#nazi scum fuck off

[lowresolutioncryptid]

I’ve been seeing a lot of terfs deny the very clear link between trans exclusionism and nvzism/white supremacy simply because they do not understand the history behind it. ignorance is not a legitimate excuse to perpetuate systems of white supremacy. And it is further testament to the harm that banning critical race theory and queer studies in schools is doing to y’all’s brains. Because if I’m being completely honest, I’m seeing an alarming amount of self-identified terfs and radfems who are legit STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. My blog is 18+, not for children, anyone under 18 gets immediately blocked. Anyway…

Transphobia and anti-blackness are historically linked and continue, to this day, to be overlapping forms of systemic oppression. Black trans women, specifically, have higher murder rates than any other group. Both trans and black people statistically face more medical discrimination than cis and white people, respectively. The combination of both of these marginalized identities forms a particular and very sinister intersection of oppression.

Not only do both of these systems of privilege work to uphold the social and structural power of cis people and white people.. biological essentialism and transphobia also, historically, were used to define the beliefs of white supremacy and race essentialism. Race essentialism is the false belief that it is “natural order” for whites to oppress other races. For centuries, white “philosophers” made up a whole list of pseudoscientific “reasons” WHY they believed racism was “natural”. One of them was the idea that “distinct and separate biological sexes were the mark of a more evolved race-“ meaning the white race.. they compared European patriarchal sex roles and gender roles to the matriarchal cultures and gender variance that they observed in communities of color.

I have seen terfs accuse people who bring up this historical fact of “masculinizing” black women and women of color, which is a very real issue, but in this case and with historical context, that is a misunderstanding and most of the time is being said by people who want to silence trans people and shut down any criticism of terfism.

Acknowledging the thousands of years of acceptance of gender variance and third/fourth gender categories within pre-colonial African, Indigenous, Latin, Asian, & Middle eastern cultures, is not to blame for the masculinization of women of color, and as a matter of fact: the invention and enforcement of Eurocentric gender roles REQUIRES and RELIES on the masculinization of women of color in order to uphold white women’s place within white supremist systems as the “ideal of femininity” that they can then weaponize against women of color when they do not adhere to those Eurocentric standards.

During times of enslavement and segregation, black women were forced, legally and socially, to conform to very strict Eurocentric femininity standards in order to avoid harassment and violence, and if they deviated from these norms and codes they were dehumanized, masculinized, and were “made into examples” of white femininity being “superior”. Gender roles and biological essentialism do not exist in a vacuum outside of the white supremist systems that they were created within and invented to maintain. To imply that all women share the same experiences within these systems is akin to saying “I don’t see color”.. it’s denying the lived experiences of people of color.

Most gays are familiar with the symbol of the pink triangle, the badge worn by LGBT victims of ww2 concentration camps, but the transgender victims are often overlooked..

“Hitler’s Nazi government, however, brutally targeted the trans community, deporting many trans people to concentration camps and wiping out vibrant community structures.” - Museum of Jewish Heritage.

The US holocaust memorial museum that holds remembrance vigils for the victims persecuted by the nazis, under the Obama administration, included both gay men and transgender people in their list of victims. However, under the Trump administration this was changed to only include gay men. When asked about this change one of the museum’s head curators responded that because trans people were viewed by the nazis as indistinguishable from gay men that they are “included” with the definition. This is an obvious cop-out. The other reason that they gave was that the term “transgender” was only officially coined in the 1980’s, despite the thriving population of German trans people and gender-nonconforming subcultures that pre-date the nazi control of Germany.

Ancient Judaism recognizes at least six (6) distinct sex categories and gender roles, our women fulfilling “traditionally masculine” roles and vice versa.. this is a direct threat and opposition to nazism which relies on Eurocentric patriarchal gender roles. White women serve one purpose within nazi ranks: BIOLOGICAL incubators for white babies. If you don’t have 1) European genetic material 2) biological capabilities of reproduction (vagina, womb, mammaries) to be exploited for domestic labor, you are not considered a “true” woman by nazis. “Woman” being defined within nazism by biological, reproductive traits is so eerily similar to terf’s definition of woman that the only explanation for still perpetuating these ideas that I can think of, other than apathy or being full blown nazis, would be ignorance and historical illiteracy. The systemic eradication and erasure of trans and gender-nonconforming people by the nazi party was essential in maintaining these standards at a structural level, as well as the reinforcement of these false beliefs within popular culture. In order to maintain that false image of “dominance” “supremacy”, they had to invent a subclass that was then deemed “inferior” by their own standards.

When trans people of color and trans Jews are explicitly telling y’all that the harmful rhetoric you spread about trans people has DIRECT historical links to white supremacy and nazism, and (whether intentionally or unintentionally) upholds these systems that are killing us, it’s not your place to dig your heels into the ground and come up with excuses. It’s your place to listen and reevaluate your views.

[cybermax]

For those new people.

Just for the record. IF you support trump, republicans, nazi's or any other related assorted bullshit you can fuck right off. This has been a public service announcement.

[beautiful-basque-country]

And online zionists are all celebrating the floods that have killed +150 people in the País Valencià saying they had it coming for supporting Palestine.

[nando161mando]

destroy your local capitalist (fascist)

[tuttle-did-it]

You know why I don't celebrate anything to do with the space race or the moon landing?

Fucking Nazis.

America sold its soul to win the space race against the Russians by giving Nazis like Wernher von Braun, Hubertus Strughold and Walter Schreiber a pass, and using the 'research' based off torturing, terrorising and murdering innocent prisoners during WWII in the most horrific way possible.

America's victory in space was built on the corpses and torture of millions in concentration camps, and rather than punish these Nazi scientists for their crimes, they were applauded because it helped them win the space race.

And I don't want to hear any 'but Teddy, if we hadn't won the space race, Russia would have won and we'd have ended up in a war we couldn't win!'

We do not KNOW that. But even if that is true, it is still incredibly evil to promise literal Nazis a free pass just because it helps America plant a flag on the moon.

Doing something evil for the sake of winning is still evil.

It would have been one thing if America had recognised this then and publicly acknowledged this. And discussed it in their education with children.

If they'd said to the world, 'we're doing this horrible thing because we believe it will avoid war, but these evil Nazis will go to prison after they help us win the space race [spoiler alert, they did not]. We must recognise the damage and horror that got us here, and recognise that we had to get in bed with the devil to win this, and for this we are ashamed.'

They didn't do that. They've never even acknowledged it. Those Nazis walked away heroes for ‘saving’ America.

And they didn’t even acknowledge the efforts of Katherine Johnson, Mary Jackson and Dorothy Vaughan- the incredible Black women without whom NASA could probably never have done anything. It’s barely acknowledged now. But it is a fact.

This isn’t conspiracy theory bullshit. This is real, literal history. Actual factual history. And children are not taught this in schools. They’re just taught The Great ~Achievement~ made by white men in America.

So.

Fuck Nazis.

Fuck America, France and Britain (and everywhere else) for giving Nazis a free pass just because it was convenient for them.

Fuck the space race.

Fuck the moon landing.

Fuck the education faults of the space race.

Fuck the white washing of Black women who got them there, treating the women like shit, and not even acknowledging their achievements.

Fuck America for getting in bed with literal Nazis and not even educating their own people on this shameful history.

Fuck all the 'science' that was built off the torture and mass graves piled high with corpses of people in concentration camps from Nazis.

Fuck the moon landing.

Hey. Why isn’t the moon landing a national holiday in the US. Isn’t that fucked up? Does anyone else think that’s absurd?

[winterfran]

This is a lie. Just a straight up fucking lie. And you have the gall to call AOC a racist b**** for something she never said?

Every accusation is a confession.

As always, post is behind the cutoff

Why is it that I see consistent misquotes of AOC causing the right to fucking rage but one of their own can casually say "yeah i lie to you" and none of them fucking care?

[ashwantsafreepalestine]

FUCK ISRAEL. THIEVING SCUM.

This makes me so incredibly angry. They’re going to build settlements on the corpses of Palestinians.

These Zionists put demons to shame. Israel needs to be wiped off the world map. No Nazi state deserves to exist.

Fuck you Israel. You will burn. It’s just a matter of time.

[skylarsblue]

please read this with an open heart and mind, it comes out of a place of love.

Hi!!! Long time reader of yours (over 3 years at this moment), lately I’ve been reading your random posts that come on my feed about the election. As a right-wing person and a southern, I wonder why you feel you need to move countries after Donald Trump was re-elected. Is there a specific reason? Or are you being influenced by anything, etc. etc.

No hate, just curiosity! Praying for you!!🤍🤍

Are you intentionally dense? I can’t fathom how you don’t see why I don’t just want to leave, I NEED to leave.

I am an AFAB LGBTQ+ disabled person. My partner is an AFAB LGBTQ+ black person. The mere existence of us is enough to make a lot of people threaten violence on us, and the Trump organization has, on multiple occasions, outright supported these views.

He’s a racist, a rapist, an abuser, a narcissist, a liar, and a money grubbing bastard.

He said he wanted “generals like Hitler had”. He’s said that if his daughter wasn’t his daughter, he’d date her. He told a ten year old he’d date her in ten years. He’s been seen in many a picture with Jeffery Epstein.

He promised tax cuts to billionaires, he’s been convicted of several felonies, his tarifs are going to make things even more expensive in the economy he already fucked up. He supports project 2025. He supports the abortion ban; which is a health care right anyone capable of pregnancy should have. He supports doing away with gender affirming care; which will affect trans AND Cis people. Did I mention he’s a racist?

I shouldn’t have to explain myself here. For years he’s shown everyone time and time again he’s the scum of the earth, which surrounds himself with more scum. He sits on a golden throne and spouts some conspiracy theory bullshit to mentally unstable individuals, they rally behind him like he’s a messiah, and those who are minorities get fucked in the ass. This country is gonna end up in a fascist state because he’s supported and endorsed by fucking nazis. He could give a fuck less about the deaths and suffering he’ll cause, because what he wants is status and more money.

I want a President fit for the role, not some billionaire baby in an ill fitted suit spouting bullshit to the masses.

TDLR; He’s a fascist dipshit with several felonies who’s gonna fuck minorities over even more, fuck up the economy even more, and run like his dictator buddies for the hell of it. And for the sake of my ability to live as myself with my partner, with at least minimized fear? I’m fucking off out of here. The fact you even have to ask? Disrespectfully; go fuck yourself. Keep your prayers for yourself, I don’t need them.

[apostate00]

What's your opinion on Tankie? I think he's kinda funny and cute

Ohoho THIS is gonna be a long one, strap in!

Well, my opinion on Commie is mostly negative. I HATE this guy, but it's like a passionate hate, the kind that if he were gone, things would feel empty, because he's my favorite guy to despise.

I tend to make him worse in my HCs than he is in the show, even though he's already not great either. I think part of my dislike for him also stems from them fact that he's held up in the fandom as a good guy, when he really isn't, seeing how he's blatantly disrespectful to trans/non-binary people, and would discriminate against minorities if they didn't do as he said.

Nevermind the fact that he's a tyrant and denies the holodomor, which he caused, and also brushed off Nazi's holocaust denial. Also he runs gulags, which are basically just concentration camps & slave labor, but people seem to be mysteriously brushing over that if it's commies who do it. It's a joke then.

People have told me before that the reason they like him is because he's just desperate for a family and community, but personally, that makes me like him less.

How people can ship Leftist Unity is beyond me, when Commie repeatedly disrespects Ancom and later Ansyn. He doesn't give a shit about trans people, misgendering them simply because he can. Also, we all know damn well Commie will kill Ancom the second he doesn't need quem anymore.

I think some of it also stems from me being agender myself. I generally really hate how Ancom/Ansyn's queerness was handled in the show since no one respects quis pronouns ever, and it's more played as a joke than anything.

Fuck even the fandom doesn't respect quis pronouns at times.

People prolly think that it's not that big a deal, but for me who is incredibly protective of the self and their individual identity, disrespecting someone else's to integrate them into your homogeneous view of things is so repulsive and disgusting; it's not nessecarily the act of misgendering, even though that is bad too, but the complete disregard for individuality and identity.

I read Commie as abusive, but I've gathered that some people in the fandom really don't like that lol, I got to add onto my tally of "people online told me to kms" over it. But yes, generally I picture Commie as someone who actively infantilise Ancom and makes quem adopt this uwu uwu personality we see so often, to take away quis teeth, make them submissive, follow him around and make quem less likely to stand up for quemself against him.

There's more of course but, my personal headcanons are besides the point.

I do also use this guy to project my own personal experiences and trauma onto sooo, he has become kind of an amalgamation and caricature of my abusers.

I don't know, basically everything about Commie is so repulsive to me. I can basically only tolerate him with Nazi because they're both tyrannical scum and deserve each other.

I'm pretty big on freedom & individualism so that probably also doesn't help his case in my brain 😭

People can like Commie ofc, you can love and adore characters that are pieces of shit; I'd know so since Ancap is my second favorite character only surpassed by Ancom, but you know, I know what it's like to love a character who is fucking awful.

I guess I just wish people would acknowledge Commie's shitty behaviour more often instead of treating him like this big friendly harmless guy.

But yeah, people can do whatever they want of course, that's just my thoughts about it! :3

[dalekofchaos]

Context

Context for choice 3.

Here is what I mean about The New Republic and The First Order.

What happens after you win a war? How do you not make the same mistakes or become the thing you fought. What happens in a power vacuum? The New Republic should have been the dominant emerging power, and the Remnant should have been a small, secretive, unknown order, striking strategically from the Unknown Regions where they hid, and causing fear and panic to spread in the NR. After the Galactic Civil War, The New Republic commanders the Imperial Fleet and starts protecting systems who join the NR, all while chasing down and fighting any of the Remnants (Moffs, Warlords, Crime Lords, etc) who have grabbed power in the resulting vacuum. We could have seen an evolution of ships from Old Republic to Empire to NR ones. They could have renamed Star Destroyers into Star Defenders. Hell, they could have had a Republic of independent systems, each with their own sizable military, so that power isn’t centralized.

But no, instead of telling an interesting story, we are force fed the recycled poorly written rehashed Rebels vs Empire and the Rebels are made to be weaker than The First Order. The First Order are a terrorist movement, they should not be reigning after Hosnian Prime’s destruction, ESPECIALLY AFTER LOSING STARKILLER BASE!

Choice 4. Here is how I would give Kylo Ren motivation as to why Ben Solo fell and his main motivation as Kylo Ren.

Choice 6. I don't think there was absolutely no need for a Palpatine clone and eventually Palpatine himself(🙄) we all knew what was happening around the time this trilogy was being made. Trump. Base Snoke around the mango Mussolini and his lunatic fringe followers. An Alt-Right cult leader who cultivates the worst people imaginable. All The First Order needed to be was pointing out The New Republic brought the galaxy to an age of scum and villainy. A lawless state that usurped the rightful rulers that brought law and order. Basically "Make the Galaxy great again with Imperial Greatness"

You see, originally Lucas was going to make Palpatine JUST a politician and base him around Richard Nixon.

“George Lucas has spoken on various occasions of the way that the Nixon administration and the Vietnam war had an important influence on how he shaped the plot of the early films in the saga. The impact that these two events had an American in the 1970s started him thinking about the ways in which democracies can sale and how they deteriorating to dictatorships when corruption goes unchecked. He’s quoted as saying that Nixon - Who he viewed as having subverted the Senate and as acting an increasingly imperialistic way - what is the direct inspiration for Emperor Palpatine the supreme leader of the evil Empire in the first Star Wars trilogy”

So I don't see why they couldn't do something similar with the CLEAR FUCKING EVIL going on in the world at the time this trilogy was being made. No Sith master was needed.

In this scenario, I would call The First Order, The Imperium

Now you might have questions. What about the Stormtroopers and Kylo?

Stormtroopers? Don’t abduct kids, nationalize and recruit them willingly. Abducting children and training them to be Stormtroopers instantly made The First Order out to be cartoonishly evil from the start. So what do you do instead? Use propaganda. Nationalize them. Make them believe The Empire was right and convince them that the life of a Stormtrooper will help bring order in a chaotic galaxy. We’ve seen cults do something similar, Far Right Wing groups do it and we’ve seen Trump radicalize and nationalize white supremacists, so it’s not impossible for The First Order to do the logical thing.

Finn only leaves because he sees they are murdering unarmed civilians and chooses to leave. He is an example that it isn't too late to leave harmful fringe cult movements.

So how would Ben turn in this scenario? He's radicalized by Snoke. Ben starts hearing passionate speeches in the senate and Ben is moved. "I know he opposes my mother, but he's making a lot of sense" "He's right, we need to bring order to the galaxy" and Ben is radicalized by this Imperium movement and what he believes is Snoke's righteous cause. To Snoke, Ben represents everything great about the Empire. Snoke collects Sith Holocrons and uses the holocrons to turn Ben Solo into Kylo Ren.

In this scenario, I wouldn't redeem Ben. He is far too gone. He's committed atrocities in Snoke's name, for The Imperium and to bring order to the galaxy. While Finn represents those who could break away from Right Wing movements and Cults. Kylo Ren is far too gone, he's radicalized to the point where he's a die hard believer like Hux and Phasma and he's willing to fight and die for this indoctrination.

Choice 11. The Episode IX rewrite with Ben living and Reylo ending

Choice 12. The original plan for the Sequel Trilogy was to just get three young directors together to direct the Sequel Trilogy. It was supposed to be JJ, Rian and Colin Trevorrow, but Colin's IX was bad and his Jurassic World trilogy was terrible. So I would make either Matt Reves or Greta Gerwig as the director for Episode IX and ideally they would plan the trilogy out together instead of JJ setting up Mystery Boxes and expecting Rian and others open said mystery boxes and Rian subverting expectations.

[bullet-prooflove]

Oh please, if this prompt "But you can steal a kiss, I won't call you a thief But take it from me What I got to give you can have for free" is not for Matthew Keller, I don't know what is!

Tagging: @rosielou94 d @kmc1989 @toheavenwmydrms @fangirling-alert @soultrysworld

Prequel to:

My Girl (NSFW) - Noone puts hands on Keller's girl.

One More Night - Keller doesn't know when he came so sentimental.

Merlot - Keller misses you more than he'll admit.

Trust (NSFW) - You send Keller a message when he returns to New York.

Starry Night - Keller gives you the stars.

Dysfunctional - This thing between the two of you works because it's dysfunctional.

Honeypot (NSFW) - Keller doesn't realise you had a prior relationship with Woodford.

5 Times - Keller almost tells you he loves you.

Three Minutes - It takes three minutes for Matt Keller to lose his humanity.

Transactional - In the wake of your injury, you leave Keller a Dear John letter.

Barcelona - Matt finally shows you just how much you mean to him.

It’s the night you steal back your grandmother’s ring back that things between you and Keller change. Up until then you’ve seen him for exactly what he is, a thief, a liar, a manipulator, all the things you’ve needed to pull off this heist. It isn’t until the two of you were sitting inside the car outside Peter Burke’s place that you realise there’s so much more to him. There’s an empathy that he keeps hidden underneath all that armour, a moral code that’s tucked away amongst the shades of grey he wraps himself. After all it was him that supplied the can of gasoline to destroy that Nazi scum bag’s collection. Him who handed you the match box.

“I fucking hate these guys.” He’d said as he poured the fuel around the room, all over the teeth and the baby shoes. “They’re fucking animals.”

It’s you who lights the match, who flicks it into the room and watches the whole entire thing ignite. You hope it frees those souls trapped in there, that it cleanses them.

You don’t expect him to walk you to your doorstep, you didn’t think it was his style but he’s surprised you tonight and he just keeps surprising you.

“Be sure to get rid of these clothes yea?” He says his fingertips trailing lightly along the collar of your jacket. “We don’t need anything tying us back to that asshole.”

“Maybe you should help me out of them, take them with you when you go.” You whisper as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw and he smiles as he leans in close.

“Alright sweetheart. I can do that.”

You’re surprised by how tender his kiss, the softness of his lips. It’s nothing more but the brush of his mouth over yours but it unleashes something inside of you, something wild, raw and passionate.

You don’t remember unlocking the door or even making it through the hall, all you can focus on is the sensation of his body pressed against you, the molten heat of his skin. When you tumble onto the bed, he pauses for a moment, his dark eyes glittering as he looks down at you.

You look beautiful, skin flushed, shirt open. You’re wearing black lace underneath and it highlights your sensuality, his palm comes to rest on your throat and your hips arch against him, breath hitching.

“Oh sweetheart,” He drawls as his thumb traces over your lower lip. “The two of us are going to have some fun tonight.”

Love Keller? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[shayshaybiscuit25]

They already announced who would attend and guess what his name isn’t mentioned!

These trolls need to fuck off as we know it’s her and her Nazi friends sending in anons!

Ignore them Shay as they are scum lowlifes!

I post that foolishness so we could laugh. I already know it's bs

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

anyone i see comparing zionism to nazism, terfs, and other extremist ideologies will be blocked. i could explain that zionism is a hugely complex system but anyone who's that far down the antisemitic rabbit hole will not listen to me. so for anyone who is not that deep down: zionism is not an extremist ideology. at fucking all. there is the occasional extremist branch of zionism (particularly revisionist) but those are not the norm. the core belief of zionism is a jewish person who believes in jewish people's right to self determination. notice how that's a very very broad statement? zionism is not the type of movement that can be shoved into a tiny little box because you're scared of the fact that jewish people like complex things.

extremist movements like nazism and terfism follow very, very strict guidelines. some of yall do not realize that bc you label everything you dont like with that. a nazi will not be ok with simply having some similar beliefs and leaving at that. they will attempt to drag you further and further down the hole and they're so fucking good at it. extremist belief systems do not have any room for nuance.

if yall actually interacted with zionists instead of blocking us or harassing us immediately you'd realize that the vast majority of us have zero interest in making people zionists. we prefer to focus on ways we already connect and we like building friendships and allyships based off that. i do not want you to be a zionist, goy. i dont want you to be an antizionist or nonzionist either. i want you to leave our community's movement alone. we do not need your input and we are perfectly fine without you.

i know your little "zionism is evil!" "zio scum!" shit is due to misinformation but i do not give a fuck. you had your chance. you had MANY chances and yet you chose to talk over jews, threaten us, doxx us, etc.?? i do not like pulling the i-know-more-than-you card but if all you've done is watch a few tiktoks and skimmed an al jazeera article then i do know so much more than you. ive researched zionism for 5 years and have been learning the belief system through my family since i was a small child. and holy shit i have SO much to learn still so I can confidently say you don't know shit.

zionism isnt going anywhere. we're jewish and we're made to fucking last and that applies to the things we create. our strength lies in the fact that unlike nazism, terfism, and other extremist ideologies, we openly embrace nuance. we want to be able to cooperate with those who have different beliefs than us and itd be a lot easier if yall stopped the threats and other bs.

you can absolutely follow me if you're curious. i tend to talk mostly abt my own experiences with zionism but if you want resources you can ask nicely and you'll get them. im always open to more people learning but I will not coddle you. I'm an angry jew who was having a lot of fun with my guinea pig blog and now ive gotta talk about jewish shit because it sucks for us rn and I won't let my voice be stomped out.

[sissa-arrows]

random question, but why do Algerians still hate the French? French Algeria hasn’t existed since 1962, so why so much hatred still?

First of all 1962 is 61 years ago. You’re saying it as if it was centuries ago and nobody was alive anymore. My grandparents who are very much alive Al hamdulilah were born under French colonialism. I’m 29 and I saw the consequences of French tortures on my great grandpa with my own eyes (they cut off some of his fingers) as I was lucky enough to meet him (he died when I was 8-9) This is not some ancient event that has no consequences anymore on people. It still has consequences on the country and on the people. Like you’re going to pretend that France didn’t have lynching against Algerians until the 90’s? You’re going to pretend anti Algerian racism is not so present in France that the French word for a racist attack/lynching (ratonnade) is not a mix between an anti Algerian slur and the word “beating”?

Now to answer your question.

We don’t hate the French they hate us that’s different. Algerians don’t give a flying fuck about France. Algerians would want few things more than pretend France doesn’t exist.

But France hate us and resent us for taking our independence. Are we supposed to stay silent when France says we should be grateful for colonialism? Are we supposed to stay silent when they say we should be apologizing not them? Are we supposed to stay silent when absolutely nobody got punished for what they did to Algerians and that they actually got rewarded? Are we supposed to stay silent when the remains of our ancestors (some of them children) are still kept and exposed in French museums despite asking to get them back? Are we supposed to stay silent when France still has our archives including the ones before they colonized Algeria and still refuse to give us those archives? Are we supposed to stay silent when they say the trauma of their colonizers grandparents leaving Algeria is worst than the trauma of our grandparents seeing their loved ones being killed, tortured, raped? Are we suddenly pretending transgenerational trauma doesn’t exist and that 132 years of colonialism and the denial of the horrors committed, worst than the denial switching the blame, has no consequences on Algerians today? My grandpa still sleeps with a shotgun because of the trauma. My father left Algeria because his mother was so traumatized by what the French did during the war of liberation (they killed one of her child, he wasn’t 2 years old yet) that when the civil war started she told my dad to leave cause she didn’t want to lose an other child.

Now do you plan on asking French people why they hate Algerians or do you keep your questioning to Algerians only? We don’t hate France but if we did we would have every single right to.

Lastly if I was a Jewish woman posting about Nazis Germany and antisemitism in present Germany as well as Neonazis would you have felt you have the right to ask me why I still have issues with it cause it happened in 1945? Unless you’re a racist scum you wouldn’t have done it cause you know how horrific the holocaust was and how fucked up it would be to question the feelings of descendants of survivors (I’m still giving you the benefit of the doubt maybe your ask was genuine and you didn’t know any better). So why do you think you have the right to question how Algerians feel about France?

[souliebird]

[[a little runaway]]

series: the punisher | pairing : frank castle x ofc | rating: m

Summary: A series of connected ficlets about Frank Castle meeting a human-feline Hybrid named Sadie Harper, who has the ability to heal with a just a simple touch.

wordcount: 9k

The first thing Frank notices as he begins to come to is that someone took his boots. His feet are cold and the left one is wet with something that is leaving his skin sticky.

The second thing Frank notices is that he is sitting up, with his arms behind his back. Putting two and two together is easy for his foggy mind - wherever he is, he did not put himself there. Which means someone else did. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he assesses the situation. 

He doesn’t hear anyone directly around him - no shuffling or noticeable breathing, but that doesn’t mean there’s not someone close by watching him. There’s some muffled voices in the distance and heavy thuds of footsteps coming from above him. He can hear the groans and creaks that come from an older building.

It smells of must and mold and combined with the light chill in the air, but the lack of a breeze, Frank guesses he’s in some sort of basement.

Tied to a chair.

Which is just fucking great.

As he gains more coherence, the pain starts to register. It hurts to breathe and all parts of him feel like they got run over by a semi truck sporting snow chains. His mouth tastes like blood and dirt and he wouldn't be surprised to find that that is what he's covered in. What isn't aching is throbbing - particularly his head and thigh - and he's having trouble cataloging what may or may not be broken. He doesn't think he's bleeding out anywhere, but it's hard to tell. 

Someone did a fucking number on him. 

When he gets free, he will happily return the favor. 

To who? He’s not sure yet. That part is still a little hazy. 

He wiped out the scum he was after - some Nazi wannabe pieces of shit who’d been throwing up HIS logo with their hate, but he clearly wasn’t the only one they had pissed off. After he had taken care of them, he’d been ambushed before he could leave their barnyard foxhole. He remembers three men trying to box him in. 

There’d been a firefight, but after that his memory goes blank.

But he’s not in jail, so that’s one point to him in the fucked up grand scheme of things.

Frank forces his eyes open. One is partially swollen shut and it makes looking around a little harder. 

He’s in some sort of cell. It’s a pretty decent size - about ten feet in length and just as tall. Bars just close enough together that not even Lieberman could squeeze his skinny ass through. The door has a serious looking padlock on it from what he can tell. There’s barely any light, but he can tell it’s not something that will give with a few good kicks, not that he could get his leg through to do that anyway. 

Outside the cell, there’s vague shapes of boxes stacked into a corner, but otherwise it’s empty. A dark, dank musty basement with a cage in it. 

In his experience, these environments don’t bode well for the people in the cells.

Which means he needs to get out.

He tilts his head down to see exactly what he has gotten himself into. 

His legs are cuffed to the chair and his arms aren’t fairing much better - they're tied up separately behind his back. Looking over his shoulder, he can see the ropes are attached to a D-link welded to the floor. The ropes from his wrist to the D-links are short and pull his arms so they are fully extended. He can’t bend his elbows and he can barely move his wrists. There’s a rope around his middle, keeping him from being able to raise his hips up. He tries to rock forward, but the only thing that happens is a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder. 

Forcing his way out ain't gonna happen.

Frank’s been in worse situations. He just needs to focus and figure out his next step. Use his fucking head instead of brawn.

He's got a razor blade in his arm but he can't get to it with how his arms are pulled taut. Whoever tied him down knew what they were doing. He would have made sure his wrists weren't able to move at all, though. It's not much but he can work with it. 

He closes his eyes and begins slowly rolling his wrist, intent on loosening the knot in the rope enough that he can get his hand out.

As he works, he turns his attention to what is outside of the room he’s locked in.

There’s voices coming from somewhere above him and maybe a few rooms over. He can hear distinct voices, but they are too muffled to work out exactly what is being said. He gets the tone though - guys laughing and talking loudly, hanging out. He can tell there are at least four of them and wherever they are, they don’t gotta worry about being quiet. 

He doesn’t think he was out that long. The light he can see is most likely moon light, which means they must still be out in the country. No one around to hear them be loud or to call the cops.

He focuses away from the voices to the sounds of the house. He ain't got Red's hearing, but he doesn't really need it. The house is loud as fuck. He can hear the windows shaking in the wind and the pipes are chugging along somewhere while the floorboards and walls are groaning. He can hear crickets chirping and trees rustling outside. 

He doesn't have a lot of information to work with. Whoever has him got the jump on him and beat the shit out of him, so he needs to get any cocky thoughts out of his head. Whoever they are, they were comfortable enough to roll up on a bunch of Neo-Nazis with guns. He knows he got all the members of that shithead gang, so it's not them. Partners or rivals, maybe. 

They got some kind of training, that's for sure, knew what they were doing in that barn and clearly knew how to tie someone up. They have a cell. They aren't some good old boys who work in the factories out here. 

His best bet is to get the jump on them.

Frank stills as there's a loud creak from behind and above him.

A moment later, the door to where he's being held slowly opens. Someone slips in, closes the door, and waits. Checking to see if someone heard them, he thinks.

That makes Frank itch.

After a few moments, they start going down the stairs. Frank wonders if they're listening for him as they pause halfway down 

A minute passes before they move forward. Their steps are light, like they're tip-toeing barefoot. 

 They pause again at the bottom of the stairs, but only for a few seconds. Their steps are hesitant and Frank guesses that whoever it is, they are not supposed to be down here.

He decides to open his eyes - he's not gonna pretend he's still out. If whoever it is is sneaking down here, he wants to know who they are.

He's surprised to see that it's a woman dressed only in a black camisole and a pair of panties who steps into his line of sight. Everything about her screams ‘nervous’, from the way she’s holding herself rigid, hands balled up into fists by her side to the way she is actually tip-toeing towards the cell. He can’t tell if she’s terrified of him or what is upstairs.

When she’s no longer mostly hidden by the shadows, he can see she’s got a mane of dark curls – and right in the middle, of the top her head, are a pair of cat ears. They twitch and swirl around and Frank quickly realizes they aren't a headband - they're real ears. The woman is a Hybrid.

They ain't rare but they certainly aren't common. Frank met a few dog Hybrids overseas, but didn't have much interaction beyond a few hand shakes. He doesn't follow all the politics regarding them, he just knows he doesn't like the idea of people as pets. And he thinks of Hybrids as people - most of their DNA is human, he figures. Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck and all that. Hell, there's people like Red all over and literal fucking aliens walking around. Some fucked up scientist just decided to play real life Doctor Moreau and the government let it happen. 

As she gets close enough for him to see her face through his swollen eyes, he' is surprised to see she is looking at him with an almost innocent curiosity. Her eyes are dark and wide,, like she's trying to work out if she knows him as she searches his face. She doesn't seem put off by his state and it makes him wonder how often people get tied up down here.

Her eyes are darting all over him but he holds his gaze steady. He doesn't want to spook her. She hasn't made a single noise since the creak of the floorboard and with how her ears are swiveling around, something tells him she isn't a threat to him. 

She looks him in the eye after about ten seconds, biting into her lower lip then giving a little nod to herself as she seems to come to a conclusion. 

She starts to back away and that's when he finally notices the tail swishing behind her. It's sleek and black and blends into the shadows. 

She doesn't turn away from him until she's out of sight. When she starts up the stairs, he can only hear her because he's listening for her. She doesn't pause midway like he expects her to and instead goes right up to the door. She does wait there for about thirty seconds before she slips back out.

He doesn't hear the floor creak again. 

Frank doesn't know how to feel about the visit. It could have easily been an act to fool him, gain his trust. She could be making sure he's still tied up good – or she could have just been curious.

He doesn't think it's worth overthinking. He'll make himself paranoid. 

He goes back to rolling his wrist. 

Frank lets his mind go blank as he works on loosening his bonds, partly to keep himself from going stir-crazy and partly because his head hurts too damn much to think. He lets his head hang forward and closes his eyes and let's time just sort of pass. 

The noise from upstairs starts to fade after a couple hours. He hears an engine turn over and some type of truck drive off. It gets quieter after that, but there's still someone stomping around upstairs. They don't sound angry, just loud. Some pipes rattle and send short bursts of water up. His best guess would be someone getting ready for bed. 

There's a pause in the footsteps and after a few moments there's a heavy thud, like something falling over. The footsteps go off and after a minute stop. 

The house goes quiet after that. 

He stays alert for about an hour before he starts to drift. He's sore and can feel the start of a fever. His head is throbbing and the crickets make for a good lullaby.

He doesn't fully sleep. He ain't that dumb, even in this state. He toes the line, remembering to rotate his wrist every so often. 

-----

Frank jerks awake when birds start chirping. 

It takes a moment for him to remember everything and he takes a deep, centering breath. The air is crisp and burns his lungs and it hurts like hell to stretch his chest. 

He needs to get out of here before he actually gets sick.

He can feel where he's rubbed his skin raw from trying to loosen the ropes and it's been bleeding. 

In theory, the blood should at least help lube up the rope.

He rolls his shoulders the best he can to wake up his arm and starts working. 

Water starts running - someone taking a shower. After about five minutes, the shower shuts off, then a few minutes after that a toilet flushes. Frank doesn't hear anything from the house after that until the sun starts creeping in.

He stills when the door knob to where he's been kept clicks open. He hadn't heard anyone come up to the door.

Whoever it is takes their time coming down the stairs. Frank gets a feeling that it's the Hybrid woman. 

He’s proven correct a minute later.

She's still on her tiptoes, walking cautiously towards his cell. Her eyes dance all over him, a little frown on her lips, and he decides to wait and see if she wants anything or not or if she's just gonna stare at him again.

She comes right up to the bars and Frank has to force himself to not raise his eyebrows at what she is wearing.

It's a black lacy teddy with built in support and cut high on her hips. She's covered in the areas that matter, but she is most definitely wearing lingerie. And over it, covering her stomach, is a little half apron. She looks like someone's idea of a sexy maid, minus the high heels. Paired with her cat ears and tail, he wonders if there's a fetish involved and if it's hers or someone else's. She isn't exactly exuding confidence or acting like she's gonna try to seduce him – she's just looking at him with wide nervous eyes.

She stares at him for a long moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a set of keys. 

She hesitates a few seconds before singling out a key and unlocking the padlock, which she quickly pulls off the door and stuffs in her apron, key still inserted. 

Frank's heart pounds in his chest a little when she doesn't open the door right away. He's got the feeling she's not a threat to him, but he knows better than to underestimate. He ain't got any way to defend himself if she decides to kill him. 

Her eyes dart to the hinges of the door, first the top then the bottom one, and she purses her lips. He doesn't know what she sees, but she pulls the door open just enough to step in. 

She stays on her tiptoes and slowly starts stepping towards him. She carefully puts one foot in front of the other until she's within arms reach of him, then she drops to stand properly on her heels. 

Frank lifts his head up to look her in the face. 

Up close he can see the fresh cut on her lip. It looks like she's trying to hide it with lipstick, but it's too split. He can also now make out the thin metal chain around her neck with a dainty little padlock holding it together. A collar. 

She holds up her hands defensively, miming that she's not a threat, then slowly reaches into her apron. He drops his gaze to watch as she pulls out...a banana?

 She offers it out to him.

Frank eyes it, not sure exactly what she wants him to do with it since he certainly can't take it from her and eat it. He looks back to her face, waiting for her to figure out what to do. Her ears twitch a few times before she pulls it back and unpeels the banana about a third of the way. She breaks the tip off and eats it, her wide eyes on him the entire time. Then she offers the rest of the banana out to him, closer to his face where he can lean in and take a bite. 

Frank doesn't go for it right away. 

He looks back at her lips, at the split in it. He thinks of how she's been sneaking around, not making a damn sound. How she's constantly walking on her tiptoes. 

He makes the decision and bites into the banana. 

Her lips turn up into a smile. It's hesitant, but genuine. 

She keeps holding the banana up and he's able to take another bite after he finishes the first. She doesn't say anything, and keeps her eyes angled down towards his chest. It's not the most dignified thing, but food feels good in his stomach and despite how bad his face hurts, it's easy to eat.

Frank lets himself look her over as he chews.

Up close, he can see all the cuts and bruises the Hybrid woman is covered with, even though she hides them well. 

On the back of her thigh is a yellowing block of skin. There are dark bags under her eyes, barely covered with concealer, and scars covering her knees. 

There are scars all over her hands as well. Not big obvious ones, but enough that Frank can tell that she works with her hands. Her nails are cut short too, shorter than he's seen most well-groomed women wear.

And she is well-groomed, more so than the few people he's seen since coming to this side of New York. Not just with her lingerie and makeup, but she's also got big curly hair with well-defined curls (and he's heard a few rants from Amy about how much effort those take). Except for the scars, her skin looks soft. She's got a naturally darker skin tone, but he can tell that she doesn't get much sun. 

The banana isn't very big and after each bite Frank takes, the Hybrid woman pulls back the peel until he tugs the last bit out. She stuffs the trash back into her apron, then looks him over nervously. 

Her ears twitch a few times, and Frank tries to not stare at them. He's not gonna be rude to her if she doesn't deserve it, and she's certainly done nothing to earn his wrath.

The woman seems to come to a conclusion, then rocks back up onto her tiptoes and starts taking careful steps back towards the door. 

Frank watches her, notes how she never turns away from him. He's always in her line of sight.

The woman closes the cell door and locks it with the padlock, still making close to no noise. 

She hesitates, looking from him up to the top hinge before she pulls a little rag out of her apron and reaches up to wipe the hinge down. Quickly, she kneels down, still staying on her fucking tippy-toes, and does the same with the bottom hinge. She pops back up, stuffing the rag back into her apron pocket, and her eyes dart back to him. 

After a moment, she looks up and to the side and her ears swirl and twitch, like she's heard something. She listens then starts to back away again, until she disappears from view. A second later, she's out the door.

Frank gives a sniff as he thinks. 

Her trying to help him will just get her in trouble if she's found out. She doesn't look like she takes trouble well. 

He resolves he needs to get out before she gets the chance to get caught. 

He takes another breath that still burns his lungs, and gets back to work. 

About a half hour passes before more sounds begin to fill the house - people getting up and getting ready for their day. He hears three different showers start up, pressing water up at least two stories. Mr. Stomps-a-Lot is the first down stairs, making his way to the room next to the one above Frank. He can hear the man grunting and huffing in the quiet of the morning.

The other two join him within a handful of minutes and it doesn't take long for conversation to start up. It's muffled for the most part but one of them has a loud, traveling voice. The third voice he can barely catch. They don't talk about much at first - Frank catches a lot of basketball gossip and it sounds like it's an exciting season, if he actually gave a shit. 

But he doesn't. 

He keeps working until he hears the assholes start talking about him, then he tilts his head up in an attempt to listen better.

"His truck's gotta be around there somewhere," the loud one says, accompanied by the clinking and clanking of dishes. "I bet it's got a lot more good shit in it."

There's quiet answers that Frank can't make out, but it makes his trigger finger twitch. 

He can't exactly remember what he had on his person, but he knows that he doesn't want these assholes getting what's in his van. They could do a lot of damage with it, plus it's His Shit. He doesn't want their fucking grubby hands all over it. 

"Think that's a good idea," Mr. Stomps-a-lot answers to someone. "Let him rot a few days. Keep him tied up, starved, he ain't gonna last long. We'll get what we need."

Frank's fingers twitch more at that. In his current state, it is a good plan, but they're giving him some pretty good motivation to get out. The little rest he got and the banana has given him energy, and he's not about to waste it. 

The talk turns to plans for the day – beyond going to get his shit – and Frank can piece together they do some sort of drug running. He can't make out details beyond that there's something happening that afternoon and Stomps-a-Lot vouching that their their product will be clean. 

They clear out after that. He hears the chairs scrape, then he's guessing what's the front door opens and slam shut. There's a few shouts from outside that Frank can't make out, like they're talking from a few yards away, then two engines turn over. One car peels out loudly while the other takes off at a more sensible rate. 

And that pisses him off.

He knows he can be cocky, but he isn't 'leave someone he knows is a threat completely unguarded and unchecked' cocky. Except for the Hybrid woman, no one has come down here since he woke up. He hasn't seen a camera and he doesn't think the woman would have come down if there was one. 

He'd bet she would know if there's cameras around. 

Frank sucks on his teeth. He doesn't want to stew in anger, but it's hard not to. Agitation is itching under his skin, building up with every ache and throb. 

It all boils over when the rope tied around his wrist stops slowly loosening. He can wiggle his wrist back and forth now, but he still can't get the meat of his hands through. 

He cranes his neck the best he can and pushes up against the rope around his waist, trying to see how his hands are tied. 

There's duct tape wrapped around the top of the knot, keeping it from loosening even more.

These fucking idiots are smarter than he thought. 

Frank rolls his shoulder, tugging hard at his wrist to try and force it through. Even with blood as a lubricant, it won't budge. He snarls and starts trying to rock forward, knowing the chair is bolted down, trying to dislodge the tape or something to get himself out.

He plants his feet and grits his teeth, using his newfound energy to tilt his body as much as he can to get leverage, and pivots as hard as he can.

Something snaps, then pain sears up his forearm. 

He sees white, then nothing. 

----

Frank comes to when a door slams from somewhere above him. 

He's groggy and sticky and hot. His leg is throbbing and when he twitches his fingers he almost passes out from pain again. He can feel that his eyes have crusted shut and he struggles to open them. He blinks a few times but it doesn't help his vision at all, so he just closes them again. 

Save the energy.

His nose is clearly broken (again) so it hurts like a bitch to breathe in, but he still takes a deep steadying breath. His ribs scream at him, but all of him is doing that now, so he blocks it from his mind.

He blocks all of it out and focuses. 

He was out most of the day. The light is almost gone and the air is getting chilly, even to his hot skin. 

There's people walking around upstairs, this time a good number of them, all male. Talking about basketball, because it's fucking March and that's all people care about. Frank can smell pizza. 

These fuckers really mean to just ignore him, hidden away like a bastard child. 

Frank tells himself to take another deep breath. He can't get pissed off again. He's a fucking idiot, making himself worse off. He knows better. 

He's not getting his hand out of the rope by wiggling it out. 

He thinks about his options. Everything is still a bit muddled and he keeps having to remind himself to breathe right. 

It doesn't take long for Stomps-a-Lot and his party to start getting loud. Rowdy. Drunk. With lots of cheering and loud commentary. 

At the height of it – when the noise is so loud that Frank thinks that if they were in the city, the cops would be called – the door to the basement opens once again. He only notices because the volume increases for a moment before it's once again muffled. 

He lifts his head and watches through wary eyes as the Hybrid woman once again hesitantly makes her way down to his cell. She is more skittish than before and even Frank's blurry vision can see her stopping to look up at the ceiling every few seconds. 

The keys jangle as she takes them out of her apron and unlocks the padlock. She leaves it and the keys hanging from the door after opening it and it feels like a deliberate move. She doesn't step in right away. 

She slowly walks towards him, stopping every other step to listen, and he can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her. She reaches into her apron as she gets close to him and takes what looks like a protein bar out. She holds it up to show him the label - a peanut butter Cliff bar. 

Frank can't deny he isn't hungry, even if he only realized it just then and needs the energy, so he gives a slow nod.

The woman's fingers shake as she rips open the package. She breaks off the corner of the bar and holds it out to Frank, hand feeding him instead of making him break it off himself. 

He appreciates it, honestly, and he's not too full of himself to scoff at her. She's careful to not touch his lips as she feeds him. She keeps the pieces small, easy for him to chew - it's a lot more moist than he thought the bar would be. His mouth's dry as hell and usually these things are sawdust. 

When he finishes the bar, she stuffs the wrapper into her pocket. She waits a moment then pulls out a little water bottle - one of the tiny ones given to kids for soccer. She cracks the lid and holds it to his lips. Frank tells himself to not be greedy as he drinks, but it feels so good, and he drains the bottle in only a few seconds. 

The woman recaps the bottle and drops it into her apron.

He expects her to leave after that, slip back upstairs before anyone notices she's gone, but she stays still. She looks him up and down slowly, biting into her bottom lip. He thinks she may be considering saying something, so he keeps quiet, not pressuring her. 

He doesn't expect her to pull a kitchen knife out. He forces his face to remain neutral, ordering himself to not tense up at the dynamic change. 

She's slow with her movements, like she's trying to not spook him. She turns the knife so the handle is facing him, the blade pointing at her, and that surprisingly diffuses the tension running through him a fraction. It seems to take forever, but she places the knife on his lap and steps back just half a step.

He doesn't know what she expects, but after a moment of staring at each other, she takes a tiny step to the side. Then another. And another - slowly circling around him in tip toes baby steps. He keeps his eyes forward, telling himself to keep his breathing normal. Be calm. 

She crouches behind him and Frank tries his best to relax his arms. Nothing happens for a few long moments, then she touches his arm, close where he's tied by the wrist. He expects pain to rip through him again, but there's nothing, only gentle, cold pressure of her skin against his. It feels like she's just touching him and he wonders if she's trying to figure out how to untie the ropes. 

After a few long moments, she drags her fingers down and begins to tug at the rope. He feels it begin to loosen and resists the urge to yank his hand free - he'd end up hurting himself more and probably startling her. He stays still as he can until the rope falls from his wrist. The woman goes right to untying his other wrist.

Frank rolls his shoulder, forcing down a groan at how stiff his muscles are. It throbs a little, bringing his arm around to be in his lap, but he ignores the ache in favor of picking up the knife in his lap and starting to saw at the rope around his lap. 

The knife is extremely sharp and slices through the binds easily. His other wrist is freed and just like that, the only thing holding Frank down are the cuffs around his ankles.

He starts to lean forward to start working on those - the woman left the keys hanging in the door so he isn't sure if she has a way to unlock them - when he finally notices his wrists. 

They are covered in blood and grime but there's no sign of damage to them. No scratches, no tears, no skin rubbed raw from trying to escape. No bruising, which Frank knows can't be right because the day before yesterday, he banged himself good working on his van. 

There should be a nasty quarter sized bruise on the meat of his thumb. 

But there isn't. 

He presses into where the bruise should be with his other thumb and there is no pain. His fingers are tingling from getting good blood circulation back, but it's more like when his limbs fall asleep than the aftermath of getting the shit beat out of him. 

The throbbing that has been coursing through him has faded into nothing. He feels stiff and sticky, but no longer feverish and like one wrong move will make him black out. 

The searing pain that was his forearm is non existent. He can flex his fingers without wanting to pass out.

He doesn't understand. 

His hands jump up to his face and it's the exact same - he's filthy as all hell but nothing he pokes or prods hurts. He realizes the swelling around his eye is gone by nearly jamming his finger in his socket and that his vision is back to normal. 

 It's a hallucination. He must have underestimated the woman and she's drugged him.

Frank turns in the chair to face the woman, pointing the knife at her. He's still cuffed to the chair, but that won't stop him now that his arms are free.

She's still crouching, her shoulders hunched up, her ears flat against her curls. Her eyes are wide and terrified. She's absolutely stock still. 

Part of him wants to demand what she's done to him - most of him does, but a quiet voice tells him she means well. She's trying to help him. This isn't a trap.

And that stops him, because Frank doesn't hear that voice often. 

He narrows his eyes at her and sucks on his teeth. She doesn't look like a threat. She's not tense like she's got caught, she's tense like she's scared he's gonna hurt her. 

He makes a decision to trust his gut. 

He turns back around, hunching over to start working at the cuffs keeping him in the chair. He feels around and cranes his neck, but there's no keyhole. Instead, each cuff is locked with a combination, something he couldn't see before. 

Frank scowls.

The woman inches into his line of sight, still staying crouched to the ground, and reaches towards the lock with shaky hands. He leans back, sure to keep the knife away from where she can lunge for it. 

He's listening to his gut, but he's not stupid.

The cuff unlocks without noise and Frank watches as the woman crawls - on her hands and knees with her tail between her legs - to his other side. She opens that cuff, then looks up at him, still clearly terrified. 

He feels like a fucking asshole for that. 

The tension between them is broken by a loud cheer from upstairs. 

The woman tenses again and Frank glares up at the ceiling. 

He pushes himself into standing, still amazed he is only just a little sore, and looks down at the Hybrid. 

He tests the weight of the knife in his hand - it's good quality - better than some big box store, and it's well taken care of. No signs of rust. It's also pretty small. He guesses it's a paring knife or something similar. A knife meant for peeling and shaping vegetables, not for killing. 

Frank will make it work. 

"How many of them are there?" He asks, voice rough from disuse. 

Her ears twitch a few times before the woman whispers out an answer. Her voice is scratchy, too. 

"Six, sir."

He rubs at his mouth with his free hand, taking a moment to go over everything mentally. 

He had no chance in a fight before, but now he's gotten some food and drink and isn't bleeding out while running a fever. He's pretty much in top shape. The assholes upstairs don't know that. He's got all the advantages. 

If this healing thing is real. 

He's still incredibly skeptical. He doesn't understand it but he's not up his own ass enough to think he's gotta understand everything. He doesn't understand how people can be Enhanced. He doesn't understand how a robot made an entire country float or any of the other shit that has happened in the last few years. A Hybrid woman who can heal? Not outside the realm of possibility.

He looks back to the woman cowering on the floor.

"Stay here," he orders. She instantly gives a tight little nod.

Frank rolls his shoulders again. They are already starting to feel looser. He decides to not hesitate or doubt and just goes. 

It turns out he is in a basement. There's some boxes shoved in a corner, a ladder propped against the wall. The fuse box is on the wall and it's tempting to kill the power, but he wants to return the favor of getting the jump on him. 

The stairs are a steep climb and when he gets to the top, Frank stops to listen. 

The party is still raging, but now he can clearly hear the television. It's cranked up loud and he wonders why the woman even bothered to sneak - those assholes probably can't even hear themselves talking. 

It doesn't sound like there's anyone close to him, so he cracks the door open and slips out. 

He's once again surprised - he was expecting to see a run down barn house, but despite all it's creaking, everything looks new and recently renovated. Probably within the last five or so years, he'd guess. 

He's come out into the kitchen - it looks like it belongs in some commercial, all clean and white and modern with nothing in the counters to show anyone lives there. No cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, everything is fucking spotless. It's almost a little eerie, especially coupled with the rowdiness down the hall. 

He almost feels guilty walking on the pristine floor with his blood and grime covered feet, but he plans to stain it all with blood. He'll apologize to the Hybrid woman, though, because she's most likely the one who's been keeping everything so nice. 

It's easier to tell the voices apart now that he's in the same level as them and he counts four in the room down the hall - probably a living room. That means two are unaccounted for. They could be in there but quiet, in the bathroom, or anywhere else. 

It'd be best to pick them off one by one. 

And he doesn't need to wait long. 

The game goes to commercials and someone starts coming towards the kitchen, yelling back, asking if anyone wants another beer. Frank presses himself against the same wall as the door to the hall and waits.

A man walks in holding a few empty beer bottles, setting them on the counter. One tips over after a wobble and a little bit of beer trickles out onto the counter. The man ignores it, not even looking over at the sound, and opens the fridge. He doesn't even bother checking his surroundings. 

Frank moves quickly and quietly. One hand over the thug's mouth while the knife is plunged into his throat. Frank pulls and the inside of the fridge gets painted red. 

He lowers the body to the ground, tugging so it's hidden by the kitchen island and drops it. He nudges the fridge door with his foot so it closes, then turns back to quickly pat down the remains. No weapons, which is a damn shame. 

Five more left. 

He stays low and creeps back to the doorway. He listens, making sure the crew is still distracted and once clear, he pokes his head around the corner. There's a nice big convenient mirror down the hall and he can see partially into the living room. He counts three heads.

Two unaccounted for. 

One of the assholes starts getting up and Frank ducks back behind the wall. They start down the hall to the kitchen, but end up going into another room and closing the door. Probably going to the bathroom. 

"Chato, get off your fucking phone," someone from the living room calls out, "Games back on!"

He waits until the assholes starts yelling about basketball again to start down the hall. When he gets to the closed door, he reaches out and touches the knob. There's no lock on it. Frank takes a deep centering breath, getting himself hyped up, and goes in.

The guy is standing in front of the toilet on his phone, just kind of swaying. Doesn't even hear the door open. Drunk off his ass. 

He turns just as Frank steps up to him. Frank swings and connects with his jaw. The guy falls back into the toilet. Frank follows, thrusting the knife into his chest, up under his sternum. He drives the knife in again and again until the man under him stops moving. 

It's all fast and ruthless. No time to fight back, no time to scream. 

When he steps back, the body slumps down to the ground, bleeding out everywhere. He gives a quick pat of the body, finding nothing but a few baggies of dope. 

Frank makes a disgusted noise before wiping his blade on his shirt, not so much cleaning it as smearing gore on himself. 

Two down.

Four to go. 

He steps out of the bathroom, using the cover of a cheer to close the door. 

There's a creak above him and Frank's head jerks up. Heavy footsteps pass over him and he wonders if the two missing are upstairs. It's a bet he'd take. 

Frank licks his lips in thought, deciding to make a change in his plans. He makes his way down the hall towards the living room. He uses the mirror to make sure to see their positions - both are facing the TV with their backs to the hall. Closer to the room, he can see a handful of beer bottles and some glass pipes littering the table. 

He waits until a new play starts, then moves. They don't notice him until he is behind the one closest to the hallway and wrapping his arms around his neck. The other one begins screaming and scrambling away as Frank snaps the man he is holding's neck. 

Frank turns his glare to the remaining man downstairs and that kicks the asshole into gear. He lunges at Frank and being drunk and high gives him the advantage of being completely unpredictable. 

The fucker jumps over the couch at full speed, crashing into Frank's chest. He braces for it but it still sends them both to the ground and the knife slides away. The guy is scrappy and instead of punching, he throws Frank off by scratching at him with way too long for a man nails. His face stings as a few good hits get in, but he quickly overpowers the drunk.

 He flips them over and the guy lets out a feral sounding scream before Frank gets his hands around the guy's throat. 

The drunk starts thrashing under him, but Frank's got at least sixty pounds on him, so he's not going to get bucked off. He pushes down with a snarl, tightening his grip. 

Instead of going for his face, the fucker starts scratching into his arms, instinct taking over. He bears down until the scratching and kicking stop, only letting up when the body goes fully limp.

Frank pushes himself up into standing, wiping his mouth with his hand. He looks up at the ceiling, waiting to see if the commotion catches the attention of the two upstairs. There's no immediate reactions he can hear, so he moves to grab the knife and heads towards the stairs.

He's on a mission.

The ones on the first floor don't seem like they'd be the ones running things and Frank wants the bastard that put him in a cage.

He wants the one who has the Hybrid woman so scared.

He feels like Red, going up to the stairs and tilting his head to see if he can hear the missing two. He can hear a deep low voice, almost a rumble. It was present at breakfast and one of the voices he heard the least, but one that held the most weight. The others had shut up when he spoke. 

When Frank gets to the top of the stairs, he sees three closed doors and two open. One of the open ones is a bathroom, he can see the towels hanging by the door, and the other has it's lights on and the rumbly voice coming from it.

As he side steps towards the room with his targets, he takes a moment to look around the landing. Like the downstairs, it's recently remodeled. There's a heavy looking hall table lined with all kinds of photos that boil Frank's blood. The same mid fifties man is in each picture posing with all sorts of dead exotic animals - water buffalo, lions, crocodiles. Animals he had no business killing. 

He hates trophy hunters and Frank is gaining more and more reasons to end this man. 

He presses his back to the wall as he inches towards the open door, gripping his knife in his hand. His adrenaline is making his heart pound, like it does before any fight, but a deadly calm has come over him. He listens and waits for his moment.

"I want Alex there this weekend. I don't want another Susanna," the low voice says, "keep him clean until then."

"And Chato?"

"Bring him, he needs to learn to work off his phone." There's a brief pause, some sounds of typing them, "why is the Internet down again?"

There's the heavy footsteps of Stomps-a-lot, "Is it down outs or just being slow?"

"Out."

They begin talking about cables and connections and Frank counts to three. Then he steps into the room, keeping the knife at his side.

"Evening, gentleman," he drawls. He knows how he looks. Standing tall, covered in blood - fresh blood - and holding a knife.

The room is an office, with a big desk in the middle. Like the rest of the house, it looks like it's out of Home and Gardens and that's why his gear in the corner stands out so much. 

His trigger finger twitches. He has to force himself to not snarl. 

Stomps-a-lot is built like a defensive lineman - big as fuck and meant to be a wall. He's bald and tattooed and looks like he belongs in the city, not out where people have functional barns. And he looks pissed.

But not as pissed as the trophy hunter. Instead of fiery anger, his is a quiet burning rage. Trophy Man reminds Frank of how plantation owners are portrayed in movies about slaves, except Latino instead of white - wanting to appear Dapper but completely unhinged.

"That little bitch," the older man hisses before jerking his chin towards Frank. "Kill him."

Stomps-a-lot charges at Frank with a roar. He meets him halfway, ducking at the last moment to go for the fucker's knee, stabbing into the soft flesh on the backside of it. The fucker loses balance quickly and as he starts to tumble sideways, Frank yanks the knife up, cutting through muscle and tendon. 

The massive man screams in pain and as he falls, manages to latch onto Frank and drag him to the ground too. He recovers faster than Frank expects and starts slamming his fist into Frank's side over and over before they even hit the floor.

Frank elbows him in the ear, buying enough time to roll to freedom and get back on his feet.

Stomps-a-lot can't get back up, but he grabs at Frank's pants. In turn, he gets curb stomped with Frank's bare heel until he lets go. 

In the corner of his vision he sees Trophy Man raise his arm and Frank dives away from Stomps-a-lot as shots begin to ring out. 

White hot pain sears through his left shoulder and he stumbles from it, but keeps moving. He ends up only a few feet away from where his shit is leaning against the wall.

Trophy seems to think he'll make a run for his vest and fires right where Frank would be if he took that step, but instead, he rushes at Trophy. He grabs the gun and forces it towards the ceiling as another round leaves the chamber. 

They grapple for the gun and not only is the older man stronger than he looks, he fights dirty. He digs his thumb into the bullet hole in Frank's shoulder and Frank screams in rage and pain. The play loosens a Frank's hold on the gun but opens up space for him to headbutt Trophy right in the nose. The older man's grip loosens and Frank rips the gun from his hand. 

He empties the rest of the clip into the fucker's chest and watches with satisfaction as the body crumbles to the ground. 

"I'm gonna fucking kill you," Stomps-a-lot wheezes out from across the room, half struggling to get up, half trying to get to Frank still.

Frank watches him a moment before going to his gear. By the look of it, it's only what was on him the night before, including his boots. He ignores them in favor of his shotgun they have carelessly leaning against a wall. He checks it, sees it is ready to go, and turns to face the man trying to crawl towards him.

He levels the gun and fires. Blood and gore cover the once pristine room. 

Frank doesn't take time to mull it over. He shoves his feet into his boots, grabs his shit, and stomps out of the office without a glance back. 

Downstairs, basketball is still blasting on the television. He goes past the blood and bodies and right out the front door. 

It's dark out and when he looks around, all Frank sees is a big empty lot. Acres of nothing, with a little farm house in middle. There's a few trees close by and lining the edge of the property, but otherwise flat grass surrounds him. 

The only things around are the cars in the driveway - including his own van. Relief washes over him. He's put a lot of hours into the van and has become pretty fond of it. 

He stalks towards the vehicle, feeling for the keys among his things. He doubts they're in there, but he can hope. 

They aren't but when he tests the handle of the back door, it opens. 

It's too dark to see properly, but a quick look tells him the bastards hadn't yet dug through his shit. As far as he can tell everything is just like he left it. 

Frank drops his rescued gear into the van and finally looks at his shoulder. 

Luckily the bullet hit only muscle and was through and through. He needs to stop bleeding, but it's not something that will put him out of commission in the long run.

He gets into the back of the van to grab his first aid kit, and as he's pulling out gauze and wipes, he remembers the Hybrid woman with the ability to heal wounds. 

He didn't forget about her, not at all, but magic or whatever powers aren't part of his day to day. He doesn't know if she can fix this or if she would be willing to.

He still needs to go get her, though. 

Make sure she is okay.

Frank wraps his shoulder either way, it'll be stupid to just let himself keep bleeding. 

He grabs one of the guns he keeps up in the cab of the van and a kabar. He keeps the little kitchen knife as well. 

He heads back up to the house, letting himself come down from the adrenaline but not letting his guard down. Just to make sure, he puts a bullet in each body's head before heading to the basement.

As he opens the door, he calls out, "It's me." 

He has absolutely no clue what his plan is, but he can't leave her here. He tries to think of a safe place he can take her as he heads down the stairs but nowhere springs to mind. He's hoping she knows.

To his surprise, she is exactly where she was when he left - crouched beside the chair. She didn't even move to sit in a more comfortable position. 

Frank doesn't know what to think about that.

Before he can enter the cell, she raises cautiously up onto her tip toes and hesitantly steps forward, reaching out her hand to him. Her wide eyes are fixed on his shoulder.

"It's okay, it went right through," he says, trying to soothe the worry clear on her face. 

He still goes towards her, though. She points at the hand of his good arm, her fingers fucking shaking, and he holds it out. 

She stops in front of it and goes down on her heels, and Frank watches with intense scrutiny as she just barely touches the back of his hand. 

Nothing happens.

He expects a rush or a glow or something but there is nothing. His shoulder throbs and then it doesn't. It's sore as hell but the pain of being shot? The burn and searing he was only numbing due to years of being a dog of war?

Blinks out like it was never there in the first place and there isn't even a shock to his system. 

He's never experienced anything like it but he has because Nothing Happened. 

Except he doesn't have a bullet hole in his shoulder anymore.

The scratches covering his arms? Gone.

As far as his body is concerned, the whole last twenty minutes never happened. 

She pulls away from Frank less than ten seconds after she touches him and takes two steps back.

He stares at where his arm is still extended in the air. 

He didn't even see the scratches disappear, though to be fair he's still covered in blood and dirt. And it's dark. 

He looks up at the woman. Her gaze is obediently down at her feet, waiting to be addressed. She's radiating nervous energy and Frank doesn't fucking blame her. 

He doesn't know the details of her life, but based on what knowledge he has, it hasn't been maybe the best. 

But she's been kind to him. She set him free. She healed him. 

Frank licks his lips, then offers in what he hopes is a kind voice, "Thank you. For fixing that. For earlier, too. Letting me out. Fixing me up then. I.. Appreciate it. That was a big risk you took."

Her ears twitch a few times, but she only looks up when he sticks his hand out for her to shake.

"'m Frank."

Her hand is small in his hand he makes sure to not give too firm of a shake. Only after she pulls her arm back does she speak.

"I'm Sadie, sir."

"You don't gotta call me 'sir'," Frank says, knowing she'll probably keep doing it. Polite or drilled into someone, it's a hard habit to break. "Is there somewhere I can take you? Do you have someone you can stay with?"

The look she gives him is of pure confusion.

"I've lived here all my life, sir. I…don't know anyone else." 

He frowns at that, "What was your plan, then?"

"To release you," she says like it's obvious, "You…help people." She looks back down at her feet, "Master said you punished the wicked. There's a lot of wicked people still in the world."

Whatever answer Frank was expecting, that was not it. He bites down the rage that flares over the term 'Master'. He should have made the man suffer, but he can't change the past. He needs to focus on the now. 

"What were you going to do, though, Sadie?"

"I'm wicked, too," she says so softly. His stomach twists at the implication.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he tells her, "You haven't done anything wicked in my book. To me, it looks like they kept you locked up here, using you. Is that right?" Her head just barely tilts in agreement to his assessment. "You helped me. I'm gonna repay that kindness. How about this - you come with me and we'll find you someplace safe." 

She doesn't react right away, but after a minute, she looks up at him, the hints of a smile starting to form. "I…I would like that, sir."

Frank lets himself smile back at her. He'll give Curtis a call in the morning - let him know he's alive and see if he's got any connections that will help Sadie find a new life. He's sure the man knows someone who can secure her a place to live where she isn't at risk of falling back into this scenario. 

But for now, she'll stay with him.

After they find her some fucking pants to wear. 

a/n: I've had this written for like a year and couldn't figure out an ending so I just slapped this on. :')

[winterfran]

I have no joke to make, this is just nazi shit.

Do the right wing bastards really think this is a normal thing to do?

The post I'm referencing is behind the cutoff.

What the fuck? Am I actually awake? Did we learn nothing?

Holy fuck I can't even