to stab each other, because why the hell not. Oh and they had also been known to stomple on humans till death.

Because even the prey animals can kill you on this planet.

Don’t forget the giant bacteria lizard whose bight does not kill you because it is poisonous, but because its mouth is such a nasty place that you will grow infected ad die slowly. Incidentally, humans are the komodo dragons of the universe.

Captain Vir’s favorite animal wasn’t really surprising. The pack of fluffy grey dogs are apparently the ancestors of the domestic dog, and seeing them did not help Krill’s anxiety, because apparently they kill by going after a single beast, and chasing it to death using rather complex team working tactics to do so. One grabs the things legs, than the other tries to rip its throat out.

Captain Vir was best friends with an animal that could easily rip his throat out.

Apparently human had become friends with the wolf thousands of years ago because some idiot human thought it would be a good idea to be friends with something that wanted to eat his face.

***

Everything on this godforsaken planet can kill a human. You thought humans were indestructible, no, no they are not. Just as a small list of things that can happen to a human on their own planet (a planet which they love I might add), limbs ripped off, stompled to death, bitten in half, poisoned, eaten, ripped open, gored, suffocated, infected, diseased, pushed off a cliff, drowned, and that isn’t even a comprehensive list.

The most dangerous place in the galaxy for humans is their own planet, and they love it. They love it so much that they protect the very predators that would like to have them for a snack. And may I reiterate that they keep these animals in their houses, cuddle with them, pet them, and name them cutesy furry names like pickles, fee fee, or Senior Wobbles.

Personally, I would never keep something in my home that could easily eat my face off. Seems like an obvious desire, but apparently not….

Not to mention the embarrassment of having to explain how you got your face eaten open by Mr McDoodle Cuddlebun the fifth, but I digress there is no convincing you people.

[illwork4anime]

Excerpt from Done with Love - Ch 4

Scene: Healing Kakashi (Its not what it looks like)

[FF | AO3]

Ships: Slight Kakasaku, Shikasaku

Scene Summary: Sakura shares an emotional moment with Kakashi after healing one of his wounds. The sight has Shikamaru feeling jealous.

"You look terrible," She gasps, quickly ushering him to a seat. "Sit down before you collapse."

"Nice to see you too, Sakura-chan." He says sweetly, dropping into a chair. Then he teases, "Has anyone ever told you, you need to work on your bedside manner?"

She glares at him, but there isn't much heat behind it. She pulls a chair in front of his, close enough for her to reach his face for the exam. Their knees bump as she sits down. Again, she's wishing for the exam table in the hospital room.

"Take off your vest and headband. I'm doing a full exam now." She orders, leaving no room for debate.

"Ah, ah, ah," He protests, "That wasn't part of the deal."

"Just do it," She snaps with a long-suffering look. He lets out a sigh but complies.

She presses her hands glowing green with chakra to his chest, searching for any injuries. She sucks in a sharp breath.

"Shirt off. Now." She practically snarls.

"I'll do mine, if you do yours," He flirts, but she's familiar with the tactic.

"You're not joking your way out of this." She scolds, meeting his eye with a glare that's tinged with worry.

He sighs again and reaches for the hem of his shirt. His movements are stiff, and he groans as he lifts it over his head.

Sakura lets out a curse.

There's a gash across his ribs that's been poorly bandaged. Bright red blooms against the white cloth. It's reopened.

"You big idiot," She breaths out. She wants to yell it in his face, but her heart is in her throat.

She removes the bandage and presses her hand to the wound. It's a few days old and probably should have had stitches. She starts stitching together the skin with her chakra and cleansing the infection looming at the surface. Underneath, she feels the broken ribs shift under her touch. Kakashi hisses at every bump against the break. Part of her thinks she should leave it to heal normally as punishment for trying to hide it, but she can't bring herself to do it.

"You should have come to me straight away," She scolds finishing. Kakashi lets out a strangled breath of relief and relaxes back fully in the chair.

"I've had worse injuries and lived." He brushes off her words. Frustration builds in her chest at his nonchalant attitude.

"I'm checking your Sharingan now," She says coldly.

She scoots farther up in her chair, but is still too far away to be comfortable, so she stands between his legs and places a hand on either side of his face. Stubble is poking through his mask to her palms. The sharp smell of sweat and iron reaches her too.

"You smell terrible," She comments, eyes sliding closed to start her exam, chakra seeping into his temples.

"No respect. You were so much nicer as a genin," He jokes, trying to deflect again, but when she levels an unamused look, he admits quietly, "I haven't had a chance to head home and shower yet. I didn't want to be any later than I was."

"You just got back from another mission?" She gasps. That wound was days old. Had he gotten it on the mission before that then?

She feels him nod beneath her hands and lets out a quiet growl.

His Sharingan was strained too and chakra channels leading to it had mild chakra burns.

She opens her eyes, "You're going to get yourself killed if you keep this up."

His mismatched gaze meets hers. Though it's hard to read his expression, there's a melancholy tilt to his eyebrows.

"Back to back missions, hiding wounds, missing appointments with me. What are you running from?" She asks quietly.

"Girl troubles," He jokes again, with an aloof smile.

Sakura grips his face tighter and takes a step closer, trying to hold back her frustration. "Liar."

The smile fades a little and his gaze drops to the necklace hanging around her neck. Its glinting with green from the chakra pouring from Sakura's hands.

"Is it Danzo?" She asks. He doesn't speak, doesn't look up. "Tsunade-sama?"

"Don't worry, Sakura-chan. It's nothing I can't handle." He says in what's supposed to be a reassuring tone, but he just sounds weary. The 'chan' added to her name grates against her. It makes her feel like a useless child. She's not a child and he's not her Sensei.

"You're always taking on all the burdens for us - Naruto and me. Always protecting us." She says. Kakashi's shoulders are bowed under the weight of all their troubles and she can see it wearing on him. It must be so exhausting. "But who protects you? Who takes on your burdens?"

She finishes healing the damage in his eyes but doesn't draw away yet.

"No one is asking you to get through life alone. We're a team, so you can depend on me, Kakashi." His eyebrows raise at the sound of his name and not 'Sensei' falling from her mouth. His inquiring eyes dart across her face.

He'd been there for her so many times, risking his life for her own. Anytime she needed him, he was there without question. Always. She trusted him completely, instinctually. Did he trust her? She wanted him to, because Sakura was so much stronger now. If he could only see that, he wouldn't kill himself trying to protect them all. It was her turn to swoop in and save him, if he'd just let her.

He lets out a sigh, takes one of her hands from his face and begins to turn away. She doesn't let him. Firmly grabbing his face, she pulls his gaze back to hers. Their faces are close enough that her eyes dart between each of his. Red, black, red. She's not going to let him run away from her.

"I can help carry the burden. I'm not a child anymore." She murmurs. His eyes lock on hers for a few moments looking torn, then drop low on her face.

"I know," He says in a low, husky voice that she can feel reverberate in his chest. Her heartbeat picks up at the look in his eyes she's never seen there before. He's still looking low on her face as he reaches up to lightly tug on the cylinder of her necklace.

"Am I interrupting something?" A voice calls from behind them.

Sakura's spine snaps up straight, but Kakashi doesn't move right away. His eyes slide slowly off her face and over her shoulder to the man standing there. She turns quickly to see Shikamaru leaning against a bookshelf, hands in his pockets.

"Shikamaru," She squeaks, voice an octave higher than it should be. Her stomach jumps to her throat. "I thought you had a family thing tonight."

His face is guarded but dark with a hard stare that is fixed on Kakashi's face. It reluctantly slides to her as she speaks. Although his posture is casual, she knows he's hiding his true emotions by the stiffness in his shoulders.

"It got done early." He says shortly. "I thought I'd come by and see if you wanted to grab dessert. I didn't know you'd be," his eyes fix on Kakashi's discarded shirt on the table and he finishes, "busy."

She winces. It was all explainable, so she shouldn't feel a desperate need to defend herself, but she does. She starts, but she's speaking too quickly, "I was just, um, we were just working on my research, and Kakashi had some injuries from his last mission I was treating," She gestures to his bare chest but there's not a mark of proof there, "So I took care of those first, but I'm just finishing up now."

Shikamaru doesn't say anything for a beat. Looking between Sakura and Kakashi. "Right." Is all he says. His hard stare is settles on Kakashi again, who is looking back with an unreadable look. There's something passing silently between them, but she's not sure what it is.

"I'll just come back later, then." Shikamaru says coolly but doesn't move an inch.

"Not necessary. Like she said, I'm just leaving." Kakashi says unblinking. He grabs his shirt, throws it on then grabs his vest. He turns to her with his 'sensei smile', hand coming to her head. She frowns, thinking he's going to ruffle her hair like when she was a genin, basically telling her that he hadn't taken anything she'd just said seriously, but he doesn't. He strokes her hair back, gently dragging his fingers from her temple, around her ear and down her neck.

Her eyebrows shoot up and she can hear her heart pounding in her ears.

"Thanks for the check-up, Sakura," He says in a deep voice, then adds too low for Shikamaru to hear, "Sorry for making you worry. I'll come straight to you next time, promise."

She manages a nod, and Kakashi turns to leave.

Shikamaru's stare is even darker now, and it doesn't leave Kakashi as he strolls by.

Sakura hardly notices. She's stunned and struggling to understand the meaning of what just happened.

Want more? Read here:  [FF | AO3]

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Three)

Words: 3132

A/N: Usual JW-verse violence, mention of being drugged

Previously: John Wick, an ex-hitman on the run from seemingly everyone in the Underworld, teams up with the Bowery King to take down the High Table that controls it. To do that, they need more allies. You, an assassin known as Persephone, were rumored to be held captive by the Instructor, having lost your memory five years ago. Wick sets out to retrieve you and help you regain your memories in order to aid them in their fight. A bond starts to form the more you train and familiarize yourself with Wick. A shadow from your past plans to drag you back in.

-

In the Underworld, not everything was digital. It seemed that information was safer in either a physical form behind guards and vaults or kept in memories of the need-to-know people, giving you and John extra work on tracing information. To take down a network, you need to cut the right wiring or it’ll electrocute you.

First off, you look at the power source. There’s the Elder who sits above the High Table, then the High Table members with a variable power of their own. There were people like Santino that would even kill their own family to be a member.

Twelve seats in the council. Twelve crime lords.

The judgement that the Adjudicator, the chancellor and representative of the High Table council, served was a testament to how much power they were given. It was to show everyone what the High Table can do. Go against the rules and there will be punishment. Swear fealty to the Table, present your serving hands, the punishment for going against them would be having those hands pierced through. Gave seven bullets to an excommunicado assassin? Seven slashes for you. Housing said excommunicado in your establishment? Business is now allowed in the Continental.

Where the hell do you start? Where do you find the right allies in a world of criminals? Practically every assassin around the world jumped at the chance to kill John Wick when his bounty was sent out.

You were worried for him. You thought it was best to lay low and build yourselves up before taking on the High Table, but it seemed after he was forced out of his retirement, he couldn’t keep still. He had a drive for vengeance that wouldn’t rest until the threat was dealt with and that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

You ended up working on several projects at a time, which wasn’t good for your focus, but at least there was still something to keep you busy when you were stuck on one of them. The Bowery King’s people, or the Bowery boys, were helpful in getting the supplies that you needed and even tested some of the prototypes.

Given that the services offered to the high-profile assassins of the Underworld were off limits, you worked to provide tools in any way you can. You even made a bulletproof vest for John’s dog, though you didn’t tell John that. He had mentioned that an old acquaintance of his, Sofia, who runs the Continental in Morocco, had bulletproof vests for both of her dogs, so you thought it was a nice extra something, even adding a pattern that was similar to John’s suit at the front.

There were tactical vests and weapons modulations that you drew up as well as of various blades designed for quickness, efficiency, and precision, which would compliment your special project that you were saving for last. They weren’t the best, but they could still do the job.

You were pouring over a few blueprints of gun models that you were considering on upgrading when John knocked on your door. “It’s me,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice, especially after a long day of tinkering. “You know you don’t have to knock, right?” you told him, putting the prints down as he opened the door.

His dog rushed to your side, panting happily. You patted your lap and allowed him to jump up, snuggling comfortably against you. There was a soft look in John’s eyes as he looked at the two of you before shaking himself out of it.

“The others said we had to knock before coming in,” John said, pointing at the door.

You nodded, scratching behind his dog’s ear. “Yeah, they do, but not you. You don’t have to.”

The implication on the level of trust that you had on him made his walls crumble down again, but he didn’t let himself smile. There was business to attend to. It doesn’t help when a strand of hair kept falling on your face and all he wanted to do was tuck it behind your ear and cup your face and- 

When John continued to be silent, you continued, “Anyways, we’re heading out?”

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“Um, okay. I’ll get my stuff and meet you at the entrance.”

He was about the reply, but stopped and nodded before walking away. You exchanged a look with his dog who was used to his behavior then jumped off your lap to follow his human. You sighed gathering your blueprints and stored them away, grabbing two of your prototypes and a slim utility belt.

You had thought that John would have left without you, but there he was, quietly talking to his dog by the entrance of one of the Soup Kitchen’s underground tunnels. You were dressed in a practical dark outfit the belt around your waist, hidden by your black leather jacket. You leaned down to hug John’s dog goodbye, planting a kiss on his flat head and booped his nose with a finger. John stood up, sending his dog away and turned to you.

“Ready?” he asked, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Nothing gets by the Bowery King and his people. The benefits of having him as an ally was the fact that he built his empire from the bottom and existed as its own entity. The High Table did not like that they had no complete hold on them and wanted him to swear fealty. His punishment for helping John was unjust in his eyes, seeing it as a display of the High Table’s arrogance.

The Bowery King had eyes and ears everywhere and had the advantage of anonymity to an extent. It was only a matter of time until he heard of the Instructor’s people looking for you.

You needed to get back into your apartment for your things and hopefully something that will jog your memory, maybe a clue of what the Instructor had planned for you. The two of you were currently waiting out in an old apartment in the middle of renovation. John stood nearest to the window, keeping an eye on the people going in and out of the building across the street.

You could tell there was something that John wanted to ask you, but instead, he said, “You didn’t kill everyone.”

You stared down at your boots with a sigh. “She ordered my parents to be killed. A selected few knew of it, was sent to carry out that task. I didn’t find out ‘til later after countless missions that I’ve done, the people that I’ve trained with, I didn’t see what was happening around me.”

“I knew the Instructor,” John said, his eyes still trained on observing the building’s activities, “she left the Director after some time training under her. Her goals were ambitious, but her execution was something the Director always criticized her on. Things didn’t turn out the way she wanted, but she did made you, whether you like it or not.”

“I suppose so,” you said.

You were aware of John’s connection to the Director, but to hear him talk about the Instructor in that perspective, you wondered how it felt like when an old colleague walks into your office to assassinate you. You suppose you were going to find out, given the situation. The Instructor didn’t talk much about her past and while she had trained, abused, and apparently favored you, you never knew what brought her to creating the program.

John’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar face. He gestured with a finger for you to come over, stepping aside so you could see. Marion had walked out of the building, heading towards the bus station where the last sighting of you and John were, having purposely drawing attention before losing them again. Once Marion left, a man and a couple stood near the entrance, their eyes scanning the area as they pretended to do menial tasks. One was on his phone facing left while the couple conversed facing the opposite direction in an angle.

“The blonde woman is Yuri and the dark haired man with her is Beck. They work better as a team, but their weaknesses show when they’re separated,” you found yourself saying, snippets of memories from training flashed through your mind like a camera shutter until it organized into a library of books and filing cabinets that you could sort through. “The other man on the phone is Victor. He’s a good shot, but his right knee is busted from an injury during a mission. He usually does ground work or long distance.”

“Back entrance?”

“Fire exits off on the sides, more secluded areas.”

“Fire escape?”

“They’re well-maintained except the left side that has a rusted ladder.”

“Room?”

“Near the front of the building. Windows facing the alleyway on the left. All of the wide windows were semi-blocked by strategically placed furniture until inspection. Fourth floor.”

“Okay, let’s go.” John took out a pocket sized metal device from the duffle bag and hid it in the corner, setting the timer before heading out with you close behind.

It wasn’t going to be a simple walk in. John insisted on going with you to the building, an argument filled with frustration and long pauses of stubborn silence and staredowns.

You walked ahead of him as the two of you made your way across the street with street lamps and the moon as a source of light. You instinctively grabbed John’s hand and pulled him closer to you. There were people who were willing to please the High Table and killing John Wick was the way to go. You weren’t much of a shield, as he was taller than you, but it was the thought that counts, so John followed your lead.

A businessman carrying a suitcase walked purposely forward, his body language giving away his next action. Your hidden blade shot out from under your sleeve and jabbed him in the armpit. You pull John with you as he staggered back.

“Can I have one?” John asked, his fingers tapping your wrist where the hidden blade was strapped to.

“Sure.”

Victor was already walking towards you as you approached. You flashed him a smile, striding forward and pushed him into the alleyway. John watched your back, looking out for Yuri and Beck as you rammed your foot on Victor’s right knee. He gritted his teeth in pain, trying to pull out his handgun before you hoisted yourself onto his hunched figure, wrapping your legs around his neck and used your weight and momentum to knock him down. You yanked his dominant hand away from his gun and pulled yourself up with your hidden blade drawn and stabbed his throat.

The gurgling noise was familiar to you now with the countless times that you dreamed of that night when you killed Sasha. You couldn’t get yourself to be emotionless towards it like how you used to, but you weren’t sure if you’d want to be that person anymore.

John reemerged into the alleyway, his hair disheveled and small blood spatter on his suit. He nodded over to you, helping you drag Victor’s body to a hidden corner of the alley. You took a moment to collect yourself then surveyed the area.

The ladder of the fire escape was dodgy, the edges rusty and the paint chipping and crumbling away. John pulled the ladder down, rust and paint shedding off of the metal as it lowered with a clang. He tested the durability with his weight, lifting himself up from the bottom rung causing it to groan.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go through the front door?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean,” you grimaced, hands on hips as you looked up at the fire escape, “kinda wanted to avoid running into more people. It’s not really my style, but…”

-

The elevator ride seemed slower than you remembered, smelling like cigarettes, sweat, and cleaning solution. You sighed, turning to John who was silently taking inventory of the weapons the both of you had, the possible escape routes if the fire escape didn’t work, estimating the amount of people that could be waiting for the both of you.

“Couldn’t take the stairs?” John asked.

“It conserves energy,” you defended, fixing his jacket and his hair. John watched you in amusement as you began to rub the blood spatter from his cheek with one hand while the other was playing with a soft lock of hair. “Besides, they won’t kill me. They’ll kill you, John.”

“You’re protecting me?”

You shrugged, pulling away but remained in front of him. “Someone has to.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor, the doors slid open, allowing two people in. They stood there without pressing a floor button and waited until the doors closed. You grabbed a throwing knife from your utility built, twirling it around your fingers until the elevator started moving again. One of the men whipped out a gun and went to shoot at you. John held his bulletproof jacket out and shielded you before wrestling the gun out of the man’s hands.

The other man approached you, but you were ready as you stabbed him in the chest. He grunted, pulling it out and throwing it on the floor. He grabbed your arms tightly to restrict your movements and pushed you against the doors as the elevator jolted onto the fourth floor. You kneed him in the groin and got your hidden blade out, getting him in the gut and wherever you could reach.

The doors opened again, making you fall backwards with the now bleeding man landing on top of you and using his weight to slam you down. The impact on your head made your vision blurred, and it didn’t help when he slammed your head down for a second time, making your ears ring. Your eyes vaguely seeing him pull an object from his jacket that triggered something in you.

The assassins that you’ve trained with, the ones that were sent to kill your family and those who worked to erase those events from existing, were scattered across New York. Some worked under the Italian mobs, few with the Chinese, and even the cartels. All of the ones that worked under the rivals of Tasarov were already killed by John Wick. There were a few groups that you had a working partnership with and was able to help you hunt the others down.

The more experienced assassins like Sasha were harder to track down, but they were the ones that the Instructor trusted with information the most. They were the ones that were tasked to put you down. It was at the docks out of all the places where they ambushed you. They held you down, they beat you near death, then injected you with some kind of drug. You weren’t sure if it was the mysterious liquid or the injuries that knocked you unconscious.

When you wake up, you were in an apartment in New York, not knowing who you were or who were the people standing in your room.

The man was yanked off of you by an furious John Wick who shot two bullets in his chest and one in his head. Luckily, there was a suppressor on his gun, as it would have alerted the innocent people on the floor. If they were all innocent. After what you’ve realized that the past five years you were surrounded by lies, you wouldn’t even be surprised if the whole fourth floor were composed of assassins tasked to watch you.

After the man was dealt with and dragged into an alcove with the other one, John held out a hand for you to take. You shook yourself out of your daze and grabbed it. He helped hoist you up and tucked his handgun away. His eyes scanned over you for injuries, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and concentration.

“I’m okay, just dizzy,” you assured him.

He nodded, his hand hovering by your back in case you stumbled as you headed to your old apartment. The old key you had didn’t work, but John was quick and used the throwing knife you dropped and jammed it into the keyhole. He drew his gun out and went in first, sticking his head around before walking fully inside. You followed behind with your blade at the ready.

The two of you inspected the rest of the apartment and came up empty. You went back to your room and rifled through your belongings, hoping they hadn’t touched anything valuable. John handed you the duffle bag and helped you pack with essentials and person items. You wondered what else they took from you.

“I’m going to double check Marion’s room for something real quick,” you told John, leaving the room before you could reply.

You rushed over to her room before the thought could escape you. It was something that you’ve wanted to see ever since you started getting your memories back. You hoped that going back to the apartment would help with your memories and while it somewhat worked, there was something that you hoped that Marion had taken, if it meant that it wasn’t lost forever.

Her room was quite bare with not much of a personal touch. You sifted around her closet and under her bed, stomping on the floorboards and going through her drawers. When you came out with nothing, you took a moment to calm yourself and took in the room. A dark object under one of the desk’s legs that was partially under the drawer stood out.

You kneel down and lift the desk, sliding the object out. It was something wrapped in a black cloth that Marion had been using to keep her desk balanced. As you unraveled the cloth, the sight of a shiny metal edge made your heart race.

You tossed the cloth away and held out the object out. It was your vorpal blade.

You walked out into the main area and peeked out of the window towards the building across the street where you and John were. John walked up behind you and showed you his watch before pulling you out of the line of sight. Just as expected, one shot rang out, followed by an explosion.

-

“What do you mean he blew up?” Marion demanded, standing on the side in the rail station.

“Arlo did as you told him. The room blew up as soon as he took the shot, taking him and the other three with him.”

“And the other five?”

Silence.

Marion threw her Nokia against the wall and screamed, the sound echoing off the walls.

-

Taglist:

@venusgothic

@weappreciatepower

@anita-e-taylor

@mikaneonox

@sparrowsparrow

A/N: Decided to write one of those “Previously on...”, which I haven’t done since my days on FF . net lol. I’m going to try and do this more, maybe add a summary for the first chap and a Previously on the second chap. Sorry if this chap is too wordy, but there’s stuff starting to go down. Lmk what you guys think. Thanks for reading!

[cookieswriting]

So this is one for Floopdeedoopdee on AO3, who requested Brock and Clay whump together. Hope you like this ;)

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Clay Spenser, Brock Reynolds, Bravo Team

Prompt: Buried under rubble

“I’m just sayin’, when we get back stateside, we need to go out and have a boys-only night to get young Spencer back on the horse,” Sonny insisted as Bravo team made their way to the waiting Blackhawk.  The blonde in question rolled his eyes with a smile.

“You mean to tell me you’re going to exclude the best wingman you’ve got?!” Davis replied in their ears, drawing chuckles from all of the men.  Cerberus trotted ahead of them and leapt into the chopper easily and Brock shoved Sonny’s shoulder as he followed his canine partner.  

“Fine…boys plus Davis.”

Clay climbed into the chopper and settled in beside Brock.  “Don’t I get a say in whether or not I’m even interested in ‘getting back on the horse’?”

“No.”  

The flight was relatively quiet as the team prepared themselves for the op: confirm intel that their latest target was where he said he was, capture (or kill) him, and get back out before morning call to prayer.  Before the chopper had even fully touched down Bravo was on the move, bleeding into the shadows without sound and making their way towards their target building.  

Cerberus and Brock took point, and the dog was practically vibrating with anticipation when they reached the doorway.  After receiving confirmation that IR showed one in the building and no other souls in the immediate vicinity, Clay prepped the door with breaching explosives.  A firm nod from Bravo One and the explosive was detonated.  Brock followed Cerberus in, Clay’s hand on his shoulder as they moved to clear the first room.  Vicious barking erupted from the canine, and Bravo Six caught glimpse of explosives strapped to a man hovering in the doorway.

“S Vest!” he shouted.  In the same movement, Clay jerked back on Brock’s arm and grabbed the handle of Cerb’s tactical vest to haul him backwards - into the arms of a startled Sonny, who stumbled under the dog’s weight and back out into the night.  That was the last thing Clay saw before the suicide vest was activated and the building started to come down around the two members of Bravo still inside; he was thrown onto his back, and the blinding pain from his head connecting with the ground sent Spenser into peaceful oblivion.

“Clay! Brock!”

“Bravo Five, Six do you copy?”

“Bravo One, what the hell just happened?”

Sonny stared in shock as the dust started to settle.  Cerberus wriggled free from his arms and darted towards the now-blocked doorway, whining and pawing at the debris separating him from his master.  No...no way in hell did this just happen.  

“Havoc, this is One...tango was wearing an S Vest.  Bravo Six saw it right before it went off, forced Three and Cerberus back out.  The entrance is now blocked by debris, no sign of movement from Five or Six.  Can you see them from IR?”

“Negative, Bravo One...I can’t see any movement.  Can you get in to them?”

When Brock came to, the first thing he registered was an obnoxious ringing in his ears...then came the stabbing pain in his left arm.  A quick glance revealed that said arm had been pinned to the ground by a slab of what was most likely the wall previously standing between him and their target.  Turning his head, Bravo Five found Six a few feet away, half-buried under debris from the roof and utterly unmoving.  “Six?  Bravo Six, can you hear me?  Clay!”  Nothing.  “C’mon, brother…”

He paused when the sound of voices crackled through Clay’s radio, the rest of their team calling for sitrep.  With his free hand Brock reached for his own radio, only to realize it had been caught under the wall and therefore destroyed.  He attempted to reach out at touch Clay, but came up inches short.  Growling in frustration, he dropped his head back to the ground, and turned his thoughts to his dog...and Sonny, who’d been just behind Clay when they breached.  

It didn’t take long for his worries to be assuaged.  “Brock, GQ, if you two don’t respond toot-sweet I will be digging in just to kick your asses myself,” Sonny growled over Clay’s radio.  “The dog is getting antsy and you know how he is when he doesn’t get his way.”  The SEAL wished that he could reach Clay...wished that he knew for sure that he was even alive, wished that he could see the extent of whatever injuries he’d sustained...wished that they’d done more recon before breaching.

Unlike Brock’s gradual return to consciousness, it hits Clay all at once, memories of the explosion included, and he comes to shouting for the other man.  His head swivels around, sending stabs of pain from his temple down his neck, and the desperate attempts to move are useless; only his left arm is free, a chunk of debris covering his other limbs and weighing down heavily on his chest.  “Brock?!” he called again, grunting in desperation.

“Right here, brother...I’m good.  My left arm is pinned and my radio’s trashed.  What’s going on with you?”

The blonde took a moment, now that he knew his brother was alive and - relatively - safe, to assess his own status.  Despite the weight bearing down on him, all ten fingers and toes responded to the command to move, and doing so caused no further pain to indicate broken bones.  Well that’s a miracle…“Won’t be moving anytime soon and not sure if my chestplate will keep bearing the weight of this slab forever, but for now I’m good.”

“Good...any chance you can let the rest of the team know we’re alive?” Brock’s relief was evident in his voice, and Clay smirked as he reached up with his free arm to key his radio.

“Bravo One, this is Bravo Six...Five and I are both pinned under debris but otherwise no serious injuries.  Are Three and Cerb okay?”

“Six, it is damn good to hear your voice, kid.  Three and the hair missile are fine, both whining about getting you guys outta there,” Jason joked.  Clay chuckled and shifted his hips, and abruptly the breath was forced from his lungs as the debris covering him moved with him. What had been manageable pressure became agonizingly constricting, and he was moderately confident something had cracked in his ribcage or sternum.  Panic threatened to overwhelm him as breathing became more and more difficult.

“Clay! Clay, I need you to listen to my voice, you’ve gotta be as still as possible so you don’t shift that slab any more, okay?  I know you can’t catch your breath right now, but if you don’t slow it down a little bit you’re going to pass out on me, okay? Focus on steady, shallow breaths.”  The soothing tenor of his brother’s voice brought Clay back down to the point that he was able to maintain those shallow breaths and the darkness at the corners of his vision dissipated.  “Good, that’s great brother.  Can you pass me the receiver of your radio and I’ll talk to Jason?”  Clay nodded and obeyed, fingers barely brushing as they managed to bridge the distance between them.  “Bravo One, this is Five.  We’re gonna need you to hurry...the debris is unstable and has already shifted on Bravo Six.  He’s okay for now, but I’m not sure that’ll be the case if things shift again.  I can’t do anything to help him.”

“Copy that Bravo Five.  We’re double-timing, just sit tight a little bit longer.  Alpha and support are almost here to help with the moving.”

“Yeah, we’ll just be hanging out when you get here,” Brock replied with a wry, tired smile.  He hooked the receiver onto his vest and returned his attention to Clay.  “How you holding up, Spense?”

“Just me...or is it...a bit stuffy in here?�� the blonde quipped.  Truthfully the darkness was creeping back in, his chest felt like it was caving in, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to keep up sniper breathing.

“Shit...Clay, stay with me, brother. You’ve gotta stay awake.  Talk to me, tell me-” Clay jerked his head around when Brock’s voice cut off with a strangled groan and an audible ‘pop’.  Bravo Five’s head dropped back against the ground limply.

“Son of a…” Clay keyed the radio at his shoulder.  “Guys...I think Bravo Five...may have dislocated his shoulder.”  He dropped his own head back and winced when it sparked fireworks behind his eyes.  Another groan from beside him let him know that Brock had woken again, and he turned his head to catch the older man’s gaze.  “You good?”

“Hurts like a mother, but pretty sure it’s just dislocated.  Did I black out?”

“Just for a minute,” Clay breathed.  Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, light cut through the doorway, quickly shadowed by a thickly-bearded face.  “Bout...time, Bravo Three…”

“I know you’ve been anxiously awaiting the sight of my handsome face.  We’ll have you two out in a hot second now that help has arrived.”  Their teammate was true to his word, and within moments both men had been inspected by an anxious Cerberus as Alpha and Bravo teams filed in, careful not to jar the slabs of wall and ceiling prematurely.  Six men surrounded Clay and in unison hefted the debris from the younger SEAL.  Jason and Ray deftly slid him out to a clear spot, and the others moved on to let Brock free as well.  As soon as Brock was free, Trent inspected his shoulder.  Clay watched silently, struggling to steady his breathing.

“Dislocation looks to be right.  You ready?” With a short nod and a steadying breath, Brock braced himself against a still-stable wall. Cerberus whined and nudged his good hand, providing sufficient distraction for Trent to reset the dislocated joint.  

“Ooooh sonofabitch…”  Trent felt his arm gently, content when nothing moved that shouldn’t.  “I’m good, thanks brother...check on Clay.”  The medic nodded and turned to the blonde, concerned by the paleness of Clay’s lips and his rapid breaths.  “We’ve got you, Spense, easy breathing remember?” Clay turned his head to look at Brock as he dropped to his knees and reached out with his good hand.  The blond took it, grateful for the physical connection after the rollercoaster they’d been on since entering the building.

“I’m going to take off your vest, Clay, see if anything’s broken, okay?”  Clay nodded and Cerberus laid his head across his knees in an attempt to offer comfort, just as he’d done for Brock.  Removing the vest did little to ease the pressure, and still Clay struggled to draw a deep breath.  Trent tried to be gentle in his assessment, but Clay couldn’t hide the hisses and winces of pain.  “This isn’t going to be fun but it might help stimulate bloodflow again and make it a little easier on your chest when you’re breathing,” Trent warned.  Clay nodded again, and clenched his jaw when knuckles rubbed firmly up and down his sternum.  As uncomfortable as it was, Clay found that by the time he stopped, breathing was in fact easier.  “Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good...I’m gonna check your legs and the arm that was pinned just to make sure circulation is good everywhere else, and then we can get the hell outta here, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like it’s about friggin time,” Sonny chimed from above them as Trent ordered Cerberus back.  The medic made quick work of checking Clay over, and then nodded to Brock to help get the younger man on his feet.  The abrupt change in altitude made everything spin, and a hand on his chest had him looking up into the concerned eyes of his favorite Texan.  “You sure you’re good Goldilocks?”

After giving the room a minute to stop spinning, Clay grinned at Sonny and squeezed both hands gripping his.  “Let’s go home, shall we?”  Trent let him go once he was sure Clay was steady, and Brock ducked under Clay’s arm, careful not to jar is own injury.  With each step they took towards exfil, the pair surrounded by their teammates and the support team, the weight on Clay’s chest lifted.

[vagrantblvrd]

Cat Scratch Fever (1/1)

Summary: It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

Notes: Prompt fill for @rhinnie who asked for Alfreyco. (And also went and reblogged this and my brain was like "Oh, hey, Catwoman!Trevor" because those damn gloves.)

This is like. An alternate version of that AU we've been tossing back and forth, so yes.

AO3

It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

There’s a burn in his thighs – he’s really let himself go, hasn't he? Gotten soft the last little while, and there was a reason he didn’t linger on his reflection in the mirror before setting out tonight. (The suit is skintight, after all, and offers no mercies.)

Soft or not, muscle memory is a beautiful thing and he’s not so out of practice that he doesn’t know what to do next. Flash drive of vital information tucked away safely in a compartment on his belt, sharp little claws that pop out when he flexes his hands just so, the right amount of pressure along the mechanism and he swings out of cover and starts his run.

Fast and light on his feet as he uses an overturned crate to launch him towards the goon. Big burly gentleman with questionable facial hair and atrocious fashion choices – those boots with that tactical vest? Appalling. (He knows it’s stereotyping, but he can’t imagine the brute has good dental hygiene when he looks like that.)

The goon starts to turn, and Trevor grins as he sees the flicker of surprise on his face before he strikes. Hand flashing out to the strap of the weapon, claws catching in the weave before he wrenches and they slice through.

Jerks, and the rifle goes clattering somewhere off to their left, and Trevor follows up wth a closed fist because the classics never go out of style. (That, and he doesn't want to maim the man. This isn't personal, after all.)

The goon grunts, staggering back a step and Trevor puts more of his weight behind the next blow, and the poor bastard finally drops.

Trevor pauses to check that the goon’s still breathing, not about to die on him and continues on his way out of the building quick as he can. The noise will draw other guards, and Trevor’s not stupid enough to stick around to see it.

Not when he’s gotten what he came here for.

Outside the city is loud and dirty and a jarring difference from the quiet confines of the office building. Disorienting, almost, but Trevor keeps moving. Passes by the little alcove where he left a folded up trench coat and trendy little fedora and strolls casually to a side street where the battered little car he’s...acquired waits patiently.

Beaten up thing, scratched and faded paint and a stubbornness to it he admires because it refuses to quit on him. Struggles up the slightest incline, gears grinding when he shifts gears, but by God does it keep trucking along.

========

Technically, Trevor’s retired.

Left the business a few years ago and settled down with a nice boy.

Trevor had his job working at an animal clinic (ha, ha, ha) and Alfredo worked for a security firm in the city. (Oh, the irony.)

They’d been happy, or so Trevor thought. Pair of idiots getting by best they could. Someone he played off perfectly, Fredo always willing to roll with whatever insanity Trevor got caught up and vice versa, but then -

Oh, but then.

Alfredo slowly pulling away, citing problems at work and Trevor hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But then it got worse, to the point they rarely saw each other throughout the day. Phone calls went to voice mail, went ignored and he’d thought – thought -

Well.

He’d thought it was Alfredo losing interest, getting tired of Trevor and letting him piece it all together on his own.

This horrible feeling that that Trevor had been wrong about him all this time. His judgment flawed for not being able to see Alfredo as the kind of boy who’d just let things between them wither and die, and that had hurt far more than he expected it to.

Trevor muddling along like he wasn’t hurting, confused and stupid and naive for the first time in years.

And then he’d gotten a text from an old work buddy and an attached news article with a picture of Alfredo front and center with one of the biggest criminal names in the country.

One of many millionaires out west who lorded it over the city with his extravagant lifestyle and supposed stable of pretty, nubile things, and suddenly Alfredo in the mix.

Not exactly what he’d expected when Alfredo said he was headed to Los Santos.

And maybe there was some anger burning at the bottom of Trevor’s fragile little heart at everything that had happened.

So.

To Los Santos it was, that fire safe hidden under the floorboard in their bedroom closet cracked wide open and his old suit packed up along with a few essentials for the flight to the Golden State in search of answers he probably wouldn’t like.

========

Trevor’s not bad when it comes to computers, manages to get through the encryption on the files he’d stolen and sifts through them.

The motel room he’s staying in is small and dirty and cramped and he hates it. Hates this city full of people like him (worse than) and the fact that Alfredo is here.

He’s here and cuddled up to Ramsey of all people.

This respected figure in Los Santos with his millions sunk into a wide array of businesses and squeaky clean facade that falls apart the deeper you dig.

Goes by an old college nickname the journalists and bloggers of this city use fondly, something to do with his nautical-themed tattoos.

“’Corpirate,’” Trevor scoffs, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on his thigh. “What a name.”

It’s the city’s worst kept secret that Ramsey is heavily involved in the criminal side of things in Los Santos. Operates out of the penthouse in one of the many buildings he owns in this city and shameless about it. All his wards in on things, helping him widen his hold on the city and so damn pleased with themselves.

Money and influence enough to keep him out of jail no matter how many times they go after him and his, and one of the reasons Trevor had made damn sure to avoid stepping foot in Los Santos before now.

But, Alfredo and Ramsey and answers Trevor needs if he wants any kind of closure at all.

He stares at the photos of Ramsey and his pretty little things.

The Brit he’d collected on his travels years and years ago, the first of many. The angry looking one from a business trip to the east coast that one time. The...well, there’s no readily available story for the one with the man bun, but rumors say he used to be a model in his youth, which could be more than enough explanation. The one with the beard is an old friend, confidant and supposed advisor and then Alfredo.

Newest addition to the fold, a quick blurb regarding his promising career in the military before a training injury landed him behind a desk counting down the days until his enlistment ended that fades into vague hand waving nonsense about his time in Liberty City.

“You always did look good in a tuxedo Fredo,” Trevor murmurs, and puts the laptop into sleep mode because he has work to do.

========

It’s a mystery as to how Trevor got the moniker he has when he’s working. There aren’t any adorable if impractical ears on his suit, no feline-themed gear he uses. (The claws are practical! They’re tiny little knives on the ends of his gloves that make climbing things a snap, and serve as useful weapons and tools in turn for his work.)

But such is man, he supposes, or something along those line because -

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor smothers a sigh in his hands, crouched low behind some hideous sculpture placed in an alcove in the hallway.

He’s rustier than he thought because so far he’s managed to trip several alarms and alert this annoying specimen of a guard.

Less brutish than the one at the office building, but only just.

To be expected, probably, because this is one of Ramsey’s little properties. Lovely little mansion up in the hills and a soiree taking place. Fundraiser for one of the charities he funds, the man himself glad-handing sponsors and critics alike and his pretty little things swanning about.

He’d meant to sneak in, get his hands on Ramsey’s personal files, but, again, rusty.

Too much time spent with his head in the clouds thinking he’d gotten his fairy-tale ending after all.

Trevor presses a button on the remote in his hand and a small explosive charge goes off down the hall. (Goodbye priceless vase, hello distraction.)

He waits a beat and creeps out, slow and careful. Quiet, quiet, quiet, and nearly has a heart attack when he hears a gun cock.

“Hands up where I can see them!”

Rusty.

Trevor complies, slipping one of his little gadgets off his belt as he raises his hands and slowly turns. Pasted a smile on his face and tries to remember that emotions get people like him killed, but it’s hard to keep in mind.

The goon with the gun blinks, genuine surprise on his face as he lowers it.

“Trevor?”

He really should think about reinvesting in a good pair of goggles, or a suit that covers his face one of these days if he’s going to come out of retirement.

“Hey, Fredo,” he says, all bright and cheery the way he used to before things turned Lifeinvader complicated.

Alfredo is staring at him in shock, and Trevor might feel a little bad about that if he wasn’t the reason Trevor’s here in the first place.

“I’d really love to stay and chat,” Trevor says, hooking the tip of a claw in the little pin and pulling just enough that the shink noise it makes when it disengages reaches Alfredo. “But I’ve got places to be.”

He sees Alfredo raise his gun and thinks, well, then, that answers that, doesn’t it? with this sharp little ache in his chest as he throws the tiny grenade as it starts hissing smoke.

========

This is a mistake.

The sort that’s guaranteed to get Trevor killed, but what’s a little risk now and then?

And besides, he doesn’t quite have his answers, does he.

Knows Alfredo is clearly working for Ramsey, running security or something else to investigate the disturbance Trevor caused at the party the other night. Seemed reluctant to pull the trigger on him, but perfectly able to aim a gun at him and -

The heat of the moment, most likely, or maybe Trevor’s just lying to himself. Making up excuses and clinging to them because he’s still in love with Alfredo even though it stands to get him killed, and yet here he is anyway.

“I’m an idiot,” Trevor mutters, flashes the poor woman sharing the elevator a reassuring smile when she inches away from the lunatic muttering to himself.

She doesn’t seem to buy it, but Trevor doesn’t push when he’s certain things are uncomfortable enough for her as it is.

Another night, another party for the filthy rich under the guise of raising money for charity. This time it’s being held at a swanky hotel and Trevor’s gotten his hands on an invitation.

Ramsey’s here with his “wards” and Trevor's an idiot.

Doesn’t know what the point of all this is, but it’s too late to back out now.

The elevator slows to a stop and Trevor lets the woman leave first, puts enough distance between them that it doesn’t feel like he’s following her and then he’s through the little security checkpoint outside the ballroom where the party's being helped.

He mingles, bright smiles and pleasant laughter at their terribly bland jokes. Delicious hors d'oeuvres and oh, dear, is that a gun in his back?

“You’re not on the list.”

Trevor turns, oh so slow and finds himself face to face with the former model. Perfectly polite smile on his face and gun digging into Trevor’s ribs, and maybe he’ll take a pass on that little bacon-wrapped bit of deliciousness on the refreshment table he’s been eyeing.

“This is true,” Trevor says, and smiles.

The guy, Haywood, raises an eyebrow and nudges Trevor away from the party and to a conference room down the hall.

Ramsey’s inside, along with his entourage, including Alfredo, who looks -

Not happy.

Ramsey’s watching him, hands in his pockets and this tired little smile on his lips.

“Never expected to see you in Los Santos,” he says, and of course he knows who Trevor is. (Was?)

Trevor shrugs.

“Times change,” he says, and looks at Alfredo in his sharp tuxedo. “People change.”

Behind him Haywood growls, and Trevor doesn’t roll his eyes at that bit of unnecessary drama, but it’s so very tempting.

“Yeah,” Ramsey says, glancing at Alfredo who’s got himself all locked down. “They do, don’t they.”

“Hmm,” Trevor agrees. “I don’t have a problem with your little operation out here,” Trevor says, because showing weakness here would be a major misstep, but he didn’t come this far to make enemies. “Just wanted to have a little chat with Alfredo.”

That sets off a ripple through Ramsey’s crew- that’s what they are, the truth the rumors don’t get close enough to. Not wards or bedmates (or at least not all of them, Trevor’s still not sure about Patillo), but his crew.

Operating in plain sight and the authorities helpless to do anything about it lest they show their own hand. All the dirty little secrets, the bribes and corruption and everything Ramsey and his have been slowly purging the city of so they can set up their own little empire.

Lets the rumor mill run wild as he goes around town with one (or more) of them on his arm and no one the wiser because they’re all old hands at this game by now. Give the public what it wants, expects to see and they don’t bother to look further.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Trevor says, unable to stop because there’s that little ember burning away in his chest. Anger and hurt and confusion. “Fredo, honeybun, how could you?”

Alfredo’s composure cracks, has him choking on the horrendous pet name Trevor’s only used to terrorize him in the past.

“Uh,” Ramsey says, not sure what to say. “What?”

“I’ve got this, boss,” Alfredo says, and bustles over to grab Trevor by the arm and drags him out of the room.

========

“Honeybun?”

Trevor shrugs, leaning on the balcony railing that overlooks the city streets below.

He doesn’t think Alfredo took him to this quiet spot to murder him, but if he did the view is spectacular.

“Would you prefer pumpkin truffle? Honey badger?”

Trevor has a list thanks to the dark corners of the internet where the tragically romantic reside with their heart-patterned backgrounds and flowery prose.

“Oh my God,” Alfredo mutters, helpless smile and odd little laugh like he’s trying not to laugh, indulge Trevor in this terrible thing. “What?”

Trevor shrugs, heartburn or something else acting up at the way Alfredo’s looking at him and looks back at the city.

“The internet is a strange and terrifying place,” he says, and leaves it at that, because it’s the horrible truth.

Alfredo mutters something Trevor doesn’t quite catch as he moves to stand next to him.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, sheepish note to his voice given the situation at hand. “Ryan and Jeremy tracked me down, asked if I wanted a job that would make a difference.”

That.

“And,” Alfredo says, because he knows Trevor. “I didn’t want to get you caught up in all this.”

From the corner of his eye Trevor sees Alfredo’s hand as he gestures at Los Santos.

Beautiful from up here, so far from the rot and corruption it’s built on. Easy to forget what the city is like when you’re so high above it that the details fall away.

Trevor snorts because that’s a convenient lie, isn’t it? Worry about little old Trevor, helpless damsel in distress and break his heart because that’s the right thing to do.

“The ‘right thing’”, Trevor says, and hates how bitter it sounds. Not sure if it’s directed at Alfredo or himself, because he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with his own little secrets, has he.

Figured it was for the best if Alfredo didn’t know about Trevor’s former line of work, and look where it’s gotten them.

“Ryan and Jeremy,” Trevor says, something about the names oddly familiar. Stories Alfredo used to tell him about his days in the military. “The ones - “

“The Battle Buddies,” Alfredo says, and when Trevor looks at him, he’s grinning. “Lost track of them after they, uh. You know.”

Faked their own deaths, seeing as how they’re both alive and committing crime here in Los Santos.

Trevor rubs his eyes, and wonders what kind of hole he’s fallen down looking into the mess his life turned into. Following Alfredo out there and picking up old habits he thought he’d shaken a long time ago.

“Ah,” Trevor says, and wonders where they go from here.

“I’m sorry,” Alfredo says, and he sounds it. Like the idiot he is, trying to be noble about things. Wanting to do the right thing by doing the wrong thing and Lifeinvader really does have it right, it’s a complicated thing, this. “I could have done it better.”

Trevor snorts.

“You could have not done it at all,” he points out, but there’s no heat to the words, just an observation. “And I could have told you about me.”

International thief, back in the day, and a damned good one. A little rusty nowadays, because he’d settled down, gotten soft. (That little ember in his chest fizzling out because he’s just as much to blame for this as Alfredo is, always suspected he’d muck things up like this.)

Alfredo’s acting shifty all of a sudden. Darting these little looks at Trevor, biting his lip to keep from blurting out whatever he’s thinking. This look like he has something he wants to say but might die of embarrassment if he does.

“What?”

Alfredo clears his throat, thumping his chest like that’s going to help.

“So,” he says, all casual and non-nonchalant, like he’s not a lech. “That suit.”

========

It’s not all roses and sunshine or however that particular little saying go because the ground between Trevor and Alfredo’s all broken up, footing uncertain.

Big lies that gave birth to little ones and sorting through all of it’s going to take some time, but they’re making steady progress.

No plans to settle down just yet because it takes a lot of work to build an empire and they’re busy, busy people these days.

Ramsey made the mistake of offering Trevor a job. Thought it would be a good investment on his part to have an in-house thief at hand, and Alfredo was good enough not to tell him the kind of trouble he was getting himself in for, which was a good thing, really.

Because this new life Trevor’s building for himself here?

A nice boy like Alfredo with the training he has, and a troublemaker like Trevor with all these tricks up his sleeve and this nice little crew of Ramsey’s backing them up?

Los Santos was made for people like them.

Belling the Cat

[whirlybirbs]

entry wounds.

summary: winter soldier pays reader a visit after a rough night. word count: 1.7k rating: T, for some blood & first aid reference a/n: this is part of the #bittercoffee series!

You’re startled awake, ripped from a dead sleep, to the sound of your window rattling open and the heavy bang of a body hitting the old hardwood floor.

Reflexively, you shriek, hands jumping to cover your mouth as your scramble out of bed -- more like fall, actually -- and fly into defense mode. In a flash, you’ve got the Louisville slugger you keep by your nightstand in your hands. You step, legs wide and long t-shirt bunching as you begin to stalk around the edge of the bed.

In any other scenario, you’d look pathetic. Your hair is a mess, wild with sleep, chin crusted with dried drool, and the t-shirt you’ve donned as a night gown barely covers the bare expanses of your thighs. Your voice, though, is heavy with an angered seriousness.

“Who the fuck do you think you are --”

The intruder groans, sitting up slowly; the gunmetal arm practically glows in the moonlight and your eye widen in realization. He raises a hand, motioning with a silent wave that he’s fine. Don’t worry about it.

But, you see right through it.

“Bucky,” you whisper-yell, tossing the bat onto your bed and quickly moving to slip to his side. Your bare knees hit the carpet he’d managed to land on. Bucky seems to notice your state of undress, dark eyes skimming up your thighs before his brows shift -- they quirk upwards and you swear if he didn’t have that stupid mask on, you’d have the nerve to smack him.

Bucky can’t help it. He’s a little out of it. Any distraction is nice.

It’s not until your own eyes dance down his rigid form that you piece together how bad of state he’s in. The tactical gear padding his chest is slick with blood, seeping from a wound between the junction of his right pauldron. The leather there is torn to ribbons and your hands hover for a moment as you gape at the wound.

“Ohmygod, you’re bleeding. Okay, yep, that’s... That’s a lot of blood.”

Your eyes continue, traveling towards his thighs and you screw your eyes shut, nodding slowly as you try not to stare at the other entry wound above his plated knee guards. The black material makes it all look so inky and in the limited light of the bedroom, you can hardly believe how much blood there is already -- down the window sill, pooling into the carpet.

“Okay, awesome, yep, this is bad. This is not good.”

Your ears perk up at the sound of the hurried steps. It’s your apartment's roommate. From down the hall Marissa shuffles closer to your door. You can hear the worry in her footfalls.

"Hide,” you hiss, scrambling to shove Bucky behind the edge of your bed -- your fingers press into his shoulders and you’re as careful as you can be, scrambling to keep him from Marissa’s sight. He groans loudly at the shove. Finally, Bucky settles against the bedframe, teeth gritting behind his mask as he holds his shoulder, applying whatever pressure he can.

You fall, scrambling to the door, yanking it just in time for her to knock.

She’s wide eyed when you blink down at her.

“Marissa!” you laugh, “Heeeeeey.”

She looks you up and down.

“Is everything alright?! I heard a bang and you yell and --”

“Oh, yeah, psh, it’s nothing... I, uh... I rolled out of bed.”

Her brows knit together.

“Rolled... out of bed...?”

“Yeah,” you nod, giving a tight lipped smile, “I’m fine. It’s nothing... Ha.”

Your roommate, not convinced in the slightest, nods slowly. “Right. Okay...”

“'Night, Rissa!”

“... Good night.”

You nearly slam your door off the hinges, tripping back over to Bucky’s side. He moves, then, groaning and reached up to tug his mask from his jaw. You inhale, a hand touching the side of his face gingerly as you scramble to dig out a t-shirt from the bottom draw of your dresser. You shove it his way and Bucky accepts it eagerly, pressing the pink fabric into the juncture of his shoulder and hissing slightly.

“I swear,” you begin, tearing at another t-shirt with your teeth as you ready a small turniquot for his leg, “If you weren’t bleeding out, I’d kill you.”

“S’not that bad,” he heaves, groaning and wincing visibly as you manipulate his leg, bending his knee and tying the t-shirt strip high on his thigh like the most un-sexy garter belt to ever exist. Your fingers, stained crimson and slick, fumble for the first-aid kit under your bed. “You’re a med student.”

“Biomedical, Buck,” you deadpan, snapping the latches on the kit and moving to unsap his tactical gear quickly, trying to get a better look at the entry wound on his shoulder, “It’s, like, so different.”

“How different?”

A genuine question. He needs a distraction. He was never good at channeling the pain and ignoring it.

You lean, shrugging him out of the bullet proof vest and pistol straps as you try not to admire the way his bare chest heaves and tugs -- the way his muscles tighten under the strain of it all; but it’s hard. Your brain stutters a little, fingers working fast to tear open a pack of antiseptic ointment.

“Very different,” you mumble, pausing and blinking up at him, “... Exit wound…?”

“Oh… No.”

Bucky pauses, catching your gaze as your face pales -- he realizes what you think that means. He beat you to it.

“Dug them out already.”

He notices how you grimace and pause, considering the implications for a second. It’s enough to visibly gross you out.

“Good enough for me.”

You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you move into his lap and straddle his good thigh, eyes focused and hands fast as you quickly thread the sutures and prep the site. In moments like these, you’re thankful for that job you took one summer as a camp counselor. Stitching and basic injury treatment were coming in handy tonight.

Bucky can feel his systems slip into check when  you start; the feeling of stitches is familiar and a signal things are being repaired  -- he doesn’t feel tunnel vision consume him whole, and he can even start to focus on the way you sit in his lap. You’re warm, and the weight of your hips against his thigh is welcomed; though, he can’t imagine the pistol holster digging into your leg is very comfortable. Blue eyes dip along your thighs, adam’s apple bobbing as he realizes you’ve got nothing but a pair of blue lace bottoms on underneath your oversized NYPD t-shirt.

“Eyes are up here,” you chide, shifting in his lap as you finish the stitching in his shoulder before snagging the medical scissors in the kit and swiping them across the top of his pant leg -- the fibers of his pants are harder to cut through, but once you get them sliced, you have a nice clean view of the bullet wound.

“That was quick.”

“Yeah, well, sewing is good hobby to have when you’re the Winter Soldier’s sidekick.”

You lean, elbows planted on the carpet as you do the same to his knee, leaning over his lap; Bucky drops his head back against the frame of your bed -- he’s trying not to check you out. But, this view is one that in any other context, he’d love to dwell on. Bucky realizes quickly he’s thinking like James -- not the mind zapped Cold War weapon. It’s a relief. He tries to think about it, to focus on it.

“Please tell me the Avengers have healthcare.”

Bucky laughs, a throaty chuckle and you smile, knuckles red from the mess. Swiping at a stray piece of hair that flutters into your view, you just know you’ve definitely got blood on your face. You finish the stitching and move to wrap the new alterations, leaning back on your knees and huffing once you’re done.

His eyes are soft.

You both go quiet and you lean against the bed frame beside him, bare arm touching the cold metal of his own. He expects you to flinch, to recoil -- but you don’t. You just rub at the blood caked into the creases of your palms and sigh.

He speaks first.

“Thank you.”

You go quiet, craning your neck to look up at him; your eyes linger on his as you nod. “I’d say anytime, but if I ever have to do this again --”

You fall silent again, ducking your head.

Bucky gets it. So he nods.

His fingers dig into your knee, the black gloves and metal stark against your skin, cold and hard against the soft curve of the skin there. The touch lingers, and part of you wishes he’d let it travel higher, let it really touch you. But, Bucky relinquishes his hold after a moment and heaves himself upwards.

“Sorry for the mess.”

He moves, shrugging his bullet proof vest on, snapping the mask back onto his face. For a man who’d just dug two bullets out of his body, he moves with grace. He’s light on his feet. You smile.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “The Winter Soldier is a bit of a slob.”

Dark brows quirk, light blue eyes dancing with mild amusement as he adjusts the holsters around his chest -- he motions to the bunched up section of your nightgown, igniting your face in pink as he winks. You laugh, mouth agape as you shake your head and cross your arms.

“Get out of here, you loser,” you quip, “And please, get those really fixed -- this was janky and my first aid kit is, like, 8 years old.”

He hauls the window open, stepping onto the fire escape easily. It hurts, but not terribly now, and Bucky pops his torso back through once he gets his footing. His gloved palms brace against the stark white sill. His voice is muffled, eyes bright with affection.

“Thanks, doll.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chime, leaning in and grinning. Your lips brush the spot where his own would be on his mask and Bucky swears that if you kiss him, getting shot twice and beaten the shit out of was worth it for this moment. Blue eyes screw shut.

And then.... Nothing.

Your window slams in his face.

He laughs.

[maxwellyjordan]

Symposium: Ginsburg was a champion of voting rights, but mostly in dissent

This article is the first entry in a symposium on the jurisprudence of the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

Richard L. Hasen is the chancellor’s professor of law and political science at the University of California, Irvine School of Law and the founder of Election Law Blog. He is the author, most recently, of Election Meltdown: Dirty Tricks, Distrust, and the Threat to American Democracy.

During her tenure on the Supreme Court, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg unfailingly sided with voters in election cases and viewed the Constitution as giving Congress broad power to protect voting rights. Sitting on a mostly conservative Supreme Court (when it came to these issues) from 1993 to 2020, Ginsburg unsurprisingly wrote more often in dissent than as the author of majority opinions in election cases. I count 14 dissents, six majority opinions and four concurrences — concurrences that proved exceptionally influential.

The most important election case decided while Ginsburg sat on the Supreme Court was Bush v. Gore, the 2000 case ending the state-court-ordered recount of votes in Florida, effectively handing the presidency to Republican George W. Bush over Democrat Al Gore. Ginsburg’s dissent calling for the Florida recount of ballots to continue was one of four dissenting opinions issued in the case; she told Professor Jeffrey Rosen in 2014 that issuing four dissents was a tactical error that “confused the press.” She encouraged dissenters to speak in one voice in future cases.

The dissenters followed her advice in the two biggest election law cases so far under the Roberts court, Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission and Shelby County v. Holder. Ginsburg joined in Justice John Paul Stevens’ dissent in the 2010 Citizens United case, holding that corporations have a First Amendment right to spend unlimited sums supporting or opposing candidates in elections. Ginsburg told Rosen that Citizens United was the number one Roberts court decision she would overturn: “I think the notion that we have all the democracy that money can buy strays so far from what our democracy is supposed to be.”

Ginsburg listed the 2013 decision in Shelby County as only number three on her list of Roberts court cases she would overrule, but her dissent in that case is probably her most important election law dissent. Joined by Justices Stephen Breyer, Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan, Ginsburg argued that Congress has broad power to enforce the Constitution’s voting amendments. That power, Ginsburg wrote, authorized a provision of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 that required states with a history of racial discrimination in voting to get federal approval, or “preclearance,” before they could make changes to voting rules. In response to Chief Justice John Roberts’ argument that things have changed in the South and that preclearance was no longer needed, Ginsburg famously replied that “throwing out preclearance when it has worked and is continuing to work to stop discriminatory changes is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.”

One other Ginsburg dissent in an election case stands out. In her dissent in the 2002 case Republican Party of Minnesota v. White, which struck down a state judicial speech code as a First Amendment violation, Ginsburg argued that states have more power to regulate campaigning in judicial elections than they have in other elections. Although Ginsburg’s rejection of the “unilocular” “an election is an election” argument did not carry the day against Justice Antonin Scalia’s majority opinion in White, Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, who concurred in White, later said that her vote with the majority gave her pause. And the court in a majority opinion by Roberts pulled back from White in the 2015 case Williams-Yulee v. Florida Bar, upholding Florida’s limits on personal solicitation of campaign contributions by judicial candidates. Ginsburg in her Williams-Yulee concurrence would have allowed even greater regulation of judicial candidates to preserve an independent judiciary.

Ginsburg was not always in dissent in election cases, however. She wrote two particularly important majority opinions in this area. In her 2015 opinion in Arizona State Legislature v. Arizona Independent Redistricting Commission, Ginsburg wrote that Arizona voters acting via initiative could remove the power to draw congressional districts from Arizona’s legislature and place it in the hands of a redistricting commission. The Constitution vests the power to draw such lines in state “legislatures,” and Ginsburg, joined by Breyer, Sotomayor, Kagan and Justice Anthony Kennedy, read the term “legislature” broadly to include the legislative process of a state, including the initiative process. A contrary ruling would have endangered many election reforms applicable to congressional elections passed via voter initiative.

In the 2016 case Evenwel v. Abbott, Ginsburg wrote for a unanimous court (with Justices Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito concurring in the judgment and writing separately) that a state engaging in redistricting could create districts with equal numbers of people in them rather than equal numbers of eligible voters. The opinion ducked a key subsidiary question: “Because history, precedent, and practice suffice to reveal the infirmity of appellants’ claims, we need not and do not resolve whether, as Texas now argues, States may draw districts to equalize voter-eligible population rather than total population.”

Developments after Ginsburg’s death, particularly if President Donald Trump is successful in nominating another conservative to the high court, could take these two important precedents in directions Ginsburg surely would have abhorred. Roberts wrote a particularly vehement dissent for four justices in the Arizona case, and if the meaning of the term “legislature” comes back before the court (as it soon seems likely to do in 2020 election litigation), Roberts will be confronted again with the question whether to stick with precedent or adhere to his own view on the merits of a constitutional case. A result overturning Arizona would call into question congressional redistricting commissions around the country, as well as other election reforms.

And after the next round of redistricting in 2021, the question left open in Evenwel could well be decided in favor of states like Texas that may want to draw districts with equal numbers of eligible voters, rather than equal numbers of people. Allowing states to do so would shift political power into the hands of more rural and whiter voters, because cities have higher percentages of noncitizens and children who would no longer count in the denominator for redistricting.

Many of Ginsburg’s voting rights decisions did not command a majority on the court. But when reading her decisions, and especially her dissents, it is clear that she was writing for the ages, putting forward a strong vision of voting rights protected by the Constitution. This was especially true in her final election law dissent, in this April’s Republican National Committee v. Democratic National Committee case. There, she lamented the majority’s decision not to extend the time for Wisconsin voters to return absentee mail ballots for the April 7 primary in the midst of a pandemic:

Either they will have to brave the polls, endangering their own and others’ safety. Or they will lose their right to vote, through no fault of their own. That is a matter of utmost importance — to the constitutional rights of Wisconsin’s citizens, the integrity of the State’s election process, and in this most extraordinary time, the health of the Nation.

The post Symposium: Ginsburg was a champion of voting rights, but mostly in dissent appeared first on SCOTUSblog.

from Law https://www.scotusblog.com/2020/09/symposium-ginsburg-was-a-champion-of-voting-rights-but-mostly-in-dissent/ via http://www.rssmix.com/