#accidently shot by a flare gun

[how-much-for-a-whump]

WHUMPTOBER day 16: No way out

"No one's coming."

Die Bergretter S08E04

[fandomnerd9602]

The One I Want

Laura Kinney x Spiderpool!Reader

For @deafeningsharkslimeempath

Do you know that one moment where you just feel like you screwed everything up spectacularly? well that happened to me rather recently. Oh sorry where are my manners? my name is (Y/N) (L/N) and on my world I’m known as the spectacularly annoying Spider-Pool. The spectacularly annoying part is debatable.

You see it all started when the TVA zapped me into the void, something about being an anomaly, a profane and unholy combination of both Spider-Man and Deadpool. Honestly, it’s just the best of both worlds in my book or it would be a book if I wasn’t more than just one panel in comic book of the spider verse. True story look it up.

Or it could’ve been the fact that I killed Jared Leto, oh not Morbius. I’m saying I literally killed Jared Leto. It was an accident. I thought I was going after Morbius but oh well.

To make a long story short, I was forced to team up with X-23 or Laura as she likes to be called. One of my all time favorite X-Men characters by the way!

Anyway we found ourselves at an agreement, if I got her back to her timeline and out of the Void she would help me do the same. A good deal all things considered. The only downside is the TVA is so flip floppy. I mean one show it’s the villain the next show it’s good? Fiege, please make up your mind about what the TVA is?!

“You’re sure this plan of ours will work?” Laura told me as we drove thru the woods towards the reported base of the resistance found in the Void.

“If it works, I’ll be happily back in my world by this time tomorrow, Fun Size” Laura’s eyes went wide and she slammed on the brakes, nearly sending me flying into the windshield.

“If?! What do you mean if?!” She was screaming at me. My mind could only formulate the truth. I thought truth telling was Captain America's problem?!

"The TVA are hunting me and I need to get back home to save my world." Oh yeah it all came out like a big old truth salad. A truth salad that you order from Pizza Hut and immediately regret.

Laura began screaming and banging her fists against the steering wheel, "Are you fucking kidding me?! Out of all the spider totems to get stuck in the Void with and I end up with you!"

Oh I knew exactly where this was heading. A teenage superhero such as myself could only baton down the hatches and listen as this beautiful teenage fighting machine chewed me out. How is this both the most embarrassing and fulfilling moment of my life?

"I end up with the biggest fuck up in the multiverse! A spider-deadpool equivalent that couldn't save his Aunt May or Uncle Ben. Twice!"

It's true. I even somehow got my universe's Sean Bean killed. Yes. That Sean Bean. He wasn't even playing my Uncle Ben or anything!

Laura continued her little tirade, "No wonder the Spider Society turned you down! And the Avengers too! You can't save anyone or anything. Your world hates you! The girls you were supposed to love hate you! Mary Jane couldn't stand you. Gwen probably enjoyed death more than you!"

I could feel the anger rising up in the pit of my heart.

"The greatest joke is that no matter how much you wish for death to be with Gwen, you can't die! And it's one of God's greatest jokes on us instead of you!!!"

I was left in stone cold utter silence. I could feel my vision beginning to turn as red as my outfit.

"What?! No witty comeback?!"

"I'm going to fight you now" was all that left my mouth. And you know what? I meant it. Every. Last. Fucking. Word.

"Oh are you-?" THWIP! I shot one of my web guns, a web flew right over her mouth. The anger immediately flared in her eyes. Next thing I knew she lunged at me, claws out.

She grabbed my head and slammed it several times against the car radio. I grabbed her and gently pushed her against the driver seat. Hey I may be in a fight for my life but I’d still never hurt a woman.

Laura took one of her claws and ran it over the web, cutting it. I really should have taken Fictional Chemistry to understand that admantium is stronger than webs.

“This is ridiculous! I can’t hurt a girl!”

“A girl can hurt you!” She retorted before driving her claws in my lungs.

I kicked her straight thru the windshield of the Odyssey and into the forest in front of us. She simply smirked and dove right back thru. I had to admire her tenacity and endurance.

That admiration was interrupted with the familiar feeling of Adamantium being driven straight thru me, over and over.

She began muttering something in Spanish. Sadly I didn’t have the subtitles on so I couldn’t exactly know what she was saying. My Spanish only goes as far as my name: la piscina de aranas.

I pinned her to the second row seats, which were flattened like my heart was after the dog’s death in John Wick.

Laura simply laughed and kicked me straight thru the roof of the Honda. I landed on the roof with a sickening thud and rolled off, hitting the forest floor.

Laura, ever the tease, looked at me thru the window and gave me a come at me signal. “I am a teenage superhero,” I found myself wondering, “how am I terrified and yet so turned on?”

I pulled out my punch daggers and dived right thru the side window.

We traded blows and slashes. She let out a few huffs and groans. She straddled me and begins driving her claws repeatedly, coating the interior with a lovely shade of my blood.

She paused and looked at me in concern, “is that a Glock in your pocket?!”

“I never keep a Glock in there” I laughed before pulling out another gun, “I keep a Desert Eagle!”

Blam! Blam! I fired off several shots at her, one of which hit her rib and the other hit one of her claws.

“That all you got?” She asked me thru gritted teeth.

I grabbed my web gun and shot off several shots, encasing one of her arms in a giant web. She cut right thru it and lunges at me again. She forced us into the remaining back third row. Yeah the Odyssey has three rows. Three rows of get your freak on.

Next thing I knew Laura was looking at me with those brown eyes of hers. It had a mixture of anger and... Wait what was that? Is that lust?!

Well I guess it was. Because the next thing I knew she was driving her claws into the sides of the seats to my left and my right and then she kissed me full on lip lock with teeth hitting mine lip lock. Holy Stan Lee!

Each little growl that escaped her mouth was like a bit of heaven, a symphony to my ears, and quite possibly a fear of hell.

“I…uhh…” my brain tried to comprehend the exact situation that I was going through. It was something so great and yet so terrifying and couldn’t help it intrigue me even more.

“You talk too much” was her only response before she continued her onslaught of kisses. And boy was she right.

She shoved me down onto the remaining back seat, her lips never leaving mine. I began rubbing little circles into her back as the Honda continued rocking back and forth.

It was night by the time we had worked thru all of our differences…and no we did not go any farther than a PG-13 would allow.

Laura nuzzled me, laying against my chest. We shared a bottle of Coke that we found earlier. I gotta admit, besides the whole trying to kill me thing, I could really see a long partnership with her. Both crime fighting and in private.

“I’m sorry” she whispered. “It’s not your fault. The TVA is just the worst.”

“Yeah” I agreed, “sorry I shot you with a Desert Eagle”

Laura simply smirked and held up the bullet before dropping it on the Honda’s floor. “I’ll help you get back home”

“I’ll make sure you have a home to get back to.” I smiled at her and gave her forehead a little kiss.

“Aww” a new voice broke the silence. Laura and I turned to see Deadpool and Wolverine staring at us from outside the Honda.

“Young love” Deadpool chimed in.

OK, so not exactly how I was expecting this whole date to go, but I gotta say turn out better than I thought it would. And what can I say the Honda Odyssey really fucks.

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers when their S/O is crying

Jason Voorhees

Jason first notices how eerily quiet it is when he comes home to the little shack you both live in. Normally you come out to greet him as soon as you hear him come in, so he is pretty alarmed.

He finds you sitting next to your bed, wrapped up in blankets and with reddened eyes.

His immediate reaction is anger; not at you but at who- or whatever caused you to be in this state. He kneels down in front of you and cups your face with both hands to make you look at him. You give him a shakey smile.

“Oh, hi, Jason. I didn’t hear you come home.” You pull the blankets around you even tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just having a really bad brain day, that’s all.”

He sits down next to you and pulls you onto his lap, so you can curl up against him. And he will not let you go until you’re feeling better.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy doesn’t mind you sleeping more than usual, after all, the more you sleep, the more time he gets with you. But even he notices that the time you spend sleeping is getting pretty excessive. And even worse, when you pop up in his realm, you look like a complete mess. Your eyes are red, you walk around like a zombie and are obviously dealing with a very stubborn runny nose.

“Who do I need to kill?”, he asks, all business. He isn’t really the type to offer emotional support but he is always quick to offer practical help. If that practical help is murder, at least, and really, isn’t it always?

“I just had a shitty day at work”, you reply lamely.

“Every day has been a shitty day at work for the past month or so.”

“Yeah…”

He remains quiet for a short moment. “So who do I need to kill? A coworker? Your boss?”

“You can’t solve every problem with murder, Fred.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“I mean”, he continues. “It’s usually not my style to go after adults, but I would make an exception if they’re messing with you. I could make it look like and accident, or a sudden heart attack in their sleep, or-”

“Fred”, you interrupt him, finding the familiar feeling of a giggle bubbling up in your chest. That son of a gun actually managed to help you forget your stress for a bit. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Vincent Sinclair

He somehow got it in his head that secretly drawing you would be a fantastic idea. It would be the drawing-version of candid shots. Capture you at your most natural, when you think that nobody else is watching.

What he did not expect, however, was to find you curled up on the couch, quietly sobbing to yourself.

He drops the sketchbook and pen onto the nearest table and sits down next to you.

You flinch. “Oh… Vincent.” You wipe at your eyes. “It’s nothing, don’t worry, it’s just…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I…I was helping Lester with the roadkill pit, and we came across a deer that had just been hit, and it was still alive, and…” Your voice dies in your throat. “The poor thing looked so scared.”

Odd, really, how you could see humans die, and even help their killers, but seeing an animal in such a pitiful state is too much for you. “I don’t think Lester is gonna let me help him again anytime soon.”

Vincent lets you lean on him and gently rubs your shoulders and back to soothe you, until your sniffles slowly die down and you doze off in his arms.

Brahms Heelshire

He sees you crying through the crack in the walls, and immediately feels his protective instinct flare up. Who hurt you? Hell, who COULD hurt you? You hardly ever left the house. Had someone said something to you over the phone? Had you gotten a letter than upset you?

He says your name, in his child-like voice, which gets your attention. “Please stop crying. I don’t like it when you cry.”

You straighten up and put on a brave face. “It’s alright, Brahms, I’m fine.” You go quiet for a moment. “Brahms, you never took any letters or phonecalls meant for me, did you?”

“No”, he replies honestly. He had toyed with the idea to isolate you like that, of course, but in the end, even Brahms’ selfishness had limits.

Your eyes fill with tears once again. “Not once have any of my family or friends tried to contact me, ever since I arrived here. Do they not care about me?”

Brahms is quiet. What is he supposed to say to that? “Then…. if your family and friends don’t care about you, then I will care about you extra hard to make up for it.”

You wipe the tears away again and find yourself smiling.

Oh Brahms… Never change.

Bubba Sawyer

Unless you have been raised that way, like the Sawyers were, the ethical implications of eating human meat do occasionally catch up to you. And then you find yourself bent over the toilet, or a bucket, sobbing in between bouts of noisy vomiting.

You only notice Bubba when he starts stroking your head, and smearing the blood on his hand all over your hair in the process.

You try to somehow regain your composure, while Bubba helps you up and urges you to the nearest chair. The fact that that chair is made of human bones and decorated with even more human bones however doesn’t really help matters.

When you show no sign of calming down, Bubba panics a little. He looks around, trying to think of a way to make you feel better. Then he rushes out of the room. After a few seconds, you hear clucking, and Bubba comes back, trailing feathers and bedding from the chicken room behind him, and with his favourite chicken cradled in his arms. He carefully places the animal on your lap, urging you to hold onto it.

The chicken, quite used to being held and handled, is warm and soft. You run your fingers over its feathers, chuckling softly when it idly pecks at the sleeves of your shirt.

“Thank you, Bubsy”, you say. “Didn’t think that cuddling with a chicken was what I needed, yet here I am.” After a moment of silence, you add:”...Can you keep stroking my hair? That was nice, too.”

Bubba, of course, happily obliges.

[rowretro]

𝕭𝖊𝖙 𝖔𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉

✧IMAGES DO NOT BELONG TO ME✧

✧warnings: drugs, gambling, violent descriptions, yandere/toxic themes, harassment, (also i think this is cringe-)

✧synopsis: Yang Jungwon. rebellious kid with daddy issues since he was 11, is now extremely feared mafia boss. He never knew that he'd ever fall for his school enemy, though she looked like the type to seduce him to his death.

Inspired by the song Good thing by Kehlani

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Waitress by the day, wild card by the night. Jungwon saw her one night, gambling with big shots and breaking their ego. That red bralette paired with matching, red flared trousers. Her alluring eyes, sassy nails, seductive attitude. The colour of the devil's blood looked beautiful on her. A stunning smile, a tiny tattoo on wrist. Jungwon always got what he want, money, power, fear. He wants her.

Y/n Ko, the girl whom he always hated in school. That pretty face, that sassy attitude, the way she doesn't fear her like the others though he's never hit her once no matter how out of hand she gets. The man had bet on her that one day, she'll fall for him the way he fell for her, and since then all he's been doing is trying to get the anti romantic do have at least one loving dance with him. He stalked her one day, finding that she worked as a waitress at a very fancy restaurant. The owner often mistreating all the workers. It's his time to shine.

Y/n arrived an hour late, rolling her eyes as she noticed Jungwon at one of the tables. With a fake smile she waited his table "Good evening sir what can I get you?" she asked formally as Jungwon smirked "I want to get you." he simply said as the girl rolled her eyes, going to another table.

The classy, boring piano music, simply faded into a more jazzy, modern style of piano music. God she knew that style of music, and she guessed right when she heard him sing. Jungwon of course, singing a song he knew she can't resist. She smiles, waiting another table. Annoyed, one of the girls who was of a higher class and may have a thing for Jungwon accidentally poured some red wine on her white shirt "Oh I am so sorry it was truly an accident" the girl said, the fake pity oh so evident in that annoying voice.

Y/n smiled unbuttoning her white shirt "Oh its alright, accidents happen" she said as she placed the white shirt in the girl's hands "Dry clean that for me if you want to make it up to me." She said, still waiting tables wearing a lacy red corset that was under her uniform. As she waited a table full of men, prying on women to replace their wives with, one slapped her ass making a vulgar, comment as she took their orders. "Don't be rude... we're offerring you a litle break, c'mon sit with us baby... this is the best offer you'll get in a life time" One of the men taunted.

Within seconds, he dropped dead. A clear, bloody bullet hole in his head. Y/n smirked at the body shrugging as she smiled sarcastically. She didn't lay a hand on him. Jungwon shot him. She snatched two untouched glasses of wine as she approached Jungwon. The man smirked, as she gently poured some red wine down his throat, her body rested upon the piano as he played. She placed a rose in his mouth as she sang along, her voice sweet as honey, despite those devilish acts she adopted.

Jungwon gently pulled her off, arm around her waist, as his other hand held onto hers, fingers intertwining. one of her hands on his shoulder, rose in her mouth. The two danced oh so beautifully, toxic love in every step, his hand reached for the gun when he realized the dead man's guards had arrived at the scene. Flawlessly shooting them all to death, "Yang Jungwon you have a very unique way to approach girls..." the girl said as Jungwon smirked, spinning her, and catching her "Only one girl... the seductive devil who fell into the demon king's arms. I won the bet, so as per the rules you're mine." the man smirked as she kissed his lips, people screaming and running to flee the bloody scene of horror.

[foulfirerebel]

This might be a bit of a controversial topic so I understand if you don’t want to answer but who do you think was in the right between ghira and sienna? Specifically in the Adam trailer.

In the interest of fairness, I will be considering both perspectives here and the overall situation.

There are, roughly speaking, 9 racists shooting at The White Fang convoy passing through. With Sienna's blessing, Adam breaks cover and deals with six of them before the seventh guy frantically charges while firing and then Adam slashes him with Moonslice and kills him.

Putting the rest under a readmore, I go on for a while.

In Ghira's perspective, he only scolds Adam over the killing part. He got hit in the hand and his aura flared but didn't flicker or die. The rest of the Fang with them are likewise armed and could've shot back at any time/could've probably disarmed the racist when he got closer as he's running and firing blind. This does include Sienna likewise, and Illia who's there with them.

As he's lecturing and scolding Adam over how this is the very reason people THINK they can treat Faunus unfairly, Sienna interrupts. From HER perspective, Adam saved Ghira's life and is a hero for killing a racist. Nobody else, from Sienna's perspective, jumped to shoot back or otherwise to return fire when their enemy began firing on them.

In my humble opinion, they're both correct. In the short term, Sienna has the right of way: everyone else is armed, Adam was quick to action, and the racist was shooting at them and running toward them. To declare Adam a hero for saving Ghira's life is also a nice little ego boost for Adam himself, but that's another point.

In the long term, however, Ghira's correct. The violent actions of Adam's, including the assassinations and trying to blow up the train in the black trailer, and the fall of beacon and the MANY human lives he's taken and otherwise brushed off as accidents (including the DC comic where he even gloats to Blake about how he was crying when they first met over not getting to kill MORE humans, not over the Faunus dead) does end up damaging Faunus' perception with the overall public and the White Fang as a whole.

But what about Adam himself?

Rewatching the trailer, Adam deals with a total of SIX people (if my count is correct) without any form of lethal force. He comes close, but always knocks them out or otherwise sends them packing. He even snarls at the two calling them all "freaks" and seemed like he was going to go after them next, if Ghira hadn't interrupted.

If he's really THAT fast, there's no way he couldn't have just tackled the running guy down and disarmed him. The guy was running and firing blind, the rest of the White Fang is behind the truck, Ghira's aura didn't break cause of one gun shot, etc.

The trailer further demonstrates that "accidents" like that aren't uncommon with Adam in the field, and he gaslights and emotionally manipulates Blake when she calls him out on it. Sienna even has to call him off from executing an SDC security officer.

Of course, in the heat of the moment, there's usually no time to think about what's going on and what the best thing to do is. All that's left at the end of the day is the consequences of what is done. It doesn't seem like Adam himself lost any sleep over the racist being dead, and I wouldn't either.

But what's crucial to me is that nobody other than Ghira, Blake, Sienna (in V5), or Illia, questioned his actions...until he utterly fails in V5 with the Haven raid.

In that moment, he could've learned something about the proper application of force and why spilling blood isn't the way to do things unless it's absolutely necessary. Ghira never objected to kicking the racist's asses, just the killing part.

And we all see what feeding Adam's ego does to him. So, basically, I find Ghira's point to be valid had he had been allowed to deliver the whole lecture about how it'll be used to spread more fear and hatred. Because that's exactly what Blake's view, and the view of the White Fang and Faunus, end up being in places like Mistral and Atlas (and judging by idiots like Cardin and the casual racism spewed by Torchwick, Vale isn't immune).

Though, again, I agree with Sienna's call to send Adam in to deal with the situation since he was seemingly the fastest among their number.

Short term, Sienna. long term, Ghira. I swing toward Ghira given that Adam would repeatedly get into arguments with Blake about his number of "accidents". He needed a good scolding or a lecture at that point. If praise was to be given, it should've been for helping them out of that jam and worded as such. Not calling him a "hero" and inflating his ego.

Because if he's a hero for killing one auraless guy...then what else can he be called a "hero" for? What next, in other words? What else can he get away with, heedless of the consequences?

This isn't to say I'm not against lethal self-defense and niether is the show: Blake and Yang killed Adam after he refused to back off despite warnings, Ruby tries going for kill shots on Tyrian and slices his tail off, Jaune attempted to stab Cinder in the face, etc.

Unless you have the ability to otherwise disarm and make absolutely certain the lethal force coming at you is neutralized nonlethally, yes I do think lethal force can be used when met with lethal force.

Like I said earlier, however, the problem is optics. Who's using the lethal force against whom? Will this be seen as necessary or twisted? Is it survival or just revenge?

The court of public opinion unfortunately is real, and people defending themselves get thrown in jail a lot. People have also used Stand Your Ground and other laws to chase people down and kill them and then TRY to claim self-defense. Whether it works or not is up to the court and/or jury.

But it can be especially damning when one is part of a group demanding equality, as bigots will pounce on that and try to discredit a group of people (even going so far as to make things up). It's worse when they have power and the people fighting them don't, because the media can easily twist things to make them seem the villain (Queer rights, the Civil Rights movement, Occupy Wall Street, etc.)

In this case, however, we're dealing with people with superhuman speed up against relatively normal people. It's like Superman being threatened by a punk with a gun and killing them instead of the numerous ways he can disarm him...which, ironically, led to Justice Lord Superman in the old JLA animated series but that's a whole other story. Plus, the White Fang has more been compared to the IRA then the Black Panthers and that comparison makes more sense given the very real violence the IRA committed.

That's just me. I don't lose sleep over a racist being dead myself, just the optics and long-term damage caused by Adam afterward especially when he gained a position of power himself. It obviously wouldn't start there, but it's a neat way to show how things shifted toward where they are now.

TL:DR: I agree with both of them, though lean more towards Ghira given the events of the series and Adam's worsening violent antics. Nothing wrong with the lethal approach when confronted with lethal force, but there has to be a consideration of how much force is applied before one goes too far.

Even Ghira, IIRC, did say he learned a few things and fought against the White Fang when they were trying to assassinate him and his family and later at Haven. Sienna herself even spoke out against Adam's actions at Beacon too as being beyond the pale since he attacked a school. They’re both correct and should’ve worked together more in my honest opinion.

[rubin-therubix-loverofblorbos]

You think I'm the best? Aww.

Also you said that Spy was disabled due to his ballet career and I was wondering do you have any other disabled HeadCanons?

wy can't Ihug ascreen. devastated,

Engie: Carpal tunnel/Neurodivergencies/Deafness. He made himself a wrist brace out of metal scraps and fabric and somehow it's comfortable. He barely remembers to stop working when it flares up because y'know. It's Engie. He also has horrible hearing and made himself some hearing aids because, again, it's Engie. Also, on the topic of Being Engie™️, he is the worst of the group regarding mental disabilities. OCD, ADD, ADHD, Schizophrenia, Medic even thinks he has Apotemnophilia {He has a weird kink about replacing his limbs with mechanical shit and it worries people. It is most likely rooted in his self-hatred and kind of weird Self-Capragras. What do you MEAN you want me to pretend I'm going to tear you apart gruesomely and leave you to put yourself back together buddy? What The Fuck Do You Mean By That?} But the difference between him and the others? He takes his medication, flat out. Never misses a day except for the day after New Year's when they have to restock. Also, I forgot he only has one hand and ALSO made himself an eye because he got fucked up in a workplace accident [he screwed up on a bigass machine and it blew the fuck up in his face]. So.

Soldier: Vision {Tunnel, has a bad eye}/Neurodivergencies/Deafness/Speech{stutters real bad when he's excited}. [TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHILD DEATH, ABUSE, AND JUST PLAIN HORRIBLENESS} He has. problems.Many problems. Bipolar veteran Dad pushed his face into hot oil, killed his mother, and, when realizing what he did, killed himself. Soon after, Jane was put into an ADULT asylum since he was seventeen and they didn't have any room left. He Was Put Into A Strait Jacket And Muzzle At SEVENTEEN, deemed unsafe and unstable. He now has brain damage. He was on his way to graduating early and had been accepted into Harvard. He wanted to be a lawyer. Had a transfemme friend who was in the Hiroshima bombing and had the pattern of their kimono burnt into their skin. One day, that friend escaped to go to a Pride parade. They didn't come back. Jane now has abandonment issues, but it gets worse. Later, on the news, they say that three children were killed due to police brutality. Jane is terrified, but thinks they made it out. Soon, they show a bloody pulp of a person on-screen, facial features unrecognizable. But they have the pattern of their Kimono burnt into the one patch of skin left untouched. Jane has issues. He found a seven-year-old, Perdita, alone and he took her in, because that's how he is. Raised her to the age of twelve, then he shot her dead because he was having an attack and thought she was his father. Closed his eyes and shot until his gun was empty, only hearing her screaming when he ran up to hold her in his arms. He lies awake, every night, wondering. She wanted to be a lawyer too. Wow. I spent so much time on his story I forgot to explain literally anything else. fuck.

Spy: Vision/Neurodivergencies/Walking. As we know, he broke his hip doing ballet. but he ALSO has trauma from being a hitchhiking prostitute. He also also has asymmetrical eyes, which mess up his vision sometimes. He Also also also has allodynia, which makes him hate being touched. He seeks attention because after his parents died he found out how privileged he was and how nobody really cares anymore. Bad separation issues.

Sniper: Neurodivergancies/fantasy illness i invented don't worry about it. The dude has perfect aim he hyperfocuses on that shit like crazy. Sniper is one of the better guys, though he has a mild case of anorexia and has had flat-out Cotard's ever since Medic gave him an autopsy. No, he's not like Engie where we're not sure, he has been diagnosed and given medication. He also has small eyes, but it doesn't affect anything, really. OH also SEVERE Genophobia from a misinformating Ex that kept telling him sex was fucking agonizing for the bottom and assaulted him. Violently. Until he was unconscious. He doesn't remember anything but the fear, not even the pain, just how scared he was. A lot of scars on his inner thighs from the guy slashing him with a dagger. Was a virgin until he was 41 and went fuckin insane when his hymen broke {it broke during his assault but was surgically repaired} because oh god he was right I'm gonna bleed until I die oh fuck oh shit. Was okay afterwards, but he's still shaken by that

Heavy: Neurodivergencies. Has a bit of an issue about his father getting eaten by a bear when he was a kid but y'know. In Mother Russia, you don't fuck the bear up the. the bear fucks you up. this is also applicable to any other place that has bears when you don't have a gun.

Pyro:

Demo: Neurodivergencies/His blood is legit alcohol. I mean they all have autism, but Demo has weird autism. that makes him like alcohol a lot. A lot. Demo's are always short because we all know what's going on with him.

Scout: Neurodivergencies/Cerebral Palsy. ADHD little mf. Was also born with cerebral palsy but it wasn't severe enough to keep him from being able to walk, in fact he loves running, as we know.

Medic: Hm. is made of multiple different people's body parts. dunno what that does for him tbh. Was born with severe facial deformities and has a slanted skull to this day because his twin {who was attached to him at the head and calf} died and had to be cut off of him. He talks to himself often and we don't know if he's just being himself or if a little bit of the other's brain was left in there. He also has Tourettes and his most common tic is a short but of maniacal laughter. etcetera. because this is definitely not the only things wrong with him

[realmackross]

Time: Directly after this thread. Content Warnings: gun use tw, unsanitary tw,

"Well, this is not a boat accident! It wasn’t any propeller! It wasn’t any coral reef! And it wasn’t Jack the Ripper! It was a shark." - Matt Hooper

It was like slow motion. The world was gradually shifting around her as her eyes, as wide as saucers, stared back up at the man she thought was her friend.

She was flailing.

Trying to reach out for him.

For anything she could grab, but there was nothing.

And it all went back to the day she died on the set of Dropped. To the day she revealed to all of her friends that she was a zombie at the slumber party. Both times racing through her brain as Mackenzie slowly, but oh so quickly, fell to her presumed death. Her back cracking upon impact as she was impaled by one of the sharp, but wet rocks that soon left her slipping off into the water below and sinking further down, until everything was dark. Dark like when the goo had encased her. But there was no scream of a moose to release her. There was nothing. Just darkness as her lungs filled with water and her eyes with tears as Mackenzie felt her mind slip into the feral animal that needed brains to survive.

She groaned and grunted in the deep depths of the water as the tide pulled her limp body around. Ebb and flow. Ebb and flow with the current. And she would do this for quite some time as her features became waterlogged and pruned by salt. But each time a fish or some creature came by, the living dead girl would reach out and snatch it and consume it; its tiny brain, being just enough to keep her barely coherent to know that she needed to free herself from the tide, or she would forever be pulled out to sea or consumed by a shark. Thank all things in the universe the blood she bled was rancid and rank, which had seemed to keep the sea animals at bay and away from her.

But with each tiny morsel of a fish or anything that provided sustenance, Mackenzie, who still seemed to be just at the craggy shoreline's surface somehow, caught up in a snare of rocks underneath the water, clawed with ripped and jagged nails to keep herself at a safe distance from being dragged away forever.

This went on for nearly a day, before the natural decomposition of her dead body began to break down just enough to push acid into her stomach giving her a natural buoyancy, but that had also meant that if she didn’t find food any sooner, there would be no Mackenzie to return. At least that’s what continually ran through what little bit of functioning brain matter she had left, until she heard it.

The sound was deafening. A loud roar that was inching ever so close as she bobbed at the surface of the water just trying to stay in her safe space of rocks and jagged edges – that had already torn up her skin from head to feet. Her clothes ripped and bulged with the air in her body keeping her afloat. Definitely not magazine cover material. But whatever this sound had suddenly gave way to voices and those voices became louder as Mackenzie soon felt something being wrapped around her.

As she was pulled from her rocky retreat, the zombie grunted and groaned along with the men reeling in her corpse. However, unfortunately for them and the sympathy they were showing her presumably dead body, they were in for a horrific treat when the rounded and decayed woman was finally brought on board.

—

Screams had rang out along with the sound of shots from a flare gun and a harpoon that was easily sticking out of Mackenzie’s shoulder as she crawled her way along the deck gnawing and ripping flesh from the man she had managed to make a meal out of. She was something out of Jaws if Jaws had been a zombie movie, and luckily for her, this tiny fishing boat had only housed the barebones crew that now had retreated and left their deckboss to die.

His brain was just what she had been craving since her fall from the cliff. It was juicy in all the right parts, and the zombie could already feel herself coming back to life. But she longed for more. She craved more. She had broken her back in the past. But hadn’t lay under the sea for nearly two days decaying and surviving off of fish and other sea life in the past. Not even regrowing a leg could compare to the way she craved. Almost as if she had touched the Serpent Flats once again.

And as she managed to make her way into the cabin, she found the other two crew members cornered and holding whatever they could find as makeshift weapons, which in the end wouldn’t be enough.

—

Mackenzie, who now stood upright on day three, couldn’t help, but let her eyes fall onto her body. Everything hung off her slowly shrinking form covered in blood, algae, dirt, and anything else that wasn’t natural. Her eyes scanned for the shore, and could barely make out the beach in the distance. But getting there was going to be her real challenge. She had known nothing about boats and the only person she figured could help her had left town. But there had been a dinghy. She had recalled seeing it as she was trying to drag what was left of the men into the cabin of the boat.

No words left her mouth. She was mute instead trying to process all that had happened to her. But it was like her brain was compartmentalizing and nothing really mattered except getting off this damn boat.

Quietly making her way to the rubber boat, she unreleased it from its locked position on the side of the small commercial fishing boat and watched as it dropped into the water below. Both the fishing boat and dinghy rocked with the waves that lapped along their edges, and without second guessing herself, Mackenzie jumped off the side of the larger of the two vessels landing roughly in the boat below. She hadn’t even given a second thought or to pause on what she had just done to three men who would never see their families again.

Instead, she started rowing towards the shore. With all her might, she pulled the oars back and forth without stopping until she had reached the beach. Luckily, most of the activity had been towards the other end, but a small child had been playing with a ball that had rolled in her direction as the zombie climbed out of the raft and started to limp forward back towards Wicked’s Rest.

It was only when the child stopped moving out of fear, that she had shifted her dead eyes towards him, both staring at each other, until she put her attention back on her goal; to get back home and lock herself away into her house. A walk that was long and arduous, and proved to be more of a task at staying out of the public eye than she had realized.

But as the sun was setting just over World’s End Aisle as Mackenzie had trudged by the exit to Hanging Rock on her way home, she gave no thought to Caleb. To anything really. Numb to the world and all it had taken from her. Only showing any sort of emotion when she finally slipped inside the comfort and safety of her own home, locking the door tightly, and collapsing in exhaustion and desperation of rest and a cry that would last so long that by the end of it, she was shaking furiously, while Jack, the cat she once shared, curled up beside to her to remind her she wasn’t alone.

[impressivepress]

The Attempted Assassination of Leon Trotsky (August 1940)

MEXICO – At approximately four o’clock in the morning of May 24, some twenty-five men under the direction of Stalin’s GPU penetrated the high walls surrounding Leon Trotsky’s house in Coyoacan, and riddled with machine gun slugs the bedroom where Trotsky and his wife, Natalia, slept. Robert Sheldon Harte, the secretary-guard on duty and member of the Socialist Workers Party, was kidnapped and murdered, his body thrown into a shallow pit filled with lime. Leon and Natalia Trotsky owe their lives only to their own cool-headedness in a moment of terrible danger and to a fortunate accident – the belief of the assassins that they had completed their assignment.

Trotsky had been working very arduously the day prior to the assault, and as is his custom on such occasions had taken a sleeping powder. He awoke hazily, thinking he heard the explosions of firecrackers with which Coyoacan commemorates the special days on the calendar. But the explosions were too frequent and they were not far away, as it had at first seemed, but almost within the room. With the acrid smell of powder, Trotsky realized that this was the attempt which he had been expecting for twelve years. Stalin at last had commanded his GPU to correct what he once termed his “major error” – exiling the leader of the 1923 Opposition.

Natalia Trotsky was already out of her bed. She and her husband huddled together in a corner of their bedroom. Natalia made an attempt to shield Trotsky with her body; he insisted they lie flat on the floor without moving. Bullets tipped through two doors of their bedroom, thudding in the wall just overhead. Where were the police who had been stationed outside the walls? Where the guards inside? Surely bound hand and foot, or kidnapped, or already dead.

The door to the room where Trotsky’s grandson Seva slept, burst open and a few moments later an incendiary bomb flared up around a small cabinet standing there. In the glare, Natalia saw the dark silhouette of one of the assailants. They had not seen him enter before the bomb flamed, but a number of empty cartridges within the room and five or six shots directly through each of the empty beds proved that this assassin had been assigned to make the final check, to still any movement that might still exist after the cross-fire from the French window opening on the patio and the door to Trotsky’s study. In the darkness of the room, and hearing no sound whatsoever now that the machine guns were silent, the assassin undoubtedly mistook the form of the bed clothes for the lifeless forms of Natalia and Leon Trotsky. He emptied his gun on those forms and fled.

The old revolutionists then heard what was to them the most tragic sound of the night, the cry of their grandson from the neighboring room, “Grandfather!”

Natalia found her way into his room. It was empty. “They’ve kidnapped him!” she cried. This was the most painful moment of all.

Seva, however, had awakened when the assailants machine-gunned the door opening from his room onto the patio, the bullets striking the wall barely above him. He immediately threw himself out of bed and rolled underneath on the floor. The assassins smashed through the door and as they passed his bed, one of them fired into it, the bullet striking Seva in the big toe. When they had gone, Seva called out, and then ran from his room, crying, certain that his grandfather and grandmother were dead. He left splotches of blood behind him on the pathway in the patio and in the library.

The guards who had been pinned in their rooms by bursts of machine gun fire across the doorways, now checked the patio. The assailants were gone. They had taken with them the automobiles and kidnapped the guard on duty, Robert Sheldon Harte. Outside, the police were tied, lying helplessly on the floor of their sentry house.  

How Did the Assassins Enter?

From the accounts of the guards, the depositions of the police on duty, and the subsequent confessions of some of the assailants who were apprehended by the Mexican police, the story of how the agents of Stalin managed to penetrate the walls is fairly clear.

Five policemen were on duty, three of them asleep. J. Rodriguez Casas, the officer in charge of the police detail since Trotsky’s arrival in Mexico, was home in bed at the time of the assault, according to his story.

The assailants, disguised as policemen, approached the two police on duty, shouted, “Viva Almazan!” and at pistol point bound all five. They then went to the barred doors. These doors are never opened at night except under most unusual circumstances and then only when the other guards beside the one on duty are awakened, unless he knows the person who asks admittance and has first checked to see that there is nothing suspicious.

Harte, member of the New York local of the Socialist Workers Party, had been in the household scarcely eight weeks. He had been selected for guard duty because of his trustworthiness and because of his willingness to take difficult assignments. His selection came as a grateful surprise to him. He was well known in the Downtown branch where he was a member of the Executive Committee.

The police on duty were themselves completely taken in by the disguises of the assailants, hence it should not be surprising that an American might likewise be deceived. It is quite possible, however, that among those who rang the bell at the door was one person known to Bob as enjoying the confidence of the household. The psychological effect of the police uniforms in conjunction with a few words from such a person: “Bob, these officials have a message of extreme importance for Trotsky,” could have sufficiently impressed Harte who had shown himself already to be of more trusting than suspicious nature. In this connection it is significant that one of the guards, also new to the household, levelled his gun on one of the assailants, drew bark the hammer, and then torn by indecision lowered his weapon. It is one of the rules of the guard to cooperate in every way with the Mexican police who have extended all possible courtesies to the household. One does not answer this courtesy with a bullet.

One of the police bound outside, Ramirez Diaz, reported that Bob was marched through the doors, protesting but not struggling, his arms pinned by two of the assailants. Despite contradictory versions by those who later confessed, and especially contradictory versions in the Stalinist press, Diaz maintained his story. Even after being held in prison for a month for questioning in relation to the assault, he declared before the court: “Bob was not mistreated by the assailants, because he went with them voluntarily, although held by the arms between two of them.” This story seems closest to the facts.

It must be added that it is not excluded that the assailants managed to penetrate or scale the walls in some way other than by the doors and surprised Bob from the inside.

Once within the patio, the assailants divided their forces. The house juts into the patio like the stem of a “T” with Trotsky’s bedroom occupying the middle of the stem between the study on one side and Seva’s room on the other at the base of the “T.” On the right hand side of the “T” is the south wall, on the left hand side the rooms of the guards against the north wall. Part of the assailants stationed themselves between the guards’ rooms and the house; the rest stationed themselves at the door of Seva’s room, the French windows of Trotsky’s bedroom; others went through the library and the dining room and forced the door to Trotsky’s study adjoining the bedroom. When they were posted they opened fire simultaneously, those on the left hand side of the house spraying machine gun slugs into the doorways of the rooms where the guards off shift were sleeping. The firing lasted three to five minutes. Some of the guards were able to return the fire, but apparently with no success, although that is difficult to determine since it is an invariable rule of the GPU to leave behind neither dead nor wounded who might serve to compromise the Stalinist organizations.

The assassins took the two automobiles, a Ford used for hauling supplies, and a Dodge. They left behind an electric saw, scaling ladders, rope ladders, drills, a defective bomb containing enough dynamite to have blown up the entire house, several untired incendiary bombs, one incendiary bomb which was broken on a lawn, destroying the grass, a third which was burning in the entrance to Seva’s room and which Natalia extinguished with blankets, suffering burns on her arm and leg.

The Ford stalled a short distance away, the Dodge was abandoned in one of the exclusive districts of Mexico City.

The tools which the assassins carried, together with the police uniforms for disguise proved that they had prepared well in advance a number of possible lines of attack – that they were not dependent upon the complicity of a guard as alleged later by the Stalinist press. Subsequent events proved that they had just as thoroughly prepared in advance a number of possible ways of placing responsibility for the attempt anywhere but on its author, Joseph Stalin.

 

The Mechanism of the GPU

Within the Soviet Union, the GPU, hated by the workers, feared by the entire population, feeds upon the workers’ state like a gigantic parasitic growth. It is the principal instrument with which the Stalin bureaucracy maintain, itself in power. With bribery, corruption, terror, prisons, firing squads it represses and stifles the people, hunts down ruthlessly any voice of opposition.

Outside the Soviet Union, the GPU as an instrument of foreign policy parallels the Comintern. But it is higher in authority than the Comintern and controls its policies and activities. Within the Central Committee of each national section of the Comintern sits at least one representative of the GPU. He is known as the agent of the GPU generally only to the secretary of the party, at most to one or two others of the more trusted members of the Central Committee. The rest can only guess his identity from the unusual degree of authority he exercises.

Within the national section, this highest agent of the Kremlin works at his leisure. He studies the membership of the party in co-operation with those members of the Central Committee who are aware of his identity. Through appeals to party loyalty, through open bribery, and especially through pressure upon those who are expelled from the party and thus cut away from friends, often deprived of a livelihood-sometimes deliberately with this end in view – he builds a national organization of the GPU. This organization is composed of the most daring, demoralized, and cynical members of the Communist Party. They are prepared for anything. They obey orders without the slightest question. They have limitless resources at their disposal.

The GPU enforces a division of labor in its crimes. Its direct agents carry out the technical part of the assignment. The press of the Communist Party, its orators, and its periphery of sympathizers and “friends” of the USSR serve as a protective covering for these agents, masking their activity, parrying aside any probing into their crimes. The assault upon Leon Trotsky furnishes us with a classic example of the GPU’s methods in plotting and carrying out a major crime beyond the borders of the Soviet Union.

 

The Moral Preparation

Since the arrival of Leon Trotsky in Mexico, the official Stalinist press and Stalinist-controlled press have carried on a campaign against him, endlessly demanding his expulsion from the country on the grounds that he is “an enemy of Mexico.” When Dr. Atl, a fascist journalist, was in prominence as a minor reactionary figure in Mexican politics, the Stalinist press attempted to link him by no matter what fantastic means with Trotsky. When the oil companies were expropriated, the Stalinist press charged Trotsky with being their “representative.” Lombardo Toledano, the attorney who heads the bureaucracy in the CTM (Confederation of Workers of Mexico), at a public meeting accused Trotsky of organizing a “general strike” against the Cardenas government – naturally without explaining what could motivate Trotsky to such action against the only government in the world willing to grant him the right of asylum. During the Cedillo uprising, the Stalinist press accused Trotsky of connections with Cedillo. Before the Stalin-Hitler pact, the Stalinist press accused Trotsky of being an agent of Nazi Germany. After the Stalin-Hitler pact, they accused him of being an agent of England and the United States. A standard charge was Trotsky’s alleged “interference” in Mexican politics; that is, his occasionally answering the calumnies of the Stalinists. This charge at one time received such prominence in the Stalinist press that President Cardenas himself intervened through an interview granted the newspaper La Prensa, characterizing Trotsky as a man of honor who had scrupulously kept his promise not to intervene in Mexican politics.

All these charges endlessly repeated, clearly pointed to a coming attempt to assassinate Trotsky. Again and again in the press of the Fourth International this activity of the Stalinist press was exposed as not simple literary exercises for its hacks but as nothing more nor less than preparation for an attempt at assassination. The Stalinists responded with gibes about Trotsky’s “persecution mania.”

 

The Physical Preparation

As this moral campaign against Trotsky went on in public, the GPU at the same time began sending some of its assassins and gunmen into Mexico, especially through the Mexican embassy in Paris where Bassols was in charge. Among them, for example, were the notorious GPU executioners in Spain, Mink of the American Communist Party and Vidali (also known as Sormenti) of Triest, who is now in Mexico under the name of Carlos Contreras.

The physical preparation of the assassination began at least last January as the war spread over Europe and the Mexican elections approached. In the tremendous events of the Second World War, Stalin hoped the assassination of Leon Trotsky would pass without furor. The Mexican elections provided the opportunity to cast the guilt upon the candidate opposed by the Stalinists. (Hence the cry of the assailants, “Viva Almazan!”)

When Hernan Laborde, del Campo and other leaders were purged from the Mexican Communist Party in March, it was upon the charge of “Trotskyism,” that is, not conducting a vigorous enough campaign against Trotsky. Up to that time they had done no more than raise the slogan of “Death to Trotsky!”

David Alfaro Siqueiros, Luis and Leopoldo Arenal, Antonio Pujol, who led the assault on the house, and David Serrano, member of the Political Bureau of the Mexican Communist Party, established a network of spies in Coyoacan, renting houses in all sections of the village which they used in some cases for only a few days. A former wife of Serrano, Julia Barradas de Serrano, with another woman member of the Communist Party, rented a room not two blocks from Trotsky’s house and began the task of seducing the police, carrying out their assignment with a thoroughness that matched the unvarying regularity of the pay they received from the GPU. They reported their progress from day to day to those higher up. One of the police, who became enamored of their unusually easy charms, gave them a photograph of the entire police detail as a “souvenir.” In their room after the assault, rough sketches of Trotsky’s house were found, apparently work sheets which had been cast aside in constructing an accurate plan of the interior.

The GPU attempted to buy the house which Trotsky at that time was only renting, thus forcing him to become through the timely help of friends in the United States a property owner for the first time in his life.

David Serrano, veteran of the Spanish civil war, who has all the earmarks of one who acts as representative of the GPU on the Central Committee of the Mexican Communist Party, set about to obtain police uniforms.

As the time drew near, the GPU even rented a partially abandoned cabin in the mountains, bought lime, and had a grave dug in the cave which served as the kitchen, a grave which the police are convinced was intended for Trotsky and Natalia but into which the body of Robert Harte was thrown.

 

A Nest of Assassins

For one reason or another, the GPU failed to draw a water-tight division of labor between its artists of the pen and its artists of the machine gun. Luis Arenal, known in the United States for his former connection with The New Masses, was a regular contributor to Futuro. Many of the sketches and drawings attacking Trotsky are unmistakably from his pen. David Alfaro Siqueiros was eulogized in Futuro, Lombardo Toledano’s monthly magazine, as “an artist of great prestige and of universally recognized qualities. Throughout America, from New York to Buenos Aires his work as a painter is appreciated. He is a man who honors Mexico. In any country in the world a person of this class is an object of consideration no matter what might be his political affiliation. In Mexico it is not like this. Lately he has been the object of arbitrary abuses by the city police.”

It was this painter whose qualities were not given due consideration by the city police who, donning dark glasses, a false mustache, and a uniform of the city police, headed the gang which made the actual assault. The above appreciation of Siqueiros was from the pen, apparently, of Alejandro Carillo, editor of El Popular, who threatened after the assault to have Trotsky jailed by these same city police for “defamation.”

Two others of the actual assailants were contributors to Toledano’s magazine Futuro: Felix Guerrero Mejia, and Nestor Sanchez Hernandez, the latter author of an article attacking Trotsky.

It is doubtful, however, that the main figures in the moral preparation of the attack, who are leaders in the Mexican Communist Party, such as David Serrano, participated as machine gunners. Still further removed from physical participation in the assault are such figures as the lawyer and “transcendental” orator Lombardo Toledano, whose job it is to function in the trade unions as a mask for GPU activity and an exponent of Stalinist policy without holding a membership card in the Party. Participation of these gentlemen disguised as policemen would have been too sharp a violation of a standard GPU rule. Nevertheless the pages of Futuro, El Popular, and La Voz de Mexico are filled with names of people connected with the assault to one degree or another.

 

The GPU Intensifies the Campaign

In the March issue of Lombardo Toledano’s Futuro, same month as the purge in the Mexican Communist Party, same month as the women spies were getting along famously with their assignment, all the Stalinist slanders were brought up to date and dumped into one article against Trotsky.

This article, appearing under the title, The Significance of Trotskyism,; was written by Oscar Greydt Abelenda, a professor in the Stalinist-controlled “Workers’ University” in Mexico City, a collaborator of La Voz de Mexico, in which he reported, for instance, a secret session of the plenum of the National Committee of the Communist Party, although he does not happen to be a member of that body. The article accuses Trotsky of:

Being the “direct organizer of foreign counter-revolutionary intervention in Mexico.”

Of having been recently “expelled” from the “tanks of the Gestapo,” (a) Trotsky’s connection with the Gestapo as brought out in the “celebrated Moscow Trials” having “never been disproved”; (b) the Hitler-Stalin pact having “placed in evidence that the services of Trotskyism had ceased to be indispensable for the Gestapo.”

Of having placed himself “as is logical” in the “service of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) of the United States.”

The article further explains that Trotsky was expelled from the Gestapo because of the “links he had made with Wall Street.” Trotsky, the article continues, finding himself expelled from the Gestapo had to seek a new boss. “For Trotskyism this was nothing new, since from 1924 it has been found in the simultaneous service of various spy agencies, such as the British intelligence service.”

The article ends with the Stalinist moral: “Today it is completely evident that Trotskyism, in Latin America, is nothing more than an agency of penetration, of confusion, of provocation, and of espionage in the service of the imperialists of Wall Street.”

Although it is more than two years since the John Dewey Commission exposed all these ancient and mutually contradictory slanders of the Stalinists along with the entire macabre stage show of the Moscow Trials as nothing but a monstrous frame-up, the agents of the GPU still repeat the old calumnies as if the new chiefs of the GPU were incapable of improving upon the fabrications of the purged Yagoda.

When Trotsky named Futuro and its editor Lombardo Toledano as having participated in the moral preparation of the assault and hence of being agents of the GPU, Futuro responded with the cry, “Defamation!”

 

Covering Up the Trail of Blood

No one acquainted in the slightest with the historic struggle of the Left Opposition against the corrupt Stalinist bureaucracy entertained the least doubt that the assault was Stalin’s epilogue to the Moscow Trials in which he slaughtered the entire old Bolshevik guard. It was merely a question for the police to determine the identity of the specific GPU agents involved.

In order to shunt the police investigation down a false line, the GPU designed two alibis: (1) that the Communist Party had nothing to do with the assault; (2) that Trotsky had organized the assault himself.

There is every indication that the GPU planned to kill Trotsky, carry away his body, and then maintain either: (a) Trotsky organized the assault and kidnapped himself in order to cover up fleeing to the United States; (b) Almazan or Diego Rivera organized the assault in order to bring about United States intervention in Mexico; (c) all these elements, all enemies of Stalinism from completely different points of view, organized the assault jointly in connection with the Dies Committee. Inasmuch as Trotsky escaped them, they turned this carefully prepared defense of the GPU assassins against Trotsky himself and tried to kill him morally where they had failed physically.

On May 25, the day following the attack, Toledano’s paper, El Popular, writing cautiously because of its intimate connection with the GPU and the uncertainty yet as to whether the police might uncover the actual assailants, maintained (a) that a full investigation must be made and the guilty ones punished “no matter what their political affiliation”; (b) that it was an “assault against Mexico.” The first declaration was made to clear Toledano and cohorts if the assailants were captured; the second declaration was preparation for the charge of “self-assault” if the assailants succeeded in escaping the police. The possibility for a campaign on the latter line was further prepared by the declaration that certain aspects of the case were “unclear and suspicious.”

On this same day J. Rodriguez Casas, head of the police detail, informed the woman who did the cooking for the Trotsky household, that in his estimation the attack was a “self-assault.” This version was later repeated by this woman to the police. This fact, however, was not made public until almost a month later. Other events since then have cast an increasingly suspicious light upon her role.

It was also on this day or the following, as nearly as can be determined from the confessions of some of the GPU agents, that Harte was murdered in typical GPU style, a pistol bullet in the base of the brain, another in the temple. The last of the GPU agents with him, according to the confessions, were Luis Arenal, the contributor to The New Masses, and his brother, Leopoldo.

Why did the GPU kidnap and kill Harte? They could have tied him up as they did the police. Was it to prevent him from naming the person who tricked him into opening the door! Was it to prevent him from possibly identifying the assailants later in a police line-up?

On May 27, El Nacional published a most significant story: “Trotsky Contradicts Himself.” This “contradiction” consisted of the fact that one of the daily newspapers had reported Trotsky and his wife as saving themselves from the assassins by throwing themselves flat on the floor, a second newspaper as saving themselves by huddling in a corner, and a third newspaper had reported that Trotsky and his wife did not always sleep in their bedroom.

By a remarkable coincidence, the mechanics of which the GPU can best explain, this same story appeared word for word that same morning in Lombardo Toledano’s paper, El Popular. It was clear that the principal assassins, those who could give the leads to the higher-ups who were directly linked with the Kremlin, had succeeded in leaving the country. The GPU now believed it had succeeded in turning the police investigation down a false trail. It is still not clear as to the exact GPU agent who inspired the police in this direction. A good deal of suspicion clings to the lawyer Bassols, former ambassador to France, who is a well-known Stalinist and roundly eulogized in the Stalinist press.

The GPU line of “self-assault” now began to be pressed through all the various channels of the Communist Party. At a mass meeting, a Stalinist orator, one of the leaders of the Party, declared it “self-assault.” The attack was likened by the Stalinists to the burning of the Reichstag by the Nazis in 1933. (The Nazis blamed the fire on the Communists, just as the Stalinists now tried to blame the assault on Trotsky – that is the real simile.) The Communist Party issued a statement, declaring the assault to have been organized by the “agents of the Dies Committee” working through the ranks of Almazan’s party, that the purpose of the assault was a “provocation” as “part of the program of the oil companies.”

 

Slander the Name of Their Victim

At the same time, in direct contradiction to its accusation of “self-assault,” the GPU began a campaign against Robert Harte, charging that he was the “leader” of the assault, that he had “betrayed” his chief, that is, sold out to the GPU.

But Toledano’s paper, El Popular, on May 25, had reported – from undisclosed sources – that:

”The policeman Arias declared that when the individuals dressed as policemen and soldiers entered the house, they encountered Sheldon, and three of them overpowered the Secretary of Trotsky, tying him, which provoked energetic protests which he formulated in Spanish. In order to silence him, they gagged him too, and threw him into one of the automobiles which they had left standing in the street.”

This description of Sheldon’s resistance is found in no other report of the assault except the one in El Popular. It would indicate that Bob put up a desperate resistance. Toledano, with his first hand sources of information, naturally was capable of giving an accurate account of these details.

Beginning with May 27, however, every conceivable type of vilification was launched against Harte in the Stalinist papers. It was said that he had a photograph of Stalin in his room at home warmly autographed by Stalin himself (a GPU slander which not even a telegram to the contrary from his father could dispel); in actuality he was not an American but a Russian who had just got off a boat from Russia a week or two before coming to Mexico; the references with which he landed a job with Trotsky were so fabulously good that Trotsky had not even checked them; his baggage was still plastered with Moscow labels; he was a typical gangster type; during the assault he ran about the patio in his pyjamas; he had been paid a fabulous sum for the betrayal; it was impossible to steal Trotsky’s automobiles without Harte’s connivance as he had control of the ignition keys (in reality they were always kept in the cars for emergency use); he did not come as an agent of the assassins but was bought by them in Mexico; he came as an agent but was won over by Trotsky and so only carried out a partial treachery; he acted as a driver of one of the automobiles which earned away the assassins; he was very nervous when he left with the assailants; he was very calm when he left with the assailants and spoke familiarly with one of them known as “Felipe”; he was completely in Trotsky’s confidence and led the “self-assault”; he was snug and safe in his father’s home in New York.

These slanders were the moral lime with which the GPU hoped to obliterate all the trails leading to the body decomposing in the mountain cabin. For several days, as a matter of fact, the Stalinists succeeded in disorienting the police hunt. Two of Trotsky’s secretaries were held for two days in jail for “questioning.” Two friends of the Trotsky household, one a refugee from Germany, were held for four days in Guadalupe prison. The chauffeur of Diego Rivera was arrested. The house of Frida Kahlo, former wife of the painter, was searched. Seemingly the GPU was forging ahead with its campaign of moral assassination.

 

The Turn in the Investigation

On May 31, Trotsky issued a statement to the press, declaring categorically that the police hunt had taken the wrong lead. He described the methods of the GPU and named Lombardo Toledano and David Alfaro Siqueiros as being able to “cast light on the preparation of the attempt.” In government circles it was reported that President Cardenas himself gave a sharp turn to the police investigation, a turn which brought phenomenal success in uncovering the criminals.

The Communist Party denounced Trotsky’s declaration as an “insult to the police.” Who was Trotsky to tell them where to look for the criminals? On June 1, Luis Lombardo Toledano, younger brother of the “transcendental” orator, sent a declaration to the press written impressively by hand in green ink: “For Trotsky the police of Mexico are a stupid police. They don’t merit any respect. Mexicans think otherwise.”

Apparently the GPU considered the blows of Toledano the younger insufficient to counteract the impression Trotsky’s article had made. The Stalinist hacks went to work. They labelled the assault “an international blackmail.” They protested the arrest of some of the members of their party. They called for Trotsky’s expulsion from Mexico. They asserted that the assault was staged solely to contradict President Cardenas’ declaration that there was no Fifth Column in Mexico. They dragged in Almazan, the war-mongers, the oil companies, imperialism, hatred of the Soviet Union. They even thought up something bright and scintillating: Trotsky is “an instrument in the Yankee war of nerves against Mexico.”

Harry Block, intimate among the highest Stalinist circles of Mexico, editor of a mimeographed news clipsheet distributed free of charge in the United States by the Stalinist “Workers’ University,” and the man considered to be the liaison agent between Lombardo Toledano and the old GPU careerist, Oumansky, now Soviet ambassador to the United States, wrote an article casting doubt on the reality of the assault. The Nation in the United States, with its usual deference for Stalin’s requirements in periods of emergency, gave prominent place to this GPU report from Mexico.

The Communist Party protested with excessive volubility the arrest of two of its prominent members, David Serrano and Luis Mateos Martinez, declaring on June 7 that the police had affected these arrests “after Trotsky made subversive, anti-Mexican, and extremely dangerous declarations.” Their wordy protest added: “Our party considers itself outside of all suspicion, since it is a revolutionary party which supports the government of General Cardenas.” The Stalinists later amplified this profound argument by declaring that obviously they were not guilty, “since the Marxist movement does not believe in terrorism.”

The question, however, was not whether the Stalinist organization is Marxist, but simply: Did the GPU organize the assault?

La Voz de Mexico, Communist party weekly, on June 9 came out with a double headline and a three column story: “THROW TROTSKY AND HIS BAND OUT OF MEXICO!” The article considered it “improper that a chief of police should permit a Trotsky to tell the police what they must do to discover the authors of the ’attempt’.” The reason for this concern over the “propriety” of the police seeking information from Trotsky as to who had machine-gunned his bedroom soon became apparent.

 

The Mexican Police Solve the Case

The police department of Mexico City on June 18 announced that it had solved the case. Twenty-seven members of the Communist Party were under arrest. Among them, a number had made complete confession as to their participation. David Alfaro Siqueiros, the man who was an “honor to Mexico” according to Lombardo Toledano’s Futuro, was named as the actual leader of the assault. Above him were individuals from whom he took orders whose names were unknown to the staff members of the GPU caught in the police net. Haikys, formerly in the Soviet legation in Mexico and Soviet ambassador to Spain following the purge of Rosenberg in the civil war, was suspected to be one of these higher-ups. Carlos Contreras, GPU assassin in Spain, appears in the same category. Siqueiros, the Arenal brothers, Antonio Pujol, all members of the Communist Party, had fled Mexico.

The Stalinist press announced the arrests without mentioning the political affiliation of the prisoners, except indirectly in the case of Siqueiros, formerly the “honor of Mexico” but now “mad,” “undisciplined” and a “pedant.” The false mustache and dark glasses were undoubtedly the “pedantic” touch to his use of machine guns and bombs. It is not clear why they called him “undisciplined.”

From day to day further confessions were obtained, especially from Nestor Sanchez Hernandez, one of the contributors to Toledano’s Futuro, implicating more members of the Communist Party. Leads from the confessions brought the arrest of the chauffeurs who had driven the automobiles. Some of the police uniforms had been found in the possession of Communist Party members and a pistol which had been stolen from the police guard as they lay bound on the floor of their sentry house.

Lombardo’s El Popular now attempted a desperate switch in line to clear itself of complicity in the assault, issuing a statement, “reaffirming our attitude in the Trotsky case,” that is, the declaration of May 25 in which they demanded an “investigation” and punishment of the “authors no matter what their political affiliation.”

The Communist Party, completely bared in its true hideousness to the light of day, lacking any shred of respectability with which to cover itself, was capable only of blinking its eyes in the glare of the most unfavorable publicity it had suffered since the exposure of the GPU assassination of Ignace Reiss in Switzerland. It issued a declaration in the June 23 issue of La Voz de Mexico that is almost a chemically pure refutation of itself and a proof which could not be improved upon of the involvement of its staff in the assault. Note the attempt to hang their case on Bob Harte, whose body they had covered with quicklime :

”The work of a gigantic and refined provocation against the Communist Party of Mexico and the workers’ movement has been exposed to the public light ... Numerous persons appear directly or indirectly implicated (!) among them David Alfaro Siqueiros, named as the leader of the attack. The responsibility of one of the intimates of Leon Trotsky himself, his secretary Sheldon Harte, has been made clear ... None of the participants are members of the party (?); all are uncontrollable (!!) elements and agents provocateurs ... Public opinion has been surprised by the fact that despite the manifestation of the force of the assailants and the facilities and complicities – such as that of Sheldon – on which they counted, neither Trotsky nor his assistants nor his domestics suffered any harm. This reinforces the affirmation made by us since the beginning, in the sense that the provocation, planned with such refinement as even to have as instruments ’communists’ of straw, [With enough bone and gristle to handle a machine gun, however – J.H.] was directed in order to provide a legal base for the attack against and repression of the Communist Party and other revolutionary forces of the country. The espionage services of the warring countries and the Trotskyist organizations which work in Mexico – all these filled with spies and provocateurs as is proved in this self-same case of Sheldon who, while the majority of the implicated have fallen into the hands of the police, has eluded them – [The GPU considered the lime had worked long enough to make this a safe affirmation; also note the word “majority.” This word is thrown in deliberately to cover the most important GPU agents still at large. – J.H.] could surely say much about who are the real organizers of the attack on Leon Trotsky ... We insist once more that it would be healthy for the country that Leon Trotsky, who has given pretext for a monstrous provocation against the Communist Party and against Mexico itself, should leave Mexico.”

Stalin, as is well known, has long considered the deliverance of Trotsky into his hands an alternative far preferable to the uncertainty of machine-gunning his bedroom.

 

The Body of Robert Harte

The insistence of the Communist Party on the complicity of Harte was the clearest evidence of his loyalty to the Fourth International. Early in the morning of June 25, this loyalty was confirmed in the grimmest and most tragic way by the identification of his body which the police had discovered in following up the clues provided by one of the Stalinist prisoners.

The GPU was now completely unmasked, not only as the organizer of the assault but as the murderer of Robert Sheldon Harte.

Since the discovery of Harte’s body, however, the Stalinist press has not lessened its campaign against Leon Trotsky one whit. On the contrary it has sought to extend the campaign into the Mexican courts. Toledano’s papers El Popular and Futuro have filed suit for “defamation” and La Voz de Mexico has announced that it will do likewise. Every issue of La Voz continues to demand the expulsion of Trotsky from Mexico and now includes in this demand his secretaries, who it declares are the “executive body” of the Fourth International. A lawyer, Pavon Fores, member of the Central Committee of the Mexican Communist Party, has been assigned to represent the prisoners Serrano and Martinez. In six hours’ questioning of Trotsky before Judge Trujillo in charge of the case, Fores attempted to revive the theory of “self-assault” and to insinuate that Harte had talked with Trotsky about the assault the afternoon before it occurred.

When Trotsky answered Fores, he answered this whole maneuver of the GPU: “These questions seem directed toward resurrecting the corpse of the theory of ’self-assault.’ It would be better to resurrect the corpse of my friend Robert Sheldon Harte.”

 

Preparation for a Second Attempt

The continued clamor in the Stalinist press is nothing more nor less than the preparation for a second, still better prepared assault by the GPU. Such a second attempt on Trotsky is absolutely certain. Stalin having suffered all the moral and political damage of guilt in the first attempt must now show at least that he is powerful enough to carry out his will. Where he spent at least $10,000 for the technical preparation of the first attempt, he will now spend incomparably more. Trotsky’s life is in mortal danger.

 

The GPU a By-Product of World Reaction

In the Stalinist press the three letters “GPU” appear so rarely that it would seem the hacks of the Third International scarcely dare admit to themselves the existence of this dread modern Inquisition. Among the workers of the world there is great reluctance to believe that on the body of the workers’ state an organization so horrible as the GPU could have fastened itself. This has lent the GPU outside of the Soviet Union a certain protective coloration of unreality.

But a glance at the still fresh scars on the walls of Trotsky’s house where the machine gun slugs struck is enough to convince anyone of the brutal reality of Stalin’s terrorist organization. A few minutes reading of the Stalinist press will further convince one that the GPU is very real indeed despite the absence of its name in print.

The GPU is a by-product of world reaction in the period of war and fevered convulsions as society approaches the era of socialism. In the last analysis the GPU is a foul discharge from the decaying body of capitalism where it rests upon the Soviet Union. It directs its terror against the Fourth International in the first line because it is thoroughly aware that the Fourth International is the only force capable of giving the world working class a program that will lead to a successful socialist revolution. The destruction of capitalism will bring with it the destruction of the GPU and the end of Stalin’s rule in the Soviet Union. Like the other Inquisition, the GPU will become no more than a memory of that savage pre-historic past before the economic structure received rational organization.

In the great task of building that future society Robert Harte fell as a loyal soldier in the vanguard of the revolutionary proletariat. He was not the first of Trotsky’s secretaries to become a victim of the GPU. He was the eighth. Before him the following heroes of the working class died: M. Glasman, G. Butow, Y. Blumkin, N. Sermuks, I. Poznansky, R. Klement, E. Wolf. But Bob was the first of the American section of the Fourth International to be struck down by GPU bullets. On one of the new fortified towers which have been constructed in preparation for the next assault by Stalin’s GPU, a plaque has been placed:

In Memory of ROBERT SHELDON HARTE 1915–1940 Murdered by Stalin

~ Joseph Hansen Internet Archive 2005.

Fourth International, Vol.1 No.4, August 1940, pp.85-91.

[the1975attheirverybest]

"Yeah actually there are a lot of fireworks laws and they vary from place to place. In some counties you need permission to be able to light them. In some places they’re illegal except on specific days of the year etc. it’s because back when they were just everywhere, people would light them wrong, or they’d end up in the hands of children and stuff. All sorts of accidents could happen. So they’re less common now."

sooooo fireworks are too dangerous, but guns are fine? christ i'll never understand america

that pic of franklin was so sweet. poor thing tho. i was celebrating w at a friends house and her cat was just a bit jittery but not rlly scared so that's good. when my dad picked me up, he told me that my idiotic neighbour shot some flare gun stuff in the direction of my dovecote (my grandad used to have loads of pigeons and now i'm taking care of the 5 we still have). i was gonna go over to my neighbours and wish them a happy new year, but my mum stopped me. she's prolly right tho - no point in fighting w idiots and it's just gonna spur him on more. but christ i am still so pissed! the pigeons have never cared for fireworks or anything but u still don't do that to animal stalls... some idiots even lit their fireworks right next to the horse stalls in my village (my horse is in a diff stall).

aaaaaaand to give my humble opinion on the moustache: it took me a moment to warm up to it. than i liked it when it was thin but now that it's growing to thick i don't rlly love it anymore. tbh his best look is either the red shirt from self titled era or the gig at gorilla manchester 🦦

Bestie, America has deemed drag queens more dangerous than guns. We don’t really make much sense over here.

WHAT THE FUCK?! If I was your mom I’d have gone with you to wish them a very happy new year. Fuckin hell. I hate people who do that to animals. But especially ever since I adopted Franklin. I have probably said this on the blog before, but he’s extra sensitive to these sounds because when he was a stray dog, living on the streets, he got lost and accidentally wandered into an army base. So all the fireworks sounds resemble shootings, guns etc and they freak him the fuck out. Breaks my heart. Animals are better than humans istg. The audacity of some folks. Ugh.

OMG GORILLA SHOW MATTY IS SO SO SPECIAL ❤️

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Keeper of the Flame

Today you all get to meet a future member of Sierra's strike team, Saanvi Desai!

Saanvi gasps, short and sharp and cut off mid-breath as her back is slammed into the rough brick wall. 

She probably shouldn’t have been walking home, but the bus got trapped by an accident, and she wasn’t willing to risk the lives of everyone on it. 

She’d seen him stalking her since two blocks from the agency. 

She’d thought she’d been detected, somewhere along the line of the investigation. Maybe via that phone call she placed to his front business, thickening her Indian accent to pose as a call center operator, so a field team could set up a trace on the location. 

He had to know it was someone from an agency when the place was raided.

From there, he could have determined he was in Chimera’s operating area, and then staked the place out to find out which hunters and other employees could have been the one who placed that call. Given that currently, she’s the only one who obviously fits the bill, it probably wasn’t hard for him to put the pieces together.

Vampires can be incredibly cunning and still fundamentally idiots. If he wanted her dead, he should have used a gun like a normal human being.

But given what she’s learned about this vamp from studying his operation, he seems to prefer the dramatic. And he thinks he’s untouchable. Her investigation is proving that wrong, which means he not only wants her gone, he wants to send a message with her death. He’s not going to make it quick. 

At least she can be reasonably sure he isn’t going to turn her. This one doesn’t mess around with fledglings. 

Apparently he does mess around with dramatic villain speeches. She tunes him out, trying to think of what she knows about defending herself in a situation like this.

But her mind is going blank.

The only thing she can think is that when her family hears about this, it will crush them. She’s their only child, the last heir to a hunter legacy that’s been passed down since vampires followed in the wake of the ravages of colonial rule. 

When she was born, after hours of labor that nearly killed both her and her mother, on the first day of Diwali, her family had seen it as a sign, that she would be a bringer of light, a lucky child whose life was guarded by the good in the world. 

A split second of clarity, a single coherent thought like a match flaring in the darkness. She is a child of the light. And no one gets to take that away from her.

She ignores the claws tearing at the arm protecting her throat as her fingers fumble the katar from its belt sheath. 

She has one chance to get it right. 

Her hand flies out in a single, stunning blow, a punch that without the blade at her knuckles might still have knocked this creature off her.

With it, she’s got a straight shot to the vampire’s heart. 

The old blade still strikes true, driving past bone to sink into the cold, dead heart of the monster trying to snuff out her spark. 

A stunned look crosses his face a moment before he crumbles into ashy dust in the alley. 

That’s right. I may be office staff, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless.

She uses the katar to tear a strip from her blouse, wraps her arm and then dials the agency medical hotline. “This is Hunter Desai, agency ID R-259870. Requesting non-emergency clinic transport.”

You can read this story and more on my WorldAnvil here!

@nade2308 @catwingsathena @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @whumptober

[cherrycola27]

SIREN'S SONG

Chapter 2: Scars to Your Beautiful

Pairing: Rooster x OC Captain Harper Ann "Siren" Mitchell

Warnings: Mentions of Ejection, injuries, cursing, drinking, self esteem issues, body hate and smut 18+ only Minors DNI

This chaper is inspired by the Alessa Cara song "Scars to your Beautiful"

Once Rooster had gotten his things from his truck, Harper showed him to his room, which was right next to hers on the top floor of her house. She had gotten him extra blankets and pillows and made sure he was settled for the night. She then gave him a small goodnight kiss on the cheek and padded out of his room closing the door behind her.

Harper went onto her room and changed into an older worn out Navy shirt and some comfy shorts. She walked over to the mirror in her room and lifted up her shirt and tugged her shorts band down slightly.

Harper grimaced as she looked at the jagged scars that covered the upper part of her right hip and part of her right side. They were a constant reminder of her last mission and everything that went wrong. She had tried everything to fade them but nothing worked. She had even given up bikinis because she was ashamed of how she looked. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought about her ex boyfriend Graham the Marine. They had been seeing each other for about 4 months and Harper had finally taken him home. Everything was going well until she took off her sundress and Graham visibly recoiled at her scars. The asshole then said maybe she should keep the dress on and the lights off because the "stripes" freaked him out.

That promptly turned into Harper telling him to "Fuck off, get the fuck out of her house, and to never fucking call her again" That night Harper snapped. She changed her hair, changed her attitude, and vowed to never let anyone see those scars again.

The rumble of thunder shook the house and snapped Harper out of her trance "Fuck" she cursed under her breath. Siren Mitchell wasn't afraid of anything, but ever since the accident, Harper Mitchell couldn't stand thunder storms because all she could hear was the sound of gun shots and her plane crashing. Harper stepped away from the mirror and flopped down in her bed, she buried herself in the warmth of her blankets and pillows and attempted to drift off to sleep

"SMOKE IN THE AIR SMOKE IN THE AIR IRON 1 DEFENDING" Rooster shot up out of bed hearing the screams coming from down the hall over the storm raging out side

"I'M OUT OF FLARES OVERWATCH WHAT IS GOING ON"

"ARE THE OTHER IRONS BACK TO THE CARRIER?"

"I'M HIT, ECJECT, EJECT!"

Rooster ran down the hall to Harper's room. He burst in to door to see his friend tossing and turning while violently flailing in her bed. Rooster jumped to her side and grabbed her hands to wake her and to keep her from hurting herself

" Harper," he called to her gently, yet firm as he gave her a small shake. "Harper wake up!" Her eyes snapped open and she shot up, her breath was ragged and labored. Her vision was blurry and tears where in her eyes. "Harper, you are safe, do you know where you are?" Rooster asked her calmly. He had see some teammates have PTSD fits and he knew what to do in case. "Harper's breathing slowed as she calmed down. "Um... I am in my house in my bed" She replied to Bradley with a shakey breath.

"Good, are you okay?" He asked looking deep into her eyes. He knew the answer. "N..n..no... I'm not okay" Harper admitted. "The storm... it... it brings up some bad memories" She continued. "Talk to me... tell me what's up" he coaxed settling next to her against the headboard.

Harper took a deep breath... "Okay... here goes nothing" She began. "Well remember how I told you after my last mission I took some leave and was offered a position.... well that was kind of a lie... I didn't take leave. I was put on leave, medical leave." She confessed. Rooster nodded his head and told her to continue. "I never told you but 2 years ago, I flew a covert mission and everything went well until I was on my way back to the carrier. The rest of the Iron Squad I was on made it back no issue but while I was coming back, Overwatch missed a Fifth Gen Fighter... and..." She hesitated "take your time" he encouraged. "Well, it came after me. There was a dogfight and I was hit. I lost both engines over the side of some mountains. I... I had to eject and my parachute partially failed and I got messed up pretty bad on the way down. I had to have 2 surgeries and some Physical Therapy before I was cleared to fly again. After all of that I couldn't fly missions anymore. I was scared. Siren Fucking Mitchell was scared, so Dad and Ice basically bullied the Navy into letting me teach at Top Gun, because I was still a bad ass pilot, I just couldn't go back to combat. And I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to freak out, and I made Maverick swear to not say anything to you since you were coming back." Harper finished her schpeail and Bradley sat there silent for a moment. The only sound in the room was the occasional rumble of thunder.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you Si," Rooster finally spoke. "I can't believe you went though all that alone, I wish you would have told me. God I feel so bad!" He continued. "But I'm glad you told me now" he finished "Roos, I didn't tell you because you would have moved Heaven and Earth to get to me. I couldn't have you stealing an F-18 or going AWOL. And I'm fine now." Harper snickered. "Well I am glad you are. I don't think Mav would have been able to put up with me without you around" he chuckled pressing a chaste kiss to her hair line

"Oh no, he would definitely have you killed by now." Harper laughed trying to shake the electricity that shot through her from Roosters contact.

"Bradley" She breathed out. "Could you please... um... stay in here with me tonight. Just with the storm and everything... you keep me grounded B. Please?" She almost begged. "Of course Harper. What kind of a best friend would I be if I left you after all that." Bradley responded kindly. He tucked himself under the covers and Harper pressed herself to his side. She breathed in his scent. Woody, sweet, and spicy. Soon they both fell asleep.

Even though it was the weekend and he didn't have to be up early, Roosters body woke him up promptly at 6am. Opened his eyes to see at some point during the night Harper became the little spoon and he had her back firmly tucked up against his front. And that posed a problem. A hard, uncomfortable, and unfriendly problem.

"Shit" he cursed under his breath as Harper shifted and her ass wiggled against his hardened cock. "God I look like a fucking horny teen" the man thought. God how he wanted to roll the beautiful woman beside him onto her back, pull her shorts down and taste her to wake her up. Then, make love to her all damn day. God what a dream he thought. But Harper didn't feel that way about him... did she? Bradley shook his head and dismissed the thought. He untangled himself from the bed and went to the bathroom that Harper had told him would be his. He stripped down and turned the shower on cold, hoping to shock his cock back into its resting state, but 15 minutes and some frozen toes later and no luck. Sighing to himself, he turned the heat up and basked in the warm steam. After a few moments he grabbed his shower gel and squeezed a generous amount into his palm he braced on arm on the cool tile wall and wrapped his other hand around his aching cock. He pumped it a few times and then "Oh God... Harper... fuck" he let out a low moan...

Harper turned over in bed to find that Bradley was no longer there. She heard the shower running down the hallway and she quickly jumped up remembering she hadn't put any towels in that bathroom. Harper ran to the hall closet and grabbed some nice fluffy teal towels to take to Rooster. She mentally prepared herself to go in. She would quickly drop them off and keep her eyes on the ceiling. Sure they had seen each other naked when she gave him her virginity in the back of his Bronco and again in that crappy bunk room in Wilmington but she wanted to be respectful. Harper quietly entered his room and opened the bathroom door. She expected to see Bradley in the shower. She half expected to hear him singing, but what she didn't expect to see was him flushed, eyes closed, hand around his cock moaning her name. Harper sqeaked with surprise and dropped the towels. She turned and collided with the door which alerted Rooster to her presence.

"Um.. Shit... I am so sorry, I should have knocked but you um didn't have towels so um here you go bye!" Harper rattled off as she bolted out of the bathroom. Roosters eyes were wide, there was no way in hell she didn't see or hear what just happened. He sighed to himself and turned off the shower. He grabbed the towels that lay askew on the floor and began to dry off and get ready. He would give her some space for a few minutes, but they had to talked about this.

Harper ran into her room slammed the door shut and rested her back against it while she tried to regain control of her breathing. She would be lying if she said that wasn't the hottest fucking thing she had ever seen the wetness pooling between her legs and the flush of her cheeks was proof... Rooster... Bradley wanted her... just like she wanted him.

Harper's brain was fuzzy. What did this mean. Would Bradley leave before she could tell him how she felt... how she has been in love with him ever since she knew what love was... no... she couldn't let that happen. The time she thought she had to prepare that speech was cut short. Screw what Aaron Burr said about waiting for it. She was going full Alexander Hamilton on this.

Harper was snapped out of her thoughts by the gental tap of Bradley's knuckles on her bedroom door. "Si," he called through the door "can you let me in so we can um talk?" He asked. Harper took a deep breath. She stood up rolled her shoulders back and let her Siren persona take over. She would need it to face him. She opened the door and Rooster walked into her room and sat on her bed. "Um... Listen" he began while rubbing his face.

"No, Bradley," Siren quickly cut him off. "I am sorry that I... um... interrupted your um... personal time" She trailed off. " It's on me I should have knocked but on my mind it wasn't a big deal because it's not like I haven't seen you naked more than once before" She snorted. "But I truly am sorry and I hope you don't hate me and you are still more than welcome to stay here I promise not to barge in on you again and I still want us to be friends and I hope this doesn't change anything and one day we can look back at it and laugh" She finished her speech and thought to herself "what the hell was that... I thought you were going to confess your feelings to him... so much for being a Hamilton guess you are still a Burr." Her shoulders dropped as she waited for Bradley to respond.

"I should apologize too" Rooster stated "it's not very friendly of mye to jack off to the thought of you in your own home." he began "but seeing you last night after 3 years and talking to and being with you reminded me just how much I have fallen in love with you. And waking up with you and your ass pressed right against me I guess it was just too much. I am sorry Si. Please don't kick me out or tell Mav. I promise it won't happen again" Rooster finished his speech and grinned at Harper sheepishly.

She stood there taking in everything he had just said. "What did you just say?" She questioned. "It won't happen again?" He replied back coyly "No no before that" she pressed "That I wasn't being a good friend" Rooster retorted. "No, after that." Harper said much more firmly, her Siren side starting to show more.

"That I'm in love with you" Rooster finally sighed giving his friend the answer she wanted. "You're in love with me?" Harper question back her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah I am. I have been since as long as I can remember. Before Mom died she told me I needed to get my head out of my ass and make a move before someone else did. I regret not listening" he told her honestly. "Why? How? Why are you in love with me?" Harper asked him feeling more confident.

"Well..." Bradley began getting up from her bed and walking over to where Harper stood against the door of her bedroom " "you are beautiful, smart, kind, caring, loving, funny, a hell of a pilot, and you have always been in my corner. You are my best friend, biggest supporter, cheerleader, and pain in my ass. You have always been there for me. There was no way on this planet that I could never not fall in love with you Harper Ann Mitchell." Bradley was invading her space. His arms by either side of her head. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

"So, I guess now that I have that out in the open." He looked down to meet her eyes. "The question remains... do you feel the same way?" Bradley's voice was the one that was low now. He held his breath waiting for her answer praying he didn't just ruin over 20 years of friendship.

Harper looked up at Bradley as he stood there waiting for her answer. She breathed in is spicy sweet scent. "Yes" she replied shyly. "Yes what?" He asked her. "Yes Bradley Alexander Bradshaw, I am in love with you too. Now would you shut up and kiss me?" Rooster didn't have to be told twice. He bent his head down ans sealed his lips against hers. Harper wrapped her arms around his neck while Bradley cupped her face. They both pulled away breathless. Bradley looked down and searched Harper's eyes for any signs of regret but found none.

He dipped his head once again to find her lips. This kiss was more heated, more frantic, more needy. He nipped at her lower lip while she granted him access to her mouth. Their tounges fighting for dominance. Rooster tapped Harper's hips signaling for her to jump. She obliged him and wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel the firmness of his cock pressing into her core. She moaned into his mouth. Rooster took the opportunity to peel her away from the wall and trail kisses down her neck as he walked them over to her bed. Harper felt her back hit the bed with a bounce as Bradley tossed her down. He hovered over her and she pulled him down again. Harper pawed at the hem of his shirt until he got the hint. She and Rooster broke apart long enough for her to pull his shirt over his head. "Pants too" Harper demanded. "Yes Ma'am Captain Mitchell" Rooster teased back. That comment went straight to her core soaking her already soaked center even more. Rooster climbed back over her and continued his assault he kissed her face, her neck, that sweet spot behind her ear that caused her to arch off the bed and him to smirk. Roosters hands went to the hem of Harper's shirt because it wasn't fair that she was still fully clothed and he wasn't.

Harper was so busy lost in her lust filled haze that she almost didn't register Roosters hands on the hem of her sleep shirt. "Wait" she said between kisses. "Stop please. Stop" she told Rooster grabbing his hands and moving away. "Harper are you okay? Did... did I do something wrong... do you not want this?" Rooster stammered worried that she had changed her mind.

"No, no you didn't do anything wrong. I do want this. God this sounds so cliché but it's not you really it's me." Harper grabbed his hands and ran her fingers over his knuckles and kissed them. "Whats wrong?" Rooster asked her concerned. "Whats going on please tell me I will understand." He looked at her with his honey colored eyes full of care and concernen.

"I... I... um look different since the last time we were together. I don't look like I did back in Wilmington. I... I... I'm... not pretty anymore" She couldn't stop it the tears that began to flow from her eyes as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Bradley pulled the woman he loved into a hug. " What do you mean you aren't pretty anymore?" He asked her. "I have scars. From my accident. All over my right side. They are hideous and lumpy and when Graham saw them he wouldn't touch me and I told myself I wouldn't let anyone else see them but I want this so bad. I want you B. I just don't want you to think I'm an ugly monster." Harper hiccupped out between sobs.

Bradley looked at the woman before him. So that's why the asshole Marine broke up with her. Because she wasn't swimsuit model perfect. And now Harper who had always been so confident was a pool of self doubt because of one jackass. "God, if I ever see him I'm going to run my fist through his face for breaking my girl" Bradley thought. "Harps" Bradley cooed the nickname he had given her. " I think you are the most beautiful woman on this planet. No matter what you look like. I have scars too." She touched the scars that ran across the aviators face. "Yeah but yours make you look hot, mine make me look like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast" She retorted. "You think my scars are hot?" He teased back.

Harper shot out a laugh. "Harps I'm serious. You are so beautiful to me. I promise I'm not that asshole who said those things to you. If I can handle seeing you puke after Brendon Karsons Halloween party I can handle anything" Bradley had successfully lighten the mood and made Harper smile. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you" Harper replied as she grabbed the hem of her shirt. She slowly raised it off and over her head. She let out a nervous sigh as Rooster sat their silent. Harper moved one hand to cover her bare breast the other to cover her side. She hadn't put on a bra yet because she was still in her sleep clothes.

"Harper" Bradley's voice broke the silence. "God you are so fucking beautiful" he called to her pulling her arms away from her chest so he could see her fully. "Lay down" he whispered. Harper followed and laid back against her pillows. Bradley kissed her deeply. Then he trailed kisses across her face, down her neck, across her collar bone and down the center of her chest. He kneeded her right breast while his lips wrapped around her left nipple. She gasped at the contact. She whined when he let it go from his mouth with a soft pop, but she immediately moaned when he wrapped his lips round her right nipple. She arched her back to him as he hummed against her sensitive flesh.

She sighed as he let go of her right breast and began to trail his lips down her right side. Bradley the kissed her scars. He loved each one of them whispering to her how beautiful she was, how strong she was, how brave she was. He worshipped each line that criss crossed her side. Harper felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She ran her fingers through Bradley's hair and pulled him back up to kiss her. He kissed her deeply for a few minutes before sliding down her body once again to the foot of the bed.

Harper opened her legs up to make room for her. Her breath hitched in anticipation. Rooster pulled off her shorts which were absolutely soaked through. "All this for me darlin?" He quipped. Harper moaned back her mind already drunk just from his kisses. Rooster spread her thighs further apart as he kissed and nipped the inside of each one, leave marks only he would know about or see. He paused at Harper's core. His breath ragged. He looked up at her though hooded eyes... head thrown back. Hands fisted in her sheets. "Harper honey," he called out to her. She whined back "Jesus Bradley please just fucking touch me already... I need you so badly" She called out.

"Of course darlin.... but I need to see those pretty green eyes beautiful. I want you to watch me. See what it looks like to have a real man between your thighs. Can you do that for me Captain Mitchell? I know you may out rank me but you think you could follow my orders just once? You do owe me..." he trailed off Harper propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at Rooster between her legs, his eyes were dark with lust his hair was a mess and he was looking at her like she was his last meal. "Yes Sir Lieutenant Comander Bradshaw... I can take orders from you just this once." Harper replied back with new found confidence. "Good girl" Bradley shot back before licking a long stripe up her slit. "Jesus" Harper cried out throwing her head back. Bradley had wanted to be gentle. He had wanted to appreciate the woman in front of him, but she just tasted so damn good he didn't know if he could hold back.

He delved his tongue into her folds lapping at her core while his thumb drew tight circles on her clit. God the sounds she was making went straight to his cock making him impossibly harder. He bucked his hips into the mattress for some relief. He continued his assault on Harper's core. He began alternating between tonguing and sucking om her clit. He then gently eased 2 fingers into her soaked slit. The sound she made we he did so almost made him finish right then. He curved his fingers deep into his girl hitting that spot that made her go crazy. Harper bucked her hip against Bradley's face. Her hand tangled in his hair has he sucked her clit and fucked her with his hands. "That's it Bradley... right there please don't stop. I'm so fucking close" She screamed pleading for him to keep up his assault on her body. "That's is baby" Bradley encouraged her. "You are taking my fingers so good, God you are such a good girl. Come on Harper be a good girl and cum for me I know you can" Rooster moaned from between her thighs. He twisted his wrist and sealed his lips over her clit and sucked hard. That sent Harper over the edge. She screamed " Jesus fucking christ yes Bradley yes" as she came. Bradley continued to ride her through her orgasam as she clenched around his fingers. When she had calmed down he gently withdrew them and sucked her juices clean from his hand.

"God baby that was so fucking hot, you were such a good girl for me" Rooster praised her giving her a kiss. Harper tasted herself on him but she didn't care. "B... I need you inside me right now" She almost begged. "Yes Ma'am baby" he replied. "Do you have a condom" he asked. "I'm on the pill" Harper replied. "I trust you if you trust me" She told him. That was all Rooster needed to hear. He peeled is boxers off and lined himself up with her entrance. He pushed in slowly until he was buried to the hilt. He stilled himself giving Harper a minute to adjust to his sized. "Jesus baby you are so tight" he breathed out. Harper gave him a nod that he was okay to move. He pulled out and pushed back in slowly just enjoying the feeling off her. Harper grabbed onto his shoulders pulling him impossibly closer to her. "Faster... Harder... Please B I need more." Harper panted. Bradley picked up the pace wrapping her legs around him and angled his hips so he was pushing deeper inside of her.... hitting that spot that made her see white. "God yes, right there, right fucking there" Harper mewled out digging her nails into his shoulder blades. She was sure it would leave marks. But she didn't care. Rooster tightened his grip on her hips tight enough to bruise.

"God you feel so good Harper, so tight, like you were fucking made for me." Rooster praised her. She could only moan back in response too lost in her own pleasure. "Ugh you're such a good girl for me... taking me so fucking well baby. I'm going to fill you up. Ruin you for every other man. You are mine. No one else will ever make you feel this good". Bradley almost shouted as he rutted into her. I know your close baby I can feel you gripping my cock so well... come on baby come for me. I want to hear you scream my name baby be my good girl." Rooster picked up the pace. He was pounding into Harper so fast and hard her headboard was hitting the wall but the lovers were too lost in each other to care. "Roos... I'm... so.... close" Harper panted out. "Come on baby come for me please. I'm so close... need you to cum... so I can..." Rooster chocked out between thrusts. His rhythm was starting yo faulter but with one last delicious twist of his hips Harper was coming apart and screaming his name dragging her nails down his back. Rooster followed spilling his white hot seed deep into her as he continued to pump into her through both of their climaxes.

Rooster slumped down on the bed and rolled off of Harper.... he pulled her onto his chest. She could hear his heart beating wildly.

"That was something else" he panted

"Way better than in the Bronco or at Wilmington" Harper added

"Agreed, but we are definitely going to have to do it in the Bronconator again now that we both know what we are doing" Rooster wagged his eyebrows at her

"So... what are we going to tell your... what did you call him 'Dadmiral?'" Rooster asked looking down at her.

"How about we just keep this between us for right now. I just got to have you as my boyfriend... I am not ready to share you... us with the world yet. Are you cool with that?" Harper asked him

"I'm fine with that too. I'd rather not have Mav trying to shoot me down for dating his daughter on my first day back." They both laughed. "I kinda like the fact that I get to keep you as my girlfriend all to myself right now." Rooster concluded.

"Me too." Harper smiled while she kissed his chest.

"Any plans for today?" Bradley asked her.

"Actually... ugh yes I do... even though I'd rather stay here all day with you" Harper groaned "I have dinner plans with Dad and Momma P." Haroer sighed as she rolled out of bed. "Guess I need to go shower and make sure I don't look like I haven't been fucked within an inch of my life because you know Mav." Harper giggled while tossing Bradley a wink.

"Oh boy do I." He groaned back. "Well have fun and don't be out too late because we are so not finished here. Rooster told her as she went to go shower.

Rooster flopped back against the pillows of Harper's bed. "Jesus H Roosevelt Christ." He mumbled to himself. "Rooster this girl is going to be the death of you." He told himself. But he knew it would be a hell of a way to go.

Sorry for another long chapter. I started writing and I couldn't stop! I am so excited to share this story with you guys. If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know

Tag List @marvelsvalhalla @shanimallina87

[captains-simp]

Hello, congratulations to your followers, I can ask Yelena Belova x reader who is very shy and has a perverted mommy and on a mission she meets Yelena and then the two fight and Yelena grabs the reader by the neck and hits her against the wall and by accident the reader drops a mommy and then Yelena grabs the reader by the wrists of her arms and throws her on the carpet and subdues her while holding her wrists on either side of her head, the rest can you continue?💗💗💗

Mommy Yelena cuming right up

1.5k words

Warnings: mild violence, gun play, coercion, non-con, dub-con, degrading and fingering

[ masterlist ]

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"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cursed under your breath as you continued to run down the darkened hallway like your life depended on it. Honestly, it might have.

You couldn't hear the other woman but you knew she was close by. She was stealthy, agile, professional. You weren't any of that. You were simply someone who had been in the wrong place at wrong time a long time ago that had led you down the criminal road. You shouldn't have been there - in that building, with her. You were a good person. But the woman hunting you didn't care about that.

The hallway was getting too dark to see more than a few inches infront of you and you had no idea where you were. You didn't know the building layout well. You had only been there a couple of times before. But you has an unnerving feeling the other woman knew the layout like the back of her hand.

Each time your feet slapped against the concrete floor you became increasingly aware of how much noise you were making. Combined with your heavy breathing and muttered curses, you were practically sending up a flare signal.

You finally glimpsed a small light up ahead and as you got closer realised it was light spilling out from the cracks behind a door. Everyone had left in such a hurry it was no surprise a light had been left on somewhere. You felt reassured at the knowledge the electricity of the building hadn't been cut entirely.

You opened the door as little as possible in hopes it wouldn't be noticed by the woman, where ever she was. You put your back to the door and closed your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing, imagining yourself to be anywhere else.

When you opened your eyes again you saw you were in the main office of the building. It looked as though it had been ransacked. Probably everyone trying to dispose of any evidence when they were alerted to the woman's arrival.

The main desk was overturned as were the filing cabinets. Drawers and papers were scattered across the carpeted floor along with the occasional cigarette amongst them.

With a shaky breath, you stepped away from the door and to the a cabinet that was still standing. You lowered it as slowly as you could to the floor which was considerably hard with your lack of body strength.

You stepped back and deemed the barricade enough for the time being before you searched the room for a light switch so the woman wouldn't notice the room the sake way you had.

But your breath caught in your throat when you cane face to face with the woman you had been running and hiding from for hours. She crept out from behind the desk with a handgun pointed right at you, a stoic look upon her face when your eyes met.

You knew she would have no issue killing you, that your only hope was to cooperate with her so you slowly raised your shaking hands up.

"Against the wall." She demanded. You turned around and put your hands flat against the wall and squeezed your eyes shut when you heard her heavy boots approaching you. You had briefly caught sight of her when she arrived. You saw how she soundlessly crept up behind men to snap their necks. She was being deliberately loud. She was trying to scare you. And it was working.

"It's taken me an annoyingly long time to catch you." She spoke against your ear, her warm breath feeling like fire against your vulnerable neck. "You just keep squirming away." She continued to taunt as she roughly grabbed your left hand from the wall and pinned it behind your back, slamming you against the cold wall as she did so. You grunted and she chuckled quietly behind you.

"It'll make it much more enjoyable to but a bullet in your head." Your eyes widened and your breathing sped up as panic spread through you like wildfire.

When Yelena grabbed your other wrist you found yourself kicking out in defiance, not ready to sign your death warrant. You kicked at her legs behind you and while she narrowly avoided you, her grip faltered letting you break free and stumble sideways.

You leaped behind the fallen desk as you heard gun shots being fired, non of them hitting you. You waited for her to get closer before you reached up to smack the gun out of her hands and in response she slapped you. She fucking slapped you. Of all the attacks she could have gone with that was certainly the one you expected the least. But it was a bloody good one.

You spun around and fell to the ground from the force of the slap. Once you got your bearings you looked up to see the blonde approaching you with quick heavy steps again and the gun back in her hands.

You started to kick your feet out to back yourself away from the woman who was staring down at you in frustration and a hint of something else. You tried to get back up onto you feet but she shoved you down once, twice, three times, until she straddled your waist and held the gun up to your head.

You whimpered and closed your eyes in terror as Yelena gripped your chin in her hand to hold your head still. You waited to hear the gun shot. Or rather not hear it but be greeted by whatever followed death. You expected something. Not the excruciating silence that came.

You tentatively opened your eyes and saw Yelena's grey ones studying your features like you were a rare artifact. Your breathing was shaking as you stared back at her.

"You're so nervous." She pointed out in general interest.

"You're holding a gun to my head." You said shakily.

"I am." She noted. Then a smile that you certainly didn't trust crept onto her lips. "So you'll do what I say, won't you?"

When you didn't respond she pinned both your hands above your head with one hand and lowered herself down so her face was inches above yours.

"You're going to behave for me, printsessa. You're going to be so good for me." She husked as she stared down at you hungrily. You nodded your head silently, wanting whatever she had planned to be done and over with, the anticipation was killing you.

"Use your words." She whispered against your neck.

"Yes." You whispered back making the blonde grin.

Her surprisingly soft lips met your neck gently at first. You almost sighed under the contact until she sucked harshly on the skin there. You bit your lip to muffle a moan and wasn't even aware of Yelena's wandering hands, not even when they were undoing your zipper.

But when her hand slipped under your jeans and rubber harshly over your clit you bucked your hips up before you even knew what was happening. In response, Yelena dropped the gun and brought her hand up to your neck. Her fingers wrapped around it tightly and slammed your head back against the hard floor.

"Mommy." It slipped out so easily and so suddenly even Yelena faulted. But she soon recovered and squeezed down on your neck, hoping to hear the title again. You squirmed underneath her in shame and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Oh? You like this, slut? You like when your mommy puts you back in your place?" You moaned in response despite your mind's inner protests.

Yelena's fingers dipped further and a throaty moan came from her when she felt how wet you were through your panties.

"Such a fucking whore." She spat and moved your panties aside to roughly thrust two fingers inside you, setting an instantly overwhelming pace.

"Mommy." You moaned again and went to bring her closer but you were reminded of her strong grip on your wrists.

Her fingers curled inside you with each thrust that brought you more and more pleasure. She fingered you in earnest, knowing that everytime she thrust back into your pussy her palm pressed against your throbbing clit.

"So fucking wet." Yelena groaned as she pushed a third finger into you. Your moans grew louder and your breathing became raged as you approaching your high.

"I can feel you clenching around me, slut. You want to cum?"

"Please!" You begged shamelessly, only wanting to release. "Please make me cum." Yelena grinned down at you as she curled her fingers again and watched your face contort in pleasure.

"Cum for me, slut." She ordered and that was all it took to send you over the edge. Yelena fucked you through your high and preened as she felt you coat her fingers with your cum.

"You know." Yelena mused as she pulled her fingers out to marvel in the mess you made while you lay tired and defeated. "I might just have to keep you."

[secretlittl3whore]

Out Of Bullets

summary: Y/N has always had a crush on the man who beat her record on the range. So what happens when he returns from a mission to find that the little lady has taken his words to heart and gotten better?!

Warnings: it’s smut y’all. P in v. Unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it). Fingering. Virgin sex.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem/reader

Totz my first smut! Critiques appreciated! Luvs y’all!

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The compound was pretty quiet during the twilight hours, and that was the absolute preference of Y/N. She did love people, don’t get her wrong, but there was something about her boots echoing off the empty hallways that brought solace. She continued her path to the shooting range, but almost turned around when she heard that distinct sound of bullets flying towards the paper targets.

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned. Then she caught a glimpse of a figure and couldn’t stop herself from drooling at the sight. He must’ve just returned from a mission, cuz he was still clad in his tactical gear. Holsters still attached and filled with weapons. Her eyes traveled downward resting on his thighs. Even those pants couldn’t hide those delicious features. A fire pooled deep within and subconsciously y/n started to rub her thighs together trying to create some sort of friction.

Did she hate him for beating her in everything? Yes, but that didn’t mean she hated him. No, every fiber of y/n’s being wanted him to bend her over the table and fuck her within an inch of her life. Not caring if someone walked in and saw, though someone definitely would eventually see cause of all the damn cameras Stark installed.

Almost as if he had heard her lustful thoughts, the man turned to look at her. He nodded a greeting and then went back to his drills. Must’ve went bad, y/n thought to herself.

She came to a stop beside him and watched him empty his clip before turning to her.

“Good morning Buck,” she stated cooly. Bucky just stared. “Bad mission?” His nostrils flared. Bingo.

“Sam is...fuck. He never has a fucking plan. Just jumps in.” He roared, gloved hands coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. Y/N stayed quiet, knowing to let him rant and not interject till he was finished. She learned the hard way that by doing so, he would shut down and not talk. Y/N prided herself on being a confidant. “He’s going to get someone killed!”. Absentmindedly he started twirling a vibranium knife in his gloved fingers before sinking it into the target that he had just been shooting at. Y/N closed her eyes quickly, knowing her pupils had blown out and stifled a small moan. Could he be any less sexy when he was mad?! Bucky took a deep breath, a sign that he was done ranting and y/n could talk.

“We both know that he’s stupid and reckless.” Bucky let out a gruff laugh, “and that’s why you are his partner because you balance him. The missions are most always successful with you two. It’s just going to take a few to get the rhythm right.” His eyes narrowed at y/n. She spoke truth, and he hated it. With a smug smile, y/n dumped her bag onto the other half of a table.

“Looking for a challenge or you done for today?” Bucky’s eyebrow raised quizzically and he smirked.

“A challenge? Have you been practicing what I showed you?” Y/N grinned and shook her head,

“No.” But that was a total lie. Before he had gone on the mission three weeks ago, they had spent around 6 hours in the range. It was grueling but he pushed her through drills and training. Since then, she had been in the range every day from twilight till noon practicing. Something flashed across his eyes, but disappeared just as quick. There was no way he could know she was lying...could he?

“You first doll.”

By the time y/n was nearly out of bullets, a small crowd had gathered in the viewing box. She was sure that she could see a certain redhead watching intently as y/n performed drill after drill. So focused on the target that she was missing the fact that his eyes hardly ever left her. How they softly caressed her figure and imagined stripping her, being inside her. Watching y/n go through these drills smoothly caused his dick to strain painfully against his pants.

Y/Ns gun clicked and that was it. She was officially out of bullets. She turned to Bucky and caught his eyes immediately. Had they always been that dark? She shook the thought out of her head and went to retrieve the targets. Bucky joined her silently. As they pulled down their targets he briefly dragged a digit along her hand, the leather feeling strangely cool against her skin. It caused a shiver and immediately a blush formed red hot across y/ns cheeks. No stop it! She told herself, it was an accident. Wasn’t it? Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his profile. His eyes were still dark and he looked almost like he was in pain. Turning back to her target, she grinned widely. Her splatter of shots were centralized around the winning position. No outliers. She had certainly improved, and he had definitely noticed.

“I think you might have actually won this one.” He said through gritted teeth, enunciating the last word almost painfully. Y/N couldnt stop herself from celebrating out loud!

“Fuck yes! Told you I’d beat you Sarge!” There it was, that flash across his eyes, but this time it didn’t disappear as quickly. Y/N gulped as the man stared at her with such ferocity that she actually felt small.

“Want to try that again?” He asked, his voice quiet. She looked behind him and notice that the entirety of the audience had disappeared, almost as if they had never been there.

“I’m out of bullets.” Y/N said softly, her eyes.

“Did I say drills?” He said darkly, leaning in closely. She tried to sputter out a response but his lips captured hers in a gnash of teeth. Her response was immediately, letting that winning target float to the floor out of sight out of mind as she wrapped her arms around Bucky’s neck.

Their lips moved with each other rhythmically. She felt his tongue on her lip and she welcomed him in, his taste intoxicating her, sending her head spinning. He pulled away suddenly, earning a small whine from her lips.

“Doll, I need you.” He said almost in a whisper as he leaned his forehead against hers. She almost gasped when she felt it, his dick pressing against her leg. Eyes darting she found the locker room and grabbed his hand, leading him quickly towards it. She found that small medical bay and locked them inside, pressing him against the door. Y/N leaned upwards to kiss him,

“Let me taste you.” She said seductively. He groaned throwing his head back against the door. She took that as a yes and dropped to her knees, making quick work of his pants. Her release was almost ripped from her when she released his dick and it slapped against his stomach. For a minute she paused. He was huge! Thick and glorious. The tip pulsating red and precun dripping. Was now the time to say she was a virgin? Would that make him stop? No, she had done enough research to know how to please a man...she hoped.

Languidly, she kitten licked along his shaft, taking in his scent and the taste of his skin. Bucky’s breathing quickened and she could hear the whirring of his vibranium arm as he clenched his fist. She licked a long stripe on the underside before taking his tip into her mouth. His breath hitched as she sucked.

“Doll,” his breath strangled, “doll you’ve got to move.” Fear struck, but she fought it and started bobbing her head. “Fuck, yes like that doll.” His flesh hand came to rest on her head, threading into her hair making a makeshift ponytail. He started taking over her movements. Y/N hollowed her cheeks like she learned, but it didn’t help when she felt him touch the back of her throat. She gagged painfully and pulled backwards roughly. Bucky stared down at her, eyes full of concern as she coughed harshly.

“Fuck doll. Shit I’m sorry. You just felt so good.” He cooed as he leaned down, grasping her face. She offered a small smile,

“I’m sorry.” Bucky grimaced, kissing her forehead softly.

“No y/n, it’s my fault. Nat said you were a virgin and I should’ve remembered...” he stopped dead in his tracks at the look upon y/ns face.

“She told you?!” She gasped. Bucky started scratching his the back of his head against he sat against the door, dick still hard and angry at being left without attention. She wasn’t angry at the fact that he knew, more so confused at all the conversation came up...or did Nat just offer that information freely l, that devious Russian mink.

“Ugh, yeah, she um...I’m sorry.” He made a move like he was gonna to get up but Y/Ns hand shot out and grabbed him by the vest.

“Don’t go. I...” she paused to collect her thoughts, Bucky looked at her sadly, pondering at what her response would be. “I still want you.” Bucky’s eyes snapped to hers,

“You do?” He asked surprised. Y/N chuckled at his response and leaned in towards him,

“I wouldn’t have sucked your dick if I didn’t.” The darkness returned to his eyes.

“I’ve wanted you for so long doll, are you sure?” She kissed him ferociously,

“Yes James,” Bucky groaned at the sound of his real name dripping from her lips. So low and sultry. He wanted to have her saying it over and over. He pulled y/n onto his lap, straddling her legs over his hips. He captured her lips as he kicked his pants off, but not before grabbing a certain leather strap.

Y/N’s whole body was on fire. This man’s smell, his taste, the feel of his skin, was so intoxicating she felt drunk and high at the same time. Was that even possible?

Suddenly her legs felt cold and then something warm was pressed against her ass. She pulled away and looked down, no he fucking didn’t. Looking back up, y/n noted a shit eating grin as he embedded the knife in the door behind him.

“You owe me new leggings.” She murmured, reaching down to unzip his vest. He shrugged it off and then took his shirt off. She couldn’t help but letting her hands explore the new territory, even taking a moment to trace the area where the metal met flesh. Y/N placed small open mouth kisses after the trails of her fingers, the scarred skin and metal creating a tingly texture against her lips.

“I’ll owe you a new shirt and bra too.” Before she could protest, they too were ripped from her body, that knife now embedded in the wall behind her. She tried glaring at him but couldn’t help but laugh at his grin.

“You are trouble Sarge.” He rutted his hips into her at the pet name and y/n bit back a moan. The movement caused his dick to slip underneath her and now it rested against her stomach, the red tip pleading with her for attention. She sighed and gripped him softly, before pumping. Bucky’s head hang low against his chest as his hands came to rest at her back. She hissed at the metal’s coldness but didn’t stop pumping. His breath quickened as she quickly spat into her other hand before switching them.

Bucky threw his head back against the door, eyes slammed shut and mouth agape, taking small uneven breaths.

“Doll...doll please,” he begged, his metal hand coming to clasp hers, stopping her actions. “I...want to feel you.” Y/N gulped, she was much smaller than this super soldier, he was going to rip her apart. Slowly she raised herself on her knees and Bucky gripped himself, pumping slowly. “Are you ready?” He asked gently. Despite the pounding in her ears, she nodded, but he didn’t move his dick forward. Instead she felt his flesh fingers touch her lips.

He gathered the wetness on his fingers and then gently circled her clit. Y/N felt her whole body shake and she leaned forward to grip his shoulders. As he leaned forward to capture her lips, he entered her with a single finger. Y/N threw her head back and let out a moan. Bucky took the opportunity to latch his lips against her neck, kissing, licking, biting, ensuring that she was marked. A second finger was entered and she could feel him working in and out of her. Breathing quickening, hands gripping, Y/N felt that she was going to explode. Then his thumb began playing at her clit.

“Ah...Bucky...I....” she moaned and he stopped. She groaned when he removed his fingers and stuck them in his mouth. Licking plump lips, he smiled deviously at her,

“Delicious,” he whispered. Leaning his forehead against hers he gently placed his hands on her hips. Guiding her onto himself, slowly, allowing her to get used to the feeling. Y/N felt tears on her cheeks, she felt full but also a dull burning pain. He kissed her cheeks, licking the tears away. And he was fully inside. He groaned at the feeling, burying his face within her neck.

They stayed like this for a moment before y/n felt a surge of confidence and, as Nat told her, started to rock forward. Bucky moaned against her neck, bringing his flesh hand to grab her ass while his metal tangled within her hair. Y/N quickened her pace, enjoying all the noises she heard from him.

Gripping y/ns hair tightly, he started to rut up into her, creating a rhythm. Y/N bit back a moan. He trailed his lips up to her ear,

“No doll, don’t hold those back, let me hear you.” As he said that, he hit a certain spot and Y/N saw white, moaning loudly. Such a promiscuous sound, she felt embarrassed, but as he continued at that angle, she forgot all embarrassment.

The feeling started in her stomach and started to grow. Her breath quickened and her heart started pounding again.

“Please, please, please” she moaned over and over again. “Buc...James...I, shit, I...”

“I got you doll, just let go. Cum for me.” And she did. He felt it on his legs and smelt it. God she smelled good. He continued his pace, going quicker now, chasing his own release. He pressed hard into her as he groaned her name against her shoulder, biting down on her clavicle.

Y/N leaned her forehead against his, eyes hazy. His blue orbs looked back at her and he chastely kissed her swollen lips.

“That...that was better than I imagined.” She whispered finally. Bucky chuckled,

“Oh so you’ve imagined riding me y/n?” She knew he was teasing her but she still blushed crimson. “You’ll have to tell me what else you’ve imagined and you’ll have to tell me which is better.” Oh she definitely knew now, which was better, but she couldn’t deny that she was excited to feel him inside again.

[love-anddeepression]

saw your requests were open so can I ask for a kaz x inferni!reader ❤ (if it's angst to fluff then y e s) Love your writing AND you <3

Here you go love<3, one Kaz Brekker x inferni!reader coming up! Hope you like it! I made the reader a special type of inferni, like you know normal inferni's need a spark to get the fire going, but reader can summon that shit and like make shapes and other stuff like animals that actually move on their own (Yes I made you epic)

Taglist: @kazscrow

Warning- I made it angstyyy( I don't think this will have a part 2)❤❤

UP IN FLAMES-Kaz Brekker x reader

Being a Grisha in Ketterdam was difficult, being a grisha with anger issues was a bit worse, but being a grisha without proper control of their small science along with having anger issues was bad.

It didn't help matters that you were an inferni. and that you were currently dating Kaz Brekker for about a year and a half.

Kaz had recruited you because he needed an extra member in the Dregs and you had fit the bill, in fact, when he first recruited you, he had no idea that you were grisha. He found out when you saved his life one night by making kebabs out of a few thugs.

That was also the night you both started dating.

He knew you didn't use your powers much, and he didn't care. Honestly, he was relieved. You already attracted attention because you were dating him, he didn't want anymore of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

Tonight was an important heist. The team had to steal an expensive necklace that could be sold for at least 100,000 kruge on the black market.

Kaz had this 'fool proof' plan. Jesper would be on lookout, while Inej, him and you broke into the mansion and scour the place for the necklace. Inej and Kaz knew the basic layout of the mansion and they need you to be their lookout.

" Why do I have to be on lookout? You and Inej are amazing at multi-tasking!" you asked incredously.

" Just because Y/n/n. and please, if we see a dog, don't go and pet it, last time you almost died." Kaz replied nonchalantly and kissed your forehead, walking towards the exit of the slat, " I have some work to do. I'll be back, get everyone ready by then."

So here you were, trudging behind them like a spoilt kid, one hand on your gun and the other ready to summon. Just in case.

Today was already a bad day, Kaz seemed distant for a while, spending more time planning with Inej, he always seemed to be going out, again with Inej. You saw a pattern and you were a little worried.

Another thing is that, you were pissed at everything today, you didn't know what was wrong, but sometimes, you flared up, and that was when the fire got a little out of control, forming into little balls and randomly shooting out and burning people.

That was the reason you didn't want to come today. True, you felt a little worried that Kaz and Inej were spending a lot of time together, you trusted them. Inej was your best friend, and Kaz didn't seem so worried when you hung out with Jesper or Rotty.

Here is how everything went to shit.

First, you got distracted by a puppy, you didn't go to it, but it just looked so cute that you couldn't help but stare at it. That resulted in all of you almost running into a guard, and Kaz got irritated and glared at you.

You, already irritated about everything accidently let out a small spark of fire, it didn't hurt anyone, but it startled Inej who almost tripped and fell flat on her face.

That is when shit hit the fan.

Two guards found all three of you and just managed to alert a few others before Inej killed them swiftly and quietly.

However, one of them managed to shoot you in the leg and that was when you lost it.

You let a scream and the fire came.

What was dangerous is that, sometimes, the fire formed the image of a lion and it made grown-men pee themselves and die of shock.

That was what happened today, you screamed and it came.

(honestly tho, that is so cool! This image is not mine, i found it on google, if you know who's this is, please lemme know so I can give credit)

It growled and paced towards the guards, who were frozen in fear, snarling and burning everything in it's way.

Kaz and Inej stared at you, Inej in fear and awe and Kaz in worry and anger, because you were on fire. Literally.

By the time the lion managed to get to the guards, they were dead anyway and it was gone.

Kaz and Inej looked at you, you were covered in sweat and ashes, and the mansion was burning, along with the necklace.

You all ran back the way you came and almost made it, but you turned around, much to Kaz's dismay and irritation.

You had gone to rescue the puppy.

As ran out with it, the mother running behind you, Kaz glared at you and you avoided looking at him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On the way back to the Slat, Kaz was livid, the heist was a bust, the mansion was crawling with Stadwatch and you were shot in the leg, and carrying a puppy.

Jesper took the puppy and it's mother from you, and headed to his room, Inej went tothe Crow Club for a drink and Kaz literally stomped his way up to his office.

After a few minutes of pep talk you headed to his office and knocked.

" Come in." Kaz's gruff voice was heard. You walked in and closed the door immediately and apologised.

" I'm sorry Kaz."

" Oh what for? After all, you just botched the whole job, almost killed Inej, me and yourself, burnt the mansion, along with the necklace and you almost killed yourself going back to rescue puppies! Nothing to be sorry for right?" he said sarcastically.

" I know I ruined the job, but I'm not going to apologize for rescuing the dogs!" you argued, your anger slowly rising.

" If you weren't so distracted, none of this would have happened!" he rose from his desk.

" You think I don't know that? Of course I do! And I'm feeling damn guilty about it!" you shouted, fire swirling from your finger tips, and your eyes going red.

" WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE INEJ!?" he screamed.

That was it. You immediately froze. Your eyes going back to normal and the fire disappearing.

" What?" you whispered.

Kaz realized what he just said and his eyes widened, " Darling-"

" No no!" you interrupted, eyes glossy, " I get it, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not like Inej. I'm sorry I'm not perfect. I'm sorry for being myself."

" Y/n I didn't mean what I-"

" No!", you let out a sad chuckle, " you know for once in my life, I thought I found someone who loved me despite my flaws."

"I do! I do love you!" he walked towards you.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, tears falling from your eyes, you looked him in the eye.

" I guess I was wrong." you walked out and slammed the door shut.

[cynettic]

Laser Tag ( genshin x reader )

Summary - Lazer Tag Au / I’m gonna make this romantic ;)

Pairings - Reader x Xiao/Diluc/Kaeya/Venti/Zhongli

Warnings - Mention of guns and shooting, no death tho it’s just laser tag

A/N - Drinking 5 Monsters ain’t a good idea- just saying. Even tho it gives you the best inspiration, trust me, it isn’t worth it lol

Laser Tag

Xiao

Can I just start by saying that playing Lazer Tag with Xiao is a very bad idea.

I mean, if you want to win.

This boy is a speedy legend, zipping around. He doesn’t even need to have good aim, he’ll just pop up in front of you and then ‘BOOM.’

But let’s say you and Xiao were on the same team for the game of Lazer Tag :)

He’d stick by you, and trust me when I say he’d take the game seriously- especially if people like Zhongli are playing.

He’d drag you around, and he’d probably find a place for you to hide. Or at least a sneaky place so that you could play sniper to satisfy yourself.

Don’t worry about anyone spotting you.

By the time they do, Xiao will have taken them down :)

He would definitely stick around the area and just go full on attack mode to anyone in his way. And while you start sniping someone from the distance, he’d finish them off before they notice you.

When the game finishes (your team winning ofc-) he’d come pick you up from where you were hiding, scanning for injuries (even tho it was just laser tag- this boi worries too much).

Making sure you’re okay, he’d hold your hand as you walk back to your base. He’s not big on pda, so don’t feel bad when he lets go of your hand when you approach everyone else.

He’d feel so satisfied after if his team won, especially if you were content as well.

Diluc

Diluc… would be a sneaky little ninja.

And not like ‘Climbing trees’ kind of ninja, even with his big tall form, he’d be able to hide behind trees or buildings with ease.

Perks of being the Darknight Hero.

He definitely doesn’t want to get too close to anyone in case he accidentally gives them a little smack by accident. He’s a physical fighter in general, And it’s different with Lazer Tag, so he’d keep his distance.

If you were playing on the opposite side of him… well, as much as I’d hate to admit it, Diluc would lowkey help you.

He’s definitely one that likes to play by the rules, but what can he say? He’s definitely rooting for you even on the opposing team, and how is it his fault if he accidentally shoved one of his teammates?

‘Accidentally.’

Might personally stalk Kaeya if he’s on the same team as him just to make sure he doesn’t shoot you down.

This man would ‘rage’ if Kaeya was the one to get you eliminated in the game.

Just internally ofc.

And maybe serve the blue haired boy Grape Juice for the rest of the week ;)

If his team won, he’d still comfort you and tell you that you did a good job.

If you won, he’d congratulate you and let you brag all you wanted. He’s so sweet 🥺

Kaeya

You don’t want to be against Kaeya.

This man will intentionally target you. The entire time. Every time you get sent back into the game, he will track you down and eliminate you.

Of course, this is to some extent, as much as Kaeya would continuously shoot you down, he’d let you run around and have a go at him and his teammates too. But of course in the end, he’d still shoot you down. Every time.

Kaeya would get killed off a lot too, since this is just a game, he will take it as such. (Not like Xiao who takes it very seriously). So he kinda just wanders around and has his fun.

Of course this pisses you off.

Please make sure to kill him off a couple times too, revenge is necessary for this when he’s targeting you- and personally, he might begin to feel guilty if it’s only him eliminating you all the time.

At one point it starts feeling like it’s just him against you.

Until Diluc shoots you down and you realize it’s still a group thing.

If Diluc were to shoot you down, well… Kaeya would not be pleased. He’d intentionally lead you away from him, and if Diluc did manage to shoot you, he’d make sure to be extra salty at the tavern.

After the game, if you won, make sure to brag about it in his face. After shooting you so many times his esteem will be flaring.

And if he won… he will rub it in your face. Unless it really bothers you, and then he might just talk about the times that you shot him just to make you feel better.

Venti

Sorry anemo archon- but I can’t see him wielding a gun.

At the most, he’ll be running around and shooting at people directly in front of them, but otherwise, Venti wouldn’t be one to sit around and snipe.

So if you are on the same team with him, make sure to agree that both of you are gonna sprint around and take down as many players before the two of you are shot down.

It will make him very happy :)

He will definitely make a battle cry for the two of you when you jump out of the bushes to attack the opponents frontlines. And even though you know it’s stupid (cause it legit tells everyone that you’re there-) the two of you are just doing it for fun.

Venti will treat the game like a ‘game’. He won’t get serious about it or competitive unless there’s a bet involved, specifically with the wine from the tavern.

He will still suck, even when trying, but you’d be surprised how fast he can sprint around. Ducking and dodging bullets- all for the wine ofc.

After the game, he wouldn’t really care who won. As long as the two of you had fun, he will be happy. Especially if you treat him to some wine after ;) Or just congratulate him on how well he played. That will make him happyyy

Zhongli

Oh Zhongli…

He probably wouldn’t understand the run down of the rules, no matter how many times you explained it to him. And him with a gun? Not good, not good at all.

I could totally see Zhongli as the patient sniper type.

But like… missing all his targets.

You’ll have to guide him through the game while you’re on the same team as him, so the two of you will stick together the entire time.

Trying to get him accustomed to the game, you shoot at others and urge him to do the same.

Ofc he sucks at accuracy with a gun.

But overall, he has quick reaction times.

So if someone were to shoot at you, he’d jump in front of you, maybe pull you into his chest to protect you from the ‘gunshots.’

Very cute.

But also like… this is a game Zhongli? He probably has too many abandonment issues, being an archon is difficult :/

So… guide him, and he will protect you.

After the game, Zhongli doesn’t really care enough to find out who won. He might tell you a few stories that the little game reminded him of on his way back though.

[oh-obrien]

AAAH THE ONE SHOT WITH THE STOVE WAS EVERYTHING! ✨✨Could I also request something? I did feel the duel scene was a bit underwhelming, I did want some more drama tbh (and I love Anthony as well). What about a one shot Anthony x reader, where the reader accompanies Daphne and lots of more drama? Perhaps reader gets hurt, Anthony in panic, angsty and stuff..feel free to adjust

I HOPE THIS ONE IS GOOD TOO!! I took a few creative liberties with this, adjusting the events on the show to fit the request and what not. 

I’m coming off of a little bit of a migraine hangover and tbh I’m not sure how I feel about this right now on top of getting back into the swing of school. This is the first day since Friday that looking at my computer for more than twenty minutes doesn’t hurt my head so sorry it took longer than expected. 

As always if you’re not happy with this, or if you want to request anything else feel free to slide into my inbox! These requests are SUPER fun.

After Daphne’s scandalous run in with Simon in the garden the night before, Anthony had taken it upon himself to challenge his long-time friend to a duel. The ball was supppsed to be your and Anthony’s grand debut as the newest couple of the season, however, you never got your dance with the Lord, and your dance card now laid empty and forgotten on the floor of the Bridgerton study.

Your dress also laid crumpled in a ball of fabric in the corner of the room. After hearing of your and Anthony’s intentions to begin properly courting, Violet had taken you to the seamstress to get one of your gown adjusted. Genevieve Delacroix had added stunning crystals to the delicate pale green fabric. Your had had been done perfectly by the Bridgerton family’s staff and you had even agreed to wearing a small amount of makeup. However, the night of your dreams abruptly ended when Anthony interrupted your conversation with Colin to inform you both he would be taking Daphne home for the evening as she was not feeling well.

The anger pouring off the eldest Bridgerton was like nothing you had ever seen before and you couldn’t help but wonder if she had rejected the Prince’s proposal, as you knew he had to intend to propose soon, and no night seemed better. However, as Anthony dragged his sister away you couldn’t catch his or Daphne’s eye, leaving your dreams of starting a whirlwind public relationship with Anthony crushed.

You now sat on the desk in the Bridgerton study, Colin pacing around the room in front of you, his boots rhythmically hitting the floor with every step he took. “What if he kills Simon?”

“Colin-”

“What if Simon kills him?”

“Colin I don’t think that-”

“Benedict surely doesn’t want to be bothered with the social scene, does that mean the responsibility to escort all of my sisters through their season falls on me?” The boy in front of you stopped pacing and pulled on the roots of his hair, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m supposed to be traveling soon! Anthony is supposed to be the mature one, he’s supposed to know how to run the family! Not me!”

“COLIN! STOP!” You finally cut the boy off, standing up and placing both of your hands firmly on his shoulders. “Nothing is going to happen to Simon or Anthony, no one saw Simon and Daphne in that garden other than your brother so there’s nothing to hide!” You dropped your hands from Colin’s shoulder. 

“But-” both you and Colin turned to face the door of the study, Daphne standing in the doorway, her tone sombre and her head bowed towards the ground. “What if someone did see?”

You stepped away from Colin to face the eldest Bridgerton daughter, your tone changing to one of concern. “What do you mean what if someone saw,” you felt panic starting to bubble up in your chest. “Did someone see you and Simon in the garden last night?” You thought Anthony had been overreacting when he pulled yourself and Colin into the study the night before after you had helped escort Lady Bridgerton home. But if Daphne was concerned someone saw her and Simon kiss, maybe he wasn’t overreacting.

Daphne opened her mouth, as if she wanted TJ speak, before closing it again. Silence fell across the three of you before you heard Daphne gasp. “Cressida Cowper,” Daphne blurted out. “When Anthony brought me inside she stopped me and and asked if I caught a chill in the garden.” You watched Daphne’s expression change to one of concern.

“Cressida Cowper,” Colin started running a frustrated hand over his face again, “saw you and Hastings in the garden last night and Anthony, nor Hastings, know?” He took in a long breath before leering the air out through his nose.

Daphne quickly shook her head. “Colin you need to tell me where they went,” Daphne demanded. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, not finding it proper to interrupt the conversation between the siblings.

“Daphne, Hasting has, he’s done you one of the greatest dishonors,” Colin quickly shook his head, giving his sister a clearly confused look. “I’m sure you want him to pay.”

“I don’t want him to pay with his life!” Daphne’s voice grew louder and you stepped towards the sibilants again, hoping you wouldn’t have to be the one to calm their tempers so no one else in the estate would be woken.

“Well, I’m sure both Anthony and the Duke will do as gentlemen should and shoot wide,” Colin supplemented with a shrug.

You stepped between the two siblings, “besides,” you supplemented, “everyone might just think that Cressida has a grudge against you. You did take the Prince’s attention off of her, even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

Daphne, however, seemed to refuse to take no for an answer. “Colin you need to tell me where they went.” She turned to her brother again, a desperate look on her face now, “you know Anthony’s pride won’t let him shoot wide.”

Colin puffed air into his cheek, letting it out slowly before speaking. “Fine, but we’re coming with you.” 

You had been lucky enough to be able to bring your own horse with you to London, and now, racing towards the site of the duel, you were glad you had. The Bridgerton’s horses clearly had not gotten used to speeding across the hills, as they lagged slightly behind you. Years of living out in the middle of the country had given you, and your horses, the ability to adapt to all different types of terrain. Be it flooded field, rolling hills or even shoulder high grasses, your horses were able to tackle it all.

You were glad your hair, still expertly tied up from the night before, had yet to be taken out as it kept the strands from flying into your face, distracting you from the task at hand. Still slightly ahead of both Colin and Daphne you were able to make out five figures standing in a plot of open land between two beautiful trees. Anthony and Simon were back to back in the clearing, both men clutching a handgun between their hands.

“You can go faster,” you urged your horse while he pushed himself to fly faster through the tall grass field, his breath coming out in heavy puffs. Anthony and Simon began to take slow, steady steps away from each other and you held your breath, knowing you were unable to push your horse to go any faster without him hurting himself. 

Both men paused briefly before turning to face each other. Anthony pointed his gun towards Simon, while the Duke aimed towards the sky. Now, within proper distance of the ongoing duel you started to slow your horse. “Anthony!” You swung both of your legs to one side of your horse, trying to keep your balance while you did so. “Anthony stop!” Your horse slowed to nearly a stop and you let yourself slide off your horse’s back, your feet not even hitting the ground before you were running towards the two men.

“What are you doing?” Benedict practically yelled while you ran in between Anthony and the Duke. “Anthony! Anthony stop!” Benedict called when he realized you had already made up your mind. However, his call for the eldest Bridgerton to hold his fire.

Before you knew what had hit you, in both a literal and figurative sense, you felt a searing pain cut across your cheek. The bang of the gun firing didn’t reach your ears until after you had hit the ground, your left hand clutched tightly over your right cheek. Anthony and Benedict calling your name didn’t register either, especially when you pulled your hand away from your cheek and noticed it had been covered in blood.

“(Y/N),” a warm, heavy hand was placed on your shoulder and another pulled your hand away from your cheek. “The doctor needs to make you’re you’re fine, (Y/N),” Anthony’s panicked eyes met your own. However, you couldn’t focus on them with the pain in your cheek and the blood still covering your hand.

An older man crouched down next to you, pulling a medical bag up next to him and opening it before he began expecting the wound on your cheek. “The bullet just grazed her,” the doctor spoke while he began cleaning the wound, “she’s lucky.”

“Thank the heavens,” Anthony breathed out while he pressed his forehead to your temple on your unharmed side, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you could hear his voice break towards the end.

“She’s perfectly fine my lord, keep the wound clean and covered and it’ll heal in absolutely no time.” You winced when you felt the doctor wipe something across your cheek, the pain flaring up momentarily before subsiding again. “I’m sure you could tell Lady Bridgerton it was a riding accident and everything would be believed. “If that’s all, and you gentlemen don’t intend on trying the duel again,” the doctor looked between Anthony and the Duke, “I’ll be going.”

Hasting and Anthony both thanked the doctor before he departed, Daphne and Simon engaged in a seemingly heated conversation along with Colin and Benedict. “(Y/N).” Anthony started, both of your hands held in one of his large ones. “I don’t-”

“I can’t right now, Anthony,” you placed a hand across your covered cheek. “I just,” you let out a frustrated sigh, “I’m questioning if your mind and your heart and in two different places at the moment.” You felt tears begin to gather in the corners of your eyes.

“(Y/N), please,” Anthony seemed to be nearly begging, tears gathered in his own eyes while you stood up. Your hands felt from his grip and you cupped his cheek with one, running your thumb along his cheek bone.

You offered the man in front of you a sad smile before you removed your hand. “I’m going to ask one of your brothers to escort me home while you and the others decide the next steps between Daph and the Duke.” He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t allow him to. “Once you reconsider priorities we can revisit our arrangement, but I will not be second to any other reckless endeavors you wish to engage in if we do get married.”

With that you turned from the Viscount, still on his knees in the damp morning grass, tears in his eyes and a frown on his face.