#i do not ever want to see a nazi in a positive light

[constantvariations]

Yknow, instead of basing a lackluster at best character off a nazi, Coco could have been Chajka, based off the heroic Chajka Klinger, a jewish woman who was essentially a scribe of history

You can even keep the minibag machine gun considering the history of jewish women hiding guns in their purses

[elumish]

You know, a while ago, I saw a post that was something along the lines of "On Tumblr, you could write a post saying 'I like pancakes' and people would reply with 'So you hate waffles???' like nah man that's a whole new sentence!".

These anon you've been getting are really proving the point of that post's OP. I'm sorry you have to deal with Tumblr's often rather mediocre reading comprehension.

FWIW I follow you for being one of the people with actually nuanced takes instead of that weird thing most of this site has got going on, where it's either "If you EVER even think of a character who did ANYTHING wrong in any remotely positive light you're irredeemably evil" on one side and "If you ever so much as imply that maybe there's some things people write or put in shows that can cause harm to real people, you're irredeemably evil.". I hope they all grow out of their black and white thinking. Or at least learn to leave you and others alone.

I appreciate it.

I think, if I'm to give a little bit of grace now that my frustration has died down a very small amount, that people have become so conditioned to reading one argument that they assume everything that looks even remotely similar is the same thing.

On my dashboard, most of what I see is people arguing the same exact points as the anons, usually using fiery overgeneralized language to rile people up about the dangers of censorship online. And so if all you see is people getting mad over and over about this point, written in a way that paints everyone who is critical of any content in fiction in the same broad brush, you are going to start to believe that it's all one thing.

And they're not entirely wrong about the dangers of censorship and harassment--there are, obviously, broad efforts across the United States (and I'm sure other places, but the U.S. is what I'm most familiar with) to censor certain types of literature based on conservative fears of their content.

There have also been efforts, generally well-intended, from the left to reduce "problematic" content. While some of these have been great (e.g., sensitivity readers), others have been abused, often by people who lacked the cultural competency to understand what they were reading or who wanted an excuse to harass people. Many of these efforts, especially those that were implemented most ineffectively or most abused, were focused on the criticism and removal of writers or existing content.

I understand the sensitivity, I really do. I also disagree with efforts that have happened across the board to remove wide swaths of content just because they made someone a little uncomfy.

And yes, I do talk about content moderation, because I also recognize the difference between "made someone a little uncomfy" and "we are welcoming to Nazi content" and unfortunately certain places err too much on the latter side rather than the former in the name of universal free speech with no exceptions.

But most of what I talk about is writing, because I'm a writing blog. I do want to change how people approach writing, because I believe fundamentally in our responsibility as human beings to 1) do what we can to avoid harm and 2) do what we can to improve the world around us. And if that means that there's less of certain content, like magic that relies on biological essentialism and love stories involving SS commanders, then I'm okay with that.

[toaarcan]

I shouldn't be surprised, given that this is the Voter Suppression Website, but it's also the Punch Nazis Website and I really did expect people to have made peace with the fact that World War II happened and was ultimately necessary.

Like, I am by no means a warhawk. War is bad, the military is bad (though there's a lot of nuance there, because not having one is generally a really bad idea unless you can somehow convince everyone in the world to not have one, which you can't. Yes, the military can be a tool of imperialism. It can also be a defence against it, see Ukraine for a very current example), pacificism is great. But pacifism did not, and would not, stop the Axis.

I am also well aware that the Allies' hands were far from clean. We bombed civilians. America turned away refugees from Germany that weren't 'useful.' At the highest levels, Britain and France went to war with Germany over fears of expansionism, not because they were inherently opposed to the vile ideologies espoused by the Nazis. Everyone just kinda let imperial Japan do whatever the fuck they wanted in east Asia until they made the mistake of touching America's boats.

But in the end, the war was still a necessity. How else were the Allies supposed to stop them?

The Nazis killed six million Jewish people between 1933 and 1945. Hitler blamed the Jewish people for Germany's defeat in WWI, which makes no fucking sense, but when has bigotry ever made sense? He drew upon centuries upon centuries of antisemitism to make mass genocide a political platform that he ran on, and he won. And almost as soon as he came to power, and secured his position, he began a systematic genocide.

He and his followers were so dedicated to killing and abusing Jews that they made strategic fuckups in the war, just to continue the holocaust. When the US and British forces landed in Normandy, and the USSR began pushing in from the east, the Nazi response was to accelerate the genocide, because killing Jews mattered more to them than winning the war.

More people died building the V2 rocket at Mittelwerk than were killed in all of the V2 strikes against Britain and France. As is often said of today's fascists, cruelty was the point.

In addition to the Jewish victims of the camps, the Nazis also killed 3.3 million Soviet prisoners of war, 1.8 million Polish people that were not Jewish, 250000-500000 Romani and other travellers, 310000 Serbian civilians, 250000-300000 people with disabilities (including at least 10000 children), 'tens of thousands' of German civilians who were politically opposed to the Nazis, 35000 criminals, 1700 Jehovah's Witnesses, an unknown number of LGBTQ+ people, and an unknown number of black people.

We don't know the full numbers, because the other thing they did when they realised they were losing is burn the records. They dug up mass graves and burned the bodies. We know as much as we do because they killed so many people that it was physically impossible for them to destroy all the evidence.

They created industrialised genocide. And this is just the holocaust, not the sum total of Nazi crimes, let alone those perpetrated by fascist Italy and imperial Japan.

So yeah, in light of all of that, I cannot, and will not entertain any drop of "Well actually the Allies were bad too" because the magnitude of the horror that the Axis were indulging renders it moot. They did bad shit too? Yeah, well, they were at war with the fucking Nazis.

One of the most important parts of the first few years of the war was the Battle of Britain. At that point, the French had been defeated, and the USSR still had a very tense alignment with Germany and Italy. America had yet to formally join the war, but were selling weapons to Britain, who were seemingly the last nation left in the fight. A few American pilots had also made the trip to Britain to join the fight.

In order to launch a land invasion of the British Isles, the Nazis had to achieve air superiority over them, and so began a series of raids against the RAF, and at first, they were doing pretty well. Targeting airbases and radar installations was the correct strategic move.

And then something happened that turned the tide: The RAF bombed Berlin.

This has been claimed to be an accident, the bombers were simply lost in the night, and thought they were targeting an air base, and they weren't. That probably wasn't true. But however it happened, it pissed Hitler off massively, and he ordered the Luftwaffe to switch focus to bombing British cities.

This was a tactical blunder like no other. Taking focus away from the actual military targets allowed the RAF to regroup and actually put the defensive plan for the islands into motion. Scores of British, Polish, French, and American pilots fought to defend Britain, guided by the now-unmolested radar stations.

And it worked. In fact, it worked really well. By the end of the Battle of Britain, the Luftwaffe had lost so many planes and so many pilots that it severely affected their tactical use for the rest of the war.

More than that, losing the Battle of Britain meant that A) the Nazis had lost their perceived invincibility, as someone had now taken them on and won, and B) it meant that Hitler's plan to avoid a two-front war, to knock France and Britain out entirely before rounding on the USSR, had failed, and being a deranged, genocidal nutbar, who viewed the existence of Communism as an existential threat, threw away the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact and declared war on the Soviets.

The Nazi reaction to the defeat of the Battle of Britain, something arguably caused by the bombing of Berlin, was the first step toward their total defeat.

So yeah, I wholeheartedly believe that fighting WWII was ultimately the best thing the Allies could've done, and the people that made the decision to fight against the Nazis did the right thing, even if they did it for the wrong reasons, or used bad methods to do so. Of all the wars throughout human history, this is the one I can argue needed to happen above all else.

[coffeecatttt]

Metro: Last Light is fucking gross

So anyway, I'm replaying the Metro games and jeez, Metro: Last Light might be the most blatantly skeezy, sexist, male gazey game I have ever seen outside of just straight up porn.

The world of Metro has exactly one female character of any significance (Anna), who is a sniper and scout. Every other woman in the game is depicted as a mother, sex worker or, on occasion, an old lady doing chores.

Everyone of any consequence or note is a big mean looking sweaty dude. There are times where the game goes for hours without a single woman being present.

Metro goes out of its way to portray women as exclusively weak, docile and emotional. There are multiple instances where the player has the opportunity to save women from being sexually assaulted/tortured, and most women with dialog spend those lines screaming, crying, or mourning dead husbands or children.

The worldview here is one of complete and total patriarchy. We're not talking mere paternalism. Women in this universe are portrayed as borderline slaves whose only role is to have children, or be used as sex objects or domestic workers, while men go and do everything else.

Also, kind of an aside, but I don't think there is a single non-white person in the entire franchise. So that's a thing.

I Don't Even Know How What To Call This Header

You'd think being the main supporting character in the game, Anna would have a positive role. But nope. She disappears after the intro - which she mostly spends calling the main character "little rabbit" and chiding him (aka the player) for looking at her ass - then spends most of the game absent until she almost immediately gets captured by the bad guys so she can be saved by our hero.

During this escape, both almost die from smoke inhalation, but are rescued at the last second by allies. This is apparently the exact moment that she decides she loves the main character, even though she has been on screen with them maybe ten minutes at this point. There is barely a single line of dialog to justify why she suddenly wants to have Artyom's babies, but look, jiggle physics!

Of course, even though both she and Artyom are patched up enough to have hot steamy sexual intercourse, the doctor inexplicably says Artyom can go while Anna has to stay and rest. Because big man big and strong, and small woman weak!

One really gets the sense playing this game that they were going for an "Alyx Vance" type character who is meant to make the assumed male player character feel good about protecting, but the writing is so incompetent and the lack of screen time for her causing such incredible emotional whiplash, that the entire thing comes across as borderline surreal.

It Gets Worse

Metro: Last Light is also just grossly horny. there are multiple situations where the player gets to see women in lingerie or topless, either as cabaret performers (with an extended show that goes almost ten minutes, mostly featuring them), sex workers getting groped by actual fucking Nazis, or in one case a fully naked woman taking a shower that the player can spy on and get a "moral point" for peeping on her for long enough.

At one point the player infiltrates a brothel and spies on someone, gets interrupted by a sex worker, puts her hand over her mouth and slams her against a wall telling her to "be quiet", which in the moment feels like sexual assault playing out.

In what is maybe the single greatest moment of tonal and thematic dissonance I have ever seen, after the cutscene ends, this same sex worker offers the player a lap dance - which they can pay her for and experience, with yet more jiggle physics.

The game does not comment on how extremely fucked up this shift is at all and seems to assume the player is just going to be into it.

Anyway

I remember feeling skeezed when I originally played this game a decade ago, but coming back to it now I had forgotten just how awful it really is.

I realize this is a game that is based on a series of novels, which have an established world, tone and characters. I have never read them. But it doesn't matter. These are fictional works, and the writers and developers made these choices.

The fact that I can find zero discussion of this in reviews or in the game's fan communities is incredibly fucking telling about the audience for these games, too. Let's be real, I didn't expect a lot, but given the fairly recent sequel you'd think it would have showed up in discourse by now.

Which I guess means I'm going to have to move on to Metro: Exodus next. Surely one will be better, right?

[dm-clockwork-dragon]

Another Unpopular Opinion

I was asked to delete my earlier reblog by the OP, so they didn’t get sucked into discourse, so I’m reposing this as it’s own thing Well, here I go publicly stating another opinion that will probably get me cancelled. To be entirely fair, I’m sort of beyond caring at this point?

I think people need to calm their fucking tits - homegrown, surgical, or happily removed - over not just this game, but about HP stuff in general.

I’m a recently hatched egg, but I’ve considered myself non-binary for almost 15 years, and been an ally for as long as I knew what an ally was. I also have no particular love for the franchise, despite enjoying it a lot when I was a kid. That’s not virtue signally, or an attempt to defend my position - just letting you all know a little context, and that I do actually have a horse in this race.

I get it, I really do. JK is a fucking terrible person, and should burn in a thousand multicolored hells for the bullshit she spews and the hate she engenders in others. On top of that, she’s a shitty writer, to the point where she accidentally created an entire wizarding world where the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is just what flavor of Nazi you want to choose. But there’s a couple reasons I think that people really need to try and separate her from the franchise that she started.

1. Death of the Author.

This is the one that everyone else gives. It’s possible to enjoy, appreciate, or interpret a creative work in absence of it’s author or their intent. We do it with music, we do it with painting. and Like OP here points out: if we were to burn every book written by a problematic author, we would leave glaring wholes not just in our understanding of our own history and society, but in our understanding of how to avoid the same injustices and suffering caused by those authors. Dead or alive, the author’s right and control over who others interpret their work the moment they share it with the outside world.

2. You guys don’t know how JK makes money, do you?

I see all kinds of arguments out there about how engaging with, or - dare I even mention - paying for HP content is somehow a crime against transfolk because it directly supports a raging TERF and her platform. It doesn’t. Aside from the argument that JK makes all her money through investments and stock market trades - just like any rich person - She also DOESN’T OWN THE FRANCHISE. She retains intellectual property rights: AKA, she can write new books or shit if she likes (we have seen how that goes for her), and she is still treated as the primary source, but the IP and all production rights are owned by Warner Bros. JK doesn’t make a dime off of game, movies, or anything else that WB license or produce based on THEIR franchise. She already made her money by selling the franchise to them years ago. Honestly, she probably got the raw end of the deal at this point. At most, she might get some meager royalties that are eaten up entirely by the cost of paying someone to process them. That’s how publishing contracts and movie deals work - they are a fucking racket.  3. HP isn’t just something some people can throw away.

Like I said above, I sorta grew out of my HP phase, long before any of the issue of JK being a TERF ever came up. And I know that a lot of people who considered themselves fans have also willingly distanced themselves from the franchise in light of her shitty views and actions. But not everyone has that ability. To give you a different example: I grew up reading the Dune books. I finished the core series for the first time when I was 8, and have re-read the entire extended series more than a dozen times since then. It’s more than just my favorite book series, it’s a formative part of who I am as a person. So much of my beliefs and identity as a person have been informed or inspired by those books that I would argue it is impossible to truly understand myself without them. Hell - I’d argue the entire reason I started explore my gender and sexuality in the first place is because of the emphasis those books placed on the “Quisach Haderach” as the perfect fusion of male and female. Even if I were to verbally disavow the series for some reason, those books still define who I am today, and It would be physically impossible for me to separate myself from them Harry Potter is the same way for a lot of people. I think some of us loose sight of just how meaningful those books are to a generation. Not all of us - even within that generation - had the same connection, but for a lot of people who grew up reading them from the time they could turn a page, those books are just as formative and intrinsic to who they are as Dune is to me. they couldn’t separate themselves, even if they wanted to. And pissing all over someone for something they can’t change about themselves is exactly the sort of thing we are supposed to be fighting against! Same can be said of the bible, the Torah, the Quran or any other work that was meaningful and formative to a persons cultural upbringing. Even within the trans community, there are countless Christians, Jews, and Islamic followers. They make the faith their own, because it is an intrinsic and immutable part of who they are. If you are going to condemn Trans or Allies who can’t separate themselves form HP, then you are also condemning any Ally or Transperson who still practices or believes in some form of the religion the grew up with.  4. If we can reclaim slurs, we can reclaim this! I see so many of the same people who rail against HP, also writing or relogging posts about how important it is to reclaim slurs and other labels that have been historically used against us, and I agree. But that shit goes a lot further than just the names we have been called. Reclaiming something from those who would hurt you with it is like picking up the rock that was thrown at you, and saying “neat, this is mine now, you cant have it back”, as opposed to just kicking it back to the abuser so they can hurl it at you again. JK is a terrible person. which is all the more reason that we have a responsibility to take this beloved franchise away from her. She doesn’t deserve it, and as long as it remains in her power, she can continue to use it as a platform to hurt people. And this isn’t without precedent: Look at Butch Hartman, or Joss Wheaton, or Notch, or Gary Gygax. We have a history and a present filled with examples of taking beloved content away from shitty people a deciding “this is ours now, you can’t have it back.” We take those things that were or are important to us, and reframe them, re-write them, or reimagine them into something positive and supportive.  As an author myself, I know quite well how painful it can be to see your work taken away from you, and transformed by people who don’t share your vision. So lets hurt JK where it counts! Not in the wallet, not by railing against her on social media, but by taking away the one meaningful thing she has ever created in her miserable life. Because she doesn’t fucking deserve it.

[dumbestthingiveeverheard]

Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 8/3/2023

Fifth place: Twitter user @eyeskewer

This is a little older than the stuff I normally cover on this blog, but I feel like this is worth highlighting as it perfectly shows my issue when many who make conspiratorial claims about transgender medical care:

my "informed consent" was my doctor I had just met handing me papers telling me my voice would drop soon, I could freeze my eggs, I might get acne, and whatever else. I probably didn't even hear everything she said, I just told her I wanted the shot. so I got it. I just turned 18

So you were told you wanted something medical done to you, were told about the risks and consequences, and then got it. I really don't see what the big deal is here.

Fourth Place: Marco Rubio

Elon Musk's time as CEO of Twitter has been far from perfect, but easily the best addition he has made is the community notes feature. For just one example, here is a Tweet from Marco Rubio:

Also, those claims about the 2016 Presidential Election were never proven to be fake--just wanted to add that real quick.

Third Place: Scott Lively

The deranged homophobe who wrote an entire book blaming the Nazis on homosexuality wrote a column a couple of days back with the headline "Leftist lawfare and the abuse of power." A decent chunk of it is spent defending Russian President Vladimir Putin, but here are some highlights:

In all my years of watching corporate U.S. news about Russia and Putin, I have never seen a single counter-argument ever being offered in defense of President Putin (coverage of him is even worse than that of Trump). It's been more than a decade since Obama restarted the Cold War to punish the Russians for banning "gay" propaganda to children, when every story began to paint him as a "brutal monster" – to the point that even many conservatives (who have zero reason to trust that same media on anything) seem to agree.

The hatred of Putin on an international scale has nothing to do with the anti-homosexuality laws he has put in place while President of Russia--although, don't get me wrong, that didn't help matters, but several countries with anti-homosexuality laws are still seen in a positive light by the international community (wrongfully so, in my opinion). It was more his imperial ambitions--starting with his invasion of Georgia in 2008--that caused the international community to move away from him.

Second Place: Abby Johnson

I've mostly been ignoring the story about a handful of far-right Christians refusing to support the fringe Presidential candidate Vivek Ramaswamy because of his Hinduism, however given Abby Johnson was sold to us a few years back as a a reasonable anti-abortion activist--an oxymoron if I've ever heard one. And she has decided to take a stance against a Hindu President, saying:

Do not be a victim of Satan’s confusion right now. This is an important time for us to have clarity of mind as we are going into an election cycle. So please discern. Please use discernment right now because God hates those who are willing to put up idols over him, and he will not be mocked.

All I wish to say is that if you really want a President that's a dedicated Christian--can I recommend you a guy named Joe Biden? Oh who am I kidding, if Ramaswamy does get the nomination it's going to be just like when Billy Graham took Mormonism off his list of cults so he and his followers could vote for Mitt Romney in 2012.

Winner: Ben Shapiro

This man, considered by many to be serious political commentator, does not know the difference between eating and drinking:

[Trump] would face a whopping 641 years in prison. Which I assume means he would not survive prison. Although he is 70% preservatives at this point because he eats so much McDonalds and Diet Coke.

He eats Diet Coke? Ben, do you know how Diet Coke works?

Ben Shapiro you've said the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

[baga24]

The Crossroads Part 21

I continue to introduce you, dear readers, in text format to the speech of esteemed Egon Cholakian in his landmark video address 

“The Crossroads”.

So: “You have been balancing on the edge of an abyss for a long time. Those you considered allies can turn into your executioners at any moment. They will stop at nothing to maintain control and execute their plans.

Are you confident in the people who stand behind you? 

Yes, your security seems reliable. But think about it: can you be sure that among them, there is no assassin recruited by the Nazis? Do you trust your inner circle? 

Reflect on this: orders that contradict your own come from someone among them.

 Someone initiated the destruction of the democracy you aspired to. Someone has been systematically brainwashing you all this time. Someone has been destroying your country.

I will tell you a bit more, as a colleague to a colleague. Yes, I know there have been attempts on your life, and your services have worked remarkably well in preventing these attempts, partly thanks to our cooperation. But listen to me and ask yourself this question—why did one of the people close to you recently acquire a contact poison, and from your good allies no less?What do you think the purpose was, and more specifically, for whom?

The truth is, those who control you have long been planning your replacement. The problem was only with your successor. But at this point, they have almost resolved this issue, with your help, skillfully manipulating you. You, unknowingly, are bringing to power those they want to see in your place.

You are a smart person, Mr. Putin. So, think. You are up against true grandmasters. Unfortunately, your current situation resembles a classic zugzwang, where any move you make plays into their hands and only worsens your position.

Consider: are you not at risk of repeating Stalin's fate? But these are your affairs, not ours. And it is up to you to deal with them.

Stalin's reign lasted approximately 31 years. And on December 31, 2024, it will be exactly 25 years since the beginning of your rule, Mr. Putin. You have been in power for a quarter of a century. By the end of your current term, you could surpass even Stalin, and you will only have Empress Catherine the Great left to surpass, who ruled for just over 34 years. However, in light of the information I have disclosed, the question arises—will you have the chance to surpass even Stalin? 

                ***

By conveying this information to you directly and openly, Mr. Putin, I am breaking several protocols. This is my conscious decision; as a perceptive leader, you will undoubtedly understand its reasons. 

The public nature of my address is necessary to resolve a number of issues. Believe me, if the situation were not so critical, we would proceed as usual with traditional methods. However, now, not only your life or the future of Russia is at stake—the entire world is under threat.

Wise people—your true allies and even those manipulators behind your back—will hopefully understand the real motives behind my actions. 

Humanity is facing an unprecedented crisis. At a time when the world is under the looming threat of climate catastrophe, geopolitical tensions are at their peak, and we are witnessing the formation of, in essence, the Fourth Reich, wisdom and common sense are more necessary than ever. Only they will allow humanity to survive this critical situation. And your role, Mr. Putin, in this process is immense. Therefore, replacing the leader of Russia at this moment would be a catastrophic mistake. It is not only untimely but also extremely dangerous.

                ***

And now, I address you personally, you, wolves in sheep's clothing. We are well aware of your double game: what you say to Vladimir Vladimirovich to his face and what you do behind his back. We know your true intentions and plans. You are not the only ones working effectively. The fact that you managed to stay in the shadows for a long time is not your achievement; it was our temporary oversight.

 But now, your time of impunity has come to an end. Now, you should seriously consider your future.

Mr. Putin, if we had the opportunity to meet one-on-one, I could tell you much more. I assure you, you would be astonished by the truth of what is happening behind your back and the fate that Nazi ideologists are preparing for you.

I know they will try to dissuade you from meeting with me, claiming that I am supposedly an American spy spreading disinformation. What else would they say? Nonetheless, I am telling you the plain truth right now, and you, Vladimir, understand this well. You can distinguish truth from lies, but unfortunately, not always. When the lie comes from those you trust, you perceive it as truth.

However, do not blame yourself for this. The manipulation techniques you are regularly subjected to are so sophisticated that anyone could fall for them. Especially if they are unaware that such subconscious coding techniques exist.

 Even more so when it involves multi-level psychological manipulation, starting from basic psychology, playing on your weaknesses, dreams, desires, and even your fatigue, and extending to sophisticated methods of mind control, including the puzzle coding method.”

## TO BE CONTINUED…

Please support this important information with likes, shares, comments, and applause!

[moghraidhs]

back on my terror/sasrh bandwagon because i can (under the cut bc this gets long)

stirling/tozer. they're complete opposites; i have a feeling david would have sol figured out in about two minutes and sol would hate him for it because he sees david as just another toff who doesn't give a damn about anyone lower than him. however, i think over time they'd end up respecting each other (and maybe more, because i 100% believe sol gets turned on by people smarter than him)

paddy/peglar. hear me out - i would never want to break up bridglar, but i actually think they'd be really sweet together as friends. harry is a pretty educated and smart guy; he and paddy would definitely have that in common. they're both fiercely loyal in their own way, and harry's gentleness is a good match for paddy's wildness.

jopson/sadler. they're both extremely competent people and very confident at their respective jobs. i feel like jopson might initially wish mike would tidy up a little appearance-wise, but after seeing him in action that wouldn't really matter much any more. absolute dynamite when they work together, and mike is pretty chill, a nice contrast to jopson's quiet intensity.

edward/eoin. someone mentioned this in the tags and i kinda get it?? edward is stressed 24/7, he needs someone not only to back him up but that he can relax with and i think eoin is good that way. he tends to see things pretty clearly and the two of them are good at talking stuff out rather than edward letting it get all tangled up in his head. they're both solid support to the men and each other, and eoin gives edward the validation he really needs (he totally has a praise kink, just saying)

fraser/pilkington. they're both sarcastic and permanently on a low simmer that goes up or down depending on who's annoying them at the time. both take their positions very seriously and care about those around them, but due to their respective tempers can appear very standoffish and difficult to get along with. these two will probably be the best of friends and judge everyone else together, or mortal enemies due to a mutual (if unspoken) fondness for a certain gunroom steward.

fitzjames/eve. this is not a romantic pairing - they're both smart, resilient, slightly bitchy people with secrets and an ability to look good under all circumstances. i can see them hanging out at the empire club, sipping cocktails and plotting how to beat the nazis while simultaneously judging everyone in a thirty-foot radius. they understand one another, and in their profession, understanding goes deeper than any friendship could.

tommy/??? this was a tough one for me, because i think everyone in both camps would be as fond of tommy as they would have been of eoin, he's just that kind of person. so far i have three possible options for him:

dave - biggest flirt in the sas, tall, very laidback and kind. i feel like he'd get a kick out of making tommy blush but sees him smile once and thereafter tries to get him to do it again because he's seen a lot of beautiful things in the world but tommy's smile tops them all. also likes playing with tommy's hair; he clipped off a curl for good luck and keeps it in his cigarette case (which no one knows)

reg - what can i say? i'm a sucker for grumpy/soft combos. reg is a tough guy but he's sweet in his own way and tommy kind of brings out his protective instincts. my hc is that he also has a bit of a competence kink and tommy being a good shot would certainly feed into that

fraser - the kind of person fraser is, he fights his attraction with every stubborn scottish bone in his body. there's a kind of peace in being around tommy, however; they can be quiet together without it ever feeling awkward, and tommy is pretty much the only person allowed in fraser's personal space. fraser's not good at expressing himself, though, so his affection shows itself in the occasional light touch, sitting next to tommy whenever he can--and on one occasion smashing a chair over a drunken private's head because he heard the other man mocking tommy's disability. there'd be a lot of pining going on for both sides (with some silent fraser vs pilkington bickering)

[suspiciousriver]

At the Gas Station

The patchwork quilt is this:

a Navajo, a pal, a Ronald Reagan,

Two baritone boys, and an alcoholic.

Spanish, plaid, orange juice, white noise,

Criterion, draping my legs over Paul’s

knees and his playful tap.

Me and my friends and we’re chugging beer,

Sky shows up and she was a friend from my childhood

And she plays pool with her boyfriend

and they’re the type that Neo opens the door to.

I bought two gray rabbits at King’s Thrift

And I positioned them to touch noses.

Two black eyes and their noses kissing

on a bookcase and when I sat on the couch

I began to think of them as a camera.

I painted the one rabbit pink with flowers

and left the other one gray.

I looked to the left and their eyes were

Cold-black and chill-haunted.

This is how we taunt: with helicopters

and invisible cameras and a surveilled

Boob light.

No one believes that Paul and I were

that tight.

Zach gives me two objects:

A Gameboy and a wind-up mouth toy,

You twist it and it chatters and jumps

Downstairs. I have too many lost objects to count.

I had three chests that I kept by the door.

A trophy from my debate days.

I was neatly clipped.

He was neatly tipped.

I am too tired to talk.

It’s too dark to walk.

I’m better suited for flourescent-white, sterile,

spandex environments anyway.

I have seen this before:

Mother-rape-son. He had a right to roll

his eyes. African man with angry eyes

I’m trying to tell you:

Maybe when I look in the mirror I see a face that’s better suited for darkness, or lamps, and that scares me — the sun can be so critical.

I don’t always feel deserving of it.

Ever catch a sun ray so pure and warm it sets your heart on fire? I chase that feeling daily. I chase warmth daily.

Love is a form of knowledge,

which I think it is.

We share blue eyeliner.

You’re a thought in your own head, honey.

Will a Twisted tea fix this?

It won’t.

It’s all hidden crackhead knowledge.

These are the treats.

Every day

boiled eggs.

Castro visited Utah and the truck

newspapers. Rich!

That was genuine disgust

Because I looked like a

mullet-Malcom-X-Nazi-whore.

The Asian doctor sniffed my crotch

And said, “You’re really being released

with all of that baggage?”

Fuck you. This is why he ran.

St. George man and I ride the same

wavelength. He was trying to maintain

his sanity.

They flock around Derrick's slit neck

and I am so grief-ridden that I kicked

him. I did not want to escalate.

Is he alive? South Korea Ender’s Game dude

and his robotic voice cracked into my skull:

I am thinking about sex.

This is why I cannot sleep.

He’s 32. You’re nothing. You’re everything.

Give it to Gina: I looked trashy as hell.

Can you act black for a second?

What does Cuba represent?

Not Adrian. Not Adrienne.

Pizza gate: I am politely telling you,

I do not have that disease.

Thank you. It was Isaiah’s parakeet,

and the Bible. I am politely

asking you to show me your 7 cults.

I am asking you to FaceTime my husband

and his dirty beard and a seatbelt.

Day Two, they helped strap

me to a gurney and I was secured.

We like to drop hints: Sunglasses and something is seriously wrong

with the lifeboat. It was his ball sweat and a dog named Cujo.

My father/crack was a child. My father thinks I’m ugly.

It’s about time we met each other

for real. I resisted those journals for two years

because he Ultra-Blued his way onto my couch.

A big treat from the nice girl, pink soap.

I was smelly. I was brown. Here are your affirmation

cards: World-War-3. I should have

invited Shane(heroin)and my mother(meth)

to share the same couch. I had to snip

my chlorine hair because it was locking.

California is the deep fake. Home box office

recession. Century 16. Who can pretend to be the

most grateful for a chicken leg? I was.

me and a denim coat. Artificially intelligent

and let’s keep shit on TikTok. I met you through

MF Doom and Tupac. The world’s worst violent arm

length and fishing for work. Pork! I want to eat you.

Toasters and fake forks and that twitch.

It’s mine. I want small work. Here is the crystal cage.

Men are obsessed with my militantly tight pussy

and masked men keep shit loud. I don’t know why you don’t finger yourself

I want you! That was a real treat from Joe. I want to sever three red ties.

The blonde. The host. The pace. MINUS 3 POINTS: BACK TO JAZZ.

He lashes his own back like Jesus

and I cannot help him there.

That was her favorite hiss.

[cinemacentral666]

The Element of Crime (1984)

Movie #1,142 • Ranking Lars von Trier #4

Let it be known that during this LVT filmography viewing I made the executive decision to only ever watch full director filmographies in chronological order. That had always been my preferred method, but I thought it would be best if, from time to time, I mixed up the order for [insert reasoning here]. This is the sixth or seventh Trier flick I've consumed (depending on how you want to count his two early shorter films and both the first two seasons of his Danish TV show) and it's essentially ground zero for the man's career. It's as weird and as bold of a debut feature that I've ever seen.

I feel like it's worth mentioning that I am now starting at the beginning and only going forward, because everything about this felt like a shock having digested some of his other work, most notably: his prime "Golden Heart Trilogy" of films (1996-2000) and his most recent work, 2018's The House That Jack Built. It felt like a different director and I say that in the most positive way. Some similarities arose, naturally. The sepia tones were visually similar to The Kingdom's (though more on this later). The conversational voice-over between main character Fisher and his Cairo hypnotist felt like a direct through-line to how the character of Virgil functions in Jack. And the general "frustrated search for something largely intangible that will ultimately disappoint if not fully horrify" evoked pretty much everything I've seen by the man in some way.

But structurally and compositionally, this felt like a whole new world. In fact, in many ways, it is a complete invention of Trier's. This "Europe" consists of fictional cities and towns where it's always night and everything is drenched in liquid. Despite a few grounding allusions, there is no specific state or country, just this cold, wet dystopia broadcast under yellowy sodium lights. The sets used and built for this are fantastic, each a kind of micro-labyrinth, a small mystery onto themselves cutting against the larger noir framework of the movie's plot: a man is on the hunt for a serial killer of small girls before he strikes again. Detective Fisher (Michael Elphick) navigates this spaces in a literal daze, as the entirety of the action is presented as the memory of a man, now an expatriate in Egypt, spilling his guts to a guy with a monkey on his shoulder. This is the first of two primates to get screen-time. The second, notably of the lower order, Fisher finds in a gutter, scared to death and confused, perhaps a stand in for the audience….

I believe that guy is a loris. To start your film with monkey and end it with a loris speaks to some theme of reverse evolution. The fascist nightmares we see are a product of no less. In fact, this – coupled with the elements of his earlier student work and up through his unfortunate "I'm a Nazi" comments – provide much of the framework for understanding Trier's motives on a larger scale. I do believe it goes beyond simple provocation and is worth explorin. I think he's trying to make sense of a world still drying out from the tsunami that was WWII. But I'll put a pin in it that for now before I get to watch the rest of his films.

The Element of Crime is not a movie made for easily digestible 'understanding' or textbook mystery reveals. Even when you get the gist/uncover the trick, he throws a mysterious postscript that shrouds things further. I'm still trying to make sense of these manic bald men…

LVT created a world here. His stellar framing, innovative shots, and glorious use of light all cut against the frantic, obtuse and occasionally obscene script in such a delightful way. Sure, maybe it's all an amalgamation of influence (certainly Andrei Tarkovsky and Lynch's Eraserhead among others) but it's still wholly more than the sum of its parts.

I took a weird route to get to this beginning. In a way, I'm glad I did, but I'm even more excited to keep going forward.

SCORE: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’ll be counting down all of Lars Von Trier’s movies right here at @cinemacentral666 every Thursday through September 2023

[murdercapitxl]

"Really? Sorry to hear that," Marko responded with surprise, unable to comprehend being confined to the ground. He had no idea how he managed before being turned, but he must have. Flying was all he ever did now, apart from ride. It made sense when every day was a rush; a constant one hundred miles per hour. The only time he slowed down was when they got high, and even then it affected his body and not the thousand thoughts bouncing around inside his mind. If anything, it made him ten times worse when he spouted whatever nonsense came first. Fortunately - but not for those around them who were forced to listen - he had Paul who shared the same manic energy. They were like two canaries trapped in one cage, chattering away. "But if you ever want to see Santa Carla from above, give me a shout. I'll give you a tour for free!" He offered with a laugh, before wiggling his fingers in a lazy wave and taking to the night sky. It was a quick ascent, his colourful form disappearing within seconds against the darkness. The sudden movement caused a disturbance, whipping air around and shaking the leaves on nearby tree branches, before dropping and settling into silence once more.

Despite flying high above, a cacophony of noise from the boardwalk below floated upwards. Laughter, screams, and booming music blended into one. It was a brilliant display of blinding lights, flashing and twinkling in constant routine; he had seen their regular pattern for many years now. He could tell those who cared to know how many bulbs were installed on the Big Dipper without missing a beat. But he completely bypassed the fun on the ground, focused on their destination which was a few miles away. The train tracks were easy to see from up here, running down the length of the coast in a straight forward route. He could already see a freight coming from the South, its headlights visible. But they had plenty of time to position the corpse, so Marko was in no rush. Every now and then, his sharp vision caught sight of the other vampire making their way in the same direction. At least they didn't bail on him. Some people were unnerved by his behaviour and scarpered, but Menendez was one of the few who seemed unfazed. And so he was the first to suggest inviting them along whenever the boys did anything. Despite his personal philosophy with forming friendships outside their circle, their stoic leader seemed to forgive the rules this time. He never mentioned why, but Marko suspected he had a tiny bit of respect for them.

Upon seeing the massive steel bridge, Marko began descending until he landed on one side of it. It always looked eerie here. There were no overhead lights and the place was completely isolated, which is why so many teenagers used it as a hang-out spot. But there was nobody here tonight, thankfully. No witnesses to ruin their mischief. "Do you miss being human then?" It was the first thing he asked once Menendez arrived, remembering their words from before. He never thought twice about taking a life, but they seemed conflicted about the act. Some vampires he met were resentful about what they were, whilst others readily embraced it. He belonged to the latter, nestling quite nicely into the lifestyle alongside his brothers. They were his family now.

"I mean," he continued as he hopped up onto the tracks, walking down them skilfully whilst carrying the Surf Nazi. "My memories of being human are completely gone. I have no idea who I was before, but that might be a good thing." He paused, staring down at the track in deep thought before shrugging his free shoulder. "The only person who knows anything is David because he changed me. But I stopped asking questions years ago when he never gave me answers."

As they approached the centre of the bridge, Marko released the corpse from his hold and watched as he landed heavily between the tracks. With a small huff, the vampire dragged him by both legs and positioned him strategically. He could already hear the freight starting to approach in the distance, its wheels rumbling along the track. "Not long now," he commented with a wide smile, placing both hands upon his hips as he observed the Surf Nazi once more before nodding in approval. There would be nothing left of him soon. Making his way over to the trusses, Marko began climbing up the structure with ease until he reached the highest point that overlooked the tracks. He swung his legs over and found a comfortable position, kicking them back and forth with a sense of giddiness. "We have a good two hours before sunrise, so might as well watch the show, huh?"

"I'd love to make a mess too. I think they're beautiful in their way. And the ugliness in me wants to just…" Coyote paused for a moment, head tilting as their eyes wandered off, "The ugliness want to paint walls with them. Rip them open and let them spurt out into my mouth and onto my skin. For them to dry onto me and to just live like that. To live as something like an animal but it doesn't come that easy to me. I think it'd be like selling my soul".

Killing insects was one thing, killing other vampires who got in their way was in the same category, but humans were entirely different. "I am a rat bastard, that's what we were before this, but I didn't like killing things that weren't born dead." They chuckled in disbelief at their own words. Many of their own kind had shot them sideways glances and snickered at such a mindset but all Coyote could remember was being forced to put the chickens they cared for as a child on the chopping block.

For all their viciousness, the Breathing Ones usually narrowly avoided the swing of Coyote's axe. It made them wonder why the boys were so insistent on them tagging along with them on the nighty misadventures while participating in the less homicidal side of the delinquency.

They had always been a bleeding heart despite everything they'd been through both as a human and a vampire. Sometimes they almost thought to ask David what their place was here, but they didn't see the boys taking it as anything other than a joke. For all they knew, they only invited along because they suited the aesthetic of the group. Still, they enjoyed observing the dynamics and connections between them all.

Maybe the reason they stuck around was entirely from a clinical standpoint. But pocketing cash like this was an added bonus.

"Flying's not a thing I do. But I can haul ass." Both on foot and on their bike, though they were less inclined to show off their true speed in public spaces. Another thing that they felt set them apart from the rest. Coyote had always been one to play their cards close to their chest. "Sorry, Markie. I'm just going to have to be responsible on this one. I'll catch up with you."

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b - p.3

tony has questions, but he isn’t the only one wanting an explanation (2.6k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

(also thank you for the insane amount of support for this series! you guys have taken me by such surprise and i am so grateful you’re all invested :) ) 

Tony steps into your suite, trying to subtly notice the changes you’ve made whilst he was gone.

“Look, Tony, if this is about the files I’m really sorry,” You sigh apologetically, catching Tony’s attention as he turns to face you. “sometimes my R’s end up looking like N’s and I didn’t mean for it to look like I’d written Tony Stan-”

Holding his hand up, you stop your rambles as Tony raises a brow. “Y/n, that’s not why I’m here.” Tony interrupts you. “Wait, it said that?” He questions and you weakly nod, but quickly he returns to his original thought process; why he is here in the first place.

“Then, why are you here?” You ask nervously, feeling a pit begin to form in your stomach.

“Nat passed on a message, that you didn’t seem very well.” Tony explains, now pacing around the entrance of your suite whilst you remained still, too still for his liking. “And I overheard a conversation from two super soldiers discussing you.” Tony motions to you, catching sight of your eyes widening.

“I, why would they talk about me?” You question in disbelief, hearing multiple voices run through your mind, some yelling over Tony as he continues to talk to you, but you can only see his lips moving.

“-and that you know them somehow, funny really.” Tony huffs to himself as he walks in the direction of the small kitchen you have, noticing a glass half-filled with a single flower, dried out, dead. “Don’t you think, Y/n?”

The prolonged silence from you catches Tony out as he glances over his shoulder, seeing you stood calmly, tears streaming down your face.

“Y/n?” Tony calls out, carefully nearing you as he waves his hand in front of your eyes, but there’s no response. “FRIDAY? Get Banner for me.”

With a deep exhale, you collapse down to the ground. “I, I, I’m sorry,” You breathe out, coughing loudly on a sob that chokes your throat.

Kneeling down in front of you, Tony eyes your movements carefully. “What’s going on with you, Y/n?” He thinks aloud as you manage to sit upright, clutching your legs to your chest as a look of horror solidifies across your expression.

Bruce opens the door to your suite, looking alert as he notices both you and Tony on the ground.

“Everything okay, Tony?” Bruce asks hesitantly, seeing a level of concern cross Tony’s frown.

“Just, sit still, okay.” Tony instructs you, but you’re barely responsive as Tony walks away, taking Bruce outside of your suite as the door remains slightly ajar.

Rubbing his temples, Tony sighs. “What’s going on with her? Bad day or something?” Bruce jokes, but Tony shakes his head.

“I think she might be a plant.” The tone leaving his voice is enough to remove any humour from Bruce as he straightens up. “Somehow, Steve and Bucky know her, or at least knew her.” Tony explains. “But she seems oblivious, and I’m just wondering if she’s just like Barnes, waiting to be activated.”

Bruce hums in response. “What’re we supposed to do with her then if she’s potentially some killing machine?” The words feel sour leaving his lips, but Bruce has read the files on HYDRA.

Over Tony’s shoulder, Bruce watches as a small hand reaches out to the door and pulls it open.

Tony can’t help but tense as you stand against the door frame, a weak smile forming on your lips despite the dried tears lining your cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me, Tony.” You sadly admit. “Do, do you think you can help me, please?”

“Come with us, Y/n.” Bruce forces a grin as he walks toward the elevator, Tony hanging back as you slowly walk out and stand beside Tony.

“Can you help make it stop, Tony?” You plead to your employer who seems conflicted.

“We’ll do what we can.” Tony coldly states, walking behind you to the elevator, ensuring you stand between him and Bruce, just in case anything happens.

*

Your footsteps can be heard throughout the base as you follow behind the woman in charge. Heads turned as she walks with confidence, no one taking notice of who you are in her presence.

Pushing the door open to her office, you follow in and hover by the chair. “Please, Y/n,” Peggy motions to the chair as she closes the door, lowering the blinds too to ensure privacy.

“Thank you for meeting me, Ms Carter.” You speak politely, trying to keep a facade up that everything will be alright, but if there’s anyone who can see right through it, it’s Peggy Carter.

Rifling through the files on her desk, Peggy opens up a series of them as the papers cover the space in front of her. “Oh Y/n, call me Peggy.” Her red lips rise to a sincere smile, hoping you’d ease the tension you’re holding. “Well, the good news is I’ve had the report in from the Doctor, and you’re fit and healthy all around.”

You can’t stop the giggle of excitement escape you. “Sorry,” You mutter, but Peggy doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; it’s the most positive you’ve sounded in the past two years you’ve known her.

“No need to be, there are still a few more tests we have to run on both you and the machinery. However, if all still stands, we should be able to do our first test run within the year.” Peggy explains, catching sight of the frown on your lips deepening. “I know this isn’t the news you hoped for today, but trust me, this is progress.”

Peggy reaches out, placing her hand on the desk. Slowly, you extend your arm, allowing her to take your hand in hers.

“We both lost, Y/n. But we can move forward.” She assures you once more, hoping someday you’ll believe it yourself.

“It happened again,” You explain, looking up directly to the clock, noticing five minutes have passed since you focused on it. “it keeps happening, more frequently than before and I can’t control it.” Panic rises in your voice as you perch on the lab bench, studying Tony and Bruce's reactions as they monitor you closely.

“So these, ‘memories’ aren’t your own?” Tony asks uncertainly.

Rubbing your eyes as they continue to pound, you shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know, they’re in my head, and I can remember aspects of them, certain noises, settings and sometimes people. I, I was with a Carter,” You squint, trying to remember her name, but you sigh heavily. “I can’t remember, sorry.”

“Carter?” Tony repeats, and you nod. “Interesting.” He mumbles as he helps Bruce hook you up to the systems, hoping to catch your next ‘memory’ and see your brain activity whilst monitoring your heart. “I, I’ve gotta make a call.” Tony excuses himself, nodding to Bruce before exiting the lab.

“If you can just lie down, Y/n.” Bruce asks you gently, seeing the fear in your eyes as you lie back. “I’m just going to place these on your head and chest.”

Closing your eyes, you try your best to relax whilst images of a brunette with red lipstick form in your mind. You can hear her faintly saying two names, but your ability to focus is gone once again.

Across the compound, Bucky is barely able to focus as he slams his fists against the torn punching bag whilst Steve stands on the other side, keeping it in place after Bucky nearly threw Sam across the room.

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Bucky shifts his attention across the gym to Natasha and Wanda’s conversation.

Natasha shrugs her shoulders as she stretches out. “I don’t know, she went dead behind the eyes and as I left her, Tony was heading her way.” Natasha explains, and Bucky looks over to Steve.

“Buck, I’m sure it’s fine.” Steve tries to help, but Bucky shakes his head.

“I can feel it, Steve,” Bucky mutters. “somethings wrong, I, I can’t just leave it.” He explains, swiftly walking off out of the gym as eyes turn to Steve holding the rocking bag.

Scoffing under his breath, Steve pushes the bag away from him. “Bad day.” Steve comments before running after Bucky before he can do any potential damage.

Sitting with his fellow soldiers, Bucky tries to disguise his rising fears, but his foot continues to tap against the ground. “You got a dame back home, Barnes?” One of the soldiers, Johnson asks and light laughter echoes through the cells as they all wait for some movement to be heard.

Lifting his head up, Bucky focuses on each of those he can see from his regiment, those who are left at least. No one is sure who captured them, but Bucky knows they aren't likely to get out of this scot free, or alive for that matter.

“I do,” Bucky admits quietly. “and she’s the most wonderful gal I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

“That’s sweet,” Johnson comments, sitting opposite Bucky as he wipes his bloodied nose with his palm. “just, just keep thinkin’ about her, alright? That sorta thought helps.” He nods to Bucky before resting his head back against the metal bars.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers as footsteps can be heard, heading directly towards his cell. “if I don’t make it out, can you tell her I,”

Before Bucky can finish his sentence, two large men unlock his cell and grab him. He manages to catch a glimpse at the red band on their arms, noticing a different symbol than the Nazi one branded in his mind.

“Please, just tell her!” Bucky yells as he’s dragged out of sight, unaware of the horrors he’s about to face.

Focusing on Bruce, you tense as the stickers are placed on your forehead. “Sorry, did that hurt?” Bruce asks timidly, but you shake your head.

“Just kinda cold,” You nervously remark as the rest are slowly placed. “where did Tony go?”

Bruce looks past you at the glass walls, seeing Tony walk out of sight with his phone against his ear. “He, er, had to make a quick phone call. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.” Bruce reasons as he attaches the last sticker to your chest before averting his attention to the computer systems.

Closing your eyes, you listen to the methodical tapping of keys and the sudden sound of your heart rate beside you flashing up on a monitor.

“Okay, all systems in place. Now it’s down to you to induce a ‘memory.’“ Bruce forces an anxious laugh as you simply look at him before tilting your head back to focus on the blank ceiling, a shame they couldn't cover it in stickers like the dentist used to, you think.

“Do you think I’m evil?” You ask, not daring to move your vision from the ceiling, unaware of Bruce stepping back.

“No.” He responds quickly. “I think you’ve been manipulated with, but I don’t think you’re evil.” Bruce justifies, checking the brain activity to see any spikes, but it remains standard.

“You’re acting like I’m made of glass.” You comment, now moving your head to see Bruce rubbing his hands together as he watches the monitors. “But I’m not, I, I know my parents, my childhood home and school." Your voice begins to waver, but you carry on regardless.  "I can tell you the classes I took in college, my first boyfriend and my first time drinking.” You ramble, but Bruce is trying to ignore you. “Please, I, I know who I am.” You whimper, slamming your head back as you stare at the bare white walls above you.

Outside, Tony listens as the line ends up with him left answering a voicemail for the third time.

“Fury, it’s Stark, listen, I need to speak with you urgently. There’s something going on with my new assistant, Y/n Y/l/n. She, she knows Peggy Carter and, just call me back, ASAP.” Huffing, Tony leans against the wall, wondering how he got himself into this mess.

Yet, his moment of contemplation is short-lived as yells from Steve can be heard up ahead.

“Buck, just stop!” Steve shouts as Bucky comes into view, eyes dark and fists clenched as he marches down the corridor.

“Woah, woah, where do you think you’re going?” Tony asks, standing in front of Bucky as Steve catches up in time before Bucky raises his fists.

Holding Bucky back, Steve grunts as Bucky fights against his hold.

“Where is she?” Bucky can feel the anger rising through his veins as Tony buries his hands in his pockets, remaining perfectly calm.

“Where’s who?” Tony asks, looking up to Steve who shakes his head, still struggling to hold Bucky back.

“Come on, Tony. We know you have Y/n down here,” Steve sighs, a brief moment of weakness that Bucky detects as he slams his elbow into Steve’s stomach, causing him to recoil and release Bucky.

Without a moment to lose, Bucky rushes forward to the lab and before he’s stunned by Tony, he catches sight of you on a metal slab, hooked up to machinery with tears streaming down your face.

“No, Y/n!” Bucky screams, pausing by the glass wall, his metal hand resting against it as you begin to turn your head, a second too late as Tony fires a stun at him, forcing Bucky to the ground.

Your breathing increases, causing your heart rate to spike and Bruce rushes over. “Hey, Y/n, it’s fine. Tony has just er, stunned him.” Bruce explains, but your eyes widen.

“Bruce, I, I need to see him, please, let me see Bucky.” You practically beg, trying to pull the wires from yourself but Bruce manages to hold you down before you notice a needle piercing your arm.

With heavy eyes, your focus on Bruce begins to fade. “I’m sorry, Y/n. We’ve gotta keep you here.” His voice sounds too far away as your vision darkens, the last of the ceiling disappearing as your eyes close.

Bucky grunts as he remains on the ground, but turns his head to see Tony stood with his hand covered by his Iron Man tech, a glow of pale blue emitting from his palm, yet to be fired.

“You alright, Buck?” Steve calls out from beside Tony.

Not responding verbally, Bucky nods as he uneasily stands, holding his hands up and remains on the spot where he fell, out of sight from you.

“Tony, lower your hand.” Steve scoffs, and Tony hesitantly obliges, powering his charge down. “I told you not to come here, Bucky,” Steve comments like a disappointed parent, but Bucky’s jaw clenches as he looks at the floor beneath him, the scuff marks from where he fell moments prior.

“Are one of you planning on telling me what the hell is going on here? Because I’ve got a delusional assistant having a brain scan in there who might be a potential HYDRA plant and I want answers.” Tony steps forward, looking between the two super soldiers. “No, you don’t wanna tell me?” Tony raises his arms in defeat and begins to walk away, back to the lab.

“Bucky,” Steve mutters to his friend who eases his jaw and finally looks up.

“Y/n Y/l/n,” Bucky speaks up, and Tony spins on his heels, facing Bucky. “she was my fiance.”

Tony stares at Bucky in disbelief before whistling loudly. "Well, I didn't expect that."

P A R T  F O U R 

(thank you to the following for all the love in the first two parts! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know) (tagging those who wished to be tagged from p2!) 

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler  @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart​

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 25

Y/n puts an end to everything.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

⚠️HUGE⚠️ trigger warnings: rape, drugging, sex trafficking, VERY graphic descriptions of violence, physical violence (please let me know if I leave anything out)

Hannibal could walk through a valley of human suffering and not even flinch. You couldn't tell if that made him subhuman or superhuman. You, however, were just human.

You wanted to be a badass. You wanted to kick the door down and make a scene. But one woman was enough to break you.

She was wearing only a large t-shirt. A cloth bandage covered in blood covered her pubic area like a makeshift pair of underpants. She laid limply against a stone. Her arms were punctured where needles had been.

"I don't..." she mumbled, clearly intoxicated beyond function. "...don't make me..."

You knew you couldn't afford to stop. But compassion kept your feet firmly on the ground in front of her.

"What is Chase making you do?"

"I can't-" She said, pressing her forehead against the rock. "I can't be an unwoman-"

She began to slam her head against the rock with clear intent to take her own life. Without thinking, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the grass. She sobbed, a bloody, but thankfully, survivable, gash on her forehead.

"Tell me your name." You demanded, squeezing her shoulders.

"...Tiffany." She said with a sudden lucidity.

The name unlocked a memory in you. It was the still image of a sunny young girl, immortalized on a faded missing person's ad hung up at the grocery store. Tiffany Rose Pierce, it read.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiffany." You whispered. "I'm gonna get all of you out of here."

"Vanguard won't like that." She said, slipping back into a state of minimal consciousness.

"Stay here." You instructed, pushing yourself back to your feet.

You readied your gun and slowly, carefully pushed the cabin door open. Suddenly, the stained glass window was the least of your worries.

The entire area was lined with cheaply-constructed bunk beds, like an overgrown henhouse. Women with distinctively long hair were shackled to the lower bunks. Their shaven counterparts, the unwomen, were forced to be the slavedrivers. They held the chained women down.

You heard the rattling of chains coming from the right. It was accompanied with screaming and wet slapping.

"Take daddy's cock you filthy fucking broodmare." A familiar voice grunted.

The only way you could look at him was behind the barrel of your gun. He was exactly how you pictured him while listening to his voice in the car. Unremarkable, middle-aged and serpentine.

"Pastor Armitage!" You yelled.

To hear someone call him by his title in the midst of violating a person was enough to send him into a panic. He sputtered and his entire face turned red.

He didn't suffer for long, though. A 12 gauge shell right through the face took care of that. Fragments of his head, his blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. His knees buckled and his limp body collapsed.

The room fell silent. Smoke trickled out of your barrel.

"Where's fucking Chase?" You asked the room.

Someone weakly pointed up the stairs. You met her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry about the mess."

Now you knew how Hannibal felt. Blowing someone's head off made you acutely aware of your own head on your shoulders. You held it higher. You felt no remorse as you ascended the staircase with your gun blazing.

You came across a room with some words etched in the door. 'Skin room'. You launched your foot squarely into the door, causing it to violently swing open. 

You examined the room from behind the gun. Chase had done a hell of a job dressing up this cheap cabin bedroom like a hotel suite, but the smell hit you before you could be fooled. A brick chimney, a wine cooler and a mahogany desk were positioned so the eye would gravitate towards the luxury while the nose picked up the brutality. The stained glass window was suspended in front of the real window, absorbing the mid-morning light and giving the room an eerie sepia tint. 

You cocked your gun to announce your presence. You heard the sound of running water, and then a side door swung open. 

“You’ll forgive me a couple minutes to freshen up.” Chase said, shaking his hands dry. “Cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.” 

You said nothing. You didn’t want to dignify him with a conversation. 

He bent over and pulled a bottle of wine from his cooler. He placed it squarely on the desk. You looked at it, then did a double take. He grinned sadistically. 

“Is that...” You leaned in to get a closer look. “1907 Heidsieck Monople Gout?” 

Chase shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the wine expert.” 

You’d heard many a conflicting story about the legendary 1907 Heidsieck. Some said as many as 2,000 bottles were pulled up from the depths of the freezing Baltic sea. Some said a single bottle could go for half a million dollars. With that kind of precedent, you never thought you’d ever have to worry about it. Yet, there it was. Right in front of you. 

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Chase said, suddenly reminding you where you were.

You returned to your gun. “For when you kill me?” 

“For when I save you.” Chase smiled, his unnaturally white teeth glistening in the sepia light. “See, Miss [F/N], you survived two of my attempts on your life. God has smiled down on you.” 

“Or, maybe,” You interrupted. “You’re just horrible at killing.” 

Chase raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"A knife through the hand hurts like a bitch, but it isn't fatal." You shrugged. "And you didn't do a good enough job beating the fear of death out of Catherine. Else she might have actually gone through with it. Maybe if you'd sent Tiffany-"

"God loves you." Chase interrupted before you could poke more holes in his attempts on your life. "Why you're still alive when so many less deserving of death have died is beyond me, but god works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

"She sure does." You smirked.

Chase cleared his throat. You'd pegged him as the type to get irrationally angry at the implication of god being a woman, so his reaction surprised you.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" He gestured to a seat across from him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think so."

"Pity." He pouted. "Not even for poor Mr. Graham?"

It dawned on you that he probably still thought he had Will, and you could use it to your advantage.

You held your gun at your side and hesitantly sat down in the seat. A gluttonous smile spread across Chase's face.

"So it wasn't wine after all." He said. "It wasn't even your own life. You're only willing to save your soul for the sake of your precious Will Graham."

"What do you care?" You growled through your teeth. "This is just a power grab for you. You wouldn't know what genuine empathy for another person feels like."

He grinned, as if someone had just flipped his 'on' switch. "Jesus does."

"Did Jesus use his influence to lure teenage girls into a sick breeding ring?" You sneered. "I don't remember that from VeggieTales."

"Genesis 1:28." Chase said. "And God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply."

"I suppose you also don't eat shellfish or wear mixed fabrics." You rolled your eyes.

"It's always the same arguments from you atheists." Chase scoffed, adding a distinct bite to the last word. "When are you going to show some actual proof that the bible isn't an infallible model for human morality?"

"Maybe when you stop eating shellfish and wearing mixed fabrics." You repeated.

"They are minor sins at best." Chase grimaced. "I have gotten right with Jesus. You, on the other hand, oh, you. Your sins are weighty."

"I did just blast a rapist's head off." You admitted. "And it's going to be two very soon if this one doesn't get to the fucking point."

"I know about your exploits." He squinted. "With Mr. Graham and the man with the Nazi accent."

"He's actually from Lithuania, which, if you wanna be technical," you corrected, just for the sake of being annoying. "Is an ex-Soviet state, but whatever."

Chase tensed up at being corrected. "I know about your hedonistic sexual activities with two men, your exploration. But in the bible, Satan approaches these two people called Adam and Eve..."

"No he didn't." You shook your head. "It was a serpent. The devil wasn't a concept when Genesis was written."

Chase gritted his teeth. "God made one man and one woman. Each to fill each other's sexual desires, within the context of marriage, entirely-"

"But Adam had two spouses, didn't he?" You cocked your head and smiled. "Eve wasn't even the first woman in Adam's life. That was Lilith."

Chase heaved a frustrated sigh. "How do you know that?!"

"I was raised catholic." You said in the tonal equivalent of smacking him upside the head. "I was forced into religion at a young age and brainwashed to hate myself."

"See, that's where we agree." Chase tented his hands, thinking he found a genuine point of connection. "Organized religion is a cancer on society. Christianity is fundamentally about a relationship with god."

You laughed. It was the first real, good laugh you had in a while.

"Don't laugh." He scolded. "I am sorry that that was your experience with religion and that the Catholic church modeled a false teaching of who god is and what he wants. Not all christians-"

You wiped a tear from your eye. "Homie, you killed four people in front of me."

He placed his hand over his heart. "And christ forgave me. And he can forgive you too."

"Alright, this has been fun and everything," you said, standing up. You aimed your shotgun and cocked it. "But, I did come here to kill you, so, open wide."

Chase put his hand squarely over the barrel and pushed it out of the way. "You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger."

You pulled the trigger and blasted his hand clean off. Any hope of reattachment was shattered, as bits of his hand painted the walls and floor.

You opened the gun and let the two empty shells fall to the ground while Chase screamed in agony.

Instead of going through the motions of reloading, you smashed him over the head with the gun. He wrapped his good hand around the barrel and attempted to wrestle it away from you. You took this as an invitation to corner him against the wall with the still-hot barrel against his neck. He smashed his forehead into your nose, sending you tumbling backwards.

The shotgun fell to the ground. You pinched the bridge of your nose to control the blood flow. Chase wrapped a champagne towel around his stump and picked up a small revolver on his desk. He let off a shot, which lodged itself into your shoulder. By the time he let off the second shot, you were on the ground. The third shot didn't fire, just let out a flash and a bang.

"Goddamn blanks!" He cursed.

He tore open a drawer and rummaged around for bullets, giving you a window to come up from behind and gouge your fingers into his eyes. He screamed, dropping a handful of bullets. He flailed aimlessly, then charged backwards, slamming you into the cheap drywall.

He felt around for the bullets without the advent of eyesight. You knew you wouldn't be able to take aim with your shotgun with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, so you dove for the revolver.

Chase grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you down. You hit the floor with a thud, the collision making the bullets jump. Chase grinned, using the sound to place them. He turned around and reached for one, while you scooped up another that had rolled under the desk.

You scrambled to your feet. Chase's hand was just centimeters from the revolver. Thinking fast (but not so thoroughly), you grabbed for the revolver. You wrapped your hand around the barrel, putting yourself at a disadvantage if he fired off another blank.

Chase, however, wasn't that forward-thinking, and opted for a childish game of tug-of-war instead. Knowing he had the brute strength advantage, you waited for him to pull back and released your grip. Chase tumbled, cursing on his way down.

With no thought on your mind but ending this, you launched your foot into his sack, causing him to scream and drop the gun.

Just as you thought it was over, just when the gun was in arm's reach, he kicked your knees backwards and you fell. You swallowed the pain and army crawled for the revolver.

"I don't think so." Chase spat, smiling like a maniac. He grabbed your face with his good hand and his fingers slithered down your throat.

"Choke..." he demanded. "Choke, demoness."

Strengthened by animalistic instinct, you crushed his fingers under your teeth. The sound of snapping bone filled the inside of your head and a sudden rush of blood flooded into your mouth. He withdrew his hand, leaving a finger behind to limply fall down your throat.

You coughed and gagged while Chase screamed. A single bloody digit dislodged itself from your windpipe, flew across the room and landed on the desk.

Chase sputtered something resembling a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a dumb bitch after all."

You grabbed the gun and pushed yourself up with the help of the desk. The finger stared up at you as you loaded the single bullet.

You positioned the finger onto the trigger and guided it with your gloved hand. Then you aimed it at his forehead. Dead by his gun, by his trigger finger. Bleeding on the ground in his private bunker while the empire he built collapses around him. A coward's death. It was poetic enough an end as he deserved.

"You want to say a prayer before you meet god?" You offered.

"My soul is saved." Chase said through ragged breaths. "My place in heaven is secured."

Bang. One bullet, right between the eyes. A bloody fingerprint on the pistol. You dropped the revolver and collapsed. You just laid there, listening to your phone buzz.

[puppetsoftomorrow]

avalance wedding vows

@puppetavasharpe challenged me to write the avalance wedding vows, so i wrote everything but the vows! (nah jokes there are some vows in here i just got Very carried away lmao). i'll clean up and post to ao3 when i find the time. enjoy!!

They both agreed they’d spent too much time apart in the weeks before their wedding to spend the night before it apart, and Sara was grateful, the nervous hammering of her heart calmed by Ava’s hand in hers, as they lay in the semi-darkness, neither ready to sleep quite yet.

“We're getting married tomorrow.” Ava said softly into the darkness.

“Yeah.” Sara said, the sound floating in the air. “Do we have to do it front of everyone? Can't we elope? Because we have a time machine, we don’t need to be married by an Elvis impersonator in Vegas, I can take us to get married by the real Elvis -”

“You're nervous.” Ava said - it wasn't a question, more of a slightly surprised statement, and Sara made an indignant noise.

“No, Sara Lance does not get nervous -”

Ava squeezed her hand, and Sara stopped the act.

“Fucking terrified. You?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Ava said softly. “But - the idea that you’ll be there - that helps. Is that weird?”

“No.” Sara said, as she moved further into her fiancée's side. “No, I think that helps me too.”

“Have you got everything ready? Are your vows written?” Ava asked, and it was Sara’s turn to squeeze her hand, trying to calm the part of Ava that needed their wedding day to run like a train station under communist rule.

“Yeah, all written.” She said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. She had some pointers on a piece of paper in the pocket of her dress, and her plan of seeing where the day took her for the rest of it would almost certainly work. “What about you?”

“All done.” Ava said, her tone almost strangled, and Sara turned, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at her.

“Why do you look so guilty?” Sara asked, slightly confused, and her face broke into a grin when Ava started to flush pink.

“I wrote them - um – maybe about a year ago.”

“What? But I hadn't proposed -”

“I know.” Ava said, a hand coming up to cover her cheek. “It wasn’t - um - after anything in particular, you’d just come back from Star City and it sort of hit me, then, that this is what I wanted. For the rest of my life. So, I wrote them.”

“But you waited all this time -”

“Because I wanted you to propose to me.” Ava said, her voice soft, and she turned away, clearly embarrassed, but Sara’s hand caught her, to bring their eyes back together. “I just - I wanted to be proposed to. I know that’s sappy. And I wanted you to know, on your own, that you were completely ready.”

“I’m ready.” Sara said softly, as she ran her thumb along Ava's cheekbone. “That's adorable. You’re so cute.”

“Shut up.” Ava muttered, still bright red, and Sara laughed.

“Aw, Aves, is that any way to treat your future wife?”

“Go to sleep.” Ava said, grinning now, and she gently pushed Sara back down. Sara took full advantage of the new position and moved close, pressing her face against Ava’s shoulder and snaking her arms around her waist.

“I'm excited to hear them. I can't wait to marry you.”

“I can't wait either.” Ava said, voice a near whisper. “And - if it gets too much tomorrow- we can go find Elvis and he can marry us.”

“Thank you.” Sara said as she yawned, finally ready to sleep. “Night, baby. Love you.”

“Goodnight, my love.” Sara heard, softly spoken, as she drifted off to sleep.

///

Best laid plans - and Ava's plans were always the best - seemed a truism in that moment. Guests had been arriving in a constant stream, Mick making trips in the jump ship to pick everyone up, grumbling that he wasn't a taxi service, and Sara had only just finished getting ready - slipping into her white jumpsuit and curling her hair, as Nate sat on the bed and gushed about how beautiful love was, Behrad fast asleep next to him.

Constantine's mansion looked wonderful, Astra having spent a week learning the spells to cover the place in streamers and balloons, only they kept appearing and disappearing randomly, which caused Sara to yelp as a party of balloons suddenly appeared next to her.

She’d lost her shoes. These shoes were nothing special, but Sara was determined to find them, because they were her tallest pair, and she wasn't having Ava craning her neck to kiss her in every one of their wedding photos. People might think she was short or something.

Sara rounded into the ballroom, and saw something she was definitely not meant to see.

“Ava?” She said, and Ava turned, squeaked, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Sara! What are you doing! Nate said he’d keep you in the bedroom until -”

“I’m just - what are you doing?”

“It's bad luck to see each other.” Ava said, eyes still tight shut, and Sara laughed, a slightly shaky sound.

“Well, baby, I’ve seen you now.” She looked her up and down, slightly in awe. Ava's dress was simple, ivory satin with a bardot neckline, her hair curled over one shoulder, elegant and beautiful. There was a quiver in Sara’s voice when she spoke again. “You're so beautiful. How did I ever get this lucky?”

“Stop it, you shouldn’t even be seeing me.” Ava said, her voice also thick with emotion, and Sara took three steps forward across the ballroom, taking Ava’s hands in her own.

“You can look, baby.” Sara said softly, and Ava’s eyes opened, widening when she took in what Sara was wearing. When their eyes connected again, there were tears on her lashes.

“You look so pretty. Are those trousers?”

Sara laughed and nodded, trying to keep her own tears at bay. “Yeah, um, the last wedding I went to was kind of invaded by Nazi superheroes, so I thought this would work for fighting.”

“You’re so practical. I'm not going to ask about the Nazis.” Ava sniffed, and Sara reached out to hold her hands.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” Sara said softly.

“You'll be there, won’t you? At the end, waiting for me?” Ava asked, almost shyly, and Sara nodded. All the Legends, even Spooner, had offered to walk her down the aisle when it had come out that Ava had no family to do it for her, but Ava had decided to walk alone.

Her only caveat - that Sara go first, so she could see who she was walking towards.

“Yeah, baby. I’ll be there.” Sara said, and turned slightly at Behrad’s shout of “I’ve found them!”

“That's my cue.” Sara said, trying to shake the tears from her eyes, and Ava scrunched her brow.

“Found what?”

“I'll tell you afterwards baby. I'll see you later.”

“I wouldn't miss it.” Ava said softly, and Sara beamed at her, before turning to run back the other way, before anyone saw that they’d seen each other.

///

Sara stood in the eaves, looking out to the flower filled garden, guests seated and talking, enjoying the sun and the chance to see old friends.

If her nerves weren’t bad before -

“You ready, kid?”

The gruff voice of her dad came from just behind her, and Sara nodded, trying to hide her sweating palms.

“Yeah, I’m ready. I just -” She started, then her voice dropped slightly. “I wish Laurel was here. I’d never imagined that I'd be doing this without her.”

“She’d be so proud of you.” Quentin said softly, and Sara nodded, a wet laugh escaping her lips when she realized they were both crying.

Before Sara could reply, the familiar tune played on the violin swept over the garden, and the guests fell in a hush, and Sara accepted the handkerchief her dad offered to wipe her eyes.

Quentin held out his arm, and Sara looped hers through his, stepping out into the light.

///

It all seemed like a blur. Ava walked down the aisle, a vision in white, a nervous smile on her face, and Sara considered just booking it down the few feet of grass that separated them to hold her hand, but she stayed firm, and Ava reached her, handing her bouquet off to Mona, and Sara reached out then, threading their fingers together. Nate’s words about love and their relationship almost melted away as she stared into Ava’s eyes, and she would have missed the vows if it weren’t for Ava gently squeezing her hand.

“Sara - I -” Ava started, stopped, took a shaky breath, and Sara beamed at her, willing her on, and Ava swallowed. “I wrote this after you came to Purgatory to get me. I’d never imagined, up until that point, that anyone could ever love me enough to do something like that, bring me back from the precipice, but you did.” Ava paused, and smiled gently at her. “You’ve changed my life irrevocably, and always for the better. You’ve made me a better person, a more thoughtful person, you’ve helped me to find who I am – you've also helped me to lose both my job and my house, but we won’t dwell on that -”

Ava seemed almost surprised when the guests laughed, and Sara squeezed her hand.

“Every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something that surprises me. I can’t imagine my life – my future - without you in it, and I want it, all of it, every crazy adventure and every not so crazy one, just – all of it, because, I know whatever it is, you’ll be there with me, and we’ll face it together.” Ava said, then took a breath. “I love you, Sara Lance. Always and forever.”

Sara stood, slightly open mouthed, and would have kissed her if that wasn’t the main event in a few minutes. “Your turn.” Ava said, soft and just for her, and Sara nodded, her heart suddenly beating a little faster. She dropped Ava’s hands, and pulled her notes out.

Another benefit of a jumpsuit – pockets.

“Well, I wrote these vows after you said we couldn’t elope and get married by Elvis -” Laughter rippled through the assembled crowd, and Sara felt her shoulders relax. “Ava - I don’t know what good I did in this life to deserve you. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve died, and I’ve lost my way so many times and I never thought I could find my way back, but with you – I know I can always find my way home.”

Ava smiled at her, tears on her cheeks, and Sara moved to hold her hand again.

“I love you. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’ll be okay, because you’ll be there with me. I’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Ava nodded, beaming through her tears, and Nate pronounced them married, and Sara could finally kiss her, and the light came in, warm and true.

///

“If I’d known that Behrad was such a huge Celine Dion fan, I wouldn't have let him be the DJ.” Sara said, pressing herself closer to Ava to be heard over the music that was sounding through the ballroom. Ava laughed, the sound moving through her, and Sara held her wife a little tighter as they slow danced to Because You Loved Me. “You’d think a guy from 2042 would have better music taste.”

“This wouldn't be such a bad first dance.” Ava hummed, swaying gently. They'd tried to forgo as much formality as they could - speeches and a first dance included - but Sara had danced with her dad, and Ava had danced with him to in a move that made Sara cry for the tenth time that day.

“It’s sappy as hell.” Sara said, and Ava laughed again.

“You are sappy, you’ve cried so many times today.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten soft.” Sara said, eyebrows knitting together, until Ava pressed a kiss there.

“That’s not a bad thing.” Ava hummed, and they stood there, swaying gently. “Your vows were soft.”

“Yeah, and now all my family and friends know I have feelings.” Sara said with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve really ruined my reputation.”

Ava shrugged, before moving backwards to spin Sara before catching her again. “I rather like that you have feelings.” Ava said softly, once Sara was safe in her arms again, and Sara melted into it just as the last beat of the song played across the room.

The moment was ruined when Behrad yelled, and Bootylicious started to play across the radio. Sara burst out laughing to see Zari had taken up position next to the speakers.

“Actually, I change my mind, this is our first dance.” Ava said, and Sara just laughed as the rest of the guests started to pour onto the dancefloor.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Why do you think Tomarry would work? I see a lot of people hating on it and the only response I ever see is that they come from similar backgrounds or people just like enemies to lovers. Also which horcrux do you think Harry would go best with (including Voldemort)

So, this is probably a more complicated question than you intended, but that’s because I live in bizarre head canon lands that few ever dare venture towards.

With that, let’s get started.

But What Do You Really Ship, Muffin?

First, it probably bears saying that I’m not really a Tomarry shipper. I know, I’ve written more than one Tomarry story, so if that’s not Tomarry what is? Well, remember that those Tomarry pairing tags are a filthy lie. October I committed the grievous sin of breaking up the Tomarry and throwing Tom at Harry’s mother. Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus is barely a Harry Potter fic in any capacity, and while the ship is the driving force of the fic, it’s also this nebulous, distant, thing that really shows up only in strange side stories where I try to make people laugh. When Harry Met Tom is probably the closest that I take seriously, but I also intentionally subvert all your typical Tomarry tropes for my own enjoyment. 

The only Tomarry story I’d say I’ve ever actually written is “The Burning Taste of Fire Whisky”. It’s a very popular story, sadly perhaps my most popular on Ao3, but I actually loathe it entirely. 

A lot of the time I feel like I just happen to have a Tomarry shirt on and then I suddenly became a subject matter expert. If you want the Tomarry opinions from real Tomarry people, I’m probably not the best person to ask. In fact, if you want really any standard answer about Harry Potter anything, I’m not the best person to ask.

Now, I’m not just saying this to be a hipster but to sort of give some background for why I’m going to give the answer I’m going to give and why it’s going to be 100% different from everyone else’s and yes, sometimes, I do think I came from Mars.

Will the Real Tomarry Please Stand Up?

So with that, the bottom line is: taking canon as JKR intended, completely at face value, Tomarry doesn’t work at all. This is because JKR fully intends a very flat, one-dimensional, and frankly quite boring Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle’s evil, Tom Riddle was born evil, Tom Riddle was evil in the womb because of rape. He is completely and utterly irredeemable and understands nothing of love.

Well, that sort of sinks the ship right out of the harbor, doesn’t it? A Tom Riddle incapable of love is one incapable of growth, especially in a romantic focused story. If you try to write it you just get weird sociopathic whump porn where Tom probably whips Harry in a closet somewhere.

Added onto this we get that, despite what she put down on paper, Harry is supposed to be a straight man. That aside, he’s also a righteous man whose understanding of things like love and friendship mean he’d never sully himself with gross Tom Riddle. Ew, what are you people thinking?

Well, what if we take canon just mostly as JKR intended? What if we just look at the characters the way she actually wrote them versus what she was trying to do? Still no dice.

Tom might now be capable of love, be a far more engaging character who can go somewhere, and be pulled out of a pit of rage and despair by someone but that someone ain’t Harry.

First, while I firmly believe Harry is gay (gay, not bisexual, compare his descriptions of Cho/Ginny to Tom Riddle/Sirius Balck/Cedric Diggory/Charlie Weasley, that boy pants after Tom Riddle and Cho’s kiss is “wet”) he’s also a much worse person and much dumber character than JKR intended. It’s really the first that damns the pairing.

I have a whole giant post on how Harry’s a little yikes but the long and short of it is that while Harry thinks he understands friendship and love he’s also someone who will cut out his friends at a moment’s notice if he feels remotely slighted, uses and sacrifices them for his own ends, gleefully uses unforgiveable curses when given the opportunity, and is the kind of guy who would cut someone up in the bathroom, leave them to bleed to death, and only really feel bad about it when it seems he might get in trouble for it.

This Harry ending up even with a Tom who could potentially be redeemed would more likely lead to, well, weird psychopathic whump porn where Harry tortures Tom in his basement to make him pay for all the horrible things he’s done while Harry claims he’s the most moral person ever because his mother loved him.

So, yeah, no Tomarry for you.

But Wait, Didn’t You Say You Believed in Tomarry?

What I believe in are archetypes.

Remove what Harry’s supposed to be, remove what I think he actually is (one maladjusted, violent, dude with a whole lot of anger issues), let’s make Harry what perhaps JKR didn’t even know she wanted: one of those rare fundamentally good heroes who warps an entire story with the strength of their inner nobility.

Harry Potter is meant to be a story about love and friendship. Now, it’s not actually, and we sort of end with Harry being Jesus and none of us are sure why. Except that he apparently forgives Dumbledore and Snape for brainwashing him to be a kamikaze agent. They’re the bravest men he knows. But let’s pretend it actually is a story about love and friendship.

To me, the strongest story of love we could possibly have had in this world is the redemption of Tom Riddle. Here is a man who was supposed to have been irredeemable since birth, he has done many horrific and unforgiveable things, grew up in extreme hardship in a society that spits on everything he ever was, and is mired in bitterness, despair, and rage. Beneath all that, Tom Riddle has given up hope in the world and is now content to burn it down himself.

Harry, through the nobility of his spirit and integrity of his character, somehow managing to redeem Tom Riddle is not only a fascinating story but a very good one at its core. The fact that they are tied together by destiny as well as tragedy, that Harry houses a shard of Tom’s soul (and I do so love horcruxes), only makes it more so.

This is the kind of story that carries epics, and that is why I gravitate towards it.

Now, do I change Harry up to do so? Good god, yes. I wouldn’t say any Harry Potter I have written is anything close to the Harry we know from canon. Some are closer than others, but they always in some way deviate. That said, from what I’ve seen almost nobody writes the actual Harry we remember from canon, so this is a very standard practice I can get away with, without too many people calling foul.

Ultimately ending in tragedy or in the full redemption of Tom: either works with these base characterizations and the world is your oyster.

What About All Those Other Arguments?

I’m not going to get into this too much except that I wouldn’t argue Tomarry works for the reasons you list. At all.

On the similar backgrounds, the fact is Harry and Tom don’t have similar backgrounds, JKR just says they do because she likes that trope (and so do many of the readers).

Harry and Tom have dark hair, they both came from abusive homes, but that’s where the similarities start and end. Upon entering the wizarding world Harry is treated very very very differently from Tom Riddle.

Harry, grows up in this weird sort of pseudo poverty where he dresses in rags because the Dursley’s hate him but he never actually has to worry about money. When he gets to the wizarding world he can afford everything he wants. He can buy a new wand, he can buy new supplies, he can buy all the candy off the trolly cart. Money’s not an object to Harry, is barely even a concept.

Tom Riddle is presumably on scholarship and money is everything to him. He buys a new wand but likely all his clothes and books are second hand. He can’t buy whatever candy he wants, probably can’t afford gifts for his peers, Tom is very aware of the haves and have nots.

Harry similarly never has to worry about a career. He never gets that far, fearing for his life so much, but the fact is that Harry has enough money that he doesn’t actually need to work. More, who would turn down the great Harry Potter? He wants to be an auror, is afraid he might not qualify, but it’s not really desperate.

Tom Riddle is to the world an impoverished muggle born. He tries for the Defense position and is turned down mostly because Dumbledore threw shade. Dumbledore tries to make it seem like Tom desperately wanted to work in this weird shop in London’s magical back alley, but probably that was the only position Tom could get (everything Dumbledore ever says, especially in those pensieve lessons, must be taken with a large grain of salt). Everything else goes to friends, family, and purebloods.

Adding to this, Harry has this glowing reputation. Now, Harry might not like it, he might want to be just Harry but the fact is that everyone has heard of him and most people worship the ground he walks on. Doors are open to him everywhere. His first introduction to the wizarding world is from a man who loves him and gushes about Harry as a baby.

Tom Riddle is someone with a muggle last name, who comes from a muggle orphanage, in other words he is nobody from nowhere. (For reasons I won’t get into here I find it very doubtful Tom ever revealed he was the heir of Slytherin until he became Voldemort and let Tom Riddle fade into obscurity). His first introduction to the wizarding world is some asshole lighting all his stuff on fire because the matron talked shit about him.

Harry wants to stay at Hogwarts because the Dursleys are abusive. Yes, this is terrible, but Tom wants to stay because Nazis are bombing London and Dippet says, “So sorry, Tom, no exceptions. Enjoy those luffas!” Harry’s concerns are never treated with the same disdain.

To make a long story short, they do not have similar backgrounds, at all. To say they do is utterly laughable and not much better than saying “they both have dark hair, they have so much in common!”

They both came from abusive homes, yes, but even the nature of those homes were very different and when they went to Hogwarts they were worlds apart.

... So much for not getting into it, eh?

As for Enemies to Lovers, well, it’s a trope and people enjoy it but it’s not my jam. I could go into why, but I think I’ve said enough.

Which Horcrux Do You Think Harry Would Go Best With?

We see so little of the individual horcruxes I’m not sure I can really take a stab at this. I sort of just make up their personalities as it suits me every time I write them.

With that I suppose I’m partial to the one in Harry’s head? Given that he has a front row seat to Harry, has seen Voldemort’s tragic demise, I think he’s in the best position to end up with Harry in a meaningful manner.

Especially as, if you think about it, he could represent the very last of Tom Riddle’s humanity. The single shard of humanity that remained in him until the bitter end.

[astralaffairs]

on fear under stark, dying lighting || thomas jefferson, fotp-verse

title: on fear under stark, dying lighting

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader, an fotp-verse oneshot

words: 5k

request: how would thom react if lets say maybe his neo-nazi supporters get too passionate abt their anger towards mc’s articles and um try to shoot/mug/harm her to stop her from writing anything else against thom?

notes: ok so first off lemme preface this w the fact that thom is a self respecting black man who has another self respecting black man as his running mate so tbr the neo-nazi white supremacists r not exactly his demographic of supporters. that said i fucking loved this prompt; set in the universe of freedom of the press, but not canon w/ the storyline

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8@assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa@hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies@fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach@snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed@rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk@daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich@cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow  @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @checkurwindow @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty — hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Y/N scrunched up her nose as her eyes fluttered open, the gritty, incessant sound of the machine grating on her nerves — while she was no stranger to the sound of her own heartbeat, she'd never heard it like that. When she finally tried to look around the room, she winced. The sterile-white LED lights lining the ceiling made her eyes burn; as she adjusted to it, slowly waking up, she began to notice the steady click of an IV drip not far from where her head rested.

She didn't move at first, blinking hard as the ceiling was her entire range of vision, but when she tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through her shoulder, and she cried out, her hand flying up to the spot.

"Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart, lay down, okay? Relax, please. You're gonna hurt yourself."

The beep of the heart rate monitor accelerated in a fleeting moment, and steady, familiar hands came to rest gently on her good shoulder and her upper back, easing her into the crinkly mattress beneath her. She turned with wide eyes to find the last person she expected at her bedside as he propped her head up onto a pillow.

"Thomas?" she asked breathlessly. "Shit, I... What are you doing here? Did you bring me here? I don't..." Her brow furrowed as she eyed his worried expression, the small, scared frown he wore. As she tried to shift in her bed, turn to look at him, she gasped at the throbbing in her upper arm — with that, it didn't take long for her to recall exactly what she was doing there, though the details were hazy. She didn't know what to make of her current circumstance, though.

"Here, d'you want me to raise the back of the bed so you don't needa hold yourself up?" Though she'd screwed her eyes shut, her jaw clenched as she tried to bear the pain, as his hand ghosted down to her forearm, as he brushed his thumb across her skin, he could hear her pulse beginning to settle. She nodded, laying onto her back with a grimace.

A moment passed in silence while she tried to collect her thoughts. She let out a soft hum when the reclined top of the bed began to fold upward, letting her shift into a sitting position, she withdrew her right arm from Thomas's grasp, pulling it back to instead lace her fingers into his. "Better?"

"Mhm." When she again opened her eyes, he'd pulled his chair closer. She frowned. "How are you here? You... We're in public, Thomas; you can't..." She trailed off, but when the concern in his gaze didn't subside in the least, she said, "Did I die? Am I... Is this even real? I don't understand."

Despite everything, at her words, a teasing grin split his grim expression, and he squeezed her hand lightly. "Well, first of all, 'm flattered that you think wakin' up here next to me might actually be heaven—" She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help her soft, endeared smile. "—but no, you're alright, just in the hospital. You're gonna be fine."

"I guess that's a relief," she sighed, pursing her lips. She eyed him with concerned hesitance. "But what are you doing here?"

"What d'you mean, 'what am I doing here?'" he asked incredulously, his voice soft. "Three of my supporters just tried to fucking kill you 'cause they were tryin' to defend my image. Did you think I wasn't gonna come see you? Make sure you're okay? I've been worried sick, Y/N."

"I..." She swallowed the lump building in her throat as she remembered everything that happened, how quickly it'd all gone down. With the way they'd cornered her, she was lucky to have escaped with a bullet in her shoulder. She was lucky to have even made it out alive. "I'm really, really glad you're here," she said with a weak smile, "but we aren't exactly holed up in your penthouse, right now. How do you plan to explain that you came to visit me in the hospital?"

"Well, officially, 'm here to offer my deepest apologies on behalf of myself 'n my campaign and to let you know that I entirely denounce what happened," he said, and as his gaze fell, as he couldn't bear to meet her eyes, she could see the remorse in her demeanor. "Everyone's just gonna think it's damage control, and I get why. Some of that was just an excuse for me comin' to see you. But really... I can't tell you how sorry I am that this happened. 'M so, so sorry that people came out 'n tracked you down, tried to murder you in my name. You can't... I can't begin to tell you how much I wish I could go back and do somethin' different to stop this from happenin'. That I didn't spend so much time messin' with you on Twitter. That I woulda—"

"Stop it," Y/N said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. She could see Thomas's eyes welling up, his stare glassy; she could hear his voice beginning to waver. "Stop. You know this wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could've done to prevent it. You're a good person, okay? I know you. Please, please don't blame yourself."

She squeezed his hand, and he shut his eyes tightly. "Fuck, I don't—" He sniffled loudly, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Don't know why you're comforting me right now. 'M not supposed to be the one who needs it; I don't wanna make this about me. 'M sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You aren't responsible for this, and I don't blame you for it in the least." At her gentle tone, he let out a ragged huff, still not meeting her eyes. She frowned. "Hey, look at me. You didn't do anything to incite this."

"You're too forgivin'," he finally said, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "I don't deserve it."

She scoffed at the words, breaking his gaze to shake her head in exasperation. "Thomas, if you don't deserve to be forgiven, that's because there's nothing to forgive. Please, this isn't your burden."

There was a skip, silence aside from the IV drip and the staticky beep of the heart rate monitor. "That's enough talkin' about me," he finally said. Y/N sighed. His deflecting was overt, but he didn't seem to care. "How are you? I don't just mean your shoulder, either. No one would judge you for bein' rattled after everything that happened."

She shrugged, and he could see the pain in her eyes. "I'm not great, if I'm honest. I was just so scared." She drew in a shaky breath. He took her hand in both of his, pulling his chair closer to her side. "How'd you even find out about this, anyway? Lafayette?"

"Now, why d'you think Lafayette woulda heard about you bein' in the hospital before I did?" He could only feign offense, but the eyebrow he raised was playful. She couldn't stifle her amused smile. "That hurts, sweetheart, really. He matters that much more to you than I do?"

"Shut up; you know that none of my other friends would tell you about this," she groaned, but any exhaustion in her voice was contrived. "Alex and his sister-in-law are my emergency contacts. Which one of them would've ever called you?"

"Alright, alright." Thomas huffed, trying to purse his lips to hide his grin. "James called me. Dolley saw it on the news."

"Oh my god, it's on the news?" Her eyes widened, and Thomas was struck with a pang of guilt as he heard her pulse begin to spike — there wasn't much she could hide when hooked up to a heart rate monitor. "Shit, I– I need to call Mira and Orlando; they've gotta be terrified. And Angelica, holy shit, I'm sure she's heard. What time is it? How long has it been since the story broke?"

"Hey, calm down, okay? They're outside. They know you're gonna be alright," he murmured, rubbing the back of her hand comfortingly, and he sighed as he heard her heartbeat slow. "Everyone's out there. James 'n Dolley came, Lafayette came... Hamilton brought his whole family. I met Angelica, just now."

Her eyebrows shot up, but a laugh was etched into her surprised smile. "Oh, no, tell me you're lying. I can't imagine that went well."

He hummed in agreement, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her enthusiasm begin to grow. "Nah, not so much. Think she woulda throttled me out in the lobby if Mira hadn't stopped her."

Y/N groaned. "Of course Mira's out there defending you. Some priorities."

"Oh, would you rather your friends killed me with their bare hands?" He raised an expectant eyebrow, and when Y/N only shrugged, he scowled.

"Listen, all I'm saying is that if someone shot you in my name and James tried to throttle me for it, I'd understand."

Thomas gave a reluctant hum. "Forgot how much you liked havin' people's hands around your throat. Guess you'd probably enjoy it, huh?"

Her eyes widened as her breath caught, blood rushing to her cheeks. She could feel her skin burning, and somewhere in the background, she was vaguely aware of the rush of her heart rate monitor. "Thomas. Shut up, I swear to god."

He laughed when she tried to shove his hands away, yank her right arm out of his grasp, but when he just squeezed her forearm teasingly, she turned her head. She couldn't meet his gaze with the scowl she wore. "Aw, what's the problem? You only into that when I'm the one doin' it?"

"Thomas." She whipped her head back around to him with a wearing look, appearingly taken aback, but her teeth were sinking hard into her bottom lip. When she saw the mocking pout he wore, a chill ran down her back; her stomach turned.

"Y'know, I'm kinda havin' fun with bein' able to hear your heart rate." When he winked, the corners of his lips turning up into a knowing smile, the heat in the back of her neck flared.

"You're exhausting," she grumbled. He shrugged.

"Mmh, I can see that." When she turned to him with an eyebrow raised, he grinned. "Nothin' to be ashamed of, sweetheart. I know I—"

He was cut off by the click of the door being thrown open, and a nurse rushed into the room, closely followed by the small army of people there to see Y/N. They both pulled abruptly back from one another. Y/N's heart was pounding.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Did something happen?" Eliza asked pushing through to see you with wide, worried eyes. Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but when she just gaped at everyone for a moment, Alex immediately cut in.

"Jefferson, I swear to god, if you laid a finger on her, I'll end you. I knew it was a bad idea to let him in here," Alex scowled, glaring at Thomas as he strode toward them, but Y/N's brows shot up.

"Hey, woah, stop it," she said holding up her right hand, a silent request for him to come to a halt. Reluctantly, he did, still eyeing Thomas skeptically. "Nothing happened. I'm okay. Why'd you all come in here like this?"

"Your heart rate was rising, dear. We thought you could've been having a seizure, or a heart attack, or... or something," Dolley said, and Alex glared when she pushed her way in front of him. "How are you? I saw the video online, and oh, Y/N, it was awful. I couldn't bear to see such a thing happening to you."

"Dolley, hey." Y/N wore a soft smile as Dolley came to her bedside, resting a hand on her calf. "I'm okay. Not the best I've ever felt, but it isn't anything I won't be able to sleep off. That, and some painkillers, of course."

Dolley gave her a wry smile. "Let me know if there's anything I can do. I have a neglected bottle of rosé sitting in our pantry and two pints of ice cream in the freezer, so go ahead and pick your poison."

Y/N laughed. "I'll have to see what flavors of ice cream you've got stashed away, but either option is dangerously tempting."

Dolley was about to reply, but when Angelica emerged to her left, she jumped back, startled. "Anyway, why was your heart rate so high? You don't look like you're going into a coma, so what'd he do?" Angelica nodded toward Thomas, the look in her eyes all business and her brow furrowed. Thomas raised an affronted brow.

"Oh, please, Thomas wouldn't hurt a fly." As everyone began to disperse themselves around her bedside, the group who'd come to see her made Y/N's heart warm. She resisted rolling her eyes at the doting smile Mira gave Thomas alongside her words, which he returned gratefully. (Suck up.) However, Mira also turned to Y/N with a hesitant look. "Right, mija?"

Y/N pursed her lips, glancing between Mira and Thomas dubiously, but Thomas looked smug. "Yeah, yeah, he's in the clear," she agreed reluctantly. "My heart rate spiked because I stupidly tried to use both my arms to shift where I was sitting. It didn't feel so great for, y'know, my bullet wound." When she gave a weak smile, there were sighs of relief scattered throughout the group (Thomas's was the most adamant; he hadn't expected her to bail him out quite that easily).

"Well, we are glad to see zat you are alright." Lafayette offered her a soft smile, and when she found him standing directly beside Thomas, she reached out to squeeze the hand he had resting on the rail of her bed. A flicker of dejection passed through Thomas's expression, gone almost the moment it came.

"I'm glad to see all of you here. It was really sweet of you to come," Y/N said, looking around the group. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of James standing just behind Dolley, a small smile resting on his lips. "Aw, James, even you showed up?"

"Of course, Y/N. We on Thomas's campaign have been incredibly concerned."

She rolled her eyes at his formal tone. "Yeah, yeah, talk all you want about your political agenda, but we both know Dolley dragged you along to visit."

"I truly can't help but take offense at that," James said, his brow furrowed, and he shook his head. Regardless, he wore an amused smile. "As though I'm unable to cross partisan lines for an injured acquaintance?"

"Aw, aren't we friends by now?" Y/N asked, plastering on a pout, and James laughed.

"I suppose so." He squeezed Dolley's shoulder, an eyebrow raised, and she shuffled aside, inadvertently crowding into Angelica's space. When James took a step forward, Y/N's eyebrows shot up at the bouquet of flowers he held, the envelope attached to them. "These are for you, on behalf of our entire campaign."

She had to shift in her seat to turn and take them from him in her right hand, but as she did so, she grimaced at the dull pain in her shoulder when she moved it. Thomas's hand shot out to support her before he realized where he was, and he stopped himself short, pulling his hands back into his lap with a wince.

"Thanks so much, James, these are beautiful," Y/N said, inhaling deeply as she held the flowers up to her nose. "Who picked them out?"

"I did." The sound of Thomas's voice among the group surprised her. Her eyebrows were raised when she turned to him, and she struggled to stop her small smile from widening at his words.

"Well then, thank you, Secretary Jefferson. I appreciate the gesture."

"It's the least I could do, Ms. L/N." She pressed her lips together; it was all she could do not to laugh at the formality in his tone. He gave her a sympathetic smile, but as she met his gaze, it was doting. "I'm terribly sorry that this happened. Please, don't hesitate to reach out if there's anything further we can do to support you."

She cocked a brow. "Care to pay my medical bills?"

"Gladly."

"Wait, seriously?" Her eyes widened. "I was joking, but I'm holding you to that."

"As you should," Thomas said reasonably, giving a shrug. "I understand how difficult this has gotta be for you, and for your family, too. We'd like to support you in any way we can."

While his gentle tone made her smile, holding his stare, but Alex scoffed loudly.

"Oh my god, don't fall for that, Y/N," he interjected. Y/N raised a brow. "He's just trying to avoid a lawsuit. Or convince you not to start bitching online about how he almost killed you."

"He didn't almost kill me," she huffed. She glanced back hesitantly at Thomas, and he was watching her with guilt heavy in his expression. "One of his supporters did. It's not the same thing."

"Yeah, they tried to kill you in his name. Why are you giving him a pass?"

"If you shot him in my name, would it be my fault?" She pinned Alex with an expectant stare, and he huffed. "You know it wouldn't, and this is no different. If you're gonna spend the next few minutes attacking him, go wait in the hall until he and James leave. My head already hurts, so I refuse to listen to you picking a fight."

Alex folded his arms. "Why aren't you kicking him out?"

"Because you're the one getting worked up, right now," Y/N said matter-of-factly, but Thomas sighed.

"I understand that you all want me gone. I won't impose," he said, and when he began to push his chair out, Y/N and Mira wore identical, dismayed expressions.

"No, no, you aren't imposing!" Mira insisted. "Please, stay."

"'S alright, Mira. I know when I'm not wanted. I should be goin'," he said, giving her a reassuring smile, but his nervous gaze flickered back to Y/N. "Unless, of course, you've got any more grievances you wanna air? I'd be happy to listen, but I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Actually," Y/N started, pursing her lips. Thomas's tense demeanor softened as she went on, "I have a few more things I'd like to say before you go. You aren't off the hook just yet." Though her expression was hard, Thomas was struggling not to grin at her not sending him away. Y/N looked back around to her friends and family. "If you'd all give me another minute? I need to get some things off my chest."

While everyone obliged her easily, turning to give her space as they started toward the exit, Dolley and Lafayette shared a knowing look. Y/N's nurse smiled. "I'm glad to see you awake and feeling better. I'll be on call if you need me."

"Thanks so much," Y/N said quietly, and Lafayette caught her eye with a grin.

"We will be back in a few minutes, chérie. Do not do anything rash."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up when he shot Thomas a wink before following everyone else out, and they sat another moment in silence until the door finally fell shut. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, now that everyone's outta here, you gonna rip me a new one?" he asked playfully, and Y/N rolled her eyes, finally letting herself grin as she turned to him, leaning fully back against her bed.

"Don't tempt me," she warned, and he laughed lightly. "But I just wanted another minute with you. If you want to go or have somewhere to be, I'll understand."

"I'm gonna stay as long as you're lookin' to let me," he replied, and when he rested his hand on the bed's rail, she took it in hers.

"I don't know how long I can believably pretend to be yelling at you, but I don't want you to leave just yet. I'm really glad you're here." She swallowed hard, glancing down at where their hands were linked. "I've just... been so distant recently. Is it silly to say I was afraid I was going to die without seeing you first?"

He let out a light, breathy laugh; the look in his eyes was akin to relief. "Jesus, I hope not, 'cause I've been up all night worryin' about the same thing."

Her eyebrows shot up, and he gave her a sheepish smile. "You've been up all night?"

"How was I supposed to sleep?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. He shook his head in disbelief. "You have no idea how scared I was, sweetheart."

"I can imagine," she said with a sigh. "Thank you for coming. I'm sure it wasn't easy to get in here with my friends all ready to bite your head off."

"Mmh, not exactly," he agreed, tone dry, and when she caught sight of his irked expression, she raised an eyebrow. "I didn't get too warm of a welcome."

"How'd you convince them to let you stay here until I woke up, anyway?" she asked, and a lopsided grin split his expression. He shrugged. "Don't tell me you just waltzed in here, and they let you into my room. I know them better than that."

"Lafayette vouched for me."

"Seriously?" Y/N furrowed her brow. "And said what?"

"That it'd be best for you to be able to get everything off your chest before everyone came in to see you." He shrugged, and though Y/N rolled her eyes, his smile was smug. "Guess I'm lucky you're takin' pity on me, huh?"

"Really, Jefferson. I should consider being a little harsher next time. Really making you pay for being thoughtful enough to show up here and comfort me when I'm terribly injured." She bit her lip, eyeing him tentatively. "Hey, can anybody see us right now? Are there any windows or security cameras I'm missing?"

He shook his head, brow furrowed. "Uh-uh. Relax. It's just you and me, alright?"

"Then will you come sit with me?"

His eyebrows shot up when she looked at him hopefully, shifting over on her bed, but it wasn't until a moment later that he answered, his words hesitant. "I dunno, sweetheart. I know you're in a lotta pain, and I don't wanna accidentally hurt you. You should just rest."

"Please?" The look in her eyes was hopeful, and she ran her thumb across his knuckles. "I just... wanna be held. I know you've gotta go soon, but..."

She couldn't finish her sentence, instead just trailing off, watching him with pleading eyes, and he sighed. "God, I hate not bein' able to say no to you. Move over."

Y/N grinned when he stood, delicately propping himself up onto the edge of her bed and swinging his legs up beside hers. His left arm brushed against her right shoulder, and she winced, trying to prop herself up onto the side of his torso. His hands found her waist. "This okay?" he asked softly, shifting her to lay against his chest, and her smile went soft.

"Yeah. This is good." She hummed contentedly when he absentmindedly began tracing patterns into her hip through her hospital gown. "Thanks for being here. Not many people would be willing to fight through my friends just to see me for a few minutes."

"Well, I did have some help," he murmured, his lips just above her ear. "I mean, since you gave Mira the power of attorney and all, she got the final say on who was allowed to come in and see you. You know she's got a soft spot for me."

Y/N giggled. "I guess your whole 'golden boy' act does come in handy once in a while."

When Thomas huffed, she could feel his warm breath tickle the side of her neck. She shivered. "Y'know what, I'm gonna let that one go, but only 'cause you're injured."

"Or because you know I'm right," she teased, craning her neck back to look at him with a wide smile, and he raised an amused eyebrow.

"Mhm, 'cause I'm secretly a terrible person, huh?"

"Good thing we agree." She pushed herself up to lightly kiss the underside of his jaw. "I just wish you could stay longer. I know you probably have a million things to get done, but I hate that you have to use some bullshit excuse just to come see me."

"So do I," he sighed.

"I just wish we could do... whatever this is in the light of day."

"What if we could?"

"Thomas," Y/N groaned lightly. "It's a nice thought, but you know it isn't possible. You aren't going to drop out of the race for president, and I'm not going to stop covering the campaign. I like my job too much. I don't want to give that up."

"And I'd never ask you to," he assured her, "'S just a nice thought."

"Yeah," she agreed reluctantly, her gaze downcast. A beat passed in silence; they were both too caught up in their own heads to pay attention to the steady click of the IV drip within a foot of them, the buzz of the dying LED lights overhead. Finally, Y/N said, "Is there any chance you can come up with some excuse to come back and visit me tomorrow? I'll have my phone on me, so I can text you when the coast is clear."

"I'd love that," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. He hadn't realized it, but she'd begun to doze off, her eyes fluttering shut as she laid her head against the warmth of his body, the steady feeling of his heartbeat in his chest lulling her to sleep.

"Thank you," she murmured, covering his hand with hers. "I love..." She trailed off when she could feel him inhale sharply, his chest rising against her back, and despite her fatigue, she knew enough to hold her tongue. "Love that you could make it here. Thanks again."

"'S been my pleasure."

She didn't respond, content to just rest in his arms, and his smile was soft as he looked down at her. Several minutes ticked by, and the pair was at peace in the sterile environment, relaxed despite the bullet wound in her shoulder, the danger she'd been in hours before, despite the tension that always hung heavy in their dynamic, unavoidable with the risk they were taking being together.

"Thanks for keeping me around, sweetheart," he whispered, and his words were met only with the heavy sound of her breathing, leveling out as she drifted further and further from consciousness. He swallowed hard. "I love you."

She was too far gone to hear him.

A few more minutes later, the room's door clicked open, and Thomas's eyes widened, realizing the position he was about to be found in. His eyes widened.

"Y/N, is it alright if everyone else—?" Lafayette emerged from the doorway alone, cutting himself with a soft smile when he caught sight of Y/N laid against Thomas's body, perfectly at peace in his embrace. "Ah, Thomas. I am glad to see zat she is being well taken care of," he said softly, a teasing lilt to his voice. Thomas couldn't take it too personally. "Is she... asleep?"

He nodded. "Has been for a few minutes. Think she's been needin' some real rest," he replied, warm gaze drifting down to Y/N's calm, absent face. "Y'know, the kind that doesn't come from faintin' in pain and some anesthetics."

Lafayette chuckled lightly, folding his arms. "I think zat it is for ze best," he said. "But I was sent in 'ere to see whether or not Y/N was done, ah... lecturing you for ze 'arms done. I am not sure I 'ave any way to tell everyone zat she is still busy in 'ere."

"Sounds like it's time for me to head out, then, huh?" Lafayette nodded, and Thomas looked down with a reluctant smile. "Alright, gimme a minute. Send everyone in when I get out of here, yeah?"

"Of course." Lafayette departed without another word, appearing to be rather pleased with the scene before him. Thomas sighed, trying to shift Y/N off of himself without rattling her, and when he gently laid her shoulders back down onto the mattress, her head resting to one side on the pillow, he leaned down to kiss her forehead softly.

"I'll be back for you tomorrow, okay?" he whispered, disregarding entirely the fact that she didn't hear a word of it. He finally lifted himself off of the side of the bed. "Goodnight, Y/N."

His footsteps stalled another moment as he stood beside her; his tender gaze swept down the entirety of her stature, but it was clouded with remorse when he once again glanced to the bloodied bandage wrapped around her shoulder. He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat.

He turned off the lights on his way out.