#at the hands of a murderous entity with a love for sharp objects

[inconspicuous-clovers]

Sad (ex) dads club

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (45)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

That feeling... you thought it would be gone forever. But it’s still there. And it’s much heavier than before. The question is: why? Why is this feeling of insecurity, this feeling that something dangerous is going to happen to you, still there? You know everything. You know that Danny won't do anything to you, that he will always make sure that the police don't know anything. But you have a hunch that the thing that wants to hurt you... is foreign to the city. to the country itself. You've been hearing for a few days something... unusual. Like voices.

But these voices are inaudible from others. Only you seem to hear them. At least that's what you think. They are strange, impossible to distinguish whether it is men or women who talk to you. or maybe both? Just as it is impossible to know what they are telling you. These are whispers. The only words you managed to understand once were: "Sorrow" and "Suffering". But nothing more. Could it be ghosts? spirits wandering aimlessly and trying to get in touch with you? From memory, you don't remember having a gift for communicating with spirits. But you've always believed in it. And you have always respected the dead, whether they were people you knew or complete strangers. Perhaps this respect has earned you a gift from the gods, allowing you to contact the afterlife? Maybe.

“Have you seen the latest news? In the end Hoggins was not McKellan's murderer. It was Ghostface!” said one the customer.  

“Yeah, I saw. But hey, is it surprising? No. Does this change anything? neither. And I want to tell you: so much the better. At least we are sure of who we should thank.” said his friend.  

“Excuse me? You wanna thank that freaking psycho for killing people? He’s a twisted man! Not a hero!” Replied the first one.

“Yeah, and he killed two others monsters, who stole money from the poorest and even the richest for their personal accounts! Moreover, it seems that Hoggins was involved in a more horrific scandal in Florida. They only got what they deserved.” Responds the second one.  

“I have heard of this story. What a bastard, to let sick people die when they could be saved. You have to be inhuman to do that. Fortunately, we have journalists like Jed Olsen to shed light on this kind of horror. Imagine how much longer Hoggins could have remained free if guys like Olsen didn't risk their lives and careers for it.” said another man before drink his coffee. “We need a guy like him to rule this damn country.”  

If only you knew sir what we know about "Jed Olsen". If only you knew... you would quickly change your point of view. But he and the second man in the trio were right, if Danny hadn't put his life and career on the line, Hoggins would still be free with impunity. And so does McKellan. They deserved to die it's true, and Danny made sure of it. He is both a completely twisted murderer, but also a hero to the inhabitants of this city. A murderous hero... you would have a hard time knowing how he would have reacted, if he ever heard it.

He would be both flattered and annoyed perhaps. Because that's not how he wants to be remembered, he doesn't want to be remembered that way. But simply as the greatest murderer in history who has never been arrested, and whose identity will forever remain a mystery. Like Jack the Ripper in itself. You wonder inwardly if Danny was inspired by it. It’s quite possible.  

“I find it hard to believe what I just heard. Ghostface who goes from murderer to hero of the little people. It looks like the end of the movie "Joker".” said suddenly a woman voice. When you turned your head, you could see Melina, smiling at you like always, coming to the table next to the counter. “Same as usual Amy!”  

“Alright! Right away!” responds Amy with a smile.  

“Hey... you look like you have your head in the clouds. Everything's fine? Jed made you live another wild night? Be careful, you will end up with a little baby at home very quickly if it continues.” replied Melina laughing by looking at you.  

“Really funny Melina.” you start before laughing too. “Even though Jed is... wild, he knows how to be careful. We are not yet ready to have a baby. But let's say that for a few days... I have trouble sleeping well.”

“Oh. Tell me maybe I can give you two or three advices.”

You tell Melina about your bad nights. If at first, she listened attentively and without expressing emotion, once your story was finished, the young woman looked at you with big eyes, as if you had just told her your most shameful secret of your life.

“Shit, so they're after you too...” she said worried.

“What do you mean?” you ask worried.  

“Jed told me the same thing the other day. He said he heard the same whispers and even had nightmares about them. Nightmares where you were there. I thought it was just a fear not to be able to take care of you but... I have to believe that my mystical side was right.”

Hold on. Danny went through the same things you did and he didn't tell you anything? It's not very friendly. But in a sense... you can't really blame him. He certainly had good reasons not to tell you about it. Surely, he didn't want to worry you, or that you would think he was crazy. Even if he is a little bit crazy in a sense. And again, the word is weak.

“You and Jed are related. And I feel like you've attracted... negative entities. Spirits, ghosts who want to hurt you. They may be trying to reach you through dreams first, but who knows how this can evolve. And who can be these spirits.” said Melina worried.  

“You starting to scare me. Why us? Jed and I didn't do anything except ... live our lives and do our work.” you said scared.

“Evil spirits have no particular criteria for attacking someone. If they find a target they like, or someone provokes them, then they go after that person. In your case, I think it's related to Jed. Because I think the mcKellan and Hoggins' souls are not... Left. They are surely stuck here because of their hatred and anger. And since you're in a relationship with Jed, they're attacking you too. Or, it's a much more powerful entity than those two. But in any case, it wants to hurt you. You're going to have to be very careful.”

“There's no way to get them to leave?”

“I could use the objects my grandmother used to purify a house but... I'm not sure I'm as good as she was. It's really very meticulous as a practice.” replied Melina.  

“I'll talk about it with Jed tonight. Thank you very much Melina.” you respond.  

You went back to work and the rest of your day was all about anxiety. If Melina is telling the truth, then you are in danger. Maybe that's why you have this strange feeling of not being safe when, all those who could have hurt you are dead, under Danny's sharp blade. And he, too, had the same experience. There is not much you can do about evil spirits except to drive them out. And you will deeply hope that Melina will be your salvation. Otherwise... you will have to think about leaving the city. Or start praying to God.

The last customers of the day ended up leaving your café, greeting you warmly. Then it was Amy and Corey’s turn who for a few days, got very close to each other. They were so lovely together. You clean the last tables before you take care of the back shop. Danny shouldn't be long in coming, so you'll both be able to discuss these nightmares you're both experiencing. Hoping he isn't too tired or in a hurry to kill someone tonight.

While you were cleaning your kitchen tools, you suddenly hear a noise coming from the room. You put down your equipment and take a weapon in case it’s a thief. You move carefully through the room until you reach the switch to turn on the light. But nothing. not the shadow of a thief, or an object that fell to the ground. You may have dreamed... Then suddenly, whispers. The same whispers you've been hearing for days and days. But this time it looks like it's coming from the back shop you just left.  

When you return to the back shop, you find that the door leading to the outside is... strange. A dark aura emanated from it and mist escaped from the lock and the bottom of the door. The whispers became clearer as you approached.

“(Y/N) …(Y/N) ...It’s time. Come with us. Join us. Feed my hunger. Give us all your suffering and sorrow. For all eternity.” said the voices.

“Who are you? And what do you want from me?” you ask.

“Who we are doesn’t matter. The most important is that you’ll feed us. With your screams, your pain, your sorrow, your blood. Now come with us. It’s time for you to meet your fate.”

Suddenly the door opened on a thick black mist. Giant spider legs came out and tried to catch you. You step back several steps but visibly, they are much longer than you hoped. As it was about to take you away, you feel something pulling you back. Under the effect of fear, you try to struggle when a familiar voice was heard.

“Hey! Hey Honey It’s me! Calm down!” said Danny by blocking yourself by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “It’s me...stay calm.”

“Danny...” you start as you feel tears in the corner of your eyes.  

The voices were heard again, and the paws moved towards the two of you. Danny pushed you, one of the spider legs injuring his arm in the process. He took a weapon in his hands and pushed it back to the door before getting against it and locking it. The door began to move, as if we wanted to open it from the outside and then after a few minutes... a silence set in. Everything had stopped. Danny stepped back before looking at you making sure you were still there. Then he joins you, taking you in his arms.

“What the f**k was that thing?? And what did it want??” you said crying.

“I don’t know. But for now...we’re safe.” said Danny.  

“You’re...you’re hurt. I have a first care kit. I will take care of your injury.”

You take the first care kit and ask Danny to come and sit next to you so you can treat him. He winced when you applied the disinfectant but remained motionless until you applied the bandages to him. You then put away the equipment and both of you leave the café to go home. Once at the apartment, you both sit on the sofa sighing, still in shock from what had just happened.

“Melina was right. We have attracted evil spirits. And they're not going to let us go now.” You said.  

“Honey please... Don't tell me you believe in this bullshit...” responds Danny, passing a hand on his face.  

“Danny, you saw what I saw! And you were hurt! How can you not believe in these things?? You suffered the same thing as me! Melina told me everything.”

“Okay, okay, stay calm. If they're really hitting spirits, there's not much we can do but chase them away, hoping it works.”

“Melina proposed it to me... it doesn't cost anything to try. But if it doesn't work... either we will have to leave the city, or we will have to pray to God.” you replied.

“Leaving the city would not be of much use and I have not believed in God for years. So don't count on me to pray to him. Anyway, knowing that I am a murderer I am not sure that he does much for me.” Responds Danny before getting up.  

You watch Danny walk to his office and walk out a few minutes later with his bag. He's not going to go out and kill someone tonight, is he? And even less leave you alone?? This thing, whatever it is, could come back! As he was about to leave, you take his hand before sticking yourself against him.

“Don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Please...” you said sadly.

“We no longer risk anything. I don't think this thing is attacking the two of us again.” Danny responds.  

“How do you know? If it happens, maybe it will only go after you and I will never see you again! Danny please... Stay with me.”

“...Fine Honey. I’ll stay. Tomorrow I'll call Melina. If her magic shits works...we’ll be safe again. Let’s eat something and go to sleep.”  

Despite his words, you do not let him go. On the contrary, you will tighten more and more against him. And he gave it back to you. Whatever that thing is, it will surely come back. Danny is maybe a murderer, but he is the one you love. And if this thing has to take Danny, it will have to take you too.

And that's what it intends to do. One way or another.

***

(My second dose of vaccine is finally done! but the effects were quick to manifest, I think my body wanted to do a speed run X) Don't worry it was nothing very bad, arm pain after the injection and the next day, headache in the morning and some dizziness in the evening. But now I'm feeling better! and above all, I will finally be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of life! And go see Dune at the cinema! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the other ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya! )

[doodle-empress66]

Hazbin Hotel: Perma Frost Full Bio

General

“It’s BULLSHIT that I’m down here! Stuck in this ugly ass form! I did the shit I did to SURVIVE! No one has ever watched out for me! So I watched out for myself the best way I knew how!”

- Perma Frost to Charlie

Full/True name: Petra  

Nickname(s) or Alias:  

Perma Frost, Perma

Perm

 The Killer Frost Demon

Kid (By Husk)

Ice Queen (By Angel)

Little Girlie (Niffty)

Young Miss (By Alastor)

Bruja de hielo (By Vaggie)

Gender: Female

Species: Human (formerly), Ice Demon

Age: 14

Birthday: Jan 6th 

Sexuality:   Autochorisexual-Aegoromantic

Nationality: Icelandic

City or town of birth: Vik, Iceland

Currently lives: The Outskirts of Pentagram City

Native language: Icelandic  

Relationship Status: Single  

Appearance  

Height: 5'5   

Figure/build: Slender, somewhat curvy build, with long, dark blue icicle-like fingers. Powder blue skin

Hair color: Light Blue (Normally),   Transparent light blue (when angered or frightened)

Hairstyle: Long and unruly  

Eye color: A glowing icy blue hue that shifts

Tattoos: A snowflake on her back    

Preferred style of clothing: ALWAYS wearing a large hooded jacket/coat that covers the entire top half of her body. Large black snow boats. And navy blue tights

General Past life  

Human Name: Petra (She renounced her last name)

Birthday: 6th Jan 2005

Age of Death: 14

Cause of Death: Froze to death/Blood loss

Death day: 23 Aug 2019

Personality 

Perma is an intense, cautious, volatile, and resentful teenager. She’ll do whatever it takes just to make it through the day regardless of who she has to harm or fight. She loathes adults and doesn’t trust them or their judgement, and always believes they're going to hurt her. Nor does she like being told what to do. So she often gets into a lot of fights with older demons, Perma will at times rush head first into a fight without thinking things through due to being blinded by her violent nature and past trauma. She has little to no friends or acquaintances because of the sheer brute force of her powers, somewhat lack of control and unwillingness to listen to people. Despite being unapproachable most of the time, deep down Perma wants a kind soul to turn to for love and guidance. But, pushes away this feeling due to the bad hand life and death has handed her. 

 History  

Born in Vik, Iceland in 2005, since she could walk; Petra knew nothing but misery and neglect. Abused and mistreated by her egg and sperm donor, growing up in a strange cult certainly didn't help little Petra. Forced to deal with going hungry and cold from the old shredded clothes she was forced to wear. As well as participating in her mother's questionable practices. Her family often took part in the ancient art of Icelandic witchcraft. Writing questionable symbols everywhere in the blood of animals they caught. Reading from old books with disturbing otherworldly images. Even carving up their own bodies as a sign of devotion to some strange dark entity. Petra didn't understand these events but knew only bad things could come from it.

Life didn’t get much better for the young Icelandic when she was set up to be a sacrifice in one of the cult's shamanic ceremonies, she managed to slip away and ran until she arrived at an old rundown village. Only 9 years old at the time. From there, the next 4 years were awful. Petra had to survive on scraps she found in the trash or steal food and clothing from unsuspecting villagers. Years on the street, being treated like dirt from those around her, a child no one wanted around, caused Petra to grow hateful to world and the vile people who inhabited it. No one had any concern for her. No one cared about her. Her life meant nothing to ANYBODY. So after that, the lives of others didn’t mean a damn thing to her.

At 11, Petra committed her first murder. She was low on scraps and slowly starving. Following a frail elderly woman with a bag full of food, Petra took out an ice pick she had swiped from some workers and drove it into the back of the woman’s head. 

Soon after, the dreaded streets Petra wandered were now becoming littered with the bodies of the people she stole from. Little did she realize, these malicious acts were changing in ways that were beyond human understanding. Something malevolent and cold started growing inside her body. Warping her soul.

Two years, this continued...until Petra chose the wrong target. A lanky young man, who looked a few years older than her, was smoking in an alley. Driven by survival, bloodlust and greed to what type of goods the man had on his person, Petra struck with her signature ice pick. Too bad, the man wasn’t unarmed. Nor was he alone. That’s all she remembered from that specific day. And how she wished she just kept walking.

The man was part of a group of sex traffickers looking around for young girls and women to add to their market. And 14 year old Petra was added to that collection.

The following year was a new level of Hell for the young girl. Beaten, abused, used in the most vile of ways by these men and others. Petra resisted at each turn but the suffering increased more and more. Then the vile concoction, meth they called it, they forced her to take each day. Told her that it would make her more “enjoyable company”. Some days and nights blurred into each other. This...drug made her forget the pain, the misery, the horrid existence she was subjected to. But reality came back full throttle to punch her in the face once it wore off. It made Petra feel disgusting and free at the same time. Just like the girls around her, empty shells with blissful smiles on their faces.

  She was right at the edge of just ending it, but the stubborn part of her refuse to give her tormentors the satisfaction. One night, while she was getting prepared for a client, Petra managed to break away and shank one of the guards with an icicle she snatched from outside of a window. That kill was easy, but the second guard managed to let out a shout before Petra rammed the spike into his eye.

Petra rushed out into the winter forest, away from the building she was held captive. Wearing nothing but a pair of booty shorts and a flimsy tank top and armed with a bloody icicle. The traffickers hot on her trail with guns and rope. Each day of hiding, running, and avoiding bullets was made worse with trying to fight the freezing cold. One bullet managed to pierce her side. On that night, Petra finally found a small cave to duck into, her feet and hands black and swollen. She was practically a light blue.

Using the last of her strength to make a small, pitiful fire, Petra packed her bullet wound with snow as a sad attempt to stop the bleeding. She leaned against the cave wall and closed her eyes. Thinking back to all the events that transpired that lead her to this. The memories slowly getting darker and darker...

She woke up abruptly from crashing down onto the ground. The teen shot up, disoriented and looked around. Her eyes fell onto a large sign reading, “Welcome to Hell.”

Sins committed to get into hell: Theft, Murder, Assault, Manslaughter, Prostitution (Not her choice)

Any regrets in what they have done: No...depends 

Likes:  

Doing whatever she wants

Warm food

Parkour

Heavy metal music

Necessary Violence

Beating up adults

Animals

Children

Being left alone

Dislikes:  

Adults

Being touched

Limited freedom

Being told what to do

Guns

Silence

Drugs

Anything sex related

Short clothing

Frozen Food

Fears/phobias:  

Men touching her/being near her

Being tied up

The sight of her own blood

Dark rooms

Cults

Sexual acts of any kind

Being drugged

Favorite color: 

White 

Hobbies:  

Ice/snow surfing

Brawling/Street Fighting

Reading scary stories

Parkouring

Stealing

Talents/skills:

Great at the drums

Ice skating (lol)

Parkouring

Intimidation

Fighting

Very Observant/ Quick Learner

Favorite food(s):  

Skyr (Yougurt)

Harðfiskur (dried fish)

Reykjavik's Hot Dog

Favorite drink(s):  

Slushies

Pineapple Soda

Hot Chocolate

Significant/special belongings:  

Her icepick

Spiked choker

Combat  

Fighting skills/techniques:  

Very good street fighter/brawler

Excellent stabbing and hacking skills

Weapon of choice (if any):  

Ice Pick

Unique Abilities:

Cold Magic- is able to perform a form of magic that allows them to utilize cold, either magically manipulating it

Cryokinesis- can create, shape, move, control, interact and manipulate ice.

Cold manipulation- can create, shape and manipulate cold by reducing the kinetic energy of atoms and thus making things colder

Atmospheric Freezing- an freeze the air/atmosphere itself regardless of air quality, abundant and trace gases, air temperature, etc., allowing her to either convert that air/atmosphere directly to ice or simply super chill it.

Absolute Freezing- can freeze anything, from tangible targets to intangible energy such as fire, or concepts such as time, even a person's mind.

Cold Embodiment- acts as the personification or manifestation of cold in their reality and has limitless control over coldness and can use coldness in different ways.

Cold Breath- able to generate and manipulate cold energy within her in a way that allows her to shape the exhaling of the effect.

Cold Presence- has the ability to project a field that lowers the temperature around her, creating a constant chill.

Cold Weaponry- create or wield weaponry with power over cold, which grants Perma a wide variety of cold-based abilities, including slowing down molecules, freezing a target solid, and limiting healing.

Cryo-Phasing- combines intangibility and ice powers to freeze the objects she passes through.

Cryogenic Bodily Fluids- possesses freezing cold bodily fluids (blood, sweat, saliva, etc.

Cryokinetic Creature Creation- is able to create beings of ice or shape existing ice into wanted shapes and purposes. She can grant the beings varying levels of independence (controlled, automatons/programmed, semi-independent) and existence (momentary to permanent) and delete the creature once she is done with them.

Cryokinetic Claws- can project and retract razor-sharp claws of ice from her fingertips for offensive purposes.

Cryokinetic Combat- able to utilize ice manipulation with her physical combat, allowing her to both create tools and weapons for attack and manipulate the environment for her advantage

Cryokinetic Cloning- can create clones of herself, others and/or objects by using ice.

Cryokinetic Surfing- controls the ice in a way that increases her ability to move and/or maneuver either by granting her abilities she otherwise lack or allowing them to ignore normally needed equipment.

Cryokinetic Regeneration- can use ice to regenerate her bodies with the amount of ice used defining the speed of healing.

Demonic Ice Manipulation- One of her most powerful attacks. She can generate and manipulate mystical demonic ice, which cannot be melted by mortal means, drawn straight from the darkest fears sentient minds have about winter, ice and arctic areas, including the fears of treacherous ice breaking, burying/devouring, damaging or tripping the victim in malicious awareness.

Demonic Ice Breath - able to generate and manipulate demonic ice within her in a way that allows her to shape the exhaling of the effect. These shapes can include bursts, streams, spheres, even a mist of it from the mouth.

Dark Ice Manipulation - More powerful attack. She can create, shape and manipulate the ice of a darker, detrimental nature; that which damages, destroys, and consumes anything/everything she comes across, representing the hazardous destructive side of ice, which in turn ignores most of the limitations and weaknesses of the normal ice. In essence, this is about solely controlling the negative dark powers of ice.

Frostbite- can freeze up any part of an enemy's body where she can turn the tissues and flesh into solid ice making the victim shatter into pieces due to freeze drying, or cause a swelling making it hard to move for the victim.

Frozen Surface- can cause surfaces (often floor) to emit ice/cold, causing ice/cold-damage on anything in contact with her or the ice.

Hail Generation- can generate and project hail.

Ice Aura- can release and surround herself in/with ice/cold for defensive and/or offensive purposes, possibly becoming almost untouchable and granting her various abilities/attacks.

Ice Vortex Creation - can generate spirals/vortices composed of ice. The vortex can be projected as a long ranged attack or as a tornado of ice for both offensive and/or defensive purposes.

Omnidirectional Ice Waves- can release massive amounts of ice in every direction at once for almost unlimited scales. This power allows Perma to dispatch many foes at once and destroy large areas like cities/villages.

Snow Ball Projection- able to launch spheres of snow at targets with varying degrees of force.

Snow Solidification- can solidify or give solid-like properties to snow-based substances with the level of solidity going from loose jelly to metal-like hardness or beyond. Alternatively, Perma can also harden snow to make it denser and harder to break.

Un-melt able Ice- can generate and project snow/ice that is extremely difficult to or cannot by melted by normal means, such as extreme heat or fire.

Weaknesses in combat:  

Intense heat/fire

No control when pushed too far

Turns to solid ice when she goes overboard

Due to her constant chill, she can’t sneak up on people

Strengths in combat:  

Wide and short range attacks

Nearly indestructible ice walls

Hidden demon form 

Wild unpredictable street fighting style

Can create ice creatures, structures, and weapons

Relationships

Past life Relationships

Parents: Unknown 

Siblings: None  

Other Important Relatives: None  

Children: None 

Best Friend:   None yet

Other Important Friends:  None yet

Acquaintances:  None yet

Pets: None  but wants one

Enemies:  

Anyone who tries to mess with her.

Alastor (Frenemy-ish)

Hazbin Relationships: 

Charlie- Put off by her eagerness and determination to redeem sinners. Didn’t trust her at first and kept her distance. Slowly warmed up to Charlie’s kindness and learned to trust her and others.

Vaggie- Disliked her attitude, and authority. Would tick her off with snide comments and constantly freezing her and/or Charlie. Started to bond over their dislike of Alastor and men a bit. Told Vaggie of her life and hardships, now have a big sis/little sis connection.

Angel Dust- Because of his sexual nature, she was terrified of Angel and avoided him. Even freezing him solid a few times out of fear/self-defense. Calm down a little once, she learned that he’s gay. The two became close once Angel shared his own stories of abuse. Also adores Fat Nuggets.

Alastor- Instantly loathes Alastor due to his disregard for personal space and creeper smile. Sees him as a closet pervert and often talks trash about his radio broadcasts and calls him an "a limp dick old man". Perma was unaware of Alastor's reputation, but sees him as a sicko who likes to inflate his own ego and harrass those he sees as beneath him. One of the few demons who doesn't fear Alastor, but that's due to her own ignorance and inexperience. Often tries to start fights with him by crude derogatory comments. Or freezing him.

Husker- Didn't think much of Husk at first, but liked the fact the he's a cat. The two barely interacted until she sang to herself in German and Husk responded back. They slowly began to converse with each other more and more. Husk actually listening to her woes and offering some advice. Vice versa. Due to Husk keeping to himself and respecting boundaries, Perma respects and listens to Husk more than anyone. Calms down whenever he's around. The two soon form a father/daughter like relationship.

Niffty- Was put off by Niffty's persnickety and energetic persona. Also irritated her by the frost she leaves behind. But they grow to tolerate each other over time.

Trivia 

Sin - Wrath

Can speak 5 languages: Icelandic, German, Polish, English, and Dutch. This is due to the men she came in contact with during her time on the streets and while trafficked

The spiked choker she wears was a gift from one of the older trafficked girls. It was the first time she was given ANYTHING nice.

Speaks with a thick Icelandic accent

Her lips are dark  blue from her cold

Given her sexual abuse, Perma doesn’t just hate sex, she’s TERRIFIED of it.

Perma keeps to herself and talks to no one unless confronted. 

She knows nothing about the Overlords or power scale.

She keeps her distance from friendly people. To her, everyone is out to get something.

Perma loves heavy metal, it helps her release the pain and fury she feels

With enough patience and practice, Perma could fight on par with an overlord

She likes animals, they never harm you

She eats warm food, to feel ‘alive’. 

One negative act towards her, no matter how small, can set her off

[ziracona]

please bless me with all of your dbd headcanons even just a crumb would satisfy me,,,,, lmao. Fr tho ur hcs are godly pls give me all of them especially for og 4 and wraif

Thank you!! I’m glad you like my hot takes!

Let’s see, og4.

Jake grows facial hair pretty easy (that part is just canon). Usually he either lets it grow and ignores it till it gets long, or stays cleanshaven, but the in-between stage is physically painful for everyone else at the campfire bc you wake up and see rugged 2day scruffy woodsman stretch and he sees you staring and goes, “What?” Looking thoroughly unimpressed and Meg sheds a tear and Claudette pretends to not be looking and stares at her journal and Dwight gets heart palpitations it’s just bad for the whole group. When he shaves he’s an edgy dumbass and does it with a sharpened hunk of metal he made into a knife for himself and Dwight saw him shaving once and had to go sit down.

Jake has a soft spot for many of the survivors he’s known longer (honestly at this point, he’s pretty attached to the lot of them though), but especially the ones who work really hard at protecting other survivors. Double points if you’re younger than him. He would kill for Claudette, and take a bullet meant for Quentin, but would not convey this to them at all. Jake puts almost zero effort into making sure people knows he likes them. The people he has a soft spot for especially are also not always the ones he prefers to spend time with. While they’re survivors he spends less time with personally, Jake respects Feng Min for being the snarky little gremlin she is, and Tapp’s dedication to his job even here. Weirdly, while the people he likes often aren’t aware of affection, the ones he respects but isn’t as close to usually are aware of the respect. Jake also thinks he doesn’t like having friends and spending time not alone, but he does.

If asked point blank his thoughts on a survivor he likes, he’d probably just shrug or say, “They contribute to the team,” or “She works hard,” or “He’s fine,” because Jake just be like that. He had a hard time getting close to anyone initially because of how he grew up. Jake’s very guarded. He’s used to people manipulating and using each other, which makes keeping anything vulnerable close to his chest just necessary as he sees it. Boy doesn’t trust easy. Or open up. Ya need a can opener. Boy also does not like getting pushed around. Least favorite killers (aside from Nightmare) are probably Doctor and Ghostface, because he cannot stand being forced to do things or used. He’d rather take a chainsaw to the back than have someone lord power over him. He’s also got a looong memory, so if you fuck him over, he is not the kind to forget and forgive. He is the kind to resent and remember. Not that he never forgives people, but boy would have to really believe whatever happened was regretted and the person wasn’t like that anymore to let something that made him very angry go. He’s quiet angry though. Bide your time and get vengeance kinda angry. Would never let someone push him around. If a killer tried to fuck with him, he’d do everything in his power to kill them.

While Jake is tough and likes to hike just to be out and moving, and enjoys toughing it out, Meg enjoys being outside more as a fun thing than a wildnerness lifestyle thing. She has a lot of energy, and even in the realm, all that adhd can be a bitch. It would be easy to focus on the shitty stuff happening and drown in that, so she likes to keep moving, like she has since she was a kid and started running. Meg loves hard, and if she cares about you, she’ll make sure you know it. Not good at shutting up or realizing if she’s been going on for too long, girl has passion for everything.

Meg talks a big game, but does not have as much confidence as she pretends to have. She has abandonment issues, but they’re less, ‘my dad abandoned me’ and more ‘everyone but my mom, from him to grade school friends, hasn’t stuck around,’ so she does worry about that and coming on too strong, which she is aware she often does, but she can’t get herself to turn down the power settings on herself even when she tries. She’s never been good at making friends, so all of this in the realm is kinda new to her, since no one can leave. Meg would tell almost no one those things about herself. She cares hard though, and will try to distract other people from realm despair any way she can, because it’s what she needs and she assumes what they must need too. And to be fair, she ain’t wrong. Good at cultivating activities and drinks loving her friends juice.

Big goofball. BIG goofball. Also big gay. Well, bi af, but w a pretty strong preference for the ladies. She is simple of heart. Sees a girl, loses ability to think. Bonded with Nea over this problem. High int, low wisdom, big dumbass. Her weaknesses include girls’ eyes, voices, accents, freckles, scars, stomachs, legs, ass, titties, hair, hair dye, laughs, hands, eye contact, and cute accessories. Not great at expressing her feelings when she catches them, but tries hard. Actually pretty good at romancing once she gets into the groove. It’s just getting there she sucks at. Loyal as hell. Will go to bat for her friends and would rather die than betray them.

Meg has a real temper, especially when she feels like something being done to her or someone else is unjust/unfair, and will always try to fix those things even when it’s hopeless. Can and will weaponize her anger extremely effectively. Ridiculous memory for pop culture, shit memory for homework and things she was supposed to be doing. Memelord, but with some class.

Idk if this is because I identified with Claudette really strongly when I first started playing dbd or not, but I have always seen her as Asexual & Panromantic. Attracted to kindness. 

She gets overwhelmed fairly easily, but has been improving that by necessity since arriving in the realm, and can tap into the mom-friend override to fix problems for people who aren’t her. Has a hard time telling when people are teasing her/joking, but everyone knows this so they take it easier on her than each other.

Like Meg, had no friends before this, so it’s exciting and new, and a little scary, but mostly really good. She worries about other people a lot, and doesn’t always know how to help, but she tries. Very relieved Dwight volunteered to be team leader.

Enjoys recording things and studying. Would be fascinated by the Entity’s world if she wasn’t always being killed. Seems small and weak and easy to take down, but she has the strength of will to kill God herself if backed into a corner, especially when fighting for someone she loves. Sweet does not mean she will not fight back, and since being in the realm, and getting over her initial freezing up at the sight of horrifying murderers, she has worked extremely hard to be brave and take an active roll protecting people whenever she can. She is still terrified a lot, but has learned to push through that to help her friends and herself.

Loves animals, including ones a lot of people don’t like (bugs, snakes, rats, etc) and would and has definitely tried to snag a scorpion and a cockroach from trials to study before, and tried to befriend the realm rats now that they exist. Tries to get Jake to show her how to get birds to like you but does know how to ask him right.

Nervous about interpersonal relationships and unsure of herself. Really likes everyone but horrible at telling how other people feel. Feels like she always comes off wrong and can’t put words to things well even when she understands them super well. Does her best 24/7. Incredibly smart and talented. Knowledgeable about her passions. Is always thinking 4th dimensionally and has saved the team many a time by pulling off wild bullshit that makes sense kind of just barely but no one else would have thought of.

Dwight was a loser and kind of a douche growing up, kind of selfish and entitled and weak, but is no longer that person after a few years in the realm. He works hard to make good on his promises to look out for everyone, and cares about them very genuinely. Great at thinking on his feet and sounding like he knows more than he does, wonderful at regulating tasks to people efficiently, and not a bad strategist. 

Being the kind of person now who would not have liked the person he was a few years ago causes a little cognitive dissonance and self-doubt, but he’s trying. Genuinely enjoys hearing about people’s days and interests even when he’s completely lost. 

Not a fan of heights. If the fear of heights was not vastly overpowered by fear of sharp object, he would actively avoid the old ironworks in trials, but alas.

Used to play video games a lot. Thought he was good at them. Was not. Was definitely not.

Self-improvement king. Works hard and is a really decent dude. A very good sport. Used to be an asshole, so now that he’s nice he’s pretty damn forgiving if other people put in the work to improve too (my boy’s no hypocrite). Has mellowed out a lot and is pretty chill and nice but the damn fool will break his own heart by taking things people say the wrong way, or things they mean as a joke literally, if it’s something he thinks is true about himself, and will totally miss context and vocal inflection and just be like, “I know but I’m trying TuT.”

Big gay but in denial and confused

Just at this point really does want people to get to go home and be ok. Loves hearing stories and listening to his friends talk at the campfire because it makes him feel like things might be okay. Get the same result just by being near his friends, especially the other og3 who have been with him forever. If they’re all still there, things have to turn out okay someday. :’ ) Has never really told them that, because he’s supposed to be the leader, and thinks they’d feel less secure if they knew he depends on being able to sleep close to them at night to feel like he’ll be okay himself. Not in a they’d judge me way, but in a I really don’t want to let them down way. He wants them to think he’s got a handle on things even when he really doesn’t.

I was gonna do Philip too but I got this this morning and this post is already ridiculously long TuT, so here you go. Plus one mini Philip one.

Philip feels responsible for the young man he saw his boss kill the day the Entity got him. He knows that he killed scores of people unknowingly for Azarov, and those weigh, but he thinks sometimes late at night that if he could have just saved that one, it might have been enough to make him feel absolved someday for all the other deaths on his head. He remembers his face very well, and how terrified he was, and the moment of confusion and relief, and almost gratefulness when Philip let him go. He thinks over and over that if he’d just talked to him–assumed something was up, and gotten him to be quiet. Seen Azarov in time and stopped him. So many little things, and the young man would have lived. Even if the others were things he was completely blind to, he feels like that one is especially his fault, and that he could have stopped it. That one really haunts him.

[killthebxy]

          this verse is based on the idea that Jon was brought back from the dead by the Night King, rather than Melisandre, and it was inspired by this fanart: CLICK. it is a mix of book and show canon, with some points of divergence from both. as it is my only verse where i explicitly write Jon as a villain/antagonist, a disclaimer is in order before anything else:

while not present in this background, the threads and plots within this verse may contain references or explicit mentions of topics such as violence and cruelty, murder and genocide, humiliation and degradation, manipulation and abuse --- among others of similar nature;

i am not my muse, which is unfortunate because i would love to be Jon Snow; out of jokes, though, mun =/= muse and i am the first one clearly stating that i do not condone and will try my best to never romanticize any of the topics mentioned above. this verse exists for creative writing purposes only, as it allows me to explore ideas and scenarios that i could never do in any of my other verses --- considering that Jon is inherently a good and kind character.

          with this taken care of, let us get started. in this verse, the mutiny still happened but it took place beyond the Wall rather than at Castle Black --- more precisely, at the weirwood grove where the brothers who keep the old gods say their vows. as all attention was captured by the mutiny unfolding, they failed to notice the approaching of wights and the Others, which non-surprisingly did not end well for them. only one of the mutineers managed to escaped among the chaos that ensued, climbing on a horse to return to the Watch with the news. while everyone else was immediately turned into wights, Jon’s corpse was brought back to the Night King --- who, recognizing him from the events at Hardhome (this point will always follow show canon, even in book-based threads, as it is relevant for this verse’s background that the NK is aware that Jon has the power to destroy Others with his sword), decided he would be of more use if he retained his awareness, rather than becoming a mindless wandering corpse. therefore, the NK himself turned Jon into an Other named Snow --- symbolism of the cold and eternal winter, but as well of the stigma of being bastard-born, which is Snow’s ultimate drive for action and the grudge he constantly upholds (as will be explored in the next paragraphs).

          appearance wise, Snow looks like Jon but with the typical Other traits: deathly pale skin, hair mostly changed to grey and white, piercing blue eyes, cold black hands. while not visible, he retains the scars resulting from the stab wounds during the mutiny. his usual attire consists of armor also similar to what the Others carry, but his is entirely black --- and he continues wearing his lord commander cloak, as symbol of the role that brought him to his current state of existence. personality wise, and as a quick sum-up, Snow is everything that Jon was not: he’s cunning and deceitful where Jon was honest and honorable, heartless where Jon was merciful, ambitious where Jon was humble, selfish and egotistical where Jon was selfless. whereas he is aware of his origins and retains all of his memories as a human, Snow refers to Jon as “the boy” and as though they are two entirely separate entities; and, whereas he often refers to Jon as stupid and naive and gullible, he’s fiercely protective of Jon’s memory and his main goal is, exactly, to bring revenge upon every single person who once wronged Jon and caused him to suffer one way or the other. the main object of his hatred is, non-surprisingly, the Night’s Watch.

          Ghost was also caught up in the mutiny and, after being reborn, Snow himself brought him back as an undead direwolf whom he named Life --- a word play on his previous name and his current nature, but also symbolism for the very thing Snow wishes to eradicate from this world. Life looks similar to Ghost in everything, except he’s got blue eyes, and he’s as loyal to Snow as Ghost was to Jon. further along this verse, and after that one mutineer brought the news to Castle Black, they sent ravens both to the Iron Throne and to Daenerys --- seeing as how a lord commander turned to the armies of the dead isn’t as simple to ignore anymore, given his knowledge about the Night’s Watch and the Wall and, thus, the capacity to strike in all the right spots to bring them over to the realm. realizing this, an expedition was organized like in the show’s s07 (but far better organized lbr), and Danerys herself brought her dragons beyond the Wall to either somehow retrieve “Jon” or be rid of him for good. in this verse, it was Snow who tossed the ice lance that resulted in Viserion’s death and, as reward for his actions, the NK also allowed him to be the one to bring the dragon back to life. Snow named him Noiresiv --- it’s Viserion spelled backwards, as symbolism for his turning from fire to ice. based on the events that i’ll describe next, Snow eventually becomes the undead dragon’s rider and the one to have him bring down the Wall. all of the facts concerning Viserion/Noiresiv are also part of @qeldliie‘s own verse and headcanons.

          as i mentioned above, Snow is extremely ambitious and power-hungry and, from the moment of his revival, he was not satisfied with simply acting under the NK’s orders --- he actually wanted that role for himself, and to become the supreme ruler of every living and undead being in Westeros (and eventually beyond). therefore, while overtly acting dutiful and obedient, Snow conspired at every step to overthrow the NK and eventually succeeded --- this event may be susceptible to changes according to threads and plots, but the default will follow ideas i have discussed with @cerbinwen. with this goal accomplished and the Wall destroyed, all that’s left is to bring the Long Night to the realms of men. based on what what i just mentioned, plus everything else above, it’s easy to see that Snow is thoroughly narcissistic and demands unconditional and unfailing worship --- to the point of referring to himself as God. he considers humans as infinitely inferior beings and has no love nor mercy to offer to them, though he may be open to keeping a few of them around --- either for recognizing some usefulness to them, or simply for his own amusement and sadism.

          Snow is as skilled with a sword in hand as Jon was, but he’s ruthless in combat and, therefore, very difficult to overcome. on the other hand, he’s considerably less agile than Jon, considering the weight of his armor and also his weapon of choice. because, obviously, an Other cannot wield Valyrian steel without risking to accidentally destroy himself at each move, Snow has discarded Longclaw and instead kept an ancient weapon he unearthed at Hardhome. i headcanon that it is similar to Pyramid Head’s Great Knife (CLICK) --- a huge, heavy, rusty sword that grates and shreds rather than actually slicing. its size makes it sluggish and relatively easy to dodge for somebody who’s fast --- though, if the blow is not stopped right at the start, then it becomes impossible to parry or block against. because the thing is huge and Snow isn’t exactly tall (as Jon wasn’t), he’s got the habit of simply dragging it after himself; which he does very casually and like it’s the most natural thing, often provoking that characteristic, nerve-wrecking noise as the blade grates over the ground. Snow is impervious to wounds made by any sort of common weapon, no matter how sharp or powerful, which also explains his choice of sword and how reckless he is in combat. as with all the Others, his only weaknesses are fire, Valyrian steel/dragonsteel, and dragonglass/obsidian. Snow is effectively a dead being, having no blood circulation and no beating heart. whereas it is unnecessary to him, he usually continues breathing out of habit. and, due to the death of his human nature, he’s incapable of feeling positive emotions for the most part --- he completely ignores the meaning of empathy or mercy, and the joy he feels is solely derived of twisted motives and actions. as a final curiosity, he’s actually thoroughly confused and/or entranced by anything that is innocent and chaste, such as a child’s toy for example --- as he has lost the capacity to understand anything of that nature, or its use and usefulness.

          ONE IMPORTANT FINAL NOTE: please be aware that Snow is a terrible, wretched creature in every aspect and he’s not to be approached lightly and much less disrespectfully. unless your muse is of similar power (e.g., a deity, a supernatural being), if you get to him with a cocky attitude, you will get stabbed right through the throat and that thread will be over as soon as it starts. as well, don’t expect to be able to “change him back” or make him “good” again --- it’s not going to happen. the only person who is able to make Snow feel a semblance of human emotions is Arya, considering she’s the only one who was ever unconditionally on Jon’s side. Snow actually is afraid of/very uncomfortable around Arya, and avoids her presence as much as he can --- because she’s the living memory that he once had a heart. towards persons like Ned or Robb, Snow is indifferent for the most part but also a bit ambiguous --- because, while they were dear to Jon, they didn’t actively go out of their way to stand up for him like Arya did. towards anyone who ever wronged Jon in any way (like Sansa or Catelyn), Snow will be downright hostile at the very least. Snow is inherently cruel, manipulative, vengeful, heartless --- and i will not tame him nor tone him down. so, if you ever want to plot/write anything in this verse, please always keep his nature in mind.

[chaniters]

Fic villains.

One thing I like a LOT about making fics is creating my own supervillains for the heroes to fight. It's like having action figures all over! Right now I’m trying to work in better backstories for my next villains. 

Also, hoping to improve my character creation skills...

I still have trouble processing the fact that @kruk-art decided to draw some of them! 😻😻

Here's the rooster that I've come up with for my fics so far:

Original villains

1.- Darkfist: Role: Thief//Mercenary//enforcer. Motivation: Money Commits superpowered robberies, mostly banks. Does tend to go alone most of the time, but can be part of a team if paid to act as an enforcer. Doesn't care much for what side he's in as long as he gets paid. Works for the best bidder (usually Hollow Ground). Isn't a killer if he's the one calling the shots, but will kill if hired to do so.  He's fiercely loyal to his loved ones and always keeps them out of his masked life.   He took the hero drugs as a means of escape from a life of poverty. He initially tried to become a local hero but grew disillusioned. Usually burns all the money he gets pretty fast in huge parties, men, women, whatever. He has few friends and a goes on and off into short but very intense relationships. He generally tries to end them in good terms, has commitment issues.    Appearance: Korean parents, deceased. Shorter than one would expect due to his reputation. Short hair. Well-formed muscles, and very agile. Powers, abilities: Intense martial arts training. Can teleport short distances at will leaving a cloud of dark smoke. Teleportation charges him with dark energy of unknown origin that he must discharge through his fists else risking it detonating on him.  It's his signature move, and he uses it to instantly hit his target without giving them a chance to dodge. Dark energy is devastating. Specialty: Beating other superheroes is what he does best. He beat most of the rangers including Sidestep back in the day (he could only dodge him twice before getting pummeled). His streak ended when he faced Anathema, and he lost BADLY, and almost didn't make it alive. Ending: Fights against Herald during an attack on the Ranger's HQ. Herald lures him into teleporting to attack him while going through a window, causing him to fall to his (presumed) death.

2.- Pathos:   Role: Assasin. Motivation: Obsession with killing. Obsession with beating Sidestep. He was one of the instructors at the farm, training Psychics there. He trained Psychic and was sort of a vague "Father figure". He retired shortly after. He was blackmailed by the farm forcing him to return and help fix Sidestep once he was recaptured Sidestep (suicide scar) puppeteered him into trying to choke him to death, though the guards stopped him. That left an obsession with killing that lingered in his mind, growing stronger as time passed. Eventually, he couldn't help it anymore and started committing random murders. Once he realized he couldn't stop, he assumed a supervillain persona and began working as an assassin for the corporates of Los Diablos and beyond. He has a wife and two daughters that know nothing about his villain escapades, they just believe he keeps working in secret projects Appearance: Caucasian male in his late 50's. Black body-suit. Moustache and beard. Weapon: Metal cane he carries around while walking. It has a retractable blade. Powers, abilities:  Psychic. Not nearly as powerful as Sidestep, especially post HB sidestep. Still, more experienced than him. Mastery of illusions. Is never where he appears to be. Moderate Martial arts training powered by powerful psychic combat. Specialty: Beating Sidestep. He can break his barriers and basically walk over him since he thaught him ALL his tricks. Murdering people without them being able to stop him. Ending: Shot in the head by Lady Argent while trying to kill her detective fling aboard FarmaCore's ship.

3.- Catastrofiend Demons: Role: Minion/enforcer Controlled mutation: A special kind of superhero drug developed by the Catastrofiend, that doesn't provide random powers nor has a chance to kill. The drug turns normal humans into powerful hulking creatures that can walk both in 2 or 4 legs with ease. Claws and sharp teeth that can produce mild injury even to some "invulnerable" superheroes. Greatly enhanced senses, agility, and strength. Bestial, loss of sentience. Rarely ever speak after their transformation.  Appearances: Sidestep's nightmares of escaping the Catastrofiend. Brought back in numbers by Farmacore. Specialty: Minions, an army of doom. Obedient. Possible link to extra-dimensional entity unconfirmed. Ending: (All?) of them destroyed on board FarmaCore's Large cargo ship as it burnt, exploded and then sunk into the Pacific.

4.- Dark Energy Man// Jake Black: Role: Vengeful human//Posessed human//emissary of evil extradimensional entity Possessed by the same extra-dimensional entity than the Catastrofiend. FarmaCore and it's associated doomsday cult had attempted for years to reproduce the conditions that led to the initial gate's opening after the Catastrofiend was killed. An unloyal employee sold some of the special hero-drugs they were experimenting on and sold them to Jake Black. Black had lost his partner to the Cartel's drugs and wanted to take on them. His idea to take the hero-drug was partially a suicide attempt, but it worked and gave him powers. He believes he had the power to disintegrate objects and people by creating dark holes in reality. Unbeknown to him, these were just the portals FarmaCore was attempting to create, and he became possessed as something came through and entered his body. Unlike the original catastrofiend, the entity thought his personality useless and simply devoured it, joining the rest of the cultists at Farmacore as their new savior while trying to open the portal.  Powers, Abilities: Creating portals to a dark, outer dimension populated by shadow nightmares that eat human flesh. Tossing portals at enemies.  Creating dark energy shields around himself. Specialty: Creating a portal big enough to summon the Demigod of the dark realm with the aid of FarmaCore's tech and cultists. Ending: Killed by Ortega using the Demigod's own energy against him.

5.- Eldritch:   Role: Mutated human//Alien-like savage entity// Sentient non-human entity. Consuming the hero drugs without truly understanding the consequences, Olivia underwent a transformation, changing both physically and mentally.

She quickly transformed into a non-human creature and lost quickly lost the ability to tell right from wrong being overcome by primal instincts. Her primary concern turned to survival at any cost. 

Appearance: Permanently mutating form and shape. Hulking monster, large aquatic snake creature, giant behemoth trashing buildings, smaller alien-like humanoid, regular human (copying a human's form). Powers: Mutates into different organisms at will. Gain or lose limbs, creating bioweapons within her own body. Creating other lesser organisms as her minions. Requires rich biomass to sustain itself. Specialty: Terrorizing the city sewers. Terrorizing the city Godzilla style. Growing armies of mutated monsters. Escaping Geni-tech hunters Ending: Escaped into the sea with the aid of Sidestep who restores her sanity.  Holds a grudge against Geni-Tech.

6.- Aegis:     Role: Super-powered hunter. "Reformed" Supervillain  (former name Darknight) A powerful supervillain known ad Darknight, she managed to gain corporate support in exchange for favors and gained the Governor's pardon for her past life's crimes. She acts as a bounty-hunter for powered villains and creatures that corporation need for their experiments. With her newfound wealth, she enjoys numerous contacts, her own battalion of corporate soldiers and many high tech devices. She is attracted to both men and women and has Genitech's CEO dancing around her finger.   Appearance: Hulking tall and muscular woman with dark hair and Nordic features and impressive muscles. She towers over most of her enemies. Unlike most Enhanced, she has access to drugs and painkillers that very far beyond what everyone else gets. She rarely feels any pain from her enhancements. Powers: Boosted: Can create forcefields of green energy around herself for protection, or detonate when in contact with enemies for offense, causing massive damage. Her reasons for becoming Boosted in the first place are unknown.  Enhanced: Enhanced arms, legs, and spine. She is extremely strong and agile. Her mods can turn into a turbo mod granting her brief periods of blinding speed, which she uses to collide with enemies and detonate her shield at max speeds.    Weapon: Articulated electrical whip. Can be used to choke or electrify opponents, along with cutting through most materials. Ending: After defeating both Sidestep and Anathema, she was tricked by Eldritch, who deceived her by taking Sidestep's appearance, and killed her.

Drawn by @kruk-art here https://kruk-art.tumblr.com/post/182091310695/i-had-the-pleasure-to-draw-sidestep-belong

7. The Crumpler Role: Megalomaniac//Thief//Moustache-Twirling villain.  An unsuccessful salesman suffering a severe inferiority complex, the Crumpler took the drug seeking a way out of a life he disliked. Gaining psychokinesis powers in the form of contracting energy shields, he left a trail of corpses in his path committing robberies and other crimes. Appearance: Long mustache, thin, tall. His outfit seems a bit too big for him usually. Obsessed with looking good for the media and keeping up his 70's villain persona. Bad puns galore. Gimmicks, like leaving crumpled notes about his next robbery at crime scenes.  Powers: Creating red energy fields that he can then contract to a tenth of their initial size, "crumpling" whatever or whoever is inside.  Ending: Defeated the Rangers during Los Diablos's charity ball. Was stopped by Villain MC who handed him over to the freed rangers.       

Drawn by @kruk-art here https://kruk-art.tumblr.com/post/182200055365/some-villains-from-fallen-hero-in-cartoon-style

8.- CEO Richard Elisson:                     Ceo of FarmaCore (company mentioned by Senpai Malin at some point, I don't remember when). He is a cult leader, ally and former lover of the Catastrofiend until her death.                     He knows the entity can be summoned again and attempts to do so by heavily investing in quantum theory and dimensional research. FarmaCore's research fails for a long time until the Dark Energy Man is created, providing him with the solution.                     With the Dark Energy man possessed by the same entity that joined with the Catastrofiend, the two attempt to summon their extra-dimensional overlord into the physical realm.                     Ending: Summoning his master's power through the portal, he attempts to destroy Argent, but Ortega stands in the way absorbing the electrical blast. Ultimately his body cannot handle the energies and he burns to death.

9.- CandyMaster Convicted criminal mobster. Agreed to be experimented upon by corporations to reduce his sentence.

Experiments intended to create a controlled resistance and regeneration to facilitate hero-drug survival rate. The end result caused most of his tissue to be replaced by a crystalline sugar-like substance. He gained excellent control over the growth of these crystals, which can become both sharp and resistant, tough brittle. 

He was a mobster and sociopath before his transformation and went on an overdrive after it. His brain chemistry was affected as well and he became a complete psychopath and hedonist living only for his own enjoyment generally at the expense of others. 

Generally underestimated due to the “Candy” theme he chose for his outfit, he is immensely powerful, able to cause enormous damage, and exerting great control over his ability. 

In combat, he can create sharp candy spikes of any size in any direction, coming from him, or appearing from thin air.  He generally regenerates if his crystalline body is damaged, though it is unknown how much damage can he survive to sustain before death.  

Drawn by @kruk-art here https://kruk-art.tumblr.com/post/181935145790/sooo-those-who-had-read-latest-chaniters-fics

Weaknesses: Very weak against acid. Anathema is his perfect match.  

Ending: Presumed dead when cracked to pieces by Charge. His pieces were not recovered.  

10. HIVE

A group of semi-sentient robots. They were created to be autonomous, using bee-brains interfacing with computers to achieve higher intelligence. Invariably, they turned on their creators, forming hives and serving anything they identify as their queen (Usually the assembly plants building more of them). They are not directly evil, but are hostile to anyone interfering with their affairs, and can be manipulated if someone manages to be perceived as their new queen. 

They have superior strength, some of them can fly, and they can use weapons. They work tirelessly to achieve their goals. They typically use trenchcoats to pass as humans but can be identified once people see their yellow glowing eyes. They are very strong. 

11.- Jupiter

Former Nemesis of Marshall Hood. He was a boost with the ability to generate lightning. 

He enjoyed picking on Hood’s more inexperienced Sidekicks, especially Ortega. Ortega has a special rivalry with him, due to the constant humiliation as his boosts were basically an inferior version of Jupiter’s.

With time, his powers increased exponentially and he was forced to retire and live isolated since he could not control the constant electrical discharges around him, and would cause destruction wherever he went. 

Staying off the grid for 6 years since his last appearance, the villain Vitruvian tracked him down and offered him a powerful techno-suit that could absorb and channel the energy into coherent lightning bolts, using Jupiter as a power source for all of the suit's functions. 

Ending: Drowned at the bottom of the sea after fighting Sidestep, Elyise, Steel and Charge on board a cargo ship. 

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Headcanon Villains (Malin created them, I just made up who or what they are)

12.- Dr. Mortum in his villain suit. I headcanon his suit being mostly robotic, hulking, and with several spider legs added to it. Beam weapons, disintegration ray, missiles, a powerful force-field, and many many other hidden gadgets. When he uses it, he is imposing and greater than life, making Eden (the puppet) blush and swoon like a little schoolgirl groupie. I also headcanon the puppet having an irresistible kink for strong imposing super-powered bad boys and girls in Los Diablos, so when Mortum uses this his individuality goes UP very fast.   Ending: Alive and well. I'd never kill the doctor... I'm just hoping Malin never makes me choose between him or Ortega. Because as I said, I'd never kill the Doctor.  

13.- Hollow Ground I headcanon him having immensely powerful geokinesis, along with several powers gained using the Puppet's (before he was in a coma) abilities to ensure his survival taking the hero-drug several times. Limited invulnerability. Regeneration. Strength. Speed. Very slow aging. Kinetic blasts. (Ok he's op) My headcanon is HG being the Puppets former romantic partner, and it ending VERY sourly.

Ending: Heavily injured by Lady Argent, then thrown by Herald into a pit of lava. (Sry cliche I know.)

14.- Catastrofiend: Ok I made a background for Catastrofiend, that no longer matched after *spoilers*. But here it is.  Name Catherine Fields (Cat Fie... CatastroFiend see what I did there? ... don't kill me pls!!!), she is the head scientist on one of the companies that would later be acquired by FarmaCore. An experiment went wrong, a portal to the dark realm is created and she is possessed by an evil interdimensional entity. The two personalities fuse, creating the Catastrofiend, a cult-leader, powered terrorist,  ally and lover of CEO Richard Elisson, as they seek a way to open a portal for her master to enter the physical world.

14.1 Real catastrofiend: A version of the Catastrofiend revealed in the beta of Retribution. 

15. Vitruvian (Headcanon) /Elyse.

I created a version of this villain (Mortum’s old partner) in two parts. First, I made Elyse, Sidestep’s new telekinetic, slightly telepathic friend. She gains his trust, he teaches her some telepathic tricks... And she uses him to drive the Rangers into her plans. She always seems innocent, but she always performs some unnecessary or odd action that’s easy to miss and those are the moments where she’s enacting her plan. Unknown to them, she is the sinister Vitruvian who seeks to gain access to nano-vore technology to multiply an army of evil robots and take over the city. As Vitruvian she achieves control of the nanites to create buildings and construction domes in minutes, where HIVE droids are created endlessly to take over Los Diablos. 

16. The Void (Headcanon) Awan Cormac’s Handler, turned into a villain. He is a modded sharpshooter, with perfect aim mods and great martial arts skill. He uses an adaptive rifle with energy frequencies that adapt to the target’s resistances.

17. Medea: While a hero in my Cyrus’ fics, she’s a villain in Awan’s world, with reality-altering powers. Awan defeated her in their first battle, but she escaped and is at large. She’s also in a relationship with Lord Ember. 

18. Lord Ember. Another villain only mentioned. I headcanon him with the ability to send a pure stream of hyper-heated fire in a cone ahead of himself, incinerating everything to a crisp within seconds. He’s in a relationship with Medea in that world.  Drawn by @kruk-art here https://kruk-art.tumblr.com/post/182200055365/some-villains-from-fallen-hero-in-cartoon-style

19. Cybra, Cellex, and Cestus: Cyrus’s old team from the farm, forming an evil council to lead his rebellion and free all regenes from human oppression. Cybra can control all electronic devices in a huge radius and can modify her body similarly to Argent. Cellex has hyper acute reflexes and speed. Cestus is both strong and bullet-proof.  

20 Dr. Terror, Dr. Grim, Dr. Blitz: Evil masterminds from the farm, turned sentai Villains

21 Regina/Regis. A sentai-villain version of Regina, leading the apocalypse force and attempting to destroy the rangers. Drawn by @kruk-art https://kruk-art.tumblr.com/post/184877636730/regina-design-for-chaniters-super-sentai

22 Upcoming villain with a reverse process here, this one’s based on a sketch by Kruk

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My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[collectorofstarstuff-blog]

Maria and the Kelpie [Star-Swallower]

The only indication that anything sinister had moved into the lake was a thickness in the sky. The astronomer had just noticed it. She assumed it was just a gas-concealed nebula, but her high-power telescope proved it was only dark. She could see no stars behind it, but strangely, the stars around it began to stretch. Some of the surrounding stars vanished. The others appeared to distort, orbit. She had a bit of a debate with herself on whether or not to report it. If it proved to be nothing, she’d have to deal with the Queen’s legendary temper. If it turned out to be something, she’d have to deal with the Queen’s legendary violence. She would probably insist on a hunting team to bring back the head of whatever creature caused the phenomenon.

Estelle promised herself she would only report it if the King were there. He was the only one in control of Leanna after all. But when she walked into the throne room, both King Leopold and the pregnant Queen Leanna were dead on their thrones.

Were it murder of the King alone, she’d have assumed it to be the Queen’s doing. Seemed to be a common thread of events in the Gliphen since they arrived. But they were both perfectly still, sitting there, unbloodied but bowed. There was even still a book in Leopold’s lap.

She sighed, and then screamed to fake a fear she did not feel for them. If she didn’t act horrified, she would become a suspect. Honestly, her foremost trepidation was that whatever disease they must have had come into contact with her instead. Four of the personal guard that stayed awake during the day and of course, their captain, clamored past her with swords drawn, expecting a fight. When they saw no one, the captain looked around at the astronomer, livid.

“What in heaven’s name did you scream for, miss?”

Estelle pointed, the quivering of her chin set them on alert again. Estelle had learned to make long, emotive faces in place of her late sister Etienne, who was never surprised or made emotional by anything. One of the guards, Levi, was at the King’s side already, intensely focused on his slack face. He clutched the King’s upper arm as though he might steer him to the living world. Finally, he looked away, jaw tight. “Captain?”

The captain replaced his weapon. No sword was going to banish this problem. “Is he breathing?”

“A little, sir.” Levi looked back at the King’s face, removing an iron gauntlet. He touched Leopold’s face all too softly for a royal guard. Under different circumstances, the captain would have let fly a sharp rebuke of Levi’s affections. But for now, he turned back towards Estelle.

“Fetch the healer, miss. We will stand watch over them.”

Usually Estelle was giving the captain orders, but she nodded and fled the scene, knowing very well how bad this reflected upon her. She was the previous Queen’s sister, and it was well known how much she hated her niece. If anything happened to Leanna and her husband, with their heir unborn, Estelle would be the next in line for the throne. No one would care that Estelle had no desire to take their place.

She loved Leanna just as much as Leo did, so her death was not discomforting. But she would need to figure out how to prove her innocence. When she passed a window she stopped running though.

She reached up and with her finger, traced the black arms that sucked at the twin suns of the King and Queen. Fingerless arms, groping and catching at the star of wisdom and the star of power. They were being drawn in, devoured by, from what Estelle could see, nothing. It was as if the black sky itself wanted to rid the world of their brightness. But she was of a kind who didn’t trust that the sky was a breathing entity, like the dog-people of the Nightplains. So she knew that couldn’t be right.

She sent a guard to wake the healer and raced back to her telescope, more important work than seeing to two dead royals. She affixed a special eyepiece to her most valuable instrument with hands that badly shook of excitement. She looked straight into the suns. She should have blinded herself even with this, but she knew the suns were being devoured. The blackness was gorging itself on the King and Queen--it had been no assassination. They were currently under attack in the sky.

With a hand as quick with fury as the bite of the dog-people, she scrawled down coordinates and ripped a fine map from the wall to compare them with. No one without her long memory would draw the comparison, it had been more than fifteen years since that day. But Estelle, astronomer, scholar, priestess, had a memory longer than fifteen years. And the fact that this strange… hole was hovering above the outer lake where they had found King Leopold with a pocket full of reed-whistles seemed like no coincidence at all. Besides, she didn’t believe in coincidence.

Her universe had order.

The healer and his junior healers were desperately seeking something wrong that they could fix, but they were interrupted from this futile effort by Estelle again.

“Captain.” The captain turned away from the failing King and Queen. Estelle was striding importantly towards him, bursting with new evidence. Sensing this, he came to her instantly.

“My lady?”

“Let the healers take care of them. I need you and your guard, all of them, to follow me.”

It was one or two words from the most treasonous thing that could be said, for the hypothetical next-in-line to command the head of military. “The assassin is being looked for,” he shook his head. “I cannot leave--”

Estelle refreshed her look of urgency and silenced him with it. “There is no assassin.”

She could hardly blame him for not noticing; it was the guards’ duty to search the land and her duty to search the skies. Even then, without the aid of her powerful telescope, the most expensive object in the whole of the Gliphen aside from the palace itself, nothing seemed amiss. The star of wisdom and the star of power remained there, seeming as potent as ever to the untrained eye. But she could see the hole.

Soon, the royal response team was crashing the closed gates of the lower city, waking some from their drugged sleep, many of the guards with swords drawn despite Estelle’s reassurance that they would find no murderer. She began running, her fury unchecked. The thought of being able to witness an Ancient beast propelled her small feet faster than the heavily armed guard. So many years of hatred towards the so-called King for that happy luck that brought him to an Ancient. The jealousy had festered, and spewed out now as purpose.

Despite orders, Levi had raced ahead of the captain and nearly apace with the astronomer, eyes misted with a red battlelust. His sword was drawn, anticipating a fight for something he believed in. Estelle didn’t care enough to correct him; she knew they would not be able to capture an Ancient beast, let alone kill one.

But if she could just glimpse one…

They passed what used to be the King’s house; Helen and Maro had long since been buried in the mound. They were close to the lake now. Just blast these ferns away, Estelle wished, but there wasn’t time. She half-admired Levi for chopping at offending limbs, but she was not born to swing a sword.

Animals scurried in a panic out from beneath their boots. This was foolish, disturbing the animals. The Ancient would surely be enraged. Not since King Venatici’s legendary hunts had they ventured out in such force. But they couldn’t be stopped now.

With the entire body of water in sight, but no Ancients, no beasts, Estelle was puzzled and began to slow. Levi did not. Blinded, he charged ahead until he hit the water, creating such a splash. He flailed his arms about like a whirlwind, looking for the culprit, but Estelle, more composed, lifted the binoculars around her neck and looked up into the dark spot above.

It was like a hole. Nothing was coming out of it, but the light from the King and Queen’s stars was still being devoured, being sucked in. “So much for balance,” she muttered to her binoculars. This could revolutionize all that the leading astronomers claimed to know. But even that, a famous finding, her name in lights, was secondary to finding an Ancient for Estelle.

She closely examined the lake. It was really more of a pond, measuring maybe two hundred meters across in any dimension, surface now disturbed that Levi had run into it. Estelle had been to this unnamed place twice after the blood of the dead beast was found that year, but finding nothing new, had ceased to return in frustration. But though it had been nearly fifteen years, she didn’t remember it being so small. As though drained. It appeared to have been diminishing rapidly; not the hole of course, but as though some giant from the stars had reached down with a hand and scooped from the water.

The water was remarkably clear, so she could see through to the bottom, and there was not an ancient Beast in sight. She looked up into the darkness again. Puzzled, she began her march around the lake. The captain and the rest of the guard, having finally caught up, followed her, but not until the captain had seized a very wet Levi and dragged him onto dry land again. Levi quickly took a spot behind the astronomer, giving chase. As she left the lakesite and passed it back into the ferns and bright mushrooms of the Forest of the Ancients.

But as she raced into the glowing forest, Estelle felt them leaving the black hole behind. Perhaps it really was in the lake somehow. Perplexed, she spun around and continued off to the right, creating a wide arc into the forest around the drying lake. But only when she returned to the water was she right underneath the anomaly, which meant the creature could only be in the lake.

“I don’t understand,” she gasped, having never had that much exercise in her bookish life. “It should be here.”

Levi caught up to her again and eventually so did the captain and the guard. Their collective heaving made it sound as though a great animal was breathing throughout the whole clearing. But there was no animal. And that concerned Estelle more than ever.

She did not look at the captain. “Tell the men to drain the lake.” She was peering straight up through her binoculars, not at the lake at all. The captain considered her ridiculous request, and considered protesting too, but then considered it could be a good character-building exercise. He turned to his worn platoon.

“Take helmets, shields, anything you can and empty the lake. The King and Queen’s lives may very well depend on it.”

They did not complain when they saw Levi jumped in the lake again and start heaving water out with his shield. They knew it must be important. So they followed suit.

In the end, no one had moved more water than Levi had. But despite the muscle, despite the hours of quiet work, despite the now empty pit in the clearing, the source of the black hole could not be seen. They had killed every fish, uprooted every stem of algae, but only the dirty once-lake remained. The soldiers were defeated. They were accustomed to thankless work, but not useless work. After all, if they couldn’t use healers to save the King and Queen, why shouldn’t muscle work?

The astronomer admitted (to herself) her own frustration. Nothing living in the lake had caused the black hole to appear, but there it waited, directly overhead. Even an inch to the right or left made the astronomer off center. The lake was the key, she was sure of that.

Estelle thought quickly for all of them and addressed the only guard who didn’t seem to want to give up. “Levi, go with the captain and a few others to guard the King and Queen. Get them to safety. Take them to the State House. Quickly.”

The captain and four other men retreated without complaint, but Levi remained. “I will kill the beast when you find it,” he said, voice uncharacteristically low and cheerless. “I’m not good for anything else. Point me in the right direction, and I will slay it.” He looked up into the darkening sky.

“If I could find it, I would point you,” Estelle mused. After an interim of wordless muttering from the guards behind her, she turned to renew the chase. She was about to give orders to begin digging but Levi grabbed her arm and spun her back around to the lake. She might have punished him for treating her that way, but now she inhaled through her stiff nose, eyes darting from both sides of the lake in horror.

The lake was refilling itself. From the surrounding earth, water seeped back into the many facets of the hole they made. It was patient, revitalizing itself drop by drop, never faster than a stream’s trickle, and quiet like a creature removed from its home was merely returning there. Like a peaceful snake of water. And why should it hurt them? Their stars were small and dull. The star-swallower preyed on healthy, pulsing giants. It cared nothing for the guards.

These were all Estelle’s speculations, of course. But it told the astronomer everything.

Her star’s enchantment made it small but it was only a concealment. She was the sister of a long dead Queen, and her bright and beautiful star was only hidden. If the creature had been a true Ancient like she guessed, it would have struck her down before she arrived, like it had her niece and the King. But it gave her as much notice as a lion gives a rat. Whatever water creature they had been bailing from its hole was just a creature. It was a dumb beast.

A dumb, elusive beast.

The Queen was recovering more easily than her husband but everyone, King included, was more concerned about the little girl she carried. As soon as her star had mended, Leanna surrendered to numerous physical check-ups. The warmth and color crashed onto her face and nearly made her sick again. But the baby’s heartbeat was as normal as could be.

When the priestess returned it was bright day still, the King and Queen’s suns conscious with their human partners, but she needed to examine their stars more closely. The telescope yielded no different or daunting information. Leanna’s star was almost the same size and brightness as it had been before, perhaps a little off its aggressive beat, but Estelle was sure it would proceed. And beyond her star, with her composition book, Estelle could still see the little nebula that was building a star for her child. It seemed the black hole had not affected the Queen much at all and, after inspection, did hurt the King only a little more. It had been a slow feed.

But Leanna was more impatient on her aunt’s report than her husband’s good health.

“Did you destroy it?” the Queen said as soon as her husband said “You didn’t find anything.” He was always better able to read the priestess.

“No.” She looked from face to face. She was answering both of their questions. “The lake was drained and every living thing killed.” And yet, the hole remained.

“Did you scour the forests?” (the Queen) “So it vanished!” (the King in wonderment)

The woman smiled, her spiderweb lips nearly touching her eyes. It was not a kind smile. Her stupid niece was always interrupting the King. She smiled and smiled at the Queen until she understood that unless she shut up, nothing more was going to be said.

“No.” To both again. But she turned to the Queen. “There was no need to scour the forests. The creature was in the lake.” Or perhaps was the lake.

“What in Sin’s name are you blathering-” “Please continue, Estelle,” the King gestured wildly at his wife until she was quiet again, waving his hand in front of her face as though trying to prove he had energy. He hated being ill. Such a beautiful, childish man.

Estelle spoke only to Leopold, completely dismissing her kin. He did not know what to make of the creature, except to come to the same intelligent conclusion that Estelle had.

“It does seem strange that it would attack us and leave you. If it were an Ancient, your spells would have been powerless to deceive it. It would have seen through the enchantment and taken your star as well.”

“Leopold, do you remember the kirin? Maybe you were too young...”

“I do remember. It looked like a this strange dark hole as well. But it didn’t steal the light of other stars, as I recall.”

They both lapsed into quiet, reflecting. They were wise people, sometimes forgetting how to uphold a conversation while lost in memory. The Queen was too irritated. Having understood that they had found nothing and hadn’t destroyed it, she could only take it to mean the attempt on her life had not been justified. She marched from the room, much to King and aunt’s relief, clutching her stomach fiercely. They waited until they were sure she had gone.

“I remember you telling me it wasn’t a real black hole.” Leopold stood. When there was a mystery, he couldn’t be still. He had never matured from this trait. “The telescope showed it was really a concealed bright light, a nebula.”

“A kirin is a life-giving force. But this black star brings only death. It was still black through my telescope--but I didn’t need my instruments to tell me that.” She watched his clumsy feet as he paced. “It almost destroyed both of you.”

“Yes, I feared for my poor child. My poor wife as well, I suppose.” They laughed quietly. Before his royal filter, common-born Leopold had expressed right before the wedding he wished Leanna would die. He had since apologized for saying it, but he never took it back. If Leanna heard, she didn’t care; she already knew. They’d never really guarded it as some close secret. “You don’t think it could have affected the baby, do you?”

“Leanna is fine and so is your child.” Chances were good she wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t a baby expert.

There was never a healthier child born to a King and Queen of this or any country. Doubtless centuries of inbreeding at court made for all kinds of interesting deformities. Most were mental. Insanity even plagued Leanna, even though her mother was a foreigner to the Gliphen. Blood diseases and early infant deaths were all expected, but the Queen had, for a change, married someone so removed from her bloodline they could possibly have been from different planets.

The girl was appropriately boisterous, loud and strong. Despite this, they almost pronounced her dead.

With a shudder, the princess’s young star slid into the world behind her, either bashful or dying. She was transferred to her mother’s breast and her star came along behind her, tied to the girl by the invisible string that unites everyone with their identity. This is the way a commoner comes into the world. Worse still, the star did not brighten. It faded to nearly nothing and didn’t pulse the way it should. The healers insisted the body of the girl was ordinary. Even better than ordinary. So the astronomer checked her telescope, but the star (if you could call it that) belonged to the baby, no doubt. It was not the star of an ill child, but the star of an insignificant one. This was not the star of a princess, it was the star of a farmer’s witless, unmarriageable daughter.

The priestess had promised them a hero. She had predicted it, and had never yet been wrong. After the tragedy the kingdom almost suffered, the princess born from the womb of a woman who escaped death so narrowly should be a force to be revered. But a hero forces their will on the world; it’s how they become heroes. Leanna’s labor had been slow, even painless. Not the birth of a hero. The birth of a beggar.

And to Leanna, it made perfect sense. Leanna was a royal, but Leopold was a commoner. This thing was not worthy of her time, her affection, her love, even if she had any to give.

In her mind, it wasn’t even deserving of a proper name.  Leanna picked the rather ordinary name of Maria, a shortened shape of the name they had decided on when they knew it would be a girl. The King called her Mariana and loved her still, but Leanna was plotting her demise as Maria was passed to her father to hum over, to hold.

Her mother Etienne had been fond of decrees. Like most dictators, she was cunning, but unlike most dictators, she passed as many decrees for herself and her descendants to follow as she did for her subjects. And they were still in effect, whether she was alive or not. And that meant Leanna was stuck with this hideous child because in the past, royal brothers and sisters simply couldn’t help finding horrible ways to kill each other. All to sit in an uncomfortable, wooden chair, the younger Leopold had pointed out.

But cries from Leanna and their tutor that it was a throne didn’t sway him.

A throne is still a chair, he said. If you’re clever, you can rule the world from the comfort of home and constellation.

He was certainly not the kind of person who would kill anyone over a throne. But it didn’t matter, for the decree would apply even to his descendants.

The decree was, in much verbiage, that the King and Queen of their fair, starlit country could have just one living heir. Leanna and Leopold could have as many bastard affairs as they liked, so long as the new baby girl was the only offspring of both the King and the Queen. This also meant that the King and Queen could no longer share a room, to the dismay of neither party.

But Leanna had already broken this decree.

Her first son, the son conceived one month after their wedding, had looked too much like Leopold and not enough like her, so she quickly had him sent away, far into the country, one of the villages without their gates. She bribed the midwives into saying he had died, pretended to dismiss them for letting it happen, and sent them away from the country, banished into exile all the richer; away from her and her lies.

She couldn’t just devise the same plan this time. Only the royal midwives were present for the birth traditionally, as had been the case with her son, but there had been so much worry in the palace that the black hole had affected her daughter, the King insisted on being present.

Everyone knew the baby was in good health. No one but Leanna seemed to care too much about the limpness of her star. Everyone but the Queen was perfectly content.

That night, as Leanna’s star shrank and dimmed by the astronomer’s enchantment, she looked expectantly into the sky. She searched for a huge, glittering gem and found only a prick of light, like a needle had accidentally poked through the cloth sky by a lousy seamstress. Her daughter had robbed her of a competent heir.

No. If Leanna wanted another child, this one would have to actually die.

Etienne hadn’t been crazy before the pregnancy. No, princess Leanna was well looked forward to. The pregnant Queen would rave to anyone who could hear how strong her Leanna would be, how courageous, how smart. Her husband couldn’t care less; he wanted a beautiful daughter, one that could be easily married off at the youngest possible age. He didn’t like children and he certainly didn’t want to catch another word about how wonderful Leanna would be, and so the Queen would always turn to her sister.

“Stella,” she would laugh, “Stella, my husband only wants a beautiful girl. He never did like a woman smarter than himself.” He would be moody the rest of the day and the sisters knew Etienne was right.

Estelle would have given a limb to hear her sister call her Stella after Leanna’s birth. But the sickness had already taken hold. Physically, she seemed just fine, as did the baby, but Etienne didn’t call her Stella anymore. She didn’t call the baby Anna, like she joked she would. The madness crept into her parenting, word by word, so Leanna never stood a chance. What seemed a normal, healthy child was soon made to be angry and hateful because her mother told her so. And her mother was the only one around to tell her so.

Leanna’s star was even bigger than her mother’s and she was a fierce sort of comely. But her father could not marry her away. The Queen took each suitor and turned him inside out with tests. She only cared if they could match her daughter in wits. But no one was as insanely clever as Leanna. How could they be, when Etienne had coached her in cruelty and quickness, poisons and archery, philosophy and science, day and night? Their very stars became intertwined. Mother and daughter stars began to circle one another. Estelle, having never seen the like, called them Binarius.

Leanna was nothing but a quick-witted murderer. Her mother proved the same when she defeated her husband in a battle by taking half his force, then killed him in a duel by taking half his castle. He fought her for the throne she had taken over from him. Surprising none, he lost.

But when Etienne died, and her star burst into a bright nothing, Leanna’s star dimmed. She had hated her mother so, the constant lessons, the lack of affection, the sharp criticism. So she lost her edge and became stupid. Estelle felt a pity for her niece. Leanna’s youth had been stolen. But Leanna seemed glad her mother was gone. As had been signed into contract when they found him, she married Leopold, who was compassionate and smart enough for the both of them. And even though Estelle could sense that the King had more of an interest in the palace guards than his wife, they were content enough. Calmer, anyway.

But since the black hole, Estelle felt the rise in Leanna. The stirring that had wasted her mother. So she knew when Leanna came to her asking for a spell what she intended to do. After all, it was one of the first times the Queen could be seen with her daughter in her arms. Everyone knew Leanna loathed her daughter. Why was she walking into her study now, smiling so kindly at the baby?

“Your Brilliance, how may I assist you?”

“Is she not adorable?” Leanna asked, “Is she not sweet? Look at my child, so happy.” Indeed, since she never got this affection from her mother, Maria was gurgling, smiling. For a child of two months, she was very alert. Her brown eyes were brighter than her star.

Estelle nodded, all the more suspicious. And she felt no qualm in saying so. Unlike Leanna, the Gliphen’s astronomer could not be replaced, as she had no apprentices. “You’ve made quite a switch..”

“Oh, I was wrong to shame her just because her star is so small. How can she help it? It was the blackness, of course, not my Maria.” She raised her dark finger and Maria wrapped her hand around it. “So small,” Leanna repeated lovingly, but her aunt saw the twitch of something like disgust in her cheek when the baby touched her. “My precious thing.”

“How may I assist the two of you today?” Estelle half expected Leanna would just ask for a knife so she could sacrifice the child then and there on her study floor.

“Why else would we come to you? We need one of your invocations.” She made it sound like Estelle was going to bless them, but it was more fitting to expect a curse. Estelle knew what Leanna meant.

The invocation of concealing a large star was long and complicated and Leanna was no priestess, so Estelle was the only one who could perform it. It only hurt for a day or so, but Leanna had had it performed many times before, so she was prepared for the strain.

She told her Estelle that she was going to visit her son Alcor and didn’t want to attract attention (and large, vibrant stars like the Queen’s were sure to attract attention). Estelle had been away during most of her niece’s pregnancy and the boy’s birth, but she, like the midwives, knew of his existence. She had been told by Leanna herself that Alcor had been the son of a man other than Leopold, which was her reason she pretended he had died. To spare her husband’s feelings of course.

And so, “I want him to at least know his dear sister’s face,” Leanna sighed. It wasn’t convincing.

“Perhaps you should take a few guards with you.” Estelle looked over at her from the side, not turning her face. She wanted Leanna to know that she understood the lies. But Leanna was playing with the baby. “In case of danger.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to attract any attention.” The Queen muttered the phrase over and over, mostly to Maria. And why would she want to attract attention? She was about to kill a princess.

“Of course.” There was no arguing with Leanna, especially not in this dangerous mood.

But when the Queen stole out with the child wrapped in her arms, Estelle had her followed by one loyal soldier. Levi. She didn’t care much for Leanna’s safety, but Leopold was the only one who enjoyed Estelle’s teachings and she didn’t want him moping for losing his daughter. And all the same, Estelle had lied about the duration of the spell. After an hour or two, Leanna’s star would light up the sky as usual. Let her try to lose the guard then.

Leanna was just giving back what the black hole took from her. She didn’t think that the creature had anything to do with the sad star tethered to her daughter, she knew it. But, being insane, Leanna knew a lot of things that weren’t true. She knew that the curse Estelle had cast would outlive her need for it. She knew nobody had seen her go and that no one was following. She passed through the night-woken village, looking up at the thickness in the sky to find this lake she’d heard so little about.

Well, not alone. Maria slept against her body in a sort of sling the Queen had fashioned from a sheet. The very sheet the King’s servant was looking for in Leopold’s new room separate from his wife. Perhaps in her tiny baby mind, Maria was happy that she finally found the love and attention of the woman who bore her. How could she ever imagine death? How could she imagine murder? She was dreaming, rocked by the slow steps Leanna took.

“Where is that damned lagoon?”

The path had veered into a miserable forest and that stopped her. She didn’t notice, but her star was beginning to strain on its curse. It should have made her sick, but she was preoccupied. Should she go into the forest alone? She wasn’t used to being anywhere alone. She was the Queen. She was hardly ever completely isolated. But she felt alone for once. Maria did not take up any space in her mind. Maria was no one at all. And if she had been less than no one, taking up no space on a future throne, Leanna wouldn’t even have bothered with her murder. But the Queen would have a proper daughter succeed her.

But even though Leanna was alone, no one felt sorry for her. Oh no. It was all about the baby now. The baby she wanted nothing to do with. But it was strange; the more she was around Maria, the more she was liked. Normally servants and guards feared to do anything but go about their business, cowering when near her. But if ever Leanna was forced to feed the baby she hated, they’d grow bold. “Isn’t that darling?” one maid had said, then was silenced by Leanna’s disgusted look. “How is the princess, Your Brilliance?” a guard asked her once in passing.

She pushed through the palace-tall mushrooms and rain-damp ferns, startling the baby into waking. Little Maria had never seen the Forests of the Ancients, with mosses that glowed brightly, with fungi that hummed with silent song.

Leanna curled her lip from her teeth, hating the infant’s innocent awe. Even when Leanna had been this small, no one ever treated her so kindly. No one ever looked at Leanna as a little princess and called her sweet. And that had been her mother’s fault. She transformed her into Leanna the monster and had taken her father away from her. And in that way, she masked what she was about to do as a kindness. She reasoned she could never be a good mother to Maria because she never had a good role model. Leanna already hated Maria, and that was when she had been too young to do anything yet that merited hate.

When she reached the lake clearing, she saw what the astronomer and the guards were unable to see. The flick of a wet tail, the flash of green scales, the illusion submerged and spread apart, not noticing her. It had vanished, scales dissolving, its image departing beneath the ripple of the placid water. Leanna was hardly able to believe she’d seen anything at all. But she was insane, after all. If there was something in the lake, Leanna hoped that it was hungry.

She lifted her arms and her sleeves fell, hands and child illuminated by a very weak moon. Maria cried and squirmed as best as a body two months grown could. Maybe she knew what her mother was about to do. Maybe she knew her mother didn’t love her after all, and was no shield, no protector. Levi fell out from his hiding place and yelled to stop it happening, but it had already happened. Leanna flung the baby away from her in an impressive throw. Maria was airborne fast, and her pathetic star was jerked along behind her, into the blackness of the sky.

The splash was almost nonexistent. The lake seemed merely to absorb her, as though it were half-solid. Levi untangled himself from the bewildered Queen and ran from her into the arms of the reeds, intending to swim out and rescue the helpless Maria. But he hit his head on the way into the empty hole, because the lake suddenly heaved and was empty. In its place, at the bottom of a dirty pit was a baby and a beast.

Levi and Leanna were amazed that the baby had not been harmed. They hadn’t seen it happen, but the water had carried her easily, almost gently when it receded into the beast. Before the existence of this particular animal, there had been a lake. But after devouring almost every drop of water and storing it inside its body, the beast had become the lake, hence the astronomer’s unusual discovery. Anyone or anything who entered the lake could’ve been its prey. But Maria made it hurt, like eating something raw and rotten. The beast spit her right back out and heaved. The water swirled into it, forcing it to become real again. And now, snorting and rearing, the beast went mad.

Maria’s pinprick of a star was absorbed by the black hole, and both star and blackness vanished.

Levi drew his sword faster than he ever had. The sight of a huge beast bucking and roaring near the little princess made him go into defense. But the animal seemed to have no interest in harming the screaming bundle of sheets. In fact, the louder Maria screamed, the more crazed it seemed to become. It was as if the sound of a baby crying was its one and only bane and it was being driven to insanity. Levi didn’t know what to do about it. He feared approaching it with a weapon would give it a reason to become violent and would strike out and hurt Maria. He feared not approaching it with a weapon could leave him defenseless and thereby useless to Maria. For half a moment he stood there, swaying on his indecision that held both his and a child’s life in his responsibility.

The decision was made for him. The star-dampening curse that Leanna had asked Estelle for utterly died. With such a large star, it wouldn’t break down in stages, but just fail. The black sky erupted light, causing the baby to let its head fall in the damp earth, for a moment too surprised to cry. That temporary break in the noise gave the beast its composure back. Shaking its great head, it backed away from Maria, trembling. Then with incredible speed, it leapt easily twice Levi’s height to the lake shore and whirled upon Leanna. With this action, the baby’s star seemed to reappear, along with the black hole. He had ripped away from Maria’s hold.

The Queen didn’t have time to know what happened. She was dead with a quick strike of the beast’s fearsome teeth. Levi stepped back, his mouth a tight, horrified line. He didn’t try to save the Queen. He only watched as Leanna fell, bleeding where the animal struck her in the middle, a look of dead surprise making her seem human and not monstrous for her last minute.

Leanna’s star did not fade nor explode like stars normally do when their counterpart dies. It simply vanished into the darkness above the beast. In one quick bite, the black hole had swallowed Leanna’s sun. It was dark again. The monster did not touch the body afterward. Clearly, the Queen’s star was all that it desired. But Levi could see overhead that another sun approached. The King was coming.

Stepping beside Maria, Levi’s eyes did not leave the creature, neither did his sword leave his hand. He scooped the baby up in his free arm and that sudden motion stirred her again. She cried, as a baby can only do, and the beast rebelled. It fell over in shock, creating a small tremor in the earth and its forest. It would have knocked over a less careful man. But Levi held onto his firm stance and watched, sword ready, for a fresh attack. The animal only roared and pawed at its ears, rolling in the reeds beside Leanna’s still body and Levi subconsciously rocked his arm a little. The calming effect soothed the princess and her cries lessened.

The beast stood now that she was still again, eyeing Levi curiously, almost appearing to wonder what importance he had to be a part of this night. When Maria let out the occasional whimper, it would flinch and its eyes would escape to Maria instead.

It didn’t even look when two cautious figures made their way around Levi and towards it. Others came before the King, it seemed. Levi saw them as they faced the animal on either side and approached it, making silent signals to each other. He assumed, by their tired clothing that they were hunters. Since he had Maria in one arm, he could only hold his two-handed sword with one, so he hardly felt like he’d be able to defend them if the creature struck. He just waited, sizing up the odd pair to gauge what their chances were of winning.

One he could well expect to be a hunter. His arms were thick and his body experienced. Levi could tell by his awe that he had never seen such an animal before, but it didn’t matter. He still knew what had to be done. The other was short and quick. His eyes were never still. He was drinking in the scene; the empty lake, the dead woman, the royal guard, his weapon, the baby, the beast, his companion, their surroundings, the coming sun, and the sounds of armored men drawing near. He knew he didn’t have time.

He lifted his hand to call off the ambush, retreating a little as he did so. Luckily, his stalwart companion noticed.

Levi was too strained to make anything of this. He should have arrested them; they obviously knew something about the Queen’s murderer, but he knew nothing but the monster. He couldn’t possibly know why its eyes were trained on a sleepy child. He looked up. The King’s star was coming closer. Levi didn’t want him here. The beast would swallow the sun and the King would die. But he knew there was no way to keep Leopold from his daughter.

The animal came towards them and Levi saw it true for the first time. It was almost as tall as he was and on all fours. Its paws were half the size of the shield he’d cast away trying to stop the Queen drowning Maria. It looked like a wild dog, only huge and hairless. Then, not entirely hairless. The tail that whipped curiously behind it had a tuft of shining fur at the tip and in a line across its back. It was entirely green and shining. Patches of scales interrupted the smooth skin of its front, and despite its fearsome teeth, it really looked more like a deer than a dog, thin and docile, with a long nose. And huge black holes for eyes, a prick of light in them lent to it by the sun of the King.

It did not want to kill the princess. Its mouth was open slightly in wonder as it approached, either unafraid or unaware of the sword Levi pointed its way.

As it closed in, only the hunters noticed Maria’s tiny light eclipse the huge black hole entirely, vanishing them both. Then the King and several guards burst through the trees. Levi sucked in all the air he could at their noise, sure it would awaken the hypnotized monster and it would make quick work of them all. But nothing happened.

Leopold took the scene in at a moment, intelligent like the smaller hunter, and threw his hands out to halt his guards. Two of them circled around the hunters and dragged them forward to arrest. It was all done rather silent, and they did not resist. But other than that, there was only the princess and the beast.

The beast was within touching distance of Leopold’s daughter when it stopped and swayed. It was close enough it could stretch out its neck and touch its wet nose to the baby’s forehead. A firm glaze held over his eyes, he took one more step, about to do just that. Levi heard a whispered argument, then the smaller hunter, with permission from the King, stepped towards them.

He slipped a shining band over the monster’s head and pulled it away.

[seekthestarsrp-blog]

it’s time to wake up, THAAL SINESTRO, you’ve been in cryosleep for too long and the people of GREEN LANTERN miss you. when you went into slumber you were FIFTY years old, your pronouns are HE/THEY, and you WERE VOLUNTEERED for the expanse program. now that you’ve awoken, your position as SECURITY is waiting for you. remember, the expanse thanks you! 

THE BASICS;

NAME: Thaal Sinestro

ALIAS(ES): Sinestro

AGE: 50

BIRTHDAY & ZODIAC: Oct 12th

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: He/They

FACECLAIM: Mark Strong (as Sinestro)

PERSONALITY: Let’s start by saying Sinestro is not an evil man. He doesn’t do things because he feels some satisfaction in being the bad guy. Rather, Sinestro is an extremely driven and self-righteous alien, following  his  own  vision  of  what  will create  peace  and order in the universe. (Admittedly, more order than peace.) He honestly and fully believes that his actions, though seen as evil by most, will eventually be realized as what they truly are- the best methods of protecting the universe. But he is not a stupid man, either. He understands why so many oppose him, and that his actions are seen as murderous and dark in the eyes of most civilizations. However, he doesn’t let that get in his way. It is his idea of sacrifice that he should be punished for doing what will ultimately save not only his own home planet, but every planet in the universe. Sinestro is a very charismatic character, with the ability to draw people towards him. His leadership qualities enable him to take charge of situations without hesitation, even when most would prefer he not get involved. Perhaps that is due, in part, to his very arrogant way of thinking- that he is the only one suited to lead regardless of the circumstance. Still, though he is indeed hard to work with, he will still show up to help if he feels a situation calls him to. Sometimes, an evil comes along that does not coincide with his ideals of ruling through fear.  Sinestro is a cold, formal alien with a militaristic ruling style. He doesn’t like weak people and he doesn’t like cowardly people. Similarly, he is impressed by those who have the ability to instill great fear- even those who seek to oppose him, like Batman, for example.The red-skinned alien has a sharp tongue and a habit of mocking people, though only because he finds them completely annoying and wants to make them look bad. Nothing wrong with that, right? His sense of humor can surprise those who only see him as an evil-doer, as he spends so much time with a straight back and his hands crossed over his chest that it might seem impossible that he even knows the meaning of the word ‘joke’. He has within him the ability to show compassion, love, and hope, yet he refuses these parts of himself. Being an intelligent, yet wildly unstable Korugaran, it always seems as though his mind is churning out the most diabolical of strategies. Within seconds of observing a situation, he seems to have a plan. Another important leadership quality, perhaps- an impressive ability to plan ahead, even when facing a situation without any prior knowledge. Recent events have turned his whole world upside down. He no longer understands himself the way he once did, and he wonders constantly what mistakes he made through the course of his life. He struggles to find mental footing.

A DEEPER LOOK;

BACKGROUND: Sinestro was an archaeologist who was given a Green Lantern ring when a dying lantern crashed on his planet. He grew to become one of the best Green Lanterns in the corps, until Hal Jordan discovered how he was creating peace through controlling his and many other worlds with an iron fist. He tattled on Sinestro and Sinestro was banished for his crimes. Enraged, he vowed revenge against Jordan and created the Sinestro Corps- lanterns who used the power of fear instead of will.  The sinestro corps and green lanterns were great enemies but also worked alongside one another more than once for the sake of the universe. Sinestro himself was briefly made a Green Lantern again, though soon returns to his own team. He did both good and bad, never truly falling into either category. Eventually, he managed to save the universe from the threat of the Paling, emotionless beings who sought to remove all feeling from life. but it came at a great cost and he was left weakened and near death, wounded in a way that could not be healed, his life force draining from him.  

KEY RELATIONSHIPS:  -- Hal Jordan (Friend and bitter enemy) -- Soranik Natu (Daughter) -- Atrocitus (Hated enemy)  -- Black Adam (Friend) -- Lyssa Drak (Minion, bed buddy) -- Arin Sur (Wife, deceased) -- Arsona (Love interest, deceased) -- Abin Sur (Mentor, best friend, deceased)

WEAPONS: https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Yellow_Power_Ring (for more info) Sinestro Corps Power Ring: Sinestro has a yellow power ring, and all the normal perks that come along with a ring of power. Basic functions include a message system to other lanterns and communication devices, the ability to record messages and things around them like a camera, a universal translator to understand and be understood in any language and a database on every recorded planet in the universe the ring comes from. It will also indicate its power levels, warn about imminent threats, and scan areas for different criteria at the will of the user. It grants him many fighting abilities too, including enhanced strength, the ability to fly and pass though glass like light, space capabilities (regulating body temp, keeping it protected from the elements, providing oxygen and allowing it to travel at high speeds), minor healing, barriers both of body and the mind, and the power to create constructs in various shapes from his thoughts.  Constructs are extremely powerful hard light creations and extremely difficult (but not impossible) to break, though they do depend on the will and stability of the ring bearer. Constructs can replicate materials and even things like fire and water and can feel like you’re touching/experiencing the real deal. The only real limit to what someone can create is the mind. Constructs are generally transparent and the color of the user’s ring. For example, Sinestro’s ring is yellow, so any constructs he makes will also be yellow! It is impossible to make a construct another color. Constructs have a finite lifespan and will dissipate eventually. Sometimes with time, Sinestro deciding to get rid of it, or if it’s broken. Yellow rings also have the ability to make people around him feel fear, as well as experience their worst fears as vivid hallucinations. Sinestro has a somewhat unique ability to restore previously destroyed things with his ring, and has used his ring to temporarily bring back the dead by reigniting synapses in the brain. This only lasts as long as the ring is in contact with the body- yellow rings cannot bring back the dead full time. It can, however, restore objects like buildings and bridges. Sinestro's power with the fear ring is second to none, being the original creator of the fear rings and the Sinestro Corps leader. With his deep connection to both fear and Parallax, he has attained an understanding of lantern rings that few could claim to match. He is the only known being to use the full power of Parallax without being controlled by it. Of course, the ring has its own weaknesses too and is not infallible, and doesn't work when his mind his addled by drugs, fatigue or too much pain.  He can also run out of ring energy without charging it regularly, which would leave him vulnerable. All rings come with a lantern to charge them, and no ring is without its limits. Without power, there’s nothing a ring user can really do until they recharge. Naturally, the more they use in a battle, the sooner they need to recharge. Given the massive amounts of power Sinestro puts up when using the entity, his ring often needs a recharge.  There are ways to drain a yellow ring of energy faster, like having a handy Blue Lantern around or an energy-draining item of some nature. Cutting his finger off it a pretty good method, too. If he’s disconnected from the ring in some way, be it magic, force or something else entirely, he will not be able to access its power. Likewise, if the entity is pulled from him, he will not be able to access that power, either. And sometimes the entity resists him, denying him a power boost. There’s also a Power battery he keeps in a pocket dimension to charge the ring with. It looks like a yellow lantern. 

POWERS/ABILITIES/SKILLS: In general, he is an extremely intelligent being, having been capable of creating his own power rings and corps after studying a ring given to him by a weaponer quite some time ago. He is excellent with machinery as well as biochemistry and extremely good at thinking on his feet. Being a war leader, he is also a very good, albeit somewhat under-handed tactician. His intelligence is not something he takes for granted, either, always thinking ahead or using his abilities to better understand his enemy or whatever situation he has been thrown into. He has the ability to know fears without them being spoken.

GREATEST STRENGTH: His endless will power and mastery over fear

GREATEST WEAKNESS/FLAW: Lack of compassion and empathy. 

OUTFIT THEY WOKE UP IN: His Sinestro Corps uniform

FAVORITE FOOD: None.

ONE FEAR: Failure.

ONE HOPE: He does not believe in hope- he believes in making what he wants happen. 

ONE HEADCANON: He enjoys human bakeries though he won’t admit pastries are his favorite food. 

THE QUESTIONNAIRE;

How does your character feel about being dropped into the expanse program? Are they excited? Suspicious? Confused? Though confused at first, Sinestro now found himself more intrigued than anything else. Having just come from a devastating battle and needing time to recover, he really does consider this a bit of a vacation. He’s never been one to feel fear over the unknown, and a part of him would like to see where this takes him. Perhaps it would offer him something new, since he had more or less fulfilled his role back in his own universe and no longer knew what to do with himself. 

What does your character hope to see the most during the expanse 009’s journey? He has no great hopes of discovering anything- Sinestro is simply there to observe. 

If your character could bring one thing from home, what would it be? Sinestro lost his home planet to an evil being, so it wouldn’t really matter to him what he got from his home world. Any small reminder of the place he lost would be something he would grow to cherish. But there is nothing left. 

[storiesof2018]

Untaming Winter

Another night. Another mission.

Bucky stood alone in his ramshackle room; a shapeless entity bathed in darkness, gazing out the window. The days and nights blurred together with the cloudy overcast that spelled a cold winter over the streets of Zurich. The lights of the city painted a brilliant picture of life and tranquility from the view of a dimmed apartment. Luxury cars traveled up and down the streets, citizens frolicked about in expensive warm clothes as snow fell over them. It was a radiant sight, more vibrant than the icy-wastelands of Siberia. Not even Moscow could compare to the grandeur that spread throughout this city. Of course, he wouldn't know for certain how life compared. If people were happier when it was cold or dour in the summer. Civil life was an alien term he didn't know, nor would he ever. Purpose had been given while those who were lost perished on the cold streets without guidance. He was the sword and fist of Hydra. Always hidden, always waiting for the moment told to strike.

But was there a time where he was something-someone else? The thought, confusing as it might've sounded, bore a sense of conflict from within. It would fester and ensnare him with doubt and insecurity, driving him into a downward spiral of inefficiency. That was until the chemicals in his brain reacted to a sense of protocal-routine. The programming resumed control and banished the thoughts that would haunt him until he fell asleep. He was no man to be given an ordinary, mundane life. He was a machine. A beast. Both hideous to gaze upon and fearsome to hear of. He didn't belong out there, in the night, on the streets with the rest of humanity as they reveled in their happiness...and love.

Love. He released a grumbling noise, too bestial to sound human. Love was a weakness that could be exploited and used. Emotions couldn't rule him. He was an asset. A valuable one. If he ceased to be of value, he would simply cease to be. He was unaware of how low his head had drooped, his steel-blue gaze trailing over the dusty floorboards and the pale moonlight that bathed a set of furry paws for feet. He shied away and brought his limbs back into the shadows where his hideous visage couldn't be visible. Not even to the object of his suffering that gazed at him from the night-stand. The mirror was a blessing and a curse. It helped him to forget. A blank-slate against the confusing that thoughts and memories that clouded him.

The whine that escaped him was pitiful as he sank onto the mattress, angling his tail to adjust his comfort. The numerous volumes of books and novels on the bed were his only solitude-his only escape from the depressions of duty and isolation. A link to a life he never had and wonders he would never experience. The mirror called to him on the night-stand. His clawed digits twitched almost reflexively. A frustrated growl escaped him as he fought. Fought for what? Remembering wouldn't bring him peace. Only the feel of purpose would. The swish and stab of a knife into the jugular, a bullet from a sniper's nest to the forehead of an assigned target. They filled him with life, both harrowing and vibrant. The programmed emotions of a cold assassin that couldn't grasp the emotional empathy of humans.

The thudding of footsteps outside the room encroached and he knew the time had come.

A prevalent dread became the shadowy ambiance of the long corridor; faint sconces of casting moonlight winterily reflected off obsidian granite visages of Kracken skulls with bulging extensions of monstrous tentacles that were demonically molded into the looming columns stationed on each corner of the vacant stairway, the chimeric elements were nightmarishly infused with Gothic visages that captured each tragic wake of interminable -unbidden isolation that merged with neurotic volumes. It was damning-unnatural. The brackish reek of spoiled blood and virile muskiness was disgustingly rank as she collectively enforced a tactful measure of defensive caution in her sauntering paces against the tunnel-like darkness, brazenly nearing a locked door.

For an impeded moment, she felt a predatory aura menacingly radiating in the shadows like a caged phantom. This wasn't a cheap run of utilizing her thieving caliber; she needed to deliver an ingenious masquerade of brazen deception to stealthily breach the inside the viper's traitorous nest; the mephitic reign of HYDRA was a dystonic-rancid extension of infectious carnage.

Tragically after being staked down like a caged-stray kitten, she was damned to exist in a barred reality of being a virtuosic instrument of thievish infiltration after the charitable hand of Alexander Pierce ushered her away from the slum-heap of blighted Gotham when she was anguishedly robbed of child innocence by the murderous penetration of a kill-shot that fractured her world when the spawning enforcers of Carmine Falcone's dynastic ranks delivered a hailstorm reckoning-the high price of conditioned freedom was always measured in blood.

Now, she balanced on the electrified fringe of that adaptable reality, using practical tactics of her virtuosic flair to steal encrypted—arcane files for Siberian Bravata crime syndicates. It was the lucrative industry of death and she was inevitably marked in the operative crosshairs because of a trade-off deal forged by the monarchic-nidorous bloodline of her true father: she was a caged inheritrix—kitten of HYDRA's infectious ranks. Downtown Zurich was a blackout spot for the avant-garde arms- a profitable extension of the Black Market that harbored crackable assets.

With the voluminous lush of her crimson lips quirking impishly, she grasped onto the brass doorknob, slowly turning with a free hand until her elegant chignon mahogany tresses were burnished with a slivery contrasts of moonlight that lanced eerily through the dragging length of a curtained window. She gripped onto a tray's edges with lithe ease, balancing a bowl of ripe fleshed plums and loaf of bakeshop style raisin bread. Not the preferred choice of an evening snack, but she needed to make the assuage of her smokescreen charade genuinely valid of her infiltration stint."H-Hello," she testily played out in a melodic stutter, and involuntarily, kept herself a breadth away from the heap of discarded torn clothing that smellily reeked with feverish-masculine sweat and drenched hog fur. "I-I thought you might be a little hungry..."

The sudden appearance of a strange woman set Bucky on edge and it took every bit of restraint in his body to ignore his impulse to lunge and attack. It didn't suppress the bestial snarl that managed past his lips as he glared at her from the shadows of his bedroom.

"Who the hell are you?! Who let you in here?" His voice was as deep and robust as an angry engine waiting to drive him on a vicious streak. His senses were engulfed by the scent of lavender, the smell so potent it set fire to his blood. Through the hazy cloud of aggression, he managed to catch a sharp-view of the intruder.

She was pale in the dim light entering through the doorway. The shadows accentuated her elf-like features that were mesmerizing to behold. She stood a good average height, lithe but shapely to be considered athletic. She was gorgeous, but still an unknown. Her posture, however, was straight but lax enough to be considered non-threatening. He glared at her distrustfully, trying to ignore how much his pulse was racing.

On the brandished edge of her frisson awareness, the masculine depth of his guttural timbre warningly knifed through her veins; in knee-jerk reaction of stalled balletic traction, she clumsily backed against the door like an alarmed kitten. An imploding rush of adrenaline stole her rampant pulse as hulking, bestial shadow imposingly strayed away from the window. The adrenalized gravity felt convulsive-unhinged when a telltale lash of dagger-claws blindingly carved into the floorboards.

Her dark irises blankly stared down, catching a metallic robotic glint of his left arm in the growly wake of a snarling cadence that felt unremittingly dangerous. A controlled shift of animalistic power clashed against her heartbeat. With a cool reserve, she didn't grasp onto the knob that nudged into her palm, as she instinctively braced for the headlong assault. "Look I'm new here..." she gnawed on the swell of her underlip, evicting a riptide of vulnerability. "I don't want any trouble..."

"You picked the wrong place to not find it," he was quick to argue. Though he felt a measure of distrust and hostility towards the stranger who found her way into his room, he knew she had to be telling the truth. The security in this building was enough to guard a monarch and no one would let this woman close to him unless they had sent her. Why though? To amuse him? To torment him with the no-escaping fact he would be a hideous creature in the face of others? He kept himself hidden ot the shadows at the back of the bedroom. "I would've expected Rumlow to come in, lobby me with insults before throwing my food to the floor." He grunted, deflecting his insecurity with a bitter truth as he watched the young maid set his food on a serving table. He didn't approach, waiting instead for her to brush him off and leave as if he were unimportant.

Against the electrifying tension, challengingly she gave him a nonchalant shrug conveying subtle derision against the fruition of his vexatious demands. She wouldn't cater to him like a damn servant; banishing the devious impulse to careen the tray at him, and with a half-spin, she indignantly clutched a glossed plum without a flex of hesitation steering her lithe hand away. A coy smirk daringly rapt over the lavish swell of her full-bow lips as she tantalizingly dug her teeth into the juicy flesh, sampling a distracting bite that unnervingly evoked him to grunt out ferally. "Are you expecting me to spoon feed you like the other suckers here..." she rebuffed back snarkily, taking another teasing bite. "Unless you already have a bucket on the floor..."

"I don't need this, lady. Whatever your name is." He found himself yelling defensively. He cringed at the gruff and indecipherable grovel of his voice that ended with a piggish snort. There was a sickening familiarity to this encounter and he soon began to wonder if this dame was Rumlow's friend or relative. She hadn't thrown the food at the floor yet, so he had that much to feel positive about. It didn't mean he felt comfortable with her so close to him.

"I'm not a pig. Whatever you've heard, I don't appreciate being treated like one." He continued. Ever since the harrowing day he had been turned into this freakish form, he kept his sanity only by following a sense of routine. Bathing, cleanliness; he kept his dignity in-tact despite his handler's efforts to break him down into an angry primitive mess. It was a part of himself he created a wall around and kept restrained. Each day was adding another brick to it as it threatened to break free.

Infuriated by his contemptuous showcasing of unbridled emotions, she didn't breach the extension of unwelcomed proximity, she harbored no measures of empathy towards his caged isolation-one of the Russian stiffs on the estate lower levels had unquestionably slammed the door in his face. Maybe he deserved a grip of punishment? Vehemently, her coffee irises flashed an incredulous glint against the contrasts of vacant shadows, away from the hunching mass of his concealed form, driving all unwaveringly collective intent onto a beckoning shimmer of glass.

In the brazen evades of feline prowess, she fluidly advanced towards a tarnished-ochre dresser that was stacked with a collection of threadbare books-salvaged remnants of fractured-damnable humanity that were gathered for an outlet within the vacant borders of abandoned elegance. The display of broken pieces of furniture stylized a despotic refuge against the unwelcoming frigidly that was stemming in the chasmic vacuum. She wouldn't be compromised by unprecedented- chimerical distraction.

Nearing the dresser, incredulously she nearly bumped her curvaceous hip into a wooden stool as she fostered onto a utilized semblance control in her grounded poise, becoming unwaveringly transfixed on a Victorian-era hand-mirror, beautifully adorned with intricate sigils of silver roses and weaving vines-an easy spoil to pawn off. "Do you mind if I use this, after all, a girl around here needs to look her best..." she purred smokily, ghosting her lithe fingers over the reflective glass.

"Don't you touch that!" Bucky had only ever felt apprehension whenever he stood in the face of his employer, and each time he picked up that accursed object. With inhuman speed, he had bolted off the bed and crossed the room in a millisecond and seized the young woman's wrist just before she could pick up the hand-mirror.

His massive bestial hand stopped her in her tracks, his furry clawed digits folded around her delicate wrist completely. He realized too late what he had done when she gaze up at him with wide-eyed bewilderment as the light from the hallway spilled over him through the open door. His shame, his hideous curse laid bare before her untrained eyes that hadn't fathomed a man-beast standing tall in front of her until he grunted. "Hands off. You can't look into that…" His tone began as angry turned somber. "You just can't."

Under his intimating shadow of predatory menace, she tried to sleekly pivot on her Parda heels when the seizing clutch of his massively furred hand bruisingly pulsated invincible strength in urgent contrast; she felt an errant glide of his taut claws kneading ardently delicate pearlescence of her bruised wrist as he fiercely wrenched her rigid arm back with a vicious angle of rampant strain against the reluctant ease of his clawed grip. Something had tactilely altered as she registered a deft variance in a tracery of his possessive ministrations-almost conscious grapple of dueling restraint that made them alarmingly become berthed to an ephemeral sense -a breached -addictive vitality that wouldn't be caged.

As the stark gleam of wintery luminescence caressed him, unflinchingly she gazed at the globbing heaviness chubbily sheathed in dark roguish fur, the sagging layers of pudge that repulsively formed over graven-hard edges of his cheekbones merged with the jutted length of his porcine snout; unkempt bladed tresses of his wolfish mane shaggily grazing over canine tusks that poked out the jutting swell of his puckered bottom lip. Draconic aggression ferally thrummed in his veins as his fur-sheathed jowelly cheeks expanded pudgily with a throated resonance of seething grunts. He was an oversized, unrepentant hog-nothing more than a mutative hostage of gluttonous-unwarrantable appetite. In those stark contrasts, the voltaic intensity of his grayish-aquamarine irises glacially silvered alight with telltale echoes of crescendoing raw turbulence-pain.

Snorting heavily in grated despondence, the beast machine staggered back, abashedly lifting his garbed arm to shield his deformed-monstrous features as he sulkily feigned a grimace. He stilled in a deadened reaction of warring measures of his menace-honed paces and desperately clutched the mirror's engraved handle against his muscled thigh like a reachable lifeline. He was inevitably chastened to a sorcerous reality that arrested his cursive-hoggish reflection, allowing soul-deep compliance to irrevocably usher him further into undeterred hopelessness of barricaded solace.

"Is this the reason why you're staying in here?" she murmured imploringly, akin to a variant of cool smoke against the feverous rush while manic gravity raptly felt like a trip-hammer under her stiletto heels The penetrative arousal between them was dangerously ignitable with rivalrous fusion. He caught a snarling breath that hoggishly fringed into a guttural oink; warringly he was fighting unadulterated impulses channeling through his veins-a needful hunger that restoked when his slitted aqueous depths fierily clashed with tigerish decadence of her brandy irises; evoking a detonative command of infused-visceral restraint automatically drove him away in a mechanized accord of phantom caution. "I'm guessing the mask doesn't come off, huh?" she teased huskily, a deviant smirk frisked her pillowy-glossed crimson lips. "Not that it would be like an exception of what's underneath, handsome..."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You brought the food. Now leave." Bucky sneered, unable to shake his hostile anxiety. The longer this woman stayed here and continued to toy with him, the more he felt like he would lose control and do something reckless. Not only that, but the fact that she showed very little fear or disgust made him confused. A feeling he hated, too many uncertainties involved and questions asked. Rather than appear offended or frightened by his rudeness she pinned him with a firm look that made him blink with surprise. "Leave. Its not safe to be around me." he grunted. "Nikto ne. (No one is…)" He said to himself. Anyone he was remotely close to became a liability to him. Mikhail, his old instructor. Natalia... He should not feel remorse, but it festered inside like a poison seeking his ruin.

Quirking her eyebrow up, coolly, Selina registered the hitching despair gratingly fringing in his murmurous timbre, evident to clenching sync of his threadbare leather-sheathed bionic fist crushingly promised hammer-driving force, with the brazen precision of her boots, she deviously edged to his guarded proximity, the crimson sheen of her voluminous lips distractingly beckoned sleekier- her visceral tactic of distraction, wickedly igniting rivalrous tenor of implosive seduction that clashed between them like a depth charge, as she whispered breathily. "Let's make one thing clear, handsome, I only leave when I want too..."

The sound of her alluring voice sent a chill up Bucky's spine in a manner he hadn't felt before. Unconsciously his muscles tensed and the thick hair on his skin rose up on end while heat flushed into his cheeks. Blinking repeatedly, the Hydra assassin steeled himself as he latched onto what remained of his cold resolve and took a step towards the defiant woman. He towered over her at least two inches, so their eyes were leveled and she gazed into deep blue depths without an ounce of fear or hesitation. Nothing. Even Rumlow would have shrunk back at the sight of a hideous man-beast standing up to him. "Who are you?" Mesmerized for a moment by her eyes as he searched for any hint of motive or deception. He forced himself not to stare too long at her wide lips and to ignore how her lavender scent made his blood rush with heat. "Why did they send you to me?"

Scowlingly the demanding gravelliness of his razored-pitch timbre resonated throatily into a breathless, rubbery grunt; as he raptly scrunched up the sagging pudginess of his jutted snout, angling his gloved hand in a slashing-mechanized blur with teeming painstaking urgency as dynamical tension blindingly ricocheted in the errant wake of careening awareness, in balletic accord, she lithely deflected the poised rigidity of his bionic hand against the temperate strain of his warring restraint, she felt the naked resonance of his unhinged ferocity. "Look-" she gritted raspily, with a kittenish play of convincing pout over the delectable lushness of her full-bow lips, sulkily. "I have to play nice with you, which isn't really my style, but your friend out there has something I need to steal back..." She bit out pointedly, and with a subtle flit of her mascara-curved lashes, fixedly steered her coffee irises back at the door. "Sounds like fun, huh?" she deadpanned, ruefully.

If Bucky wasn't confused before, he was absolutely puzzled now. The question of what she was after lingered at the front of his thoughts along with what Rumlow had to do with her. The biting edge of aggression loomed ahead of him but the cursed assassin shrank back into the shadows and stole a glance at the doorway. "Rumlow isn't my friend." He all but growled out with a heavy voice, the floor nearly trembled at its pitch. "Look I don't know what game you're playing. But it is dangerous, and so is your persistence, Ms…" He suddenly realized he didn't know her name. It wasn't a habit he'd made with her predecessors who were more than eager to just dump his food and get the heck out of sight before the "monster" would unleash his savage fury. Rumlow was his handler and they both took orders from the same man. He had to know their names.

But something about this woman puzzled him. "Who are you?"

The slitting flash of his voltaic aquamarine irises scythed viciously under grungy brunette tresses unkemptly shadowing the jutted length of his porcine snout, as the beast-machine shifted on his pawed feet intimidatingly with a resonance of banking urgency echoing his combative stance; in naked resistance his clawed hand arced in defensive precision to a measured extent of visceral mercy. Stifling under a drag breath, with tactile-nonchalant ease, unflinchingly in a reckless variant of feline graces, effortlessly she breached his hulking shadow without feminine compromise. Sardonically, her dark irises gleamed devious alight with a riotous play of burnable challenge-never wavering back. "Let's just say I'm a girl who only gives her name if you got something to trade..." she purred coyly, arching the litheness of her tone shoulder on brazen accord, readily evident to a quirking smirk."You got something for me, handsome..."

So that's how it was going to be. Bucky would have felt irritated were it someone else that believed to be toying with him. Though this woman appeared to be hiding something about herself, he didn't sense any fear or hostility coming from her. The former confused him as much as the fact that he couldn't get a read on her. "I have no name," he said bitingly. His thick mass constricted as he stood tall. "YA soldat (I am soldier). Tot, kto prinosit kholod zimy. (The one who brings winter's chill)." It wasn't a boast, it was a mantra that he uttered each time he was deployed to destroy Hydra's enemies. It helped him to focus, to abolish all traces of thought and emotion as he hunted and killed. Now it was a desperate reminder of his value each time he felt the tug of magic threatening to unravel and transform him.

He had become the monster people feared...except for her. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" He asked.

The gravelly huskiness of his Siberian cadence became arrestingly hypnotic against the bestial fringe that rawly caromed through his bulkier mass as he reined a step back, consciously gripping onto the wooden vanity's edge with the robotic flex of his metallic palm that hinged restraint; grunting raggedly as if he starved for her feminine touch.

Angling the jowelly pudginess that bushily fused over the graven-edge contours of his hoggish-virile features, blurringly with mechanized sync of destructive succession, the Winter Soldier thrust his hand with a surge of possessive momentum, his palm bracketed the sleek curvaceous flesh of her Dior-velvet garbed hip with bone-neutralizing intent to rabidly ground her into elemental-disarming submission; reacting to his phantom assault, cunningly Selina arced her stiletto heel to level quick-penetration with the corded muscle of his fur-sheathed calf, daring him to engage in a steeled undertone, trenchantly. "I'm not really wired to let fear leash me back..."

The spike of pain lancing through his leg barely registered as he was overcome by a dreaded sense of unease crawling through his stomach. "Get away!" He grunted as he fell against the night-stand/dresser. A number of objects fell to the ground causing the noise to ring through his ears as if tons of glass had shattered. Bucky crashed to his knees in front of the startled Selina who watched him with a confused look. Memories surged through him of cold blue eyes, thick blonde hair and a vicious smile as that familiar pain settled in that he experienced only a month ago at the gala in Rialto. His gaze shot upwards and he looked towards the secret room beyond his, covered by a drawn curtain. He couldn't see it, but he sensed the object embodying his curse begin continue to melt.

It was slow, torturous like a knife being dragged across a limb. A drop landed on a ceramic surface and Bucky felt agony twist in his stomach. He felt hungry-more than that, he felt his skin prickle with goosebumps as his fur thickened. "Kogda vasha sila ischeznet, znayte, chto znachit byt' uyazvimym i slabym. Naslazhdaysya svoyey prozhorlivost'yu, borov. (When your strength is gone, know what its like to be vulnerable and weak. Revel in your base gluttony, hog)."

"Borov...borov (Hog...hog)..." He chanted, blue eyes wild and hungry until they fell on his plate she brought in. Without thinking, he threw himself towards it and began to stuff his face wildly.

Against the rampant onslaught of his gluttonous stupor that effusive bloatedly into swelled layers of protruding flab, impassively, Selina dark irises narrowed down his clawed hand brandishing a half-eaten plum as he sloppily chewed while grunting in breathless pants that piggishly conveyed his abandoned indulgence-he was chastened punishingly to fattening dregs of unslaked hunger-a catatonic fringe ushered by sorcerous devices of apparitional divergence.

Under the frayed material of his black hooded sweater, the hard-banded resiliency of tauter muscles bulkily strained as the Soldier tactlessly crouched against the dresser, noncommittally emitting throaty, stuffed oinks as his tusked-mouth hung agape, disgustingly evident to his flexing snout; he was drifting into orgasmic thralls of mounting appetite rigged to inevitably plumped him into a snobbish, greedy blubber-ball. Scrunching her delicate nose with a derisive pinch against the unnerving miasma of discarded plums Selina vexatiously refused to cater to the caged beast-machine's insatiable needs-he was freakishly condemned to exist as HYDRA's plum-ravaging hog. "Hey, some table manners would be nice don't you think..." she quipped, tersely. "...but I can obviously see you don't have any..."

The taste of meat and vegetables was heavy on his tongue and Bucky felt his taste-buds flare insatiably, demanding more. But once the plate was cleaned off, his face was a mess of smeared food and he could see nothing off his polished plate except his own hideous reflection. "Monster…" He grunted, feeling his focus slowly return as dread and humiliation consumed him. With a strangled cry he throws the plate at the wall, watching and listening as it shattered to pieces . His wild eyes were hidden behind greasy dark tresses, his breathing was deep like an exhausted bull. But the reality of what was happening wasn't lost on him. He had lost control-again. And worst off, this woman-cunning, brave and beautiful, had been here to witness it. "Please leave…" He uttered, sinking back against the side of the bed. Outside could be heard a small commotion and approaching footsteps.

The distinct potency of a bergamot Italian cologne vulgarly enwreathed her senses, in a whipcord rush of defensive traction on her spiked Parda heels, with her pillowy-full lips curving into a fleering smirk, maddeningly Selina registered the sharklike prowess from HYDRA's brutish sentinel enforcer; his scourging bloodthirst for stacking up bullet-riddled corpses under his malignant shadow was quenchless-demonic-he killed for sadistic amusement of collecting-brutalized trophies. 'Great this guy again...'

At any second moment, Brock Rumlow would explosively storm inside the room to deliver his predatory seize over her; keeping herself casually in a guarded stance, the decadent brandy of her collective irises heatedly strayed back to the door, the brass knob painstakingly turned when a pair of combat boots unwelcomingly encroached with taunting pace, as she caught a glimpse of devilish ruggedness of his hard-edge, stubbled features shadowily limned in the whitish sconces of moonlight. His smug demeanor felt damn tyrannous as he intruded. Tamping down a low seethe, Selina kept her distance as he bullishly stomped closer, evoking the disheveled hog-beast to fumingly snort off a warning. "A girl needs her space, Rumlow..." she played out flirtily.

"You picked the wrong place to look for space, kitty," Rumlow snarked with a biting tone. His cold dark eyes flicked from the object of his obsession over other to the object of his neverending dark-amusement. "There's nothing here but pig pen. Speaking of, you done entertaining the freak? Or is he starting to get frisky." He sneered, taking in the sight of the broken plate on the floor. From his side, the Hydra enforcer brandished a taser from his belt. The veins on his strong arms pulsed with the sadistic urge to inflict pain on Hydra's damaged asset who had wordlessly watched their exchange from the shadows with fearless eyes. "You make a move on her, Piggy, and you're gonna beg to go back into the fridge..." Bucky said nothing but glared, silently daring the Crossbones to make his move.

Dementedly fuelled by a lascivious thirst for the exquisite-honed suppleness of her delicate throat, Selina wouldn't let the jackal-tooth enforcer back her into a corner like a defenseless kitten; the virile fragrancy of his musk grew suffocatingly as she choked down a breath, the broad hawkish cut of his tanned features were callously set to devour her. With a sirenic variant of intimate allure, sexily, the voluminous curve of her delectable-crimson lips fervidly beckoned plushier as she braced the svelte planes of her garbed back fluidly arcing like cool silk against the dresser to effectively distract him, while her dark gaze thievishly narrowed at the taser-stun baton fastened on his side-holster belt. "I wouldn't worry about my interest in the fat sucker over there, Brock..." she purred, sultrily, giving him a practiced charade of a jaunty smirk. "Besides I don't think he's worth it to get close too..."

Her words stung more than Bucky would've cared to admit. That was until he realized just how fixated she was on the taster-the stun baton-that Rumlow was holding at his side. As world-traveled assassin, he had come across many different targets and scenarios that he had become familiar with deceptive tactics meant to disarm an opponent. One look at her and he could already tell she was highly experienced. Rumlow's eyes were dark with desire as he eyed her provocative pose and elf-like beauty with a lecherous smirk. Bucky couldn't help the sting of jealousy in his bones as he watched her smile at Rumlow and beckon him to her.

"You couldn't be more right, babe." Rumlow said as he stood in front of her, gazing at her lips with hunger as he unknowingly began to drop his guard. "You got everything you need right here…" His hand began to move its way up her thigh towards her waist. Bucky's fists clenched at his sides while his teeth grinded together.

The viperous glide of his possessive, calloused fingers shiveringly arrested her pulse, as he blatantly traced over the curved fineness of her satin-garbed waist in rapturous cadence as she felt the abrasive heat of his bristled jaw stingily rasping over her shadowed cheek, demandingly, his smug-poised lips roughly dragged revulsive pressure over the full-bow lushness that he slithery urged to brand with a riotous kiss, grippingly locking her lissome form into his suffocating embrace to violate her into his ardent thrall of wolfish supremacy.

Angling her throat back on feverish accord, she whispered kittenishly against his stubbled jaw, as the velvet sleekness of her Dior fringed thigh eased to align with the bulge of his evident groin with deceptive tenor. "Sorry handsome..." Blindingly with bone-slamming momentum, Selina propelled a knee-strike viciously into his rigid crouch without the retraction of a sidestepped kick before Rumlow could twistingly wrench her foot back."I think a hunky pig is an exception here..."

"You b***," Rumlow snarled with a strangled groan as doubled-over and fell to the floor, nursing his injured crotch through clenched teeth. "You're gonna pay for that. You think being a daddy's girl makes you safe around here, think agai-" Rumlow suddenly erupted into garbled spasms and she hit him with the stun-baton. She withdrew the moment he fell unconscious. Bucky looked down at him and couldn't help but softly chuckle at the sight of his tormentor having been played and brought down several pegs.

His eyes followed the woman who looked up at him winked, finger pressed to her lips in a "shushing" manner. It was an act so mischievous yet enthralling, he couldn't control the spike of heat in his veins. 'Just who is this woman?' He wondered. He would make it his personal mission to uncover her name. If she was going to be around more often, he felt things just may get more exciting around here.

{December 22nd, 2013}

A gusty snowfall had blanketed the Gothic-macabre environs of the downtown Rialto, spires from historic cathedrals pierced over the darkened sky, amber sconces from the lamposts mounted on arched bridge were hauntingly captured in the ice-sheathed canal, the veristical ambiance of the Christmas spirit was festively infused in the deep burgundy ribbons that flitted over fir wreaths that adorned over the dock barriers were the gondola boats had been fastened for the winter season; the flavorous scents of vanilla hot chocolate and invitingly lured congestive throngs of vacationists within quint bistro shops. An ominous, mechanical silhouette of an Mi-26 helicopter-a military transport halo deafeningly loomed above the picturesque snow-dusted streets, a vivid decal of the red Soviet star was distinctly evident at the armored rear as twined rotor blades cuttingly whirled to alter a drop-down behind the ivory-marble Doge's Palace's gates.

Inside the descending chopper's bulked interior strapped protectively underneath a belted harness, flanked by two Kevlar-vested sentry guards, causally the dynamo veteran of the World Council and Defense Intelligence -a deal maker-Alexander Goodwin Pierce relishingly sipped on bourbon as he prepared to attend a Venetian Christmas gala held by Baron Wolfgang Strucker. After derailment of obtaining Stark Technology and PYM tech; a new parasitic extension of HYDRA instrumentation of surveillance was being conceived by governmental engineers, a traitorous network of operative personal had infected the SHIELD ranks, director Nick Fury was an expandable target-obstacle if the high-rolling grounds of loyalty were measured by rigged dice.

"I want the same effective protocol to destabilize engaged," he whispered in a commanding pitch, the hard etched lines of his tense-jawed, aging features belied temperate valance of deceit, as he leveled his grayish irises narrowingly at a carbon-steel Makarov 9mm pistol fastened on a Kevlar thigh hostler, while a metallic robotic sheen of leather-sheathed fingers menacingly clutched a palming grip over tailored black Armani tensely with rigid sync. Being in the hinged-lethal proximity of Siberia's ghost- operative- a beast machine incarnate was for the synthetic preservation of a mantle of dominance within HYDRA's viper nests.

The phantasmal Winter Soldier was spaded ace to grant him the upper-hand of the deck. Unforgivingly reactivated from cryo-freeze by the command of executing-combative severance; murderously radiating the destructive cadence of an amplified bloodthirst; he was a surgically enhanced instrument wired to volumes of deadened compliance-nothing crossed him without choking on a sniper bullet. "Mix into the crowd and no distractions, unless it's a well-shaken martini..." Pierce quipped with his wrinkled lips poised into a humorous smirk, cavalierly, gazing at shadows fringing deathlily over the lasered intensity of the Soldier's glacial aquamarine irises, a knifing rawness of murderous heat piercingly became soul-paralyzing against contrasts of scenic darkness. "You won't lift a hand until I have the order, ponyal(got it)...? "

"Understood." The word was spoken in monotone-direct, robotic, unquestioned. The obedience of an instrument being utilized by its wielder. Said instrument stood staring blankly into space with a neutral look. Youthful unblemished skin was set in stone but the depths of steel blue eyes were distant, revealing a trapped soul within. The Soldier patiently waited and listened as the chopper pilot began to level and descend to the landing pad outside of the palace. A small entourage of agents awaited on the ground level with a number of lavishly dressed civilians he identified as the hosts. His tactical mind never wandered too far with questions or thoughts about what the purpose of this event was for. He was dispatched to guard the former SHIELD director and neutralize anyone that presented a threat to him.

The Soldier only knew what he was told. Each time he was released from stasis, he awoke to find himself in the custody of a new handler and in a new era. The date, location and name of his target. That was all he was told. Each time he awoke, he remembered little about what he had done the last time he was awake. The year was now 2013. The world had not changed much since he had last been dispatched in the year 2008. It had been a grueling summer in Odessa where he hunted his target. Now it was going to be a dull party affair in the middle of winter. Were his talents truly needed on a night such as this?

The Soldier readied himself as the chopper landed and the doors opened.

My nikogda ne lomayemsya (We never break)...

The symphonic mantra of Siberian requiem that had echoed hauntingly in the vacuous -sterile-dormitories of the Red Room Academy estate's ranks ushered an imploding clash of dredged up knifing heartache against the amnesiac frigidness that shunted through his veins; being surgically conditioned, resurrected from the hellish womb that weaponized him into hybrid sleeper-agent, he was detachedly cleaved from the world; there was no relevance of humanity-soul-deep defiance as the cacophonic static that pulsating electrical surges agonizingly deafened out volumes of waring resistance. He was anesthetized to remain grounded on the catatonic fringe of mechanical eternity-the infectious tentacles of HYDRA couldn't be severed off. It was a damn mutative reality of existing in soul-razing oblivion.

As the flavorous scents of ginger-spice and chocolatey mint arrestingly wafted from the dessert table, clutching onto a crystal stem of a flavored glass rosé-that wouldn't touch his lips, the Soldier released out a tense breath, grimacingly staving down a reactive-triggered shiver for the umpteenth time against insistent feminine echoes wantonly demanding his fevered attention. Feigning a stance of nonchalant poise, with the subtle menace of his virile grace, he grudgingly braced for the anticipated barrage of Valentino-clad herpes to carnally swarm towards his marked proximity, their vulturous-banking intent to greedily tenderize him was accelerating. 'Ne otvlekay, soldat (No distractions, soldier)...' he gritted in Russian-timbre, murmurously. "Ne otvlekay..."

In the virile contrasts of his suave demeanor, he was heart-devastatingly handsome; the roguish length of his dark-chestnut tresses wolfishly curtained over the broad sculpt of his Armani-clad shoulders, hunkily intensifying the graven ruggedness that cuttingly melded with the hawkish, broad planes of his stubbled, knife-edged features had electrifyingly-he was like a disguised Romanian prince incarnate. The corded-taut ridges of his bulkier enhanced muscle were stylishly delineated under tailored-cut dark navy blue Armani suit with a white shirt fringing the opened collar that revealed a layer of bullet-proof Kevlar: he was definitely a target of undeterred-covetous interest.

It was damn-near impossible to utilize the glitzy elements with stealth tack of his sniper prowess, unquestionably he needed to make a dodge out of the desirous minefield that was forced into by Pierce's invidious command- to curb down a rampageous impulse to covertly evade the barricaded dance floor as the electronica-philharmonic assonance of Carol of the Bells cacophonously amplified in orchestral volumes while unbeknownst to periphery of his sniper-vision, the carious aura of mordant thirst clamorously rooted within a vengeful paralytic of demented conjury; as a statuesque ash-blonde was viperously observing him with hazel-raven irises behind a marble column, the deadened intensity of her unblinking gaze wouldn't detract from the cool porcelain of her hawkishly exquisite-cut features that sinisterly belied maniacal—phantom echoes of deceptive-honed compliance—the venomous charade of a Widow.

He had never felt so exposed before-so vulnerable. His sole purpose was to infiltrate and terminate the enemies of Hydra and the Motherland-to sow fear in the hearts of those who interfered with history. His place was in the field, waiting in the shadows with a rifle in his hands and a knife at his belt; not inside of a party with a champagne glass in his hand while dressed in a ridiculous tuxedo that lacked protection.

The Soldier sighed as he held the glass as if it were an accessory rather than a refreshment. The number of people inside the ballroom numbered beyond count, hundreds if he was correct. From corrupt politicians to wealthy businessmen, the room was filled with so many potential targets to his handler that it was almost impossible to remain inconspicuous without wearing a scrutinizing look. Mr. Pierce stood close-by, engaged in a conversation with a U.S. senator and Baron Strucker. They paid him no attention and the Soldier feels unease by the number of women who are watching him-no-they were ogling him as if he were a piece of meat to them.

The unsettled feeling in his stomach made him suddenly conscious of other sensations he hadn't quite experienced in awhile. Curiosity, hunger...longing. Three impulses suddenly assaulted him the moment his nose took a whiff of mouth-watering delicacies that was being wheeled on a serving cart by the waitstaff.

Served from ledge to ledge were an assortment of richly prepared desserts from strawberry panna cottas, donut bombolone, to chocolate confectionery. They were colorful and intricate, as if they had been baked to be admired as works of art before being delicately consumed by hungry mouths. The scent of the sugary flavors caused the Soldier's mouth to water and his stomach to growl demandingly. His suddenly focused mind was being challenged by a baser instinct he hadn't felt since his days in the Red Room. He had preached with brutal fashion to the young girls how crucial it was to avoid temptation-to deny themselves indulgences that could lead to their distraction and the failure of their missions.

Many of them had failed and their harsh punishments rattled in his mind for decades due to their weakness. A weakness he was now feeling too keenly and too suddenly. The Soldier had to force himself to look away from the numerous platters of sweets and focus on his mission. Pierce was laughing like an arrogant fool before a clearly angered Senator who didn't like whatever it was he was being told. Baron Strucker was clearly bored and wanted to be somewhere else. The Soldier could sympathize with him.

But as the orchestra began to play another score and the party guests continued to indulge themselves without a hint of fatigue, the Soldier felt he would be stuck here awhile. His anxiety had unknowingly begun to increase the longer he continued to stand still and sulk over his situation. His hunger grew with it.

"Fokus, Soldat. (Focus, soldier)." He told himself, clenching his gloved cybernetic fist and feeling the tightness of his sleeve groan above the plates of his arm. The room spun around while he remained at the center, watching the colors dance until they blurred together, making him feel nauseous...and hungry. "Fokus… (Focus)..." The deafening noise of the party became static, but in the background could be heard an echo that was slowly overpowering the noise. A woman's words that haunted him.

Against tolerable cadence of leashed restraint, the curvaceous denizen had thievingly heralded a morphic purge of dredged up calamity while feigning practiced-voguish decorum as she evaded the tuxedo-clad spawn of HYDRA dynasts-ethnarchs that were autocratic merchants of plaguing-underground warfare to reign within the penetrative extensions of shadow. At the center of the overlong banquet table sitting at Pierce's loyal side, Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker-the Braverian lieutenant of HYDRA was discussing an inventive alliance with European Trade ambassadors-emissaries while the hard- chiseled planes of his regal Germanic features stridently composed a passive demeanor evident to the ceremonious raise of his whiskey glass as his assembled- pugnacious comrades mirrored the ritualistic gesture in serpentine unison.

The decorative arrays of Italian pastries were unimaginative, in the control motion of his sentry-like poise impassively a breadth near a positioned dessert trolley, the Soldier had betrayingly reined his mounting incentive conducted by visceral—onrushing hunger that exponentially compromised his tactical resolve as the aromatized whipped cream-vanilla Panna cotta decked with extrinsic strawberries hypnotically beckoned for his leather-gloved hand to involuntarily flex over the serving plate in a breakneck succession of full-measure recklessness.

Clenching the broad, stubbled heaviness of his knife-edge jaw raptly with an errant flex of brandished-virile aggression that smolderingly banked into scrything heat of his grayish aqueous irises; evident to a pinching flit of stark tension furrowing his eyebrows; the Soldier vertiginously became immobilized into a stuporous—captive vigil at the intrusive moment he confusingly registered a vindictive, feminine cadence of sirenic Russian that maniacally deign him into a crescendoing wake gluttonous—hoggish inducement. "Serdtsa iz granita trudno slomat' (Hearts made of granite are hard to fracture)..." Damnably those possessive words ghosted an occultic upheaval of chimerical ecstasy in a waspish rasp."Until a knife in the dark pierces through..."

The words pierced through his body like a hot knife, penetrating mind, body and blood with a burning heat of pain that lanced through his stomach. The only thought that ran through his mind was the thought of feasting. The more he ignored the knife-digging ache of hunger, the worst the pain became. Before he realized what he was doing, the Soldier was marching towards the dessert table like a man heading into war. A few not-so-fortunate guests standing in his way were shoved aside as if they were made of plastic, causing a murmuring commotion to come his way. The commotion ignited into gasps of bewilderment as he dug his hands deep into the artistically baked dishes and began to stuff the sugary treats into his mouth.

It was a sight so unexpected that it garnered numerous reactions among the attendants who were equal parts, disgusted, shocked and amused to see such a handsome fierce-looking man treat his mouth like a garbage disposal for sugary food. The Soldier's mind was in a state of chaotic bliss as his taste-buds flared with a burst of exotic flavors. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, there were too many and they only served to make his mouth water and his stomach hunger for more. "Ochen' khorosho (So good)..." He rumbled, swiping a bottle of wine and messily drinking it to ease his full mouth.

"What the hell is he doing?" Alexander Pierce said to himself. Only a handful of his personal entourage knew the true identity of his bodyguard for the evening, and like him they were struck dumb with shock at the sight of Hydra's most feared Asset stuffing his face like a fat kid at a pie-eating contest. The looks Baron Strucker and the senator were giving him only furthered his embarrassment as if he were a parent watching his misbehaving child run wild.

"Ty vsegda presledoval krasavitsu na stsene, Dzheyms(You always chased beauty on the stage, James)..." Ravingly in a demented pitch of her euphoric indulgence; she gazed at the roguish gladiator-honed sniper messily plow his bionic fingers draggingly into a custard-filled pastry, strawberry drizzle trekked down the dimpled-cleft of his bristled chin that pudgily sagged; his lengthy dark chestnut tresses draped grungily askew over his temples as he stuffily chewed like a tactless debauched slob, breathlessly emitting a throaty grunt against the aphrodisiac barrage of candied flavors .

Smirking unforgivingly with a deviant quirk as the implosive fusion of parasitic Eldritch conjury veined bone-deep with clangorous thirst; relishing in her divested havoc she unblinkingly watched the Siberian mechanical volk(wolf)'s shapely-wide lips gapingly stretch against contractive pressure of tractable strain as his bottom incisors freakishly jutted out, twining morphically into hog-like tusks. "Now yours will be unreachable..."

As the food bloatedly filled his stomach and his face became encrusted with too much food, the Soldier became dimly aware of both the sound of angry voices and the lurching pain in his stomach that had little to do with hunger. He was dazed and the room was steering slowly back into focus as he gazed at the undeniable mess that covered his hands and face.

"What's happening to me…" He said through a mouth full of chocolate that suddenly tasted acrid on his tongue. Numerous faces stared back at him from the bewildered guests to the angry scowl on the face of his handler, Mr. Pierce. The Soldier ignored them all. His woven instincts screamed at him that something horrid was amiss and what was happening to him was no coincidence. Had he been somehow drugged? Was there a breach in his programming that forced him to do this?

He remembered hearing a woman speaking. Even now her words echoed in his ears like a klaxon siren wailing in the distance. He searched the numerous faces surrounding him until he spotted a peculiar blonde whose expression didn't match the others that were looking at him. She was young, beautiful, Russian, but more importantly-she looked murderously at him as if she knew him. It was an expression he remembered on the faces of several young Widows who struggled to stay alive. "I know you." He said loud enough for her to hear.

The croaky hitching in his murmurous timbre had feverishly ignited a soul-razing purge of vexed mercy, as the knifing intensity of his glacial stare under chocolate-damp tresses painstaking bleared in dazed contrast against stark numbness that rapidly channeled through his veins. Knowing the detonative convergence of her grievous-morphic reckoning was unassailably fostering into an infective reality to sorcerously chasten the hunkiness of his bestial virility into a defective vessel of craven—fattening punishment; she blindingly reached for a polished-off tray to careen quick bone-splintering precision at his knee that she utilized as an evasive distraction-any breach of a stunted moment heralded an effusive pulse of teeming vulnerability in combative succession. Roving her dark gaze rushingly towards the open direction of the red-carpeted stairwell, she finally returned in a terse breath, condemningly."You never did, it was always that disgraceful traitor, Natalia, who stole your damn gaze..."

The impact of the tray colliding with his knee had staggered the Soldier for but a moment but it was long enough to allow the mysterious woman to turn on her heels and vanish into the parting crowd. The Soldier wiped the excess pastries from his lips and was immediately moving after her with burning eyes. That was before Pierce grabbed his arm and forced him to meet his furious gaze.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" The older man demanded while attempting to drag his bodyguard aside. Only to his surprise, the Soldier pulled his arm free.

"I have been targeted," The Soldier explained. And then he was gone, rushing into the throng of guests in pursuit of the woman who had uttered a curse that somehow set him into a gluttonous frenzy while mentioning his tenure in the Red Room. The Soldier pushed his way through the guests, ignoring their exclamations and shouts while he followed the back of the head of a retreating blonde. It wasn't until he was a few feet across the floor that he began to realize that he was having difficulty moving without incurring a shortness of breath.

He held his side with a hand coated with dry-frosting and began inhaling deeply, feeling as if he were an overweight man who only just started walking. What was happening to him? He staggered past a corner until he had exited the banquet hall and could see the blonde woman up ahead down a vast outdoor walkway where pillars lined up. "Stop!" He yelled, using every ounce of strength to charge at her. His mass was groaning against his clothes as he bloatedly stumbled towards the surprised woman until he wrapped his arms around her and latched onto her neck. "Who are you! What have you done to me?!" He demanded with a hoarse voice, feeling suddenly hot beneath his collar as if he were sprouting a second skin beneath his clothes.

Feeling the clenching-mechanized ferocity of his robotic fingers crushingly deliver a throb of unremitting pressure around the delicate litheness of her angling throat with a pulse-arresting squeeze that bruisingly forced her to choke on a dragging gasp of breath as he clunkily lost intimidating traction in a wobbling variance of his footing—it was an eruptive revelation that his answering—rabid tenor of lethal tack was being pathetically deterred with starving urgency of vicious surge as he drove her bodily against a marble pillar with back-breaking momentum.

Gliding her fingers in viperous ministrations that branded over the rigid sculpted bulge under his sleeved arm, feverishly the suppleness of her cheek melded tantalizingly against the graven, knife-edge his stubbled jaw against a heated-addictive rush of possessive-ardent compromise that shockingly fused bruising-hungrier pressure against the decalescent intensity of her deepening kiss.

"I was the orphan you didn't hesitate to pull the trigger on..." she rasped, seethingly against intimate tempo and with an evocative caress of headier graze of phantom chasteness nakedly over the sensuous arch-bow of his shapely lips, thirstily; evoking a suffusive cadence of morphing -incarnate accord. The cool smokiness of his heavy-lidded aquamarine irises blankly floored when she throbbingly recaptured the bloodied swell of his tusked underlip with a nipping drag of her teeth, feeling the bulked solidity of his tauten-corded muscles fleshily swell against mutative-ballooning strain."I won't offer you that equal mercy as you fatten in the crosshairs of my resurrected vengeance, svin'ya (pig)..."

The smoking heat of her biting kiss across his lips caused a dormant memory to spike within his rampaging thoughts. A competitive young swan, blonde as the sun with an ambition to fly too close to it. Driven by obsession and jealousy as she watched a redheaded prodigy excel to greater heights and become his best student. The carnage that followed was unspeakable when knives were drawn and bullets flew. The memory ended and the Soldier stared at the blonde with realization. "Elena…" He grunted as she shoved him back the moment his grip slackened. The onrush of pain that moved through him was stifling, he couldn't comprehend the sight of watching dark patches of fur begin to sprout from the pores of his hand. "Y-You had died…" He grimaced still confused while the young woman gazed down at him with unforgiving eyes.

He was at her mercy now. A former student, turned admirer turned enemy. And now she had returned to claim vengeance. "Why?" He couldn't manage to say more his throat closed with the feeling of his mass expanding. He breathed through his nose, the sound coming off as oinking and animalistic.

"You discarded me in the blood tinted snow because I wasn't beautiful like Ivan's little failure- Natalia..." she gnashed out, viciously in snide pitch; her dark irises glinted fierily alight with unhinged rawness, as the operatic-bestial divergence rampantly grappled him into apparitional thralls of unbearable-conjuring fruition. A clamorous torrent of penetrative white-heat rode incandescently through heavy-bands of tautened flesh bracketing his ridge-cut abdomen, as the Winter Soldier had stingingly pinched his eyelids shut against the fevered onset of bilious tension, gutturally heaving out threaded oinks while sluggishly thrusting the fusing pudginess of his bulbous jaw up in strained aggression.

The knife-honed edges that ruggedly delineated suave hunkiness of his chiseled features saggily dissolve into furred-sheath pudge; his virile beauty was gruelingly protruding into bulbous-globbing layers of hoggish flab. "Soon you will know what it feels like to be worthless-underserved by the grace of a beauty's thieving kiss, and when the midnight hour of rozhdestvo (Christmas) damns your fate, I will say proshchay, zimniy soldat (goodbye, Winter Soldier)..."

The curse she bestowed on him would have a lasting effect for the months that followed. The Soldier couldn't pursue her when she finally turned her back and left him to his miserable fate on the marble floor of the palace exterior. He laid flat on his back, his once prime athletic form had begun to bulge and expand beneath the horrified eyes of any onlookers in the vicinity. He couldn't stand on his feet, he couldn't even drag himself across the floor in the middle of his transformation that robbed both strength and focus. The Soldier watched as Elena Markov continued on down the hall, passing by a refreshment cart that carried a large block of ice. The blonde nonchalantly dragged her fingers across the surface, and Bucky watched as it glowed and turned into an icy swan.

"Prekrasnyy (beautiful)..." he whispered in his thoughts. The sound that escaped his lips was a deep grunt that caused his body to rumble. With his vision blurring into unconsciousness, he watched as several shapes appeared in front of them, one of which was Mr. Pierce who looked down on him with telltale disgust.

"Get him out of here, and get me Rumlow." He demanded. And then the world grew dark.

Harboring onto an indifferent charade without the betraying retraction of feminine hesitance, unnervingly Selina tamped a breathy scoff as she ventured nonchalantly back into the desolate sanctuary of the baroque mansion's west-wing; everything felt sterilized against the decorative ambiance of nocturnal elements within the city's borders. The enwreathing prevalent -raunchy stench that was unquestionably wafted from discarded fruit, rushed funkily under her delicate scrunching nose as she haphazardly evicted the riotous impulse to careen the serving tray undeviatingly at the hoarded collection of untouched books- a degrative extension of a variegated-monotonous reality. 'I guess a fella's gotta read...'

Crossing the granite flooring in an instinctive variant balletic momentum of her sashaying pace, Selina deftly eased down the tray of a gooey mound of oatmeal infused with powdered specks of aromatic cinnamon and unwavering steered her coffee irises at the frosted glass of the arched terrance doors as cool drifts of nightfall flurries against the whiteish sconces of the opalescence moonlight that became forbiddenly captured in a cool-frosted vitreous of intricate svelteness that was finely etched into a swan figurine.

The lucent crystal was mirror-like arresting the elemental shadows into an incandescent amethyst that ethereally contrasted over the black satin of her laced-ribbed Valentino dress that elegantly fringed over the sleek tautness of her thighs."And here I thought you were a brooding shut-in..." she bluntly quipped with a rasp of snark fringing in her melodic undertone, gazing at the hunching -latent mass that was shadowily garbed in a threadbare hooded pullover, as he tautly crouched with taciturn poise unmovingly on a concrete ledge-a accessible refuge of solace that he broodingly utilized. "If you're expecting me to bring this out to you, it's not happening..."

"I'm up here," a voice suddenly yelled out from outside. The gentle breeze wafting into the empty room revealed that the window was left open and someone had snuck out through it. The swaying of the curtains was scenic, as was the sight of a steady snowfall outside of the building. It was clear her new charge didn't plan on sticking close to home-base and had unknowingly given Rumlow and his boys the slip. "Come on up. Its nice out," he called to her again. His voice was surprisingly clearer and more decipherable when he raised the volume. Something about it revealed an accent that sounded more American and not so much-Russian. Curious. From the rooftop of the building, Bucky stood leaning against the ledge as he looked down watching the snowfall paint the roads white with flurries, giving the old city a purity it lacked in its nightly artificial luminance.

He waited and watched, wondering if she would follow him up. It was a gamble he was taking with a woman that was still an unknown to him. Would she tell Rumlow that he had snuck out from his enclosure? Would she simply leave his meal to go cold and ignore his request? Tense seconds passed as he waited.

The coaxing masculine smoothness of his gravelly-timbered drawl was alarmingly-unexpected-like a velvet caress throatily underlying with a coupled snort; keeping himself on the crestfallen fringe against eclipsing shadow as moonlight haloed over the hulking-obese- rotundity of his furred-sheathed muscles, the hog-beast unabashedly eased his clenching robotic hand, making a vain-driven attempt invested in the urgent flex of his hand to involuntarily conceal the pudgy length of his jowelly snout.

Vexatious tension countered as he sulkily downcasted the silvered heat of his grayish-aquamarine depths, feeling his tusked lips grimacingly pull into a rapt -harsher scowl while he tensely strayed from her incredulous gaze. Forcing himself to guardingly slump lower into a passive stance, a derisive grunt tore out of him as she advanced bracingly with innate caution, keeping her curvaceous lithesome form bolstered against the glass door. "I was expecting Rumlow to have a party out here," she bantered, jauntily, watching him despairingly his shift bulgy mass on the ledge. "Not that it would be any fun..."

"Something tells me you have a very unique idea of fun," he said watching her carefully while keeping his face-concealed. He hadn't expected her to follow him up here onto the cold desolate roof when her sole duty was to deliver him his food. The rooftop was being bathed by cascading flurries, but despite the cold temperature, the lack of wind made it bearable. Not that the temperature bothered him in the slightest. Ever since he had begun to sprout patches of fur from his skin, he felt as if he were wearing a blanket he couldn't take off. The biting chill of winter if anything felt like a draft of cool air on a warm summer evening.

But now that she had followed him up, he was for once, at a loss on what to say next. Small talk he didn't think would break the tension that followed as they silently stared and assessed one another with deep stares. "If you're wondering why I'm up here...I don't feel caged. Despite how I might look, I wasn't always this way," he tries to explain, not sure why but felt he needed her to understand that he wasn't a hideous man-beast by nature.

Collectively daring herself to breach another step towards his approachable, disheveled proximity, in offhand grace of her stiletto-heeled boots that gleamed with devious precision against the vestigial contrast dueling between them; fluidly Selina edged a hairbreadth closer the ledge as he predatorily remained in a defensive variance of a sniper-crouch, emitting a throaty snort, he ket his bionic palm unerringly gripped over the cement, his impassive rigidity was hauntingly poised like a granite figurine within the imprisoning glass orb of a snowglobe. As he staved down the onerous urge to relentlessly storm back into his derelict chamber, rubbery pudge of his furred muscles flabbily rippled underneath the frayed material of his hooded sweater. An infinite clash of unbidden-salvaged heartache was riding through his veins in accelerated tenfold against a plaguing scourge of infusive-morphic conjury that unremittingly grappled him into piggish-bestial throes.

Convincing herself to assuage unwarranted restraint, grudgingly brushing a mahogany tress off the alabaster sleekness of her finely delicate cheek, Selina feigned a rapt of measured disgust; the decadent intensity of her brandy irises decisively flashed down at the protruding chubbiness of his girth that was tellingly outstretching over his tactical camouflaged fatigues: definitely a lockdown soldier. "Yeah," she murmured in a breathy purr and dragged her teeth kittenishly over the delectable pillowy lushness of her crimson-sheen underlip, coolly. "I kinda figured there's something more behind the mask..."

Glad to see she understood his implication well enough, Bucky averted his stare from her when he realized she was openly observing his bloated form. His furry, grisly, piggish features that stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't like the condescending looks of disgust he would receive from Rumlow and the men under his charge, but it nevertheless still made him feel small beneath her dark gaze. An edge of hostility threatened to creep up but he swallowed the bite in his tone and grunted in an attempt to clear his throat.

"Let's just say the work I have done has made me many enemies. Some of which do not forgive, nor forget. Months ago one of them returned to exact retribution. I have not been the same since." He revealed. It was a breach in protocol as he knew Mr. Pierce didn't want him speaking to anyone outside of his inner-circle about what had happened at Strucker's estate not too long ago. But as time wore on and he hadn't been returned into stasis, the Soldier began to feel things he had not felt before; anger, defiance, loneliness.

A need for understanding.

She couldn't evade vicarious relevance of artificial normalcy-not when the ground underneath her feet was faltering; she was on the expandable knifepoint of HYDRA's tyrannical reign, an extension of Baron Strucker's calibrated-barbaric arsenal for tactical infiltration within the underground syndicates of united criminality to deceptively resurrect installations of a terror storm-anarchy to purge out verminous traitors. She didn't know the angles of the instrumental game conducted by the demonic bloodthirsty legions of HYDRA.

The high-ball players desired to become Titians of a new-prosaic odyssey-a Prometheus of counterinsurgency to infectiously deliver a hell-storm reckoning that would be superfetated by an orchestrated algorithm rooted within the safeguarded veins of SHEILD. It was a cheaped out tactic by the corruptive sleazeball Alexander Pierce who gambled with the demons; there was no staked guarantee that her depraved highbred father would measure her-thieving virtuosic usefulness at point-blank betrayal; if she was thrown into the inevitable crossfire.

"Look, I don't need a sob backstory about how your chubby ass got sucked into a twisted fairytale," she gritted back trenchantly, warring down irate tension as her coffee irises fixedly stared at the airy gossamer snowflakes frostily powdering a wetted trek of an intrusive chill over the clenching litheness of her hand; she was trying her damndest to steelily compose herself to a fostering charade of practical vehemence."I'm got caged here by Strucker's damn request to keep me close..." she purred, ruefully. "I guess easy charity for a girl is overrated..."

Her biting retort was something he hadn't expected. But then again, he knew that when it came to her, expecting the unexpected would be the sure way to go as she had done nothing but surprise him since their first meeting. The question of who she was still rattled in his mind ever since he watched her take down Rumlow in a moment of feigned seduction. She obvious held experience when it came to deceiving men and had some kind of self-defense training. She wasn't a helpless damsel that Hydra had thrown to wait on their defective asset. She was an asset. One that Baron Strucker apparently had an invested interest in keeping close.

"Who are you that Baron Strucker would feel so inclined to keep watch over?" He asked, once again working up the nerve to find out at least her name. He expected her to scoff and look at him with disgust. Why wouldn't she? He was a hideous abomination that no woman could ever feel trust nor affection towards.

The scathing resonance of his graveled-timbre bristlingly ghosted a tactive rush of feverous-dumbfounded curiosity; the sniper-beast angeled the droopy heaviness of his porcine snout on the defensive—scrunching accord over the rubbery-hog flab that beefily flexed under his torn garb. A morbific cadency raided through him against deep-seated valiance that wasn't exorcized by high-voltage frequency of static. A pinching scowl had rackingly edged over the deformed arch of his shapely lips as clashingly he drove the razoring intensity of his frosted aquamarine irises, galvanic echoes of soul-lancing menace counterpoised as the vixenish quirk of deft coyness smirkily played on the exquisite hot-lush decadence of her burgundy full-bow lips- intensely luscious, beguiling as her snarky undertone foxily became a threaded pitch, brusquely."Let's just say I'm what Strucker wanted to steal back, handsome..."

He was left in deep thought by her cryptic response that had become a constant in the short span of time he'd known her. She was an enigma wrapped in a riddle he couldn't begin to decipher. In a way, it added a flair of excitement to the normally downtrodden lifeless soldier who had been nothing but miserable for the past few months. Then again, he wasn't sure how long it had been since he last communicated with someone in such a casual fashion such as this. It was refreshing if not a little strange. But Bucky surprisingly didn't feel uncomfortable around her, nor that he was being made fun of despite her calling him "handsome". The term brought a weird feeling to his face and it would only be later that he realized he was in fact smiling.

The silence lingered for a moment as he felt spellbound by her beauty while she leaned against armrest on the ledge and stared out over the city. Flurries danced on the wind before landing on her curly brown locks that framed an angelic face. But what captivated him most was the look in her chocolate brown eyes as they gazed listlessly over the scenery before they moved back at him. Deciding to play along with her game of words, he stifled a grunt in his throat and says. "When Rumlow returned weeks ago, he mentioned a place called Gotham City. Where you with him?"

Becoming aware of the questioning tenor of his underlying pitch that grittily breached her in rapid-fire like an earshot; stiltedly a defensive pulse thrummed in her veins, her dark coffee irises burningly flashed lightning-quick at the gusty drifts of snow frigidly dampening her tousled mahogany whorls that unkemptly half-draped over her shoulder.

After the League of Shadows plaguing reign was demolished by the measured sacrifice of crusading salvation that was ultimately geared by a defining choice of unstinted hope; she had turned her back on that forsaken industrial utopia-the sired birth grounds of maniacal-slaughterous insanity where unhinged denizens raveningly swung off the dented rails as anarchic blood-storms became a demonical pandemonium of unsated thirst.

By using the algorithmic-Clean Slate- program that Wayne Enterprises R&R department had conceived, Selina had voluntarily amputated herself from the slummy extensions, but Strucker had inexorably ignited a stick of dynamite under her feet, obstructing her cash-in freedom with the seditious-parasitical tentacles of HYDRA. Dragging out a tensing breath, as she mirrored the blazed rawness of the hog-beast's sweltry grayish- aquamarine depths, fiercely Selina responded against a hissing seethe and tilted her jaw with a clench of jacked-up indifference. "I'm not a girl who needs a hand to cross the street with..." she added in a flintier undertone, snappily. "I know how to run alone..."

"Until they brought you here," he finished knowingly. He didn't shirk from the biting glare she sent at him from having correctly deduced her situation. There were times he wondered how it was he had come to Hydra himself. His memories only went as far back as the last time he was reconditioned, but the longer he remained outside of cryofreeze, the more he began to experience flashes of his earlier years before the Red Room. But he could not recall how he came to Hydra, whether it was willingly or not. He was also the Soldier that would answer the call to arms, always the knife in the shadows and the sniper from the distance. He was always alone, but never free. Was she the same?

"Time has a way of leading us towards unexpected changes." He mused, shifting his weight on a thin clump of snow. His furry digits began to idly trace circles in the whine blankets on the ledge. "I was the most feared asset Hydra wielded to keep history on their side. Now…" he shrugged dismally, unaware he had drawn a star into the snow and an "A" beneath it. "Now I'm Hydra's shame to be kept hidden until they've found a use for me." There was no sorrow in his voice, only a cold resignation as if he had been aware of this grim reality for some time now. "If it makes any difference you're not a lone."

Registering the bone-deep anguish that he bleedingly quashed down as he emitted a throated -oinking grunt against warded off resonating- untrammeled vexation that unremittingly drilled accord with his grievous heartbeat; any moment she expected him to brutishly storm back into the dejected contrast of his locked-down room; the only harbor point of convenient refuge that he was granted.

The assailing cinnamony scent temptingly wafted from the prepared bowl of untouched oatmeal—the closest substance that vomitously resembled a gob of pig slop- a cheap-run tactic of sadistic humiliation that was unmistakeably conducted by the 'brute of the century'-Brock Rumlow. No meal was free within the borders of HYDRA's despotic estate. To was too damn obvious the pudgy beast was tellingly starving for an undeterred chance of freedom—humanity. "You can't really trust me on that," she breathed, stiflingly, pressing her petal-soft lips into a terse grimace, to fleetingly convey a rueful smirk. "Not when I'm someone who plays nice in the dark..."

There was a hint of playfulness to her voice that somehow breathed life into Bucky in a way that made him feel like bouncing on the balls of his feet. She exuded cold intrigue but he felt as if there was a warm feline lurking beneath who was anxious to escape the cage that she had been confined within. His deep breaths came out in a deep oink that made him feel in a strange way, jolly. "Who says I don't like to play in the dark too, darlin'?" Before he realized what he had said, or what he had done, his hand dug into a mound of snow beneath his palm, balled it up and lightly tossed at her shoulder. He watched with an amused arch of his eyebrows when the snowball struck home causing a burst of flurries to land on her cheek and throat. It was a playful act that he hadn't anticipated. The soldier inside of him was struck dumb as if someone else had taken control of his mind and body and decided to try and cheer up this pretty dame.

"Careful, I got a mean fastball," he smirked at her.

Hearing the virile deviousness boyishly chase his grunting timbre, Selina comically gasped out 'oomph'..." as she lost balletic traction on her spiked-heels when the icy barrage of the compacted snowball that he curved-ball pitched with careening, sniper precision felt vein- paralyzingly raw against the chilled suppleness of her cheek. In a breathless hiss, she glared deviantly at him as the black satin fringing the voluptuous swell of her low-cut décolletage was soakingly drenched, against the unprecedented rush of tactical challenge, her lithe hand blindingly swiped over the ledge to quickly shape her own wintery arsenal of the snowball fight. "Fastball, huh...?" she teasingly quipped, not betraying the deceptive motion of her poised athletic stance. "Let's see if you can dodge this one, chubby..."

He saw her rolling up the ball of snow before she could throw it, but his bloated body wasn't nearly as quick as it was before. The snowball soared and hit him square in the jaw before he could dodge, causing flurries to spew across his furry face. A throaty chuckle moved up his throat as he contemplated his retaliation against the mischievous brunette. She was now looking at him with an amused game-face, as if waiting for him to make his next move. "Good one," he mumbled. "But you should know I'm a good tackle." And then the game was on. The two unlikely acquaintances began a vivacious snowball fight which Bucky attempted to tackle the graceful woman into a mound of snow while she bombarded him with a series of fastballs that hit their mark each time.

Each quip she gave him was accompanied by a soft laugh that neither was sure came from themselves. But as their exchange progressed, neither of them realized that their game of snowballs turned to a grappling contest with her climbing up his back and wrapping an arm around his chin. Bucky slipped but she gracefully turned and landed on top of him. A mound of snow broke their fall causing an eruption of snowflakes to gust into their faces. The tubby man-pig panted for breath and wheezed but also chuckled. "Didn't see that one coming…"

Their eyes suddenly met, with her resting on top of him. And that was the moment the earth suddenly came still.

Against the frosty contrast dampening her mahogany tresses, heart-thumpingly, Selina became aware of the chaste intimacy-a rebellious fuel that shunted through her veins, abandonly pulsating sensuous urgency, swooningly warring off a head-spin onslaught she dizzyingly rested a hairbreadth the cursive rotund solidity-the muscled bulk flexing with dormant-leashed ferocity under his blubbering mass as he breathlessly grunted in murmurous tenor, his tusked lips jutted in a painstaking thrust as jowled flab under his chin, droopily sagged against garbed shoulder-frustratingly evident to the mechanical clench of his alloy-bionic hand.

As she gazed intensely into the mesmeric glacial sapphire that was smokingly edged with lethal heat that was bone-liquifying, in a caressing glide of her dainty fingers, of headier volition, Selina achingly traced over the furred pudginess of his snout, feeling a stoked command of high-octane deliverance echoing under her feverous-phantom touch in heart-racking cadence, graspingly against instinctive succession of unconquered readiness to meltingly breach the possessive dregs of his beastly enchantment. "Why do I feel like you're..." she paused, stiltedly in definite hitching, and caught an errant breath. "Something more under the mask..."

He was lost in the alluring depth of her eyes that he couldn't quite grasp what she had asked. Bucky hadn't quite remembered what it felt like to be so close to a woman who not only intrigued him but set his pulse racing with hot anticipation. His skin tingled with electricity where she had touched him. His body felt excitement, but his heart fluttered with a dangerous feeling that sparked life inside of him. He unconsciously leaned into her touch and stared deep into her chocolate brown orbs, searching and conveying all at once. "I was going to ask you the same question." He answered.

There was more to her than what she let on. He could feel it. It had little to do with decades of reading people, but more to do with a sense of shared experiences that made them feel drawn—ambigous. He suddenly became heavily aware of the heat radiating by her proximity. Her empowering scent of lavender made want to bury his face against her neck and leave a tender hot trail that would lead to her lips. She was like a burning fire against his icy prison, slowly forcing it to melt. The longer they gazed at each other, the more they felt their lips drawing closer.

Until they heard a stifled curse come up from the apartment below and felt the vibrations of footsteps climbing the steps to the rooftop. Both of them were immediately on their feet just as the door to the rooftop opened and Rumlow emerged, flanked by two of his men, each of them carrying weapons and aimed at Bucky.

"There you are, freak! Who the hell said you could leave the building?" He said, eyes burning a hole at Bucky who stood fearlessly staring at him.

"Technically I haven't." Bucky deadpanned causing Rumlow to chuckle mockingly.

"Right. You're just out here howling at the moon. Or taking a squat. Whatever a pig-man does. You're making it too easy for me to find an excuse to put a bullet through you," Rumlow made a show of aiming his gun towards Bucky's chest. The latter of whom clenched his cybernetic fist, fully prepared to defend himself if need be.

Becoming aware of his degrading tone, unstintingly against a penetrative chill, Selina leveled a knifing glance flittingly at the HYDRA jackal-tooth mercenary as she detected his cunning intent- an elemental variant of an uncompromising hunter- with feline-honed graces defensively invested in her pivoting traction, Selina angled the exquisite svelteness of her snow-drench form, not breaking a measure of anchored distance from the sulky hog-beast.

Rumlow didn't waver as he murderously paced an inch from the glass doors with his thinned lips smugly poised to devour his marked prey; his gladiator bulk was garbed in black tactical Kevlar with buckled straps crossed over the well-defined sculpt of his armored chest tauntingly infused with covetousness hunger. She was like a shackled doe under his wolfish aura, his raven-black irises gleamed threateningly alight with railed bloodthirst as he challengingly lowered his Glock to his fatigue-clad thigh; she knew the rooftop was a high-risk blackspot for gunpoint execution. "Alright..." she bit out, hastily, gesturing a lithe hand up for him to step back, as she caught a familiar, masculine visage of grayish-copper hair-Alexander Pierce-encroachingly making his boss-out approach towards the opened door. The damn key master of the HYDRA estate."I'll go with you..."

"Smart move, Selina. Would hate for your old man to think we just let you run wild and play with freaks." Rumlow spat with a hardened glare. The murderous gleam in his eyes told enough that he still wasn't over her making a fool of him days ago, and also that he had his suspicions about her and Hydra's defective Asset. "Now get downstairs before this gets ugly." He warned. His hands were still tight on his weapons and he was just anxious to shoot someone, preferably the Asset who stood his ground but now bore an angry sneer on face, releasing a piggish grunt as Selina brushed past him and made her way over towards the door. She spares a glance at Bucky over his shoulder and winks at him. Whether it was meant to be playful or reassuring, Bucky didn't know but it nonetheless calmed his rage and made him smile internally.

That was until Mr. Pierce came up to him and back-handed him hard across the face. "Get your head out of the clouds. I have a mission for you." The Hydra head scolded him with a knowing look. Bucky would have felt anxious or afraid that his handler had somehow been able to read him. But all he could think about was Selina.

"Lina…" He finally knew her name.

A contrast of inoculable tackiness gleamed in the cranberry-red baubles reflected white sconces of string lights that enchantingly adorned over pine-needle branches of an 18- foot evergreen that was stationed in the center of the desolate library, golden wraps of sleek ribbon and crystal-edged snowflakes were elegantly hung on the weighted boughs-the Germanic finery of high-born élite- scarcity-as the cindery scent of crackling firewood invitingly encompassed over her.

This wasn't a prevalent tradition of Yuletide revelry, just an ersatz smokescreen of altered deception. A harsh blow of staged reality that she couldn't dodge. She wasn't a thieving kitten anymore- this bordered extension of her purulent-unforgivable bloodline obstructed her chance to prowl on the harbored grounds of freedom.

Being an imprisoned-abducted daughter of HYDRA's high-ranking lieutenant of Iron Cross nobility wouldn't slide with her. She wouldn't settle for less. She refused to let her brazen resistance become gutted out. Shiveringly underneath her long-sleeved Parda sweater that cushioned fittingly over the voluptuous swell of her snug breasts; a raking coldness effusively wormed through her veins, as she impassively registered the gatecrashing, carnal prowess of Rumlow's boorish pace fringing near a bookcase-another intrusive tactic of masculine dominance. "Wow, you never waste a second to spoil a moment," she derisively hissed, not sparing him gaze over her tensing shoulder. "Something I can help you with...?"

Rumlow said nothing as his dark eyes greedily drank in the sight of her as if she were a work of art to be admired. Smug, arrogant, cruel. The Hydra mercenary was many things, but the one thing he wasn't was blind. Selina Marie Strucker (formerly Kyle) was out of his league. A daughter of a Hydra lieutenant, she was practically royalty among the ranks and he was just a grunt (an expendable soldier) who had been lucky to be placed on her security detail. But he also was a push-over ready and willing to be refused. When he saw something, or someone that he wanted, he wouldn't quit until it was his. The young brunette was the most stubborn pain in the ass he'd ever had to deal with, but the fact that she presented a challenge to him made pursuing her all the more exciting to his sadistic mind.

"Maybe I should be asking you that beautiful. All those lonely nights in Gotham must've been a drag for you with so much heat on your tail." He said with his usual brand of cockiness and overconfidence. Moving away from his perch he approached her seat and leaned against the table. "If you needed company, all you need to do is ask. There ain't much I'm not capable of giving." He smirked watching as she glared at him with little to no reaction. "C'mon, don't be shy. I think you know the two of us could have a good thing. We're both professionals, kitty. There's no thrill we can't chase."

Riding on the edge of unbridled disgust, as the violating miasmic-toxiferous reek of his arousal intensified, piercingly giving him a dismissive glare against a sharp intake of breath, Selina rigidly braced the sleek planes of her garbed back against the baroque-style bookcase; as her coffee irises flashed at his bristled, rugged features stretching cravingly with rapt desire of sating atomic fervency of his madcap indulgence that gleamed fierily in his devilish obsidian depths. Aware of his surging half-gloved hand ghosting to clutch her wrist in a possessive—slimy hold, Selina effortlessly whirled on her spiked-heels, driving her inventive attention to Germanic tomes of literature trying to unfalteringly stonewall him. "Now that's hard to imagine..." she purred sardonically in a husky undertone, reaching for a leather-covered book. "Since you're not really thrilling for a girl to chase, Rumlow..."

"Stop you're hurting my feelings," he said with a sarcastic voice. He wouldn't admit that her rejection ticked him off in a manner that made him feel an overbearing sense of hostility to force her against the book-shelf and make her rethink her opinion of him. The fearless look on her face reminded him of why he found her so alluring. She had a lot of spunk and didn't scare easily. Deciding to be more brazen with his approach, the mercenary took on a seductive approach as he learned towards her until he was invading her personal space.

"Don't underestimate me, kitty. I'm not the kind of guy who takes "no" for an answer. I won't quit until what's mine is mine. Who knows, maybe I'll work my way into your old man's good graces. Like the fossil he is, maybe he'll see there's no one better suited to tame his wildcat but me? Think of all the kiddies he'd have running around one day."

Fostering onto denotative restraint as Rumlow's abrasive-badgering pitch cut slurringly with a punishing grip of clamorous thirst that carnally etched over the hawkish contours of his tawny features, suppressing a repulsed grimace that quirked over the lush curve of her full-bow lip, Selina felt the muscled heat of his bulked form aligning with hers with seductive-animalistic flex, as he possessively braced his corded arms over the wooden shelf, flagrantly trapping her into feminine submission of his wanton-merciless conquest. A dark-raging fusion of white- heat scorchingly radiated between them; rampantly assuaging her defensive instincts, Selina angled her jaw up as the rasping brush of his stubbled cheek throbbingly became a dragging rugburn against her pearlescent skin-branding her. "Stop this-" she gnashed her teeth against a feline-like hiss, seethingly, lifting her lithe fingers to viciously deliver a clawing-strike. "You will never own me..."

Rumlow could sense her resistance reaching a tipping point. Cornering a cat meant the claws would come out, but against his better judgment, he made no move to withdraw from her proximity. Not until he had his message across. "You think you're too good for me? Is that it?" He sneered with flared nostrils, his tone deadly calm. "I saw how you looked at the bloated freak on the rooftop last week. Is that your type now, kitty? Hanging around all the freaks and crazies in Gotham must've really done a number on your standards. But I wouldn't get too cozy with him if I were you. He won't be around too much longer. And then…" his lips moved to brush against her ear where he whispered. "I'll have you all to myself."

A definite revelation of his rapacious appetite imploded against manic hostility as she felt the bracketing grip of his leather-sheathed hand in covertness-driven ministrations of brutish demand unerringly over the statuesque curvaceousness of her taut hip; fiercer revulsion clashed through her-there were no gracing echoes of virile tenderness, only a forcing commander for her surrender.

Feigning a coquettish smirk inventively playing over the flavorous crimson of her voluminous lips with a stark beckoning on sirenic accord of tantalizing contrast rivaling his teeming barbarity that irrevocably accelerated in piratic momentum-a cut-throat variant of a sadistic jackal; Selina arched fluidly her back against the shelf, her tousled wavelets of mahogany sultrily draped over his Kevlar-clad shoulder as the melding glossiness of her luscious pillowy lips ardently glided sensuous heat distractingly over the veined bulge of his thickened arm while her arcing hand was thievingly poised to clutch a book with devious precision in controlled tempo- a useful object to crushingly deliver a hammer-blow to his bristled jaw. "Sorry to disappoint, di bell'aspetto (handsome), but I think he's an exception for my standards..." she murmured back in a cadence of smoky Italian, breathily. "Besides I would be careful of what you wish for around here..."

Before he could fathom what she meant, white-hot pain spiked through Rumlow when the hard surface of a book-cover slammed against his face. "AARGH! You-bitc-Ugh!" Rumlow's grip on her wrist became merciless, twisting it as he felt her trying to slip away. That was until a vicious knee collided with his midriff, causing him to double over and allowing Selina to slip away. "This ain't over!" Rumlow's eyes seethed as he watched her leave. The object of his obsessions. She would be his. And when Pierce decided it was time to "retire" their defective Asset, Rumlow would relish being the one to pull the trigger on him.

With feline swiftness channeling of her agile momentum, fleetingly against a blinding rush as the alpha enforcer's thunderous roar of a throat-draining pitch screamingly breached her ears in amplifying volume of whipcrack snarl. Evading the dining hall, Selina grudgingly neared the stairway balustrade in flurrying pace; involuntarily using athletic-phantom fluidity, she vaulted up over the railing in breakneck variance of arcing grace that synced motion of combative feat; tousled mahogany whorls stickily webbed askew over her flushed cheeks as she eased her reversed poise into a low-crouch as the litheness of her fingers consciously gripped a step's edge. The collective light of her brandy irises became unwaveringly fixed decisive intensity on the obscured level of the mansion's forbidden west wing; she needed to stray away from Rumlow's voracious gaze. Against the maniacal—hurricanic tempest of HYDRA's demonical reign, there was safe ground-harbor within the broodingly pudgy hog-beast's tenebrous refuge—the place where she felt: home.

A ghoulish- conjuring aura of paralytic carnage nocuously eeled her rampant pulse as she disarmingly caught a panting breath; edgily Selina jerked her head back to sweep a blearing glance over the railing: Rumlow wouldn't give up the unabating pursuit. Feeling a bruising strain over her wrist, a token blazoned in her veins—that she wouldn't escape without a fight. "Okay, this might get interesting..." she grumbled raspily, in a stiffen pitch. "And painful..."

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed with a distant look on his face. Eyes of blue steel gazed yonder beyond the pane of glass to his window and towards the icy swan safely enclosed in the glass case it had been stored in for months. Each night he watched as it wept melting tears. Droplets cascaded down from its surface, spilling onto the floor of its pedestal like a weeping wound. Each drop that spilled made him feel as if a knife was plunging deeper into his soul. He shuddered and hugged his knees as he climbed back against the headboard of his bed. Sleep hadn't claimed him. Nightmares had never been a constant for him until a few months ago when he began to see things.

Memories of a man who looked like him but at the same time wasn't him...or was it? He remembered a different point in time. Women wearing colorful dresses, businessmen wearing fedoras, a man carrying a red, white and blue shield. What did it all mean? The memories while confusing weren't nearly as debilitating as the nightmares. So much death, so many screams wailing before his cybernetic hand silenced them forever. It was only just last night that he had returned from another mission Pierce had sent him on. Another name to cross-off the list of growing threats to Hydra.

A SHIELD agent named Clay Quartermaine had apparently begun to suspect duplicity within SHIELD and had begun quietly investigating fellow agents. It had immediately been noticed by Sitwell who reported to Pierce who in turn released his Asset to put a quiet end to the threat. Bucky had never shied away from killing, but for some reason, he hesitated against taking the SHIELD agents life. And unfortunately for himself, his new found condition made stealth all the more impossible when his breaths were deeper and his movements sloppier. Quartermaine had noticed him and guessed his intent. The fight between them was short but brutal. Having no choice, the Winter Soldier plunged the agent's head into the river and drowned him; leaving his remains to be found by Fury in the coming days.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when he felt a set of footsteps approaching outside his room. He quietly fell onto his side, feigning sleep as he was uneager for another long debrief with his handlers.

Mentally scoffing against the brazen intentness of using a hairpin-a practical accessory-hardware for a girl to use that was stowed in her denim-clad pocket, stealthily in a low crouch on her spiked-heels; using a virtuosic steadiness of her poised hand, Selina lithely twisted the pin through the small keyhole, as the interior mechanisms turned counterclockwise with a telltale snick of unlocking the door.

Stepping within contrasts of eclipsing shadow, notching up defensive caution, she infinitely detected a saltish and pig fur waft of a tear-dampened pillow within the isolated domain, as she peeringly rove an errant glance at a graphite bevor-a face-muzzle left rejectingly over a heap of Kevlar tactical garb. "I guess he likes to play dress-up," she quipped snarkily, as throated snoring noncommittally imitated from the plumpish mass of bushy dark fur that had unquestionably forced the mattress the collapse underneath obese-hoggish- bulk. "Faking it are we, handsome..." she teased out with knowing smirk.

The familiar voice made his heart race faster than the intoxicating lavender scent. Bucky couldn't quite explain why he made a suddenly strange squeal that sounded more like surprise than fright. "S-Selina?!" He grunted out. His skin burned with heat and he tried to clear his throat and make himself look presentable. But to his damndest luck, he suddenly found it difficult to rise up off the bed. The mattress groaned and shifted with his bloated mass making him cringe and curse in Russian beneath his breath. Just as soon, his energy evaporated as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

Out of breath and exhausted, he fell back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling, at her standing at the foot of his bed. "Y-You came back…" He said tiredly, amazed and hopeful after having missed her for several days now since their last encounter. He began to realize something was wrong by her hunched posture and how she appeared to be hugging her arms. "What happened? What's wrong?" He asked worriedly.

The sensuous huskiness of his croaky timbre gruntingly tamped back a choked-off snort, under his heavy-lids grayish-aquamarine dazedly gazed at the bruising marks over her wrist as pale moonlight haloed starkly over her pearl-white skin; the ruthless grip of Rumlow's possessive clutch had throbbingly delivered a waking onslaught of kittenish vulnerability that didn't avail.

With controlled nonchalance, reactively Selina caressed her wrist with an instinctive-deft- graze over her palm, as she brushed off his genuine urgency steered towards her injured wrist. "I didn't think you cared..." she purred silkily, as he strenuously thrust his bionic hand over a draping sheet, against the feverish-laden grogginess and the flit of his lashes beckoned her to get closer-so damn alarming.

It was a fair assessment given how cold their initial meeting had been only a few weeks ago. Bucky only now realized just how much had changed and how much he was willing to forego in his present circumstances. His solitude was his only safety net in his present condition, but the more time he spent with her, the less he felt empty inside. The emptiness was replaced by something strange...something daring and lively. As the Winter Soldier, his social skills went as far as hostile interrogations that ended with a gun going off. As a man who didn't remember his real name, he felt eager to learn more.

"Neither did I," he replied with honesty. His back was pressed towards the headboard and his steel-blue eyes reflected the moonlight entering the window. "Guess things have changed for me since you showed up, darlin'." He didn't know what compelled him to use such an endearing term, but it flowed off his tongue almost too naturally to second-guess. He could immediately sense why she was in his room and it was because she was avoiding someone. "You can stay in here tonight." He gestured to the side of his bed. "I might look like a piggish-freak, but you can trust me to behave." He quipped with a small smile.

"I'm not someone to trust," she ruefully murmured in convincing pitch, not betraying a visage of stemmed reluctance, with a painstaking turn her neck, dark brandy of her irises unblinkingly shifted back to the frosted glass planes of the arched windows that affectingly captured distant reddish and greenish sconces of electric string lights that were decoratively adorned on snow-laden rooftops the advent of Christmas was glowingly broadcasted over the hub of Zurich.

Brandishing a decisive quirk over the fullness of her lips, Selina gazed questioningly at telltale swellness of his furred-blubbering mass under his worn-out sweater, bedraggled chestnut tresses wolfishly draped over the bulging-mutative length of his tusked snout as he deftly patted the mattress with a coaxing flex of his robotic hand-a virile cadence of visceral demand that he wielded in mechanized accord. "If I stay here...It's because this big place is freezing and you're the closest form of damn heat that I need..." she admitted unreservedly in a chaste undertone that verily played out girlishly naive. "Yeah, those weren't the right words I wanted to slip off..."

Bucky resisted the urge to burst into laughter until he couldn't contain a soft chuckle from escaping him. His mass rumbled and the mattress lightly shook before he regained his composure. "Coming from you, that's the nicest thing you've said to me since we've met." It was also the nicest thing anyone has made light of regarding his appearance. It was refreshing in a sense. Refreshing and invigorating. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special." The ache in chest lessened and he felt surprisingly lighter. So much he didn't realize a patch of fur on his left hand had slowly begun to vanish in place of smooth human skin. As he settled onto his back, he once again patted the space beside with an encouraging nod. "Its all right, Selina. Get some rest…You'll be safe here."

'Nowhere is safe...' A chastened thought of the unforgivable reality she crossed was arrestingly resonating through her, as she unzipped her leather knee-high boots, lethally outfitted with a chrome stiletto, watching his furry brow pinch into a dumbfounded furrow confusingly while he realized she had been strutting on bladed heels; with fractional ease of alluring poise, Selina lowered onto the mattress, the delicate exquisite sleekness of toned planes of her back revealed incarnate -untouchable beauty that appeared readily touch-starved from a driven heat of a masculine caress, almost like a full-bloomed rose trapped behind a trip-wired glass. Bunching thickened mahogany in her evident clutch, she threaded her fingers brushingly through mussed whorls, nonchalantly glancing over her shoulder. "First before we get snug in here, I need a name to call out it case you snore too loud..." she urged, imploringly.

Her question wasn't a surprise to him, but it was one he had been unprepared to answer. For as long as he could remember, he was only referred to as "Soldier" or "Asset". Personal names weren't essential for a man-a weapon-that existed solely to kill. But over the past few months, as he dreamed, he also remembered that it wasn't always like this for him. In the Red Room some twenty-years ago, he had trained young swans into becoming venomous widows. A redheaded teen caught his eye, someone extremely talented and had become the only person he cared about.

"James," he answered to Selina, lost in thought. "You can call me James." It was a name Natalia had called him, and for some reason, it resonated with him on a nostalgic level as if he had heard it many times in another lifetime. The danger of such a memory was also apparent to him knowing that Pierce and Rumlow were watching him carefully for any signs of deviation from his programming. "In private." he added softly.

Against the ratcheting-headlong moment of unbidden-battered consequence that infinitely saddled her down, mirroring the bleariness of naked urgency in his dismal gaze, Selina felt his the voltaic heat of his grayish-sapphire irises blaze flaringly with sweet demand as the graven-edges of his furred cheekbones delineated under flabbiness of hoggish pudge, roguish-honed invincibly, untamed resilence that heavily flexed as he consciously gripped a pillow with tentative readiness of charming tack, valiantly shifting his obese weight to give her generous bed space while she rode out the impulse to evade his welcoming-addictive heat.

Pursing her lips, against instinctive resistance with no charade of riotous deception in her answering-feline- prowess, blindingly, she propelled the litheness of her body until she felt her cheek pillowing intimately over the bulk rigidity of his furred shoulder-the breadth visages of mirrored tension had become a craving-driven need that wouldn't be slaked. "Since you gave me a straight trade, I'll let you call me a name for our private meetings..."

Feeling her settle herself against his body made him suddenly feel warm as the sun. Bucky could barely think beyond the pounding of his pulse in his ears and his shortness of breath. "I like the sound of that...kitten." The word flowed off his tongue, spoke with such tenderness that sounded more human than piggish. His tone of voice felt clearer and so did his skin. What was happening could only be described dangerously groundbreaking but it felt so right. So natural, he couldn't bring himself to think otherwise. When he thought back to what might have led her into his room tonight, he instinctively moved an arm around her waist and gently pulled her against him-protectively, reassuringly.

Neither of them said anything else as they laid in comfortable silence, pondering the unspoken shift in their budding relationship. They knew they were headed into dangerous territory that could spell their doom, but in their present state, they couldn't bring themselves to care. Not when sleep slowly claimed them and they had the best night sleep they'd had in a long time.

Within the scenic ambiance of an opulent bistro of Tuscan cuisine, the delish scents of chicken marsala, Panzanella and whip-creamed filled cannoli pervaded appetizingly throughout the rococo Italian establishment; dining tables were beautifully adorned with ornate elegance of scarlet velvet cloth that was designed with golden snowflake trims, a festive contrast against quartz vases that rhythmically captured flickering sconces of candlelight. Seventh-century marquetry paintings hung on the brick-stone walls; historic pieces amassed from the restaurant owner.

Everything around her was placid against the amorous-transient elements-this wasn't an intimate dinner of December twilight; it was an unavoidable request- an iron-fisted command by Baron Strucker that inevitably forced her into a knifepoint deadlock. Outside HYDRA operatives were grudgingly stationed into sentry-mode, all exit points were obstructed-she caged.

A reactive shiver irefully felt like white-noise through her veins, as Selina impassively sat against the cushioned leather of a shadowed window booth, maddeningly feigning blasé poise while doing to her utmost to curb down the devious approach to stealthily invent a deceptive tack of masquerading charade; taking on the practical identity of a table server while vanishingly slipping out the kitchen's backdoor undetected within the shadow-zones.

There was no adaptable retraction of normalcy, the tragic reality that she was bred into was soul-clutching to wage against. Vendettas had become weaponized infective mantras of mephitic bloodshed, and the price of relevance-daylight was no free grain to steal back. She had betrayed her father, escaping the ranked oblivion of HYDRA's viper legion, conditioning herself as a thieving stray while traipsing on the bleeding edge of rigged darkness. The salvaged extent of her trade-off impatience was cleaved apart when Strucker had delivered his unsung reckoning fueled by anguished heartbreak to return her back under his grip.

As the flitting candlelight burnished entrancingly over the delicate-sirenical fineness-pearlescence of her elfish features, the edges of her supple cheekbones were sensuously highlighted with dust rose- an incarnate regalness that belied a rebellious kitten was ravishingly-honed in an Itailanesque semblance of black Venetian satin dress that snugged gorgeously over the voluptuous svelte length of her curves.

Around the graceful contours of her neck, the string treasured pearls of the late Martha Wayne-a Gotham memento of her warranted redemption that was given back to her in Florence; not detracting the lustrous sleekness of her straight-iron mahogany tresses cascading sexily off the tone-sculpt of her freckled shoulders. Against the dismantled reality, when she felt a headier raid of ignitable-suffusive ecstasy become a tumultuous-untamed maelstrom as she had cravingly embraced the virile-pillowing heat of Jame's taut-furred pudginess of his bulked solidity while they closely shared his makeshift bed-those moments of chaste stokes of tentative ardency felt damn real.

At the contractive moment of stone-rigid tension, she couldn't evict a breakneck urge to rivalrously launch back into the hog-beast ensorcelled domain of the west wing, without glancing back at her father's disapproving scowl. 'Let's get this over with...'

Seated across from her was the stoic and grim facade of one of Hydra's most feared heads. Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker was a highly achieved and decorated officer with several doctorates in science, business and technology. Also a former member of German Intelligence, he came from a noble family that profited and elevated themselves since the days of WWII under the leadership of Red Skull. Now having risen through the ranks over the past several decades, he ran Hyda's secret science division as they sought to gain a "miraculous" foot-hold over the growing threat of aliens and superpowered enemies known as the Avengers. But like all proud noble houses, Strucker sought to secure the future of his lineage.

That being his only true child and daughter Selina Von Strucker...Kyle. His one-good eyes flicked his stare up to her and his hard expression softened. She looked too much like her mother-like Maria. It filled him with both longing and anger. "You should eat. A pallette such as this does not come cheap," he gestured to her barely touched meal that had only been picked at over the past several minutes. He was half-way through his plate as they had eaten in silence. Despite being a stern man, even he couldn't tolerate how awkward and one-sided this dinner had become.

With dead-straight intensity melded in the liquid brandy of her dark irises, glaringly as she mirrored her austere father's glass monocled slate-gray depths, Selina effectively played an indignant challenge as she readily poised a lithe finger with surgical intent over the untouched fork of thieving precision, flashing a vehement glance down at the sauce-coated pasta with a deviant quirk of brazen fringe painstakingly tampering over the lavish crimson of her voluminously full lips. "I only eat when I want to," she rebuffed pointedly, stabbing the fork into a pappardelle noddle with a vicious flex of her clutching hand. "... and not you're the best choice of company."

Strucker wore an unamused look as he continued to eat his food, measuring the woman in front of him who shared his blood but not an ounce of civility. "Stubborn, rebellious, disrespectful. I would have thought the streets of Gotham City would have bolstered you into adult-hood. Instead, you choose to act like a petulant child refusing her supper. What am I to do with you?" He wondered aloud as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. His tone conveyed neither anger nor displeasure, but there was the barest hint of resignation as though he were expecting such a thing.

The instructive directness of her father's tolerant pitch was infuriatingly akin to the nails scraping a grating trek over chalkboard, stringently the baldheaded Iron-Cross officer was a big player of the viper nests, using orphaned strays to morphically conceive as weaponized mutative-enhanced spawn against the butchering gambit of antagonistic dominance, she had a quick-peek glance at shelved medical dossiers-blood sample records of 107th battle-tested commandos who became enslaved POW's-valorous spirits of clamoring defiance were amputated-harvested out by soul-grueling transfusion cocktails within a HYDRA wartime fortress in an Azzano mountain pass; composed by a villainous-psychopathic- gremlin: Doctor Armin Zola. "So tell me, are you going to inject me with that damn serum, like all the rest of the suckers you keep?" she probed, seethingly. "It's a bit harsh don't you think, but coming from you, I think I'm next in line..."

Whether Strucker was surprised or offended by her insinuation, he didn't let it show. For years he had wondered why Maria had left him. Take then their child and fled his security into the most crime-riddled city in the world where she would not last a single week. It wasn't until time and disease had claimed Zola that he had learned just what his predecessor had done. What he had attempted to do that had set his things in motion. He knew about the experiments of course, even having sanctioned a few. Science unlocked many doors to humanity's true potential and there were many souls who would not be missed that would help pave the way.

How Selina knew about all of this, he did not know. "You make bold assumptions based on little information." He shrugged as he leaned forward and folded his hands. "I didn't go through so much trouble to bring about our reunion only to see you turned into...an experiment. The work Hydra does will help pave the way for a better world, my dear. Had your mother not taken you away from me, you would understand our vision better." A look of remorse crossed his features before it was quickly erased by a hardened look. "Had I known what Zola was planning, I would have killed him sooner instead of letting him drive you away. But you are here now."

"You weren't there..." Selina reminded him condemningly, a naked onset of blearing tears heatedly glistened in her bronze- coffee irises, damping her mascara-curled lashes, supressingly conveying unnameable apparitions of a vestigial grievous heartbeat of contractive anguish that she had stowed for her mother Maria Kyle- a gorgeously fierce Italian Aphrodite of immaculate beauty-a true descent of empresses of Rome; until East Quater mafia don Carmine Falcone had rabidly ushered his murderous arsenal of corrupted enforcers into their ramshackle apartment, gunning her down like a vermined stray; leaving her traumatized little gattina(kitten) abandoned on the backdrops without the pacifying grace of charitable protection.

"When the bullets ripped her away, I never got to a chance to say goodbye..." A pained rawness fringed her deadened murmuring tone."I ran without looking back, searching for you in Gotham's blackout spots but you never came to clear off Falcone's decks...You left me to accept the harsh blow of survival, maybe it was the only way to make you proud..."

"My failure to save your mother is a burden I will carry for the rest of my days. Had I been able to find you sooner, perhaps things would have been different. As for Falcone? Retribution may not have been swift, but it was delivered." He said with an ominous tone. Once he had learned the famed mobster had been admitted to Arkham Asylum and was now vulnerable, Strucker sent one of his own men into Arkham as an orderly and proceeded to beat and hang Falcone until his last breath escaped him. The blame had been pinned on another patient of course. It was a bitter triumph, but it gave Strucker a sense of closure.

"I wish to put the past behind us, Selina. You are a grown woman now. You may not need a father in your life anymore, but you are still my daughter-my legacy. I want you to have the future you were destined to have. A place within our organization, a home, family. A husband."

As she voicelessly mouthed out 'husband' Selina felt the reality hammer down skull-splitting force as she composedly wrestled against an upheaval of clamoring disgust rapt tellingly over the alabaster coolness of her kittenish-elfin features, it was like being possessively strapped down onto a mast drilling with infinite traction into chasmic fathoms of an inescapable netherworld-the promise of availing release would be denied. An eruptive white-hot flash overwhelmingly seared her veins as livid fury blazed to incineration degree-the unalterable covenant of HYDRA felt mortifyingly damnable against insurmountable measures.

A riotous shockwave of innate defiance inexpressibly frisked over her tightening lips as Selina disturbingly felt the high stakes of her blotch-compromised freedom become stealingly expandable to votive-unwarranted trade- nothing was a stilted deterrent against the sabotaged reality; she wouldn't allow the phantom scalpel of her father's unremitting- command gouge her open with heart-dissecting precision until she ultimately accepted the soul-dragging throes of being a caged bride to a feral-covetous mercenary: Rumlow. "Yeah, like that's going to happen...'

Quelling the anxiety inside of him was as difficult as the thought of going outside the building. Bucky paced back and forth inside of his room while removing several layers of clothing that he used to keep himself concealed from the public eye. Many who looked upon the very large man sporting a large overcoat with a scarf wrapped around his face didn't stare too long before they assumed he was just a very fat man with a sensitivity to cold. Despite being nearly 300 plus pounds of fat and muscle, he was still stealthy and agile that it allowed him to slip past any outdoor sentries that Mr. Pierce had installed to keep an eye on the building-on him.

After so much tension between himself and his handlers, Bucky knew he was being reckless by sneaking out into the night. But it was all for a worthwhile cause. A surprise dinner. Over the past few nights, Selina had snuck into his room while the guards were taking their breaks. Each time she came, excitement filled him as they quietly talked. More often than not, she was an attentive ear as she listened to him describe the memories that were resurfacing in his dreams and how they tied into his life before becoming the Winter Soldier.

The questions that surfaced in his mind spewed doubt about his role within Hydra. Had he been kidnapped and taken in against is will? Did Zola turn him into a murderer? Who was left alive that could give him answers from such a distant point in time? He wasn't so sure. But Selina helped him to make sense of his turmoil piece together the fragments of his shattered psyche. It was only as he was on his way back to the safe-house, walking down the side-walk of snowy street that he paused to appreciate the scenic beauty with a wave of nostalgia.

New York, 1935. He was young then-full of life and cheer as he ran through the snow with a small blonde beside him-a friend? He had called him "Bucky". His name was Bucky. James...Bucky...That was all he could remember. If he had a last name, it still eluded him. Right now it didn't matter to him. Accidental or not, he felt as if he'd been given a new lease on life the moment she had walked into his room and helped him to feel like a man-not the machine, the beast that his handlers treated him as.

"What am I doing?" He grumbled as he looked at the boxes of Chinese take-out he'd snuck in. This was no way to treat a beautiful dame to a classy evening. But Selina didn't strike him as a prissy elitist who only appreciated fancy catering and silverware. But she still deserved something more special than this. "The wine." He realized, threading his fingers through his hair with frustration. He didn't have time to stop and buy any. Which meant he would need to head down to the kitchens.

On an ordinary day, he wouldn't have dared to set foot outside unless he was called, but he wasn't about to let it stop him now. He wore only a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants when he stepped out into the intricately decorated hallway. It was brightly lit which made stealth impossible so he would have to rely on fortune to see him through. He eluded a couple of men walking through the hallways, too distracted with their phones to pay attention to him as he stepped into the kitchen.

A viperous aura balefully pulsed against latent shadows, destructive clash of evocative heat became increasingly amorphous in a raged-lethal frequency as he registered effusive tension manifesting within the vacant kitchen; stealthily impelled to advance in wraith-like prowess of a rogue sniper-his predatory-honed momentum of sashaying-lethal intimidation had exhaustingly altered into a wobbling pace.

His bestial-enhanced agility was heavily dragged into plodding traction, a sagging bulge of porcine flab had chubbily thickened over the muscled cords of his garbed calves as he dizzily braced the metallic-alloy rigidity of his bionic shoulder against a shelved cabinet; aware of dynamical- spectral convergence of reactivated vengeance-he wasn't alone. His furred snout raptly angled up, unmistakably detecting a feminine scent- a phantom fragrance smoky cherry that miasmically deadened him that a conscious breach of sailing awareness. Unkemptly the wolfish length of his brunette tresses feathered askew over his tensing snout as he grunted out, scathingly. "Chert, davay ...(Damnit)... "Ne seychas...(Not now)..."

He felt like he was back inside of Strucker's ballroom where his past had caught up with him. A woefully familiar face entered his thoughts and immediately knew who was within the vicinity. Struggling to remain vertical, Bucky groaned and cursed as from behind the kitchen island, the female chef turned around and fixed him with a pointed glare as she mixed cake batter into a bowl. "Privet, James. Eto bylo v to vremya. (Hello, James. Its been awhile)." Beautiful, ruthless and vengeful, Elena Takarov looked upon her hated quarry with a mixture of disdain and amusement as she watched him struggle to make a move on her.

"I would ask you how you have been, but from the looks of it you have been enjoying my gift quite animatedly. Look at you, bouncing to the kitchen, ready to stuff your face like the filthy swine you are." She smirked crookedly while leaning against the island.

"Podarok (Gift)..." Against a successive implosion of rampant fury, snarlingly gnashing his protruding incisors against combustible reaction, in a surging rush of livid intensity explosively Bucky arced his whirring bionic hand with propelling viciousness as he hammer-rammed his clenching fist down against the granite countertop in a destructive wake of rampageous tempo. "Grah..." he lashed out throatily and stormed his wobbling -unstoppable paces bearishly towards at the demonic-competitive swan- a resurrected ghost honed by a razed pulse of unsated vengeance. "You're not gonna win..." he drawled raggedly in a grated cadence of Brooklyn "...M' comin' off the ropes..."

It was then that Elena took a moment to stare at Bucky more closely and to her confusion, realized that his transformation had somehow not progressed as further as she would have anticipated. If anything, it looked to be in reversal! Fury and indignation immediately consumed her as she spoke with a deadly calm. "You should be waddling on all fours by now with nothing but a dreaded squeal for a voice. Something has happened. What?!" When he didn't respond, her temper got the better of her as she brandishes a kitchen knife and holds it pointed at his throat. "Tell me now, svin'ya, or I'll-"

Dementedly Elena's polished hand rapidly flexed as the edge of butcher's knife rasped with a painstaking graze over the jowelly protrusion of his furred throat; bracing the tauten planes of his garbed back, in a blurring rush, the glacial frostiness of his irises silvered with voltaic heat as Bucky calculatingly became attuned in rabider- predatory cadence as he lifted his robotic hand upward in mechanized reaction, grabbing onto the knife's handle in a starved variance of crescendoing aggression that bruisingly forced her bone-rigid grip to loosen with fringing resistance of neutralizing her knifepoint assault. "S-Stop this..." he urged, ferally, quashing down a throaty grunt.

Elena Takarov was the orphaned-expandable ballerina of the Red Room Academy ranks who discarded the bone-deep assonance of resistance in each performance of sterilized tolerance- each wired command of her maniacal instructors-punishers was a grippingly harmonized requiem that fashioned her into unbreakable marionette of penetrative seduction- the loyalty of her operative-Black Widow comrades became fractured with installations betrayal conceived by devices of whipsawed jealously as the balletic lebedi( swans)harbored intimate attachment-visceral sentiment for the Siberian beast machine-the Winter Soldier.

"Tebe nuzhno povzroslet', malen'kaya Vdova ... (You need to grow up, little Widow...)" he murmured, sneeringly, raw gravelliness of his fervent timbre croakily railed out him as his tusked lips quirked up, against the unstable fusion of their combative supremacy. "E-End this now..."

"This will end when you are dead!" She yelled, shoving him towards the counter. The condescending familiarity of his words sparked a visibly enraged look across the blonde's face as she picked up a chopping block and bashed it across his back. It felt like hitting a brick wall with a hammer, causing only a small bit of damage as Bucky staggered and groaned but was quick to regain his focus. But Elena, not missing a beat, swung the block for his face to wish he immediately dodged-repeatedly. He catches her arm and doesn't hesitate to throw a punch for her face, winding her, but not long enough as she picks up a fork and aims for his forearm, impaling it into his long-sleeve, narrowly missing his flesh.

Bucky tries to pull himself free, only to feel a kick land against the side of his head, sending him into a dizzying spin. He falls to one knee, allowing Elena the advantage to climb onto his back and wrap his head into a choke-hold. Her legs wrap around his torso, and she seethes into his ear. "Svin'ya! YA pereros tebya. (Pig! I have outgrown you)." Bucky gags, his blue eyes blood-shot as circulation is cut off from his head. His pulse pounds in his ears as her relentless choke threatens to rob him off all life. Not like this. His sleeve tears free and Bucky stands to his feet, Elena still on his back, not releasing her hold.

Roaring, Bucky throws himself back towards the kitchen cabinets, smashing her with his weight causing items to pour all over them and make a mess of the area. But the former Widow still won't let him go despite her cry of pain. Bucky doesn't quit as he repeatedly throws his weight at her until he manages enough slack to drive an elbow to her gut. Elena releases her hold with a choking gasp. Eyes filled with fury, Bucky picks up the bowl of cake batter she'd been mixing and throws it at her. The gooey contents pour over her face like sludge, blinding her and coaxing a scream of fury.

"It's her...!" Ravingly, Elena vented out in frantic pitch, and dragged her clawing fingers over the globby batter trekking down her bruised throat, in blinding instinct with a cobra thrust of her chocolate -sheathed hand, with breakneck reaction she berserkly reached for a butcher cleaver on the granite edge-a slaughterous instrument to careen executing precision of point-blank trajectory at the menacing obese hog-beast. A murderous aura rivalrously dueled in vicious tenor as she detected the vibrating stomps of his wobbling pace- the electrified pulse of an unleashed HYDRA sleeper agent. Scrapingly the wedged-shape blade wetly lacquered with telltale crimson deafened with the amplified voltage of soul-raiding hostility. "You think Strucker's daughter will love you, Soldier-she might steal your numbed heart, but nothing will be given in return..."

"You make one move against her, and I'll hunt you down and kill you!" Bucky threatened. An unprecedented amount of fear and anger stirred inside of him at the thought of Selina coming into Elena's crossfire. She was his only source of light and happiness in a world surrounded by darkness. But one look in the messy blonde's eyes told him that he had unintendedly revealed a weakness to her she could exploit. Now there was nothing and no one that would deter her from seeking total retribution by guaranteeing him a slow miserable death of loneliness and guilt. "Your fight is with me, Elena! You want me dead, finish me now!" He cried out, extending his arms. Better him than Selina. That empowering thought bolstered his resolve as he stepped forwards. The blonde looked at him with disgust. Before she could even consider his offer, they were alerted to voices shouting down the hall.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THERE?!" Rumlow's voice called as he barreled towards the kitchen with two men behind him. Bucky watches as Elena drew two kitchen knives...

An errant pout stretched deceptively over Elena's bloodied lips while nastily conveying a witchy sneer; a demonic melding of veined heat glinted in her irises as she weakly dropped onto her knees, discarding the streak knives to bracket her palm around the delicate contours of her bruised throat. Gaspingly emitting a choked-off a staged whimper, Elena disarmingly reeled back against the counter with slackened ease. "H-He attacked me..." she rasped in a timorous undertone, breathlessly. "I-I was in here preparing dessert for Strucker's daughter when this fat beast demanded a bowl..."

"She lying!" Bucky cried out angrily. "She's the same woman who attacked me at Strucker's-" The butt edge of Rumlow's pistol struck Bucky across the head, sending him falling back against the counter before he could say another word.

"Who the hell said you could leave your room, freak?!" Rumlow seethed and shook his head in disbelief of how his day was turning out. If seeing the kitchen practically destroyed wasn't enough, along with a petrified chef, but the freak was outside of his room and in clear view of someone who wasn't on their payroll. He needed no other excuse to hit the ugly overgrown freak. "Get her out of here." Rumlow barked to his men who nodded and escorted the woman out of the kitchen. Bucky glared at her through dark tresses. A vicious smirk curled at her lips before she left room.

"Get cleaned up, and get back to your cave. Or I'll make you lick this room clean," Rumlow sneered. Bucky watched him leave as he sank down to the floor, leaning against the cabinet.

"Lina…" What had he done?

An infusive frigidity chillingly shunted through her veins, Selina felt shackled into a vacuous cataclysm heralded by her father's possessive command of steering her to the inevitable altar; she was a thievish fugitive of masquerading decadence, black satin of her sleeveless dress contrasted against the milk-white pearlescence of her bare shoulders, a bow-laced corset delectably fringed over a plunging décolletage that heavily shaped over the voluptuous curves of her ample breasts. The tousled sleekness of her mahogany whorls polishedly draped against the supple planes of her back as she guardingly braced the curvaceous- svelteness of her lithesome form against the black-ochre door.

Shadowily the demonic sculptures of the obsidian Kracken skulls were grotesquely ornamented with protruding tentacles that overhung to snatch her if she intrusively breached the isolated west wing. Deadened-paranoic apparitions of white-noise spookily became cacophonous volumes of mutative oblivion-a harvesting mantra that grippingly paralyzed souls to mordaciously quench an unstaunched bloodthirst. The mephitic extension of vengeful conjury was rooted within the hog-beast's forbidden domain.

Splaying her lithe palm deftly over the roughened wood, she baited out a drag of breath, composing herself with steeled poised as the distinctive, authentic scents of Chinese take-out wafted behind the door; an exceptional meal for a snow-bound December night. "Wow, he doesn't waste a cent to treat a girl..." she quipped snarkily, banishing a phantom shiver of unrejected dread as flitting sconces of candlelight became emotively arrested in her dark coffee irises.

She softly rapped against the door only to suddenly find herself being thrown against it, her body falling stumbling inside until she braced herself against the door. An angry curse was at the edge of her mouth when she looked behind her and was met by a blonde who she'd never seen before striding in behind her. The look on her face was hateful and full of contempt. Before she could voice her or even pick up the nearest sharp object to exact her retribution, the blonde raised her hair in a choking gesture and Selina suddenly felt as if her lungs were being cut off. A strangled gasp escaped her as she clutched her throat with a bewildered look.

"So you are the one who decided to waltz in and interfere with my plans to give that murderous pig what he deserves!" She sneered. There was no sign of Bucky, but the noise of a showering running in the bathroom adjacent told them he was presently distracted. The room was empty save for a small table prepared with cartons of Chinese take-out and a few candles. It was romantic and heartwarming, but to Elena, it was a dreadful sign that her spell was deteriorating at a faster rate than anticipated. "Don't think for a second it will be that simple." Elena looked at the woman closely. Selina Marie Kyle Strucker was a mouthful. But her beauty wasn't to be exaggerated. A baby-faced beauty with pale skin, wide lips and deep brown eyes. She would have men falling under her spell effortlessly. "You are Strucker's daughter. Your family has caused me a great deal of misfortune-it should come as no surprise you would be no different."

Maintaining her grip on Selina, Elena eyed the bathroom door and knew she didn't have much time to put her contingency in motion. She could feel Selina fighting against her magical hold over her. The young woman possessed a strong stubborn will that couldn't be suppressed for long. Elena stares into her eyes, holding them with a conviction and a promise of pain and suffering. "You think you love him?" She scoffed. "You believe he is some lost pup to be sheltered and nurtured. You're wrong. It would be easier for me to kill you and let Strucker believe he did the job. But I have a better idea. You will break his heart. Whatever repair you think you've made will be quickly undone the moment he realizes you won't say those three precious words to him." She inwardly grinned as she watched Selina's expression morph between confusion and dread. "If you reveal your heart to him, then you'll be caged in a pathetic vessel of an undesired stray, beautiful cat ( krasivyy kot)."

"I figured a cheap-faced Russian screwball was behind the magic trick," Selina banteringly rasped against gritted teeth; Elena's clawing ministrations raked serpentinely over her throat as she involuntarily staved off a throb-vicing onslaught in breathless strain-the psychotic, Russian viper reeked of metastatic thirst as sulphuric venom was infused in her veins. Sliding her hand lithely down the toned-curve of her angled thigh, with thieving swiftness of blind precision, readily, Selina felt the carbon black steel of a holstered Glock melding against her clutching palm, smirkily, her finger unerringly curled over the pistol's trigger-lock as she impassively fostered onto collective restraint. "You're right it should be no surprise that I know what angle in the dark to bend first..."

"I'm sure you will get your chance. But I don't think you want to ruin your date tonight." Elena smirked as she looked towards the bathroom door. The noise of running water suddenly halted and both women knew that whatever happened next could get very ugly and disastrous if things escalated. Elena inwardly hoped to have a chance to kill Strucker's daughter when this was over to cause the Hydra head great pain. But she knew she would be outnumbered if Barnes entered the room and saw her threatening his new girlfriend like she promised. Their second fight would undoubtedly be more lethal than the first. "Dasvidaniya, Ms. Kyle. For your sake, I hope you choose your words carefully tonight." With that, she quickly left the room.

Penetratingly Selina felt the violating heat of a vampirish convergence branded her wrist as incandescent whitish sigils of arcing energy delivered a soul-paralyzing intensity that excruciatingly seared through her veins in rampant fruition of a ghoulish raid. It was an infectious tactility of cimmerian-occultic unity in unforgiving tenor; a plaguing barrage of sorcerous deviance that overwhelmingly straddled down her warred momentum against vertiginous gravity. As she bolstered her collapsing weight against the door, tearily under disheveled mahogany tresses her feverish pupils morphically thinned into razored-crescents: a verminous fringe of disposable betrayal."I-I feel.."

"Selina?" She didn't have time to reflect long before the bathroom door opened and Bucky stepped out wearing a bathrobe with a short-tee and loose sweat pants beneath. His expression froze with surprise at seeing Selina standing in his room. He thought she wouldn't have arrived for another hour which would've given him time to reheat the food and prepare the wine. But here she stood, dressed in an eye-catching black dress with stylized hair. Her wide lips were painted red and her brown eyes accentuated with black mascara. Had she been out somewhere before arriving? He thought he remembered her mentioning she'd be having dinner with Strucker. But then he immediately noticed her disheveled appearance and frowned.

"You're here sooner than I thought you'd be. Are you all right?" He asked, worried Rumlow or someone had done something. The aggression from his fight with Elena still hadn't worked its way out of his system and he felt eager to take it out on the Hydra mercenary who had been giving him nothing but pain and torture.

As he tentatively stepped closer with chaste grace invested in his patent stance, Selina enticingly registered the raw-edged virility flexing underneath his drizzly fur, the length of his wolfish tresses were roguishly knotted off the graven-ridges of his muscled back, as the blubbery rotundity that swelled over banded cords of tautness sculping his pudgy flesh was tellingly decreasing in hoggish mass underneath his black shirt; the arrestive pulse of sensuous tension forbiddenly clashed with untamed revelation-a naked promise of tempestuous ecstasy-a resurgence of addictive hope that wasn't chivved surgically into cursive-entombing throes of mystic Russian temptress of Eldritch incantations. They needed to regain the upper hand-play out a new deck of spades before the contractive reality hellishly devolved-condemned them to exist into a freakish-damning menagerie of bestial infancy.

Gnawing kittenishly on the jutted underswell of her lip, Selina rasped, breathily. "Well, don't keep a girl waiting..." A flitting quirk of her eyebrow was evident as the gypsy allure melding stealingly in her brandy irises mirrored unblinkingly into the glacial steeliness of his grayish-aquamarine depths; the effusive scents of frosted mint and sandalwood headily wafted off his damp fur-an evocative aphrodisiac that intoxicatingly gatecrashed her senses.

Why did tonight feel so-different? The hunkish beast machine wasn't like the moody, chivalrous Dark Knight who broodingly harbored unsustainable vengeance while he smokescreen his virtuous honor underneath the graphite cowl; making the votive choice-the high cost- to allow Gotham to prevail against the atomic hailstorm ushered by suicidal legions of Talia al Ghul. She had walked on the rift of the caliginous underworld, never allowing herself to become dragged under into Gotham's cavalcade of pandemic mayhem, but now she felt a roil of indefensible uncertainty that wouldn't abate. "Let's not dodge another moment and have some fun..." she purred, coaxingly.

If Bucky were a younger man he would have been blushing red at her seductive tone that came naturally to her like breathing. But he knew something had happened only moments ago as he took in the small signs of forced entry such as the chain on the door having been torn off, and how some of the things on his nightstand were out of place as if someone had crashed into it. But he held his tongue. He didn't want to ruin tonight with suspicious questions. He went through great pains to ensure that he and Selina would have a nice candle-lit dinner to themselves and now...he was suddenly unprepared, feeling like an amateur on his first date.

'A date… is that what this was?' He wondered, feeling a jolt of nervousness about how she might see this. About how she felt about him… "I like the sound of that," he said feeling very unsmooth as his eyes nearly wandered low to drink in her exquisite form in the black dress. 'Focus, Barnes,' a voice said to him from the back of his mind. It had been happening a lot to him ever since he'd met the beautiful brunette. "Hope you like Chinese. I thought tonight i'd return the favor for all the nights you had to put up with my moody-hangups," he said as he pulled out a chair for her to sit on and arranged the plates and glasses.

The Royal Dragon was a place he visited at one time as he went deep cover to find a Triad who had entered Hydra's crosshairs. In order to blend in, he had to order some food. The fried rice and kung pao chicken were to die for, along with their egg flower soup.

The spiciness of the hoisin sauce that syrupy glaze over chicken and peppers was too flavorous as she gracefully eased down on the pulled-out chair like cool silk; and felt the ephemeral-viscerous heat of his furred hand caressingly graze featherily over the supple planes of her satin-garbed back, an invincible flex of reined-fiercer strength quakingly tensing in wondrous contrast-a pure chasteness of amorous reverence tactilely edging against his mechanized caresses -a proximal kneading driven by stoked-up urgency thrillingly anchoring her into a breathless moment.

Against teaming reaction, her pulse inexorably careened to wage against the sensuous- galvanic maelstrom of an electrifying rush of possessive-tameless- heat. There was nothing deniable against the intimate tenor of unspoken volumes-she couldn't warn him that she was dangerous-unrectifiable siren -and that heartsick fools who daringly breached her feline silhouette would never embrace horizons of daybreak.

She robbed the elite of Gotham's high-class sectors and bullet-riddled bodies of Falcone mafia scumbags in the backdrop gutters of the Narrows that preyed on desperate-orphaned strays who balanced on the bleeding-edge of survival. She was tragically bred to exist as a thieving virtuoso-a modernized Robin Hood of stealth infiltration, stealing identities of cleared-off players to evade unwanted company-there were no set rules. "I'm not really used to this..." she admitted bitingly, in a rueful pitch, coolly shifting to feign challenge-honed tension. "You don't owe me anything, handsome..."

"It's the least that I do," he said with a sincere look. He could sense the waves of discomfort flowing off of her. She wasn't a very sensitive woman who liked to be laid bare. Not unless it was by her own choice. He immediately decided to drive the conversation towards a more pleasant tone as he placed a few eggrolls on a side-dish between them along with fortune cookies. "Besides, I make look like a handsome pig, but there's no way I planned on eating all this by myself. I might not look it, but I am trying to lighten this load on my back," he quipped with a small smirk, having been surprisingly delighted to see how much weight he had surprisingly lost this morning. It made him wonder if Elena's raving accusation about the curse losing its strength wasn't entirely wrong.

The brunette sitting across from her pouring her own wine regarded him with a smirk and a small eye-roll as he recounted his tale of swiping the bottle of red-wine from the kitchen and fooling the kitchen staff and Rumlow into believing one of his men had taken it. The Hydra merc would be distracted for the next few hours disciplining them. For over the course of a half-hour, Bucky and Selina would engage in small-talk and banter about mundane topics such as the places they'd visited. Bucky couldn't help but be drawn into her take about a trip to Paris, watching as her eyes lit up at the memory and her smile stretched wide and breathtaking.

She was too beautiful. His heart fluttered uncontrollably in his chest and the man-pig suddenly ached with an unquenchable urge to lean forward and kiss her. He blinked repeatedly and took a drink from his wine when she nearly caught him staring. Inwardly his mind was in turmoil as he silently trembled in his seat with so many emotions; longing, pain, anger. The latter had reacted like a spark being lit once he realized just how much he had missed out on in his life. All because of Pierce, because of Zola, because of Hydra.

"You know most charm boy tactics never really stay fixed," A devious pitch snark huskily fringed in her melodic undertone, flirtily evident to jaunty quirk over her pillowy full-bow burgundy lips; betrayingly Selina became aware of the uncurbed heartache-a torturous extent of soul-suffocating anguish that resonated against pestilent drifts of mutative conjury.

Against a gluttonous rush, Bucky hesitantly downcasted his gaze, stormily under bladed length of chestnut tresses, the lasered intensity of his steel-aquamarine over the emptied cartons stacked between them; his piggish appetite was rattlingly burgeoning, unabashedly he snorted throatily while chewing on sloppy accord with mouthful of lemon glazed chicken-he was captive into stuporous-catatonic - dregs of perpetually being fattened into a rotund bugly hog, despite he starkly harbored soldiery measures of chivalrous-defiant spirit.

Grindingly the synchronic pulse of his alloy-robotic hand tensed in leashed cadence as he tactlessly drove a fork into a sautéed pepper, heaving out a long-drawn grunt. "M'kinda makin' ...uh...a big mess...?" he drawled staunchly, the graveled raspiness of his Brooklyn-timbre alighted with a boyish quip. "Not sayin' that my manners are gonna be rusty..."

"You take beast charm up to a new level..." Selina quipped, jokingly, reaching with unadulterate ease of gentled deterrence to avidly dab off a chow-mien noddle off the furry pudge of his tusked snout with a clutched napkin; aware that her powermonger father protestingly would call her out in an earshot for such reckless array of deviant behavior. "Which makes things interesting..."

Bucky was tongue-tied in a way that made him feel as if he was put under a spot-light before a large audience. But it wasn't an audience that was making him feel a bit flustered. He could feel in his bones that he had been with women before, dining with them, exchanging flirtatious banter in a way that led to a dizzying night of fun. Images flashed in his mind of a time long past where young couples wearing old-fashioned clothes were taking to a dance floor while boisterous music played. He was bold, he was charming and every bit as confident in himself as a man with his gifts was allowed. But this felt completely different-she was different. She was real, and beyond his wildest dreams.

'You gotta dig deep, you gotta step up and be a man, not some shy kid.' That voice told him. His real voice that Hydra had tried to bury for so long. "I'll tell you what will make things interesting darlin'. How about a dance?" He offered with a charming tone.

The grated suaveness of his drawled cadence smokingly ghosted through her veins with a definite beckoning as he drew closer with intimate tracery of melding pressure she felt the bestial virility of his bulky-paunchy- mass heftily angling a hairbreadth from her chair; his tusked lips quirked up toothily as the practiced-reverent coolness of his stoking arousal captured her dark gaze when she fervidly welcomed the sensuous tension of pure-driven abandon as his furred-sheathed hand unerringly kneaded a chaste glide of ardent -evocative tangibly over the freckled alabaster of her shoulder. It wasn't a blatant caress of the possessive need of flexing delicacy of his taut roughened palm; an unspoken promise was branding her flesh-a sudden release of blinded trust elementally altering into something high-priced—real.

This wasn't a moment in the shadow play to evade-the chimeric reality was bone-searing corrosive; they were on the occultic fringe of being trapped in a soul-blighting rhapsody vitriolically composed by a demonic harvester of mortal vengeance. Curvily her full crimson lips sheened headier as she answered him, melodiously with a husky drag of breath. "Giving me an offer that I can't refuse...?" she briskly rasped in an Italian tenor. "Una danza di Natale(A Christmas dance) is hard to pass up, handsome..."

"Mi scopo di piacere, tesoro (I aim to please, darlin')." He felt his confidence return to him like a second wind of energy surging through him. He rose up from his chair and stood up in front of her, offering her his hand. Looking into her eyes he saw a hint of cheer twinkling in them that was breathtaking. She sets her phone down on the table and plays a soft tune. It was melodic and transcendent with a hint of the Christmas spirit. She took his hand and stood up from her seat as he guided her towards the center of the room where there was enough space for them to move. Bucky couldn't describe the feeling washing through him as they entered a luminous spotlight formed by the drawn curtains.

Pale moonlight cascaded into the room. The city outside was a snowy portrait of purity and peace. He towered above her a few inches, his bestial height putting him past the six-foot mark, but as he gazed into her bright brown eyes, he never felt so small. So...nervous as they took each other's hands. That was what he thought they would do. Instead, he felt his heart was ready to burst through his chest when Selina guided his left hand to rest on her hip. 'Keep it together, man.' He told himself repeatedly. If his skin wasn't covered with fur, he'd be blushing a furious red. But something in his eyes must've given him away as he watched a mischievous smirk form on her lips.

The gripping pressure of his palm bracketing the satin velvetiness of her tauten-lush curves became a splaying caress of virile heat-he needed to rein back notching control as he clumsily wobbled back against reeling gravity; consciously easing his larger hand on quaking accord until he breathlessly felt the cushioned heavier swollenness of her garbed breasts pulse sensuous heat feverishly underneath his furred palm as shadows rhythmically eclipsed against the grounded tempo of their heartbeats as sailing throb of urgent reluctance deafened when his glacial aquamarine irises were dreamily half-lidded, with daring echoes of an infinite promise. "I guess we both owe each other this..." she whispered raspily, the glossier fullness of her lips ghosted sleekly against the flabby jowls of his porcine snout."Don't you think...?"

There was too much Bucky wanted to say, but rather than diminish the spell-binding moment between them, he decided to nod with a bestial grin on his face, and guided them into a slow waltz across the floor. It was like walking into a new kind of arena where the rules of engagement no longer applied in the way he was used to. What he was experiencing was something equally frightening as well as invigorating. He felt control slipping from his grasp the moment he misstepped and banged his hip against the dresser. Clunky, ungraceful, rusty. He withheld the biting noise of dismay on his tongue and looked at Selina sheepishly.

"I think I'm way out of practice, darlin'." He'd be an idiot to deny it. But he felt as if he had done this before countless times in another life-time. This terrain wasn't unfamiliar, but it was like a blurred image he was trying to sharpen with his movements. "How about you take the lead?"

"Not really light on your feet are we?" Selina teased bemusedly, feeling the dynamical intensity of their visceral rivaling paces that symphoniously aligned them against the ethereal contrasts of the frosted wintry light; airy drifts of gossamer snowflakes feathered over the glass planes of the curtained balcony doors; euphonious volumes of distant tolling bells echoed ambiently outside in the striking wake of a new hour. Christmas was approaching.

Beneath her curled lashes, her brandy irises gleamingly caught the wobbling traction of his monstrous poise; in a fluid rush of balletic swiftness, Selina coaxed him to chased her addictive rhythm; doing her utmost to brandish exquisite graces as his curved palm trancedly scrunched up the material of her dress, brushingly feeling the slide of his clutching fingers meld a tactile fusion over her svelte mid-drift. Just for a steady moment of heart-disarming need, they edged blindingly within the closeness-amorous gravity of headlong cadence, a boneless flash of white- heat arced in their veins."Have you danced before with a girl in heels...?"

"If I ever did, I doubt they were as good as you," he said with a deep baritone, surprising himself. His voice had begun to sound less grating and more coherent over the past several weeks. Ever since Selina came into his life and breathed new life into it. Bucky didn't know what good things he had done to have been blessed with such an encounter. Selina slightly rolled her eyes at his cheesy compliment but the faint blush of her cheeks told him it had worked. The fact somehow made him feel less on-edge and more comfortable as she proceeded to guide their movements. They danced and spun, falling deeper into their waking dream that was uplifting from their miseries and into a raw passion.

Their eyes never left the others, locked in a spell-binding trance that conveyed more than words ever could. Bucky was awestruck by her and felt himself hopelessly falling into a whirlwind of desire. He wanted to kiss her. He needed to. The man within the beast had unknowingly become enamored with the elusive kitten who had walked into his life and stole his heart. He had to tell her the truth. As he guided her close, the song continued to play over her phone but was reaching its conclusion. She was pressed up fully against his bloated chest. Her eyes were intense and his fur bristled at the heat that radiated off of her. "Selina...I...I think I've fallen for you, darlin'..."

It was all happening too damn fast with sledgehammering force. The painstaking tenor of his heart-driven confession runically glissaded through her when his pudgy and metallic palms stroked adoring heat over her cheeks, the mechanical flexion of his alloy-plated fingers lovingly threaded a gentled ministrations of controlled reverence through her silken mahogany wavelets in cherishing variance as he shiveringly angled the wrinkled length of his furry snout; readily the grazing shift of his tusked lips pressed a feathery drag into the aching vividness of edging-sensuous communion of ardent hotness; the sorcerous- incantation of Elena's deceptive- scourging wrath fused chasmically through her bones.

Emitting a breathy mewl that sounded frighteningly akin to a feline, in a voiceless gasp, Selina unwillingly towed herself away until tensing planes of her sleek back collided against the dresser. "You can't mean that..." she gritted fiercely, bracing her lithe hand up in a dismissive gesture, as her blearing gaze of coffee mistily steered agonizing intensity of an unforgiving betrayal to the door-she was going to puncture his heart. "I'm not worth it, James," she choked out, ruefully, gazing at the onrush of brimming tears evidently fringe against the dark flit of his lashes as the frosted rawness of his steel-aquamarine irises dejectedly leveled back at the wax stubs of melting candlelight on the cluttered table-a fading light that captured in his blurred pupils."I-I've stolen more than I can take and I can't pretend to be a good girl for you..."

"Selina…" Bucky would be lying to himself if he believed his heart wasn't being ripped out of his chest as he watched her drift away from him. For a moment he almost wished he'd taken his words back. Shoved them back down his throat if only so he could appreciate just how happy she made him feel as they slowly danced. But his emotions had taken hold of him and now he had begun to scare her off by his confession. "I'm not looking for a good girl. I'm no saint either, darlin', whatever we've done shouldn't stop us from having this...Unless…" His attempts at reasoning with her only reminded him of the one glaring dissimilarity between them that he had almost completely forgotten here tonight. Idly his metallic hand reached up and touched the cursed snout that made up his furry piggish face.

The ache he felt in his chest turned into a lethal stab of realization. "I get it." he said, trying and failing to withhold the pain in his voice and glistening in his eyes. "At the end of the day, guess I'm still just a piggish freak. That's a stain that can't be washed off." He swallowed as he turned away from her. He could hear her call his name and taking steps towards him. "Don't." He said with a biting tone. "Just...Just go." He waited for 5 seconds, 10 seconds, and 20 before he heard her collect her phone and leave his room. Silence and loneliness engulfed him as he felt himself falling to his knees. What had he done?

He chased away his one hope for a second chance at life. The grip of foreboding returned with full-force and he found himself falling onto all fours, watching as his pores began to sprout animal fur at a furious pace. Out on the balcony, the ice-swan began to melt at a much faster rate than before. Resigned to his fate, Bucky let himself fall onto his side and gaze into the abyss as he watched his life melt away, and the woman of his dreams vanish from it.

"That stinkin' fat pig..." Rumlow vented out fumingly in a baleful seeth, as he infringed predatory momentum of his vellum-tactical boots imposingly towards the bloated amnesic hog's lockdown refuge; he deserved Selina-the brazen feistiness channeling her rebellious spirit needed to become leashed up by a grip of masculine-bullish dominance. She was smokin' hot gorgeous vixen-no feminine beauty rivaled to the cool sleekness of her pearlescent skin, how the neoprene of her feline stealth garb curvaceously delineated the delicious suppleness of her lithesome form-damn she was a frisky-lethal babe and his nihilistic bloodthirst of punishable-sadistic alpha supremacy would be quenched once Baron Strucker ushered his thievish kitten to the altar. 'She'll be mine...'

Keeping his leather- sheathed fingers ruthlessly poised on his 9mm Glock with the soulless resolve of his shark-deadened gaze to execute HYDRA's lobotomized Siberian wraith that was a defrosted-enhanced operative of murderous precision with a vicious flash of a knife and dead-shot aim for high-level hits: off-grid sanctioned orders by HYDRA to stealthily execute traitorous political conductors and prosperous engineers of industrial headways.

Now, the Winter Soldier was doomily a sulking overweight glutton-pig- that needed to be retired out of his piteous-fattening misery. The knife-edge jutted contours of his ruggedly bristled features rapted smugly with devilish intent as he tauntingly braced against the wooden door. "Time to chop up some damn bacon..." Breath razored in snide pitch, as his nose twitched against the funky reek of nauseous-hog- sweat. "Urgh...The oinkin' freak is probably rollin' in his own-"

The door opened and Bucky stood there, still in the same clothes he wore for his disastrous evening, but the look on his face was worn and haggered as if he didn't have an ounce of strength left inside of him. The look in his eyes was glazed and distant. "Rumlow-" Before he could say another word, a vicious right hook drilled him across the face, sending him stumbling back into his room, crashing against the wall. He didn't have time to think before his torturous handler had entered the room and took in the scene of the fancy candlelit dinner that was left on the table. The Hydra mercenary's expression immediately became livid once he smelled a familiar fragrance of lavender in the air.

"So she was here. You thought you what? That you could play house with her? Steal her away?" Sneering, Rumlow dived towards Bucky and began raining blows on his torso. Hard, unrelenting and filled with the intention of pummelling his rival to death until he was nothing but a literal dead pig-carcass on the floor. "She's mine, you freak! Once I put you in the ground, I'm gonna put a ring on her finger, and you'll be nothing but an afterthought." With that, the mercenary drew his pistol and aimed it at Bucky's drooping head.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Bucky felt something dark and primal clawing its way to the forefront of his consciousness. The thoughts and instincts of a trained killer who had just been triggered. The mechanical whirring of his cybernetic limb screeched and the appendage whipped out and caught Rumlow's wrist, shoving it aside just as the gun went off. The bullet hit the wall and Rumlow was met with cold murderous eyes glaring at him behind disheveled dark tresses. "YA tak ne dumayu (I don't think so)."

Rumlow groaned in pain as he felt his wrist being crushed in a vice-like grip that felt as if he were stuck in a compactor. Bucky's mind had reverted into killer-instinct mode as he bashes his forehead against Rumlow's then rushes forward with a front-kick, sending the mercenary crashing into the table, spilling left-over food all over himself. The anguish he felt by Selina's rejection turned to bitter rage and he knew exactly how to vent his frustrations. Rumlow was on his feet, disarmed of his gun but with his free-hand he drew his knife and charged right back into the fight, swiping at Bucky's gut.

With his flank unprotected, Bucky picked up a plate and held used it to block the lethal knife-thrust. He repeated this for a few more times before Rumlow kicked the plate out of his hands and made another underhanded swipe towards his rival's stomach. Bucky grunted, feeling the knife scratch into his waist and cut his furry flesh. This served to only heighten his anger as he released an animalistic bellow that made Rumlow freeze with dread. Bucky decked the mercenary across the face repeatedly until his nose was busted. Their barrage brought them perilously closer towards the opened balcony doors where the ice-swan sculpture was kept.

The snowy night met them with a biting chill. They stood several stories above the courtyard below where an icy landscape stretched for a mile into a forest area. A frozen pond lingered undisturbed. The moment they set food on the slippery surface, their fight was disturbed by a lost in balance. Seeing his as his opportunity, Rumlow charged towards Bucky in a mad gamble to send him tumbling over to his doom. Bucky caught the mercenary in his arms and with a last ounce of strength chucked him over the railing, sending him screaming to the depths below.

Bucky couldn't control his own sense of gravity as the ice consumed his balance. He hung over the edge, his hands grasping at the ledge as he attempted to pull himself up for dear life. The ice-swan hovered on its pedestal above him, its upper shape almost completely melted now. It taunted him with the ugly fact that his fate was sealed. His digits were beginning to lose their shape as they morphed into hooves. It was over. He had no will to survive.

"Goodbye, kitten…"

Resigned to his fate, Bucky let go of the edge and sailed down to the ground below with his rival.

The incendiary floodtide of dredging betrayal felt like knifing paralytic against the damnable strain that crescendoed as she rigidly clutched onto the matte-black carbon steel of her unholstered Beretta; the sleek edges of her inferred goggles that were flipped up to curve over her mahogany tresses as her thievish domino mask shadowily fringed over tigerish decadence of her brandy irises that nakedly bleared. Against the backlit contrasts, she was a fleeting silhouette-refusing to become a fixed extension of HYDRA's cheapening reality that was a butcherous industry of morbid conquest-she needed to bail out of this demented fairytale. Rome was an inventive destination of crossing free grounds while fostering a new practical charade of effective identity. 'Always steal what can be given...'

Heartache was disturbingly raiding through her veins in tenfold as she tellingly felt a kinetic pulse of amplified celestial heat- weaponized artery of containable energy that wielded into a morphic device of an Eldritch breach that penetratively converging behind the door leading into a private hallway. Easing down on her sleek neoprene-clad haunches with fluidic readiness of cat-like agility, involuntarily, Selina registered a ghoulish onslaught mournfully contracting into deep-throated agony belting from a Kevlar-vested sentry enforcer; a miasmal aura of viscous reek of liquified-bloodied flesh was rancidly potent within the shadowy contrasts-a demonic indulgence was hellishly enwreathing around her."Now that's interesting-"

She then heard voices arguing from the foyer of the estate. Familiar and dreaded in their dominance to one-up the other in what was undoubtedly a p*** contest between two power-hungry men.

"Its out of the question, Alexander! I did not sacrifice anonymity and resources to bring my daughter back from that cesspool only to hand her over to a bunch of mad-scientists." Baron Strucker raged with burning eyes at the older blonde male who flashed him a tight-smile.

The two Hydra heads stood at opposing sides with two guards flanking them should anything get out of hand. Selina silently hid in a dark corner as she watched the scene unfold.

"You're failing to see the value your daughter possesses beyond your family name, Wolfgang. Hydra isn't one head, its several working with a unanimous goal to secure this world and guide it to a better future. There is no sacrifice we're unwilling to make to achieve that goal. Especially with our Asset having long ran past his expiration date."

"Fine. Then we will use the Twins. Their youth and potential has already made them valuable for our plans moving forward." Strucker countered.

"Neither of them have the training and experience your daughter has. Rumlow showed me her file. She survived the Gotham uprising terrorist attack, committed over a hundred high-profile heists across the world without a single camera noticing her. Unless we're counting her stint in juvenile hall. She's an Asset that shouldn't be ignored."

Using raw brazenness in her acrobatic momentum, blurringly with propelling grace, lithely Selina arced her stiletto-heeled boot as she delivered a roundhouse kick against the door, gnashing her teeth against a deaden throb, with breakneck traction, explosively Selina crossed the dim sconces of the foyer without derailing hesitance, evading the sentry enforcers that were obscured near a stretch of a granite wall after being dispatch by Alexander Pierce with MP5 assault rifles slung over their strapped tactical vests-another conspirtatorial shop talk with her father. Against the rampageous octane fueling teemingly in her veins, wickedly she flashed a vehement gaze of heated coffee at HYDRA's tyrannic leader while Baron Strucker remained stock-still impassive in his austere composure. "Sorry, I'm late for the party boys..."

"What are you doing out here, Selina?! Go back to your room now!" Strucker demanded with an authoritative tone that had no effect on her. Indignation rose up inside of him while his Hydra compatriot merely smirked at him condescendingly, knowing this was a humiliation for him.

"Looks like fatherhood hasn't done you any favors, Wolfgang. Little Miss Kyle has a rebel-streak that won't be curbed by a simple paternal reprimand. It wasn't only a few weeks ago I found her on the rooftop making merry with our resident Beast." Pierce said with a dry look directed at Selina. For weeks he suspected the Winter Soldier had deviated from his original programming and a prime reason for that stood right in front of him.

"So what did you say to him? Hmm? What does a little girl like you say to tame a murderous Beast whose only instinct is to kill and obey?"

"Hate to disappoint but my lips are sealed," she scoffed challengingly, against unfeigned revulsion, with the seductive nonchalance of her sashaying pace, she breached Pierce's smug proximity, stealingly leveling her laser-cut stiletto heel a breadth from his tailored- garbed knee-a cool graze of distraction. "You know what a little girl like me does for fun, old man..." A kittenish pout belied devious intent over the lush fullness of hervoluminous lips as she corkscrewed her boot with bone- gouging drag and nick into his wrinkled flesh as he grimacingly staggered back with evident limp."That's one way to make you dance..."

Chaos erupted then as Pierce's SHIELD implanted agents drew their weapons towards Selina which prompted Strucker's men to draw theirs at the same time. "NO!" The Baron of Hydra yelled just as gunfire erupted in a roaring hailstorm. Selina stepped behind a pillar, drawing her concealed Glock from her thigh-holster while Strucker drew his from his side.

"Kill them. Capture the girl!" Pierce yelled as he limped on his foot and picking up a walkie. "Rumlow. Rumlow, come in!" No response. Pierce inwardly cursed, wondering just how difficult it could've been for his right-hand man to dispose of a fat-pig without the will to fight. Just as the chaos had reached its breaking point, an ominous silence took hold as every gunman in the vicinity was struck with a paralysis spell that made them into mindless puppets.

Selina didn't need to guess what was happening as she heard the tapping of high-heels entering the foyer, and a Russian accent following.

"Ty nikogda ne razocharovyvayesh', malen'kiy kotenok ...(You never disappoint, little kitten)..." A vapourous paralytic shunted inexorably against Selina's heart, with adrenalized reaction as she remained motionlessly crouched behind the pillar with the Berreta clutched in her gloved hand, she gazed at crimson skeins of anarchic energy maniacally convulse of a soul-gripping wake of mutative-veined possession as the immobilized sentry guards vomitously crashed in voiceless-frantic unison on their armored knees; infective anguish became furrily stamped on their lengthening, jutted-out features as they squeakily heaved out choking breaths. The battle-honed resiliency of muscled sculpt under Kevlar garb swelled against the sorcerous cadence as thickened flesh melted into globbing pudge. "That never gets old..." Elena chimed out, dementedly.

"Tokarev." Strucker was struck with disbelief as his men were all brought low to their knees by a simple gesture of the Russian blonde's hand. Like puppets who had their strings cut. The Baron recognized the former Widow who had been on a vicious crusade of vengeance against any and all those associated with the Red Room. Who had helped turn her into the cold emotionless killer she now was. Elena's retribution wasn't an eye-for-an-eye, but an eye for a head. She didn't stop by merely killing those responsible but also going after their loved ones, even if they were innocent.

Using this moment as his chance, Pierce slipped away from the chaos leaving Strucker to his fate. "If you-" Strucker was hit by the same paralysis spell his men were suffering from, only he was aware of his struggle that made him feel like prey wrapped in a web.

The blonde Russian said nothing as her wrath extended with a simple chant of words. Selina watched with shock and disbelief as all the Hydra agents were contorted and screams as their bodies transformed before her eyes. This was what had happened to James. What she had done to him. The Hydra agents were given a quick but no less painless transformation that saw that fully grown human forms morph down to rodent-shaped pests.

The look in Elena's eyes was merciless, sadistic when they landed on Strucker who remained at her mercy. "What do you want?" He managed to say through a strangled tone.

"Even a cursed life is too good for you, Strucker. The only thing I want to watch you bleed out slowly." Elena weaves a manipulative spell that made Strucker react like a puppet on strings. His hands were no longer his as they drew his pistol from his holster and held the barrel at his chest. Selina looked on in silent horror as the trigger pulled and Strucker's body crumbled to the ground with blood weeping from his chest.

"Hail Hydra," Elena spat. Vengeance sang in her blood, but her lust had yet to be sated as she had yet to confirm the fate of Barnes, Rumlow and Pierce. Sparing one last look at the dying Hydra Baron, she turns and exits the foyer.

Strucker's glazed eyes landed on Selina, still behind the column she'd used to take cover behind. For a moment their eyes met. The barest hint of remorse showed in his eyes despite his steeled conviction. With his last ounce of strength, he uttered. "You are more than a daughter...You're my beautiful miracle..." He fell still and his last breath escaped him.

A stray trek of sheening wetness feverishly tear-dampened her cheeks, gravity felt heart-paralyzingly stalled, in blinding ease, Selina launched herself closer to his slumped form; bloodied ribbons of crimson oozed from his marred temple, in that contractive wake of intensified -resurrected echoes of unbidden heartache, achingly without rueful deterrence she deftly reached the litheness of her gloved hand to reverently grace a whisper-soft caress over the chiseled roughed planes of his slack jaw as slickness of crimson drenched through her mahogany tresses-the incarnate entity of HYDRA was infinitely purged out of him.

Glaring rivalrously against a blear onrush at the discarded Glock on her father's inert thigh; driven by the banking revelation that James was shackled in the fatal crosshairs of her morphic wrath, she fixed vengeful heat on the direction Elena spookily fled, as her tenuous fingers throbbingly gripped over the weapon that would deliver a hailstorm reckoning to blow the Russian medusa's head clean off. "I'm done playing her game..."

The frigid blasts of snowy gales flurryingly ravaged against the forested environs bordering the HYDRA estate; sluggishly against despondent exhaustion, with a measure of unwarranted control, Bucky felt the protruding swollenness of his blubbery mass, a contractive rapt thrummed underneath his thickened layers of unkempt chestnut fur droopily sheathed over the cushiony rotundity of the bulging expanse of his underbelly. He felt half-paralyzed as snorty-pained breath gratingly rushed out of him in piggish cadence."Hragh..." Groggily against a heavy-lidded blear, the silvery cool intensity of his grayish-aquamarine irises captured the niveous contrasts; in a deadweight effort of straining tension, the sniper-hog flabbily plowed his jowly snout over discarded tatters of his ripped clothing-visages-apparitions of divested humanity that no longer fitted over his cursive-fattening mass.

He couldn't move. He couldn't think of anything beyond the agonized throbbing in his temple that made him feel like retching to release a strangled breath. The bitter chill of winter wind encompassed him again, reminding him that he was outside. Cold, alone and...naked? His eyes went downcast and almost instantly, horror and despair enveloped him by way of creeping memories. The curse. The fight. The fall. The resigned acceptance of death, only to awaken to the torturous reality that his humanity had been stripped from him completely. The humanoid proportions had been utterly transformed into a quadrupedal shape.

Large, fat, furry and repugnant. The last vestiges of James Barnes had been erased by a magical curse that ran its course. "Why is this happening to me…" The words sounded human-distraught in his mind. But all his ears heard was a shriveling squeal to each syllable that escaped his mouth. He should be dead. That was his escape. Life had run its tragic course that culminated with a rejection for a new beginning. But the reaper hadn't come to extract his toll. Not on him. Not James Buchanan Barnes. Death might claim him one moment and return him in the next. He was a survivor. Molded to endure and carry on.

Now as a pig, his next great challenge loomed in front of him as he struggled to move atop the mound of snow he landed on. His hearing listened and picked up close chatter. Voices arguing if not pleading with an unidentified source. Through glazed eyes, his blurry vision watched as one of the voices, a man tried to strong-arm his way out of his predicament as he backed towards a corner.

"Killing me won't solve anything, young lady. Hydra has eyes and ears around the world. They'll find you, and kill you. Your only way out of this is to run, and I'll sweep this little incident under the rug." Pierce attempted to quell the ire of the blonde Russian assassin who smirked at him with ill-intent.

Being a merciless conductor of a perfidious symphony accorded by terrors devices of HYDRA's reign slithering into governmental helms of the high-ball industry of cutting deals- Alexander Pierce was a scheming wrinkled-face rat- an unpatriotic coldhearted vermin that needed to be condemningly exterminated before authorized commands were steered by his traitorous voice. Keeping herself deceptively poised on the fringe of ice, haughtily Elena leveled her raven-hazel irises at his leathery time-worn features, with a venomous sneer, hypnotically akin to a coiling viper holding prey into a painstaking deadlock. "You're a rat who likes chewing off loose ends, old fool..." she hissed out, bluntly. "You never looked through a sniper-scope in crosshairs of blood, you trade loyalty to your homeland..." She whipped her head serpentinely at the demolished heap of snow, relishingly glaring down at the globbing mass of chestnut fur saggily rearing his wedged-size head up. "...and resurrect tortured ghosts that were more than beautiful lies..."

Pierce's apprehension began to show as he stumbled back, nearly tripping on Rumlow's bruised body that looked disjointed by a fall he sustained. His confidence crumbled beneath the Russian assassin's vicious gaze as he raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Be reasonable here. A man in my position. There's a lot I can do for you-" Pierce couldn't say anything more as he felt his nerves become paralyzed then racked with pain that made him feel as if he were being impaled by an unseen force. Eyes widened, he cracked and fell to his knees while Elena looked down at him mercilessly.

The reined promise of his mortality was a skein of pitiful weakness chimerically veined in the withered planes of his aging features; the rabid-slaughterous gleam melding in her dark irises became soul-arrestingly impassive as eldritch glyphs sorcerously merged incandescent vines of astral crimson-a demonical energy of suffusive mutative pulses arcing over length of her fingers, surgically poised to harvest out his betraying-bemired vitality. "Don't you know old man, a Widow's bite always stings..." she jeered evilly, the venomous tenor of her undertone was a slashing force of railed viscousness as his ears stretched out in unison of telltale spasms excruciatingly against the rapid aura of her conjuring onslaught. "Let's see if we can sweep you under the rug..."

With a sidelong glance careened from the dwarfing-furry- HYDRA director emitting stifled groans as she registered a shifting vibration in the snowdrifts, Elena maliciously caught the variance of defiant motion against thrashing-chivalric valiance that wasn't bred from the Red Room. Breathing a long-drawn grunt, in defensive effort, the massive boar saggingly hefted up the rubbery plumpiness of his disgusting obese form on stubbed-cloven hooves as he rackingly snorted out the availing-unmistakable cadence of bone-deep resistance. It was surprising to watch a reckless—amusing display, like a hellbent soldier ragingly dodging a minefield: he never quit the fight. "Still trying to end this dance, Dzheyms (James)..." she rasped in villainous pitch. "Maybe I should strap your beautiful kitten in the electro chair, and watch her scream out cindered memories..."

Bucky felt as if the fight had been beaten out of him multiple times over since this ordeal began. Despite each time he felt himself getting knocked down, he found a way to pull himself back up. An innate defiance burned within him that refused to relent. The despair that threatened to consume him only moments ago after he'd thrown Rumlow off the balcony had practically consumed what little fight he had left in his bones. With Rumlow's dead body nearby, and Pierce reduced to a pathetic rodent not too far away, it occurred to him that Elena had wiped out the entire safe-house. But not Selina. No. In his heart, he knew that she was a survivor, and wouldn't quit. It inspired him to do the same as he slowly trotted his portly mass across the mounds of snow until he was staring up into Elena's sadistic eyes, tinged with dark humor.

He would put her in place if it meant breathing his last breath.

"No you won't, Elena. Because you don't know her. She's stronger than you. I used to think you were one of the best I taught. I thought you'd grown. But you're still a little Widow using hocus pocus to win her battles. Ty menya razocharovyvayesh' (You disappoint me)." He grunted, watching as her face began to morph into a murderous fury. It was matched equally by the intensity of which his voice, his animalistic grunts were growing. "And one thing you don't know about me. I'm really from Brooklyn. AND BROOKLYN BOYS NEVER QUIT!"

The infinite resonance of scything ferocity deafeningly became implosive with combative aggression; with ricocheting momentum of launching agility, heaving out a guttural snort, the rotund boar thrashingly hammer-rammed his tusked-snout into the exposed flesh of her calf before Elena could balletically sidestep from the propelling-amplified force of determined precision-line of assault- on the ice; buckling down into reared-disarmed submission blood misted out of bruising gouge as she felt the razored-curve of his jutted tusk surge into leather-clad flesh.

Bracing her palms into the slushy head of snow, as her blonde tresses went askew over her flushed cheeks, against vertiginous heat, Elena waspishly snarled in a virulent utterance. "Tell me,zhirnaya svin'ya (fat pig) did she run when you foolishly exposed your heart knowing that you were not worth the damn price of her freedom..." she taunted, her paling wind-bitten lips poised into a viperlike sneer, the Brooklyn hog scowlingly furrowed against a pinching grimace etched over the overlapping pudge of his furry brow into a dumbfounded semblance. "Serdtse l'da nikogda ne tayet(Heart of ice never melts)..."

She was taunting him with a bitter truth he couldn't deny. What unsettled him most was the coy manner which she spoke, telling him that something horrible had happened that he didn't know about. Dread clawed through him with grueling force when he came to a startling realization. "What are you talking about?! What have you done to her!" He demanded, stomping his hooves. Her only response with a cynical laugh that acted as the tipping point to his rage. Bucky charged towards Elena with the intent on ramming his head into her waist, determined to trample and stomp her into submission. But she was quick to react as she side-stepped his attack and kicked him hard into his side, sending him crashing into the snow with a grunt.

He scrambled to pick himself back up only to feel the crushing sensation of foot lodged against his neck, pinning him down. Elena looked down at him ruefully. The look in her eyes told him she was done playing games. This was it. She would end him now and cement her crusade of retribution.

The bilious odor of drenched fur reekingly wafted off the obese hog, with cobra-honed grace, Elena lowered down into a predatory crouch, her palm dragged over the bulgy flabbiness of his swelled girth; his stowed up Brooklyn valiance was a bankingly crescendoing in warred tenor of the unabandoned-gladiatorial invincibly that wouldn't become vulturously exorcised by the soul-razing blight of her unquenchable vengeance.

The blunted edge of her unendurable-morbific reality was poised to fatally lance through his heart-the urgency of stacked hope was irrevocably anchoring him out of the chasmic oblivion."I was going to make you a fattened slave of gluttony..." she lashed out mockingly in crazed pitch, as her fingers twisted a ghosting caress over his fur, carnally weaving astral energy geometrical circlets into a destroyer glyphs -a demonic infusion-the unavailing emergence of morphic deviances ushered out of the Dark Dimension-a beckoned unity that forced Bucky to chokingly grunt out a pain-riddled breath. "Now I will enjoy shutting you down, Winter Soldier...

**BANG**

The silent night was disturbed by the thundering roar of a gunshot. Time fell still as if the very world had just taken in a deep breath. Bucky didn't move, his eyes were open and unseeing to the grim reality that surrounded him by way of blood dripping down his face. That was when he heard a thud beside him and the world released the breath that it held. He was alive. On the heap of snow, Elena laid dead on her back-a single gunshot wound to her forehead explaining to him what had just happened. The ringing in his ears however assaulted him and the hog released a painful groan that transitioned into a squeal.

He felt as if his head was being split-open. But more alarming was the icy-numbness that moved through his furry body from chest to limbs. His shuddered and rolled, too uncontrollable as he waited for an alleviation of sorts. He could make out a blurry shape standing at the edge of the pond approaching him. "H-Help me…" He whimpered. The world spun and he couldn't focus. But what he felt was as if he was being carried on the winds, ascending to a higher plateau that promised him salvation.

A gust of flurries swept through the courtyard in a whirlwind by an unseen force. The death of Elena causing an energetic disturbance that fractured the spell connected to her life-force. The flurries turn into a salvo of energy that takes the shape of a swan, majestic and ethereal to any who laid eyes on it. It envelops Bucky in its embrace and move through him, peeling back layers of animal fur and rotund mass to reveal the shape of a man.

Easing the Glock into a reserve grip the etheric tendrils of astral convergence faded out, blankly in tearing intensity welded in her dark coffee irises, Selina unblinkingly gazed down at nakedness of banding thickness of corded muscles bulkily sheathing over athletic-honed ridges fused with youthful flesh-a roguish solidity of virile hunkiness as wolfish tresses of lengthy chestnut shaggily draped over the graven-cut of his slack features.

Against blurring urgency, she unadulteratedly crashed onto her knees, as his motionless side, unguardedly delivering a tracery of heated reverence with her gloved fingers over the graven-edged planes of his stubbled cheek-she felt an unhurried resurgence of painstaking hope-echoes she became attuned to welcome. Awareness of revelation intensified as his sensuous-wide lips jutted slackly against a throaty groan, reeling back in stunned alarm, she murmured threadily, hitching out shaky breaths. "O-Okay he's obviously one of those damn HYDRA boys who is...Naked?"

"Explains the cold," he mumbled while beginning to stir. The action prompting him to erupt into a hard shiver that traveled from head-to-toe. Blue eyes snapped opened and a sharp intake of air followed as Bucky rose up onto his side. His complexion is sweaty, strands of dark tresses matted to his brow with his rugged cheeks pulled into a grimace.

Confusion rattled him when he looked down at his hands and saw that they weren't covered by tangled animal fur. The globs of pudgy fat that once made it difficult to climb out of bed were gone in place of well-defined muscles. This couldn't be real. Was he dreaming? And then he felt a warm hand caressing a path from his pectoral muscles, up his neck until reaching his cheek.

Brown eyes, deep and beautiful in their expression stared into his own causing his heart to flutter uncontrollably when he realized who had saved him. Selina. He was definitely dreaming now. The one face he wanted the see, and now the one he was unprepared for as he laid fully n*** to her eyes that were locked onto his. Bucky wasn't sure what to say to her. The memory of their last conversation still hung over him, but one look into her eyes told him everything he wanted to hear. She loved him. She saved him-in mind, body and soul.

Reverently he raised his hand and caressed her cheek, cupping the round surface into his palm as he smiled into her eyes. "Call me Bucky,"

No further words were needed as they came together. Bucky pulled her towards him and claimed her lips, readily the amorous heat of evocative pressure felt amazingly in the mirrored, breathless cadence as the cool traces of metallic of bionic fingers starvingly graced unfeigned virile steadiness, as they were edging into a headier rapture of blinding intensity of victorious-adoring urgency that penetrated their veins in suffusive wake of tempered chasteness. Against coupling moans that symphoniously resonated in every thrusting flex of his bristled jaw, delivering an intimate contrast against dueling pulses of sensuous-aphrodisiac fusion that headily echoed in throbbing graze of his teeth dragging a feathery rush of bruising accord over the plushier suppleness of her lush underlip; the frigidness of snow powdering over their aligned bodies was viscerally exhilarating against their heated flesh as they became numb-boneless to incendiary havoc. Responding to the shift of wet heat sheening his melding lips, Selina twined the litheness of her arms over his thickened nape, dizzyingly arching herself with balletic sync against the bulked width of his muscled chest as he lovingly edged her into the deepened ferocity of their unbroken kiss; both of them felt their souls ascend and sing with joy.

It was rapidly approaching midday as Bucky stood at a street-corner in a commercial district. French accents surrounded him and snowfall fell in a slow cadence over the merry streets of Paris. Christmas was approaching this weekend, and festive cheer could be felt in every smile, every laugh and every song being exchanged. It was a feeling that made him feel warm inside, enveloping him in a sense of nostalgia as he watched a peculiar couple dining together at a cafe close-by. Through the window, he watches as the youthful redhead makes some kind of quip to her blonde companion which causes him to smirk and blush at her.

Hmm...Maybe they were something more to each other than they suspected? They were faces he knew at some point in his past, but now was afraid to approach. Perhaps someday soon he would. He watched as they engaged in a tense discussion over something in the paper.

The world had been in an uproar ever since it was discovered Hydra had been secretly nesting within SHIELD for decades when an "anonymous whister-blower" leaked all of Alexander Pierce's files and the SHIELD database onto the internet. The spy-organization had imploded, prompting many to run for cover. Bucky would have to thank Selina's friend from Gotham for the help with that. Speaking of Selina, he turned and watched as she exited the coffee-shop with two cups.

"You can brood on your own time, handsome..." Selina quipped, snarkily leaning against the brownstone entryway of the belle-epoque cafe-a nook in the wall lounge-that became a harbor point to relish in the decadent indulgence of hot chocolate, the artisanal flavors of baked pastries sailed against the snowy gales, as eased a steaming cup designed with candy-cane printing a breadth to his motorcycle-leathered palm, Selina felt the pulse of long-haul exhaustion unmistakenly from raiding merchant sectors of last-minute Christmas purchases as crowded throngs passed around in laggard momentum. Feigning a cyclical grimace that quirked over the full-lushness of her lips, she pivoted on her stiletto heels, glowingly catching the amber sconces of the Efile Tower that dazzled against thievish heat of her coffee irises. "What to do something fun and maybe a bit dangerous..." she purred, coaxingly, as Bucky hiked his eyebrows with an unabashed furrow. "Since you still owe a rematch from our last snowball fight..."

"Careful darlin'. I may not be so gentle next time," Bucky chuckled as he accepted his cup and began to walk with her down the sidewalk. They were bundled warm and gravitated to each other naturally as Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist and with the other took a sip of his hot chocolate. "Things are starting to cool down now that its all out there. Who knows, maybe we'll be able to head to the tower and see the sights." He beckoned her towards the Eiffel Tower that glittered like a beacon in the night sky.

The wonderous Parisian ambiance of Christmas was fantastical to evade; despite the pandemonium of bustling tourists-she was on the fringe of adapting to the relevance of normalcy, shiveringly garbed in a black Valentino long-coat that delectably hugged over her voluptuous curves, as errant drifts of intricate flurries dampened over her tousled mahogany whorls; knowingly Selina registered the disastrous aura of liquid ecstasy -the ardent implosion of roguish heat melding through her veins when her gaze clashingly flitted up to meet the glacial coolness of his razored grayish-aquamarine irises that were electrifyingly pulsing alight underneath the shadowy length his wolfish chestnut tresses, as his shapely lips quirked naughtily with a virile challenge. "Wanna go back and enjoy our Christmas spoils first..." The devious cadence of her undertone silkily ignited a dare of kittenish play. "Unless you kinda enjoy falling on your ass..."

"I do like the sound of the first one," Bucky brought her into his arms, Selina sinking into his embrace as they both smiled into each other's eyes. Their hot drinks were held lazily in their free-hands as they leaned in slowly and kissed. Once, twice, a playful cadence that was both teasing and mischievous before building to a passionate crescendo. Their arms fully enveloped and their lips melded with love and fire, a promise of things to come later tonight, and a lifetime perhaps to enjoy them. "Let's go home, kitten." The two hold hands and continue down the snowy path, free of the demons that chased and now more than ever, looking towards a brighter future.

The End.

Completed: December 23rd, 2019

[eleeria]

nightmares

@stormandozone for you

---

Eldriana watched everyone’s faces range from contentment to utter horror as their own mangled and twisted faces looked back at them. The trees were dead silent with the gloom of the nightmare, and yet the whisper of grass told no lies, shifting gently below everyone’s feet. Over her shoulder, she could see Cere’thien direct her squad to tear an aberration of Velianor apart -- and yet the grass whispered. The telltale crunch of gentle leather shoes and heavy paws against the dirt could not be hidden by the arcane with no noise around them. The woman’s ears twitched sharply, head turning as Kyranyx called out and the whispers of the grass turned to sentient figures before them, dark eyes meeting--

Her own. Darker green than most Sin’dorei, shaded behind the mask that covered and protected her features. Bow drawn and strung with a poison-tipped arrow, dripping sickly red and black onto the damning grass below.

Oh, she was beautiful. The soft sigh of envy that escaped Eldriana’s lips was audible only to her counterpart, whose sharp eyes snapped to the real woman only feet away before sliding back to the human rogue attempting to block the door.

A grin, a wave -- Eldriana was nearly tempted to wave back, so infectious was the smile. Even as the abberration pulled the nightmare around herself, Eldriana could see all the imperfections laid bare: the missing hand, the slight clip in the way she tore across the grass due to permanently scarred and injured feet. But she could see all the things she loved about herself as well: the laser focus on the objective. The way her body twisted and shot in one seamless, clockwork motion. She was so fast, so alive, so --

Free.

She was free. The Nightmare did nothing more than release the creature that curled in Eldriana’s own stomach, forever chained and hidden behind rules and ceremony. Eldriana could do nothing but stare in soft awe and jealousy as her nightmare form rushed past, sights fixed on the Engine. The cruel smile that played on her lips spoke volumes to its original owner: she enjoyed this. Her mission was to kill the Engine, and she did it so well. A weapon in earnest, content to enjoy the singular objective of murder to its fullest extent. Plaguing the land was a small price to pay for the money and prestige that came after it -- Eldriana could see herself making the same decision, had the cards played out differently. Her nightmare form sunk arrows into Sunguard members with abandon, forsaking the rules that held her current self in unhappy stasis. Forsake them all, and get the job done. It was the way Eleeria Silverwing had guided her footsteps for hundreds of years before now, and as the intersection of unhappy farce and cold, joyful killer displayed itself before Eldriana’s current feet she realized that she was a fool for ever assuming that Eldriana and Eleeria were the same person where it counted.

The tigress had hidden her stripes from the world, but beneath her painted and polished skin, she was still a killer. Vicious joy gleamed in her doppelganger's eyes as she fulfilled her life’s purpose with relish. Whereas Eldriana felt chained to duty and obligation, Eleeria -- the real her, the nightmare-but-not-nightmare at all -- felt no boundaries at all. She owned her life and showed her stripes with vicious glee. No one would tell her to hide what she felt, ever again. No one would deny her the joy of her profession, and no one would tell her how to feel, how to breathe or think or be.

So she would be the entity of destruction she had always craved. The nightmare would release the locks and grips on everything Eldriana Fairlight kept hidden from other people and set it free into the world. The anger, the resentment, and the jealousy was laid bare and then wielded like a pair of sharp blades to her effectiveness. She did not have to lie to everyone, because she was perpetually the vicious truth. If people did not agree with her, then she dismantled them. The self-confidence and breezy assurance with which she dispatched Kaltaia and then turned on the Engine once more was reminiscent of the days when she worried about nothing but how much money would enter her pocket.

Eldriana had never felt so jealous of her own being. She was very nearly sad to see her go.

[blacksoma]

Demonologist study demons.

Demonolators study demons and worship them as divine beings.

Satanists adhere to Satan and or may not include demons in their religion or practice.

These terms can overlap,but don’t need to.

With this I’d like to quickly introduce myself. Hi, I’m Vorst and I’m both a Satanist and a demonolator, though Satan is my God, above everyone else. I’m also oath-bound to Him, which means I’ve promised to worship Him my entire life.

With this a warning: don’t make oaths for the fun of it. Changing your mind can happen, and in experience: neither gods nor demons will take kindly to oath-breakers.

Where does the word ‘demon’ come from?

The word comes from the Ancient Greek word 'δαιμον’, which the Romans also wrote as 'daemon’ later on in their own literature.

The meaning of the word 'daemon’ is: a spirit between gods and Man. You can see that the Greeks nor the Romans ever saw daemons as malicious spirits.

That changed with the rise of Christianity and Abrahamic religions in general. In contrary to Roman tactics, some of the now newly conquered Christian countries slowly began to forbid and shun any worship of gods and spirits outside of their own pantheon.

To the eyes of the Christian in these places, foreign beliefs were seen to be evil, corrupt and disfigured. Their gods being viewed as evil beings, out there to ruin people’s lives. They were to be portrayed as such that no one would ever want to associate themselves with these deities, and so previously normal words to describe certain entities had now gotten a sinister meaning.

That is the reason why people in modern times have taken it upon themselves to use 'daemon’ again instead of 'demon’, to distinguish themselves from the people who see them as solely malicious.

What are demons?

In modern shows and TV-series most hold on to their favourite stereotypes: terrifying evil creatures constantly possessing humans. In the more obscure films and media forms, they’re starting to slowly get to the truth of demons, usually portraying their wit and intelligence. This is most likely due to Christianity becoming less influential - and the fact that controversy is a great hit in everything.

Darker parts of the human self. Our darker emotions, such as fear, anger and sadness are seen as our personal demons. But also addiction, violent behaviour and sexual acts, as demons themselves are often associated with exactly these. These inner demons, as they are called, are obviously not the demons I will be discussing.

In reality, the entities known as demons are spirits and/or gods from ancient times. Most of the time, however, there is a line between when an entity is considered a demon, and when a god. Satan, per example, is referred to being both “the God of this world” and the king of demons. Some say he is not a demon, and some say he’s a demon but not the leader.

Another example of this is Astarte. Both seen as the female counterpart of the demon Astaroth, but she is also known as the Middle Eastern goddess Ishtar, worshipped from the Bronze Age in the ancient Levant among the Canaanites and Phoenicians.

Another example being Beelzebub, the Lord of Flies, as Biblical scholar Thomas Kelly Cheyne suggested that it might be a corruption of the name Ba‘al Zəbûl, “Lord of the High Place” (i.e., Heaven) or “High Lord” - a god previously worshipped.

The line between whether demons are gods or spirits is fairly vague. It is also worth noting that some have mentioned that some, like Astarte, might take offence to being referred to as a demon, so do be aware when contacting them and ask them what they want to be referred to as.  

Possession.

When people do feel like they’re possessed it’s usually either that they’re not well in touch with their inner selves, or that they’re influenced by negative energy of maybe a spirit. Though it is far more often the first scenario that’s causing the sensation. Of course, this excludes people with mental issues, who I advice to seek professional help in these cases. Also, therapists can help too.

Are demons evil?

Demons are as equally evil as gods are, as demonolators see them as divine beings. We all know gods of war, and yet they were worshipped. We know of gods who have murdered, assaulted and committed various human crimes and were and/or are still worshipped. There are various reasons for this, one being that gods can never be wrong, as they are not bound by human rules and transcend human morality. This, however, is more of a philosophical idea so I will not elaborate on that now.

Because demons are often portrayed as having characteristics similar to humans, one could never fully call a demon solely evil, nor could they ever be solely good.

This will probably make you wonder:

Is it reasonable to fear demons?

Absolutely. Whereas not per se evil, all are capable of acting hostile - this being their one trait everyone agrees on.

Demons are ancient and powerful entities that often care not for human problems. They often view humans as either acceptable or downright worthless to them.

And why would they in any other way?

In most religious practices, a god grants a human their prayer to come true when the human has presented themselves favourable to said god.

In the case of demons? They require no worship. Some gods don’t need worship either, but in the case of demons they appear completely separate from humanity. Despite that, as demons are closer to the raw core of human emotions than the general god would be, demons feed on the strongest of feelings: sadness, anger, fear, love and happiness. Demons are seen as spiritual predators in this regard.

As they require nor seem to desire an active response from humans, they are not inclined to mix themselves with mortals.

This does not mean a demon will never be genuinely kind. They will be. But do note that demons are skilled tricksters in getting what they want through fake promises and sweet lies.

When assured a demon expresses interest, kindness and acceptance a mutual agreement can be agreed on.

Banishing a demon?

So before I go into working with them, I’ll discuss how to get rid of them. First of all: ask them to leave. Be polite. Maybe they’re just simply approaching you.

If that does not work, try salt or spells to make others distance yourself from you.

You could also try and evoke another authority figure, like your god, to protect you.

Don’t engage them in a fight. Antagonized demons are the last you would want.

Working with demons?

Demons are wise teachers and are willing to share their secrets when either politely asked or forced to do so.

Either way seems to work fine, and have different names as well.

Evoking a demon is the act of forcefully conjuring a demon in your space, as in shown and described in the book of the Lesser Key of Solomon.

Invoking a demon is the act of inviting a demon in your space. You leave it up to the demon whether or not they show up.

The latter is obviously far more polite; modern demonolators prefer that one and I will be discussing that one the most.

Invocation differs from person to person. But, I will now state the general idea of doing this safely.

Always go for an invocation and never an evocation. This is personal advice. Demons will not be pleased if you force them. When casting a circle, during invocation the demon will be inside the circle together with you, with positive energy.

During evocation, the demon will be trapped inside the circle, the person outside looking in. Honestly, it’s terrible to start an acquaintanceship like that.

In order to prevent antagonizing the demon, be polite and go for an invocation. An invocation can be as difficult as you want it to be, in its simplest form it can even be as small as a prayer.

In my case, I cleanse my room, surround myself with a mental barrier (or through a smell I associate with Satan) where I invite the demon in. Then I draw a general summoning circle in the air. This can be done with a ritual knife, athame, wand or you hands. When using a sharp object do remember not to stab it in the air as if it’s an attack.

We don’t tend to attempt to knife our guests.

Afterward, or during, I say the Enn for the specific demon I wish to invoke.

Enns are short sentences in an unknown language, claimed to be demonic, of invitation, admiration or requests of protections. There are various theories on how they were found. The first demonolator who wrote them down was Alexander Willit in the 16th century. Later, other demonolators used them in their practice too. We know it is a language, with grammar, but we do not know the grammar itself yet. We do know the meaning of some sentences. Because we know little, we also do not know how to correctly pronounce these enns. Say it how you want.

Some examples of this language and their translation: “Ganic Tasa Fubin Flereous” could be translated as Fire protect the flame, Lord Flereous, per example. Another example is the enn for Barbatos, which is: “Eveta fubin Barabatos”.

After that, I go and meditate until I feel a presence. When I do, I politely try to communicate with the demon, mentally or verbally. There are various ways a demon can show itself depending on your spiritual state. Experienced demonolators reported manifestations so strong they initially thought someone had broken into their house.

When done, I thank the demon and end the invocation. This can be as simple as saying goodbye and as complex as an entire ritual. Do what you feel works best.

Originally posted on another blog, it was moved here.

room inspo pt2

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¡Ofertas en vuelos a Europa!

Jing Wen photographed by Yu Cong for Elle China January 2017

Stylists: Zhūgé Sū Jiā & Lettie Tseng Hair: Parco Cheung Makeup: Sūn Qí

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witches-of-ouroboros

Lesson 7: Demons

By: Admin Vorst

Live class date and time: To Be Determined

Demonologist, demonolator and Satanists.

Demonologist study demons.

Demonolators study demons and worship them as divine beings.

Satanists adhere to Satan and or may not include demons in their religion or practice.

These terms can overlap,but don’t need to.

With this I’d like to quickly introduce myself. Hi, I’m Vorst and I’m both a Satanist and a demonolator, though Satan is my God, above everyone else. I’m also oath-bound to Him, which means I’ve promised to worship Him my entire life.

With this a warning: don’t make oaths for the fun of it. Changing your mind can happen, and in experience: neither gods nor demons will take kindly to oath-breakers.

Where does the word ‘demon’ come from?

The word comes from the Ancient Greek word 'δαιμον’, which the Romans also wrote as 'daemon’ later on in their own literature.

The meaning of the word 'daemon’ is: a spirit between gods and Man. You can see that the Greeks nor the Romans ever saw daemons as malicious spirits.

That changed with the rise of Christianity and Abrahamic religions in general. In contrary to Roman tactics, some of the now newly conquered Christian countries slowly began to forbid and shun any worship of gods and spirits outside of their own pantheon.

To the eyes of the Christian in these places, foreign beliefs were seen to be evil, corrupt and disfigured. Their gods being viewed as evil beings, out there to ruin people’s lives. They were to be portrayed as such that no one would ever want to associate themselves with these deities, and so previously normal words to describe certain entities had now gotten a sinister meaning.

That is the reason why people in modern times have taken it upon themselves to use 'daemon’ again instead of 'demon’, to distinguish themselves from the people who see them as solely malicious.

What are demons?

In modern shows and TV-series most hold on to their favourite stereotypes: terrifying evil creatures constantly possessing humans. In the more obscure films and media forms, they’re starting to slowly get to the truth of demons, usually portraying their wit and intelligence. This is most likely due to Christianity becoming less influential - and the fact that controversy is a great hit in everything.

Darker parts of the human self. Our darker emotions, such as fear, anger and sadness are seen as our personal demons. But also addiction, violent behaviour and sexual acts, as demons themselves are often associated with exactly these. These inner demons, as they are called, are obviously not the demons I will be discussing.

In reality, the entities known as demons are spirits and/or gods from ancient times. Most of the time, however, there is a line between when an entity is considered a demon, and when a god. Satan, per example, is referred to being both “the God of this world” and the king of demons. Some say he is not a demon, and some say he’s a demon but not the leader.

Another example of this is Astarte. Both seen as the female counterpart of the demon Astaroth, but she is also known as the Middle Eastern goddess Ishtar, worshipped from the Bronze Age in the ancient Levant among the Canaanites and Phoenicians.

Another example being Beelzebub, the Lord of Flies, as Biblical scholar Thomas Kelly Cheyne suggested that it might be a corruption of the name Ba‘al Zəbûl, “Lord of the High Place” (i.e., Heaven) or “High Lord” - a god previously worshipped.

The line between whether demons are gods or spirits is fairly vague. It is also worth noting that some have mentioned that some, like Astarte, might take offence to being referred to as a demon, so do be aware when contacting them and ask them what they want to be referred to as.  

Possession.

When people do feel like they’re possessed it’s usually either that they’re not well in touch with their inner selves, or that they’re influenced by negative energy of maybe a spirit. Though it is far more often the first scenario that’s causing the sensation. Of course, this excludes people with mental issues, who I advice to seek professional help in these cases. Also, therapists can help too.

Are demons evil?

Demons are as equally evil as gods are, as demonolators see them as divine beings. We all know gods of war, and yet they were worshipped. We know of gods who have murdered, assaulted and committed various human crimes and were and/or are still worshipped. There are various reasons for this, one being that gods can never be wrong, as they are not bound by human rules and transcend human morality. This, however, is more of a philosophical idea so I will not elaborate on that now.

Because demons are often portrayed as having characteristics similar to humans, one could never fully call a demon solely evil, nor could they ever be solely good.

This will probably make you wonder:

Is it reasonable to fear demons?

Absolutely. Whereas not per se evil, all are capable of acting hostile - this being their one trait everyone agrees on.

Demons are ancient and powerful entities that often care not for human problems. They often view humans as either acceptable or downright worthless to them.

And why would they in any other way?

In most religious practices, a god grants a human their prayer to come true when the human has presented themselves favourable to said god.

In the case of demons? They require no worship. Some gods don’t need worship either, but in the case of demons they appear completely separate from humanity. Despite that, as demons are closer to the raw core of human emotions than the general god would be, demons feed on the strongest of feelings: sadness, anger, fear, love and happiness. Demons are seen as spiritual predators in this regard.

As they require nor seem to desire an active response from humans, they are not inclined to mix themselves with mortals.

This does not mean a demon will never be genuinely kind. They will be. But do note that demons are skilled tricksters in getting what they want through fake promises and sweet lies.

When assured a demon expresses interest, kindness and acceptance a mutual agreement can be agreed on.

Banishing a demon?

So before I go into working with them, I’ll discuss how to get rid of them. First of all: ask them to leave. Be polite. Maybe they’re just simply approaching you.

If that does not work, try salt or spells to make others distance yourself from you.

You could also try and evoke another authority figure, like your god, to protect you.

Don’t engage them in a fight. Antagonized demons are the last you would want.

Working with demons?

Demons are wise teachers and are willing to share their secrets when either politely asked or forced to do so.

Either way seems to work fine, and have different names as well.

Evoking a demon is the act of forcefully conjuring a demon in your space, as in shown and described in the book of the Lesser Key of Solomon.

Invoking a demon is the act of inviting a demon in your space. You leave it up to the demon whether or not they show up.

The latter is obviously far more polite; modern demonolators prefer that one and I will be discussing that one the most.

Invocation differs from person to person. But, I will now state the general idea of doing this safely.

Always go for an invocation and never an evocation. This is personal advice. Demons will not be pleased if you force them. When casting a circle, during invocation the demon will be inside the circle together with you, with positive energy.

During evocation, the demon will be trapped inside the circle, the person outside looking in. Honestly, it’s terrible to start an acquaintanceship like that.

In order to prevent antagonizing the demon, be polite and go for an invocation. An invocation can be as difficult as you want it to be, in its simplest form it can even be as small as a prayer.

In my case, I cleanse my room, surround myself with a mental barrier (or through a smell I associate with Satan) where I invite the demon in. Then I draw a general summoning circle in the air. This can be done with a ritual knife, athame, wand or you hands. When using a sharp object do remember not to stab it in the air as if it’s an attack.

We don’t tend to attempt to knife our guests.

Afterward, or during, I say the Enn for the specific demon I wish to invoke.

Enns are short sentences in an unknown language, claimed to be demonic, of invitation, admiration or requests of protections. There are various theories on how they were found. The first demonolator who wrote them down was Alexander Willit in the 16th century. Later, other demonolators used them in their practice too. We know it is a language, with grammar, but we do not know the grammar itself yet. We do know the meaning of some sentences. Because we know little, we also do not know how to correctly pronounce these enns. Say it how you want.

Some examples of this language and their translation: “Ganic Tasa Fubin Flereous” could be translated as Fire protect the flame, Lord Flereous, per example. Another example is the enn for Barbatos, which is: “Eveta fubin Barabatos”.

After that, I go and meditate until I feel a presence. When I do, I politely try to communicate with the demon, mentally or verbally. There are various ways a demon can show itself depending on your spiritual state. Experienced demonolators reported manifestations so strong they initially thought someone had broken into their house.

When done, I thank the demon and end the invocation. This can be as simple as saying goodbye and as complex as an entire ritual. Do what you feel works best.

Originally posted on another blog, it was moved here.

[nana-talks]

bourne franchise, a review

basics the bourne identity (2002) - ★★★ the bourne supremacy (2004) - ★★★★⯩ the bourne ultimatum (2007) - ★★⯩ the bourne legacy (2012) - ★★★ jason bourne (2016) - ★★★

review: i was going to write individual reviews for each of the movies on the franchise, but not only was i too lazy, i also watched 4 out of 5 literally at 1am. so here i am, the day after to compile my thoughts.

overall, i think i give the franchise a 3.5 stars. it is a classic spy action franchise and i think a lot of the directing/writing was fundamental for the new age action movies. but it’s not great, per se.

i will be reviewing some aspects of the franchise with spoilers, so read with caution.

directing this was the weakest point for me. the first one is great, apart from how old it looks, which is comprehensive (it was released 18 years ago) and the sound design which is disgustingly bad. Paul Greengrass, however, comes to change things up and just forgets to turn down the shaky cam to a point where i was feeling legitimately sick while watching the movie. it gave me a migraine i’m still trying to wear off.

a lot of the stylistic choices of the zooms, transitions and action sequences were not only hurtful to the eyes, but plain out ugly - they look outdated even for the 2016 instalment of the series. and from the reviews i’ve read, people agree on this one.

writing i am overly critical on writing because it is what i enjoy most in a film. i don’t know much about directing or acting, but stories - that’s something i know. so i was engaged with the premise of the first movie, but was a bit thrown off with some of the choices in the later movies.

with the first one, i enjoyed how they set up Jason’s backstory with flashbacks and how they wrote his main romantic storyline with Marie. it felt like an integral part of the movie, it had the correct amount of stakes and overall, it was a good call. i’ll talk more on that in the next sections.

however, on the second one we have a deeper premise. with Marie’s death, Jason’s stakes are over the top and his reactions are aligned with his principles. most of the complaints i had with the first movie’s writing got better on the second one - the sound design was better, the general accents were better, he finally has some actual fights with people. overall it was a great addition.

it’s with the third movie that most of my problems started to show up. first of all, the plots of the second and third instalments only aligned in the second half of the third movie. it felt cheap, like they couldn’t come up with something for the third movie so they decided to go back to Russia and ignore the ending of the second movie for a little while, just until they managed to write more than an hour worth of content, then they can go back to scheduled programming. 

the third movie starts with the paralells that completely disregard Jason and his storyline. we have had Nicky in the first two movies of the series and she doesn’t do much - she’s just there, half the time, which is bad enough as it is. she’s a spy, for God’s sake. and now they’re trying to paint a romantic picture of her with Jason using the same scenes from Jason’s romantic storyline with Marie. literally recycling scenes - they are even shot similarly. it feels cheap, to me. they invoke Jason’s amnesia and PTSD with the “i loved you but you forgot about me” trope in the worst way possible. he even repeats the “please run, you can’t be close to me or you’ll be hurt” speech he gave Marie but the writers forget that Marie was just a normal person caught up in the wrong situation because she wanted a green card; Nicky is a trained agent of the CIA, she’s supposed to be able to look out for herself.

Nicky is also completely disregarded after she’s no longer with Jason. this happens several times during the franchise to the point where i feel like they never even wrote a storyline for her, they just went with it.

this is also the movie that started to get on my nerves with the inconsistency with character design. people that are supposed to be smart enough to have clearance on top state secrets make dumb mistakes to advance the plot. it feels like a cheap device used to advance a storyline and it’s just not believable. 

on the second movie, finally Jason’s abilities are put to the test, he gets to have real fights with high stakes with people on his caliber - and whenever he did make a mistake, you could see it was because he was struggling with his mental health issues. here we have people with high rankings in the CIA using their own passports in foreign countries and forgetting that their bank accounts would probably be surveilled? having fully empty floors in the buildings next to the CIA’s with access to their windows? the completely unsecured building in itself - just put papers in a safe and that’s enough, y’all! it’s cheap writing.

another thing that bothered me (but this isn’t a concept present only in Jason Bourne, it’s probably in every action movie possible) is the way they use foreign pain to advance their plots. riots and protests in third world countries are seen as a way to disguise Jason’s whereabouts with absolutely blatant disregard for the countries suffering. i wasn’t surprised but it still annoyed me.

i’ll completely skip the fourth movie, as i feel it should be treated separately from the Bourne trilogy. the fifth felt like an unnecessary ad-on, but some points were nice - mainly Jason’s principles’ consistency, which is one of my next points so i won’t dwell too much on it now. but overall, it felt like a money grab ad-on with no real substance, we had no stakes for the premise to be that enthralling. but the fight scenes were good, because once again, Jason was fighting someone on his caliber.

the bourne legacy (2012) this totally feels like a separate entity from the Bourne saga. not only because of the lack of Bourne in itself, but because the pace is different, the writing is different and the directing is also different. the shots were cool, specially in the snow, but not that cool to make me remember much else.

the writing, however, was interesting to say the least. the premise was incredible, probably my favorite one out of all. i think everything took a sharp turn for me with Oscar Isaac dying in the shed - it took me completely off guard and with that i kept interested in the rest of the plot. it was a bonus that the chase sequences (even though once more, in a foreign third world country) were better than i expected as well.

but how can a PhD graduate be so dumb? perhaps in 2012 we weren’t there yet with the whole “writing strong women” thing. (but then i think back to Marie and wonder who had the courage to write her in 2002 then). it just felt cheap to make this dumb ass character be the one to save the day when she took a gun in her hands and fired randomly to try and get away. how can a PhD graduate work for the CIA and not expect anything?

it was a great relief that Aaron’s character development was so well done, even if his motivation was quite lacklustre. so much so that i don’t hate this movie and i think it would be a pleasure to continue with this storyline, specially in a spin-off sort of way (perhaps to try and stop capitalizing on Bourne’s character to profit a movie that’s not about him)

favorite points here comes the part where i gush on and on about Jason Bourne & his relationship with Marie. but because they were objectively the best parts of the franchise, by miles on end.

firstly, their meeting made total sense to me and felt natural, something other spy movies and action movies forget to do with the romantic partner of the lead character. perhaps this is not understood the way it felt to me for american audiences, but the stakes she went to get a green card felt very reasonable to me. their relationship didn’t feel forced or rushed - much on the contrary, there were several moments in the first movie that i felt they could have happened sooner, but they didn’t. and that was a great choice.

because when they did, it felt real. to the point where their connection is still something i recall clearly even after 5 movies. to the point where Jason’s revenge felt reasonable (if not warranted).

apart from their relationship, with its nuance and care, i also truly enjoyed to see Jason’s development. he was by far the most thought out and fleshed out character in the whole franchise, of course, and it didn’t disappoint. his motivations were clear, his principles were sound and i didn’t question his actions not once because of it.

my favorite part was learning how much family meant to Jason. you can see a glimpse of this on the first movie, when he’s scared to go to sleep because Marie’s nephew and niece could be in possible danger. you can also see this when he fails his last mission when the man he’s about to murder wakes up with his daughter in his lap.

this is a motif that shows up once again with the way he reaches out to the loved ones of the people he’s killed, how he reaches out to Marie’s brother to let him know of what happened, how you can see he joined the Treadstone project on behalf of his father.

it all feels so convincing the part that hurts me the most is that he never got the chance to start a family with Marie. and perhaps if he had, maybe his stakes would have been higher. maybe it would have given more of an edge to the rest of the movies.

final points i started watching this series because my dad really likes them. i ended up really enjoying my time and will continue on my saga to watch famous series that shaped pop culture & give you my thoughts on them.

[deathghost8]

Recent Trip writings

Critical trips before and after the Battle shout idea occurred in the pinnacle trip, I have assembled writings from these moments and the neurogenesis cognitions unfolding between them. ***** I feel that I became a psychonaut during a near death experience as a child, I was hallucinating wire colored geometry flying against blackness because of gasoline inhalation, age 10 approximately. As I started to actually grow up, from 23-33, I inhabited a sort of rock bottom, until I discovered nature’s medicines to pursue to concept of neurogenesis. The feeling that eventually formed in my neurogenesis path, well after ceasing alcohol and other poisonous patterns- was a unification of all the threads I had ever been fascinated with into one idea of who I am and what my purpose now in living is. Previously I had sort of jumped between the threads, death fascination, video game escapism, story telling and shame resilience, sexuality and sex positivity / artistic expression, free thought and radicalism against institutional religious thought, lucid dreaming. The feeling of all of my ideas shaped as one concept is incredible but also feels close to this theoretical unraveling point because I feel so completely moved toward the fulfillment of my ideas. As if the direction change my life could take on, this is a transformational disruption. The potential to advance in a way that is completely separate and distinct, almost like waking up as a different person living a different life, the memory of the one before makes little to no sense, it feels like it didn’t happen. It’s an intense juxtaposition of knowing the most intense depersonalization, remembering it in the abstract, yet having now only the result of re sociation. I’m a different person. I was no person then, and now I am one, which is inherently different, and special, and also really insane somehow. Title the 9000th plateau. This is the blackout part for almost anyone. But. If you hold conscious and think a thought this big. You are sky Free falling objects, falling indefinitely, perfectly. Contained and also falling completely perfectly. The humans. The people who are valuable. Precious. Irreplaceable. They are in the perfect free fall. There is no ground. This is infinite perfect energy. The nature of humanness. :::Protecting our Noobs Definitely do not let little tiny kids pick up this medicine and choose it. They don’t know what tripping is for. But I’m Really super good at it. But don’t them tiny ones get it Or alcohol Because they do not at all know what they are doing. They can’t be allowed , they aren’t even choosing yet. Not till Brain is older. Letting them grow bigger That is why we take away the alcohol We take it AWAY. They cannot have any. I just want them to grow bigger And being safe. Don’t let them choose this choice Until we can’t stop them , they are too big we can’t stop them. And even then it’s not safe if they choose it But only they can choose. We can’t do it for them. Nor can we stop them. Because they got too big for us to stop them anymore. But they can’t hear us saying - it will just take you apart take you away from me into a dark corner and I need to see you because you are special. They can’t hear it. They can’t see it. But it’s what we are saying. “You are special. Let me see“ ****** what follows is a trip writing comprised of past writing that is important in my path to the quest and to the result of the quest, and a little bit of new writing - the battle shout originating writings from that trip will be a separate pinned post***** Positive initiating // shame - vulnerability Shame and vulnerability- our most powerful primal instinct gives me a clue to a true wisdom - that vulnerability state is actually our most powerful mind / emotional place, and we just have to stop retreating from it to claim that power. Suddenly it feels like all I have to do in order to make this happen is to start sharing my inner self with people who are close to me. The withholding it all (or 90% ) from my clan people all the time is my retreat from the vulnerable state. I love my friends and I love my family, all are my clan. I want them to know how much this is the case. I can share how I feel about each person. So that they are transitively included in each others’ experience, through me. I just realized that this particular transfer of emotional currency is a vital transaction, it’s what makes people feel connected to you. How am I just realizing that? The feeling that they are fully let in to your space, that they are important and not just that but vital. Positive initiating is what will allow me to start sharing the vital people in my life back to all the others. The art of being wrong Without taking a risk, and losing, it’s impossible to understand the art of being wrong. There is such beauty in the pain, raw energy. Aliveness Pain and joy feel nearly the same. Not comfortable. The sharp sting of a real moment. When you feel weird or empty I guess that’s a lonely thing. I’m a very alone person. *aloneness is one of my strongest traits* Child like authenticity Know what’s special about little kids? They share their real feelings intuitively. If they get hurt, they cry for you. When they are happy they play, hug, and laugh. They show you all that. The pain & everything. It’s impossible not to feel what they share. Who you are as a person is brought out by that trust interaction. Worship What’s funny to me is this - I am nontheist. I am gonna go ahead and defend spirituality as defined as the sense of self as connected to a greater group of selves and place. I feel as if the worship of god described (as the constant perpetual state in western-theist heaven) is synonymous with my worship of heavy metal. When I’m at a concert and I am a living member of the performance. The musicians before me ARE god. ~~~~ A state of self where you are filled with power and elation. Moved. Pouring your soul out for the joy or whichever emotion is expressed. That’s authentic human expression. And I think the term worship is just their concise way of conveying this idea Minecraft spirituality There’s something very indescribably peaceful to me about exploring and working with material in a Minecraft level. Like in other games I always feel like I’m building up toward a bunch of… Achievements. Defined results. In minecraft I feel the opposite. The time I spend is rich with aliveness and substance. Being there is visceral and real. Spiritual. Instead of pushing a bunch of keys and waiting for the results to spawn… I am there I swing the pick I receive the material I am the world It’s everything and nothing. There’s no point to being there, yet the purpose of every action is infinite. Every action is so infinitesimally intentional. Some art truly just makes sense from the artist point of view. Have you ever sang along with favorite metal and done the scream vocals? It takes a lot of gusto. You have to grasp self and unleash it. At a certain point, audience is left behind for artistic integrity. Honesty. Truth in the sound is to be comprehended by the most dedicated listeners. Not freely available on the surface to whomever happens to overhear. So really, you leave behind the inattentive ones. The ones who can’t permit themselves to be captured by the expression of others. For whatever reason. And really, the audience you want is the audience that is willing to delve in to, essentially, you- and learn who you are attentively and respectfully. (common cause) fighting for a real thing that’s greater than just oneself is a critical survival skill. transcending the limits simply by continuously questioning them enables sustained subsistence within them. why was i smarter in 2015, all the thoughts im thinking right now are Reboots of this like im walking around in a circle. My Aesthetic Dear Fellow Denizen of Earth & or future entity studying my moment in history: (something bernie said during a campaign tour around USA) ADDENDUM-
If we as a human family do not take aggressive action to start treating our hero professions in service of the human family properly as such, we will not survive. Parent, educator, coach/mentor, and even student are hugely ignored. T The greatest wound is the suffering of children, the grieving, the victims of abuse or warmongering, and those who desperately want to pursue a life dream and cannot because they don’t have money for health, wellness, and access to vital resources. These are the broken and the enslaved that our system has made. Our system has failed the common citizen. As the most immoral ones have acquired the most monetary power, they have used that power politically, converting cash to lawmaking ability. The ultra wealthy elite have taken public office without intent to ever serve the public on whom they rely. They have become thieves of prosperity that belongs to all of us. It is time for us to act. Bring the thieves to justice and heal our deep and infected wounds. I am the future entity - speaking to myself from the past.**** when i contemplate the intricacies of present day history, a wave of fiery disappointment crashes through me. considering the billions of dollars poured into the garbage of lobbying and propaganda, the deaths and suicides of so many innocents, the abusive behavior wherever it occurs, from neglect, to sexual assault, to indiscriminate murder.. and the more sinister evil, the flat out refusal to care about your fellow human beings that are in trouble. looking down upon all those who struggle as somehow deserving of the biases and tripwires that landed them there, judging and therefore washing your hands of any responsibility for another person’s wellbeing. the most sinister evil. harm of any type toward a child. these are the intricacies of modern day history. the lurid realities that should be the stuff of nightmares, replacing what had been known as the american dream, the human triumph. corruption, corruption, corruption. … to have been raised being told again and again that america is a place of liberty and equality. starting each day with my pledge of allegiance…. one nation with liberty and justice for all —- really that hadn’t been the case since before my parents were little kids. there is no greater shame.. it all comes down from this. the inability of our people to get treatment for injury and illness, the lack of a baseline living from their work, the trap of becoming parents without giving up their profession or economic stability. the perpetual violence carried out upon innocents all across our land. what have we done to deserve it? our system has failed us. our species went backwards, ingeniously thwarting the core purpose of democracy and the free market. these problems WERE created by horrible human decision and they can be fixed by good decisions, but we are going to have to go all in and fight for it indomitably. Crowdsourcing together for real morality is all that can save us now. that’s why i intend to fight back, and never stop fighting. neo-humanity will prevail. we will retake control from those thieves who have commandeered the prosperity which belongs to all of us, in order to do evil. there is no other suitable word. by occam’s razor.. the only reason you are wealthy that can be, is that you are a thief who takes away what is deserved by others, in attempt to, not solely keep for yourself but literally for the power of denying it to another. If the bottom 2 classes of our country actually comprise around 80% of our population, that are forced to live only one paycheck to the next, without the ability to see a doctor, save money for their children’s future, or even have enough to provide for nurture now, then you have a society which is run by the thieves. that is what you have. and I wonder and wonder, when will we put the thieves in jail where they do belong, so we can experience the prosperity we worked for? as the wealthiest country in the history of the world… why are they not in jail for this theft ==================================================== Alan Watts quote insert-- [L]et’s suppose that you were able every night to dream any dream you wanted to dream, and that you could for example have the power within one night to dream 75 years of time, or any length of time you wanted to have. And you would, naturally, as you began on this adventure of dreams, you would fulfill all your wishes. You would have every kind of pleasure during your sleep. And after several nights of 75 years of total pleasure each you would say “Well that was pretty great. But now let’s have a surprise, let’s have a dream which isn’t under control, where something is gonna happen to me that I don’t know what it's gonna be." And you would dig that and would come out of that and you would say “Wow that was a close shave, wasn’t it?”. Then you would get more and more adventurous and you would make further- and further-out gambles what you would dream. And finally, you would dream where you are now. You would dream the dream of living the life that you are actually living today. That would be within the infinite multiplicity of choices you would have. Of playing that you weren't god, because the whole nature of the godhead, according to this idea, is to play that he is not. So in this idea then, everybody is fundamentally the ultimate reality, not god in a politically kingly sense, but god in the sense of being the self, the deep-down basic whatever there is. And you are all that, only you are pretending you are not. ================================================================= Stanley_Surprise_Button__theSurpriseEndingDOTjpeg Next, Stanley suddenly sat down and started thinking about how he was Stanley. “I am Stanley” thought he “i am in my office, acting ludicrous ” thought he. except it was ok because he remembered he started living his whole life Not at work. After he was done thinking about this, he began to wonder. Did I - Be Stanley - without a computer, an office, a desk, a button to push, or an instruction to follow? ? And the answer came to him. Yes. Stanley is who I am. Thought he.