#like yes ‘all men are trash’ ‘kill all men’ ‘all men are born violent and dangerous’

[area51-escapee]

It’s really interesting because I’ve been around tumblr since around 2011/2012, and started seeing more social justice related stuff around 2013/2014-2017 and during that time. Trying to explain how the general demonization of men on this site was harmful to multiple groups and not at all helpful to feminism would get you labeled a bad feminist at best and a hateful anti sjw alt right MRA type at worst. At that time I really only remember the anti sjw accounts being the ones to bring up the topic of how it was harmful to various groups and how yes, there are real problems that men face that people should care about, and I’ve noticed that has changed a lot in the past couple years, especially with people drawing attention to how a lot of “all men are inherently bad” posts are coming from terfs who aren’t just talking about men. I think it’s really genuinely very refreshing to see and I’ve never liked generalizing a whole group based on a thing they cannot control. A person’s actions are much more important that an aspect of themselves they were born with.

[animepopheart]

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 7: The Scars to Prove It (or, Love for the Moms, the Cutters, and the Drunks)

Wonder Egg Priority (WEP) has felt like the successor to Puella Magi Madoka Magica in many ways throughout its run, but in episode seven, it almost went full Madomagi by driving the stakes to their utmost height—to the death of one of the main characters. But as has been consistent with WEP, what it did instead, after some moments of true worry, is to instead deliver hope in the face of pain, resolve against overwhelming circumstances, and strength in weakness.

The series returns to Rika Kawai’s story in this episode, which starts with her turning 14. And on her 14th birthday, after leaving her hungover mother halfway asleep at the bar she works at and which they call home, Rika opens up to the rest of the girls, explaining that she doesn’t know her father (it could be any of five possibilities, or even more) and her mom won’t reveal any further information about him. As she trashes her mom, Neiru and Momoe are incredulous, which only drives Rika away from them. And though Ai goes to comfort her, Rika is in a terrible state of mind as she enters her next fight.

This was a difficult episode to watch. They’ve all been somewhat hard since the series never shies away from brutal and violent situations impacting young people, but I found myself squirming especially here as Rika’s cutting takes center stage. At one point, she decides to cut herself and it seems certain she will, before her turtle-like partner, Mannen, prevents it from happening.

Challenging, also, is how strained Rika’s relationship is with her mother, who’s life revolves around drink—alcohol both pays the bills and helps her forget how miserable her existence is. And in the midst of all the bad behavior in this episode—the usual Rika talk, her mom’s alcoholism and neglect, and the selfishness all around, one begins to feel deeply sorrowful for the Kawai women. Yes, Rika is often obnoxious, but her family life is in shambles, and she still exhibits goodness, including a curiously gentle relationship with Mannen. And Rika’s mother is a tragic figure, used by men and quite on the road to an early death, it would seem, unable to lift herself out of the gutter as she tries, in her own sloppy way, to protect and reach out to her daughter.

It’s in this hopelessness that Rika turns again to cutting, and then finds herself tempted by something even more dangerous. Her foe this time is a religious leader who led the egg, a follower who continues to believe in him, to commit suicide as a way of “connecting” with the universe (Heaven’s Gate, anyone?). Rika decries the ghoul as a charlatan, but is confronted with her own weakness when the egg shows her own scarred arm to Rika, revealing that she can tell that the latter cuts just like she did. And then she explains that Rika can be released from this pain.

The scars, evidence of what Rika does to cope with her pain, now become the weakness that they truly are, revealing how hopeless she feels, and how powerless she is against the mechanizations of her family life. And defeated, she’s about to allow herself to be killed when a surprising savior comes along—a turtle. Mannen attacks the spiritual leader, to Rika’s surprise as well, until she remembers that he has imprinted on her. Rika is Mannen’s mom, and as he did when he prevented her from cutting, Mannen is again protecting his mother.

The conclusion that Rika reaches is unusual but inspiring. She understands, in this moment, the need to protect one’s mom, finally admitting to herself in a de facto way that maybe her mother is in need of love, too. It’s funny to consider the need that mothers have for love since culturally and socially, they’re always seen as the providers of it. But of course, they need it in return, especially when they falter. My own mother is sick right now, and I think of the support I need to give her and the lack of that I’ve provided through the years.

Warning: Screenshot involving cutting after the jump.

My mother was a good one, however. Rika’s, on the other hand, has struggled with the charge, which reminds me of a story from one of my favorite books, The Ragamuffin Gospel, about another bad parent—a far worse one, in fact, and a real one. I’ll quote part of the passage from chapter seven:

“‘Our daughter Debbie wanted a pair of earth shoes for her Christmas present. On the afternoon of December 24, my husband drove her downtown, gave her sixty dollars, and told her to buy the best pair of shoes in the store. That is exactly what she did. When she climbed back into the pickup truck her father was driving, she kissed him on the cheek and told him he was the best daddy in the whole world. Max was preening himself like a peacock and decided to celebrate on the way home. He stopped at the Cork ‘n’ Bottle–that’s a tavern a few miles from our house and told Debbie he would be right out. It was a clear and extremely cold day, about twelve degrees above zero, so Max left the motor running and locked both doors from the outside so no one could get in. It was a little after three in the afternoon and…’

Silence.

‘Yes?’

The sound of heavy breathing crossed the recreation room. Her voice grew faint. She was crying. ‘My husband met some old Army buddies in the tavern. Swept up in euphoria over the reunion, he lost track of time, purpose, and everything else. He came out of the Cork ‘n’ Bottle at midnight . He was drunk. The motor had stopped running and the car windows were frozen shut. Debbie was badly frostbitten on both ears and on her fingers. When we got her to the hospital, the doctors had to operate. They amputated the thumb and forefinger on her right hand. She will be deaf for the rest of her life.'”

Max—a real person, mind you—was a successful, well-liked man, but his drinking problem led to an unconscionable decision and profound failure as a parent. And yet, this book is about grace, an idea which to humans feels unjust, but  which has the power to change hearts and tear down walls, sometimes literally.

Could Max be given grace? Could Rika’s mother? If not directly, she’s done her own physical damage to her daughter in the form of those cutting scars (difficult and perhaps triggering images below). As mentioned earlier, the egg that she’s helping knows her pain and insists that letting go of everything, including life itself, is the way to peace. After all, to a young, suffering girl, what else could these scars mean?

But in the midst of giving up, in the moment that she actually capitulates (and this episode takes you 99% to the edge, both in the cutting scene and in the apparent death scene), Rika experiences something powerful. She experiences grace.

Have you ever been challenged to forgive someone when you don’t want to, when you feel completely in the right? Maybe it’s easy for you, but perhaps it isn’t. The girls surrounding Rika experience differing degrees of this with her sometimes maniacal and often hurtful behavior. Ai forgives easily. Momoe gets fired up and then equally seeks to make peace. And Neiru…well, Neiru holds onto “justice” more than love (setting up what I imagine will be the most powerful transformation in the series of all, in true Homura fashion). But in the moment that Rika is about to give her life, the girls yell out their love for her, even Neiru, and then more profoundly, without any hesitation, Mannen puts his own life on the line to stop the death from occurring. Rika has already given up, but this turtle hasn’t—not for his mother, whom he loves very much.

And experiencing that love from a different angle, Rika is changed just a bit. She begins to see her weakness as a “mother,” failing her turtle-child, and thinks of her own mom who is overwhelmed by hurt and a failure as well. And if just a little—for as the final scenes indicate, it is just a little—the path toward forgiveness begins.

But a little bit of grace is like a little bit of a flood—its power overwhelms, and it defeats the enemy, whether that means bitterness, a physical person (or manifestation of one), or the devil himself.

When Rika returns from the event, having killed the cult leader monster, it’s interesting to note that she isn’t a wholly different person. She’s changing little by little. And her scars remain. In fact, as she admits, she probably will cut herself again. But strangely enough, those scars now represent something different. They show someone trying—failing, yes, sometimes considerably and maybe very often—but trying, and only able to try because love was shown her, and through that, she is now able to show love as well.

You may have such scars in your life, physical or emotional, battered by the world and by people. I hope that you can develop relationships that help you heal as well, and that you’ll also remember that there are other scars which are meaningful to you, but which you cannot see on your person, scars that were borne out of a desire to heal you. Christ took the piercings, on his head, hands, feet, and side, so that while your heart and flesh may be cut, your soul need not be. And through his wounds, you may be healed.

The grace offered through Christ is one that, as he explains about everlasting water at the well to the Samaritan, for now and through eternity. The egg seeks peace forever by dying, but Jesus, unlike the cult leader, died for us so that we may not have to. He took the nails, the cross, and the spear so that we don’t have to inflict pain on ourselves and receive the punishment of our actions against him and others. He is our scar.

That’s grace. That’s the power that it has. And it can reach anyone—even a terrible dad, an alcoholic mom, a tempestuous child, and, and most significantly and personally—you.

If you’re suffering and in pain, maybe self-inflicted, we encourage you to explain such to a parent or trusted adult and ask for help. It’s a difficult first step, but one that will help you begin recovering. And we also advise that you turn to Christ for help—in prayer, community, and scripture. He provides people to us that will aid us in our times of need, as well as himself and the Holy Spirit if we are believers.

Additionally, there’s a scene in this episode where triumphant, Rika concludes that cutting is okay. That’s said in the context of her moving forward bit by bit and forgiving herself for her failures, even the upcoming ones. That’s an important lesson, though we must certainly be careful not to let it be a license to continue cutting with impunity.

Wonder Egg Priority can be streamed through Funimation. Read more of our articles by signing up for our weekly newsletter.

[hellsbellschime]

Let’s go down the list shall we:

Katherine: gets impregnated with child out of wedlock, child torn away from her right after birth. Her entire sympathy arc is based on a child she didn’t even connect with.

Rebekah: Believes her trashy life will all be fixed with a hello kitty bandaid if she just had Kids and a Hubby, (when all she needs to do is get away from her toxic brothers and experience life on her own)

Isobel Flemming: Teen mom ™ who regrets child but loves child who wants child but doesn’t want child, who looses child because the guy is a coward, leads person who clearly wants to use/kill child to said child, then turns around and says I love child. (It’s like they couldn’t stick to a single villain arc because how could a mother possibly not care about her child when even the shitty dad does all the while having eight different dad hates child story lines sitting in the back burner.)

Valerie Tulle: gets pregnant with Stefan’s child and has child LITERALLY beaten out of her, has child PHYSICALLY beaten to death inside her, is pushed to the fucking ground and kicked in the stomach till child dies, commits suicide because of loss of child, is not even given the dignity to choose her own death, comes back as first Heretic to exist, all of this to push plot and create dRaMa b/w steroline. Yes they actually used a women who was violently beaten to near death and experienced an even more violent miscarriage at the hands of a guy who believed the child will make him late for a bone sesh, revolve around steroline and how Stefan wouldn’t love Caroline if he just had that child, THERES HALF A EPISODE JUST DEPICTING STEFAN’S MANPAIN ON LOOSING A COULD BE CHILD, when Valerie literally acts like a mechanical robot reiterating facts and her entire emotional “reaction” so to speak is her committing suicide AND NOTHING ELSE (as if they couldn’t be bothered to write female trauma) Like JFC you CANNOT TELL ME THIS IS DISGUSTING FUCKING SHIT THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST.

Jo Saltzman: Looses twin foetus children on her wedding day, is literally killed by her abusive psychotic brother on the fucking alter, to cover up Candice’s pregnancy, JESUS, HOW DID A PERSON WHO IS NOT UNHINGED IN THE BRAIN SIT DOWN AND COME UP WITH THIS, and not for one second think how fucking traumatising ALL of this is FOR NO GOOD REASON. Not even good plot, this was all for logistics they could’ve fucking covered up in a hundred other different ways.

Caroline Forbes: Do we even have to mention it? Is forced to endure pregnancy she has NO obligation to endure, is not even given a single scene to process the pregnancy and come up with a coherent response that isn’t “I will do it for you” forces herself to marry a man who is as old as her dad in human years for said children, said man turns around and tells her she is not these children’s mother to her face when she was literally FORCED into giving birth to two children that aren’t even her own. Looses all character development and becomes Mother of child ™.

Hayley Marshall: Nah bro I shouldn’t have to TELL you, but ok, gets pregnant with an abusive psychopath’s child, ykw the list is too long, y’all know the drill choked when wanting abortion, experiences atleast 7 near death experiences in the nine months she was pregnant all because Klaus wanted to play King to three streets and one marsh, and she was KWEEN of the werewolves, has the most violent birthing experience, her child revolves around Klaus’ redemption, hence her character fully revolves around said child and directly/indirectly Klaus, is turned into a fucking animal when she decided to do one damn thing for her own child, is nothing more than “Mother of Hope” throughout the show.

Freya Mikaelson: Of ALL the different things a women in literal captivity FOR HER ENTIRE LIFE can experience for backstory Trauma™ OF EVERYTHING they could choose, they yet again go for traumatic pregnancy, a self-induced miscarriage and a SUICIDE story revolving around said pregnancy, her selling point to the Mikaelsons is “I lost a child I won’t let you lose yours.” LIKE ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Forget misogynistic writing that’s just paper-thin-rumpled-trash-in-trash-can writing.

Esther Mikaelson: Chooses to give up her first born child for the prospect of multiple children, in Lenore’s body actually bloody tells Hayley she can have more babies if Hayley allows her to make Hayley Human, Hayley CONSIDERS THIS SERIOUSLY. Is actually shown to want to become human so she can have more babies.

Sarah Salvatore: Black woman who is KILLED by Damon to give manpain TO DAMON, like bruh wtf?? You seriously had Damon kill a pregnant black woman and give him manpain in the form of guilt to redeem him? YOU MADE A WOMAN’S MURDER ABOUT HER MURDERER’S GUILT?? JP and her team of writers cannot get more fucked up than this

Feel free to add to this, and if any fucker ever dare come to your page trying to fight that tvd/to is not MISOGYNISTIC in its ENTIRETY, you send them to this post, and this post only contains pregnancy related batshit crazy misogyny in the show, if we went through everything that is misogynistic, I’d say the transcript of the show is an entire comprehensive list of all of it. And seriously anybody who believes JP’s writing isn’t the most misogynistic sexist piece of writing that’s just a steaming hot pile of rotten shit, Well then I sincerely suggest you fuck off to some other corner of the world where TO/TVD stans can gather and lick white manpain experiencing male dick.

Sincerely someone who has watched TO/TVD top to bottom and is traumatised.

LOL yes exactly, like I don’t understand how someone could see this and say that it’s not so soaked in misogyny that nothing in the show can be separated from the violent sexism. Saying “well this character stood there in one scene and didn’t say anything sexist so you can’t call the entire thing sexist and if you do then you’re basically doing the same thing as calling all men sexist” (and like I don’t want that anon to start that argument again but LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ANALOGY) is an absurd, fatuous argument. 

[mrsrhys23]

Avengers prompt list

I’m bored so I made this...

Steve Rogers (Captain America) 

Language! 

“I’m not looking for forgiveness, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“So your body’s changing. Believe me, I know how that feels.”

“That is America’s ass.”

“Is this a test?”

“I can do this all day.”

“I am (name) 

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t like bullies; I don’t care where they’re from.”

“On your left.”

“Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?”

“‘Cause I’m with you ’til the end of the line.”

Bucky Barnes (The winter soldier)

“I Thought You Were Smaller."

"I'm With You 'Til The End Of The Line, Pal."

"You're My Mission."

"That Little Guy From (place) Who Was Too Dumb To Run Away From A Fight, I'm Following Him."

Natasha Romanoff (black widow)

"I only ACT like I know everything."

"I'm multitasking."

"Let me put you on hold."

"The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly."

"I'm sorry. Did I step on your moment?"

"I blew all my covers. I gotta go figure out a new one."

"Nothing lasts forever."

"He's also a huge dork. Chicks dig that!"

"Bye bye, bikinis"

Thor Odison 

“THIS DRINK, I LIKE IT! ANOTHER!”

“You people are so petty. And tiny.” 

“I choose to run toward my problems and not away from them..” I 

“Do I look to be in a gaming mood? 

“HE’S A FRIEND FROM WORK!”

“I notice you’ve copied my beard.” 

Peter quill (Star-lord)

I Look Around And You Know What I See? Losers!

Don’t Call Us Plucky. We Don’t Know What It Means

Sometimes The Thing You're Searching For Your Whole Life Is Right There By Your Side All Along

What Should We Do Next? Something Good, Something Bad? Bit Of Both?

I Don't Learn. It's One Of My Issues

It's Showtime A-Holes!

Okay, I'm Gonna Get A Bowflex. I'm Gonna Commit. I'm Gonna Get Some Dumbbells

Let's Talk About This Plan Of Yours. I Think It's Good, Except It Sucks

Drax the destroyer 

I've mastered the ability of standing so incredibly still, that I become invisible to the eye. Watch.

You just need to find a woman who is pathetic, like you.

He is not a dude. You're a dude. This is a man. A handsome, muscular man.

Well I wasn't listening then, I was thinking of something else...

She just told everyone your deepest, darkest secret!

No one talks to my friends like that.

Vision 

Yes. But a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. It's a privilege to be among them.

Well... I was born yesterday.

 I suppose we are both disappointments.

 It's terribly well balanced.

I wish to understand it. The more I do, the less it controls me. One day, who knows? I may even control it.

It's as I said. Catastrophe.

That's true. He hates you the most.

 It's alright. I love you.

Tony stark (Iron man) 

 "Sometimes you gotta run before you walk."

 “Is it better to be feared or respected? I say, is it too much to ask for both?"

"Let's face it, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."

 "Give me a scotch. I'm starving."

 “…Just like that.”

 "Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?"

 "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

. "Well, performance issues, it's not uncommon. One out of five..."

 "Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is but i wanna try it.”

. "No. You're in a relationship with me. Everything will never be okay."

 "Don't do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do..."

Morgan Stark 

I love you, 3000.”

Pepper pots 

I don't think you could tie your shoes without me.

I do anything and everything (name) requires. Including occasionally taking out the trash. Will that be all?

You're all I have too, you know.

Oh, no, I always forget to wear deodorant and dance with my boss in a room full of people I work with in a dress with no back.

Tears of joy. I hate job hunting.

I am trying to do the job that you were meant to do.

Oh my god... that was really violent...

Don't ever, ever, ever, ask me to do anything like that, ever again!

Stephen Strange (Doctor Strange) 

Pain's an old friend.

We're in the endgame now.

(name),  there was no other way.

Unlike everyone else in your life, I don't work for you.

Study and practice. Years of it.

It's what made me a great doctor.

Nick Fury 

I recognise the council has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it.

I still believe in heroes.

You got gifts, (name) , but we have a job to do. Are you going to step up or not?

Clint Barton (Hawkeye) 

"You And I Remember Budapest Very Differently."

I've Done The Whole Mind Control Thing. Not A Fan.

"We've Come A Long Way Since Budapest."

Loki 

“If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."

“There are no men like me.”

"I am the monster parents tell their children about at night."

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet witch) 

Everybody’s afraid of something.

I've caused enough problems.

“You took everything from me.” “ I don't even know who you are.” “You will.”

Sometimes it's hard, but sooner or later every man shows himself.

You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?

Bruce Banner (Hulk) 

That's my secret, (name) : I'm always angry.

You know, sometimes exactly what I want to hear isn't exactly what I want to hear.

What? I see this as an absolute win.

Sorry kids. You don't get to see my party trick after all.

I’ve got a compelling reason not to lose my cool.

Broke up? Like a band? Like the Beatles?

I don't think we should be focusing on (name). That guy's brain is a bag full of cats. You can smell crazy on him.

Thanos 

The hardest choices require the strongest wills.

Perfectly balanced, as all things should be

I do. You're not the only one cursed with knowledge.

You should have gone for the head.

You should choose your words more carefully.

The end is near.

I am Inevitable!

Rocket Raccoon 

No, seriously, I need it! (snickering) It's important to me...

You just wanna suck the joy out of everything.

Who hasn't been to space? You better not throw up on my ship.

See, this is exactly why none of you have any friends!

Can you believe they call us criminals when he's assaulting us with that haircut?

You're! Making! Me! Beat! Up! Grass!

Quit smiling, ya idiot, you're supposed to be professional.

Peter Parker (Spider-man) 

This is nice.

Yes sir. I'm sorry. I understand. I just wanted to be like you

What? No, no, no, I don't wanna kill anybody!

It's not a onesie.

Hey guys, you ever see that really old movie, Empire Strikes Back?

Look, when you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.

That's uh, that's all on YouTube though, right? I mean that's where you found it. 'Cause you know that's all fake. It's all done on a computer.

This is my chance to prove myself.

[cxrmacmclaggen]

vous n'avez d'oubli

pairing: theon greyjoy x sansa stark

setting: soulmate au

wc: 768

link: ff

written for @provocative-envy. i read silt when i had never even watched an episode. months later, i am now theonsa trash.

notes: title from an excerpt from a victor hugo poem which roughly translates to "my heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill; my soul more love than you can make my soul forget." yes i am crying

The wolf sits on the side of his neck, its snout raised in a silent howl. Its body curls around his jawbone, its nose just brushing the tip of his ear. When he was younger, he thought it was for Robb. Some people's marks are easy to hide, on a lower pectoral or thigh or tricep. Not Theon's, no, not his, he's been wearing his heart on his neck since he was four years old. He knows it's the reason he's still alive, knows that Ned Stark saw it, understood, and kept him instead of his brothers. Robb, though. Theon loved him first.

---

The concept is achingly simple and horribly complicated. Humankind has been trying to figure it out for centuries. Every person is born with a mark, somewhere on them. It signifies who you're destined for.

That's the simple part. The complicated part: figuring out who exactly it is that your mark is for. Theon was luckier than most — or perhaps unluckier, given the circumstances. The wolf, what it signified, was always obvious: Stark. His father distrusted him for it, maybe even hated him for it when Ned Stark killed two Greyjoy sons and Theon was left standing.

Figuring out the wolf meant Stark was easy. Which one, though — that was the hard part.

---

The thing is, falling in love with Robb was as easy as breathing. Why look at any other Starks when there was Robb, beautiful, brave, first son, as honorable as his father and as clever as his mother? It was Robb, and it would always be Robb for Theon. Theon had loved him for as long as he could remember, quiet, worshipful. Robb inspired that kind of devotion in people.

Theon thought he knew. He knew nothing.

---

When they storm Winterfell, Theon does so thinking that it is the end.

When he mounts two heads on pikes, Theon does so knowing that it is the end.

Everything that comes after, well. Nobody can say he didn't deserve it, right?

---

What people don't understand is some horrible part of Theon wanted to become Reek. Wanted to not think, to not speak, to not have to choose, because every decision he had made up to that point had always ended up hurting someone. To forget himself was a gift. Robb was dead and Theon was never going to be able to apologize, Theon was never going to be able to say, Robb, look, Theon was never going to be able to say anything at all because Robb was dead and had died hating Theon. What was the point?

Loved by nobody, not by his men, not by his father, not even by the one who was fated to love him. Theon Turncloak, who looked his soulmate in the eye and betrayed him. Prince of Fools, who could take a castle but not hold it. Theon Kinslayer, who murdered his should-be brothers.

The turn of events — they're not ideal, certainly. But it's nothing more than karma paying him back tenfold. And Theon is...surviving.

And then Sansa comes.

---

Theon thinks he remembers Sansa. Pretty, foolish Sansa who followed Joffrey Baratheon around like a lost puppy and never spared Theon a second look. The Sansa he had known had not yet watched her father die, had not thought all her family dead, had not been married to Lord Ramsay Bolton. This Sansa...He looks at her and all he can think is steel.

Watching Sansa and Ramsay, it's like his heart starts beating again. For the first time in a long time, Theon wants to think again. To speak. He wants the ability to make a choice, a change, something that is anything but this.

Because this Sansa, he doesn't know her. But her eyes meet his as she lies beneath Bolton, and Theon—

Theon's neck tingles.

---

For weeks, Theon shadows Sansa around the castle, watching her. He won't talk to her, no, he's far too afraid for that. But something's shifting inside him, deep, slow, more flowing magma than violent eruption. He watches her, and he wants. Wants what, he's not sure yet.

He watches, and waits to figure it out.

---

This Sansa, the one he does not know, clutches his hand like a lifeline when they jump the rampart.

He lets himself clutch back.

---

There's a wolf on Theon's neck that curls around his neck and his jawbone. Scars mar its face and body, but it is still distinctly, indubitably a wolf. When he was younger, he thought it was for Robb.

Sansa, though. Theon will love her last.

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) Summer, Romance, ToonTown Au, And Drama in " Cartoony Summer Shore Of Love"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CABIN PUNK!!" The Sound of the Inflamed Fox woman outside of her cabin where the Blonde haired, freckle face Guy runs out from her cabin as the Frying pan got thrown fly to hit his head real hard as he took cover as The angry Kitsune emerge from the cabin holding another Frying pan out of anger and the Time pause..

Saphira narrating: This is me,...I know your Wondering why I was So angry and Chasing my "Sorry excuse" For a Boyfriend with a frying pan for No Reason.  Ok, Lets go back where it all happens Shall we?

*rewind sound and stopped the Middle school part*

Saphira Narrates: AS you can see this is The young of myself... when Kim got braces and Me and My "Ex" Were a Couple at the time..I mean Sure.. he treats me right and Thought he was a Prince Charming and Love me for me Right? WRONG! You See after Middle School and going on Highschool...But Apparently.. My Love.. Just Turn Rotten Like Corpse.. I mean First of all he was Acting strange while at Camp Wannaweep twice.. and Missions.. oh yea.. Same thing.. after I Sacrifice to Protect ron and Others Every time.. But No matter what I Do Though.. They have the Glory and "I" was the One who's in the Hospital Paying my Price here with my Life... I mean.. I got No Visitors whats so ever..I mean its kinda sad though, I mean my friends were busy and all.. and I thought the World was Really a cruel things you know Believe it Or not. But During my Highschool time, I was pregnant Twice with my Twins.. and always Died when I was 5 Months pregnant.. I mean I don't get it why they died that Instant but I realized something after I went to the Hospital about I Don't know 115 times and Notice that the Abortion Serum was Missing and I had really Suspecting and the Doctors Doesn't know where it goes or so.. But I decided to Planned my Childrens funeral and decided to Find the Suspect So I Said to the Fellow Middleton Highschool student "If you Didn't come or come in late.. Someone is a Suspect of my Childrens Murder." And I knew Something was wrong because I Found that Abortion Serum container in the trash can and knowing that Someone Did it to my kids.. and If I really Found out about it.. Someone is going to be Hell to pay. Then My Childrens Funeral Came in and everyone except 3 of the guest who was coming in late was : "Ron Stoppable, Kim Possible and Bonnie Rockweller", I Had Suspecting Ron Coming in being late after the ceremony and I was asking "Where the hell have you been?" And telling him the ceremony was over and I have a Small Funeral party, i-it was Nothing Big or so and Then Out of Nowhere Ron Spoke very harshly about me Being A bad mother by Sleeping with other men.. I Could not believe what he was Saying to me was Unthinkable. I was Embarassed and I told him that he is clearly embarassed me. I said to him Clearly "Don't you ever say that infront of these "Good" people in the Funeral,  "If" and Only If I Did cheat on you with another man, What Kind of Mother Would the Hell I be?" I was Stern you know, very Stern... I knew he was Hiding something and Using this "false accusation" As an excuse For being late to the Funeral.. but then Month pass and he abused me during that time  and he Put me into a coma..for 5 months.. Oh god.. 5 Months..It was My Final Straw on me..After I came back from the Hospital by myself..and I Standing there, Being  really really angry at him for Doing such heinously on me and then before he Open His Mouth, I Spoke out "Thats Quite Enough from you Stoppable! I can't Believe you abused me and put me into the Coma For 5 months! This is my Last Straw From you! If I ever Hear you Bitching, Complaining and False accuse me again, So Help Me Goddess that I Will Make you Sleeping in the backyard Or a basement Because I'm Putting my Big Fat Foot Down." And Ron Knew He was In Deep trouble, He went Down on his knees And begged me Forgiveness....But I said I may Forgive you but I Don't Completely trust you at all and you know I meant Buisness with him.. But then it was Prom time..and Yes... I March my ass there waiting for his ass..because he Forgot to pick me up with a fancy limo as promised..but.. I found out that all girls was pregnant and told me that it was rons...I wouldn't believe it until well.. they were right.. I saw ron and kim Came in and Holding hands and my Goddess it was horrible.. the news grouped me and asking me sort of question.. So.. I was Flared up and Stormed to ron and Slapped him right on his face and all I ever do is Scolding and Chewing his ass up..and told him How much hurt and alot of Sacrifice that I've been through alot..and when I got home and I ask him a serious question and He confess and I made him sleeping in the basement till the babies is born because all these girls including kim and Bonnie are 9 months pregnant.. and I was Pretty Furious about it..after that the babies was rons...and now.. Here I am throwing frying pans at Ron out of my cabin for good.. and yes.. I kicked him out in the Harshful Violent Mannered.. Lets Continue Shall we?

*play the presents*

Saphira chased him away as she is growling and Slammed the Door. She was upset and Hurt at the same time.. She hears the News all over the World in internet, She was embarassed and Humiliation...But now.. She knew that She had to do...She wanted Revenge and Fake her death..She asked herself How.. But Simple, She can Falsify Her Murder by Ron..The only can do it is to use the Sleeping potions.. When she sees ron and Kim had finally happy together.. She use her spell to make them sleep.. She and her clones grabbed ron and kim and dragged him to her cabin and Saphira use Her Real Clone as herself..and then She Possessed Ron and other possesed kim.. where He decided to vandalized her unborns urns and her "real" clone confronted ron and kim and he pulls out a Knife and then killed her..and he said that he loved her money more than Saphira herself and her clone was dead...and then they disappeared covered in blood and then drives the car and went to the makeout point where the camera is Already filmed the murder..Then She took pictures as evidence and all...and then She packed her stuff and got her unborns urns and all and then She got on her Car and she change into her human version and then She calls the police as she is crying and she told the police that saphira was Murdered and knows who killed her.. So she gathered the evidence and voice thing..and then She rides off to the Police station and give them the tape and evidence of what they've done to her.. And then She Left Middleton for good..and head to toontown where She lives in the Life of Luxury but...Sadly..She was Lonely and Sadden But then She began to find a Nice Blind date and she found someone..and he wanted to meet her at the Lovely Restaurant called the Golden Dragons at the Good Side of the toontown at 6 O'Clock tonight..Then that Night, 

Saphira Dressed up so Lovely and head there..and then She was waiting For him when she was sitting in the Lovely Private Booth with the aquarium and then She sees him and waves at him and then he....

[ellaintrigue]

Photo credit: Julio Cortez/AP

George Floyd's fiance pleads against the violent protests: https://www.thedailybeast.com/george-floyds-fiancee-pleads-…

YES, racism is alive and well. So is sexism, rape culture, and homophobia, but you don't see the Me Too movement hurting people and destroying property...

YES, George Floyd was murdered. But this goes far beyond racism. I never deny racism, the recent murder of a black man by two white guys in a pickup was clearly racist. But this is an issue of MEN. And POLICE. Cops have always killed people, it's all a matter of what gets the most publicity. I see a photo collage going around of black people that have been shot recently by cops and I find it offensive. Where are the white, Asian, and Hispanics that have also been shot by the police? What about the recent shooting of a white woman? We are all equals, right? https://apnews.com/57b423dcf5e54bdb801d7ea564416a0a

Foolish liberal hypocrisy. Meanwhile I am seeing younger democratic socialists applauding the looting as capitalism being put in its place. What the hell? You see the first article above, George Floyd's loved one said he never wanted this. And what exactly is the relevance to his death? What did Target stores do to George Floyd? How is the guy walking down the street with a backpack of stolen liquor bottles contributing to justice?

This is bullshit of the greedy and the brainwashed, race issues and social topics have been long lost. The majority of the protesters seem to be males enjoying violence. Which again, is what it comes down to.

While a huge feminist, I have no problem admitting that men have their own separate laundry list of issues. Difficulty speaking out, and difficulty getting help for whatever problems they may have because of the stigma of society where men are still not allowed to admit "weakness." I see it in my own father who has outbursts from being overwhelmed by various things. Having to be a tough guy and a financial supporter to a disabled wife but unable to accept or seek support himself.

There are A LOT of angry men out there. Shit, they're justified for the most part! I would definitely not want to be a man. And that is where the position of authority comes in... overcoming your struggles as a male youth and becoming a cop or correctional officer.

There are so many great cops out there! But, I haven't met many of them. Because not everyone overcomes their past and becomes a good cop. Whatever they grew up with or were born with makes them relish power, control, and violence.

I, a lower class (former middle class) white woman, have been victimized by the police. If you think that's a fucking joke because I'm white, refer back to the original point: POLICE VICTIMIZE PEOPLE OF ALL AGES, RACES, GENDERS, ETC.

A few years ago I read an article about a rapist cop. He raped more than one woman, but when they reported it, they were dismissed because he was a cop. His peers made sure he was above the law. So then he rapes an older black woman, someone's grandmother. She raised hell and he finally got in trouble. Was she listened to because she was black? HELL TO THE NO, women are treated like shit. A black woman? I've seen black women treated horribly my entire life. It's just how it is.

But no one felt like bringing this pig to justice, because, well, white male cop. Cops obviously deal with criminals and folks they will naturally regard as lower class, and none of these folks are going to be believed over a cop. From dating men of questionable backgrounds, I have heard horror stories of prisoners being beaten by cops and correctional officers and all kinds of shit. But who is going to believe some felon over a police officer?

May marked the 4 year anniversary of my ex-boyfriend almost killing me. It was hell, I struggled all month. My mom having cancer, the anniversary, the pandemic, now everyone running around setting shit on fire because they want free TVs... HOLY FUCK. PTSD trigger much?

I've wanted to talk about that, but I felt I couldn't, because, well, he's stalked me since. How did this happen? People think I was a battered woman but that's not true. Women stay with abusive partners and I did not. I got with this guy knowing he had a record, as others before him, but did not expect the onslaught of mental illness. The guy before him was bipolar and would shut down, lay on the bed and just be totally mute or sob. This new guy, after about 3 months into a relationship, would have manic episodes that would lead to suicide attempts. Over time I found out that he was a diagnosed bipolar, and rumored (unconfirmed) schizophrenic. I begged and begged for him to stick to taking meds, which clearly helped over the course of months, but he would stop taking them because he felt he "didn't need them," which is the cruelest cliche of the mentally ill and why so many don't function at all.

So I ended up having to call the cops on him multiple times in the course of 3 years when he lost his shit. Not once did he ever harm me, although you can see, and I can see, now, that it was unhealthy and dangerous for everyone involved regardless. The first time I dealt with the cops over him was when he got a DUI in my truck with his friend. but the friend was driving. I woke up at midnight to this chaos and remember a black female cop intimidating me and screaming at me because I was standing near a beer bottle on the ground and I was "hiding evidence." Which was bullshit since the driver had already been arrested. Who the fuck cares about a random Bud Light bottle lying in my yard? The DUI was in Ocean City. Whatever.

The same fucking night my shitfaced, manic boyfriend logs onto my computer and reads like 7 years worth of texts between me and a male friend, accusing me of fucking him. After a long night of dealing with the other drama it was like hell never ended. He's on my computer, looking at everything I have and accusing me of cheating. Never met the dude, never tried to be with the dude, but that seemed pretty moot. Even if your partner has nothing to hide, you shouldn't be going through their shit. IF YOU DO NOT TRUST THE PERSON YOU ARE WITH, LEAVE THEM. IF YOU HAVE ONGOING ISSUES WITH MANIA OR PARANOIA, GET HELP.

Well, perhaps I seem a hypocrite in protesting violence against women, and I did something I'm not proud of: I punched the fuck out of him. He then got up and put my shotgun in his mouth. He didn't pull the trigger but obviously that scarred me for life. I called 911 and they chased him down in the woods and took him to the mental ward in Salisbury. I dealt with 3 male cops that were kind to me and said I did the right thing by hiding the gun afterward and calling 911. My neighbor also helped me, which I am incredibly grateful for.

I should have left, hands down. But because I never felt physically threatened by him: I felt I was helping him, he could get better, and I kept trying. I have never been a woman that wanted a "project" as some people want, where they find someone to fix or better as a person. But I loved this man and tried my best, stupid as I was.

He was fine for months after that, another huge factor in me staying. We were just boyfriend and girlfriend, enjoying life, until he had another manic episode. Once he went 6 months with no signs of anything at all. Again, at this point in things, I have nothing to candycoat in my life. I am an open book, and in 2018, came out about being raped by a man in 2011, and got judged harshly. I've had to accept that no matter what I say, I will be questioned and put down because that is how victims are treated.

So in 2015 he came home late at night, screaming the FBI were in the bushes and smashing things. He accused me and a family member of conspiring with the government against him and stripped half of his clothes off, threatening to kill himself. Just like that, he would go from a calm person that worked all day to a raging maniac in the most literal form.

I called 911 and was in tears by the time two very tall male cops showed up. That is the main thing I remember, I am 5'2 and these men were both over 6'0 and stood way too close to me. My boyfriend was running around screaming utter nonsense and one cop talked to him, another talked to me. The two men ID'd me and laughed at the fact I always wore lipstick, in the pic and in real life, a habit since I was 14. Then they told me they weren't going to do anything with my boyfriend, who was still screaming and stomping around. I said, "but he's clearly unstable and threatening to kill himself." Both of the cops stood roughly two feet from me, and the heavyset olive skinned officer moved in even closer, shining his flashlight in my face, his breath bearing down on me, and said, "if you call 911 or anyone again tonight, you will both be arrested."

I felt scared of them at this point and they told me my option was to leave my home, leaving my boyfriend there. They asked me if I had family in the area and I said no. "Well, we can't help you then. Plus we want to go and get dinner," the thick one said, before laughing with his partner, who was a thinner blond man. So they waited until I got in my car and left, then they left, leaving my ex still standing screaming in the middle of the yard.

I had nowhere to go, so I went to his aunt's house and spent the night. At one point in the night I heard my boyfriend's truck screech through Berlin, looking for me, but knew I couldn't call 911 anymore because I WAS threatened. And cops can do what they want, no one is going to listen to some white trash chick with a crazy boyfriend.

I called 911 one other time before things got truly worse (I know, right). I got one of the cops that I had dealt with when he put the shotgun in his mouth and he threw him in the mental ward after a brief car chase.

By spring 2016 my boyfriend wasn't working, binge drinking, and seeming off on a regular basis so I somehow managed to drop him off at a homeless shelter despite him initially standing in a Wendy's parking lot screaming I was out to get him.

Finally, in May he became increasingly manic before literally waking up one morning with this weird hollow look in his eyes and screaming the worst threats against me and his family I had ever heard. First I tried to be calm, then I tried to run from him when I thought he wasn't looking and he ran after me and jumped on me. And that was the first time I felt actually afraid that he would hurt me. I thought he would hit me. Instead, he dragged me through the woods by my ankles so hard my leggings were pulled down and became filled with dirt, leaves, and sticks, threw me on the porch and then dragged me into my house. He tortured me for 1-3 hours. I think it was between 1 and 2 hours. Years later I sat down with a shrink and told her, I can't remember, I truly can't. I just remember the intense fear and shame of what it would be like for my dad to come into my house and find me dead. The doctor pursed her lips as she listened to me and reassured me that people with PTSD often have trouble remembering details. In fact, I couldn't piece together how bad the whole thing was until 2018, around the same time I talked about being raped, because I had repressed memories so hard. There was a point where I vividly remembered everything both men had done to me respectively, including a lifelong physical injury I had also blocked out. Like, I knew it was there, I just never allowed myself to think about why.

Instead of killing me, thank fuck, my boyfriend left me lying on a plastic floor mat he had just put a cigarette out in that he been holding over my eye and walked out of the house, stealing my truck. So I called 911, in a sort of daze I seemed the most worried about the stupid truck. But I really couldn't comprehend anything at that point. I shouldn't have bothered calling, because ding-dong, who is at the door, but one of the cops that essentially kicked me out of my house in 2015, leaving me to wonder if my boyfriend would kill himself or burn the place down. The thin, blond cop. The first thing I noticed was his eyes when I spoke to him that day. His pupils were tiny pin-pricks and it was shockingly noticeable. He looked like he was blind or something, because he had wide blue irises with these teeny tiny pupils. Frankly it was creepy, but wasn't relevant to the situation. I told him my ex went nuts, then stole my truck. He starts screaming at me and asking me what I wanted to do, and why the hell did I call. I completely shut down and just felt scared of him. Thinking about telling him about the assault just evaded my head, all I could think was that I was being cornered and I had to get away. He walked around the yard looking at other shit my ex had torn up, yelled at me some more, then left. This cop was almost manic and I was afraid he would arrest me for annoying him.

I finally got my truck back with the help of my grandmother after watching my boyfriend acting insane in front of his boss, who he had driven to. The man got a restraining order against him that week after seeing the violent instability and I made our breakup official at the same time. I knew I was done the second he dragged me through the woods. That was the first time he had ever put hands on me and the torture session would be the last. (I was lucky in that he had tossed me around and suffocated me in a headlock, etc., rather than getting a knife or something... it could have been so much worse.)

At this point, regardless of what people around him did, my now-ex was clearly gone mentally. Not sure how or why it got that bad, but all of his issues just imploded on him at once, almost overnight. So 2016 to 2018 he stalked me and made my life a living hell. He called me and I was afraid to disconnect my number right away because I felt it was a way of tracking him/how dangerous he was any particular day. After screaming for him to leave me alone and calling the cops even more times failed, I felt I had to be nice to him to keep him at bay, or when he started coming into my job, so I wouldn't make a scene. I finally got a domestic violence order in 2017 and stood before the court and described my assault so the judge to decide if I had just cause.

About a month after that, my ex called me threatening to kill himself so I felt super happy about calling 911. Finally they would put his ass in jail. A cop in his early 20's showed up, flirted with me, called his boss and they told me that there was not enough cause to jail my ex. The cop told me to "just talk things over" with my ex and then left after staring at my tits through my sweatshirt.

More time goes by, more bullshit, afraid to go to work, afraid to come home at night. Mace didn't make me feel safer, guns didn't make me feel safer, having coworkers didn't make me feel safer. My dad was screaming at me that I had brought this all on myself by being with a nut for so long. I felt like a hunted animal. My boss complained about me calling out of work over this. Finally my ex's other ex-girlfriend who he was with after me comes into my job, says he assaulted her, and that he was dangerously obsessed with me and my boss finally took me seriously.

I couldn't do anything about phone calls or online harassment. He would message me online telling me he hated me and stuff and I would just block him. Then, one day in September, during Ocean City bike week, he showed up on a bicycle, cornering me in the parking lot of my job as I walked to my shift. I was in utter terror and for a moment he looked like he would attack me again but I just kept on walking, and did not pause. My coworker wanted to know why I was being confronted and I said "THAT'S HIM, THAT'S HIM. I'M SO SORRY, NIKKI, I'M NOT CLOCKING IN RIGHT NOW. I AM CALLING 911."

Two cops showed up, a male and a female and ID'd me, and looked at my DV order. I asked if it was okay for me to lift the sweater on my front seat up to get my purse and the male cop brushed that off, acting like I was a non-threat. But I knew I had to move slow, because, well, cops shoot people. White, black, male, female, non-bindary-gender, whatever.

They saw I had all my paperwork in order then they started fucking yelling at me! They told me they really didn't have time to look for him since it was Bike Week and they were busy! I don't know what else they said to me, I think they were confused about what phone number I used the most because I had 2 at that point. I broke into tears and the male cop said "you don't have to do none of that." I walked back into the store and they came back in again, and my coworker told everyone later on how nasty the cops were too me. I knew it wasn't just me but it was good to finally have a witness this time around.

They looked around for my ex at two known locations then gave up, I had called and asked. 3 days later he attacked his other ex, the one that I had spoken to and they arrested him on both that and my DV order. He was jailed for several months and since then his stalking has been infrequent aside from him popping up on Tumblr this winter to make fun of my cat dying. Because I left him, for assaulting me, he now, in whatever the fuck is left of his mind, wants me to live a life of hell. During one phone call he screamed "YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY UNTIL I'M HAPPY."

I'd love to count on him staying gone, but I know better. His brother added me on FaceBook not too long ago and I said hi, and he said "you know you're the love of my brother's life, right?" I told him I wanted nothing to do with my ex. "Not even friends?" I told him that my ex tried to kill me then made my life hell and he said he didn't know and the conversation ended.

I'm not afraid of my ex's brother. I don't think he added me purely to help my ex. This man isn't crazy. This man didn't try to kill me, and isn't going to. But the sheer mindfuckery of it: how can you try to get back with the woman you abused? How can you use threats to try and get back with her? Another time my ex called me and screamed over me posting pictures with my last ex, mocking it. Why would I be with him, instead of the guy that abused me?

...Why would I want to be with a guy that I felt safe with that never abused me? Golly gosh, no idea. But it's all just a headfuck that I will be scarred by for life.

Summary: Cops and the severely mentally ill are capable of ruining the lives of anyone, of any color. 🤷‍♀️

[villainever]

God, We're All Tired: Female Conflict in Killing Eve's Season One Finale

So I'm sure 1x08 has been analysed to death, but seeing as we're winding up to the end of Killing Eve's second season (sad face), I thought I'd jump in with a completely unsolicited reflection on the ultimate culmination of Villanelle and Eve's mutual obsession and pursuit. I'll kick off by saying that from the start, we knew this moment would be interesting, for a whole slew of reasons: Firstly, from the get-go, we were shown that Killing Eve was here to subvert and reconstruct; it's deeply oriented within its genre, but it's irreverent, and even what I would describe as a reclamation of spy-fi. Specifically, it's a female-led narrative taking ownership of a set of texts and tropes that have consistently objectified and excluded women by turns. From its inception, the psychological thriller genre has delighted in a) withholding women's agency, and killing/torturing/assaulting them, both to shock viewers and to lend pathos to the motivations of male characters, and b) revelling in their "expiration" from sexual desirability, and casting the "ailing crone" as the villain orchestrating events. Killing Eve has absolutely no interest in ever reducing its women to their component parts. There are no pedestals, and there are no pitchforks. As a show, it hits all the golden points of suspense television, and completely reimagines the rest; it's a masterpiece balacing act of keeping the classic cat-and-mouse recogniseable, while allowing Eve and Villanelle to each be both the predator and the prey.

Secondly, our two protagonists are women. Highly unusual and exceptional women -- that's inarguable -- but nevertheless, they've been socialised in particular ways. What's so fascinating here is that both have been injected with a comfort in and enjoyment of theatrical violence that's usually reserved for male villains. However, even at their most ruthless, there's an innate intimacy to both of them -- unlike, say, for example, the Joker, Villanelle's flamboyance and love affair with destruction never manifest as mass-killings or the eradication of infrastructure (like blowing up a hospital). Villanelle exacts each murder with the creativity of the truly engaged and passionate, but it's always personal and unique, usually one-on-one. She doesn't have a vendetta against the world, either; she finds beauty in it -- in ice-cream and movies and nice architecture or fun clothes. Similarly, Eve is enthralled by Villanelle's flair for the deadly and the dramatic, but it's not born out of a spite for humanity, but a sense of artistry and a consuming need for some adrenaline in her otherwise numb and mundane life. These complexities muddle their emotions and motivations, and make it difficult for even the most television-literate to semi-accurately predict their storylines.

Thirdly, Eve and Villanelle are never positioned as diametrically opposed. This in itself is not exactly out of the left field -- a lot of media with a dark focal point or mature subjects introduce heroes and villains who share key traits (e.g. Sherlock and Irene, in CBS's Elementary), or even comparable goals (e.g. Black Panther's Killmonger and Nadia both want to open Wakanda's borders). In most cases, though, the antagonist will represent some kind of seduction to the 'other side', that the protagonist inevitably resists the allure of (e.g. Andy realising Miranda isn't who she wants to grow up to be -- successful but alienated -- and goes back to her excuse of a boyfriend in TDWP). But while Eve and Villanelle are very much established as one another's temptations, we also see that they'll grant the other access to a part of the world that is, for now, barred from them: Villanelle and Eve will stop each other from being bored. They "resist the allure" not because they fear moral wrongdoing, but because they cling to their respective images of themselves -- Eve, as someone "nice and normal", who happens to have a grey area for a hobby, and Villanelle, as someone independent, in control, with no lines she wouldn't cross. Way back in the pilot, we're shown that they don't actually WANT to destroy each other. Villanelle is too interesting to Eve, Eve is too attractive to Villanelle. Yes, they pose a significant threat to their respective lifestyles, but as we've had proven, they're becoming willing to risk that if it means gaining something more. They don't reflect a sinister alternative timeline of "look what you could've been" (which is inherently hero-centric, and Killing Eve pays as much attention to Villanelle as Eve), they offer each other a "look what you could still be", that is at once dark and hopeful -- something that they've really elaborated on in this second season. But 1x08, even though it is very much the symbolic collision that is the centrepiece of all chase stories, is not their first meeting. Villanelle goes to Eve's house in the (iconic) 1x05. So why not save that for the finale? Why not build and build and have that tension released right at the end? Because, crucially, 1x05 generated more tension. The show's writing is so substantial that it doesn't worry about losing its audience after the moment they've been waiting for happens. It's one of the reasons you could have the entire plot of Killing Eve spoiled, and then still enjoy every episode when you watch it yourself: it's the How that we love as much as the What. Killing Eve takes the time and space to revel in its style, characters, and setting -- but that's another essay. In 1x05, their meeting is high-octane, and crucially, it's brief. We get a snapshot of how their infatuation and fixation translates into chemistry. And they both become real to one another. Eve's last reservations begin to fade as she realises that she can survive an encounter with Villanelle, and her sense of self -- most importantly, the subconscious idea that she's somehow special -- is vindicated (Eve's slight narcissism, and how the show makes it compelling and intoxicating, is yet another thing I could go on about). For Villanelle, Eve is allowed to be more than just great hair and a worthy threat. She's someone challenging and entertaining. What's so incredible about that first meeting is that it's proof that this dynamic isn't running on mystery and fumes. It's sustainable. They continue to appeal to one another once they're in the same room together. They appeal even more. Their sexual tension skyrockets, and the whole dance becomes extremely personal. They can't write one another off as playthings, although they largely continue to attempt that, at least for a short while. With this in mind, let's move on to that finale. Not only is Eve trashing Villanelle's apartment hilarious, and a perfect articulation of the humour/danger cantilever that makes Killing Eve awesome, but it provides a critical catharsis for the audience before the actual confrontation. By this point, the price for Eve's obsession is starting to rack up -- her job is circling the drain, Niko's dodging her calls, her self-image is blurring. Eve has a whole lot of feelings, but she's allowed to express them on her own, symbolically taking them out on Villanelle by ruining her things, which become a vehicle for venting her frustrations without actually affecting their relationship. When Villanelle does arrive, Eve's ready. This scene would've worked if it was some sexy wall-leaning, banter, and Eve surprise-stabbing Villanelle in the middle of a conversation. I think that's probably how a lot of screenwriters today would've done it, scrawling it off by rote and relying on Villaneve's chemistry and Comer and Oh's excellent acting to nail the bit. Instead, we get this civil conversation, and then they lie down together, first relaxing, and then gravitating towards one another. I don't believe that Eve knew until the millisecond she decided to do it that she would actually try and stab Villanelle. I actually gave this mini-essay a title, and it's "female conflict". That's because I think that this entire sequence wouldn't have happened in a show created by men, or featuring male characters. In violent shows, we get violent conflict. Killing Eve is unquestionably a violent show, but it's distinct from its contemporaries in that the characters aren't there to prop up the violence; the violence is there to reveal and develop the characters. But after a whole season of elaborate murder and tyre-squealing pursuit, we get this stillness. Yet, it doesn't feel for even a beat like bathos. It's absolutely a climax, and it's both suspenseful and arresting. It really illustrates that the show is about fascination: they're hungry to know everything, like Eve says. There's no performative combat. We can't guess what's going to happen because neither can they. Their obsession isn't a "this town ain’t big enough for the both of us" situation. It's a "this town is only the both of us". Their worlds are reduced to each other and they don't want to squander it with fighting, because fundamentally, Eve and Villanelle are so much more similar than they are different. Again, I say this is so fitting for female characters because they see this co-existence as an option. It's so simple, but the idea of your protagonist and antagonist sighing, "Fuck, can't we just have a lie down after all this?" and making it satisfying is incredibly radical. Because it's so personal, and intimate, and human. At every interval, the writing asks, What would we actually do at this moment? Not, What precedent has popular culture set for this moment? Too often, I think we give characters responses that we've seen before in texts, because we watched/read it, accepted it, and just filed it into our own work, knowing it's what the audience expects. But this scene with Eve and Villanelle is so heart-wrenchingly in-character. It's two people charging at each other full speed, not to hit each other but to be close to one another. And like so many other tiny beats over the course of the season, Killing Eve luxuriates in this proximity. We get to breathe. It's gentle. It's a gentle pause between two people who could utterly eradicate one another, but choose not to. It's ladden as well with such a specific but familiar kind of exhaustion, and it's an act of defiance, too. Killing Eve rejects the hegemonic (and predominantly masculine) cultural assertion that conflict (or even sometimes, in the less typical texts, debate and negotiation) is the way to resolve difference, and indeed, that difference must be resolved. That one must overpower the other. That your enemy is an alien and cannot be connected with, related to. The fact is, a lot of even this first season isn't spent chasing, it's spent running. Eve and Villanelle take an interest in each other early on, and it quickly escalates from intellectual to sexual to emotional (insofar as either of them are capable of that). By 1x05, they've caught up to each other. The rest of the time, though, they're fleeing from how much they want each other, how alike they might be. And in Villanelle's Paris apartment, they concede: I love you more than I hate you. I need you more than I should. And it's with that concession that we as an audience can experience their relaxation, too. It's what we've -- consciously or not -- been waiting for. That acknowledgement. But Margot, you say, you've been talking about how this isn't about violence -- have your forgotten that Eve STABS Villanelle, literally three seconds after this? I have not, The Only Follower Who Read This Far. So why engineer all this, and then have Eve knife Villanelle straight in the gut? Because even though they have this liminal second together, their story isn't resolved. Killing Eve goes absolutely wild with power dynamics, and I could discuss that for hours, too -- Eve is older, but Villanelle is more experienced; Eve is more stable, but Villanelle is more adaptable, etc. But generally speaking -- partially because Eve is, at the beginning, something of an audience surrogate -- the scales are in Villanelle's favour. She's dangerous, clever, has no fear of legal consequences, and has more freedom and greater resources. Killing Eve is allergic to any pedestrian predictability, so it shakes up this arrangement. In stabbing Villanelle, Eve proves to both of them what she's capable of. Prior to this, they had an impression of their similarities, but this throws into sharp relief exactly how deep those run. Eve immediately regrets the stabbing, because it wasn't about getting rid of Villanelle. She doesn't want to hurt her so much as show her that Eve has power too, has recklessness too, can keep up. This interaction isn't the product of an inability to relate, but a desperation to connect. This joins them together, affirms their relationship. Eve isn't trying to dominate her, to win, not really. She's telling Villanelle what she's capable of, and equating them. We get this confirmed in how Villanelle perceives in the stab wound as a symbol of affection (2x02, 2x05), and how Eve says she continues to think about it constantly (2x05). I believe that while Villanelle always respected Eve, if Eve hadn't stabbed her, Villanelle would've remained confident that she, quietly, had the upper hand. That if ever need be, she could be more cunning and cruel and decisive than Eve. But Eve's put them in the same ring, and also removed one major wall between them -- Villanelle's murderous side is a key part of her character, and after this, she knows that Eve isn't intruiged by her despite this, but because of it, and because it’s at least partially common ground. Eve isn't Anna (another comparison I could go off on a tangent about, but I'll spare you). In sum, I think that the season one finale was beautifully rendered, and reflected Killing Eve's appreciation of itself. It let the characters interact genuinely, it refreshed their dynamic, and allowed them development separately (Eve's new understanding of her own capacity for harm; Villanelle's new experience with vulnerability, and not being able to predict others) and together (intertwining them irrevocably, further aligning them). It's one of those rare scenes where it's completely surprising at the time of viewing, but in hindsight, seems inevitable, and you can't imagine it any different. I can't make any predictions for the season two final episode other than I expect something equally unexpected, something just as loyal to the characters and their relationship, and their capacity to embrace and antagonise each other. This essay is probably borderline incoherent. It really got away from me. I set a timer for half an hour and told myself that whatever I got written in that time, I'd post. Thanks so much for your kind comments on my rant yesterday, and I hope this is at least vaguely what you were looking for, @ the people who said they'd read another. You're my favs. If you've got something else Killing Eve-related you'd like me to yell about, let me know! Or if you want to come chat, I promise I'm friendly! I’m using the tag “#villainever writes” for this rambly stuff atm, so if I ever write another of these I’ll have a digital drawer to put it in hahah

[maruzze]

New beginnings.

Warnings: some minor gore.

The sound of weapons, metal against metal, flesh and dirt. The stench of blood alongside sweat. The chorus of screams and yells, victorious shrieks and desperate cries. He knew all those sounds all too well, they were forged in his memory since early age, from the safety of his tribe.

He had war in his blood. It was his destiny, but there was no harmony in his movements or his technique. It was desperate, impulsive and cruel. Covered in red, from head to toe, to hide the blood which warmed up his skin and made it disgustingly sticky. The feeling was so familiar, though, he couldn’t imagine a life without the violence.

His allies, everchanging, would crawl around the battlefield all around him. He would run, jump, fight at their side for as much as it would take. Days, weeks, months. Until it gave him food, shelter and adrenaline it was enough to pick up a sword and swing it around.

He knew enough about who was paying him not to kill them during a battle and they stayed out of his way not for fear, but because they despised him, everything he was about and everything about him. He didn’t care, didn’t even remember their names as it was not necessary. He would charge, kill some poor fools who crossed his path and then returned to his tent.

Every moment not in the battlefield, it was spent in his tent. He started to grow sick of the same thin walls, of the same stinking bed and the same solitude. He wasn’t made for staying by himself, since childhood he was surrounded by people who would stick around for a reason or the other. But he couldn’t let himself grow weak or soft around the soldier he was supposed to aid. Nothing comes from being nice and pleasant in an environment like those he was used to hang out in.

So, he’d have to sit inside, listening to the chatter and occasional laughter of other men and women who were busy around camp. He’d see their shadows outside at night and hear the buzz of words during the day. It felt even more frustrating when he could feel the presence of other people around, barely letting loose around those he was supposed to protect. But it was one-sided, he was sure of it: they never came into his tent to ask him to join, they never talked to him first and the only times he seemed to have any resemblance of human contact was during battles.

It should feel weird that the cherished those fatal moments so much. When he could break free from the chains of his self-isolation to chase enemies, do what he was born to do. He could get praise, he could get attention, everyone’s eyes were on him when he stalked the battlefield looking for his next victim with the same rage and vicious willfulness of a predator. It was his call and would respond to it as much as he could, with the repressed enthusiasm and energy he didn’t have the possibility to get out otherwise.

But even the most powerful of lions would succumb to wounds. It happened to him often, he’d simply carry on and get patched up when the sun set as he was forced to return to the camp. In a way, he didn’t mind getting hurt if it meant he could talk to the medic of the camp for a few minutes as they absentmindedly cleaned him up and sent him his way to take care of other fighters. But one day, a moment of mortal recklessness, he launched himself at a particularly strong opponent who didn’t budge under his attack. They raised their weapon at him and hit. Precise and sturdy, the opponent got him on the arm.

In the shock, he didn’t manage to dodge their hands as they pushed him on the ground and at the feet of a horde of soldiers. He could feel the boots close to his ears and the blood flowing from his new wound, dirtying his clothes. The fingers around the weapon got weaker and weaker as his other hand went to cover the injury only to find a deep, lengthy cut. But he had to carry on, he couldn’t let this field be his tomb along with the useless piece of trash who were pathetic enough to fall.

He got up and gripped his sword with all the strength he had left. His pride swelled in his chest and he went after the same warrior, who probably left him for dead under the crushing steps of the army. He swung his weapon, but the wound pulsated violently and he could use much less force than he was used to. He got to hit the other’s shoulder, but they turned quickly and looked quite surprised of facing the same man who approached them before. They took a quick glance at the arm they hit before, noticing the deep cut in his flesh with a menacing light shining being their pupils.

Blinded by the anger and the loss of blood, he couldn’t quite catch how dangerous it was to challenge someone, anyone, as the arm he used to fight was weaker, bleeding. He raised it, though, ready to go for the hit when his opponent grabbed him, with their palm directly pressing on the open wound. He let out a shriek of pain, letting go of the sword, and started to desperately pry the hand away from him to get any kind of relief. It wasn’t the first time he thought about fleeing a battle, he was so used to the feeling of fear for his life, but this time he didn’t have the opportunity or the possibility as the fingers of this warrior sunk into is arm to the point he could feel them hovering over his bones.

He was trying with pathetic theatrics to get away. Kicking, screaming, scratching at the other as the injury was coloring both of them a warm, sticky red. Then he saw the other handle something and getting it closer to his arm. It was a short knife, still shiny as if it never saw the light during a war. He started to panic and his mind was clouded as he tried with even more force to get away, to the point he could feel his shoulder complain against the strain he was putting on it.

The other let him go and he fell on his back, against the dirt with his wound still painfully throbbing for the pressure. In a moment, not even the time to regain sight from the shock, the warrior was over him and directing the knife into his wound. They dragged it down to open it up even more, laughing like a maniac at the horrified cry of the young man under them. He didn’t even notice when someone threw the opponent off him and picked him up, the corners of his vision were getting progressively darker and his brain was ringing any kind of bell as the debilitating pain in his arm. He was carried away from the battlefield, but his delirious mind couldn’t register anything that wasn’t the immediate danger. He lost focus and consciousness as the figure of the warrior disappeared among the hundreds of men and women busy fighting until he passed out and fell into a blank sleep.

When he woke up, he was laying down on something softer than the bare ground and the roof of a tent was above him. He could hear laments all around him, most were low and akin to grumbles of someone who got a light, annoying cold, but some were whinier and more persistent. If he had the strength to talk or vocalize anything, he would probably join the chorus with his own irritating voice, but all he could do at that moment was turn his head to the side and look around the makeshift infirmary of the camp. There were a lot of soldier, some even badly injured and covered in blood. Some were up and chatting up other people around them, bandaged up yet seemingly fine.

As he felt his consciousness come back to him, he groaned loudly and tried to sit up on his bunk as he felt a sharp pain in his arm when he tried to balance himself on it, which made him let out a pitiful yelp. Suddenly he heard rushed steps to his other side and a hand pressing on his chest as it shoved him back down.

“Sorry, sorry, can’t let you do that.” The man over him was quick to talk and he shook his head while visibly shaking his finger right in front of his face. “If my mentor saw you get up, I’d have to deal with an earful.”

Then, as soon as the mercenary’s back was again against the crude bed on the ground and his growl of frustration was promptly ignored, the apparent doctor quickly went for the arm that sent him in that place. He lightly told how he just had to check it up since now he was awake and he wouldn’t wake him up, risking a punch in the face. He didn’t care for his humor in that moment, just gritting his teeth at the position he was in and the memory of his defeat on the field. At least he was still alive.

“Uh oh.” The voice of the doctor came out as a shock to his ears and he threw the dirtiest look he could manage at his face, then shifting his gaze to his arm. He felt like puking right at that moment: the injury obviously got badly infected, maybe due to the wait or maybe due to the dirt or the knife or anything else, but it was intensely festering. The doctor fumbled upon his own words for a few seconds before taking a breath and trying to grin at the mercenary.

“I will, uhm, go call my mentor.” He got up and looked around quickly. “She will know what to do, yes, she will. You will be fine in no time.” He seemed to spot who he was looking for because he bolted in a specific direction, leaving his patient laying down and festering in his own rage as thought after thought run in his mind. Now he had to wait until this stupid injury was healed. But what if it took months? He’d be useless for these people and probably would be booted from the camp, with maybe the payment he was owned thrown after him. He’d have to fetch for himself with a diseased arm and somehow find some other job while he waited it out.

As his thoughts raced at full speed and the irritation continued to grow inside his chest, the doctor approached again with someone at his heels. The newcomer swat down to take a look at his arm and he just glared at them, but they didn’t seem as focused on the patient as they are on the wound. They squint at it and hover their fingers over the slit, puffed up and almost sickly yellow. They had a grimace on their face and sighed heavily after a few minutes.

“It’s very bad.” They stood up and started to talk with the other doctor. “I don’t think we can do much or it will spread before we can contain it.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. He looked over the man standing above him, who seemed rather nervous and worried. He said that they had to do something, maybe draining the blood or isolating the arm or this or that. Some of the solutions sounded absurd even to the ear of the mercenary and the tension between the two physicians did nothing to ease his nerves.

“I think we can only amputate it.” The older doctor sentenced, and he shot up with such speed and force that he felt dizzy. His voice regained all its power just to let out a shrill to declare his personal opinion over the diagnosis. They startled both doctors and he was quickly rushed to lay back down, as the older one explained in too technical terms that they had no means to cure him quickly in a camp in the middle of a war. His face flushed with red for the rage and he screamed directly at them about their incompetence.

“You can’t do that! I have to work with my hands, I can’t lose an entire fucking arm!” As he yelled and thrashed under the pressure of the younger medic arms, the older one called over some other people who appeared to be their assistants as well. They were instructed to pick up the patient up to escort him elsewhere and to use some magical tricks to soothe the poor guy so they could proceed.

He was quickly taken from the most physically imposing of the assistants, while another got to his side in order to inject some odd type of magic into his body. He slowly felt his mind relax along with his body as he stopped trying to kick, punch or scratch the person who was carrying him. All around him, soldiers were observing the scene as he was brought to his personal tent and put on his own bed.

Following the hulking doctor and the mercenary were the old one and the man who first talked to him, holding what looked like instruments of torture. While conscious, the patient was groggy enough not to oppose the force that pressed him down against the bunk and the two doctors approached his side.

“Julian, want to do the honors?” The tone of the physician was way too relaxed in his opinion when talking about amputating one of his limbs, but the younger doctor just let out a surprised sure and reached for the right tools in order to complete the operation. The arm was prepared, a bit more force was applied to his chest just to be sure, and soon enough he had to turn his head at the agonizing spectacle. They were trying their best not to make him feel anything, with magic or tonics, but he heard the sounds and the sensation of the blood as it flowed down his skin, pooling on the ground. He felt the scraping of the saw on his flesh, but with the absence or near absence of pain, which made his stomach turn in eerie ways at the sheer absurdity of the sensation.

It took less time than he thought it would, but the minutes dragged out as he was living them. His head stayed turned the other way as his arm was stitched and medicated to prevent the spreading of his infection to other parts of his body. He didn’t care though; he couldn’t see the need to do something so drastic against his own will. What for? He could wait some weeks for the wound to heal and go his merry way to find some other employer.

As he was left to grumble and fester in his own emotions, the doctors around him started to talk among themselves. They said how they would check on him later, they should leave him alone, departing a little later. In the newfound silence of his tent, the reality of what happened crashed down on him even if the spell used to sedate him was still having a slight effect, softening his usual explosive temper. He rolled on his side, hiding his amputated arm under his body and fixed his gaze on the wall of the tent in front of him.

He was tired, exhausted, but he didn’t want to sleep. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing, his thought spiraling rapidly at the prospects of what this new turn of events entailed. He would have to get a prosthetic, that was for sure. Would he still be able to work? Could magic work? What happens if it doesn’t work, was he supposed to rot like a pathetic wretch and die in poverty?

He slipped his other hand under his body, caressing the bandages that were covering his wound. Judging by the sensation, they were already soaked with blood and the feeling of his own fingers over the closed slit didn’t bring pain or discomfort, making him snarl at the odd feeling. He spent some time like that, listening once again at the chatter outside his tent, but without hearing anything beyond a buzz and a growing annoyance at the increasing volume of the voices. He could almost feel his teeth crack from how strongly he was clenching his jaw.

Then he heard footsteps behind him and he focused on reality for the first time since he was left alone. He progressively curled up onto himself, in a protective position, but he turned around with incredible speed with a mixture of paranoia and aggravation. The man who entered his tent was thrown back at his reaction and stopped mid step, before setting down his foot without moving further. He recognized the young doctor from before.

“Hello.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m here to check on you.” He stayed still without showing intention to approach his patient further until he was asked to do so. The mercenary just groaned and laid down, looking away before telling him to do whatever he had to do. So, the doctor kneeled at his side, checked his arm and then reapplied new, fresh, clean bandages.

But he didn’t leave. Instead he set his instruments aside and leaned back to shift position, sitting down to be more comfortable. The mercenary was confused by this and glared at him. A few seconds passed in complete silence and then the man tensely stuttered before being able to talk properly.

“I know it’s probably upsetting, but I can guarantee you it was for the best.” He managed to even end the sentence with some semblance of confidence, looking down at the mercenary. He scoffed as an answer.

“It wasn’t necessary.” He didn’t bother to contain the venom dripping from his words, whatever dramatization was lacking from the complexity of the sentence was gained by the tone and expression he was displaying on his face. This time the doctor was the one to sneer, his face cracking into a derisive grin.

“I trust the judgement of my mentor more than yours.” He crossed his arms and looked over the other man’s face, noticing the evident rage. “I’m sure you will be just fine, you can always go back home.”

At those words, the mercenary froze. That was the last of his intentions, he’d probably let himself die before he could return to his homeland, but the result would be the same in either case. Once again, the reality of his situation made its way into his mind and he looked away from the doctor, who looked rather surprised by the reaction.

“Er, sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He was quick to apologize, thinking he must have touched a nerve and a pretty raw one at that. He glanced at the entrance of the tent, but he felt like he couldn’t leave his patient to wallow in whatever dark thoughts he was left.

“What’s your name?” The other looked at him again and raised an eyebrow, not sure why he was asking such a stupid question. He decided to give no motive. “You already know my name. It’s Julian.”

The mercenary just stared at him. His name. He didn’t use his name in a while, usually people didn’t care about that even if he made a contract. Last time his name was used? He winced at the memory and remembered a little tip. Only a fool would reveal their true name, right?

“Lucio.” He didn’t think too much of it, but he felt like it fitted. He gave a name, one that he heard around camp or in other battles, he wasn’t sure. The doctor tilted his head and looked pensive for a second.

“You come from Vesuvia?” At the name of the city, the mercenary was taken aback. He barely ever heard of the place. It was small, a city on the sea, no one really thought too much about it besides as a minor market and its apparent pacific society. “I have no idea how it was when you were younger, but it’s a pretty nice city. Why wouldn’t you go back?”

He sounded confused, but the mercenary – Lucio – didn’t care. An opportunity to turn everything around, to hide and find something to do. He was sure in that city he would be able to find something to do, he heard of fighting games being regularly thrown, made a show out of them. He sat up, grinning at the man in front of him.

“You know, you’re right. Maybe it’s time to go back home.”

[dongiovannaswife]

Lena, I have a pretty interesting request to ask! How about a scenario where bruno's team after betraying the boss, encounters another team who betrayed the boss, so thinking they were the enemy they fight each other, but then they realize that they have the same goal as bruno's gang and they team up! Sorry if this is a bit complicated.

Here’s the list of stand user´s @lurkerdoesheadcanons helped me with, aside from the prompt, that's also theirs! Thank you for giving me the chance to write something like this, working with you was a pleasure! Hope I did it justice, I'm not that glad with the overcome. 

Romeo Due. 

Stand: The Narrow way (by Pink Floyd); it can transfer its user body parts (or hold body) or objects through crack in pavement, dirt and other stuff that can contain cracks or fissures in them, he can choose to hide in them or go to the other side of the crack.

Fondutta Due.

Stand: Beast of Burden (by The Rolling Stones); once it punches someone, it will force them to remember bad memories (I.E Traumatic experiences from their childhood) Once remembered, the punches will do significantly more damage, if punched again the same effect will take place, thus taking more damage from the punches.

Uva. 

Stand: Killing in The Name (by Rage Against The Machine); She can whisper any command onto an object and that object will do that command, example, track down a person, she will whisper the command to an object and it will begin to track down that person.

Frittata.

Stand: Born To Be Alive (by Patrick Hernandez); any damage done onto her will be transferred to the next item that she touches, for example, getting shot, transfer it to a table or stairs.

Collective Consciousness

“Buccellati, something’s wrong.” 

Bruno looks around, his eyes reflecting the buildings around them, careful looking for signs of enemies or possible gang members. But he doesn’t find anything suspicious.

Before Bruno can answer Mista joins the conversation, leaning a bit to see Narancia, the boy distracted watching something in his radar, his brow furrowed and worry clear on the way his eyes shift from the point and its pulsations.  “Are you okay, Narancia? Did the last battle hurt your eyes?” 

The voice that answers isn't Narancia's, it doesn't belong to any of them. “No one will be okay after this.” 

Bruno stands as Sticky Fingers appears besides him, his fists ready to fight. However, the voice doesn't speak again, the air thick with tension and adrenaline. 

But the chaos starts when something hits Giorno, throwing him in the water with no chance of grabbing in the boat. Narancia screams trying to reach Giorno, who seems in another place as his body sinks in the water, his radar long gone as he throws himself in the water, catching Giorno and swimming back at the boat, were Bruno helps them back.

“Giorno!” screams Bruno when he sees the scared expression in the blond, “Hey, talk to me!” 

But the only answer is a command, the voice of a woman behind them. 

“Sink.” The boat starts sinking at a dangerous pace, with Abbacchio trying to find the source and his Moody Blues tracking the enemy, the person his stand follows seems to be in one of the restaurants, far from the canal they are. “That's the enemy, Buccellati!” 

Narancia, who's supporting one of Giorno's arms on his shoulders looks questioningly at the newly capo —and traitor— and Bruno, catching his sight, doesn't refrain from giving an order, clear and fast. “Mista, get her! Stop the boat from sinking!” 

Mista's Sex Pistols climb in the barrel, each one screaming commands and words of encouragement. The gunslinger aims, fast and precise and pulls the trigger; number one, three and five striking the target, who doesn't react when the three bullets reach her leg, stomach and chest. The bullets hit the target, but the woman doesn't fall, doesn't drop death like many enemy's have done before —and Mista starts panicking, not really understanding what's happening.— The boat keeps sinking and Giorno is starting to tremble. Mista can see clearly how the woman touches a table and his bullets hit the wood; one could expect her to bleed, but she's not. She's still standing like nothing happened. The smirk on her lips angers Mista, who shots again but the bullets, even if they land on her again, don't seem to have effect. 

“Well, I shall end your suffering.” The voice from before, the one belonging to a man speaks again and the boat stops sinking just for a man to come out from one of the cracks in the wood, his yellow eyes reflecting pure mischievousness.

His smirk disappears when Sticky Fingers lands a punch on his jaw, hard enough to make him land on the same restaurant the other woman is, still observing and calculating.

The boat starts sinking again and Bruno commands after seeing Giorno trashing, barely making Narancia fall, Giovanna's expression shifting to one of horror to pain, out of the calm and serious face he's always showing and despite not knowing what's happening, Bruno knows that it's something bad. “Mista, shoot the motor, we need to get out of here and this boat isn't sure anymore!” Mista nods, quickly aiming at the motor and pulling the trigger, the explosion makes them fall in the opposite side of the two enemy’s, who are already looking at them. 

Once in front of them, Bruno starts monologuing internally; "I thought they were part of the Unità Speciale... but they don't seem like they are, they don't work like this."

Abbacchio gestures with his head at something for Bruno to look at and it brings him out of his thoughts; looking back after checking on his men, Bruno sees the rest of the rival team. Two boys, two girls. It's clear that the two boys are twins. The girls are far from each other, as if guarding.

One of the girls takes one of the bullets the other girl reflected and whispers something on it; the sound it makes while cutting the air leaves a ringing on Abbacchio´s ears and his blood soaking the floor instantly as he kneels, the bullet biting the flesh of his leg.

Clenching his jaw as Sticky Fingers sets a zipper on the floor, Bruno gets in.

One of the boys sees how Bruno appears besides them as his stand punches him for the second time, starting a fight. 

Mista, seeing his capo acting like that and knowing that they have two members invalidated to fight, rises his gun and stands besides Narancia, who's trying to defend Giorno and Abbachio. However, before he could tell Narancia his plan, a stand lands a second punch on Giorno’s head and he reacts with a gasp; a mix between pain and something he can’t tell. Giorno acts like a child having a nightmare; like he's daydreaming, but in the wrong side.

“Okay, that's it!” screams Mista and, with the stand coming back to one of the boys, he doesn't refrain from shooting five times; a bullet on each kneecap, another on his feet and the fifth on his shoulder. The boy falls, unable to fight.

Giorno wakes up with a gasp and a startled expression, his eyes red and his lip trembling. He seems lost, almost like his body is here, but his mind is not. 

The battle continues however, Narancia rising to his feet and aiming at one of the girls, who's whispering something to another bullet: Aerosmith presents itself doing a flip in the air and then, shooting her until she falls, still alive, but injured. 

Bruno, even with his stand being fast and strong as it is, misses the opportunity to hit the man who's presented himself as Romeo; however, the voice of a woman interrupts the battle.

She's sitting at the table, calmly sipping wine as she watches the battle. Even in her position, Bruno can tell she's tense at the sight of her team falling one by one; Bruno knows that feeling from the previous battles. But mercy isn’t an option, not against an enemy so violent and strong. “Why did the boss sent you, Buccellati?” her hair is black and her eyes almost white; however, Bruno can feel her eyes piercing his soul, but the mafioso isn't nervous. He doesn't have to show weaknesses in front of his enemy's or everything would be lost. 

“We don't work for the boss anymore.” 

The statement makes the enemy team look at each other, their eyebrows arched. Frittata, the black haired girl, and leader of the team, rises her hand as a <<calm down>> signal, her team stops the gushing as she shoots back. 

“And how do I know you’re saying the truth, Buccellati? The boss could easily order you to fake being a traitor so you could have us and kill us, obviously without talking about the torture part.” 

Bruno, with his ocean eyes fixed on hers with a dangerous yet calm glance, answers without batting an eye.

“The boss wouldn’t send us mainly because of his elite team is already here, they're looking for us.”

“And what about the hitman team?” 

“We both know what happened with them years ago; they betrayed the boss too but we’ve been taking care of them. They are actually, all dead. The only one we haven´t fought against is their leader Risotto Nero.” 

The silence makes an awkward feeling settle until Narancia screams. “So we are on the same boat and we were killing each other!”

Frittata arches her brow, looking at Bruno for an explanation. 

Bruno shakes his head yes, signaling to the tortoise at Giorno’s side. “The boss wanted us to bring her daughter to kill her with his own hands.” 

“… And you left that take over you, Buccellati? You can't live out of feelings and expectations, you can't always do the right thing; not in the underworld.” 

“We have…” he says turning back to Giorno, who's kneeling and looking at his hands, still lost. “We have more plans.” 

Frittata nods and stands, sauntering to him. “And what are those plans? If we are on the same boat, as the boy said, we might as well know what are we standing for.” 

Bruno frowns, “Your team must retract their stand powers from my men first.” 

Frittata laughs, a bittersweet laugh from the back of her throat; intentionally high pitched, intended to sound fake and sarcastic. “What do you mean? Two of my members are injured because of your cowboy and the pilot.” 

Bruno doesn't change his expression when he points with his chin at Giorno. “He can heal them but he needs to be on his mind, not looking like he’s trying to control a new body.” 

Frittata looks at Giorno, suspecting something from him and looking at her team, she nods and the stands disappear. 

“Now,” Frittata says turning back to Bruno. “do we know how the boss looks?” 

[pornosophical]

Deathstalker

hi yes so this is a big ol’ excerpt from these über-pulpy space opera trash books that I love and it’s also fucking #goals because oh my god. that final scene cutting comment—and also the world-building is some low-key genius

“Now, is there any other business?” 

The ceiling high above the throne exploded, and debris rained down through the shifting mists. The maids-in-waiting leapt up and sheltered the Empress’s body with their own. Sharp-edged rubble cut their pale flesh and blood flowed, but none of them flinched. The court screamed and panicked, milling this way and that in their fear and confusion. Dram drew his sword and gun and looked about him for an enemy. And out of the smoke and mists above the throne dropped a dozen long lines, down which slid men and women dressed in leathers and chains. They hit the water and stepped quickly aside to make way for others coming down after them. Dram looked at the dozen guns facing his one and stood very still. The newcomers gestured for him to drop his gun and sword, and he did, watching expressionless as they disappeared into the dark waters and were gone. Kit SummerIsle dropped his sword without waiting to be told. The maids moved a little away from Lionstone to form a defensive circle around the throne, staring at the newcomers with unblinking insect eyes. The courtiers were all shouting and talking at once, and one word rose again and again above the rest. 

Elves … the elves have found us. …

“Honor to the Esper Liberation Front!” shouted one of the newcomers, a young woman in battered leathers and far too many chains, over a T-shirt bearing the legend “Born To Burn.” She was short and stocky, with muscles bulging on her bare arms. Her long dark hair was full of knotted ribbons, and she might have been pretty if her eyes hadn’t been alight with the fire of the true fanatic. Other elves gathered around her; half trained their guns on the quieting court, the others on the throne. Lionstone watched in silence from behind her maids, her eyes full of fury. Neither she nor Dram nor anyone in the court was foolish enough to go up against energy weapons. 

The esper terrorists looked hard and roughly used, but the chains holding their leathers together were freshly polished, and they all wore bright colors on their faces and in their hair. Most of them were young, some barely out of their teens, but they all had scars somewhere on their bare skin. The Empire used espers harshly, which was why so many died or went rogue. Most died. There were very few old espers. The elf wearing the “Born To Burn” T-shirt stepped forward and bowed mockingly to the silent court.

“Sorry about the mess, but a good entrance is so important. Now be good boys and girls, and do as you’re told, and you’ll be able to leave here with all your major organs intact and still attached in the right places. Annoy us, and we’ll think of something amusing to do to you. And some of us have a really nasty sense of humor. Being an outlaw can do that to you.” 

She turned to look at Lionstone. “Relax, dear, we’re not here to kill you. We’ve come for one of our own. Now do you want to step down from that throne, or would you rather be thrown down?” 

Lionstone rose to her feet and stepped down into the dark waters with icy dignity. The maids moved immediately to surround her. The elf ignored them all and crouched down beside the throne, running her hands carefully over the black iron studded with jade. 

“Do you have a name, traitor?” said the Empress. 

“Stevie Blue; not at all pleased to meet you.” 

“My guards will be here soon. There is no way you can hope to escape.” 

“Your guards are currently being run in circles by associates of ours. Your only protectors are those poor mind-burned souls acting as your maids, and the esp-blocker built into your throne. Ah, got it.” 

She slid back a recessed panel in the side of the throne and carefully removed a translucent cube the size of her head. An esp-blocker was really quite a simple device: the living brain of an esper, removed from its body and held in suspension. A low current passed constantly through the frontal lobes, keeping the brain awake and aware and functioning, using its esp to prevent any other esper abilities from functioning in its vicinity. Just another hell the Empire made, and the only real defense against a rogue esper. Or an elf. 

Stevie Blue lifted the cube above her head and brought it down with savage force on the arm of the throne. The fragile container shattered, and the brain tissue fell apart, already dying. The bloody tissues slipped down the side of the throne and dripped into the water.

“Be at peace, my friend,” said Stevie softly. “The fight goes on.” She turned her gaze on Lionstone again. “That’s one less soul living in a hell you made for them.” 

Lionstone smiled. “I’ll get another. There’s no shortage of donors.” 

She broke off as the elf took a step forward and then stopped herself. Stevie Blue looked at her coldly. “I could kill you now, Lionstone. Any of us could. We want your death so badly we can taste it. We dream about it at night and wake to plan new ways of taking it. One day we’ll take your precious Empire apart stone by stone till there’s nowhere left for you to hide, and then we’ll come for you. But if we were to kill you now, while you’re weak and helpless, you’d just be replaced by another from your corrupt line, and the new Emperor would order massive reprisals among the esper community. Thousands would die, and thousands more would suffer. But we didn’t want to leave without giving you some indication of our true feelings for you. So we brought you a little present.”

She reached back and a large cream pie was placed in her hand. Stevie Blue grinned at Lionstone’s shocked expression, and then aimed and threw the pie with one easy motion. It hit Lionstone squarely in the face, and she fell back a step, clawing at the mess on her face. 

Stevie laughed. “You’d be justified in calling for reprisals over an assassination attempt, but over a pie in the face? You’d just look extremely petty. Not to mention weak. Goodbye, Lionstone. It’s been a pleasure.” 

Lionstone glared past the thick swirls of cream and pointed a quivering finger at the elves. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

The maids sprang to obey. They surged forward, steel claws shooting out from under their fingernails, and the elves went to meet them, manifesting their abilities. Stevie Blue wrapped herself in fire, living flames of pure heat, but the maids jumped her anyway. They were beyond such weaknesses as pain or fear. Stevie disappeared beneath the clawing figures, and the other elves raced to help her. The maids split up to greet them. They fell upon the first two espers and tore them apart with their unnatural strength. Blood flew on the air as the elves screamed and died. One esper gestured desperately, and the maids stopped suddenly as though they’d slammed into an invisible wall. And then they stumbled forward again as the wall collapsed. Stevie Blue’s flames flickered and went out. Lionstone laughed and sat upon her throne again. 

“You didn’t really think I’d trust my safety to just the one esp-blocker, did you?” She had to shout the last part over rising screams as the maids moved among the desperate elves. Disrupters fired, but the maids moved too quickly to be hit. Then they were among the elves, and it was too dangerous to use the guns anymore. The maids leapt among the espers like wolves in the fold, tearing at defenseless flesh with their clawed hands and stuffing the bloody meat into their mouths. They were hungry. One esper stuck his gun in a maid’s mouth and fired it. The maid’s head exploded, spraying bloody gobbets everywhere. Another maid appeared behind the esper and wrapped her arms around him in a bearhug. The esper’s ribs collapsed and drove inward, piercing his heart and lungs. The remaining elves tried to run, but the maids were everywhere. The elves fell, one by one, until finally only one man remained free. He ran toward the throne and tried to fire his disrupter, but the energy crystal was still recharging. He threw the useless gun aside and drew his sword. A maid jumped him and pulled him down into the water. She held him under and watched impersonally as he drowned. He kicked and struggled, and then his sword thrust up out of the water and slammed into the maid’s belly. The force of the blow threw her back, and the esper burst up out of the water, coughing and choking. He fixed his gaze on Lionstone again and hefted his sword. He moved forward, and the maid jumped him from behind. She concentrated in the way she’d been taught, and the shrapnel bomb set inside her body exploded. Both she and the elf were torn apart by the blast, and blood and shrapnel rained down for long moments.

Blue, crouching torn and bloodied in the water at the base of the throne. She’d managed to draw her sword, but her hand was trembling violently from the shock and pain of her wounds. She stumbled forward, forcing herself on, her bloody mouth set and determined. Dram stepped in behind her and ran her through with his sword. Stevie Blue fell to her knees. She whimpered, and blood ran from her mouth. Dram pulled his sword out and she shook once, as though at a sudden chill. Lionstone stepped down from her throne to kneel before her. She had an ornate silver dagger in her hand. She leaned forward till her face was right before the esper’s.

“Have you nothing left to say to me, elf? About how weak I am, or how clever you were? No last declaration for the cause?” 

Stevie shuddered again. Blood poured down her chin. When she spoke, only the Empress could hear her. 

“I’ll be back. There are lots like me. One of us will gel you. Burn in hell, bitch.” 

Lionstone slid the dagger delicately into Stevie’s heart and breathed the esper’s dying exhalation into her own mouth, savoring it like a connoisseur. She pulled out the dagger, put her fingertips against the esper’s breast and pushed. Stevie Blue fell back into the dark water and lay still. Lionstone straightened up, made the dagger disappear up her sleeve again, and allowed Dram to help her up onto the throne again. 

“Elves never talk,” Dram said casually. “They program their minds to self-destruct, rather than give up any secrets. If anything, you gave her an easy death.” 

“You always want to spoil my fun, Dram. She died in despair. That will do for me. For the moment, I’m more interested in how that many elves got past your security defenses.” 

“A good question,” said Dram. “And one which I will be putting to my staff very forcefully once this audience is over. I can only assume I have a traitor somewhere in my organization.” 

“I thought that was supposed to be impossible.”

“So did I. If there is a traitor, I’ll find him.”

“I hope so, Dram,” said the Empress. “Because if I can’t trust you to protect me, what use are you?” 

Dram smiled and carefully dipped a finger into the traces of cream still on her face. He tasted it thoughtfully. “Brandy buttersauce. My favorite. If nothing else, the elves do have excellent taste.” 

“Of course,” said Lionstone, “just ask my maids.”

[necromancerluna]

First Christmas Dinner

AN: This was actually suppose to be day 4, but I am panicking because I am so behind and I wanted to write this more anyways, so it's day 3's now. This is set Christmas Eve after day 2's prompt, this is the same universe and day 1's one shot has no connection to either.

Summary: Rey Dameron watched her mother cook for the large Dameron family since they adopted her at age 13. Poe was coming home from deployment for the Holidays, she planned to make a large dinner at Ben and Her's house. She will be meeting Ben's parents for the first time, her parents couldn't afford to make it out this year. so Poe would be there with her as well as his boyfriend and her best friend Finn. With Darth Squeaks helping her along the way, nothing would ruin their first Christmas together....right?

Trigger warnings to be safe is Anxiety Attack and maybe some angst and feeling inadequate.

Darth Squeaks is based off of one of my cats. :3

sorry this was so rushed!

Happy Reading.

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

Ben woke to the familiar fluffy paw of Darth Squeaks. A pitiful squeak came from said cat. He groaned and peeked one eye open at the rather large blind cat. He had no eyes, they were surgically removed as a kitten. He explained it to Rey, he was lonely, he needed something in his life. He'd always been a cat person, so he found a non-profit No Kill Cat Shelter. He thought of adopting a few of the adult cats in their general population room, but he couldn't resist going into the kitten room. I mean, who doesn't love kittens?

There was a tiny black ball of fluff, arched down into pounce mode, growling like an extra small lion at a cat toy. The rest was history, it was then he asked to adopt him and found out he would have to wait, the kitten had been born blind and his body was rejecting his eyes. So he put down a deposit and begged them to put him first on the list to adopt him. Like destiny had willed it, the tiny kitten had not been claimed by anyone but Ben. It had been the two of them for a few years, now it was the three of them. He petted the black house lion, Squeaks nuzzled into Ben's armpit as if forgetting the fact he had been just begging for food.

The alarm of their third party member went off. Ben and Squeaks both seemed to perk up, she never got up this early on a non teaching day. He had been planning on getting some work done on his latest novel before she woke. She yawned and stretched and turned to them, “My two favorite men, we need to get up, it's Christmas Eve! Poe will be here and so will your mother and father-”

“Han decided to pick up mother,” He tried his best to hide the bitterness in his voice. Ben had only been in the very minimal contact with his father for five years. Some things were still a little sore between the two.

She sent him a pointed look, “Ben.” “I can't help it Rey, he hurt me and mother a lot- sure he was never physically violent and he wasn't cruel- but the arguing, the disappearing and the neglect and he hasn't really bothered apologizing, he acts like none of it ever happened.” he defended, laying on his back still, he looked up at her, Rey was sitting up. Her back was exposed due to the fact she wore nothing after their love making last night. He used his arm to cuddle Squeaks closer for comfort, Squeaks was sucking on his his furry back paw, a habit he's had since kittenhood.

“Let's try to be civil though.” she held up a hand when he went to protest, “I am not excusing how he treated your Mother and you- but this is our first Christmas together and Poe is back. I want him to come home to warm and loving home, he's been through enough tension and negativity.”

He nodded to her, “I am sorry Rey.”

“That reminds me, Finn has to work today, can you please pick up my brother from the airport, besides-” she reached over and snatched the large cat. She placed a tiny red apron around his neck, to which Squeaks started to bat and nibble at. “Me and my Sou Chef here are going to be cooking all day. Finn will be by with the Green Bean casserole probably just after you guys get back!”

He nodded and took his poor furbaby from her grasp. He left to feed Squeaks, only putting on his discarded boxers from last night. The black cat trotted behind him, squeaking in joy as his namesake dictates. The house lion was fed and happily assumed his place on the kitchen island, his black paws a stark contrast on the white counter top.  He listened, his ears twitching as Ben cooked eggs, his little nose sniffing as Ben put the beacon in the other frying pan. Rey was happily drinking her coffee, it was about fifty percent creamer and fifty percent medium roast coffee. Her feet swung under the bar stools that were at the island. She petted Squeaks between her texting to Finn, her parents, and Poe. She sent a few messages to Rose and then some to Hux and Phasma.  Rey had wanted to invite the couple over, but they were new parents and with twins only the age of two months old, the red head and drop dead gorgeous blond were exhausted. She watched her boyfriend, he only put on jeans now, his apron that said, “What's cooking good looking?” to stop from getting burnt by the grease.

She wanted to giggle when their cat was startled by the pop of the toast. “It's okay Darth Squeaks, it's only papa.” Ben had cooed, giving the cat a quick peck on the nose. Much to Squeak's disdain, for the cat must have wished it was beacon. Breakfast was served, Squeaks merely did a 180 but kept his sitting position, his face in their direction almost as if he could see them. He looked too cute and both Rey and Ben gave him a piece of cheese and beacon. “Are you sure you don't want my mother to come help you? Mom has always been a great cook, she'd be thrilled to help you- or me, I would be more than willing to help you.” his phone went off in his pocket, “Speak of the devil.”

He answered his phone, getting up to speak away from the table. Rey didn't eavesdrop but instead snuck more cheese to Squeaks who greedily ate it up.

“Guess not, Han isn't able to get mom, I have to go get her, she's already there.” Ben had a twitch in his eyes, his hand went into a fist but he breathed, counted to ten and released his fist. He shoved his phone into his back pocket. He took the apron off and headed off to their room. Rey wanted to say something, but knew he needed to cool down first. He had a temper. He came back out in a nice deep purple v neck sweater and light grey jacket. “I'll be back honey, don't you and Squeaks have too much fun without me.”

“We will try not to.” she said, “When will you be back?”

“Not sure, it's 7:30 now, probably 9? If not later, mom wants to visit with Chewie and Maz for a few and then we'd head back here I guess. When is Poe coming in?”

“His plane is to land at 11:30.”

“Okay, mom and I will just stay out then, Uncle Chewie's and Aunt Maz's isn't far from the airport anyways.”

They hugged and kissed one last time. Rey grabbed her laptop from the office and sat down at the island, she pulled up at least ten Youtube videos on making pies, Turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes from scratch. She placed on her apron, a Christmas one of course, with pockets and snowflakes. She set a pot of water to boil, it taking it's time due to the stove being gas. She peeled and cute the potatoes, giggling as Squeaks batted the wayward potato peels that missed the trash can. While she waited for them to boil she began to work on the pie crusts, using her brand new roller to roll out the crust. She did this several times, realized she didn't make enough and decided to not throw the crust and the rolling pin out the window but to more on to the handmade stuffing. Bread crumbs, onions, celery, and butter with water. She gave it some salt and pepper and left it covered in the fridge.

She was dancing and singing loudly to Mariah Carey and Kelly Clarkson Christmas music as well as a blend of classics. Squeaks mostly grew bored and took his daily naps under the Christmas tree surrounded by his presents that he somehow knew were his. In fact, he was sleeping in the crushed wrapping paper of his new cat bed. She snapped a picture of him and sent it to Ben with the words, “We should just let him open it tonight.”

He responded after a few minutes with “LOL. Well, it is tradition for us to exchange on gift on Christmas eve.”

She heard the hissing of water overflowing. “Shit!” she hissed and practically threw her phone down. She turned off the heat to the potatoes, tried to strain water and mash them with the masher she found in the kitchen drawers. She then realized they were too thin, she had left too much water in them. In fact, the potatoes didn't stay together long. She screamed, throwing the failure away and rinsing the pot. She would worry about it later.

She calmed herself down and went back to the pies. She made the crust better this time. She smiled and held it up victoriously before she fit it to the glass pie pan. She stuck her tongue out and concentrated on the pinch at the top of the crust. Flour in her hair, which was in a bun that strand of chestnut hair had come loose. At least forty-five percent of the pinches looked as they should have. She watched the video several times while mixing the ingredients in for the pumpkin pie. She sneezed and put a bit too much nutmeg in. She shrugged, she liked nutmeg anyways. She started a mental checklist for herself to make sure all was mixed in.

Pumpkin from a can?

Check.

Evaporated Milk?

Double check.

Cinnamon? Yes.

Nutmeg?

Indeed!

Ginger?

Yes!

Salt?

It's weird but it's in there.

Eggs?

….............She did put the eggs in right? She glanced around at the sprawled out ingredients. There were no eggs around, she must have used them. Who'd forget the eggs? She hummed along to All I want for For Christmas is Food. She loved that parody. It was almost Eleven in the morning, potatoes weren't that hard to make and the stuffing was ready, she'd put the Turkey out to thaw soon. She preheated the oven and waited for the ding, once ready she placed the pies in.

She had a minute, so she decided to have a little fun. She went to their bedroom and sent him a message on her phone. Are you away from prying eyes?

He took a while to respond, Yes, I can be, but what for?

You'll see ;)

She put on a red babydoll lingerie top with white feathers on the top of the bra part, and red panties. She took some of her hair down and angled her camera up, pushing her pert breasts up.

NSFW she texted and then gave him two painstaking minutes to hopefully read the message before sending the picture.

She began to worry at her lip, she had gotten dressed and it had been ten minutes since she sent it. Squeaks seemed to sense her anxiety and hoped onto the bed to snuggle with her.

Santa might not bring presents to a naughty girl.

She giggled. Went to respond only to have him send another message.

I'm going to spank you when we're alone, naughty, teasing me while I'm out, getting our family no less.

She wanted to squeal, she texted back:

Tehe, can't wait.

She zoned herself back in enough to give Squeaks a kiss on the head before returning to the Kitchen. The pies would be done sooner than later but she wanted to clean quickly before they all arrived. She dusted, swept and mopped and when the timer for the pie went off she checked them.

Her heart sunk deep into her stomach. The pies weren't rising. She shook her head and blew it off, maybe she didn't set it for long enough. She realized it was going on One in the afternoon. She went to call Ben but he had already texted her:

Poe's plane was late, I just have him now, we're on our way. Sent at 12:03pm

Rey, we're going to get Finn, his car isn't starting, We're probably not going to get there until closer to 2:30-3, everything okay? Sent at 12:56pm

She answered:

Everything is fine, thank you so much honey! You're a hero.

He answered back with a winky face. She placed the frozen turkey into the sink with cool water, an hour or so would be plenty to thaw, it wasn't a huge turkey. She brought the stuffing out and tried to prepare it. It however didn't like staying together. She put water in. Too late had she realized that was too much water, so she started to fill it with crumbs and more onions and celery. She then started the panic. She couldn't get the consistency and this was supposed to go into the turkey and the oven soon.  

She began to breath heavy, she still needed to do the mashed potatoes and the pie timer is going off but her hands were covered in stuffing that would have rather stayed on her hand than with each other. She washed her hands and went to the pies. To her horror they hadn't risen still. She took them out and put them on the counter. What did she do wrong? First the potatoes and now the pies? The stuffing won't stuff. Her stomach knotted, her heart sank to the floor as she turned to see on the turkey, '3 to 6 hours to thaw'

Ben was calling her on the phone. She heaved and answered with the best smile and chipper voice she could manage, “Hello!”

“Hey, I jumped Finn's car, he and Poe are going to go grab something from the store before they close, I have mom and Han is coming.”

She heard his mother in the background saying, “Don't call your father by his first name Ben.”

Dread weighed on her shoulders, she almost doubled over onto the island, narrowly missing her arm on the hot pie pan. She croaked out, “You're coming early?”

“Yes, I can't wait to get home, I bet the turkey smells delicious and the gravy and pies, I'm excited.”

Her knees threatened to fall out from under her.

“Mom says she'll do the mashed potatoes since you've been working so hard on everything else, but I am going to drive now, We'll be there in twenty minutes Sweetheart.”

It was almost three in the afternoon. The turkey was half thawed and the stuffing laid there in it's bowl. Rey didn't know how long she held the phone up to her ear with one hand and balanced herself with another. Ben had hung up long ago and her head spun. She needed to breath but every time she moved she saw the failed stuffing and pumpkin pies and wished to weep. She was always successful. She skipped two grades in middle school, she graduated High School her Junior year and took college courses online at the same time. She graduated college and was an Instructor at the local community college. Her GPA was always 3.8 to 4.1. She had been good at sports, decent at almost anything that went her way, she was even one hell of a mechanic.

But she failed at Christmas Eve dinner. What was his parents going to think? What was Poe going to think? How awful for him to come home and not even get a home cooked meal. What would Ben think when he saw the mess she made of his well organized pristine kitchen? Squeaks had maneuvered his way around everything. He angled his face towards her and squeaked almost like he asked if she was okay. Her lips had begun to involuntarily tug upwards when she heard the keys turn. Squeaks jumped down to greet Ben, Ben petted the cat and turned on his right to smile at Rey.

That was until she burst into tears.

Ben was startled to say the least. He looked past everything, he ushered his mother in and closed the door. Squeaks realized there was a stranger in the house and bolted to their bedroom in the back. “Sweetheart!” Ben knelt to her, “What happened?”

She buried her head into his chest and sobbed. Leia looked on from the other side of the island. Rey finally calmed down enough to explain, “I don't think I put eggs in the pumpkin pie, they're ruined, all four of them! I only had enough to make four, I ruined the mashed potatoes and the stuffing won't stuff.” she sobbed, “I didn't look at the instructions on the turkey, it's still frozen!” She seemed to calm herself a little more until Poe's smiling face came in. He was dashing in his Air Force Uniform. Finn closed the door behind him, with a grocery bag in his hand. Poe held out his arms expecting to see his sister run into them. Instead he saw her crumpled into Ben's arms. She locked eyes with him and went into hysterics.

Ben nodded to the food. Poe went to the unrisen pie with burnt crust and dipped a finger into it. “Pumpkin pudding! Rey, that's my favorite!” He exclaimed, “I don't know about y'all but I am going to eat this one all to myself!” He glanced around at all the decorations, “REY! It looks just like the old place, when we were kids!” He laughed and glanced down at her with a winning smile on his features, “You outdid yourself sis!”

Finn stepped in, “And here I am ruining everything by not bring the green bean casserole! I bought a rotisserie chicken though-...” he spotted the turkey in the sink, “since I don't care for turkey anyways.”

Rey with each passing moment slowed her breathing, her heart seeming fuller somehow. Ben smiled down at her, she sudden;y became embarrassed everyone was nicely dressed but her, still in pjs with her hair a mess and covered in various foods. Leia walked up, she held her hand out to Rey, “I am Leia Oragana-Solo, since my son doesn't want to introduce me, I guess I will have to!”

Rey wiped her hands on her apron, which probably didn't make them any cleaner and shook her hand. “I'm Rey Dameron.”

Ben rolled his eyes but helped her get up with him, “Sweetheart, why don't you get cleaned up, you've worked hard.” it was just now he saw the mess. She saw part of him stiffen. In her panic and rage she didn't put things back and the counters weren't clean. He sighed but smiled, “Mother and I feel bad we weren't able to help, so why don't we clean up and set the table.”

Rey went off to shower, Ben glanced at the turkey. He picked up and placed it back into the freeze. Leia looked at the stuffing and mused for a second. “She forgot the egg in both I see.” Leia fixed the stuffing and set it to cook. They scooped out the pumpkin pudding and put them into desert cups and into the fridge. Leia's fine china set had been set out onto the table, things were clean and set. Ben made mashed potatoes but Poe took over saying that he should check on his sister. Ben left the pilot and went to Rey. She was in a blue knee length dress and had blue rhinestones around the crew neck collar. He was shocked it wasn't a red or green dress.

Her hair was done in a simple half up half down style and her feet hovered above her black heels as she sat on the bed. Her focus was narrowed in on Squeaks who seemed content curled in on himself next to her hip. He knelt before her and looked up to force her to look at him. “I'm a failure.”

He smiled, “No, you're not, you simply took on too much.”

Their eyes met and hers were wide with shock in her eyes. He went on however before her trembling lips could help form a word. “You spent your whole life driven, which is great, and yes you did juggle a lot, more than I ever could- I mean, when I was your age I spent it traveling and didn't graduate University until I was twenty seven.”

she huffed slightly, “Well, you had the money-...”

He placed his hands on her hip, “Stars, you silly woman, I am not having a bigger cock contest here, my point was we went in different ways, but in your determination and hard work you forgot something.” she raised an eyebrow, “You had a mother who packed your lunch- even through college- and made sure you ate, you had a dad that made you stop studying so you could go to the movies with your family, you had a brother that shot you in the back of the head with a nerf gun and got you out into the sun.”

Emotions flooded through her. She stayed silent, folding her hands in her lap. “You're childhood sucked dick, if you don't mind me saying and I am not here to invalidate that fact. What I am trying to say is, you can accomplish anything- a lot you already have, but maybe you should remember there are people around here who want to help.”

The tears welled in her eyes, she fell to his level on her knees and kissed him deeply. He had to pull her away. They went back out hand-in-hand. When they came out, Poe darted to his sister and lifted her to twirl her around in a hug. “There's my sister, Merry Christmas!” he placed her down and put his hand on Finn's back to push him towards Rey. They exchanged Merry Christmases to each other and began to dish up. Rey noticed Finn and Poe under some mistletoe.

“Hey, Poe, you're not going to break a tradition are you?” and she pointed up.

Finn was utterly confused but Poe noticed and with a wide grin he placed his and Finn's plates down and dipped his boyfriend into a deep kiss. They had a feast of chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, plain stuffing, hard boiled eggs and cheese and broccoli, all made by Leia and Poe while they were in the bedroom. They sat down with full plates, wine being poured in each glass. Rey felt the need to get up when she saw Leia still on her feet, the petite woman gracing and practically gliding throughout the dinning room and kitchen. She seemed to be setting three more places at the table. Ben was avoiding eye contact with her. She narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend, not being able to talk to her brother since he and Finn were too busy feeding each other.

The door rang, Leia smiled at her son and then to Rey. When Leia opened the door, Rey almost wept for the third time today. Her parents came in with store bought pumpkin pies and marshmallows on sweet potatoes. A man who seemed almost as tall as Ben came in after them, his eyes immediately locking with Leia. They hugged, he went in for a kiss, Leia shook her head with a playfully scolding look and Ben folded his arms and scoffed. Poe had exclaimed something but she was tearing up happy tears as she joined him and their family got together in a group hug.

“I thought you guys didn't have the money to come out this year?” Rey exclaimed, hugging her mother tightly.

“Dad, you didn't take out a loan did you?” Poe asked, giving his father a pat on the back when they hugged,

“You didn't change out of your uniform?” Mr. Dameron chided.

“Rey you didn't have to stop eating.” Mrs. Dameron said, putting her hands on either side of Rey's face. “Finn, get your sexy butt over here!” Poe said after he and Rey switched hugging their other parent.

“Poe Dameron, don't scar your mother, you two don't have sex!”

It was a cacophony of voices from the Dameron family. Finn had lingered aside to watch with amusement on his handsome features. Crossing his arms in Poe's APECS Parka. Leia and Han moved to Ben, to let the family come together. Ben merely nodded to his father, reluctantly giving him a handshake. When his mother shot him a look he said, “Love you mom.” and encircled her into a hug.

Rey spoke up however, after Finn had been unwittingly dragged into a large hug as well. “But wait, how did you guys get here?”

Mrs Dameron went to Ben, she offered him a hug to which he bent to her and hugged her back. “Your boyfriend's idea, he paid for half of our tickets, mostly because we wouldn't let him pay for it all.”

Leia added to it, “He even spoke to his father to get them from the airport so you and Poe didn't know.”

Before anything else could be said, they sat down to eat. More food, more voices, more kisses and tears. They said their good byes, Finn had the Dameron's with him and Han went his own way. Leia announced she was going to bed in their spare bedroom. Ben jumped up and went to go fix her room up and encouraged the two women to talk a little while longer.

Leia patted Rey's knee when she knew her son was out of earshot. “What is the matter, Rey?”

Rey bit her lip and twirled her thumbs, when everyone left she was left with the feeling of guilt. Ben had bought Christmas decorations, brought her mom and dad here, and bought her the beautiful emerald with crystals tear drop earrings and necklace in the velvet box she was holding. She got him a nice pen for his desk and writing, got him a few books he wanted to read and a watch and fine leather wallet. “I don't feel like I gave enough back to him.”

Leia smiled and chuckled, she patted the younger woman's knee. “To tell you the truth, I helped with some of the plane ticket cost, but that's besides the point. Rey-” now the two women were angled towards each other and facing each other, “I know my son, he's been very angry and very bitter for a long time. His change from when he met you tells me you do a lot more for him than you think. Ben is lousy at expressing his feelings with words- so he over does things. Acts of Service, Gifts, and physical touch, love languages. Besides, he's never smiled and laughed so much, or call me so much until he met you.”

Rey couldn't help the smile on her face. Leia nodded to her and wished her good night. She went to their bedroom, both too mentally tried from the day to even think about sex. They undressed, got into the covers. Watched Squeaks come from his hiding hole under Ben's dresser and waddle his way up to cuddle between them. They fell fast asleep with “Merry Christmas.” barely leaving their lips.

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Alysane-Mormont’s Questions About The Isle, Answered

@alysane-mormont

tumblr is being stupid and won’t let me reblog. Anyway, *cracks knuckles* let’s do this.

1. The involvement of Auradon in the Isle.  How much do they have? Are the housing and money controlled?  Do the villains have to pay for to live on the isle?  Are they assigned jobs and such?

Auradon was involved in the construction of the initial buildings, the creation of the islands it stands on (presumably using the leftover land from the moving of the original states, like dead zones used as buffers while they fused them together), and of course, imprisoning/resurrecting all the villains, their minions, and other criminals there.

They have no control AGU (After Great Uniting), nor do they want to; all of the Islanders are basically left to their own devices.

No, the Villains don’t need to pay. It’s a prison, you don’t pay for your own accommodations. Whatever Auradon Silver Dollars are currently circulating among them are the same Auradon Silver Dollars they were given 20 years ago, save a couple hundred lost to damage or carelessness, so at least inflation is non-existent and steadily dropping.

They might have been once upon a time, but whatever infrastructure Auradon left them behind has long been destroyed, abused, or stolen and broken beyond use.

2. Food.  Where are they getting their food on the island? The Isle doesn’t seem to be big enough to grow enough food for the entire island.  Are they getting food delivered from the island?

They get most of their food from the trash barges that Auradon sends over. The Isle of the Lost is literally their dump, and because Auradonians are so wasteful, they throw almost to entire packs of perfectly good food in there, or toss bread as soon as it gets a day old, or stale.

They ARE growing, hunting, and catching food, but just barely. You can see in Descendants 2 that Harry collects /steals some fish from a girl fishing by the dock, and delivers it to one of Ursula’s staff at the Fish and Chips.

Aside from fish and shellfish, they eat rats, wild dogs, insects like cockroaches, and the occasional alligator if the population gets too big and starts crawling up off the beach and snacking on them.

3. Government.  Maleficent is in charge, but what does that mean?  That she chuckles evilly, and says she is? Does she have a council, is it EQ, Jafar, and Cruella?  A lot of the problems on the Isle could be solved by a good government not run by a fairy made of ham and anger, a former vizar not giving advice, a woman who probably spent all my kingdoms money on botax, and a clearly unhinged puppy killer.

Maleficent has an army of thugs that keep her fed, in the lap of Isle luxury, and from anyone trying to rise up and overthrow her. Otherwise, she leaves everyone to their own devices unless she needs someone specifically for whatever reason, and has lieutenants doing the business of keeping things in some semblance of order to try and minimize violent revolts.

As the saying goes, “I have minions for that.”

Evil Queen, Jafar, and Cruella are her fellow power players, or more likely, enemies she tolerates keeping closer than others.

Yes, a lot of their problems CAN be solved by Good Government, but like any IRL government, there needs to be support from the people, the administration, and someone willing to pay for it. It is NOT in Maleficent’s interest to have a fair, egalitarian government where she isn’t getting the lion’s share, nor will she dedicate precious resources towards creating one, nor do the majority of the population have the capability or the desire of working together to overthrow her and make something better.

The issue is, even if they hypothetically defeat Maleficent, they start fighting among themselves for who gets to sit at the highest seat and lord over everyone else and get the lion’s share, and unlike majority of the population, Maleficent is immortal, immune to sickness, does not need to eat, sleep, nor go to the bathroom.

There were a LOT of rebellions and their members who were done in by poison and sickness through the abuse of the Isle’s unsanitary conditions, starved or dehydrated to death or submission, or quite literally went down the toilet, along with the bodies of the rebels themselves.

4.  Business.  How does any, non food, business stay in business?  No one pays for anything.  They probably only pay for food cause that shit would be a lot harder to steal cause see #2.

They fish, they try to farm, they get their ingredients from the trash barges. People frequently steal, yes, but the proprietors ALSO rip off and steal from their customers, which gives new meaning to the sign “Please don’t leave your valuables unattended.” That aside, certain establishments like Ursula’s Fish and Chips are a reliable enough source of food that people will pay for the convenience—better lighter several silver dollars, than with several new bumps on your head and lacerations beside.

That aside, Harry Hook makes a real killing as security, alongside being a “tax” collector.

5. Why was Mal and the others in charge?  This one is probably due to me not yet reading the prequels, but they never seem to go beyond bullies.

Like Ben or the other royals: birth. In Descendants, who your parents or ancestors were is EVERYTHING.

6. Population.  Auradon is clearly okay with the Villains reproducing, so what happens in a generation or two when they grow to big for the Isle?  Leave them and let the Isle fall farther into poverty then it already is?

They let them overcrowd and deal with it themselves, and will probably not care about the hell that happens, the food riots, and the more… drastic measures they take once space and resources get non-existent.

7.  Who gets put on the isle? The major villains, sure obviously.  But what about their henchmen?  Are they guilty by association, and for doing their jobs?

All criminals, from highwaymen, buccaneers, thieving traveling showmen and women, evil sorcerers, larcenous prostitutes, corrupt businessmen, shady tax collectors, gang enforcers and extortionists, you name it.

They’re guilty by association, though I assume some have been given consideration, like Robin Hood and his Merry Men.

8. How canon are the sequels?  Are they ALL noncanon, some? Peter Pan 2 and Rescuers 2 were in theaters, so do they count? I like to think based on D2, that Cinderella III is canon.

All sequels are non-canon, as are the animated series. I don’t consider this true for my headcanons, as all the sequels and animated series’ add so much more to the series.

9. Which actual non-sequel Disney princess movies count?  The Black Cauldron obviously, but what about like Lilo and Stitch or Atlantis?

Lilo and Stitch and Atlantis are presumed not included, until further notice. This can be evidenced by the lack of aliens, or that of flying vehicles.

10.  Why didn’t any of the Villains hook up.  TV Tropes taught me that Frollo x Gothel have a following. and Maleficent and Evil Queen might be a thing.  Why don’t they have more inter-dating, why are they all single parents?

Because the power of Shipping is one thing, actually compatible personalities for a long-term relationship that lasts enough for procreation is another. Generally speaking, you’re asking TWO paranoid, selfish, violent, and narcissistic beings to try and compromise, have empathy for another person, and show some semblance of love or care for them to be willing to have sex with them, among other things.

Even if ONE of them is willing to make it work, go google see “I Dated A Narcissist” to see how well that goes.

All of the VKs parents are presumed minor henchmen and non-notable villains, dead, or purposefully forgotten after they got the known parent pregnant/bore them children, such as Mal’s dad, “He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-In-Front-Of-Maleficent” or “Nameless,” for short.

11.  Poor Claudine.  Who the hell let Frollo have a kid, a daughter no less.  If HoND taught us anything it’s you don’t need love to be happy, but another thing was don’t allow Frollo need woman or children.  And he has one.  Someone tell me Claudine is living with someone better like the Horned King or something.

Auradon did, by virtue of not caring in the slightest, and the Islanders did also, by not caring what the fuck the crazy, lecherous, delusional, self-righteous preacher does, and what poor unfortunate soul lets themselves be taken in by his silver words, or finds themselves in such desperate conditions he’s the better option.

No, Claudine is living in Frollo’s decrepit church. She rings Dragon Hall’s bell-tower, as well as that of her father’s church/her home.

12. What do you lose when you go to the Isle?  Jafar isn’t in genie form anymore, but Ursula has tentacles.  Is the Horned King still the master of my nightmares?

Everything, basically, except for the clothes on your back—even your family name and all associations are removed, as a character like Dizzy Tremaine is referred to as “Dizzy of the Isle.”

Ursula still has tentacles because she was born that way. It’s an inherent part of her being, while Jafar was changed from a human into a genie. The Horned King has presumably lost that job, or someone much kinder has taken care of it.

13. Why weren’t the children removed at birth?  Disregarding the fact that they were all growing up in abusive situations, why would you allow Villains to bred a future generation of children to be villains?

BECAUSE AURADON DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT VILLAINS, OTHER THAN THEM BEING IMPRISONED AND FAR AWAY FROM THEM, OUT OF SIGHT, AND OUT OF MIND. Think of Auradon as basically every ass-backwards, heavily conservative Southern USA state you can think of that still thinks flying the Confederate flag is a good idea, and a thing of pride.

14.  Who they hell thought this was a good idea?  Lock all the villains on isle, bring them back to life if you have to? They should hope they barrier doesn’t fall cause you have a whole lot of people who can use magic and are angry at you. Chernabog is probably in there, Hades and the Titans, the Horned King, all people who can destroy everything. If you wanted to make the villains suffer, they should have been put in custom made prison, like the Red Lotus in Legend of Korra. The entire Isle is a ticking time bomb that could destroy Auradon.

Majority of the population and a good deal of the Royals. Please remember: most of these states came from Western Europe in the Medieval Ages, where the public beheading of criminals was an event that parents willingly brought their kids to see. They are from cruel, vicious, vengeful times where the Miranda Rights, the Geneva Convention, or what we know as the right way to deal with criminals—treat them humanely, then reintegrate them into society—has yet to even be considered an idea, or worse yet, treated as blasphemy of the highest order.

To them, if you do “evil,” you deserve evil in return, and kindness is reserved for those that “deserve” kindness.

The Auradonians are also very vengeful people who hold serious grudges. They like to think of themselves as the “absolute Good” people which is how they justify their evil actions—they wouldn’t be in Auradon if they were capable of doing “bad” things, now, wouldn’t they?

Think of it as how Frollo justified setting the entire city of London on fire and murdering countless Romani people in cold blood—he is the Judge, he is the Symbol of Good, therefore all his actions are Justified and Right.

Yes, they better hope that barrier stays up, as Maleficent damn near screwed over the entire kingdom if Mal and the others hadn’t fought her.

All those deities are there, but they’re severely depowered. It’ll take a while or an explicitly magical artifact like Maleficent’s staff, which hasn’t been drained entirely, for them to be able to wreak havoc again. It’s why Fairy Godmother’s wand is so highly sought after.

This entire realm is a ticking time bomb. On the one hand, you have the Isle, on the other, you have the systematic oppression of minority classes like the Fae with the magic ban, the dwarves being used as slave labour, and “animal rights” being limited to “you do all our household chores for us, and you get nothing in compensation.”

Not even Pongo and Perdita are given a scholarship or any sort of support for their 101 children, now ready to go to college, and Ben is only beginning to redress their grievances.

Beast ran this country by yelling, stomping his feet, and bullying everyone into following whatever HE wanted to do, damn principles like compromise, empathy, or sanity, and only now are we seeing how bad of an idea that is, and the majority of the Royals are too busy having tea parties and the commoners fawning over 24 hours news coverage of how pretty they are and the dresses they are wearing to even care about the impending collapse of their unsustainable and unjust society.

In case it wasn’t obvious, Disney’s attempt to make a series that shows that there is no Pure Evil or Pure Good made their most horrifying Dystopia yet.

[deepseawritings]

Trapped (part 1/2)

If anyone had told him a month ago that he'd be planning an ambush for his own faction, Skull would have killed them for the offense. And yet here he was, near the aptly named bloodsucker village, waiting for his targets to arrive.

To be fair, he wasn't planning to only ambush his former faction. If his plan worked, both Duty and Freedom would fall into his trap. He sort of regretted the inevitable deaths of some of his comrades, in the same nebulous way one can regret not seeing much that one distant relative you don’t completely dislike.

But this way he would finally provoke the full fledged faction war that Voronin was too much of a coward to initiate. Nevermind the barrier, or keeping the bar area safe, and most definitely fuck guarding the scientists at Yantar. Skull was of the opinion they should have recalled all their fighters and razed the Freedom base to the ground the moment they learnt of its location.

His PDA beeped softly and he directed his men to take the assigned positions. The party would start soon. It had been a stroke of good luck to find the corpses of a Dutier and a Freedomer here, both of them with the mission to spy if the mercenaries camped to the north were going to be bribed to fight for the other faction. Joke was on them all, the mercs were definitely for hire if any of them had had the guts to act, like Skull did. Duty might usually frown at mercenaries, but Skull needed to replenish the diminished ranks of his group. Cleaning the village of its bloodsuckers had been a bloody business.

The sound of footsteps on the dry grass grew nearer. The victims were close. Good. The first to arrive to the village was a small Duty squad, four guys plus... oh, wasn't that grand? Looks like the head honcho himself had come to investigate Skull's trap. They did a quick sweep of the place and soon found the dead bodies.

"Sir, I don't like this, it might be a trap," one of the Dutiers said.

"You'd have to be a moron to not notice it," General Voronin looked around warily.

Skull could swear the General spotted one of his mercs, but the Freedomers appeared then and it all went to Hell in a hand basket.

Shouts claiming it was an ambush rose from both contingents, and then Skull's mercs joined them, dressed in Duty and Freedom suits. Chaos ensued. Skull took a moment to admire his work before joining the fight. He would be today's hero, and Voronin would finally acknowledge the merit of Skull's plan to eradicate those Freedom rats.

Everything was going according to his plan until the Monolithians fell upon them like an avalanche. It took them all a bit to notice a new group had joined the shooting, but when they did a fragile truce was instantly born. If there was one thing both factions agreed on, it was their hatred of Monolith. Yet all Skull could see was how his plan was ruined. People who moments ago were trying to kill each other were now focused on the newcomers. Even the mercs had forsaken his orders to create havoc and were now killing Monolithians. This was unacceptable.

Skull started throwing grenades around, not caring who he killed. The cries of outrage and pain were drowned by the gunshots and explosions, and those who hadn't noticed his madness were too busy trying to survive to notice anything else but the ever advancing Monolithians.

#

Coming here had been a mistake, that much was clear. The whole thing reeked of an ambush since the beginning, but Voronin felt obliged to investigate from the moment they received a message asking for reinforcements from the man he sent to investigate the merc situation.

However, he never imagined Freedom would break their stand-still pact in such a way. But here he was, hiding behind a wall while those Monolith lunatics fired against them all. That most probably meant the Barrier had been overrun. Well, Voronin always hoped Freedom and Monolith would decimate each other and save Duty the hassle of dealing with both factions.

He leant out of cover and shot against an approaching Monolithian. The guy took three bullets to the chest to kill, seemingly unaware of his injuries until he just dropped dead. It was unnatural, another proof of the Zone's twisted design.

Someone fired against him, but he saw nobody around actively targeting him. Voronin realised with dismay it was a sniper. The day kept getting worse and worse. The sniper fired again, twice in rapid succession and Voronin desisted to lean out of cover, at least for now.

He heard someone running around, closer and closer, so he took a couple of steps back and readied his Val. Any Monolithian coming around the corner would meet a swift bullet to the face. A man vaulted over the half wall next to this pillar, miraculously evading a shot from the sniper, seemingly unaware of Voronin's presence. He wore one of those detestable green suits, but they all had bigger problems right now than a faction war.

Voronin killed the Monolithian that approached their position, no doubt following the Freedomer. Unnatural resistance or not, headshots were always effective. Then, when the Monolithian lay dead on the ground, he noticed the man hiding behind the broken wall was none other than Lukash himself. Damn, was it too late it to toss him back over? Lukash didn't seem pleased to see Voronin either, less so by the Val pointing at him. He probably feared retaliation for the ambush, and rightly so.

However, if there's an instant, albeit temporal, remedy for mutual hate, it was without doubt being under fire by a common enemy. A bullet impacted against this side of wall, dangerously close to them. The sniper had moved to a new location, or maybe it was another guy, who knew. A quick sweep of the surroundings offered only one possibility: getting inside the house and start sniping back.

He started running towards the entrance, only to be violently shoved to the side as Lukash sprinted ahead. The treacherous rat truly hadn't a shred of morals or honour. He ran like his life was on it, catching up with Freedom's leader, and pushed him forward. Lukash fell face first to the ground and Voronin kept running. Petty vengeance could be sweet sometimes.

He stopped at the entrance of the ruined house, barely inside it. Right in front of him there was a shimmering bubble of air, warping everything around it.

Unaware of the anomaly, Lukash ran towards the safety, evading the sniper’s efforts to kill him. He crashed against Voronin's back and sent them both toppling forward. And into the space anomaly.

#

His vision wavered for a second before going back to normal. Fuck, that was disorienting. Why was everything so dark all of sudden?

He extricated himself from the tangle on the ground and got up. If he didn't kick Voronin in the back it was because he realized something was so very wrong. Just a moment ago they were barely inside a house on the bloodsucker village, not very far from their base. And now he was in some sort of dark tunnel someplace he'd never seen before.

"Fool! Do you realise what you've done?" Voronin regarded him with contempt and Lukash nearly punched him in the face.

"You have the gall to blame me for this?" He hissed with furious disbelief. Really? The bastard first ambushed him and now he was to blame?

Voronin snorted derisively. "If not willingly at least through sheer idiocy, but yes."

Anger seized him and Lukash raised his GP-37. Never one to make things easy, Voronin raised his Val and soon they were aiming at each other's faces, looking for an excuse to shoot.

A high pitched howl dragged along the far end of the corridor. They both turned their heads to the sound, slowly, as if unwilling to see what made such noise. Almost slow enough to get hit by the dented barrel hurtling across the air. Almost.

They both ducked to the sides, pressing against the cold concrete walls, and the barrel crashed loudly against the spot they occupied not long ago. The metallic clang was loud like a bomb in the otherwise dead silent corridor.

The air around them got a faint bluish tinge and felt strangely charged. The hair of his arms stood on end, like under the effect of static electricity. But no matter how much Lukash inspected the far reaches of the corridor, he saw nothing. It was too dark and the torchlight didn’t reach that far.

A floating ball of light appeared in the distance, and Lukash had to duck to avoid taking a wooden crate to the face. The crate thankfully sailed over his head and then smashed into the ground, breaking like an overripe fruit.

While he was busy dodging the flying crate, Voronin shot at the creature with his Val. From this distance it was difficult to tell if he shot landed or failed, but either way the poltergeist flew away. They waited for a bit, in case the poltergeist came back and hurled more trash at them. Lukash strained his hearing, but the only noise was the squeaking of emergency light right above them. It was safe to say they were alone. For now.

"I'm outta here," Lukash said aloud. It came as a surprise when Voronin agreed and followed him. Look at that, he was capable of being reasonable after all.

He checked his PDA, but apart from showing the hour -four pm- it wasn't doing much. The messaging system wasn't working, and the GPS function was similarly going crazy, marking his position erratically all over the Zone. Judging by Voronin's displeased grunt, his was also not working as it should. Perhaps the anomaly broke some electronic component, or something was blocking the signal. Either way their only hope was to go blindly ahead, and pray the exit was on one of the corridor's ends.

After turning around a corner there was yet another long and dark corridor, exactly like the one behind them. With also a dented barrel and pieces of smashed wood littering the floor. All of that in the exact same spot under the emergency light.

"How the fuck is this possible?" He angrily asked Voronin. It was doubtful the Dutier could provide an answer, but Lukash needed to vent out his frustration.

"It shouldn't be possible," Voronin was obviously displeased as well, glaring at him like he was on the verge of blaming Lukash for this as well.

Hoping to be wrong, Lukash sprinted along the corridor, leaving Voronin behind when he turned around the corner. And a second after that he was again staring at the same corridor, and the Dutier was now in front of him.

"Better try going the other way," Voronin started walking towards the other end of the corridor. "With a little luck the poltergeist can show us a way out of this corridor."

"With a little luck the next flying object will be aimed at your head," Lukash grumbled in a hushed whisper, but the sound carried clearly in the reigning silence.

However, Voronin did not rise to the bait; he just snorted disdainfully and kept going.

The corridor ended in a barely lit staircase, the emergency light was broken and the only source of light was the sickly glow of the fruit punch anomaly on a corner. A set of stairs went to the upper floor, and another one descended into the pitch black confines of the lower level. The question now was: up or down?

The Dutier decided to go upstairs. It made sense. The exit of underground facilities usually was on the top level. The upper floor consisted of a single room, and a massive metal door blocked the only exit. Although, as it was soon discovered, it was impossible to open. No matter how much they tried to move the wheel, it was firmly stuck in place.

"There's a number pad there," Lukash spotted a small console at the side of the door. He went closer to it and sighed. "Nevermind, it's broken."

"Even if it worked, without the code we could only try blindly and, supposing it was a four digit code, there are about..."

"About 9000 possible options, I know." Voronin was looking strangely at him and it was making him uncomfortable. "What?"

The Dutier just shook his head lightly. "We have no other choice but to go downstairs."

#

The lower floor was, like the looping corridor, lit by the flickering orange glow of the emergency lights. The damp smell of decay clung to the air, heavy and smothering. Voronin always thought of it as the smell of death.

There was a main room, and two doorways. One led to what looked like an empty storage closet. The other gave way to another corridor, but someone or something had pushed a pair of tables in front of it, creating a makeshift barricade.

The Freedomer tried to move one of the tables and promptly left it be. "These metal tables are heavy. Whoever put them here really wanted to block the way."

"Didn't do them any good," Voronin pointed out.

A dark brown track was painted on the floor, like a trail of dry blood, going down into the corridor. Poltergeists couldn't do that. Smash things against you, yes; dragging your bloody ass down the corridor, no.

"Who knows how old this is, the mutant could be already dead or dying," Lukash apparently felt the need to fill the silence.

"Dying to eat us, most probably," he corrected Lukash's foolish hopes.

"Who knew you were such an optimist," the Freedomer deadpanned.

Between both of them the table was dragged back a bit, leaving just enough space for them to cross the otherwise barred threshold. The corridor here was pitch black, the only emergency light in sight was broken in pieces, and the torchlights were necessary.

The track of dried blood continued up to the first room to the right, where it went into the room. The metal door was ajar. Lukash kicked it open and the door clashed loudly against the wall. Voronin cursed him and all his ancestry. Nice way to give away their position to any mutants lurking around.

The room reeked of rotted meat, one needn't be a genius to know what they would find inside. A quick sweep with the torchlight revealed a pile of bones and decomposing remains. It was difficult to tell if all the remains were just from one body or two, but ultimately it did not matter. A dull noise, coming from further down the corridor, startled them both.

The dark passage was empty, and yet something resembling a deranged laugh was coming from the room at the end. Once they got closer the laughter stopped, instead it became a shrill cry, like a banshee. Once they got into the room a broken chair started levitating over their heads.

"Fucking poltergeists," Lukash muttered, eyeing the chair warily.

On the other hand, Voronin was too busy surveying the room to stop and gawk at the floating chair. The poltergeist was somewhere close and he wouldn't let the it escape again. The cry was coming from behind a door with a faded bathroom sign painted on it.

Before he could decide to open the door, it swung open and a blast of energy sent Voronin flying back.

#

He didn't see exactly see what happened, only that one second Voronin was investigating around, and the nest second he was thrown against the other wall. The previously floating chair crashed on the floor as well.

A stunted humanoid mutant wearing a black trench coat came from behind the previously closed door. They had grossly miscalculated the situation. Lukash shot at it, but the Burer blocked the bullets effortlessly. The Burer lowered his gnarled hands, and a wave of energy hit him, knocking the wind out of him.

While he was trying to regain his breath, the Burer moved again and sent his GP-37 flying away. He tried to retreat, or get his pistol out, but he felt sluggish and winded. Another hit of energy like that could break his bones, or get him a ruptured artery, he'd seen it happen before.

Voronin appeared behind the Burer and stuck his knife in the mutant's neck, twice. The mutant yelled and tried to dislodge him, but he stabbed it again, twisting the knife in. A flow of dark blood ran down the Burer's front, drenching the ratty trench coat. Slowly, the Burer dropped down to the floor. Meanwhile Lukash finally got his pistol out and shot at the mutant's head.

"In case you couldn't tell despite all that blood, it was already dead," Voronin informed him in the most patronizing voice he ever had the displeasure to hear.

Lukash gritted his teeth and tucked his pistol away. "Just making sure this one doesn't get up ever again."

So what if he wanted to release his frustration shooting at a dead mutant? It was better than acknowledging the Dutier probably saved him from a gruesome injury.

"Should have stayed at the base. First the fucking ambush and now this damn bunker and its fucking mutants..." Lukash muttered to himself while he picked back his GP-37 from the floor.

However, Voronin heard him perfectly, even if he was half the room away. The sound carried clearly in the heavy silence of the dark bunker.

"You complain about the ambush, you dirty bastard?" The Dutier nearly spat at him. "It must be real hard work tracking our movement and mobilise your men to fall onto us, eh?"

Lukash saw red and seriously contemplated murder. "What the hell are you talking about? You were the ones waiting for us! It was one of your men who opened fire first, we only retaliated!"

"How can have the gall to say that? We arrive there in answer to a frankly suspicious message from a man that was dead and after a moment you conveniently arrive with a heavily armed squad."

"Oh, poor little Dutiers, lemme cry you a river," Lukash lost the last thread of his patience. He was sick of Voronin's attitude and bullshit. "How about you stop lying for a second? I received a message from one of my boys, saying he needs reinforcements now, and when we arrive he's dead and you have taken positions over the village and start shooting at us."

"Why you little –"

Their argument was suddenly broken by a thumping sound coming from behind them.

#

The metallic noise repeated, like someone tapping on the pipes or knocking on a door. It was no Morse code, at least not as far as Voronin could tell. So it stood to reason it was the damn poltergeist again, mocking him.

Without speaking a word to Lukash, he braved the dark corridor once more. There was a persistent feeling of being observed, and yet they were the only ones around.

The sound grew more intense the closer he got to a door he had ignored during their chase of the poltergeist-that-wasn't. The door rattled alarmingly once more and swung open before them.

Lukash raised his rifle and, despite his contempt for the Freedomer, for once he approved of his actions. No filthy mutant would catch them unaware now.

However, there was nothing behind the opened door, except for darkness and yet more corridor. Treading carefully, they advanced. The torchlight’s’ beam pierced feebly through the darkness until they arrived to another room illuminated by a yellowish emergency light. Although that wasn't what drew their attention.

A wispy purple bubble pulsed in the middle of the room, right beneath where the ceiling had collapsed. This... Voronin had never before seen something like this.

"D'you think the, uh, anomaly made this?" Lukash asked, looking at the hole from which they could see the upper floor.

Forgetting their mutual distaste in the face of this new anomaly, Voronin pointed to a skeleton lying in the pile of rubble inside the mysterious bubble. "I don't know, but I wouldn't get too close."

"Only one way to know," Lukash said with forced cheer before throwing a bolt at it.

The bolt made a perfect arc, fell right into the anomaly and floated there, suspended mid-air.

"Doesn't seem to do anything dangerous," the Freedomer concluded with a shrug.

And that was, in Voronin's humble opinion, why so many Freedomers usually found themselves with the water up to their neck. It was a mix of lack of foresight and not thinking things through. The anomaly didn't do anything flashy, like when whirligigs exploded, but it could be dealing other kinds of damage that were harder to see.

"A bolt is not a person," Voronin reminded him.  "But at least we know it won't rip us to shreds."

All the good will he could have towards the anomaly quickly disappeared when the purple limits of it expanded until it occupied almost all the room. And now they were inside the anomaly.

The bolt Lukash threw before suddenly dropped to the ground. They weren't levitating either. Aside from a dull buzzing from their dosimeters, indicating a small uptick of the radiation, nothing was happening.

"We could climb to the upper floor," he eventually suggested.

It seemed to be the only path they hadn't explored yet, and the rubble created a convenient slope to climb. But the closer he got to the hole in the ceiling, the more and more tired he felt. The radiation kept stable, though.

The pile of rubble was more unstable than he imagined. His tiredness only seemed to grow and, after a quick look to check, he was sure he wasn't the only one affected. The Freedomer moved slowly and carelessly, which caused him to misstep and nearly fall down. Climbing to the upper floor was quite the struggle, a seemingly never-ending struggle.

Because of their clumsy attempts to climb one of the pieces of rubble was wrenched free and slid down the pile, destabilizing the rest of it. They both fell down, Voronin landing quite ungracefully on his ass while Lukash rolled down like tumbleweed. It wasn't that much of a climb, Voronin reflected from his position on the ground, but right now it seemed an insurmountable obstacle. Didn't help either that he felt like he hadn't slept for days.

"If you hoist me up I think I can get to the upper floor."

Voronin's first reaction was to say no. But he was out of ideas, except that he was sure being too much time inside this anomaly would kill them by exhaustion. So he grudgingly agreed to hoist Lukash up.

The Freedomer's weight felt like he was supporting a giant boulder instead of a man, and he grunted at Lukash to hurry the fuck up. A hail of dust and small pieces of rubble fell on his head, making him sneeze and his eyes itch. But then the weight was literally lifted off him, thank goodness. With the other man's help Voronin finally managed to get up the debris pile and climb into the upper floor.

From what he could see, this floor was exactly like the others, except with more burnt fuzz growing on the walls of this dilapidated office. The rapid flickering of the emergency light irritated him enough to miss the darkness of the corridor from before.

At least the edge of this weird purple bubble was near, he was exhausted like he'd ran a marathon after another. The anomaly didn't feel as innocuous as Lukash proclaimed it to be. Just as they dragged themselves out of  confines of the anomaly both torchlights suddenly died, and the frantic flickering of the emergency lamp went down to a more normal rhythm. Weird. The tiredness did not abate, Voronin noticed.

Perhaps that's why he made a beeline for the mouldy couch on a corner of the office. He just needed a moment to catch his breath, that was all.

Lukash looked hesitant for half a second before he plopped down on the other end of the couch. "Sometimes you have good ideas."

"Unlike you, you mean," Voronin clarified. "The anomaly seems harmless my ass."

"Didn't kill us, right? Only the torches." The Freedomer patted his pockets in search of something. "Fuck, I'm out of batteries."

He took out the PDA, presumably to use its battery for the torchlight, and stared at its screen with his mouth open like a gaping fish.

"Which date is it?" It was an odd question, but it was the Freedomer's strangled voice what made him uneasy. "Which is the damn date!"

"It’s the thirtieth of May," Voronin failed to see the relevance of the date, but the Freedomer seemed to think it mattered.

Lukash let out a hollow chuckle and now Voronin was starting to worry the Freedomer had gone off the deep end.

"Nope, it's the second of June." He let the information sink in before continuing in a panicked whisper, "What the hell happened in that room?"

That wasn't possible. At all. At most they spent fifteen minutes there, probably much less. A gloomy silence fell between them as Voronin took his time to face the truth. Either the PDA was broken or it was all the anomaly's fault. Voronin would bet his hand on the later. If time was slower inside the purple bubble that would explain the odd details, like the exhaustion, and the lights strange behaviour. Sakharov's team would be delighted by this discovery but all it inspired in him was dread.

However, the last thing he wanted now was to think in the Zone's ability to toy with the flow of time. Voronin closed his eyes and sighed. That felt nice, he was so tired.

#

It was cold. He noticed it without opening his eyes yet.

Olga must have fallen asleep and forgot to put more logs in the hearth. He could in fact feel her pressed against his side, burrowing into his warmth. He loved their quiet afternoons at home, when they would inevitably fall asleep before a roaring fire and wake up with enough time to have a round of lazy sex before going to dine with her sister and brother-in-law.

Any moment now Olga would wake up. Then she would then straddle him and -

And then he remembered Olga had divorced him and left years ago, sadly telling him that his commitment to the military surpassed his commitment to her. He was now married to the Zone, and to Duty.

It all came back in a rush, the dark bunker and its time warping anomaly. He must have fallen asleep in that disgusting excuse of a couch. And the person draped over him... Voronin finally opened his eyes and saw that yes, the person curled against him and with an arm thrown over his waist was none other than Lukash.  He shoved the Freedomer off of him. Lukash landed on the dusty floor and woke up startled.

"Wha- what happen'd," he slurred, still half asleep and disoriented.

Voronin regarded his confusion with a small swell of vindictive amusement, yet he quickly schooled his face in a disapproving scowl. "We fell asleep."

"And that's bad?"

In normal circumstances it wouldn't be, no. But he was wary of the effects the time warping anomaly might have in them. Besides, Voronin was irritated by their current situation, and for finding the Freedomer sleeping all over him. "I suppose that for an undisciplined oaf like you it isn't."

"Aw, you tell me the prettiest things," the Freedomer grunted moodily as he got up from floor.

After a meagre snack of stale bread, conducted in tense silence and full of angry glares at each other, they were finally ready to face the dark corridors of this floor.

It turned out to be pretty damn similar to what they had seen so far: more empty rooms, more dust, and more scattered emergency lights that barely illuminated anything. Voronin was down to his last battery for the torchlight, and Lukash was out of luck because PDA batteries were vastly different from the ones used on torches.

He wasn't very happy about how the Freedomer hovered near him, but he supposed leaving him behind to find the way for himself would hardly be decent. After all they had more possibilities to get out if they cooperated, no matter how grudgingly they did so. Plus, he didn't want to risk getting shot in the back.

The dreary atmosphere of the place did nothing to alleviate his slowly growing irritation. He'd woken in a bad mood, still tired and with a headache that only went to worse the longer he stayed awake.

He was slightly distracted when they found a room resembling a half-dismantled lab. There was a lot of big equipment he catalogued as junk, mainly because he couldn't begin to imagine its purpose, and a lone computer gathering dust in a desk against the wall.

Lukash mood brightened considerably when he saw the computer. "Oh yeah, let the expert work on that!"

"Expert?"

The Freedomer grinned widely while cleaning the cobwebs hanging over the screen. "Hacking was my main hobby before, in the Big Land. Can't say I'm a pro, but once I managed to modify my energy bill. And no one noticed! Well, later I learned they did, but actually..."

Voronin closed his eyes stopped paying attention. His head felt like he got sand scratching his brain. There was a buzzing in his ears, or maybe it was an echo of Lukash's inane prattle. How in the Lord's name could he be so cheerful? Wasn't his head killing him too?

"Huh," the Freedomer finally shut up, thank God. "All the files are encrypted. Or maybe just very messed up, the system is heavily corrupted."

"Forget it," Voronin told him. It was unlikely they would find the key out of this place in a broken computer.

"Nah, I can try to –"

"I said forget it," he said much curter than before. Didn't Lukash see this was a waste of time? They should be looking for a way out, not playing with broken junk.

"I don't follow your orders," the Freedomer snapped. "And I think this could be interesting."

In other circumstances Voronin might have agreed with him, but the constant sensation of sand in his brain, and the strange greyed colours at the edge of his vision's field, had him at the brink of screaming in frustration. And Lukash answer made him explode.

"Then stay. And find the way out on your own." Voronin made up his mind, he was going his way and Lukash was welcome to spend as much time with the computer as he liked. If he could even see it in the dark. Then an insidious thought irrupted in his mind through the headache, "And if you try to ambush me ever again I'll gut you like a fish."

"You can go fuck yourself!" Lukash yelled in anger.

The Freedomer kept yelling nonsense at him, but Voronin was already on the doorway and ignored him. Leaving Lukash behind was invigorating, now if his headache vanished he'd truly be a happy man.

EDIT: Part 2 is here

Author’s note: Remember a post I made long ago about different ideas I had for stories? Well, I finally wrote the last one from the list. Part 2 will be updated as soon as I finish the editing, which can be in a few hours or tomorrow.

[shitkpopmemes-blog]

Hidden

I honestly couldn’t think of a better title. Guess who got another Bucky x Reader fic because i’m trash. There are more coming very soon. I’ve had a creative spark and I have tons of ideas for avengers stuff especially for Bucky. So Enjoy.

Warnings: mentions of childhood abuse, violence, swearing.

 Working with the avengers was amazing, but sometimes they were walking eggshells around you. They saw you as just an agent and nothing more, and yes it was frustrating at times but you just had to smile through gritted teeth because you were afraid. They knew you had a rough childhood but they didn’t know the details. Ever since you were born you had these powers, sort of like Scarlett witch, but the doctors had told your parents that it was from a mutation in your father’s blood. You never knew him; he had walked out the door before he even knew you existed but you guess he had powers similar. Your mum hated them because she hated him. She couldn’t bear to see you grow up like him so she locked you in your room most nights while she drank away her cares.

It was always the same until she got violent. You went to school with bruises and broken teeth but couldn’t tell anyone the truth, what would you say. You couldn’t say your mum hit you because then you would be taken away and she was all you had, but you also couldn’t say it was because of your powers because then everyone would know you were a freak. That’s what she called you, a monster and a freak. When you were 14 you got yourself out after what felt like decades of torture but found yourself on the streets. Somehow the day you had gotten out you had ended up on Hydra’s doorstep.

You were passed out when they took you in but they never knew about your powers or your mother, only that you had been kicked out. Now you had been with the avengers for almost 5 months after just being an agent for almost a year thanks to Tony who got you out on a mission. You had been on a few missions but nothing too big because they were worried for your safety. They knew you could hold your own, you had even beaten Bucky at sparing a few times, but with no power that they knew of and limited weapons knowledge they didn’t want to risk your life. That was until now.

You had woken up to everyone rushing around the tower. “Hey what’s going on?” you questioned Steve as he rushed passed you, “Suit up, we need all hands on deck Y/N.” You didn’t need here anymore detail, if you were needed you were there. A few moments later you found yourself in the situation you were now, sat on the quinjet in between Steve and Bucky as they prepped everyone for what they needed to do. “Nat and Clint clear the area; we want all civilians out of the way before anything goes down. Bruce and Thor you’ll be our eyes from buildings. You clear out people and take out any threats from there. Wanda and I have the enemies on the ground. Tony and Sam have our eye in the sky and, Bucky and Y/N take the ground but look out for our main target, if HYDRA is anywhere I want to know about it okay? Let’s go.”

You all separated from the jet and got to work. Bucky led you down a back alley into an opening by a cafe where there were customers everywhere. This wasn’t good. “Nat? Clint? We got a field trip happening over here. Cafe just round the block from you filled with civilians.” Bucky said through the comms. Before either of them could reply a projectile was fired at the sign and it crashed down to the ground in front of you earning screams from the people inside. “Y/N get them out of here now!” Bucky shouted going to take down the attacker. You ran into the cafe, “Hello! I don’t have time to explain but is there a back door?” The owner nodded and you quickly got everyone to exit the cafe and Clint was out the back guarding as people piled into the jet for safety. Once everyone was out of the way you went back to find Bucky but couldn’t see him anywhere. You started to panic for his safety. “Bucky?” You shouted but all you heard were grunts and groans coming from around the corner of the cafe. When you turned around you saw him swing the final guy to the ground into the pile with the rest.

“Crap” you whispered as you noticed the familiar logo on the shoulder on the person’s uniform. HYDRA. It was a logo you couldn’t mistake, “Steve? They are here.” You said through your ear piece, “Where’s Bucky?” He said back, “I’ve got him he is fine.” But that was when you were roughly thrown from where you were. Your ear piece flew out and broke under a strangers foot but before you could do anything two big men had you arms pinned behind you and Bucky the same. A man in all black came up towards you, the smell of smoke on his breath. “I waited many years for this moment Y/N.” He whispered to you and your eyes went wide, how did he know your name? “Don’t you recognise your old man?” he said with a disgusting smirk on his lips as he punches you right in the jaw. Your head swung back and you could hear Bucky straining to try and help you. The man who called himself your father grabs hold of your cheeks harshly, “Got any last words for me?” He grumbled and you spat some blood in his face and whispered, “You should have thought about the legs.” He looked mildly confused but before he could even think about your knee came into contact with his crotch. As he bent down you took the opportunity to kick him in the face and he fell backwards.

The two men holding onto you tried to tighten their grips but you jammed you heels into their toes making them let go. You swiftly knocked both of them out before running into one of the ones holding onto Bucky and knocking them out as well. “Let’s get out of here.” Bucky said grabbing you hand and running. You didn’t get very far before you turned a corner only to run into more hydra agents, you turned around again but found yourselves surrounded by them. They slowly got closer before you realised one was holding a book, a small red book with a black book. “Shit” You whispered as the agent opened it up ready to read. You questioned what to do, if the winter soldier in Bucky came out there was no way you could hold him back and you no way of telling the team. You knew what you had to do but you weren’t sure if you were ready. It had been years since you had used your powers and you weren’t ready for the team to find out but it was life or death.

Before you could fully register what you were doing you had entered Bucky’s head and began draining out all sound. You knew if Bucky’s head couldn’t hear the trigger words they wouldn’t activate the soldier in him. Once the agent had finished reading them you exited Bucky’s mind. “Soldier?” the agent said ready for Bucky to fall to their mercy but he didn’t. He was extremely confused and Bucky looked at you and you just nodded and moved to stand back to back with him assessing how many agents you were dealing with. Bucky wasn’t sure how the words hadn’t affected him but he didn’t care at that point. You saw that you were both out of ammo, “Steve we are surrounded and out of ammo. There is nearly a thousand hydra agents here and my arm isn’t going to get us through.” You didn’t here Steve’s reply but you could feel you power filling you up with adrenalin. “Bucky. Duck.” Was all you said and he was extremely confused but obeyed anyway. You did a 360 looking at all the agents looking at you. “Give me a boost.” You whispered as you felt the black clouds form at the end of your fingertips. Bucky placed his hands together ready for you to jump from. You planted one foot in his hands and did a back flip away from him until your hand came into contact with the floor sending vines of darkness through the ground, sending the agents flying.

You slowly stood up not being able to look into Bucky’s eyes, you waited for him to hit you or yell like your mum used to but he didn’t. He just stood up with eyes wide as you turned to walk away he grabbed your arm causing you to flinch. When you finally faced him he saw the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. You were shocked when he just pulled you into his chest, his heartbeat was clear as bells in your ear and you let out a small sob. You weren’t sure why you were crying; maybe it was because you could be free once this was over of because Bucky was just holding you instead of hurting you like your mother used to do. He pulled you away as looked straight into your eyes, “I thought you were going to get yourself killed.” He said breathing heavily tears almost forming in his ocean blue eyes, “I thought they were going to take me away from you. Was it you who stopped them?” He just questioned and you silently nodded as a tear ran down Bucky’s face but a smile was placed on his lips.

“You’re not mad or scared?” you whispered and he just looked at you and shook his head, biting his lip, “I’ve been tortured and brainwashed Y/N, It takes a lot more than some powers like that to scare me. It would have been nice to have known beforehand but that’s okay.” He said placing his forehead to yours and laughed “I honestly think I love you.” He whispered and you just looked at him, “um that’s, i-i mean” but before he could finish you just pressed your lips to his. He began to deepen the kiss but you pulled away when you heard Tony land behind you letting off a flare, “Thank fucking god, finally.” He said, “Nat you owe my 20 bucks.” We just laughed at him and apologised. “Well while you two were busy we finished up so we can go back to the tower.” Bucky took your hand and you walked back to the jet.

When we got back he took me to the training room and just sat on a chair. “What are we doing?” I said laughing at him as he sat crossed legged staring at me “I want to know what you can do.” He said with a smirk. You just lift up your arms letting the power do its thing. You were finally able to be confident with what you could do because Bucky made sure you knew that you weren’t a freak or a monster. You were everything he wanted and that was good enough for you.

[qqueenofhades]

the trash saga of flynn and lucy: xv

there will be more once upon a dream soon, i have about half that chapter done. in the meantime, have more of the trash saga of flynn and lucy, for reasons.

ao3.

Lucy and Flynn hold hands on the walk back to the cabin. They don’t even exactly mean to, after they scramble out of the hot springs and shiver and shake themselves dry enough to get dressed again, teeth chattering in the chilly air. Lucy can feel the color in her cheeks, the sting of exertion, and something else, deeper and richer, moving in her like a vein of molten ore, some part of the trouble and danger and terror of Salem finally exorcised and with this allowed to take its place. Flynn’s hand almost engulfs hers, his thumb running absently over her knuckles, and once he reaches over to slick a damp tendril of hair out of her eyes, a small, tender gesture that catches her by surprise. Neither of them are quite sure how, but something has definitely changed back there. They have been at odds in some way, whether large or small, since – well, forever, but they’re not any more. Their stars are in the same orbit now. Both of them can feel it.

They make it back through the woods without incident, as most of the fog has burned off, and Flynn is practically whistling as they descend through the larches. That, however, vanishes in the next instant, as they catch sight of the cabin. The door is open, it definitely looks to have been violently forced, and there is shouting from inside. One of the voices is definitely Iris’s. The other sounds like a man, speaking Russian. Oh Jesus. If one of Nikolai’s friends arrived, found his comrade dead, and Iris here by herself –

Flynn panics, rips the hunting rifle off his shoulder, and sprints down the hill toward the cabin, leaving Lucy just as terrified but unsure if she should run, completely unarmed, into the middle of this and give Flynn another headache about protecting her. Still, though, she can’t stop. She pounds up the creaking clapboard steps after him, ducks into the dim interior, and finds three people all pointing high-velocity automatic weapons at each other. Flynn, scope trained dead on the presumable KGB agent pointing a heavy sidearm at Iris, who in turn has her finger on the trigger of her pistol, daring him to take another step, another inch, in her direction. Lucy skids to a halt, before her presence can set off a round-robin of shots and drop them all on the spot. The KGB agent looks to be in the worst position, what with two angry Flynns teamed up against him, but that sidearm is no joke. One shot can seriously wound Iris, if not kill her, and Lucy is quite sure that there is no way Flynn himself can survive that again.

The silence is absolutely hideous. Nobody stirs, even as the KGB agent’s eyes dart to Lucy, clearly sizing up whether she’s a threat or whether she would make a better target than Iris. He appears briefly stumped when she appears to be exactly what she is, i.e. an unarmed civilian somehow strolling into the middle of a hotspot spy nest in the Kamchatka wilderness, and makes a move as if to swing around on her. Flynn’s free arm flashes out, shielding Lucy, and inviting the KGB agent to do something very, very stupid that will give him full license to shoot. Not that Flynn is ever terribly restrained in this regard, but something is holding him back.

At last, very slowly, the KGB agent lowers his gun. “Easy,” he says, in accented English. It’s hard to place – Slavic, but a Slavic that has been almost, but not quite, polished away with Received Pronunciation. He doesn’t sound Russian, that’s for sure. “Why don’t we talk?”

Flynn freezes.

Both Lucy and Iris stare at him in utter bafflement, but all he does is lower the hunting rifle in turn, which Iris (thankfully) takes as a sign that it’s safe to put away her gun as well. While the likelihood of violent death is thus correspondingly reduced, the atmosphere remains very tense. Flynn is trying to get Lucy and Iris behind him, and something different has crossed his face. It’s not just his usual alertness and wariness around an enemy, but something raw, vulnerable, almost – if such a word can be used about Flynn – frightened. Lucy stares at him, trying to piece together what on earth could have sparked such a reaction, just as a bolt of realization flashes across Iris’s face as well. She whirls toward her father with a shocked expression, and he nods half an inch, terse and stunned.

Whatever this was, Lucy completely missed it. She tries her best to think. She asked Flynn on the way out if there was a possible reason they ended up here – 1965 Russia, middle of nowhere, but still critically important in the Cold War – and he gave that sort of answer that made her think he knew damn well why, but didn’t feel like sharing. She stares hard at their uninvited guest instead. He’s tall, almost as tall as Flynn, early-to-mid-twenties. Dark hair, parted on the side. Sharp nose, the same kind of statuesquely carved facial features, a hint of unshaven scruff. Lucy has never seen him before, but he’s incredibly familiar. Like a poor man’s copy of a two-decade-younger Flynn, like –

Wait. Wait. They’ve encountered his mother, Maria Thompkins, the brilliant young American rocket scientist, fleeing the country after the tragedy of losing her first husband and son. They checked the files after the moon landing mission, when they discovered that Flynn had saved his half-brother Gabriel to make her happy again, that he only remembered her being sad. Lucy can hear Agent Christopher in her head. Married Asher Flynn, they had a bouncing baby boy. She doesn’t know anything about Flynn’s father, but from both Garcia and Iris’ stunned reactions, not to mention the resemblance, she is ninety-nine percent sure they have just met him. What a fittingly-Flynn-family reunion, good lord. Thank heavens nobody actually opened fire. Could have wiped them all out of existence on the spot.

“Better,” Asher Flynn – as it clearly is – goes on, when nobody else makes a move to speak. “Now. I am looking for Nikolai Vasilyevich. Do you have any idea where I might find him?”

Something else flashes across Garcia Flynn’s face, too fast for Lucy to follow it, or what he might have decided on. Then he grins. “He’s dead. I killed him last night.”

Lucy thinks this is a horrible strategy even by Flynn’s standards, but it catches Asher by surprise. He opens and shuts his mouth, then scowls at the older man. “And why exactly would you tell me that?”

Flynn shrugs. “You were going to kill him yourself, weren’t you?”

Asher’s hand goes back to his gun, clearly thinking that he might have made a mistake in dropping it so quickly. “What makes you say that?”

“Isn’t it clear? We are on the same side. Both part of the – ” Flynn says something in Russian that neither Lucy nor Iris can understand, some sort of code word, name of an organization, something. “I just got to him before you did.”

Asher stares at him, eyes cold and narrow with suspicion. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“Would you have?”

There is something to be said for that, apparently, but Asher remains on guard. “Nikolai Vasilyevich was my assignment.”

“You should have done your job better. Then they wouldn’t have needed to send me.” Hunting rifle still held casually in his hands, Flynn leans back against the kitchen counter. The air remains taut between them, as Asher frowns. It’s clear that even if he can’t put his finger on it, he knows there’s something uncanny about the other man. “Don’t worry. You can take the credit. Go back and put it on your report, just as you want.”

“And why would you let me do that?” Asher is unconvinced. “You always bring your secretaries with you on a field mission? Though that one – ” he glances at Iris – “is definitely no secretary, and that one – ” he raises an eyebrow at Lucy – “I’d hope was. Be a long and cold train ride back to Moscow otherwise.”

Flynn jerks forward. “Watch your mouth.”

Iris and Lucy glance at each other, edging closer together and preparing to run intervention if this turns any worse – Flynn can’t actually shoot his own father, especially nine years before he himself is born, but he might forget. Likewise, Asher has no idea what is really going on here (for the best). After a moment, however, he masters himself and offers that exact sort of sleek, debonair, dangerous smile that his son does so well, giving Lucy brief vertigo. “My apologies, of course. But you have to understand – especially with the strange machine I found in the woods while I was tracking Vasilyevich – that this is suspicious.”

“What machine?” Flynn snaps.

“Some sort of. . .” Asher catches himself. “I don’t need to tell you.”

“Looked a bit like the flying saucers the Americans claimed crashed at Roswell, 1947? White, blue lights?”

“Yes.”

“That was our machine, you bastard.”

“It was your machine?” Asher Flynn’s tone drips incredulity. “So you leave this in the middle of the woods, then come to kill the dangerous KGB agent I have been tracking for six months, then leave this girl to guard his cabin, then return and tell me you have done it, and are a fellow member, while I have never heard of you? Who are you? Really?”

“I promise,” Flynn says. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

“So you are hiding something.”

“All good spies are, aren’t they?”

There is another tense interval as the Flynn men stare bloody murder at each other. Then Asher says, “I don’t care if Vasilyevich is dead, his network still remains, and I’m not going to trust that you somehow got it to vanish overnight. I have to go to Alaska and make sure none of them got away. If you let me do that without intervention, the machine is yours again. But try to stop me, or tell anyone where I am and what I’m doing, and I will detonate it and expose you.”

“Wait – what?” For the first time, that catches Garcia off guard. “You don’t go to Alaska.”

Asher narrows his eyes again. “What do you mean, I don’t go to Alaska?”

Garcia hesitates. He doesn’t answer immediately, but Lucy thinks she can see the problem. By killing the man that his father was supposed to kill, Flynn has indirectly but significantly altered the trajectory of his father’s life. If Asher Flynn takes on a mission to Alaska that he wasn’t supposed to, he runs the risk of being killed, meeting someone else, or otherwise embarking on an unplanned chain of events that leads him farther and farther away from Maria Thompkins, their meeting and marriage (however unhappy Lucy gets the sense that it was) and their production of Garcia a few years later. If Asher goes now, Flynn doesn’t exist. Lucy is already unsure if she’s back in the present, or not. And if Asher blows up the Mothership in retaliation if they try to stop him, and then tips the entire Soviet Union off about the presence of traitors in their midst and pins the murder of a valuable KGB agent on them –

Yeah. This is bad.

Still, though. Lucy has not endured all the shit she has, just to throw up her hands and quit over the latest stupid situation the man she unfortunately seems to love has now gotten them into. She moves forward. “Excuse me,” she says, with a sweet smile that warns Asher that he calls her a nice companion for a cold train ride again at his peril. “Is there some confusion here?”

“None that I see is your business. Sweetheart.”

Lucy stops short, tilting her head back to gaze into his face (very much like his son’s, but even now, rougher and colder) and baring her teeth in a warning that she might bite his balls off, and not in a way he would enjoy. “I’m American intelligence,” she says. “My partner and I – ” she nods at Iris – “had our own directives on Vasilyevich and his network. They’ll be handled, trust me. I don’t know that we’re going to allow you to just stroll into Alaska after them.”

“What?” Asher scoffs. “They send a couple of American girls out here alone?”

“They’re part of my system,” Flynn says, low and dangerous. “Coincidentally, they can also both kill you.”

Asher raises an eyebrow, but looks back down at Lucy. “CIA? I can’t see it.”

Lucy shrugs. “You think what you want. And if you can’t see me as a spy, because you think I’m just a secretary, my friend here could have put a bullet in your head while you still had your hand down your trousers. Huh?”

Asher opens and shuts his mouth. Flynn coughs. Lucy catches sight out of him, and it’s clear that this is probably the best thing he has ever seen in his life. He’s trying furiously to keep his expression impassive, but not entirely succeeding, and the result is one she feels to the back of her spine. God, the things this man does to her. She’ll get used to it, someday. Maybe.

In any case, however, this is not the time for distraction, as she still has a task at hand. She turns back to Asher. “Right. Here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to go back and report to your superiors that you killed Nikolai Vasilyevich, just as you planned. No need to raise suspicion or make the Politburo – the Presidium,” she corrects herself, remembering that that’s what it is called from 1952-1966 – “wonder exactly who you are or what you’re doing in the country. We’ll handle Vasilyevich’s associates in Alaska. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t understand that I have to take orders from an American bitch who thinks she can –”

Quick as a blink, Flynn moves. He flashes off the counter, grabs Asher’s arm, and twists it into a brutal judo hold behind his back, forcing him to his knees, and kicks the gun away as his father drops it. He snarls something in Russian – no, Lucy thinks it’s Croatian – that doesn’t need a terrible amount of translation.

Asher looks briefly stunned, as obviously he was not expecting to hear any language apart from Russian or English, and certainly not what must be his own native tongue. He starts to sputter what sounds like an indignant question, then stops as Flynn jerks him again, and finally says in English, “Sorry. I am sorry. Please make him let go of me.”

Lucy gives Flynn a look, and he releases Asher, not without a final baleful stare at him. Asher gets up slowly, rubbing his shoulder, and turns back to Lucy. “Can I ask, miss,” he says, with rather pointed courtesy, “why you think this would work, exactly?”

“You can ask.” Lucy’s tone leaves it clear that it isn’t going to get him very far, but hey, gold star for effort. “You don’t want to go to America, though. There’s no guarantee you’d ever get back, and besides. We know who you are. We can make it very difficult for you if you disobey.”

Asher regards her with an expression that reminds her very much of his son. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Lucy smiles demurely. “Asher Flynn.”

That puts an enjoyably shocked expression on his face – as well as a similar one from Garcia, who has evidently not realized that she put the pieces together as to who this is. He also did not know that she knew his father’s name, but they will have to have that conversation later. In the meantime, she has Asher himself on his heels, and she moves to press her advantage. “As I said, this doesn’t have to be difficult. Just do exactly what you were going to do. Vasilyevich is dead, isn’t he? It doesn’t matter how he got this way.”

Asher is clearly still not buying this, but he is also painfully aware that he can’t push too hard. Actually killing KGB agents on Russian territory, while pretending to be Russian himself, puts him in line for about the most unpleasant fate one can imagine – if nothing else, you have to admire his moxie. Must also run in the family. He can’t be sure if they’re double or even triple-crossing him, who they’re reporting to or how they know his true identity (since “estranged son from the future, his somehow-resurrected daughter, and the woman he’s sort-of-maybe-with  after they crashed through time together” doesn’t exactly occur to most people as an explanation). After a final moment, he blows out an angry breath. “Fine.”

“Good.” Lucy smiles. “See?”

He eyes them bitterly, not bothering to ask if he can trust them. Then he says to Flynn, “The girl drives a hard bargain.”

“The woman, you miserable fuck,” Flynn says, not turning a hair. “And yes, she does.”

Asher snorts. “Still, though,” he remarks. “You will want me to undo my explosives, yes?”

“What?” Sensing trouble, Flynn tenses. “What explosives?”

“The ones I left on your device. You don’t think I was just going to leave an unknown entity sitting by itself in the woods, to do whatever it wanted? I rigged up an explosive and I still have the trigger. It’s a ways from here, yes, but it could go off. We could try it.”

“Don’t – ” Flynn looks thoroughly exasperated, but despite the obvious calamity that it would be if Asher destroyed the Mothership, Lucy has to bite her lip hard. Flynn is finally learning exactly what it is like to deal with himself. “Don’t blow it up, you idiot!”

“Why not? What’s in it for me?”

“That was covered under the part of you going back and telling your superiors that you completed the hit on Vasilyevich successfully. We’ll take the machine and never be seen anywhere near here again, I promise. Never complicate your life again. Yet.” He snorts.

“Yet?” Asher demands.

“Never mind. Inside joke. Very well, then. You can go outside, I’ll show you where I buried Vasilyevich, you can confirm for yourself that it is the man and take anything you need as proof of his demise. Then we return to our machine, you take the explosives off, and we leave. So simple, even you can understand it. Yes?”

Asher folds his arms. Finally, he nods once.

“Good.” Flynn takes the hunting rifle and gestures with a curt nod at his father, as Iris immediately moves forward – she is clearly not letting them go alone, in case Asher tries to overpower Garcia and run. Lucy doesn’t really want to be left behind in the cabin, and figures the Flynns could use some adult supervision, so she follows them out through the grove and to the place where Flynn buried Nikolai earlier. The men brusquely disinter the corpse, which is not the most pleasant of sights by now, and Lucy swallows hard, looking away. Asher takes some black-and-white photographs out of his pocket, checks them against the mottled face, and examines the ID card Flynn hands him, as well as a few folded carbon-paper documents in Russian. Then he nods again. “Fine. It’s him.”

They rebury Nikolai (if there are such thing as ghosts, this place will have the shit haunted out of it, making Lucy wonder if it will feature in another spooky story about the Russian backwoods, maybe the unexplained disappearance of some hikers in a few years). She would rather not think about that, though, and follows the three Flynns back to the path. A quick stop at the cabin to make sure they have everything, and they start the tramp back toward the Mothership. Garcia and Iris are keeping a very close eye on Asher. A man backed into a corner, especially a Flynn, is going to have some dangerous stunt up his sleeve to get out of it.

Conversation is minimal while they trek through the trees. Then Asher, curiosity having evidently finally gotten the better of him,  says, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Flynn grunts. “Not really.”

“Are you. . .” Asher considers him for a long moment, gaze flicking between the older man’s face and his own, noting the striking similarity. “Did you ever know a Katja? Katja Elena Kovačić? It would have been early in 1941. Near Jasenovac, in Slavonia.”

Something passes over Flynn’s face at that, which Lucy and Asher both notice. The latter stops. “Well?” he demands, voice rough. “Do you?”

“You think I’m your father.” Flynn turns toward him. “Katja Kovačić is your mother, isn’t she?”

Asher doesn’t bother to ask how he worked that out. “Yes. All she ever said about my father was that he was a Red Army man. She thought he died in Stalingrad. But if you – ”

“I’m not your father,” Flynn interrupts. “I’ve never met Katja Kovačić.”

Asher eyes him mulishly. He said his parents met in 1941 – as it’s 1965 now, he can’t be older than twenty-four, an angry young man working in a terribly dangerous occupation, deep behind enemy lines, exacting revenge one by one on all the Russians who could have been his father, and could have been the one to leave him behind, to never even bother to know that he existed. It would have certainly been easier, in such a case, to believe that the man died heroically in battle, rather than that he simply didn’t give a shit. Lucy’s heart goes out to him, even as she begins to grasp just how deep the legacy of damage and abandonment in this family actually runs. No wonder this man couldn’t be a good father to Garcia. No wonder Garcia himself has tried so hard, and so terribly, not to fail Iris the same way.

“I think  you’re a liar,” Asher says at last, turning as if about to square up for a fistfight. “I think you do know her. I saw you recognized the name.”

“There are a lot of Katjas in Slavonia. I doubt it was your mother.”

“LIAR!” It rings through the trees, Asher’s face turning red, his eyes burning black. It is truly terrifying, and Lucy stops abruptly, reaching for Iris, still having that old impulse to shield the child from this. She can also imagine young Garcia watching this rage turned against his mother, trying to protect her, even as a small boy. “YOU KNOW HER!”

Flynn stares at him, white to the lips. Even though he’s two decades older than his father, even though he’s the grownup here, it’s clear that he’s terrified. That he’s still the little boy who wanted to be Asher, wanted his power, and feared him more than anything. He tries to answer, and can’t.

“Did you?” Asher demands, when the silence hangs like a shroud. “Just tell me! Did you even know she had a son? Did you know she never even wanted me? Just another useless piece of garbage the Russians left behind? Did you ever think about her? Ever again? Us?”

Flynn remains rooted to the spot. His mouth opens and shuts, and he raises a hand as if to run it through his hair, then drops it. Lucy doesn’t know what on earth he can do – he can’t shoot his father, which is his usual method of fixing things, and he is stunned at the force of this rage and grief. Of knowing that his father was failed before he ever got around to failing him, that it’s gone on, over and over. As Lucy and Iris watch in tense silence, they can see the knowledge, the tragedy, the weight of it settle on him. And they see him make a decision.

“You’re right,” Flynn says. “I knew your mother. Katja Kovačić, 1941, Jasenovac. She tried to break the Jews and Serbs out of the camp, get them away from the Nazis. We were together for a night, that is all. My name is Andrei Ivanovich Sokolov. I was a soldier in the Red Army. And I suppose that. . . that makes me your father.”

Asher opens and shuts his mouth. He seems to both feel vindicated and more stunned than ever. Finally, he manages a curt nod. “She – named me Aleksandr.”

“I had a brother named that,” Flynn says. “He died soon before I met your mother. I – I talked about him to her. It was what drew us together.”

“Did you?” Asher asks. Not wanting to hear the answer, but hungry for it. “Know about me?”

“No,” Flynn says. “She never wrote to me, I never heard anything, I never saw her again. It was war, people had to cling to each other while they could and then expect to lose them. I am sorry, Aleksandr. I am so sorry. I would have come back, I would have found you, if I’d known.”

Asher’s chin wobbles, despite his clear desperation to keep his composure. Somewhat less vehemently, he says, “You left me.”

“I’m sorry,” Flynn says again. He clearly doesn’t need to fake the brightness in his eyes, the unsteadiness of his own voice. “I know you cannot forgive me. I could never forgive my own father. He – he was there, but he wasn’t there. He was not a. . .” He hesitates. “Not a good man.”

Asher absorbs this, clenching his fists. He takes half a step, then stops, head down, shoulders crunched. Flynn takes a step as well, meeting him halfway. Quietly, he holds out his arms.

Asher hesitates for a moment more, determined not to break, not to let it go, to keep the fire burning, to take comfort from his rage. But he can’t. He takes an unsteady step, then another. Then practically runs the last few steps to Flynn, clutches him, and silently breaks down.

Flynn doesn’t say a word, eyes closed, holding Asher tightly as he weeps without a sound. Lucy and Iris don’t say a word either, Lucy swallowing back her own tears, unable to believe what she has just seen take place with her own two eyes. She has never been so desperately, painfully, blazingly proud of Garcia Flynn in her entire life, and she reaches out for Iris’ hand, not quite looking, hoping that perhaps there is some forgiveness for her as well. She thinks of coming out to find father and daughter asleep on the couch as she looks at Garcia and Asher, as they sway on the spot and Garcia continues to mutter the same small nothings. Taking on the guilt for his grandfather, banishing their sin, as best he can despite all his own damage. Lucy almost can’t breathe. She can’t turn away. All she can think is that yes, this is it, this is him. This, despite his cracks and catastrophes and countless misadventures along the way, is the man she loves.

At last, belatedly, Asher gets hold of himself, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He gives Flynn’s arm a rough pat, as if ashamed for breaking down on him, and sucks a breath. “We should,” he says. “We should keep going.”

“Yes, we should.” Flynn glances at him. “You know I have to go again, don’t you? I can’t stay.”

Asher glances between him and Iris. “Is this. . .” He pauses. “Is this my sister? My half-sister?”

“Yes. My daughter Irina.” Flynn makes a small gesture, and Iris steps forward. “This is. . . well, this is your half-brother, Aleksandr.”

Iris and Asher look each other up and down, as Asher seems vaguely embarrassed. “I am sorry. For what I said about you earlier. It was not gentlemanly.”

“You have time. You can change.” Iris smiles wryly. She is twenty-three, and her grandfather is barely a year older. They do indeed look like siblings, as they shake hands, then hug quickly, exchanging the customary air kisses on each cheek. “This is my father’s wife, Lucy.”

Both Flynn and Lucy are quite stunned by this introduction – even though Lucy of course has been pretending to be Mrs. Flynn ever since the days of Fort McHenry in 1814, which Iris was the one to challenge her about. She manages to look as if yes, this is true, and steps forward. “I, ah, I suppose that makes me your stepmother?”

Asher shakes her hand as well. “I’m sorry for calling you an American bitch.”

“It’s all right.” Lucy laughs dryly. “I’ve heard worse.”

They continue to walk, though not in silence this time. Flynn tells Asher everything he knows (or rather, has invented) about Andrei Ivanovich Sokolov’s life: his parents, where he is from in Russia, what he likes, who he is. By the time they reach the Mothership, as dusk is starting to fall through the trees, Asher is clearly dragging his feet so they will have more time together. “Do you have to go?” he says again. “You could come with me. You could.”

“I can’t.” Flynn turns to him. “Not now. But we will see each other again some day, I promise. In the meantime, I think you’ll probably get married. Have a son too. Just do better by him than I did by you.”

Asher nods tremulously. They look at each other for a long moment, and then Flynn releases him. “Go undo the explosives, you asshole.”

Asher swallows, then turns and scuttles off to the dynamite he has indeed rigged quite thoroughly to the Mothership – trust a Flynn to not half-ass the task of blowing shit up. Flynn himself lets out a gasp, and Lucy reaches for his hand, as he squeezes hard enough to grind her bones together. Asher works carefully as Lucy holds her breath – an inadvertent explosion to wipe Flynn’s father out of existence would be literally murderously ironic, if not at all helpful. But he gets them off, moves them to whatever hidden cache he took them from, and returns to survey the Mothership curiously. “What on earth is this thing? It is completely bizarre.”

“It’s a. . . weather balloon.” Flynn manages a grin. “As I said, we have to get back and report, and we have other postings. But I’d stay if I could. Believe me on that. Okay?”

“Okay.” Asher pauses, then nods. “It’s funny, isn’t it? That we could somehow both end up here? Chasing after the same man?”

“You have no idea.” Flynn nods to Iris, who heads inside the Mothership, and turns back to Asher. It’s clear that if he’s going to, this is his last chance to punch him, to shout at him, to accuse him of all the things he didn’t do for him, all the scars he left in him. But he doesn’t. Instead he steps forward, takes his young father’s face in his hands, and kisses him on the forehead. “Volim te, Aleksandr.”

Asher Flynn looks at him with all the hunger and grief and love in the world. “I ja tebe volim, Tata.”

They remain there for another moment, and then Flynn lets him go with a gentle push, turns him around. “It’s classified,” he says. “You can’t see how this thing works. Go, keep going. Go back and live your life. I hope you’re not as angry. Remember this. Remember me.”

“I will.” Asher gulps and nods. He looks agonizingly young. “I will, Tata.”

With that, finally, he steps back, turns, and starts to walk. Flynn, Lucy, and Iris watch him disappear among the twilight trees without a word, until his shadow has become indistinguishable from them, until he is out of sight. Then Flynn’s legs give out, and he has to sit down on the top step, rubbing his hands over his face, shaking without a sound. Lucy and Iris crouch next to him on either side, putting their arms over his shoulders. Then Lucy says quietly, “Is there any chance he’ll ever find out it’s not true?”

“I don’t think so.” Flynn’s voice is rusty. “Katja Kovačić – my grandmother – died in 1962. He doesn’t speak to George Flynn – his stepfather – and I doubt Katja ever told him the name of the man who fathered her illegitimate child from a one-night stand during the war. She’s the only person who would know otherwise, and as I said, she’s dead. So no. He will live believing that his father’s name was Andrei Ivanovich Sokolov, and that he met him in Russia in 1965, and that his father wanted him and would have come back for him if he could. I hope that gives him some peace, some ease. I hope he’s kinder, when he marries my mother. When he raises me.”

Lucy is taken aback. “You just made all of that up? About your grandfather? Even his name?”

“Yes,” Flynn says. “The man probably did die in Stalingrad. Never knew he had a son, probably never cared. But that doesn’t matter. Asher will never know otherwise.”

Lucy heaves out a slow sigh. Finally, she leans over and quietly, simply kisses his cheek, once and then again. She wants to tell him how proud of him she is, how very, very, unbearably proud. Finally, she says only, “See. There are other ways to fix things than burning them down.”

Flynn blows out a breath. Then he pulls himself together and rises crisply to his feet, knuckling his hand over his eyes. “Okay. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They head to the console, as Iris powers it on and runs diagnostics and reboot protocols. They are still surprised, however, when something pings. She bends over it, and frowns. “There is a cached message. From someone named Carlin.”

“Open it.” Lucy’s stomach swoops. “That’s Rufus. Remember him?”

Iris looks at her warily – she was only a child with the time team, so long ago – but nods. “Yes. He says he has gotten the Lifeboat online, and retrieved Wyatt. They’re together. They have sent a notice for us to meet them in Gibraltar, December 17, 1872. What’s that?”

“That. . .” Lucy has to think a moment. “Those are the start of the salvage hearings for the Mary Celeste, the most famous abandoned ship in history. She was found adrift off the Azores Islands by the Canadian brigantine Dei Gratia, perfectly seaworthy with all her supplies still aboard, but her lifeboat and her crew missing. Nobody ever figured out what happened to them. There have been all kinds of theories down the centuries, but – ”

“Rittenhouse,” Flynn says immediately. “Rittenhouse has something to do with it. Smuggling something, or worse. So either John survived when – when he was shot in Salem, or they got even stronger as a result. They had the Mothership for a while. They could have taken the prototype for their own working time machine.”

Lucy nods grimly, desperately relieved to hear that Wyatt made it out of 1829 and that he and Rufus are waiting for them, but afraid of what must await in 1872. “Iris, can you get us there?”

“I think so.” Iris draws a quick, bracing breath. “Strap in.”

They do so, Lucy devoutly hoping that Asher remembered all the dynamite he stuck in various bits – they likewise do not need to suddenly turn into a fireball when they try to launch. Lucy swallows her stomach out of her mouth, as it likewise remembers what happened the last time they were in this damn thing, and hopes that their trip backward is at least somewhat smoother than their trip forward. She pushes away the pang she feels at once more leaving the twentieth century, getting further away from home. At this rate, it seems as if she’s never getting back.

One thing they do have this time is, well, time, which they did not have when busting ass out of Salem at high speed, and Iris makes sure to check everything thoroughly. She appears to decide that everything is in order, and nods. “All right. Hang on.”

One innards-rattling go-round later, which isn’t quite as bad as the first one but still leaves Lucy (and even Flynn himself) rather green, they whirl back into existence and skid hard, tumbling and clanking to a halt before they check the specs. Iris has managed to get them in the vicinity, but she still can’t jump as precisely as Rufus, and according to the computer, it is December 13, 1872. (At least they are, however, in Gibraltar.) That means they have four days before Wyatt and Rufus arrive here, and once they have concealed the Mothership, not wanting to take a chance with any more dynamite anywhere near it, they make their way cautiously down. Gibraltar in this era is a bustling international port and British Royal Navy base, the massive Rock rising out of the winter mist and the masts of ships anchored at the quays piercing it like skeletal fingers. If Lucy is right, the Mary Celeste herself just arrived this morning, sailed by the shorthanded crew of the Dei Gratia, and she briefly wonders if they can make it down to the docks and sneak aboard for a look. That, however, would probably be a bad idea. No, it definitely would, and they need to work out what the hell is going on with Rittenhouse first.

For that matter, they also need to blend in, as none of them have changed their clothes since Salem and after two expeditions through the Siberian wilderness to boot, they are already getting funny looks from Gibraltar’s well-dressed patricians strolling the palm-treed promenades. They also don’t have money, especially not of the local variety, which is a further complication. Flynn insists that they just let him mug someone, which Lucy flatly shoots down, but she has to sigh and pretend to look the other way when he swipes an unguarded purse from the docklands. It’s not enough to buy them all new clothes, and ready-to-wear stuff from, say, Target or Primark does not really exist here anyway. In the meantime, they buy a room in a more or less reputable boarding house. Lucy has spent a lot of time in nineteenth-century boarding houses recently. She can safely say that she has seen enough of them for a lifetime.

Iris heads out by herself, despite their protests, to start prospecting for information. After the door shuts behind her, neither Lucy nor Flynn speak for a long moment. Then at last Lucy says quietly, “What you did for your father, back there. . . I think that was the most admirable thing you’ve ever done.”

“Not many other candidates for the title?” Flynn grins, without particular merriment. He sits on the bed, as she pauses, then comes over to perch next to him. “I. . . I don’t know why. I wanted to shout at the bastard, about everything he did to me. I wanted to tell him who I really was, everything he did to me and my mother. How angry I was. I. . .” He trails off. “I could have.”

“Yes, you could have,” Lucy says, still quietly. Her hand finds his again, their cold fingers interlocking on the worn quilt. “But you didn’t.”

“It was different,” Flynn says, eyes fixed on the far wall. “Seeing him like that, a boy who was angry at his own father for failing him. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You tried to stop the cycle, though.” Lucy brushes a strand of dark hair behind his ear. He could use a trim; he’s getting a bit shaggy. “With Iris, and then with him. You only ever knew your father as a man, a flawed one. Of course you weren’t ready to see him like this. To see yourself.”

Flynn shudders, but doesn’t answer. Lucy lets her hand slide to the back of his neck, turning him toward her, letting their foreheads rest against each other. His own hand comes up her arm, his thumb touching her chin, as their mouths open. He whispers, “Lucy – ”

“Shh.” She brushes the backs of her fingers over his unshaven jaw, and kisses him.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but that, but them, hands cradling each other’s heads, pulling each other closer, hungry and tender and devouring, something familiar now, comforting. But when Flynn tries to break the kiss, to explore down her neck and lower, Lucy won’t let him. Holds him off, the way he tends to do with her, and whispers again, “Shh.”

She can feel the tension in his entire body as she starts to unbutton his shirt, taking her time about it, nipping at the pulse point in the hollow of his throat, brushing her lips over the broad plane of his shoulder and the sharp cut of his collarbone, the muscle of his chest and the rough peak of his nipple. Kisses, licks, bites just hard enough to make him draw in his breath with a hiss, and pushes him onto his back, hiking up her skirts and climbing atop him. He reaches for her again, but she catches his wrists in her hands, stopping him from touching her. “Trust me.” She catches his earlobe between her teeth. “Trust me, Garcia.”

He swears under his breath, practically vibrating with the struggle not to pull loose and assert control again, to touch her, to not let his own guard down. His pulse is visibly hammering, the cords on his neck standing out. It must have been since Lorena, since he allowed someone to hold him in their hands like this and give them the power, the possibility, of crushing him to dust. He hasn’t been with anyone else in the meantime. Only his wife, and now Lucy. This is like it was earlier, when the change was felt, experienced, sealed. This, word unspoken, is a vow.

Lucy makes her way slowly down his chest, to the trim, dark line of hair that climbs his stomach. Reaches for his belt and undoes it, sliding his trousers down over his hips. Draws him out, already half-hard in her hand, and gets him the rest of the way with a few quick strokes of her thumb. Kisses him lightly in the cut of thigh and groin, then muses her way across, moving her way down the shaft, and takes the tip lightly, wetly into her mouth.

Flynn hisses again, making a grab for her, as Lucy once more knocks his hand away. She licks a slow, deliberate circle, tasting him salty on her tongue, and sets to her work. This isn’t the first time she’s done this for him, as she did it back in 1829 after she’d patched him up from his wounds, but it’s still different, daring, a challenge and a question. He is clearly losing his mind with the effort not to grab at her, roll her over and take her hard, to knock all the dominoes over and burn the two of them down. Yet still,  almost desperately, he holds himself in check.

Lucy sucks him hilt-deep, drags her lips back down, lets him have a brief respite, and then returns to her work with renewed purpose. Until he’s trembling like a blown horse beneath her, jerking against the bed with the effort not to thrust into her mouth, and she finally lets him have what he needs, what she needs. Slides up on him as his hands claw loose, grip her thighs, spread them almost roughly, and he enters her with a single swift, hard shove, practically to the back of her throat. She gasps, settles him more squarely between her thighs, and gives herself to him in turn. He has done it, he has trusted her. Now, therefore, she does it for him.

Flynn fills her with intent, insistent thrusts, slick and sweet, as she claws at his shoulder for purchase and rubs against him still harder, urging him to take what he needs. Their mouths stay open, rasping and musing in short, hitching gasps, as his hands move to her hips and almost crush her into him, over and over, nearly hard enough to bruise. Her head tilts back, baring her throat and chest to his mouth, as he presses kisses into her like burning stars. You have married an Icarus, Lucy thinks, writhing, riding, rising. He has flown too close to the sun.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for them to spin and jerk and spill into release, gasping and clutching, entangled and unmade. It’s funny, how this has now happened enough for Lucy to not be quite sure what time this is, and yet she still feels as starving and insatiable as if they’ve barely begun. She needs him, she needs him, it seems stranger when he’s outside her than when he’s in. They have become twisted and woven and bound together beyond all ordinary sense or description, even for two people sleeping with each other on a fairly (rather, very) consistent basis. She’s no longer quite whole when they’re not.

At last, Flynn grunts and shifts, sliding out of her, as their breathing remains harsh and heavy. Then he turns his head and kisses her, somewhat more gently, carding his fingers through the tangled knot of her hair. It is some time after that until either of them quite want to let go, and they move apart reluctantly, reconstituting their clothing. Iris will be back soon, anyway. Much as she might have come around to tacitly approving their relationship, she doubtless is not interested in having the proof flaunted in her face.

Sure enough, in another fifteen minutes or so, there’s a knock on the door, and Lucy goes to open it. “Iris? Come in, we – ”

And at that, she stops.

“Good to see you again, Lucy.” Emma Whitmore smiles. “Finally. It’s only been a hundred and eighty years.”