#people telling me that the nazis should have killed my grandma

[bluejay73ffs]

Russian gov: *Is bad and horrible and does horrible things*

Russian people: Please, do not think we are the same as our government, we do not agree with them and they do not represent us!

tumblr: Yeah guys, countries aren't monoliths.

Chinese Gov: *Covered up Covid for so long until it became an international health crisis*

Chinese People: Don't blame us for the actions of our government.

tumblr: Yeah guys, citizens aren't responsible for the bad thing their governments do.

Immigrants: Hey, we come from x country, but that doesn't mean we're the same as everyone from that country.

tumblr: Yeah don't be xenophobic guys! You shouldn't judge someone based solely on their country of origin.

British People: We know we have a bad history with imperialism, but we're taking steps to distance ourselves from it.

tumblr: *Some stupid and harmless joke about British accents with at least one "innit" present*

Anyone with literally any relation to France: Hi, I-...

tumblr: We literally need to nuke France, like unironically.

[kindtobechurlish]

I would be oppressed, I talk about what you don’t talk about and now people are ready to paint me as bad. I would know what that white woman that is married is thinking, and because I know what is thinking I can personify the third amendment and now you see people who are married in their quarters “talking” and it’s not flirting. It’s serious, the white woman sees a negro killed, the negro mother doesn’t have the words to express herself, just to refer back to her west African roots, and in trauma you can see the detachment as just that. A son would have a tattoo, and God is against tattoos, and by the tattoo you see, “mama”, there are assholes like Obama who don’t want black advancement but only better policing. When you can understand a child of an immigrant, a white mother, and a negro female as a wife who is a lawyer herself, you see the plain of these crackers, this pinhead, oppressing me. You see a bunch of people who are proud, and their pride just highlights the fall.. now it’s a matter of time, the time exposes people calling me the “n” word because I want the fall to come about faster as protection is that. I am not for an insidious effect, and the numbers rise just for me to be Joe Biden’s age and he, Donald Trump, Hillary Blithé, are no more just for me to be looking around like, “where did everyone go?”, and there is some BRAT, who is my age now, looking to get in government. I don’t want that, I don’t want that because I see demoralization, and when the plant is dead his policy will be - and now you see a German boor who demoralizes the cause as a plant is demoralized. People will come after them. But, I’m not white, so why would I care? A damned drift, negroes are resisting white authority just to serve a shadow Kike. I know about Nazis, and Hitler exposed that negro as that Kike is, and politicians are making things about a death camp. “He didn’t like Jews”, and now by the regiment of blacks you say Hitler was wrong in your “freedom.” Bull shit.

Now, they are ready to call me bad because I know about that white woman and her husband within quarters, Jake Tapper isn’t reporting it, and now you see those people who post and don’t say anything about anything. Imagine me saying what people don’t say, and then there are people who don’t say anything about anything - they let Joe Biden address it. And now you see, I resorted to this rhetoric because my grandma was “shocked”, and I can’t tell her nothing, I’m not telling my family, “Mama, I’m gone be famous”, enabling that white woman who would be happy to have a firefighter son, a police son, as KD, LeBron, sneers!

I can give you a personification, and you see cohorts for cohorts. In cohorts, you see a tether who would hear about reparations and it’s about “white pushback” and not a separate ecology that exposes the temporary practice and the so-called “necessary evil.” In that tether, he would rather write books, act as a father, you see me for me. I would know advancement, and then there is a guy who wants to be prince of who reminds me of “amazing grace”, and now you see William Whipple and his philosophy. Some people on a boat, slaves are, and they are signing to god, “thank you it’s not me.” AMAZING GRACE. I’m fighting for my freedom, that shadow Kike enables negroes from the emanation of ragtime, and now you see people who try to make me into a servant of a demagogue. He “leads the people”, and wants me to serve him like he should be serving the people. He has platform, he has his thoughts, and now you see the difference between president and king. I would be set over people, just to be a servant according to what rose me up, and now you see cowards for cowards and the farm fixes it. A bunch of people who would rather the city, its art, and now you see the coffee shop with the designs. “Art.” Yea, as pestilence is pestilence. The city is the city, and now you see politics as just that.

You see Obama doesn’t want black advancement, he wants to staple his legacy according to “my brothers keeper”, and you see him for him and me for me. There are people not black, seeking freedom due to the regiment of blacks, and now you see the dangerous time. They call me bad for saying this, and I would remind you I don’t want people to think Mexicans make my world. According to the world, you see the oppression as the oppression and the assholes as just that.

[stlgeekgirl]

Personal Rant

I was going to let it lie but then...no, I’m still a bit furious. I’m about to get personal and political so all of this is going under the cut.  Also, I’ll tag so anyone can keep this off their feed if it’s not your bag. 

I’m an older fan.  I watched Classic Who on our local PBS station, I saw the original Ghostbusters. I remember when cable, microwaves and VCR first came out on the market.  I am a fandom grandma.  I’ve been in fandom since the age of nine, before I even knew what fandom was.  

Also, I did most of my formative years of schooling in a Catholic School, I remember my school telling the kids that we needed to tell our parents not to vote for Mondale/ Ferraro in 1984 because they supported killing babies.  I was raised in a Republican/ racist/homophobic family. And while my beliefs have always been at odds with my family (BLM, LGBTQA+, ERA), politics never held an interest to me.  I didn’t know what Reagan did, all I knew was my parents liked him so he much be okay.  I never paid much attention to Bush 1 because he must be good if he was voted in after Reagan.  I was against Clinton in his first term because I didn’t know better and my ex was a Republican. while I wouldn’t call myself a Democrat or a Liberal, I very much lean that way.  This is from decades of reading and listening and finding beliefs that align with what I believe in.  

Then I read and I learned and I started thinking for myself and stopped listening to my family, my ex. friends.  I have not stopped reading and learning because I am a salty bitch and anything if you tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m gonna do my damnedest to prove you wrong.

It took some time but I learned about LGBTQA+ and realized I was an ally, tried to be a better ally, Finally realized I was part of the community.  I learned about BLM and realized that just because I don’t use derogatory terms for people doesn’t mean I’m not racist so I’m trying to be a better ally for POC and BIPOC,

I fight for safe spaces in fandom because I believe everyone should be able to feel comfortable in fandom, no matter age, gender, orientation, race.  I fight for SWYL because heterosexual people should be able to enjoy queer fics and queer people should be able to enjoy het fics without worrying that someone will think them less than.

My page is a plethora of fandom, pretty things, politics, and other random shit I like.  It’s my page.  At times I’ll come across blogs I don’t like or posts on people I follow blogs.  And I scroll past.  Because it’s their blog and it’s not my business to dictate what they put on their blog.  

With all the shit that happened with the Qanon/Alt Right/ Nazi/WTF you want to call it terrorist acts that happened this week, my tolerance level is at an all time low.  So it is not a good time to reblog something I post with laughing emojies and telling me that you hope I educate myself.  Because 1) I’m twice as old as you are 2) while your comment might have seemed tame to some people who are going to see it, I remember seeing the Pro Trump manifesto posted on another SM site that was justified because of four letters from the MBTI.  I made a mistake of scrolling past then but not here, not on my Tumblr. If after last weeks Terrorist attack on our Nations Capital, you wanna reblog my post and add some condescending BS comment, you’re blocked.  I have zero time for Nazis on my page.  I’m not going to name and shame because this person is young and I truly hope they realize the hurt they’re bringing on people.   Originally I was also going to tag ships but it’s not fair to those people to have this rant in their ship tags.  . But what really pisses me off (and brings me back to fandom) is this person is in a ship I love.  A het ship that is enjoyed by a lot of het and queer women.  We’re already demonized for liking a het ship but this person is the poster child for what people think our ship is made up of. They’re trying to “climb the ranks” so to speak, they’re trying to take money from fans, queer fans, POC fans, fans they are politically against. And I hate it. 

I have grown up over the years; in my fandom view, in my political views, in my views about basic human decency.  I stopped listening to what was told to me and starting educating myself.  I have fought with my family about my views, I have blocked family members on social media, what makes you think that someone I don’t know isn’t going to get the same treatment.  So, please, sit down, turn off Fox News and actually educate yourself.

[pip-n-flinx]

Among Us

So this is going to get long, this is going to get personal, this is going to be about prejudice and race and self-serving bad-faith arguments and flawed rhetoric. And for all of these reasons I’m going to leave the rest of this under the cut.

As a few of my friends will know, earlier this week I was delivered an ultimatum from my landlord/roommate. He disguised it well, telling me he was ‘concerned for my mental health’ that my ‘negativity was dragging the whole house down’ and that I was simply too filthy to live with. I won’t pretend I’m a neat freak, and I can honestly say that I have taken some pains to clean more since, to his surprise and delight, though its particularly hard to take coming from him.

“You’re always so down. It’s making you lazy and thin skinned” You know its funny you should say that, now specifically, because I’ve actually been on the up and up this last week and you didn’t mention this at all in January when I was actually at my worst, or February when I was afraid I was going to have to quit my job, or back during the holiday season when retail work was breaking my back... Only now do you think to check in on me?

“You left a pair of gloves, a letter, and a small wooden trinket on the table!” Indeed I have, as you have left your pair of gloves, well over 21 letters, and regularly set your packages on this same table, including today two packages to be returned to amazon. I didn’t realize I didn’t get to use the table the same way you do.

“You don’t do dishes! except that you did this week, which is cool I guess but still!” You do realize that I actually hand-wash every dish I use within 24 hours of using it, right? And that often the dishes you come to me bitching that I never cleaned are in fact your fiances, yes? Ok good, next question.

“You’re always complaining about work. I don’t mind that you vent, but its all you talk about anymore!” I have either lost or walked away from 4 jobs in this last year, and that has not been easy, or fun. I have worked essential retail jobs the entire pandemic thus far. Additionally, in the months leading up to you storming out of your 75k a year salaried sales job, I had told you to leave it because I could see that it was killing you. You got so fed up with the job that for 4-5 months before you left your grandma-paid-off-my-second-mortgage capitalism-knows-best-pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-ass spent more time playing valorant and league of legends on the clock than doing actual work. Need I remind you that every time I stepped into your office, or simply stepped upstairs to get ready for work, you would complain about how awful your managers were, or how shitty someone had been to you over the phone? DID I EVER BELITTLE YOU FOR ANY OF THESE THINGS????

The real kicker was that the spark, the moment that started this (at least for him) was me trying to explain why racism and ‘cultural supremecy’ was bad. I had brought to him something I thought we could both agree on, that we could both laugh at. I brought him a series of tweets about how problematic Van Gogh was for studying and imitating traditional japanese painting techniques. He took this, and immediately turned into a piece of the culture wars. Now, I agree, this is an egregious example of trying to ‘cancel’ someone. How cancelling a long dead artist who couldn’t sell his art while he was alive is important is beyond my comprehension, its not as though the market value of these comes up very often, and almost no-one will ever have a chance to buy or reject a Van Gogh. But to him this was emblematic of ‘liberals’ cancelling Seuss and Rowling.

He even went so far as to say that Van Gogh probably ‘did it better’ than the artists he was studying/imitating. Now, this is a huge red-flag to me because this is straight out of the Nazi playbook. This is William Shenker, proposing a theory of music to proof ‘German cultural superiority.’ This, if you will pardon my language, is the real culture war: trying to supplant other cultures art and history with western figures and events.

Now, for those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about, this man is sexist. He doesn’t believe women are equal, complains about women’s sports, and rejects a woman’s right to choose. This man is a transphobe, questioning the logic of ‘safe-spaces’ and allowing people to change their pronouns. This man is a Trump supporter, and voted for him twice. And all of these things I found out years after we became friends. I have in the past contemplated what it would take to cut him out of my life wholesale. Despite our wealth of shared experience and our shared interests, we’ve been drifting apart as he drifts further and further to the right. And he has been drifting. He’s parroted more bad-faith arguments from Ben Shapiro and Tucker Carlson in the last 6 months then he ever did when I first moved in with him.

I have been trying to push back, especially when he says the quiet parts out loud. I try to let him know that it is not acceptable to say he would rather an unarmed black man die that risk that a police officer might be injured. When he compares the people in control of Seuss’ intellectual property and works choose to stop printing less than 6% of his published works to the book burnings in Mao’s china. When he says that its more important to protect teacher from students trolling them by changing their pronouns than it is to protect trans or NB kids. When he espouses his belief that trans and NB kids are ‘just mentally ill.’ Whenever he says any of this shit, I have pushed back. I have tried to halt, or at least slow, his descent towards eugenics and white supremacy and fascism.

It has been to no avail.

And to be honest its exhausting. I wanted to believe that he would trust me, not just to be a moral and thoughtful person, but to be educated and informed on these issues. We went to school together, spent countless hours solving homework and trying to crack games together. If I don’t know the answer to his questions immediately, he often jokes ‘C’mon, you’re supposed to know everything!” and has frequently told me that I’m selling myself short.

But apparently all that trust and all that respect goes out the window when I challenge him. Suddenly I’m ‘overly negative’ or ‘too sensitive’ or he’ll ‘need to look into that, but...’

And the thing is, he is capable of great acts of kindness. He offered to rent me a room in his completely paid-off house, no mortgage at all, simply because he could see living at home was killing my mental health. He offered me 50-75% off of market rate. He buys gifts all the time, has landed tenants job interviews, set people back on their feet, and refused to press charges for several major financial loses he’s taken on the determination that it would do more harm to the defendant than he could ever recoup from it.

But he does not extend this kindness, this generous soul, to everyone. And lately, his circle grows smaller, and his kindess has waned, and it’s been so devastating to see him slip further and further towards his own worst impulses.

I know there will be people who think I should have cut him out of my life years ago, who can’t believe we never talked enough to know that he voted for Trump in 2016. I think back then he was genuinely ashamed, or at least guilty, about that vote. Now? It’s almost a matter of pride for him. I can’t tell you the number of times in the last 4 months that he’s told me that Biden “couldn’t possibly” be as “great” a President as Trump.

And he hides behind this “praise them when they do good, cuff them when they do bad” line and I used to take comfort in it but now... Now it’s clear that it was just a front or excuse for liking these abhorrent people.

I’ve had a couple of hard conversations with some of our mutual friends about what this means for me, and how I interract with the whole group of friends as a whole, in the last 3 days. None of our mutual friends seem to take any of these things as seriously as I do, with my oldest friend even telling me that he ‘can’t imagine’ breaking a friendship off over politics.... I know I know, the caucasity of it all, yes ha ha. And it does make me genuinely worried that I’ll wind up losing the 5-6 close friends that I actually rely on these days over this horrible sonuvabitch. But all this personal venting aside, there’s something bigger here I want to address:

I sat down this evening to watch Last Week Tonight and I was struck by this piece about Tucker Carlson, because while I knew some of what was said on his show, he is remarkably confident for a man who spouts the quiet parts of racism/sexism/homophobia on TV. I have a hard time imaging a more blatantly racist thing to do then declare that a woman who suggested ‘dismantling systems of oppression wherever they are found’ wants to dismantle the American system...

And I have to say, we should go back to punching Nazis. I want these fuckers afraid. I want them to crawl back to the furthest reaches of the internet, relegated to be laughed at for their bigotry by pundits of every political ideology. I want their vile vitriol hidden away where it doesn’t embolden others. I want them to know that they are out of line, out of touch, out of time. I want them to feel ashamed, like the relics of a bygone and worse era that they are, and for them to quietly fade to an ignominious death. I’m tired of seeing them on National News. I’m tired of Pewdiepie’s channel and influence refusing to die despite all the horrible things he’s said and done. I’m tired of Ben Shapiro spouting off about a woman’s place and rights, as if he has any fucking authority on the matter. I just want these people to lose their platforms and their followers. And for me the fact that they haven’t yet is so incredibly discouraging.

I know I didn’t offer any answers here I’m just tired of being alone with this defeated attitude and I guess I needed to get this off my chest as I try to disentangle myself from the losing battle of trying to save a friend from alt-right radicalization.

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 16

Masterpost

"Hey Bruce," Natasha starts. "I know you have a lot to do, but can you talk to me for a second?"

"Are you hurt?" Bruce asks, spinning around. "Should I take a look at something?"

"No, no, it's not about me," she replies. "Just… the vampire blood you're about to use. You know about the experiments in Russia, much of them by these KGB guys but… some by my friend Alexei. The thing is, not all of it became public. It was… so much worse."

Bruce frowns. "What do you mean by worse?"

"He injected dead people," she states, shuddering. "And they got up again but their minds were gone. They were… like golems. Look, I trust you and I trust your judgement, but… if it does not go as planned, if this frozen guy doesn't really come back… you need to end it. And never tell anyone about it."

"I never knew-" Bruce sighs, taking off his glasses, pinching his nose. "I see. That is beyond the pale. Yes. I will be careful. Thanks for telling me."

"I'm not going to stop you," Natasha says. "If I trust anyone to do this, it's you. But it's a moral minefield."

  "So your friend fucked up," Clint remarks.

"Oh, come on!" Natasha protests. "We don't know that. Maybe it was just really bad luck."

"Doesn't matter either way," Sam stresses. "We can't take out the Castle if an army of black cloaks could attack us from behind at any moment. Actually, we can't go out at all."

"Is the plan ready?" Fury questions.

Sam sighs. "Kinda. I thought about doing it at a soccer stadium, AC Sparta Praha or something, install UV in the flood lights, lure them there, burn them. It's on the Castle side of the river, though."

"We wouldn't want the Castle to come to their help," Sharon remarks. "That's definitely too many."

"Stark has the stuff for the UV lamps, right?" Fury interjects. "So go to the stadium and check it out. The day is still safe. They're not invulnerable."

"Oh yeah," Pepper agrees. "As Natasha has proven."

"That's a whole different ballgame," Natasha remarks. "Even with James… the Castle is still looming and- I just don't know if we can do this."

"We'll die trying, if necessary," Fury states. "But we'll give them a hell of a fight."

"I guess that's what being a hunter is all about," Clint adds slowly.

"Definitely." Sharon shakes her head. "We'll just have to do our best. Uh, I'll go down to the lab, ask Tony about the UV lights. And see how the thawing is going."

"Do that, Carter," Fury agrees. "So they could be here any moment."

"Schmidt doesn't use telephones and that sort of thing," Natasha explains. "So they must have sent a messenger. Schmidt's in Northern France, but I don't know how quick the messenger would be. As soon as it reaches him, he'd have to get hold of his black cloaks first. There's one in Germany, Russia and the Balkans each, the rest is not on the continent. If he sends messengers again, it could take a while."

"I don't see why he would be in a rush," Pepper remarks. "He thinks he'll get you anyway. And he's proven to be patient."

"What about your friend?" Sam asks. "Is his cover intact?"

"The guy from the hunting party didn't mention him at all," Natasha replies. "I would assume so."

"Then it's four black cloaks, in Schmidt's eyes," Clint points out. "And he's closest, he's well acquainted with your smell, he can track you down easily. He'd be the very first one Schmidt would send after you."

"Which brings us back to the mind control," Sam adds.

Natasha sighs. "So we need to defend against him as well," Fury states. "Potentially."

"It doesn't work when it's not Schmidt personally talking to him, giving the order," Natasha counters impatiently. "If at all. It sounds kinda fickle, from what I gathered. And he's just… he's changed a lot since arriving here. I'm not sure it would still work, at all, even if Schmidt personally dragged his red ass over here."

"Changed how?" Clint asks critically.

Natasha breathes out. "I don't know. Bruce says his virus count is a lot lower. He just feels more- more human -"

Someone screams downstairs.

  Sharon is still screaming when they arrive in the lab, hands clutched over her mouth. Bruce looks seriously disturbed. Pepper is the first to catch her. "Everything okay?"

Sharon stops screaming, taking a breath, swallowing, still staring at- The ice block guy is lying there, though less ice block now. Still frozen. Blonde, tall, broad. That's about it. Nothing to scream about.

"I don't know," Bruce remarks nervously. "She came down and looked at him and started screaming. Did I- did I do something?"

"No," Fury states simply. Sharon is whispering into her hands, incomprehensible. "Get her to sit down."

Sharon is immovable, though, including her stare. Pepper pries her hands down a little. "Come on, sweetheart. Sit down, tell us what's going on. Are you okay?"

"No," Sharon whispers. "No. Nonono."

"Where's Stark?" Clint asks impatiently.

Bruce points at a door. "Taking blood from the vampires. Uh, should I, like, freeze him again or…?"

"You continue," Fury orders. "And get Carter out, she's making everyone nervous."

"We'll go help Stark," Clint adds. "Tasha and me."

She's glad not to have to deal with that, emotionally. Clint pushes the door open and it instantly smells of blood, vampire blood. It's cold. Stark shrieks when the plastic curtain is pulled back. "You stay out! Was enough work to get this place sterile."

"Yeah, sure," Clint remarks sarcastically. "I'm sure your fancy sneakers are squeaky clean."

Tony snorts, fiddling with a needle that's attached to an empty infusion bag sort of thing. "Fine, come in. What do you need?"

They step in, though not far. The three vampires are strapped to tables, limbs twisted. One already looks fairly crumpled and dry. "Are you taking all of their blood?" Natasha asks.

"As much as I can," Tony replies, stabbing the needle into the arm of one who hisses. Oh, that's hers. "Not as effective as vampires sucking it out but eh, what you're gonna do."

"Let me take the other one," Clint suggests, stepping up and taking another needle. "So everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm at five litres," Tony replies, looking at the bags of dark blood. "Gave them an electric shock so they wouldn't try to make trouble. And strapped their extremities down, of course. What about out there? Thought I heard a scream."

Clint snorts, looking for a vein. "Yeah, Sharon had some sort of shock. I don't know. But everyone standing around was certainly not helping, so we'll just ask later, I guess."

Natasha takes one of the jagged knives on the table. There are dents in the curves, like in a bread knife. It looks very martial, sharp and pointy. Every bit of this knife could kill someone. "You really don't look good," Tony remarks, pointing at the crumpled vampire. "Barely better than this guy. Maybe you should take some vampire blood again."

"Maybe she should not inject any more untested substances," Clint suggests sourly.

"Come on, raids like that are exhausting," Natasha points out. "I just need to lie down some more. Just calm down a bit before."

"Can't lie down forever," Tony replies. "Until you're dead. Then you totally can."

" Great idea," Clint remarks. "Very healthy."

Tony snorts. "You know what you two could do to help? Get rid of the bodies, once we're done with them."

  "No, I'm really sure," Sharon argues frantically. "I've known the face, the photos, since- since I was born, basically, just- I'd recognize him anywhere."

"It's alright," Pepper assures her. "Just take a deep breath."

Fury's gone, of course. Clint crosses his arms. "Could someone explain to us what is going on?"

"The frozen guy," Sam explains. "Sharon thinks she recognizes him, that it's someone her grandma knew."

Sharon snorts loudly. "Someone she knew? The fucking love of her life, he would have been my grandfather if he hadn't died in the war, well, maybe he didn't- if he hadn't gone missing ."

"The war?" Natasha asks. "The Great Patriotic War? World War Two?"

"Who knows how long he has been frozen!" Sharon interrupts hysterically. "Bruce said it, we don't know- we just don't know. But I know. God, I have the photo somewhere, I know it, I just have to find-"

"The photo can wait," Sam argues. "I mean, this guy is definitely not going anywhere."

"If that guy's really been frozen for fifty years," Clint remarks. "He doesn't know- You'd need to tell him everything, you know, Nazis out, Commies in, Commies kinda out, and now vampires . That's gonna be quite the shock."

"If we can even get him back," Natasha remarks quietly.

"It's gonna be alright," Pepper says quickly. "What did you say his name was again?"

"His-" Sharon sighs, wiping at her eyes. "Steve. His name is Steve."

  "Come on," Clint remarks, twisting the silver knife in the crumpled vampire's heart. "Don't tell me you believed her."

"You think she's lying?" Natasha questions, playing with the jagged knife. "Really?"

"Not lying , of course," Clint retracts. "But she's so worked up about it and- I think she's deluding herself. Getting back the grandfather she wanted. You know, after her father was killed by vampires."

"He's still somewhat in the ice," Natasha relents. "Maybe he'll look different when he's completely thawed, and she'll recognize it's not actually him after all."

Clint snorts, sitting up, narrowing his eyes in the sunshine. "Yeah, probably. I mean, World War Two. Come the fuck on."

"James is from World War Two,"  Natasha remarks, beginning to saw one vampire's head off. "Probably."

"He never told you that, though," Clint argues. "That's just what you think."

Natasha rolls her eyes, some dark blood splattering her hands. "Oh, you're in that mood again."

"You gotta admit, though," Clint continues, "it's suspicious. The one thing you asked him to do, really easy, and he fucks it up? How even? It was so close to sunrise when he brought the body out, there should've been absolutely nothing left for the Castle to find."

"Maybe he put it partly in the shadow or something," Natasha says, with frustration. "Maybe the UV light was just not enough. Maybe black cloaks take longer to dissolve. You just don't know."

"What has he ever done for us?" Clint asks. "And don't say the information on the Castle, we don't even know that's true."

"Warned us about the black cloak," Natasha replies. "Let me test the taser on him. Hell, he saved Pepper and me from a hunting party once. Told me about a nest, two nests. Gave all those samples to Bruce and did all the tests. And who knows how many vampires would have tried to attack me if he hadn't been around. I know that's not enough for you to prove his loyalty, but it's not nothing."

"I'll believe it when I actually see him fight the other black cloaks," Clint states. "Then I'll happily admit I'm wrong, right before I die. Because that's the plan, right?"

"Wow, you're gloomy." Natasha drops the knife. "Come on, let me take a look at your hand."

Clint rolls his eyes, clutching the wrist. "It's fine."

"Oh, fuck off," Natasha returns. "What was that about being honest and not deluding yourself?"

"I guess they're dead enough," Clint remarks, straightening, looking down at the severed heads and pierced, crumpled, twisted bodies. "Wanna head back?"

"I'll make Bruce look at your hand," she threatens, getting to her feet- suddenly, all the light draining out, vision going dark, head spinning, tumbling-

Clint catches her before she collapses. She blinks until the darkness recedes, strange tingling going through her body. "You okay?"

"Fine," she mutters, hanging in his arms, waiting until her vision clears and sharpens. "Fine. Just-"

"Just almost fainted," Clint remarks with worry.

The blood starts flowing the right way again, at least she can see where she is again. She frowns. "Thanks, but you can let go now."

"You really should go see Bruce," Clint advises, making sure she's right on her feet. "Once he's done with ice block Steve."

"And once I've had a good sleep, because I'm tired as fuck," she adds, picking up the jagged knife carefully. "We should go together."

Clint snorts. "Yeah, great idea. Because you're insane and I don't trust you."

  Bruce is still busy when they get back, tired, overworked, but still glued to screens and beeping devices and the ice block, so she goes directly to bed, directly falling asleep. Waking up feels like waking up from the dead.

She's so tired, not quite ready to get up. Her wooden shutters keep the room in complete darkness. She's lying in the damp, stifling, motionless room, could be any time, any place. Somehow, she feels like crying and doesn't even know why. Lost. Just lost.

Nobody acutely needs her, so she could just stay here, sleep another eight hours or however long that was before. The blanket feels very heavy. Nothing to do until Bruce is done with the ice block, until Sam has a plan to deal with the impending vampire invasion, until James shows up again. Nobody needs her. Not clear what she could possibly do to help.

She still fights her way up, against the heavy blanket, feet touching the cold stone floor, and when she shifts upward, standing, the rug is pulled out from under her, it gets even darker, she somehow stops feeling anything but the uncomfortable tingle, getting lightheaded, and-

Her body totally gives in, dropping like dead weight, she barely catches herself before her head cracks on the stone, ripping and bruising her forearm and elbow on the cold hardness, and- it takes a few moments until she's even aware she's lying on the ground, barely having avoided a concussion, shivering from the cold and simultaneously burning with the tingle, her arm really hurts. Wow. She really should go see Bruce.

She dresses carefully, always steadying herself somewhere or sitting down when she can. It's a little better, though, just when she gets up too quickly. Seems like exhaustion.

Clint is down in the lab when she shuffles down the stairs, Bruce wrapping yet another bandage around his wrist. "Simple fracture. Should heal rather quickly. If it doesn't, we can still try the vampire blood treatment."

"No thanks," Clint replies drily. "I feel better without claws."

Bruce, as always, doesn't insist, just finishing the bandage and cutting the rest off. "Well, we'll see. Oh, Nat, you can come in, we're pretty much done here."

He looks tired but not exhausted, probably slept a little in between. "Thanks," she replies. "Uh, how's the patient? The other one?"

"Gave him the first dose of vampire blood a few hours ago," Bruce explains, putting his tool set away. "Six, I think. We'll wait and see, give it time to work. So, you're still feeling exhausted, is that it?"

"Yeah," she agrees. Clint moves so she can sit down. "Just- just take a blood sample and see whether there's any residue of the vampire blood, I guess. Or maybe it's, you know, hormones."

"I guess I'll go then," Clint remarks, rubbing his wrist through the bandage. "Now that you made it here."

"Yeah, that's gonna take a while," Bruce suggests. "Uh, don't forget the painkillers. Yeah, so, Nat, I'll guess I'll prick your finger."

She holds it out dutifully so he can gather the single drop of blood. The door falls shut. "You know, I- I almost fainted just now. When getting up. Bruised my arm."

"Sounds like low blood sugar," Bruce remarks, stepping to a little drawer cabinet and pulling out a granola bar. "When did you last eat?"

She snorts, taking the wrapped bar. "Right. Forgot. You always keep them there?"

"Yes." Bruce puts the blood into the little white machine that measures blood sugar. "I also forget to eat, you know. Spend hours standing in the lab, focused on my work, forgetting about… well, everything else. Yeah, it happens."

"Sounds exhausting," she remarks, mouth full, chewing.

"It is," Bruce admits, looking at the little screen. "Oh, yeah. Your blood sugar is very low. When did you say you last ate?"

"After the raid," Natasha recalls. "A sandwich. With eggs and all."

Bruce frowns. "Doesn't sound too bad. But this… I think I'm going to do a complete blood count. Maybe you're deficient in something. No history of diabetes in your family, right?"

"None," she replies. "Okay, take the blood sample, and then I'm grabbing something to eat for real."

  The results are not good, judging from Bruce's face when she comes back with a few sausages. "Feel better?"

"A little," she replies, sitting down again. "So, did you find anything?"

"Look, you're low in- everything?" Bruce's eyes narrow like the numbers are wrong. "All the nutrients and the red and white blood cells- just the color, I mean, look at that, it's way too bright."

"Oh." She bites off because she's still hungry. "So you- do you know why? Is it the residue from the vampire blood?"

"Couldn't find any of that," Bruce replies. "I think. So, any other symptoms you noticed? Really, anything, I have no idea."

"Well, I-" She tilts her head. "I mean, the fatigue is pretty strong. I kinda thought it might be the hormones, you know, because you said- Increased appetite, but you know that. And the fainting, though that's only recently. Uh, can I tell you something without you freaking out?"

Bruce smiles strenuously. "That bad?"

She pulls off her shirt, showing him the shoulder with the wound. "James kinda bit me. Without poison. Well, that's what he said. Uh, but I didn't get fangs or claws or anything, so I thought it was not a problem."

Bruce darts forward hastily. "Oh my. When was- Why?"

She blushes. "That's- complicated. When I killed the black cloak."

"But you still haven't-" Bruce studies the basically healed wound. "No, no, it would have shown up in the blood sample. No. No vampire cells. I mean- maybe there's some other effect but- gosh, I don't know."

"My body was kinda weird the last few weeks," she admits to get away from why he bit her. "Told you I was actually feeling good for a while, you know, better than usual, but- maybe I'm going into too much detail here but it felt like I was actually growing both more muscle and more hair, body hair- though it went away again, I guess, a little. Uh, yeah, and both James and the black cloak said I smelled kinda strange. More recently. And- maybe that's because I've been eating so much but I kinda bloat. Not gaining weight anywhere else, my thighs might actually have gotten slimmer, just my stomach. Yeah, is that too much information?"

"Did you weigh yourself?" Bruce questions.

"Never do."

"Well, I don't know, sounds like you might have had a bit too much testosterone earlier, maybe the dosage was wrong," Bruce suggests. "Maybe that's the smell, too, vampires do smell hormones. But I don't know about the weight gain or bloating or whatever it is. I guess I'll run an ultrasound, if that's okay, if you have the time-"

"Sure," she replies. "Nothing else to do. I'll just lie down then."

Bruce gets the machine while she wiggles her pants down below her hips. Yeah, if she's honest, it doesn't feel like gained fat. God, having Bruce deal with her intestinal issues is embarrassing. Maybe she has worms. Would explain the increased appetite. Really bad case of the worms.

It's cold down in the lab, which makes the smooth gel applied to her belly even worse. "I'll check your hormones later," Bruce promises, setting the machine up. "Maybe that's the appetite, too. Hormones are weird. Sorry, not a specialist."

"Yeah, usually, it's more bruises and broken bones," she remarks, shivering. "With the occasional ice block. No, really, thanks for looking at all that, for at least trying."

Bruce blushes. "No issue. Uh, if you're cold, you can put on the shirt again, just keep the belly uncovered."

She nods, twisting back into the sleeves. Oh, she's tired. Drained. She leans back and closes her eyes. The transducer is cold and tickles, she startles. Tries not to twitch too much as the smooth device glides over her stomach. God, she could fall asleep again. And eat.

"Stomach looks normal," Bruce reports. "At first glance. I'll go lower."

This is kinda weird, and not just because she's trying not to laugh. But he's doing his best, with the best intentions. Like with the ice block. The transducer glides over her lower abs and then even lower. It's just a machine, just a medical device. Glides up again, presses in, stays there remarkably long. Maybe something wrong. "Why did you stop?" she asks weakly.

"I-" Bruce hesitates. "Please tell me I'm not going crazy."

She opens her eyes, alarmed. "What?"

"You don't- you don't have a uterus, right?" Bruce stares at the screen. "Well… but what is that ?"

She sits up too rapidly, knocking the transducer off so the screen goes dark, nothing to see. "Let me see. Can't be my uterus. Why would it be- where the fuck would I get a uterus?!"

"Lay down, I'll show you," Bruce asks, twisting the screen. She complies reluctantly, letting him find the right spot again. "Here. That's the right ovary, so far so good, and the fallopian tube leads to- if I didn't know better, if it weren't you, I'd say that’s the uterus."

She starts chewing on her lip. "Check from the other side."

"Right." He swipes across, cold and smooth, smearing the gel across, but stopping in the middle. She looks at him questioningly but he just stares at the screen, blinking, frowning. God, this is exasperating and she doesn't have the nerve for it. "Bruce?"

He blinks rapidly, then drops the transducer. "I'll go wake Tony."

"You what?" she repeats. "Why? He's not even a doctor, what could he possibly-"

"Stay here," Bruce interrupts, already scrambling up. "I'll be right back. We'll be right back."

And then he's gone. Natasha groans, head dropping back, eyes falling closed.

[the-stories-in-my-head-95]

An Unexpected Princess

T’Challa x Reader

Summary- Working as a translator for the UN was your dream job, made easier by the fact that you were able to understand and speak any language spoken to you. Thanks to your grandmothers alien DNA you are able to do many things humans are not, like protect the Princess of Wakanda when the two of you are kidnapped.

Messages- The readers powers/ back story is going to be kind of similar to Gwen Tennyson from Ben 10 Alien Force….but not exactly the same. Part two coming at some point, send an ASK if you want to be tagged

Warnings- Kidnapping, threatens of torture.

Word Count- 1170

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here? I thought you had the day off?” Your coworkers asks you.

“I do, but there are several speeches that I wanted to watch today.” You say, smiling.

“Well have fun, I guess.” Your coworker says, rolling her eyes.

“I will!” You say, before walking down a hallway towards the assembly hall. As you made your way down the hall you took your phone out to check it.

“Excuse me.” A deep voice says, hands grabbing your upper arms to stop you from walking right into a group of people.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You say, looking up from your phone.

“It is alright. No harm done.” The man says as he smiles at you.

“My king, we must be going.” A woman says.

“Of course.” The King says. “If you will excuse us.”

“Sorry.” You say, moving out of the group’s way.

****

The speeches were fascinating, just as you had hoped. You had said goodbye to your co-workers before making your way out of the building.

“Hey, Grandpa, I just finished up at work. I was thinking about stopping bye for dinner tonight, I can pick us up something from that Thai place on 6th.”

“That sounds great. How did today go?”

“It was great. I think you really would have liked on of the- hey Grandpa can I call you back.” You say as you notice several men try to pull a young woman into a van.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Just some trouble.” You murmur.

“I’ll call the cops. Just- just be careful.”

“Always, Gramps.” You say before hanging up the phone.

“Stop! Do you know who I am?”

“Why do you thing we’re taking you, Princess?” One of the men sneer. “I’m sure we’ll get a pretty penny for your safe return.”

“I am going to kill you!”

“Hey!” You call. “Let her go!”

“Yeah. That’s not going to happen.” A voice behind you says. You feel something hit your back, before everything goes black.

****

“Hey, hey, you need to wake up!” A voice says.

“What-what happened?” You slur.

“You tried to save me, thank you for that, but-uh you ended up being taken hostage to.”

“Where are we?” You ask, eyes slowly opening.

“In a cell. I do not know where.”

“Alright.” You say, looking around the cell. There isn’t anybody else in there, so you create a bubble of energy that surrounds the cell.

“What is that?”

“It will keep the bad men out.” You say.

“Alright, but what is it?”

“It’s called mana. It’s basically energy, I can manipulate it, to make shields and different constructs, I can use it to track people, and I can use it to create energy blasts.”

“Are you inhuman?”

“No.” You say shaking your head.

“How long will this barrier hold?”

“I don’t know. A couple days, at the most.” You say. “I’ll keep it up as long as I can, but I need to concentrate.”

“Alright.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Shuri.” She says. “Hopefully we will be found soon. I am sure there are already people looking for me- for us. So tell me about this mana.”

“So I’m not entirely human.” You say. “My grandmother is an alien, she’s what’s called an Anodite. They’re made out of pure energy or as they call it mana.”

“Are there many Anodite’s on earth?”

“No.” You say, shaking your head. “My grandma came to earth during the 40’s fleeing her planet after her sister took control of the throne. She met my grandpa, while he was fighting Nazi’s in Europe, she joined him and his battalion, then they came back to America, had my Dad and my Uncle. But she grew home sick, and left just after I was born to reclaim the throne.”

“So you are royalty?” Shuri asks.

“Huh, I’ve never really thought about it like that. But yeah, I guess I am.”

“Oh princess, it’s time to take some pictures, for your brother. Proof of life and all that.” A man calls before walking into the room. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah, there aren’t going to be any pictures today. Not if I can help it. So why don’t you just let us go. Before things get….ugly.” You say, smirking as the man shoots his gun towards the bubble. But the bullets ricochet off and hit the walls.

“You’ve trapped yourselves in there, and it’s only a matter of time before whatever this is fails.” The man sneers before leaving the room.

“Badass.” Shuri murmurs.

“Thanks, princess.” You say.

“You’re welcome, princess.” Shuri says.

“Oh, no that is way too weird.” You say, laughing.

“You’re pretty cool.” Shuri says. “I’m going to set you up with my brother when we get out of here.”

“Okay.” You snort. “You should probably get some sleep.”

“You can sleep first, I will keep watch.”

“I can’t go to sleep.” You say. “If I do, the shield will disappear.”

“Then I will stay up with you!” Shuri says.

“Get some sleep, kid.” You say.

“I am not a kid!” Shuri says.

“You’re what? 16?”

“Yes.” Shuri says.

“So you need to get your sleep, it’s important. Do not worry about the men, I will protect you.” You say.

“Alright.” Shuri murmurs, before laying down on the cot. 

**2 days later**

“You need to sleep, Y/N.” Shuri says. “You are dead on your feet.”

“I can’t.” You slur. “The shield will drop.”

“We are almost out of water.” Shuri murmurs. “Maybe…maybe it is time to give up.”

“No! Not yet. I-I can keep it up for another couple hours.” You say, your vision blacking out for a second.

“My brother should have found us by now.” Shuri says.

“Have faith, Shuri.” You murmur. That’s when you hear several gun shots, and a door slam open.

“Brother!” Shuri yells.

“Shuri! Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Shuri says. “Y/N, you can drop your mana now. My brother is here.”

“Alright.” You murmur, before finally letting the exhaustion take over.

“Who is this, sister?” T’Challa asks, taking your unconscious body into his arms.

“Princess Y/N.” Shuri says. “She kept me safe.”

“Princess? Of what country?”

“Not a country, of another planet.” Shuri says.

“So she is an alien?”

“Her Grandmother is.” Shuri explains.

“Am I right in assuming that we will be taking her back to Wakanda with us?” T’Challa asks.

“Yes.” Shuri says. “I would not be alive right now if it wasn’t for her.”

“Then Wakanda is forever in her debt.”

“I think making her our queen will be a good way to repay that debt.” Shuri blurts out.

“I’m sorry?” T’Challa asks.

“I think the two of you would make an excellent couple.”

“Shuri- I-I don’t even know this woman. I am grateful for what she did, but-.”

“I know you and I know her.” Shuri says. “The two of you will be well matched.”

“Shuri.” T’Challa sighs.

“We can talk about this more later.” Shuri says. “I-I would like to go home now, and see mama.”

“Of course, sister.”

@loneliestlittlerainbow​ @jenniegs​ @thedoctorscamanion​ @loveisfriendship ​ @mymourningtea​ @cassiopeia-barrow @marvels-ghost  @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99​  ​ @loverbug1123 @pleasantdreamqueen​ @pbandj14​ @itsintothegreatbeyondstuff @princessleah129​ ​ @courtneychicken​ @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun​ @that-one-book-girl​ ​ @yipthegoddess​ @brooke-supernatural16​ @ailynalonso15​ @thefangirlliveson​ @conspiracy-teen​  @thegoddessofvampire​ @the-butterfly21​ @theshortegg​ @witchseer25607​ @bee-wrecker​ @precious-cinnamon-roll666​ @destiel-artemis @jackles-jadalecki​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @marvelismylifffe​  @kanupps06 @okayputta @geeksareunique @mummy-woves-you @crazy-little-thing-called-buck  @writing-red​  @leticiakael​ @tabziecat​ @ravenclaw-fangirl-7 @huntermichelle​ ​ @learisa​ @cutie1365​ @msmaximoff​ ​ @kitkatgaming​ ​​ @writings-and-stuff​ ​@xxashy999xx​ @sebba-hiddles​ @slashheartlover​ @scarlettsoldier​ @ladysergeantbarnes​ @i-just-wanna-run-hell @tonystarkismyboy @bestillmystuckyheart @musedhufflepuff @dontevenblink-badwolf-tardis @iamwarrenspeace  @supernatural-strangerthings-1980​

[whoevenknowsdude]

Why my workplace should have a tv show

So I work at a university tutoring center, and I think that all the teacher/tutors who work there are some of the coolest people that I’ve ever known and frankly we would make a fucking amazing sitcom

So there’s:

The office secretary- I’m 90% sure she’s a vampire with a sunlight resistance. She always wears black shirts that are long sleeved (and we’re in a desert), long black skirts, and cool silver jewelry that’s all dangly and gorgeous. I’ve never seen necklaces or earrings like hers. She’s the only person who never really talks to me and she always stays in her office with the blinds tightly shut (most people leave their doors open so it’s welcoming but no not her) so she could deadass be doing anything in there and I would have no idea. I run the front desk and do a fair amount of secretary work so I don’t even know what her job consists of tbh.

The techie tutor- the only dude in the office who knows jack shit about the computer system. We know that when we have problems we have to go to him because nobody else knows how to work with the software. I talk to him a lot since he comes to the front desk often to use us little front desk kids as guinea pigs to test his class projects on before he actually assigns them. I actually don’t mind being a guinea pig because he actually values our advice and takes it to heart.

The tutor boss- she runs the student tutors who come in to help, and she’s a walking oxymoron honestly. She is a tiny old woman who speaks softly and basically looks like the grandmother who would offer your friends cookies, but this aesthetic is a little disrupted by the fact that she dresses like a biker. Jeans and leather jackets every single day y’all. It’s honestly super kickass. So odd mixture of badass biker and sweet grandma energy.

I’m betting she’s a health nut tutor- She has a badass pixie cut that I love and she always rides her bike to work then puts it in her office. Her whole office has a calm vibe and just feels healthy. I know it’s weird but she’s got the vibe. She always gives me advice for my classes and once gave me a study guide that helped me ace my final so I’d kill a man for her.

My fucking hero tutor- she’s the one who hired me, and frankly I love her to pieces and she’s the fun aunt that everyone wants to have. She’s mildly phone addicted and runs an account for her pet bird and could talk for hours about how “He’s a naughty boy”. She also once climbed on top of a bus stop during a huge protest to spell check someone’s sign. Not to mention she’s super liberal and would definitely punch a Nazi if given the opportunity. She chats with the front desk people the most and gave us cookies at the end of first semester because she loves us so much. I would die for her without a second thought frankly.

Fashion icon tutor- she runs our Instagram page and runs an art gallery in the tutoring area so it’s always decorated and beautiful. She’s one of those fashion people that is ahead of the curve. She doesn’t wear what’s popular, but she always has an artsy and gorgeous outfit. She really makes the place colorful and exciting and supports student artists displaying their work which is so wonderful.

Office manager- she totally runs the office, ordering our supplies and managing our budget and stuff (which makes me wonder what the secretary actually does tbh). She EMBODIES the sweet grandmother that we all want and love. She calls all the front desk people “dear” and “sweetheart” and “honey” but she knows us all and remembers every important detail we tell her. She once offered to get pizza with me for dinner as we were leaving because she knows that college students have no money.

Scholarship intern- this poor kid works for one of the scholarship offices that is near our tutoring center, and I love him. He basically lives in his little cubicle but he always comes by to chat with me and steal some of the food that we have for students (which I might add, includes little bags of oatmeal. No microwave, no bowls, no spoons, just little bags of dry oatmeal. To go, I guess??). He’s basically an honorary member of the office so I had to include him.

[thestreamdreampony]

Musings on “white guilt”

Recently I have come to think about the term “white guilt” and how I personally feel about it.

Full disclaimer, I am a white woman from an upper middle-class background. I am cisgender, and I have had easy access to good education. And while I am a bisexual woman, of which both factors come with their own forms of discrimination, I thankfully live in a country (Austria) where things could be far better, but they are better than in a lot of other places in the world.  In other words, as far as privileged goes, I’m pretty far up there.

“White guilt” is often dismissed by people because “while, yes, my ancestors did terrible things, but I didn’t so why should I feel guilty? I’m not the one doing it.” And in theory I would agree. I did not commit those atrocities. I did not force people into slavery. I did not slaughter Jews in gas chambers. I did not kidnap, steal, loot, or kill. My ancestors did. And I do not feel guilty about their actions, because they are not my own.

However, I still reap the benefits of their actions. I reap the benefits of colonialism, of imperialism, of white privilege, of capitalism. And while I do not think that I am at fault for what my ancestors did, I do think that it is my responsibility, as a member of this society, to recognize the lasting impact of my ancestors’ actions and how they benefit me, and in turn, harm others. With this, I mean both on a grander scale, as in white Europeans, and a smaller scale, as in my direct family.

My father is English and my mother is Austrian. In other words, my ancestry has blood on their hands on both sides.

My grandmother was a Nazi. Not in the sense that she put people into concentration camps and joined the SS, but in that she benefited from the Nazi regime and stood by and did nothing. Sure, I can explain why she did it. She was born as a child out of wedlock and was thus denied many of her pier’s opportunities and Hitler, in order to increase his following, declared after the “occupation” of Austria that he would act as godfather to all illegitimate children and by doing so declaring them legitimate. This opened up many new venues for her. Offering her education and economic possibilities.

I can explain why she did it. That doesn’t make it excusable. My mum would always tell me that my Grandma was a highly confrontational person. My mum always said to my grandma, if she had had a Jewish friend, she would have gotten herself killed trying to protect them. But she didn’t have Jewish friend. The Holocaust did not affect her personally and so she did nothing. And while I loved my grandma in the short time I knew her – she died when I was 7 – I can now recognize that her actions, or rather her non action, where wrong. In a way, I am selfishly glad that she didn’t resist. Otherwise I most likely wouldn’t be alive today. However, if she had spoken up, or if she had aided in helping shield people from the Nazis then I think it would have been worth it anyway.

My legacy is that I am alive, that I am able to exist because my grandmother aided a system that killed millions of people. That is the legacy I inherited.

(Side note: I was always aware of that fact in the back of my mind, but after I wrote that last sentence it hit me like a freight train and started literally crying so hard I had to take a break from writing this.)

Of course, there are a million other ways I could go further into my Austrian side, but let’s move on my English side.

I cannot trace my lineage back directly to a specific circumstance where my English family did something terrible, but I can look at the larger scale.

England’s history is deeply steeped in colonialism, imperialism and slavery. Yes, England itself experienced great economical growth and advances in technology, but it did so by exploiting its own working class and ultimately supporting itself by robbing other countries of their culture, their recourses and their people. And they justified their actions by calling it the natural order. That they were genetically superior.

I am not the person to tell you about this. I am not the most qualified person to talk about this and I will always miss the subtle nuances that people from minority groups, who directly feel the legacy of slavery and colonialism, will experience. (Black People, Indians, Native Americans, etc…) It is always best to read as much as possible from minority voices to get a more nuanced and detailed view on the issues they have to deal with.

What I am getting at, is that lot of the advantages that I have stem from exploiting People of Colour, directly or indirectly. My parents both grew up dirt poor, but they got to the point they are now because they managed to get good education, and well-paying jobs in highly respected fields. I am proud of their accomplishments (especially my mum who grew up at a time when she wasn’t allowed to wear pants and is now a highly respected head doctor at the local hospital) and I do not want to diminish their accomplishments because I know they worked their asses off to be where they are now. (again, especially my mum) However, I am nevertheless aware that they were ultimately aided along the way by white privilege and cis privilege and straight privilege, and in the case of my dad, male privilege. If either of them had been, for example, Jewish, or Black, or not straight, or not cis, then they probably would have had to deal with discrimination behind every corner.

In the face of this awareness it is ultimately not my job to feel guilty, but it is my job to be aware of the legacy my ancestry left me; how it benefits me and how it harms others. And it is also my job to fight against the injustices caused by this legacy. Because no, it is not my fault, but is my duty as a human being to attmept to right the wrongs in this world, to support minorities anf fight for their rights and freedoms and to look at the legacy I was born with.

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 6x17: “My Heart Will Go On”

THEN: Ellen Harvelle and the badass woman that she was. Jo and Ellen’s final moments. Cas is in angel civil war. Souls are valuable af. Rufus Turner. Their experience with the Khan Worm. Bobby mourns Rufus’ death.

Oh come on dude. What a shoddy way to keep your garage door open.

This episode makes me so paranoid about the little things.

RIP first victim. Decapitated by garage door.

lmao, come on you two.

Dean beat Sam at paper/rock/scissors. Our very first clue that something’s up.

Sam and Dean looking out for their surrogate Dad. :’)

“I don't want to do crap. Leave me alone. Just, get out of my house, both of you. You're driving me nuts.”

“Bobby--”

“Now! For the love of Pete.”

Poor Bobby. He’s really going through it.

I somehow completely missed the fact that the boys were driving a completely different car the first time I saw this episode.

There she is.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”

“That’s why you married me.”

These two really would’ve made a great couple.

At the crime scene.

Sam finds the thread of gold.

Wow, Dean.

Now with Shawn Russo.

Oh my god, Dean.

“Anyone own a slave?”

DEAN.

“Any ties to the Nazi party?” “ Did grandma ever piss off a gypsy?”

WHY DON’T YOU KNOW WHEN TO STOP.

“Okay, I-I'll just cut to the chase here. Um, your life is in danger.”

“What? What is that, a threat? Are you threatening me?!”

“No, no, no. No, no. I'm not threatening you. I'm just simply saying that if you don't watch your back, you're gonna die.”

Maybe they should have sent Sam to do the interview.

“Great grandparents born in Calabria. Emigrated 1912.” There’s the clue.

Eugh, I can’t even escape Trump.

There’s our culprit.

Aww no, hon. You should’ve stepped away!!

RIP Anne Witting. Strangled.

Another strand of gold.

“How’s he doing, by the way?”

“Oh, don't worry. I'm kicking his ass back to health and happiness.”

“Who asked you to? The hell with you.”

fff hahaha. Relationship goals.

“The families all came over to America the same year.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah. 1912. But here's the real weird part. They all came over on the same boat.”

“What was it called?”

“The Titanic.”

There’s the grand clue.

“Mr I.P. Freeley.” He couldn’t have been more subtle about it???

Balthazar and his “excuses” for saving the Titanic: heated the movie (what movie?) and the song by Celine Dion (who’s that?).

“You totally Butterfly-Effected history!”

“Dude. Dude. Rule one, no Kutcher references.”

Oh Dean-o, we all know you  love Kutcher movies.

“You have me confused with the other angel –”

OOHHHH.

Awww, the junkyard is now “B + E Scrapyard”.

MOTE: Fate.

A+ to Sam for knowing his Greek mythology.

And now for the personal dilemma.

“Apparently, a crapload of dominoes get tipped over if the Titanic goes down. And, uh, bottom line – Ellen and Jo die.” 

“Okay, you two. Listen up. You make sure... Keep those angels from sinking that boat. Do you understand me?”

That 180 Bobby just did.

“You almost killed me, you lunatic.” They literally just saved your life, dude.

RIP Shawn Russo. Hit by a bus.

DEAN, LMAOO.

Sam notices Fate.

“What’d she look like?”

“Kind of like a librarian.”

“Your kind of librarian or my kind of librarian?”

Is that really the question you should be asking, Dean??

“talk” Forcefully.

There goes Fate trying to kill the Winchesters.

Cas saving their asses.

“nothing of import” Goddamn it, I still love it when Cas says that.

“Cas, you need new friends.”

“I'm trying to save the ones I have, Dean.”

HE MEANS YOU, DUMMY.

Cas is so pretty.

Bobby looks at Ellen like she’s gonna disappear at any given moment.

“Yeah, you ever hear the saying "you can't stop fate"? You know, cleanest fix would just be to sink the boat.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, because, right now they're all dying bloody. It's not the same as never being born.”

“You're talking about people – people who are loved...Who would be missed.”

:(

I love the intimacy of the close ups here.

“We need you. Especially me.”

“I know.”

Fucking stab me in the heart.

(I’m hoping Mary and AU!Bobby are like this.)

“One Way or Another” by Blondie.

This whole “tempting fate” scene is hilarious. I love it.

Of all the ways they could have potentially went out...an air conditioner falling on them was the way it almost happened.

Atropos.

“You ruined my life.”

“Let’s not get emotional.”

lmao, Cas.

I personally understand/relate to Atropos, to be honest.

“I don't know what happens next. I need to know. It's what I do.” Yep, that’s very much me.

Atropos is the first to nearly directly expose what Cas is really up to.

“If you don't go back and sink that boat, I'm gonna kill your two favorite pets.”

Cas reconsidering everything just to keep the Winchesters safe.

lmao Balthazar.

“Let's sink the Titanic.”  

There’s our title song. “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion.

Sleeping Winchesters.

Baby!

Cas!

“So, what happened?”

“Well, I insisted he go back in time and correct what he'd done.”

“What? Why?”

“It was the only way to be sure you were safe.”

Yeeppp.

“So, you killed...50,000 people for us.” More like, not letting them get born.

Dean looks especially shook about it.

“You don't have to be ruled by fate. You can choose freedom. I still believe that that's something worth fighting for. I just wanted you to understand that.”

Cas explaining himself ahead of the big reveal.

“Did...Balthazar really, uh, unravel the sweater over a chick flick?”

“Yes. Absolutely. That’s what he did.”

How did none of them notice that Cas was lying?

“I'll tell you one thing about Cas, he does not appreciate the finer things.” (He appreciates you.)

Aww Bobby.

“Poor bastard. Doesn't even know how good he had it.”

“Yeah, well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I say we keep our mouths shut.”

Amen.

Dean looking after Bobby. :’)

[cartoonessays]

“Both Sides”

Pocahontas is a controversial Disney film.  It’s not hard to see why.  In its attempt to tell a story of a historical Native American figure, especially one alive during the beginnings of European colonization of the Americas, it ended up reinforcing a lot of Native American stereotypes and myths about colonization.  For the sake of this post, I’m only going to address one of the sources of backlash towards Pocahontas.  Which brings me to the song above, “Savages”.

The way in which Pocahontas chose to portray English/Native American relations was to compare their tension to the Capulets and Montegues from Romeo & Juliet, with John Smith and Pocahontas standing in as the eponymous characters whose love can help both sides grow past their animus towards one another.  This framing is very kum-ba-yah “can’t we all just get along” in its intent, but it’s dishonest.  It wouldn’t have been dishonest if, let’s say if the conflict between the two warring families in the story began with the Capulets claiming the Montegues’ property and resources as their own and spent the next several centuries removing the Montegues from their property through pillage, rape, and genocide.

In telling any story about Native American history, especially if your story takes place during the first European settlements of the US, and especially if you’re a non-Native American telling the story, the reality of colonialism cannot be ignored or soft-pedaled.  Unfortunately, the song “Savages” and Pocahontas in general mostly frames the Native Americans and English settlers on equal footing.  This isn’t to say that systems of colonialism didn’t or couldn’t bring about comparable individualized prejudice both Pocahontas’ Powhatan tribe and John Smith’s fellow settlers showed towards one another, but those feelings are the manifestations of living under a system based on inequality.

However, if you take a look at comment section of that “Savages” video, most of the comments proudly say “yeah, both sides are evil”, “both sides are bad”, etc. (along with a bunch of other obnoxious right-wing buzzwords like “SJW”, “PC police” or “T R I G G E R E D”)

Which finally brings me to that damned “well, both sides are bad” political talking point.

In the wake of the white supremacist violence in Charlottesville, VA that left numerous people injured and one person killed, President Donald Trump has been roundly and rightfully criticized on all sides for equating one side of protesters marching in support of Nazism, racism, xenophobia, antisemitism, homophobia, etc. and the other side of protesters marching against Nazism, racism, xenophobia, antisemitism, homophobia, etc. in his statements about the tragedy over there.  This type of stance of not really having a stance is not a new angle and it certainly isn’t an angle that someone who usually revels in being polarizing like Donald Trump invented.

If there is a contentious issue being debated, it is always a good idea to get a firm grasp of the arguments on each side and understanding all the nuances of each side.  With all those nuances in mind, it’s perfectly fair to have disagreements or misgivings about aspects of each side.  However, the “both sides are bad” view never actually does any of that.  It’s a very lazy and extremely reductive way of viewing the issues that only serves to self-righteously provide a veneer for sitting on the fence that forgoes giving either side any further thought or analysis by reducing them to strawmen.  Another version of this is the reflexive “well, one side says this, one side says that, so the answer must be somewhere in the middle”.  The South Park episode “Chef Goes Nanners” mocked this type of thinking when various townspeople would only flaky, indecisive answers when asked by news reporters whether or not their town flag is racist.

The funniest thing about South Park criticizing that way of thinking is that this show has been the biggest purveyor of this exact type of lazy “well, both sides are bad” thinking.  Their episode “Goobacks” more literally does this than any other episode by hosting a debate between two characters literally named “pissed-off white trash redneck conservative” and “aging hippie liberal douche”.

The other thing about the “both sides are bad” point of view is that while it prides itself on being even-handed and taking the middle road, it very often doesn’t even do that.  More often than not, it simply takes a “softer” conservative point of view.  Another South Park episode “I’m a Little Bit Country”, which centered around the debate over whether or not the US should invade Iraq, settled the conflict between the pro-war side and anti-war side by arguing “only a truly great country can go to war and act like it doesn’t want to”.  What the fuck does that mean?  First of all, I have to outline the way this episode defined both sides.  The pro-war side was defined as “we have to go to war cuz terrorists and 9/11” and the anti-war side was defined as “we should not go to war cuz war is violent and icky”.  The “middle-ground” argument that united both sides amounted to arguing that the US should go to war in order to maintain its powerful geopolitical status in the world, but the image of a robust anti-war populace makes the US look a lot less barbarous to the rest of world.  This completely ignores all of the other arguments made against invading Iraq, such as the Bush Administration’s false claim of Saddam Hussein having weapons of mass destruction and the Administration’s disingenuous connecting of Hussein to the attacks on the World Trade Center (and these are just two of the counter-arguments brought against invading Iraq).

I’ll stop beating up on South Park for a moment.

Jon Stewart’s 2010 Rally to Restore Sanity was one great big exercise of “both sides are bad, the answer’s gotta be somewhere in the middle”.  Besides taking a dig at Glenn Beck’s 9/12 rallies, Stewart mentioned in interviews that he organized this rally to fight against what he saw was a growing extremism on both sides.  This was during a time when the Tea Party movement was on the rise, Glenn Beck’s show on Fox News was a ratings giant, and at the heels of a massive Republican sweep on the upcoming midterm elections.  This was during a time when debates about Obama’s healthcare reform were characterized by one side arguing that a widely available public program would give private health insurance companies an incentive to reduce their costs and the other side arguing that Obama is a socialist attempting to implement a Nazi policy with “death panels” that will “pull the plug on grandma”.  The response to this growing movement on the right by the Obama Administration was to adopt a healthcare plan formulated by the right-wing think-tank the Heritage Foundation (implemented by his future presidential opponent Mitt Romney in Massachusetts when he was governor) as his healthcare reform, to greatly reduce the government branch that tracked the activity of white supremacist hate groups while membership of these groups were on the rise, and to assist in defunding ACORN and firing US Department of Agriculture director Shirley Sherrod after doctored videos of both falsely incriminating them of wrongdoing circulated around right-wing media.  This is all extremism that clearly skews on one side.  The only example Stewart could bring up of “liberal extremism” was CNN’s firing of news anchor Rick Sanchez after he made veiled antisemitic remarks about Stewart (and how is that liberal extremism?).  I think Jon Stewart did such a disservice to his audience by rallying thousands of them for something based on a false premise.  His snide, dismissive coverage of the Occupy movement the following year further reinforced his adherence to false “both sides” paradigms by framing the Occupy protesters in similar “ha ha look how stoopid and ridiculous these people are” as their coverage of Tea Party protesters.

Which brings me to one of the major tenants of “both sides are bad” ideology,  the horseshoe theory.  This theory equates the left with the right without a shred of nuance or any actual thought whatsoever.  In President Trump’s clusterfuck-of-a-press conference where he doubled down on equally blaming both sides for the violence in Charlottesville, he place a chunk of the blame of what happened there on what he called the “alt-left”.  “Alt-left” is a new-ish slur used to discredit the left-wingers, particularly activists inspired by Bernie Sanders’ 2016 presidential run, by giving them a moniker similar to “alt-right”, which was just a way of rebranding all of the things like white supremacists like the ones who committed violence in Charlottesville stand for as something deceptively softer than calling it what it really is. This term “alt-left” has been used quite a bit over the past year by right-wing pundits like Sean Hannity and powerful Democratic party insiders and surrogates like MSNBC’s Joy Ann Reid, Center for American Progress president Neera Tanden, and Daily Kos founder Markos Moulitsas.  Many who throw terms like “alt-left” around, particularly those invested in the Democratic party, have in the past justified their use of such terms by expressing agreement with the horseshoe theory.  Both the alt-right and so-called “alt-left” are allegedly so extreme that they’ve become identical to one another, and Trump and Bernie Sanders are the respective poster boys for these extreme ideologies.  This is a comparison between a cult of personality who finds absolute kinship with neo-Nazis and Ku Klux Klan members and a cult of personality whose politics is more comparable to Lyndon Johnson, Harry Truman, or even Dwight Eisenhower than to Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin, or Antonio Gramsci.

The near unanimous admonishing that Trump has gotten for equating both sides in his remarks about Charlottesville is encouraging.  This type of vapid equivocating has been ubiquitous in political discourse for a long time, so my hope is that this will signal a complete deconstruction of this point of view.

But if I may go back to Pocahontas for a second, another major mistake the film made was framing anti-Native American sentiment as starting and ending with the villain Radcliffe.  Trump himself is a very despotic and ridiculous type of character with a lot of parallels to Radcliffe, and I worry that this admonishment of “both sides are bad” type of arguments will not go further than simply denouncing him.  It has been too politically expedient for the opportunists that have trotted it out for all these years, so it likely won’t go the way of phrenology or other pseudo-sciences anytime soon.

[longeyelashedtragedy]

as i’ve written about here before, despite growing up in the most jewish place ever, there were very few jewish kids in my grade at school.  i mean, there were some, but i was one of two very “openly” jewish kids.  much to my dismay.  since i was in kindergarten and my friend accused me of killing jesus, i wanted no part of being jewish in front of a bunch of goyim.  what she’d said made no sense to me, obviously i hadn’t killed jesus and i doubted “the jews” had either, but it made me suddenly see that for some reason, people associated being jewish with being “bad.”  it killed me inside when my mom packed matzah in my lunch on passover, had me bring in purim gifts for my class, and pulled me out of school for the second days of passover and rosh hashana.  i was full of shame for having to publically admit i was part of this “bad” thing.  i loved hebrew school, synagogue, and celebrating the holidays with my family and friends, but i didn’t want the goyim to see me.

as i got a little older, my involuntary visibility took on an even weightier guise. “did you know that hitler made LAMPSHADES out of JEWISH PEOPLE’S SKIN?  and they pulled out their fingernails when they were all on train cars?” some worried friends said to me one day at lunch in 2nd grade.  i shrugged dismissively, acting like i knew and didn’t give a shit, while inside, i was confused and alarmed.  no, i had never known that.  what were they talking about?  but i was no fool.  i didn’t go home and ask my parents, because i had the feeling they’d tell me something i didn’t want to know.

coincidentally around that time Holocaust Fiction(TM) began appearing in my house.  any other ashkie kids ever get tortured with that stuff?  some of it was classy and tactful, like number the stars, but some of it was so graphic and horrible and merciless that if i were an advocate of book banning i’d ban that shit first thing.  like the devil’s arithmetic--that book was so emotionally taxing that i threw up after reading it.  no 12 year-old needs to be put through that to understand a tragedy, honestly.  it’s not appropriate.  between that and kids staring at me whenever we talked about the holocaust in school, i’d had more than enough.  once again, i saw that Someone decided the jews were “bad” and why?  why?  the fact that there was no answer got me furious at an early age and i resented having to deal with the holocaust at all.  on the 8th grade trip to DC my group suddenly decided to go to the holocaust museum, even though i strongly did not want to go.  my christian friends who resembled me in every way never had to deal with such traumas.  why the fuck did i?

everyone knows by now that i’m great at repressing emotions.  it’s one of those skills you learn when you’re having adult-strength panic attacks at age three.  it was easy to shut off a lot of that emotion about the holocaust, channel it into an academic interest, watch valkyrie and where eagles dare instead of schindler’s list, read books about hitler’s early days rather than night.  say “nah, no one i’m close to died in the camps, i mean i have relatives who died there but my great-grandparents got out in the 20s so they were safe.”

my genealogical research class has forced me to rip the imperfect bandaid off.  for over 20 years i tried not to think of the holocaust in any way but academically, distantly.  how can i now that i’ve seen them, those relatives who died there?  yes, thank god grandpa nathan and grandma ida got out with auntie anne, came to new york and had my poppa who had my mom who had me, and thank god ida worked to get her brother, his wife and their two sons out so i have family here.  but now i’ve seen their faces and i’ve seen some of their wedding invitations--bilingual in yiddish and polish--and i know that sura and naftula and tsirel (who one of my hebrew names is after, my mom told me) and hata and perel and moishe who looks like my mom and mirele, sura killed in ‘39 and the rest vanished.  their house on ceglana street was in the heart of the warsaw ghetto.  did they die there, or elsewhere?  were they all killed at once or did they have to watch each other die?  fucking hell, man.  i should have been feeling this mourning, sadness, and anger for years.  what do i do?  who would understand?  is it worth it to feel so sad about these people?

i feel like i betrayed these relatives of mine by not caring enough.  by resenting ever having to be exposed as a member of a group of perpetually victimized people.  i wish i knew how to apologize.  i could say kaddish but i don’t know when anyone other than great-great grandma sura died.  man, the nazis really left closure impossible, didn’t they 

[qqueenofhades]

Someone not remotely named Kate, whose tumblr name is in no way related to a verse from an Emily Dickinson, humbly requests further exploration of the intricate push and pull between the various men in Lucy Preston's life. It somehow, someway, smut and or angst by some divine providence finds its way in, more's the better. If it spontaneouly occured in the Victorian Gothic era, that would be spiffy.

tagging @sweetestinthegale who absolutely is not the author of this mysterious missive, @prairiepirate for reasons, and @extasiswings, also for reasons; catch up on the foregoing installments and general goings-on in the trash saga of flynn and lucy

Lucy gets a cab to the hotel. She doesn’t feel up to a longride on the train, and she badly needs to lie down. It’s late and it’s dark andher head is still rushing and every time she thinks about anything, it wants tosplit in half. It’s probably her imagination that the driver keeps looking ather in the rearview mirror, as if he’s seen her face somewhere recently and istrying to put two and two together. When they pull into the hotel, the kind ofdismal cinder-block place where a hooker was probably murdered recently, shealmost forgets to tip him in her haste to get out. Then as she is crossing theparking lot, she sees something – rather, someone – standing in the grimfluorescent lights by the front. A little girl about eight, thin and wet andshivering.

Lucy hesitates, then decides she can’t just walk by and pretend she didn’t see anything.“Hey,” she says gently. “Hey, honey, did someone drop you off here?”

The girl jumps and cringes. She blinks, then looks up atLucy. “I’m cold.”

“Yeah, I see.” Lucy glances around. The parking lot is stilldeserted. A car backfires in the alley. It crosses her mind that Rittenhousemight really be trying to be as awful as possible and use a child for a stingagent, but… after a moment, she takes off her coat and wraps it around thelittle girl. “Is someone meeting you here?”

“I don’t know.” The girl continues to shiver. “I don’t knowwhere to go.”

Lucy is about to call 911, the usual response in thissituation, before she remembers that she really doesn’t want to see any copsright now. If the girl was dropped off by human traffickers or something elseterrible, she is not about to stand by and do nothing, and she also doesn’t want to deal with this by herself. Besides, ifthat cab driver was onto her, she doesn’twant to sit here and wait for the fuzz to turn up in the middle of the night.With that, she makes a decision. “Do you want to come with me?”

The girl considers, then gives a tiny nod. Lucy takes herhand, and starts to walk.

Forty-five minutes later, they’re standing in front of theabsolutely shitty apartment Wyatt has rented under a fake name in anothertrailer-trash development, as he doesn’t want to keep changing hotels everytime they’re back in the present. Lucy knocks, and when the door is opened acrack with the snout of a pistol pointing out, she hisses, “Jeez! Easy! It’sme!”

“Lucy?” The doorjerks open further. “Is something – ” Just then, Wyatt catches sight of herplus-one, and stares. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry. We need somewhere to lie low for the night. Shewas wandering around outside the hotel by herself, I couldn’t leave her.”

Wyatt still looks as if someone brained him with by atwo-by-four, but shuts his mouth with a snap and beckons them inside, glancingaround warily before closing the door and putting the deadbolt in. He’s in hisundershirt and jeans, and the place is bare and dismal, but he takes charge ofthe runaway, warming up some pizza for her and encouraging her to eat it. He’sgood with kids, Lucy thinks. He and Jessica probably planned to have some oftheir own one day. The little girl is still hesitant and shy, but warms abit under his gentle, matter-of-fact attention. She has thick dark hair anddark eyes, and her clothes are slightly too small for her, worn and dirty. Sheclearly has escaped from some kind of a bad situation.

At last, when the girl has fallen asleep on the sofa cuddledagainst Wyatt’s side, and he’s clearly trying to think of how to move withoutwaking her up, his phone buzzes abruptly on the card table he’s using as adinette, startling him and Lucy. She reaches for it, swipes it open to see atext from Rufus, and winces. It feels almost personal. “Flynn’s jumped again.”

“What are we supposed to do about – ” Wyatt jerks his thumbat their guest. “Lucy, we can’t leave her here by herself in Felon Park, andwe can’t seriously ask a child totravel through time after an international terrorist. So what?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy says feebly. “Call Child ProtectiveServices?”

Wyatt snorts. “Yeah. That would go really well. Get them upin our grill, in here, with us?Listen. Maybe you should stay behind with her. Rufus and I will take care ofFlynn this time.”

Lucy sits up straighter. “What? You don’t want me to come?”

Wyatt looks uncomfortable. Glances away. “Lucy, I just… whatever has been going on with you andhim, it’s still not been enough to stop him, has it? He’s still trying to hurtpeople, he’s still on his crusade, he’s… he’s not changing. I don’t know ifyou thought he would, or… or what. And if you’re there, it might… complicate it.”

“You mean I might stop you from shooting him on the spot?”Lucy’s voice rises. “Wyatt – ”

“Lucy.” He closes his eyes briefly. “The reason I was hiredin the first place was to kill him. You know that.”

“Yes. By Mason Industries. We don’t work for MasonIndustries anymore. And I told you! You can’t kill him! If you do, Rittenhousewins! They all win! We can’t – we can’t letthat happen!”

Wyatt opens his eyes and looks at her steadily. “We can’t?”he repeats. “Or you can’t?”

“Right now,” Lucy says, “I don’t think it matters.”

Wyatt’s phone buzzes again. Another text from Rufus. Any time this century, guys.

“We have to take her with us.” Lucy can’t see anything elsefor it. Maybe they can just tell her it was a fun adventure. She stands up, andWyatt hesitates, then does the same, scooping the sleeping girl into his arms. “I’llkeep an eye on her, if that’s what you want. But Wyatt, promise me. Promise me you won’t go after Flynn byyourself. We just stop what he’s there to do. As usual.”

“And let him off the hook to do it again.” Wyatt soundstired. “Is this the way you want to live whatever time we have left, Lucy?”

She opens and shuts her mouth. She doesn’t know. She doesn’tknow anything. Except this. It’s devouring, all-consuming, that no matter what,she cannot let Garcia Flynn die. “Promise,” she repeats, half-desperately.“Promise me.”

Wyatt keeps looking at her. His voice is very quiet.

“Fine,” he says. “I promise.”

—————-

A few hours later and a hundred and fifty-six years earlier,the team – and the little girl, whose name they still haven’t gotten, but whotook surprisingly well to the idea of dressing up in fancy old clothes andgetting into a clanking metal eyeball that is supposed to take them throughtime, sitting on Wyatt’s lap while Rufus muttered that he didn’t know they werenow running a daycare – is stepping out into a dim, pungent back alley inLondon, December 1861. It is colder than a witch’s tit. This is only theirsecond mission outside America, after Nazi Germany in the 1940s, and all ofthem are feeling a little out of their element. The fog is yellow and burnswith coal smoke, the Thames reeks like an open sewer, carts and carriages andbroughams clack by on filth-splattered cobblestones, and Lucy, in her bonnetand long dress and fur capelet and woolen gloves, keeps a tight hold on theircharge’s hand. For her part, she’s looking around with wide-eyed interest. “Didwe really,” she says. “Did we really travel through time? That’s so cool.”

“You’re taking pretty well to this, kid.” Wyatt eyes hernarrowly from beneath his fine beaver tophat. He turns up the collar of hisovercoat; Jiya has managed to get them copies of the keys to the clotheswarehouse, and conveniently scrambles the security cameras, so aslong as they are very, very careful,they can still dress to blend in on their various missions. “What are you, BabyEinstein?”

The girl looks up at him beneath her long eyelashes. “I likescience,” she says, apparently by way of an explanation. “Grandma was a rocketscientist.”

“Cool,” Wyatt mutters, not paying attention, as they glancefrom side to side. London is covered in black bunting, and the newspapers areall sold out. It’s two days after the death of Queen Victoria’s beloved princeconsort, Albert, and the entire country is in shock. “Lucy, what did you sayyou thought he was going to do? What, kill Victoria? Make it a clean sweep?”

“I don’t know. British history isn’t my specialty. MaybeRittenhouse is trying to take advantage of Victoria’s grief, get her to makesome kind of bargain with them while she wasn’t thinking straight – or herkids, perhaps, Victoria blamed her eldest son for Albert’s death. Could bethey’re exploiting that feud somehow, making a deal with her to ensure that themonarchy survives, but they get to control it.” Lucy looks around restlessly.“Or – honey, what? Honey, come on.”

The little girl has stopped dead in her tracks, face white.“I don’t like Rittenhouse.”

The trio exchanges stunned, suspicious looks. None of themare sure what to say to that, even as they are increasingly convinced that herpresence might be no accident at all. It’s Rufus who breaks the silence. “Trustme,” he informs her, “we hate Rittenhouse.”

Wyatt looks at her flatly. “How do you know about them?”

The girl’s lip quivers, and she hides behind Lucy, who givesWyatt a she’s just a child look. Herheart is pounding for no good reason. “I’ll go to Buckingham Palace,” she saysafter a moment. “There will be a lot of reporters and looky-loos there, nobodywill notice. See if I can pick up anything about whether there have beenstrange visitors recently. Someone pressuring the queen to do something, thatkind of thing. You two, check the Houses of Parliament, Westminster.”

Rufus and Wyatt exchange a look, as if they are well awarethat she is once more proposing that they split up, but after a moment, theynod. They catch a hansom cab going one direction, and Lucy and the girl get onegoing the other. As they bump and jolt along in the whiskey-smelling interior,Lucy says quietly, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

The girl glances up at her with an expression that isjarringly, hauntingly familiar, then back out the soot-streaked isinglasswindow. “I’m scared to.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you might try to hurt me.”

“Honey, I am not going to hurt you. I promise.” They jolt toa stop, Lucy opens the door and gets out, presses a few coins into the driver’shand, and emerges to the sea of public grief before Buckingham Palace. Itdoesn’t look that different to when, say, Princess Diana died, flowers andtributes and handwritten notices of condolence. “But if we’re going to find your family when we getback, you have to tell me.”

The girl looks up, seems to be thinking about sayingsomething, but doesn’t. Lucy bluffs her way closer by pretending she’s a motherwith a curious child, trying to get to one of the helmeted “peelers” on dutybefore the palace gates. She’ll sound American when she speaks, which can’t behelped, but if she can just ask him if the queen has received any fellowAmericans recently, pretend she’s with the delegation, hear what offerRittenhouse is making the monarch of close to a third of the world, the BritishEmpire at its height, when she’s beside herself with grief and would promisethem anything if they –

If they told her, say, that they could bring Albert back –

Just as Lucy is turning cold all over with the thought thatit might not be nineteenth-century Rittenhouseoperatives here, but modern ones,actively and openly trying to change the course of history, they step aroundthe corner by the Mews and the girl stops dead again. Then her eyes go verywide. “Daddy?” she says. “Daddy?”

Lucy’s head jerks up. She stares at the tall, dashing figurein the well-cut suit and tails, collar likewise turned up against the cold –and is struck down on the spot by lightning.

Flynn stares back at her. Back at them. He isn’t moving. Nordoes he appear to be breathing.

“DADDY!” The girl breaks loose and runs to him, buttonedboots splashing in the puddles, neat and pretty in her borrowed clothes (theyhad some trouble finding a set small enough for her, but there are still a lotof things hidden in the corners of that warehouse), and throws herself aroundhis legs. Flynn remains transfixed to the spot, as revelation crashes over Lucyin further waves of ice-cold shock. This – this can’t be – the name floats up from the depths of the file. Iris Flynn. His daughter. The one whowas murdered, along with his wife, to warn him not to say anything about whathe had discovered, and when Rittenhouse officially made their monster. Thescale of the history Flynn has changed recently – whether it was saving the Titanic or something else – he’s doneit. Twisted and tweaked it somehow, totally by accident. Whichever Rittenhouseagent was supposed to kill his daughter wasn’t there, or only his wife wastargeted, or –

(Is his wife back too? Isshe?)

(Lucy feels almost gut-wrenchinglysick, and has absolutely no idea why.)

“You.” Flynn speaks at last,putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her back. “Y…” His hands areshaking. He looks like a ghost, like nothing Lucy has ever seen before. “Ithink you’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not. Daddy, it’s me!” Thegirl grabs hold of his jacket and shakes him. “Daddy, it’s me, Iris!”

Flynn might be having a heartattack. He moves as if to touch her shining dark hair, clearly wants to pickher up and clutch her and never let her go, and is terrified more than anythingelse to do it. Whatever he came to 1861 London to do, he has completelyforgotten it. He disentangles himself clumsily, turns around, lowers his headagainst the sleet, and just about starts to run.

After a moment, Lucy’s paralysisbreaks. It is a pain in the ass to run in heavy skirts, but she says to Iris,“Wait here, don’t move,” and then she does her damndest. Flynn has aconsiderable head start and he is moving like a bat out of hell, but shefinally corners him under the eaves of some supper-club on a side street,grabbing his arm and shoving him around. “It’s your daughter?” she manages,half in statement and half in accusation. “It’s your daughter.”

“No. No. It’s not. It’s a trick.It’s some kind of fold, some ripple in reality, some – I don’t know. I don’tknow what it is.” Flynn’s eyes are utterly black, his face dead white. He lookslike Dracula, torn from the crypt by day to crumble to ash in sunlight. Notthat there is much of that, this being London in winter before the invention ofelectricity. “Lucy. Just…go.”

“I am not. I am not going.” Lucy shakes him. “Do youknow how much I would give to see my sister again? If that was Amy back there,if there was even the smallest, most remote chance that I could see her andtouch her again – Garcia. Garcia, please. Don’t walk away from her. Don’t walkaway!”

Flynn jerks as if he’s been shot.That is, as far as either of them know, the first time she has used his firstname, and she closes her hands around his arms, their faces very close in themurk and mist, his eyes like open wounds. “Go back to her,” Lucy whispers. “Goback.”

“I can’t.” His lips barely move.“I am not her father any more. I’m not going to – Lucy, are you insane? Youknow who I am! What I am? Do youreally think it’s such a wise idea to make her live with me? Jumping through time with her strapped into a carseat in the Mothership? Rittenhouse isn’t destroyed! They could still kill heragain! All of us! YOU!”

Lucy flinches as if she’s beenslapped; his voice isn’t loud, but it feels like a roar, even as her nervelessfingers clutch the lapels of his coat. She wants to physically drag him back toIris, even as she thinks ludicrously of the song by the same name. And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘causeI don’t think that they’d understand/When everything’s meant to be broken, Ijust want you to know who I am.

She knows. God. She knows who heis, and it is tearing her almost in half. Tears ooze from beneath hereyelashes, even as Flynn makes half a convulsive movement as if to fish out ahandkerchief. Then his hand falls, and he tries to pull away.

Lucy Preston does not let him go.

They take a step, and thenanother, and stumble around the corner and into a courtyard, into one of thetents where London’s poorest people try to scrape out a miserable existence; itis essentially a punishable crime to be a pauper in this day and age, thosehorrible Dickensian workhouses and debtor’s prisons and orphanages aren’t justflights of fancy, unfortunately. This one is empty, its occupant out to push acostermonger’s barrow for hours, or hawk a paper about the prince’s death for afew pennies, and Lucy and Flynn fall entangled onto the pile of rags and coatsinside. He grasps hold of her, kissing her like he’s drowning, raw and hotterand more desperately than he ever has, practically tearing her skirts away and gettingtwo fingers into her, opening her, as he hitches himself up on her and thensheathes himself inside her with a thrust, deep and desperate. The cold airwhirls around them, biting at any exposed skin, even as they’re striking sparkswith the force of their coupling. He ruts hard against her, drives to the backof her spine, as she jerks and bends her hips up on him, arms around his neck,mouth open, keening.

Lucy almost thinks she’s left herown body by the time the dam breaks, and whatever is in her can barely becontained, and they roll over and over,riding and thrusting, in snow and ash, excelsis.She thinks briefly of the fact that the Victorians are supposedly very, very Not Amused by sex, wonders ifsomeone is going to report them to a very disapproving bobby with a handlebar mustachewho will throw them in one of the aforesaid prisons, but doesn’t care. All thatmatters is him, and him inside her, and her shuddering and slick anddeep and sweet, and how desperately she has come to hunger for his familiarweight and solid stretch of her, his heaviness and hardness, fit exactly forher. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s meantto be.

After the dazzled, shivering afterglowfades, he pushes himself back on his knees, slides out of her. Gets up, does uphis trousers. Stares down at her as if to sear her onto his eyes, his mind, hissoul, his existence, for eternity. And then – if nothing else, Garcia Flynn isa man of his word. Does what he promised, and goes.

Lucy understands only too latethat this is goodbye. Jumps up, shakes her skirts down, and runs out of thealley after him, heart in her throat, thighs still slick with him. “Flynn?” shescreams. “Flynn!”

There is no sign of him. Only thefalling snow. Somewhere in the distance, church bells begin to boom the hour,deep and dolorous.

“FLYNN!”

Nothing.

Lucy stands transfixed, numb andshaking. Knows she has to get back to the palace, find Iris again – and then wonderssuddenly and horribly if Flynn was right, and she was just some sort ofaccident, a momentary glimpse into a reality where she was still alive. As ifshe too will have faded in the smoke of London’s countless chimneys, a ghostcome to visit Scrooge in the dead of night. Telling him to mend his ways,warning him, and vanishing in morning light.

Lucy turns and starts to trudge. Wrapsher arms around herself.

She has never been so cold in herentire life.

[lilietsblog]

Strike Witches episode 1: first impression

so im gonna try strike witches: the unknown anime i chose to not familiarize myself with the premise beyond 'something like fighter pilots i think?' that i picked up by osmosis

oh hey look a discarded doll. def war is hell vibes here

cant say im a fan of the visuals from the first several seconds, the color scheme and everything seems kinda bland? the only reason im making this observation is bc i had to pause to let it load tho

oh look Very Noticable CGI

(i have a headache and am vaguely nauseous and basically am Very Cranky as a result)

man, there aren't even characters yet. it's been almost two minuets and there still aren't people for me to relate too that's a crime by which i dont mean that literally but just 'this might not be the thing i want to watch right now'

oh hey monsters okay this is better than just straight up war is hell between humans omfg in 1939 subtle 'we wanna play with ww2 era toys but without bringing up the fact japan was on the side of nazi germany' i assume sure im onboard if thats the premise

magitech??? magitech!!!

that's. their legs. in those things. are they evoking Baba Yaga and her travels in a stupa bc thats okay panty shots i think imma quit at the end of this episode

oh i. just realized this is the movie that actually makes it a bit better and gives me more hope lets try the actual first episode first

ok the first shot is of the sky and not a discarded doll that's already better

holy shit whatever this video player is it allows to load external captions from pc or url. technology progresses at an incredible pace

i love that the fighter planes are clearly shown attacking the vortex first 9u9

opening has so many girls wearing shoes but no pants. im just. this entire device's entire point is clearly to fanservice that does not mean this is bad character-wise yet ofc. i watched and liked fucking rosario+vampire. this show has a chance yet. lets see what its got

the op song is nice its also very straightforward about aesthetic of this show being 'girls without pants in absolutely non-sexual situaitons' and i can respect that

and oh look it actually does start with characters interacting right after exposition that's what im talking about

okay so now might be a good time to mention that the first context i heard of strike witches was uh. misogynist porn. like the kind that doesnt go for 'look at these relatable characters being kinky' but for 'consider: what if powerful girls got hurt instead'. so thats the context in my brain and i want to fucking overwrite it

military uniforms+panties are definitely an aesthetic and im incredibly amused by it okay every single girl here doesnt wear pants sure that actually looks like a swimsuit rather than panties and thats nice

also they are characterizing the protagonist! like i know thats not much to ask for but im going into this straight off blogging about madoka and this is just such a relief! she is kind and brave and plucky and talks gently to a scared kitten and I love her also she Does Not Think Things Through shes like the typical shonen protagonist but a girl. im in

Yoshika her name is Yoshika

and her motivation is her dad but eh sure whatever I kind of like the touch of 'it was classified military information' not sure why

theres nothing about Yoshika that qualifies her other than her personality and magic powers huh

yep thats a swimsuit aww shes a healer!

I love that the military observers rush to help as soon as they see something is off theres work and then theres helping emergencies

oh!!!! her mom and grandma are around!!! and teaching her!!! im happy!!!

Yoshika why is all that a 'but' to 'you should learn to control your power' i dont think there was any subtext of 'you shouldnt even try' there? or was it? maybe i should just trust her for now

awww Yoshika actually doesn't want to go to war <3 but this woman thinks she will because she wants to help people and she'll help people the most there I I like this ;~; I'm so happy I like this I love Yoshika's 'fuck war' instinct I love her drive to help everyone and in fact the trope of magical healer almost killing themselves to help a patient (despite it being professionally inadvisable) is actually the thing i made my very first rp character sooo :> you know. stuff something is fishy about that letter. its no coincidence it was sent just now... I love Sakamoto and her A+ social skills HA HA HA HA HA also huh... she's not in on whatever's up with that letter

Yoshika so uh alright she'll take her without enlisting her huh interesting but uh what about school I guess military and witches can override all that and it kind of makes sense to me thematically

'Britannia' gee how familiar that name sounds and i dont mean geographically

so hm could Yoshika be a military doctor without actually enlisting? how do the formalities work there i like that Sakamoto doesnt question her dislike of all things military like its unexpected but mostly bc Sakamoto's got a one track mind that has a hard time expecting anything other than what she wants to happen and beyond that its like 'sure ok a conscientous objector got it' even though its weird how there would be conscientous objectors to fighting MONSTERS its not like theres an alternative to not fight I mean also clearly Yoshika is a kid and theres room left for that in other characters' treatment of her opinions and I love that they dont get Offended that she doesn't understand and Have Proper Respect well Sakamoto doesn't at least not sure about how other people will react

man that raccoon on the road sure was convenient though. like i first thought it was Sakamoto's deliberate tactic to gauge Yoshiko's powers. she was opening her eye to i guess do just that visually and then the raccoon appeared and it just felt very natural that one follows from the other? is this foreshadowing or are the writers of this anime just unfamiliar with the concept of 'subtle' i dont mind if its the latter tbh

(im writing a ton of reflection bc the episode broke after i tried to rewind a little and i decided to download it after all, and its doing that)

so far, this show seeems nicely straightforward and fast paced. like, really straightforward. yoshiko's introduction? saving a kitten. making a ww2 era anime without difficult shit? monsters attacked in 1939. motivations and revelations are handled with all the subtlety of a hammer to the face, from the raccoon to the letter. even fanservice has the same charming quality that makes me actually be okay with the entire point of their outfits being gratuitous panty shots. making sense and having pretense is for the weak. this anime knows what it wants to be and is going straight for that. i respect that approach

also its p clear that what it wants is to be character driven and its been Delivering on that since its only half episode one and i already Love two characters personally and also some supporting cast (Yoshiko's entire family)

and like you know that in some other show GASP MIGHT MY DAD BE STILL ALIVE would be a reveal saved for like. the halfway point. but here its literally the starting point spurring everything into action bc all other motivation was just too slow to get the character where she was supposed to go. good job yo

there's this trope where the main character doesn't want to go into the main conflict (Refusal of the Call)... and very often it's handled by either 1) letting them wallow until everything goes to shit showing how wrong they were or 2) immediately conveniently wrecking everything so they have no choice now I uh. am really glad this show went a different way if just joining the conflict isnt a good enough motivation GET A BETTER ONE and IT DOESNT HAVE TO BE ANGST (and it doesn't have to be romance, either!!! why are those two the only things writers seem to be able to think of jfc)

...okay I was more like two thirds through the episode rather than half but my points stand

okay so I think what just happened was Yoshiko realized the parallel between herself and her dad leaving and got scared and her response was to comfort other people and I love that <3

I love that Sakamoto doesn't have a doubt in her mind that Yoshiko isn't going to be useless and will definitely help and also comes to her to discuss this explicitly <3

man I love Sakamoto and her absolute lack of social graces and sense of when enough is enough

and the fact that Yoshiko is working chores now and seems to enjoy it too <3

and it's when it's established that she's part of the team that Sakamoto starts showing off <3 she clearly has a dedicated well thought out campaign of convincing Yoshiko going on and its borne out not of manipulation but of clear conviction that she is right and she just has to show the girl what she doesnt know yet <3

ahaha of course showing off worked <3

so I paused and imma make a bet with myself on whether Sakamoto is going to tell her 'if you liked that you can join' right now or leave that unsaid subtly my bet is that she is, bc subtlety is an entirely foreign concept to this wonderful human being, and if i lose im going to make my bed right now not even waiting for the end of the episode let's see

oh she starts with education huh, this is not widely known? i had no idea anyway lets see if she says the thing

I love that it's her dad and it's this kind thing of 'this is what he said he was going to do, and he did' <3

huh so that was slightly more subtlety than I expected, she offered her to try them rather than trying to recruit her directly so I lost the bet gotta go make the bed now

BAM DONE YAY GOOD SELF CARE

hey more main characters!!!! I love all of you already!!! you have personality and discuss things that make sense!!! including their outfits!!! I love them!!!! the parasol girl is my favorite but also the tiny girl and the red-haired girl they are all my favorites!!!

omfg a month of travel and half a day early Yoshiko gets impatient I love her

YOU ARE A NONCOMBATANT she said with the steely confidence of a commanding officer <3

I love so much that Sakamoto respects Yoshiko's boundaries re: fighting???

OMG THE ENDING SONG I LOVE IT

I love the upbeat and airy tone this show manages to have despite the premise??? like I had trepidations at the start bc I dislike doom&gloom-heaviness of 'war is hell' narratives and I'm not a WW2 affictionado. but instead of shiny boom boom toys and angst it's all character adorableness and so much sky??? even the lack of pants ends up feeling like freedom this is the anime we all deserve

[thedrunkenminstrel]

My country calls the people who killed nazis the greatest generation. I don’t get the great stories of what a hero my grandpa was a lot of people here did. I got a much bleaker story. I was always okay with that. I found the glamour people constructed of WW2 vets to be a lot of polish. My grandparents gave a more real image of world war 2 and who it really affected; a gruff immigrant who barely spoke English and created his own business. Someone who laughed a lot and treated me with a lot a sexist favoritism (he probably wouldn’t be happy I’m letting the woman I intend to marry keep her name should she so choose) but with a sadness. One of my last memories of my incredibly grumpy grandma was her telling me she loved me a lot even if she was incapable of showing it. My dad said it was because of how her time in the camp affected her. It took a long time for that to sink in with what it meant.

And now the children of the men who killed nazis helped to disrespect what their fathers did and are making it too possible for what happened to my grandfather happen to other people.

We can say Russia and I do believe that they had a hand in this shit, but no amount of foreign intervention can wipe away the stain so many Americans now have on their souls.

[stillthewordgirl]

Fic: Triangles (Ch. 3)

After the Oculus exploded, the spark that is Leonard Snart was sent hurtling through time and space. His latest destination: The waters of the Bermuda Triangle in 1939. And a luxury liner called the Queen Anne…

(A sort-of crossover between Legends of Tomorrow and The X-Files episode “Triangle.” Mostly Snart POV.)

Continued thanks to @larielromeniel and @pir8grl for looking it over.

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

More notes at the end!

A small boat near the Queen Anne, 1998

"Hey, Scully, you're not going to believe this. Get up here."

"What?"

"The sky just cleared and there it was."

"Is it the Queen Anne?"

"That's her."

"I don't believe it."

"Seeing is believing."

"They've got power."

"Maybe Mulder's already on board."

"Let's hope he is."

On the Waverider, 1998, in a holding pattern above the Atlantic Ocean, not far from Bermuda

Nate lets out a long, low whistle. "That's one big aberration."

Sara stares at the Queen Anne, a piece—a very, very big piece—of 1939 that's somehow slipped through into 1998. There's power, clearly. But no life signs on the entire ship, leading to immediate "zombie apocalypse" jokes from Nate and Ray. (And shudders from Stein and Mick.)

"We need to take a look," she says, worrying her lip between her teeth. Something's weird here. Weirder than usual. "Ray. And... Martin. Jax. Come with me." She straightens, ignoring Nate's "Awwwww!" "Mick, keep the ship here while we take a look around. If it's really empty, it won't be long."

"What about Captain... sorry, Mr. …Hunter?" Amaya asks. "That's a British luxury liner."

"Rip's still prone to fits of time drift at the most inappropriate moments. I don't think so. With our luck, he'd decide he's the first mate or something." She shakes her head.

"Blondie, there's a small boat off the side there. Four people on it. Don't worry, pretty sure we cloaked before they saw us." Mick frowns from his seat in the captain's chair.

"Well, then we just need to keep that up."

On the Queen Anne, 1939

"I told you, this man is the scientist."

The Fed has nerve too; Leonard will give him that. He can half-hear the man mouthing off to the Nazis—yeah, that can't end well—but keeps his eyes locked on Sara's.

"By killing one of your own?" he asks quietly. "It's not the answer."

"I have to."

He has no idea of her story, here. But some things, in these places he lands, always seem to be the same. This is one of them: Sara Lance, in whatever incarnation, is a hero. The one who led him to become a hero himself, for better or for worse.

"That's how a killer thinks," he tells her, "and that's not you anymore."

She stares at him a moment longer, then lets out a shaky breath, some of the tension going out of her shoulders. He dares to look; the gun isn't in her hand anymore. He lets out a breath of his own.

When he looks up again, she's looking at him with shadows in her eyes, but a smirk on her face. "OK, stranger," she says, "I don't know who you are, or how you know me, but my instincts say your intentions are good. Now, what do we do?"

At the center of the action, another man, the one Mulder's redhead was with, is claiming to be the scientist—and so does she, although the man then claims she's an OSS agent protecting him.

Another decoy. And an OSS agent—is that what this Raymond is, too? Layers on layers, and only one thing for sure: it's time to leave.

"Raymond!" The man starts at the sound of his voice and looks at him with wide eyes. Leonard shakes his head. "Come on. We should get outta here."

"Who are..."

"Just listen to me, Boy Scout. We need to get all three of you out of here, find somewhere safe until the ship..." He breaks off. "...well. Until it gets where it needs to go, and that's not Nazi Germany. Come on."

For some reason, the man believes him. Raymond exchanges a few quick words with Stein and Jax, then looks back at Sara and Leonard, who start leading the way across the outskirts of the ballroom, toward one of the doors.

Leonard waves the rest through, then, for some reason, turns to look back... and pauses.

The Nazis have Mulder and the redhead on their knees near the front of the ballroom, hands behind their heads. An execution pose: they're dead if no one steps in. Leonard scans the ballroom, frowning. And no one in this cowed lot is going to do that.

He sighs, then takes one step back...only to pause again. Something's...off.

The engines have stopped.

And then, with a roar, a mixed group of sailors and crewmen burst through corridors on both sides of the ballroom. They immediately set to punching Nazis, initiating a good ol' bottle-smashing, table-throwing brawl. And in the middle of them, throwing punches and smashing Nazi heads with the best of them: Mick.

The Fed and the redhead have vanished. Leonard lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Mick's come through again.

The big man turns as if he feels the eyes upon him, hesitates a moment and then gives him a curt nod. He has this. Has Leonard's back—even though he doesn't realize, doesn't know...

After a moment, Leonard nods back. And then he turns and runs after Sara and the others.

"Hey! Hey…you!" Mulder catches sight of the tall guy from the captain's quarters again as he and Scully make their way, creeping on hands and knees to avoid the battle, from the ballroom. The man ignores him, vanishing out the doorway, and Mulder lurches after him, skidding to a stop in the hall as he realizes the other has already managed to vanish in plain sight.

"What the hell?" Not-Scully has come to a halt right behind him, gazing at him with irritation.

"I…saw someone." Mulder turns slowly, frowning. "Someone I think might be able to tell me how to…get home."

"Mister, after all that, you're helping fix this first." A wave of her hand indicates the ship, the Nazis, the missing scientist…everything he's managed to muck about in since he got here, slipping through time into 1939.

And she's right. He reaches out and grabs her hand, letting the mystery of the man in black go. For now. "Come on."

Leonard catches up to the others, slipping past the three men and then Sara to take the lead. "We'll lock you in the captain's quarters," he tells them. "There's a radio in there; you might be able to contact someone. At any rate, you can stay hidden for as long as possible. If you're lucky, Mi… that group will take back the ship and it'll all be fine. If you're not, well, it's not a bad place to stay hidden, and from what I've heard, the captain won't be back."

Raymond gulps audibly. "Oh. Ah. And who are…"

"Just move, Boy Scout!"

They round a corner and continue… and suddenly, another man, dressed in a Nazi uniform, steps suddenly out in front of them.

Leonard comes to an abrupt halt with a startled oath, the others piling up behind him. Sara moves up beside him, her gun in her hand, steel in her eyes.

The Nazi smiles at him, and Leonard feels ice in his veins. Because it's Vandal Savage standing in front of him, the spitting image of the man he'd sworn to take down, the man he'd…well, he'd thought he was going to die…to stop.

Why would the Nazis take Savage? he thinks absently, tensing to fight.He's not precisely their ideal…but I suppose they're his kind of people…

"Und wo sind Sie fünf gehen?" the Savage doppelganger says smoothly. "Ich denke, es gibt Leute, die Sie suchen..."

He never gets to finish, because with a yell of rage, Rip Hunter, or the Rip doppelganger, hurtles out of a nearby corridor, knife in hand, and tackles the bigger man.

"Run!" he yells at them. "Run, you idiots!"

They run. Leonard grabs Sara's hand as they do so. She lets him.

On the Queen Anne, 1998

There's someone else on the ship. Sara frowns, moving down the hallway, flashlight in one hand, bo in the other, Ray, Stein, and Jax trailing in her wake

She can hear the voices—a woman and a few men, she thinks—and hear the footsteps, but the group is always gone just before she turns a corner.

Otherwise, the Queen Anne is, indeed, deserted. The hallways are lit, though dimly, and in decent repair. Truly, a ghost ship.

She's seen some odd things—aliens, even—since going on the Waverider. This is among the odder of them.

They turn a corner…and an odd shudder runs down Sara's spine. She stops and shakes her head, looking at her right hand, which is closed around the bo…but momentarily felt warm.

The others have stopped as well.

"Did you feel that?" Jax asks the group at large. "Now, that was spooky. My grandma woulda called it someone walking on your grave."

"Jax, I've had people walking on my grave. It doesn't feel like anything."

The younger man eyes her for a moment, then shakes his head. "Yeah, and that isn't creepy or anything…"

The Queen Anne, 1939

They escort Raymond and his charges to the captain's quarters, where Jax immediately starts tinkering with the radio and Leonard ignores Raymond's questions in favor of wishing him a curt "good luck"—pausing to acknowledge Stein's quiet "thank you" before they leave the room. He uses the key he'd picked from the Fed's pocket, breaking it off in the lock, and then takes off again. Sara follows him.

When they finally emerge on the deck, Leonard casts a quick look around…and then grabs Sara's arm, pulling her back into the shadows as they see the Fed and the redhead standing there already.

"….don't go back and convince the crew of this ship to turn this ship around and head back into the devil's triangle, everything Einstein predicted will become true—except for the outcome of history," Mulder is saying, talking fast, obviously trying to persuade her of something.

The redhead is skeptical. "So, if I don't turn this ship around…?"

"In all likelihood, I won't exist … and neither will you." He considers her a long moment. "So, in case we never meet again…"

Leonard almost thinks Sara bites back a chuckle at the kiss that follows…and, standing there with her, he knows she does at the swift right hook that follows it. Personally, watching her in the darkness, he has some sympathy for the man. Does the redhead have a doppelganger, back where and when he's from? Was this a chance he'd never had the nerve to take before?

His mind is so elsewhere that he nearly misses it when the Fed hurls himself off the side of the ship, landing with a splash in the ocean below. The redhead runs after him, but after throwing a life preserver overboard and scanning the dark waters for a few minutes, she turns and heads back below decks. Leonard moves slowly to the railing and scans the ocean himself. Nothing.

Good luck, Fox.

"Was he right?" Sara's quiet question comes from behind him. "Is he…are you from…somewhere else?"

He considers and discards several responses, finally shrugs. "Yeah," he admits. "And he's right. The ship needs to turn around. I told…someone…in the boiler room. A man named Mick. If you find him, trust him. But whatever you do, make sure the ship turns. Take it back the way it came."

"And you?"

Almost time, he's pretty sure. "I'll be moving on." He turns to look at her…and she's standing close, so close, blue eyes gazing into his, a small frown on her lips.

Oh, what the hell. "So, just in case we never meet again…" he whispers.

And he kisses her. Finally stealing the kiss he's wanted to for so very long, or at least pretending to, given that this woman isn't Sara, just looks like her, moves like her, speaks like her...

...tastes like her...

"Sara? Sara? Are you OK?"

In 1998, Sara Lance stops dead in her tracks on the deck of the deserted Queen Anne, all thoughts of ghost ships and mysterious intruders washed away. Ray has turned back toward her; he's saying something, but she can barely hear him.

Her hand drifts to her mouth, fingers brushing against her lips, as a rush of warmth goes through her, the scent of warm leather and fresh winter air, the taste of mint and Leonard...

He semi-expects a fist to the face, like the skillful right hook Mulder'd gotten from the redhead. Hell, to be honest, he semi-expects a knife to the ribs.

Instead, Sara's double kisses him back, actually deepening the kiss by bending into him, lifting her arms and curving one hand across the back of his head, the other gripping the collar of his jacket. He makes a sound of surprise; she takes advantage of it by running the tip of her tongue along his lips, past them.

He can feels the pins and needles in his limbs that mean he's going to be leaving soon, any moment now, but he ignores them, pulling her closer, losing himself, or trying to, in the feel of her mouth on his, her body in his arms, the sense of Sara...Sara...Sara...

Just as he knows he can't hang on much longer, she breaks the kiss, pulling back just a little, looking at him with something amazed in her blue eyes.

"Leonard..." she whispers.

But he's gone.

Vanished...in blue light.

Author's note: OK, so you can accept that as the end, albeit a slightly mysterious (and possibly sad) one.

Or, you can go on and read the epilogue, which I posted just a few minutes later. However, I'm warning you: The whole thing is another reference to one of my favorite TV shows from the '80s/'90s. I'll tell you what at the very end, if you don't get it, and you can comment or PM if you really want to scream at me.

You have been warned. ;)

[writing-in-the-shadows-1966]

Because of Love Chapter 2

The Book that I had and written in was over several decades old. Once in a while I will write a sentence about how I cry when I think about Father Red.

“Grandmother, Can I read your Journal when you were with Father Red?” Sarah asks. I smile and I close it then handing it to her, I see myself right by that same door...

Flashback Begins

Standing by right inside the front door of the Catholic church, Father Reds lifeless body on the ground he had known and I knew that it was going to happen in the end, but that was the thing that killed me most, I should have died as I was putting his life on the line and now that he is gone, where do we all go from here? The Nazis turn their direction over to me and the cross that I was wearing.

“You better leave, or we will kill you too, just like this demon priest,” one of the Nazis says. Turning around, I walk back inside and closing the door and locking it so it can make me feel somewhat rest assured that the chances of being killed were getting impossible for that to happen.

“Father Red, I am completely lost without you, why did you have to die?” I ask him out loud. Tears of agony and despair come falling down from my brown eyes and all I can do is run my fingers throughout my jet-black hair.

“In the end dear Father, I needed and we all in the Jewish community needed to be saved and what you did was what we needed, freedom from death and those damned demons who would have caused it,”

Flashback Ends

Blinking my eyes a few times, I see Sarah staring at the empty space whispering to I am going to assume that it is Father Red, what is going on with this?

“Okay dear Father, I will tell Grandma, goodbye,” she says. Turning around, she smiles.

“Grandma, Father Red says that the first sign of why he had made the choice of letting the monstrous demon Nazis kill him, just read your journal, your questions will lead you to the answers that you have never been told, I know what is going to happen, so just trust me,” Sarah says explaining to what the two of them were talking about when the memories took over my mind and caused me to black out while standing up. Who knows at this point, but what we need to do is to find out why Father Red is coming back from the other side and what his secrets to what happened back then when it came to his death by the Nazis.

“Grandma, here is your journal, I wish you luck to your magickal journey,” she says then continues on.

“Red star, I release you from your world and I ask that you protect my Grandma, Bridget Franklin!” Sarah shouts as we stand inside my office for writing that I still do once in a while. Then the wind comes from who knows where and it causes me to black out.

Opening my eyes, I see myself in my younger form being brought into Father Reds office. I follow him and my younger form and I stay from afar, but close enough so I can hear and see what was going on with my past. I remember the day that Father Red brought me into his church and took my star of David and putting it into a safe place. He tells me that I cannot go by wearing my necklace. I understood the things and chances that would have happened if the German Nazis caught me with it around my neck. It would mean death for me. As I watch my memories with Father Red and my younger self, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder, turning around I see him, I see Father Red.

“Bridget, it is me, we need to leave before our past selves see us, let us go before it changes history!” he says rushing us out of the church building.

Running into the dark forests of a nearby cemetery for the Nazi soldiers that died serving Hitler, every time we passed a tombstone, I spit at it. Those bastards took my parents away, because of the Judaism belief systems and as well as the people who were born and practiced in it. Walking further into the deep and darkened forest woods, I can see throned plants wrapping around large, thick trees that their appearance caused a cave as if they were leading us into another world. Looking at Father Reds footsteps, I can tell that there is something on his mind, I can just assume that it is about the situation with why he died. What is Father Red? Is he really an angel of the God and Goddess?

“Bridget, we are here, look forward and you shall see what I was told to lead you too,” he says as he points forward. I look at the direction of where his finger was at and at that moment was what frightened me most. Their graves were right here, and in this scene, I knew that the Nazis were secretive, but why?

“Mothers…and Fathers graves, how did they die?” I ask. Father Red looks at me in silence and a single tear of pain falls from his green eyes.

“They committed suicide from how the Nazis told them that they lost everyone of the family, including you had been killed and because of that they stole two guns and shot themselves, leaving their remains and a note, letting me know on how they want their bodies to be buried away from the sight of the Nazis, the only difference though is simple; The Nazis did not know that your parents were Jewish, they just were poor and we not able to live anywhere ever since they had to give you up to my church,” seeing their graves, I have to understand and ask this question.

“Father Red, what are your connection with my parents? Can you just tell me something before I go insane?” I ask him. Father Red shakes his head and places his hands on my shoulder, the pain will not go away. My parents did not die because of what the Nazis said about me and the others in our family, there has to be something that Father Red did not tell me. The question is that is Father Red responsible for any of the deaths that I saw when I was first brought into his church?

“Bridget, the God and Goddess have told me something that have been kept as a secret from everyone, even from the soldiers because Hitler did not trust him and this is something that no one saw coming, but that is something you need to find out on your own, I shall see you again, but back as who you once were in the past,” Father Red says, then everything goes black.