#shes having trouble between the nuclear arms deal and the only shoot we need the suspects alive

[itsjusteds]

Guys I think I'm girl bossing a little too close to the sun. I think I'm actually winning the fist fight with the commitment issues. Who knew all it took was a hyperfixation on a musical about spies to cure me. I'm drawing every Spies are Forever character daily until I've drawn all 55 characters.

Today's character is the menu lady from the restaurant scene, Day 42/55

[gaming-universe]

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART TWO-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar

|PART ONE|

For four months, you remained in the Solovetsky Islands, recovering and maintaining a normal life.

The old man that had rescued you, Viktor, welcomed you into his home, and offered for you to stay for as long as you needed. He did everything in his power to make you feel welcome, especially after you had opened up to him. You told Viktor everything; the trauma you experienced in regards to the brainwashing, the betrayal you felt as Adler turned, weapon raised, and fired that single shot which landed you here, your sleepless nights consumed by nightmares of memories you thought were long gone.

Everyone thought you were dead, and maybe that was for the best. You could start anew, build a new life for yourself, live in peace. But of course, there had to be one last cruel twist of fate.

You were sitting in the living room, reading a small novel when Viktor hurried through the door, his face pale and eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” You mused, tilting your head to the side in wait for his answer. Viktor swallowed thickly, approaching with stumbling steps. He sat down beside you, his hands trembling as he placed them gently atop his knees. “I was returning from my trawler when I heard some men at the docks talking...” He began, now turning to face you with a shaky sigh “some of them were saying that men, Russians, were returning to the ruins atop the clifface. With diggers, with machinery to rebuild the base you gave your life to destroy”.

You froze, the book in your grasp falling to the floor as your grip loosened. They were returning here? What on earth could Perseus be returning to the Solovetsky Islands for? If they were rebuilding that base, then that means that there must have been something worth saving up there.

But what could you have missed the first time?

You raised a questioning eyebrow at Viktor. “Do you still have my gear?” You asked lowly, the hidden anger within you slowly beginning to bubble. The old man nodded “It is in the attic, well hidden from prying eyes-”

“Good, I’m going to investigate those ruins tonight”.

“No, you cannot! If you are caught-”

“That won’t happen, I promise” You reasoned, standing up abrubtly before wincing lightly. Viktor stood to block your path “You are still injured. I will not allow you to do this”.

You groaned “If Perseus has returned to that base, then I need to put a stop to this before it even begins...” You spoke informatively “I can’t let him escape again. I might not know why exactly, but I can’t let him leave those ruins alive”.

With a long winded sigh, Viktor stepped to the side whilst giving you a pointed look. He said nothing as you passed him, beginning to make your way to the attic with a confident stride. Investigating that base was your best chance of figuring out exactly what was going on around this small town. You began to notice some subtle changes a few weeks ago. The people were growing scared, they were more cautious, and more suspicous of each other as days went by.

After clambering through the small manhole into the attic, you found your gear lying atop an old carboard box, neatly folded and out of sight. As you extended a hand out towards the pile of clothes, your hand faltered. Your eyes travelled to the round tear in the dark grey fabric, surrounded by a large red stain that refused to detatch itself from the fibres. As if in response, a phantom pain coursed through your chest, the ugly scar beneath your jacket aching with every awkward twist and turn of your arm, every deep breath you took. A reminder of the pain that had been inflicted.

Swallowing your fear, and suppressing the vivid flashes of you and Adler on that clifface, you changed into those old clothes. With no weapons, you would have to approach with stealth. They wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone breaking in to their new playground, especially if it were one who had been the cause of the base’s destruction the first time around. After making your way back downstairs, Viktor stood by the door. “You cannot expect to go in there unarmed...” He began, removing one hand from within his jacket to reveal a pistol, with a suppressor attatched to the end. “My son’s. It was his when he was with the Russian Army four years ago. He left it behind when he moved away with his wife. It would be more use to you than just sitting in a draw beneath old documents”.

Carefully, you took the weapon from his fragile hands, almost recoiling at the familiarity of the cool metal in your palm. You nodded gratefully, taking the firearm and securing it in the holster attatched to your right leg. Before you could leave, Viktor gently grabbed your upper arm, squeezing it tightly in emphasis to his words. “Be careful, and come back alive”.

With a light chuckle, you nodded your promise before walking past him and through the front door. You coudln’t help but feel incredibly nervous. There were two ways this night could go, and you hoped to god that everything worked in your favour.

Studying the ruins of the base atop your perch of a pile of rubble, everything seemed to be running smoothly so far.

You had watched several Soviet officers disappear through a single armoured door, only to return hours later. You assumed that that door lead either to an already rebuilt section of the base, which was heavily fortified and filled with armed guards at every turn. Or, that door lead down to subterrainean levels that hadn’t been affected in the air raid four months ago.

There was only one way to find out.

Checking that the coast was clear, you descended from your perch and kept close to the shadows. Taking the long way around was certainly not what you wanted to do, although you definitely did avoid several close calls. You only had trouble with two guards, who you quickly dispatched before continuing on your way.

You paused just out of reach of the doorway, crouching low to avoid the bright searchlight illuminating the grounds. Steadying your breath, you waited for the right moment to slip through the metal door without being detected. The door itself hadn’t suffered much damage, merely sustaining a few scratches and scorch marks against the olive green paint. When the search light moved on a second time, you took that as your opportunity to slip through, closing the door behind you with a small thunk, whilst completely unaware of the several pairs of prying eyes that watched your form in awe and disbelief.

After managing to sneak by several other Soviet soldiers, you found yourself descending a staircase that kept going down, down down. There was almost no end in sight, but you sighed with relief when a faint white light illuminated the end of the staircase. Upon entering the room, you almost swore that your heart leapt into your throat. There were several rows of computer terminals, but there was only one that was operational. As you approached, the screen flickered with two words. Two words that triggered a flicker of memory from your time with Perseus.

You were back in that bunker, the bunker with the red door. It was just you and Perseus, the rest of the room was dim, almost black and white. Perseus turned to face you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he placed a file onto the table before you. “I only trust you with this information. You are my most valuable asset, and I trust that you will keep this a secret from the rest of the table...”

You nodded wordlessly as Perseus continued, “If Operation Greenlight is to fail, I have a failsafe which I intend to initiate, Operation Hydra-”

You found yourself stumbling backward, breathing heavily as you tried to make sense of what you had just witnessed. Operation Hydra? Perseus’ most valuable asset? None of this was making sense.

You heard the heavy footsteps before you turned, perhaps a little too late. The end of an assult rifle collided with your jaw, sending you sprawling to the floor as your vision danced with violent stars. Several angry Russian voices echoed throughout the bunker, all of them shouting for someone to retrieve a General Nikiforov. Ungracefully, you staggered to your feet and lashed out at the closest soldier, tackling him to the ground with a loud cry of effort. After managing to wrestle the rifle from his grasp, and after knocking the soldier unconscious, you took cover behind one of the computer terminals as the remaining four soldiers opened fire.

You cursed under your breath, readying your newfound weapon to fire when several more shots echoed from within the bunker, this time, resonating from the bottom of the stairwell on the opposite side of the room. It soon became hard to differentiate between who exactly was shouting. There were multiple accents all at once, making it near impossible to find out just who was shooting at who.

Peaking around the corner of the terminal, you sighed internally with relief as the three soldiers were preoccupied with dealing with whoever was on the other side of the room. Wait, three?

You had no time to react as the fourth soldier appeared to your left in your peripheral vision. You released a small cry of pain as the Russian grabbed a fistful of your hair, dragging you out from behind your cover before letting go, and delivering a swift kick to your abdomen. You managed to avoid his attack, rolling away before quickly standing to your feet.

The soldier charged, swining his arms wildly. There was no rationality to his attacks. Making him vulnerable, and completely predicatble. You caught his arm mid-swing, twisting it to the side harshly before delivering a hard kick to the soldier’s stomach. With a pointed grunt, he stumbled backward against one of the terminals, giving you enough time to advance. But the soldier was ready, and produced a large combat knife from within his vest.

You hissed as the knife cut your forearm, recoiling away from the soldier as blood began to stain the sleeve of your shirt. Believeing that he had the upper hand, the soldier advanced, swiping in every which direction in an attempt to land a critical hit. Doging and weaving, you swore as your back collided with a seperate terminal, effectively trapping you between the desk and the soldier edging closer towards you. Shit, this was exactly what he wanted.

You were practically bent over backwards across the terminal, your back straining at the awkward angle as you caught the soldier’s hand in it’s downward strike, leaving the knife mere inches from your throat. The soldier was leaning on top of you, putting all his weight into trying to accomplish the menial task of ending your life. You could feel the knife’s tip pressing against your skin, the cool metal still flecked with traces of your blood a stark contrast to the warmth of your body. The knife drew blood as you tried desperately to push back with whatever remaining strength you had left. You didn’t know how much longer you could last.

Suddenly out of nowhere, the soldier was hauled away from your form and violently shoved to the ground by a figure clad in black. You forced your self to sit upright, one hand caressing your neck whilst the other was braced firmly against the desk. Taking a few deep breaths, you watched on as the figure kicked the knife from the soldier’s hand, before removing a pistol from his side and actively shooting the soldier in the chest, the single shot echoing loudly throughout the now silent bunker.

Your heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard, as you tried to regain your composure, as you tried to calm down. But four months of recovery certainly hadn’t prepared you for this. Your entire being became rigid with fear as the figure before you turned, your eyes widened with dread, you could have sworn that you had stopped breathing altogether. Those blue eyes beneath those goddamned glasses, the scars across his face...

Two other figures appeared behind him, their eyes wide, their faces pale. As if they were looking at a ghost.

“No fucking way...” Woods breathed, his eyes not once leaving your form as his grip on his rifle slackened. Mason nodded wordlessly, he too in a completely dumbfounded state. Your fear soon turned to immense anger, as Adler stepped towards you, his expression unreadable. “Bell” was all he said, nodding slightly in aknowledgement. As if what happened four months ago never took place at all.

A heavy tension filled the bunker, becoming broken when your clenched fist collided with Adler’s jaw, a sharp but impressive ‘crack’ echoing throught the room.

Tag List (Tags with lines aren’t working as of yet): @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat​ @staryozora​ @quietblogs-2-rd @lovinggooppalacebanana @ktdragonborn​

[khaelisfics]

Classroom War - Chapter 2

Paring: John Smith x Rose Tyler Chapter: 2/? Rating: T Word count: 1900 Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, University AU

Read on AO3

Tagging @doctorroseprompts and @timepetalscollective for the second chapter of this University AU!

He grinned proudly as he tore the cardboard of the parcel he had received on his desk, taking out a heavy book he had ordered. He had spent his own money on something he would never use, just for the sake of retaliation - and because he couldn't wait to see her furious face again. The motivation was clear. Get his revenge for that cheap short she had aimed at him the week before. It was simple, efficient, and not evil enough to risk much more than a glare and another fit of anger. Oh, he couldn't wait.

He tucked his book under his arm and walked out of his office, unable to wipe the smug smile from his features. You’ll get your stupid book, he thought as he walked into one of the humanities corridors that sprouted from the mail hall, greeting a few of his own students on the way. He had never been to her office before - not for lack of interest, because he had wanted to visit her for two years, but for lack of any precise reason that would leave her wondering why he had even bothered when they had a phone and emails. Phone and emails had this one disadvantage he couldn't see her, skirt and high heels and tight blouse, but well. He always managed to find a good spot at the canteen to make up for all those times he didn’t visit her - namely, that one table behind the plastic plant that shielded him from her, but from where he had a very good view of her legs under the table.

He knocked on her door, grinned even brighter when she answered, and stepped into her office with the firm intention to thoroughly enjoy her rage. He was momentarily struck by the size of the office, less than half the size of his, and he realized a lighter budget was not the only bad thing about the humanities. Especially since, being the literary person that she was, piles and piles of books were stacked against the walls, precarious towers that would all tumble down if she picked but one of them.

She was wearing that light pink blouse that day, one of his favourite, and he was disappointed he couldn't see what skirt she had paired it with. No. He wasn't there to watch her legs. Revenge, he remembered.

“Doctor Smith, what can I do for you?” she greeted with a smile, taking off the black glasses perched on the bridge of her nose - he would have liked to tell her to leave them on, because he didn’t think he had seen anything sexier in his whole life, but he managed to keep that thought for himself.

“Doctor Tyler,” he nodded, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his heel. “I got you a little something I thought you might like. Remember that book we, er, argued about last week?”

“Yeah, I do, thanks for reminding me,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair, tucking a temple of her glasses in her cleavage. “So?”

“Well, I kinda felt bad, you know, I got this brand new, amazing centrifuge and you’re left with nothing,” he said - he made sure to sound falsely saddened and offered an ironic smile of compassion. “So, I got you the book.”

“Did you?”

He nodded with a grin, the delighted flutters of thrill blooming in his stomach at her surprise and immediate softening. Oh, she really wanted that book. And she was genuinely happy he had bought it. It made it even better. The downfall would be rough.

“Here it is, new edition and all,” he said, letting the book plop down on the desk, putting its title on prominent display. “Cost me fifty quids, but well, I’ve got a centrifuge worth a few thousands so I thought… You know, consolation prize.”

“It’s in French,” she noted with a frown as she flipped through the pages. “All in French.”

“Oh, is it?”

He faked an outraged gasp, and started to ramble about how it hadn't been made clear enough on the website, and how they would hear about it and he would get his money back because it was unacceptable to pay that much for a few pages in a wrong language. Of course, he was jubilating at her momentary perplexity, but on the inside only. Well, probably a bit on the outside too, because she raised an eyebrow and smiled, the kind of amused smile that had him observe her with a hint of suspicion. She wasn’t disillusioned, like he had hoped she’d be. She looked… Pleased. Now, that wasn’t part of the plan. Something must have gone wrong somewhere.

“Thank you very much, Doctor Smith,” she simply shrugged, shoving the book in a drawer. “That you would go to such extents is proof of your repentance.”

“But it's in French,” he pointed out, frustrated that she wouldn't make any more comments about it when he had expected, and even hoped for a tantrum.

“Yes, it is,” she smiled, slipping her glasses back on the tip of her nose - ah, that looked much better. “Good thing I speak French.”

“You… You do?” he asked as he watched his plan crumble down to ashes along with his confidence.

“Of course I do, majored in French literature, did one of my thesis about Molière. Why the disappointment? At least you didn't spend your money on a silly joke. I can actually use it. Gonna need to do a few extra hours to translate what my student needs, but all in all, this is better than nothing. So, thanks.”

“Oh, good, then, very good,” he could only nod, trying hard not to let the his abatement show on his face. “I could send it back and order the good one, though, I really...”

“Don’t sweat it, Doctor Smith,” she grinned as she handed him a small file of papers. “I know what you wanted to do. Sorry it didn't work.”

“No idea what you're talking about, I just wanted to help you.”

“Right. Now, I have work to do, so…”

He nodded with a sigh of defeat, but it was when he started to turn on his feet that he absent-mindedly read the title written in sharp little letters on the top of file. A title he knew all too well.

“Wait, what's this?” he asked as he sifted through the sheets to make sure it was what he thought it was.

“Your article about nuclear fission in subaquatic rift currents was good, but your whole theory doesn’t look very professional,” she started to explain much too matter-of-factly compared to the scornful twitch that pulled on her lips. “You'll find annotations and corrections. It might be science, but if you can’t spell all your gibberish properly, you won’t get published. You can leave it as it is, of course, but I doubt you'll go far with subacquatick rifts.”

“You went through the trouble of reading my article just to taunt me on stupid grammar?” he huffed, both angry and embarrassed to see so much red painted over the pages.

“Spelling, Doctor Smith. The grammar isn’t that good either, though, you'll find a few notes about that too. Page three, you say one thing and the exact opposite two lines further. It matters when you’re talking about potentially deadly stuff, just saying.”

“This is a paper I am still working on, I typed my notes at two in the morning, okay? How did you even get this, you snoop, I only posted it to my personal drive.”

“And on the staff Intranet. It appeared in the news stream, under the glorious title, hm, what was it? Oh yes, FML this fissions my ass. Thanks for the laugh, by the way.”

“No, I didn’t, I can’t have! It wasn’t even on the page yesterday when I logged in, and the latest news posted dates back to three weeks ago.”

“Don’t get your pink panties in a wad, your ass suffers enough as it is, it seems.”

“Just tell me how you found it, for God’s sake!” he huffed, angrily rolling the file in his fist as if he wanted to whack her head with it.

“The Intranet,” she repeated, undaunted by the way he braced himself against the edge of the desk to bend towards her, menacing and eyes shooting thunderbolts. “I knew you’d posted it by accident, so I saved a copy and deleted the post to spare you the embarrassment. But you know what, you’re right. Not my problem. I’ll just post it again and you can deal with it yourself. Now stop fissioning my own ass with your childish enterprises and go back to your toy to grow your mushrooms. Might want to stop by your computer first, though. People don’t need to know about your current anal health.”

He watched, powerless, her fingers type words he couldn’t read and click several times on her mouse. Surely, she wouldn’t… But then, she cocked her head at him with a bright smile and mouthed a done. Obviously, she would. And she had. Yes, he had been looking for trouble and willingly tugged on the Devil’s tail, but that didn’t prevent anger from boiling in his veins. If anyone else found this article, under that title, he wouldn’t bet much on his reputation for the coming weeks. He’d need to invest in earplugs rather than in books to mute the sneers and laughs that would bury him under mountains of shame.

“Go to Hell, Doctor Tyler,” he seethed, shoving the rumpled sheets in his pocket. “I won’t argue with someone who can’t differentiate between mushrooms and microbiological cultures!”

“Fine, just go, then,” she shrugged as she planted her fingers on her keyboard and waited for him to actually go. “Thanks for the book again, that was very thoughtful of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my next course. You’re welcome to attend, it’s about latin etymology, you might learn a thing or two about spelling subaquatic.”

“I know how to spell subaquatic, I wrote this in a rush, alright? I just… Nevermind. Have a nice day, Doctor Tyler. Enjoy your stupid book.”

He stormed out of her office before he could drown in her sickening smugness and rushed back to his office, his highest priority now consisting in deleting any trace of the humiliation eulogy this post was. He sat behind his computer and hurried to log in, opened the page he was looking for and scrolled through it to find the subject of the offence. Sure enough, there it was, posted under his name, but it seemed Doctor Tyler had deemed necessary to add an attachment. Introduction to Latin Etymology. He made a face at his screen and erased the article from the database with a few clicks. She was saucy, that woman. He loved it. Still, he would need to up the ante and hit harder if he wanted a chance at winning.

The email bell chimed again. His face blanched as he read the message she had sent him and his hands went to his fly.

I didn’t say pink panties by accident, BTW. Lovely underwear, Doctor Smith. Dr. T.

He zipped up his fly and fell back in his chair with a groan.

[catsandtruecrime]

Historical True Crimes: Jonestown, and Why We Need to Stop Using the Phrase “Drinking the Kool-Aid”

The case of Jonestown is one that’s shockingly unknown to many young people today. I had personally never heard of this case until I was making my way through the Casefile podcast and I finally decided to dive into the episode titled, “Case 60: Jonestown (Part 1).” The description for the episode read “You may think you know the story, but do you…”

“Um…I don’t think I do know this story…” I thought, as soon as I read the description. I wracked my brain, trying to think of cases I’d heard before.

Jonestown…Jonestown…that sounds kind of familiar I think? Clearly it’s a town where something bad happened. I ran through my mental list of “Mass Shootings That Have Occurred in My Lifetime.” Aurora, Orlando, San Bernardino, Las Vegas, Sandy Hook….nope, no Jonestown there.

I pressed play and Casefile’s standard disclaimer filled my headphones. “Our stories deal with serious, and often distressing incidents. If you feel at any time that you need support, please contact your local crisis center. For suggested phone numbers for confidential support, please see the show notes on your app, or on our website.”

There was a pause, and then something that I had never heard from the Anonymous Host before.

“This series on Jonestown deals with horrific events. The series deals with mass murder and suicide of men, women, and children, as well as other abuses. The episodes are graphic and distressing, especially episode 3. It will not be suitable for all listeners. Please use your discretion.”

Distressing these episodes were, but most distressing was the fact that I had no idea what Jonestown even was before listening to them. At Jonestown, America saw the greatest loss of civilian life in a single event until 9/11 occurred. Many of us vividly remember the tragedy of 9/11, but the tragedy of Jonestown has fallen by the wayside, and is almost even mocked in a way, by the widespread use of the phrase, “drinking the Kool-Aid.”

After I heard about Jonestown for the first time, I wanted to tell everyone about it. So here is me doing just that.

In short, Jonestown was a compound populated by a church-turned-cult, led by Jim Jones. Jones was born in Indiana in 1931, and grew up in a troubled household. His father was a disabled World War 1 veteran, and his mother was an outspoken factory worker, who was rarely home. As a result, Jones spent a lot of time alone in his younger years.

Noticing that little Jim was often playing outside by himself, a neighbor decided to invite him to church with her one day. At her evangelical Nazarene church, Jones found a sense of belonging for the first time. When he looked at the preacher, he saw someone to look up to, not because of his faith, but because of what the preacher inspired in others; the preacher was loved, adored, and respected by his congregation in a way that Jones wished he could be.

Eventually, Jones branched out to other religious denominations as well, and began going to their various churches. Jones was especially intrigued by pentecostal churches, as he enjoyed the theatrics and faith healings that these churches often offered.

By the time he was 10, Jones had decided that he wanted to be a preacher, and he was practicing on his friends and pets whenever he could. Eventually, he began preaching in lower income black neighborhoods, and he tended to focus on social justice and inequality.

*insert record scratch here* Time to pause the story for a moment. Knowing that Jones would be the one to eventually head the cult that became Jonestown, it’s important to discuss how cults work. We all like to think that we would never join a cult and that we’d be able to see what’s happening before we were to get sucked in.

Cults, though, tend to prey on the disadvantaged. Whether it’s due to poverty, racism, or religion, people who join cults tend to be those that are excluded from “the rest of us” in some way, and they’re people who are searching for acceptance and belonging.

Jones was coming into his own during the 40s, 50s, and 60s, during a time of intense civil unrest and mounting racial tensions in America. On top of that, there was also the imminent threat of nuclear war, which absolutely terrified many Americans.

With that information, and with the scene set, back to our regularly scheduled programming…

It’s largely questioned whether or not Jones actually believed in the need for equality, or whether he was just REALLY GOOD at honing his message to effectively target the people that he knew he could rope into joining him. He certainly knew how to speak and he had mastered the rhetoric that would grip people most tightly, dropping the ideas of desegregation, equality and social justice on the ground, small pieces of candy leading them into his gingerbread house in the middle of a Guyanese jungle, where they would ultimately meet their demise.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…Jones really began building his congregation when he was 21. Initially, he began preaching at a Methodist church in Bloomington, Indiana. When he began calling for desegregation and racial integration between churches, though, the Methodist church’s congregation (made of 100% rich white people) said, “Um…yeah, no thanks, dude.” So Jones said, “Well okay, then, I don’t need you anyway,” and he started recruiting people to form his own congregation, which came to be known as The People’s Temple.

Eventually, Jones became a sort of civil rights icon at the time. He preached in black neighborhoods and welcomed black citizens into his church with open arms. As Jones felt his steam building, he started abusing amphetamines and other drugs, which gave him the energy to visit potential worshippers and preach at all hours of the day and night.

With the energy came some more negative side effects, however. Jones became increasingly paranoid and was terrified at the prospect of a nuclear war. He had an intense fear of abandonment and regularly threatened anyone who tried to leave his congregation after they had joined.

As he continued to build his congregation, he shifted his messaging after reading through the entirety of the Bible. Jones paid particular attention to any negative events or contradictions as he read, ultimately coming to the conclusion that God will protect no one. Jones began telling his congregation that he was their only savior, and that he would be able to do more for them and protect them better than God ever would.

In 1963, Jones urged his congregation to move to Redwood Valley in California, claiming that they would be safe from nuclear war once there. Around this time, Jones and his congregation also began crusades, where they would take busses around the country, stopping along the way to hold events where Jones would preach, oftentimes in low income, minority areas.

During these crusade events, Jones would perform “miraculous” faith healings, in which he would appear to fix ailments and injuries. What the congregation didn’t know, though, was that all of these “healings” were staged.

In one example, Jones had one of his aides pose as an attendee; she sat in a wheelchair with a cast on her leg, appearing to have broken it and was unable to walk as a result. Jones approached the “injured woman” and willed her leg to heal, cutting off her cast and pulling her up from her seat. To attendees, it appeared that this woman had just been granted the ability to not only walk, but run down the aisles, all thanks to Jones.

Jones was also well known for wearing sunglasses no matter where he was. This wasn’t because Jones cared deeply about his eye health, though. They also served a couple of other purposes, like hiding his eyes from giving away his emotions or showing what he was really looking at. For example, when new members would come to his masses, his aides would take their names and phone numbers under the guise of needing a way to contact them for future events.

In reality, his aides would call people’s houses and would sometimes even go so far as to travel to their house and sift through their trash, essentially doing recon on their new members and gathering information about their lives. At the next mass, they would slip Jones a piece of paper with specific details about particular people. Reading from behind his sunglasses, he would call them out by name and reveal details about their lives that he (supposedly) couldn’t possibly have known. He claimed that he had ESP and that he was a prophet, hence why he seemed to “just know” things about his partitioners.

Jones started organizing fake assassination attempts on himself as well; at a time when notable civil rights icons like Martin Luther King Jr. were being assassinated, Jones needed to create the illusion that he was just as important as they were; he told his followers that there were countless people and organizations that wanted him dead. He also used this as an excuse to begin testing his followers’ loyalty.

Jones and his inner circle would write false declarations of child abuse, sexual assault, and even murder on behalf of Jones’s followers. They would be forced to sign the declarations, or else they would be ridiculed and beaten by other members of the church. If anyone wanted to leave at any point, Jones had a signed declaration on file for the person, stating that they had committed some crime, which he could hold over their heads and use to ruin their lives if they left him. He also had his followers sign blank pieces of paper so that he had access to their signature and could make it appear that they had signed just about anything he needed them to.

According to Julia Scheeres in the Sword and Scale podcast episode on Jonestown (Episode 50), Jones was “fascinated with the idea of control, and he wanted to see how far he could push people.” It was around this time in the 70s that Jones became obsessed with the idea of revolutionary suicide. He took the idea from the autobiography of Black Panther, Huey Newton. Newton’s idea was basically that you shouldn’t be afraid to go down fighting; for example, if the police are trying to shut down a protest, don’t go quietly, even if it means being killed. This was still a radical idea, but Jones took it even further.

Jones spun this idea to fit his own narrative and said that revolutionary suicide meant being willing to die “for the cause,” which was really dying for Jones himself. Essentially, he believed that his followers should be so loyal to him and The People’s Temple that they should be willing, and even happy, to die if Jones deemed it necessary.

At the same time that Jones was building his congregation, Guyana was a newly formed country in South America, and the government was struggling to provide enough food for their citizens. Ultimately, the government decided to lease land in the jungle to people who were willing to come to Guyana and build farms to contribute to the country’s food supply.

After a negative investigative article came out in New West Magazine, alleging abuse in The People’s Temple. Seeing his opportunity, Jones and his family, along with several hundred of his followers, moved to Guyana to build The People’s Temple Agricultural Project in the middle of the jungle. The journey to their roughly 3,800 acres of land took them to the capital of Guyana, Georgetown, where they had to journey by river to their settlement. They were roughly 6 miles from the nearest sign of civilization at the settlement that Jim Jones called Jonestown.

When his followers arrived to Jonestown, his aides confiscated their passports, money, and other worldly possessions. They were essentially stuck there, as Jim Jones had reportedly once told them, “If you want to go home, you can fucking swim home because we’re not paying your way home.”

Away from the pressures of American society and the American government, Jones was no longer afraid to be truly himself and make his increasingly radical views known. Armed guards patrolled the compound borders and temple members were forced to spend long days in the fields and participate in “White Night” drills, where Jones conditioned his followers into complacency regarding the idea of revolutionary suicide.

While they started out as a means to berate “disloyal” temple members, the White Nights eventually turned into what were essentially suicide drills. Jones would bring out a vat of punch (which was actually of the British brand, Flavor Aid) and urged his followers to drink from it. This idea had been on his mind for some time, as he had practiced this with his closest inner circle, even before relocating to Jonestown.

After everyone had drank their cup of punch, he would tell them that the punch was poisoned and that they would all be dead within the hour. Guards and Jones’s aides watched his followers, and anyone who appeared to be mad at their seemingly imminent death became targets for the rest of the night. Their lives were made harder and they were watched more closely after the drill if Jones was convinced that they wouldn’t be loyal to him and his commands in the end.

Tim Stone, one of Jones’s former aides, said that Jones once told them at a White Night, “Now I would like each of you to stand up and tell me how happy you are to die for the glory of socialism.”

While Jones produced videos for his remaining congregation still located in the US showing how happy everyone was at Jonestown, the reality was far different. At Jonestown, residents struggled to produce enough food for everyone and many people went hungry most days. Since they were quite literally in the middle of the jungle, they were also responsible for building their own shelters and there weren’t enough shelters for everyone. They crammed into tiny buildings and some members wrote home to their families about the conditions at Jonestown.

Eventually, enough family members of Jonestown residents became concerned for their loved ones and went to the US government for help. They believed (correctly in most cases) that their loved ones were stuck in Jonestown and weren’t being allowed to leave.

Congressman Leo Ryan got wind of this and his interest in the American settlement in Guyana was piqued. On November 14th, 1978, Ryan, along with two of his staffers, nine journalists, and 18 family members of Jonestown residents made their way to Jonestown. Once they got to Guyana, Jim Jones was hesitant to allow them into Jonestown, but when Ryan and the other visitors insisted on meeting with temple members, Jones reluctantly agreed.

Jones and his followers did a good job of putting on a show for their visitors, appearing happy to live in this utopia in the jungle. To the skeptical visitors, however, the act wasn’t good enough. They saw through the propaganda Jones was orchestrating and their suspicions were only confirmed when multiple temple members slipped the visitors notes, begging to leave with them and asking for help. When Ryan confronted Jones about the notes, Jones calmly replied that there was no need for concern; if his followers wanted to leave, they were more than welcome to do so.

On November 18th, 1978, Ryan and the rest of the visitors, along with 15 temple defectors, prepared to leave Guyana. At 5:20 p.m. a plane filled with defectors was preparing to leave when People’s Temple loyalists emerged from the forest and from behind tractors that were parked on the airfield. They were armed with guns and began shooting at the defectors and the visitors.

At the airstrip, Congressman Ryan, one defector (Patricia Parks) and three journalists (Bob Brown, Greg Robinson, and Don Harris) were killed. 11 other people, including staffer Jackie Spear, were injured. Spear was shot in the arm, but survived after hiding behind one of the plane’s wheels. Reporter, Tim Reiterman, along with the rest of the visitors and defectors, survived after fleeing into the jungle to hide.

At approximately the same time, Jim Jones announced another White Night over the loudspeakers at the compound. He called everyone to the pavilion building that was located in the center of Jonestown. As residents filed in, 25 guards, armed with rifles and crossbows, encircled the pavilion. Jones’s aides carried a large steel drum to the center of the pavilion and filled it with Flavor Aid as they had countless times before.

Next, Jones’s medical staff emerged and mixed cyanide, valium, potassium chloride, and chloral hydrate into the Flavor Aid. Jones pulled out a tape recorder, hit record and began preaching.

“In spite of all that I’ve tried, a handful of our people, with their lies, have made our lives impossible…there’s no way to detach ourselves from what’s happened today,” Jones began, on what’s now known as Q042: The Jonestown Death Tape. Jones told his followers that an attack on the congressmen and the other visitors was occurring as he spoke.

He told his followers that once the world finds out about the attack, “they’ll parachute in on us,” and “they’ll kill your children,” referring to the Guyanese military and the United States FBI and CIA. Jones told his followers that the Guyanese military was already moving in, and that they would torture and kill all of them if they did not kill themselves. He instructed everyone to line up, babies and toddlers first, to take their cup of punch, which would bring them all peace. He told them not to fear death, and that it would be like falling asleep.

As Q042 progresses, you can hear children crying in the background, and the tape seems to stop and start throughout. On the Jonestown episode of Sword and Scale, Julia Scheeres points this out and describes that the reason for the starting and stopping is that people were protesting; each time someone would attempt to speak out, Jones would stop the tape, as he didn’t want it known that some of his followers were challenging him.

The only protestor heard on the tape is Christine Miller, who proposed that they should let the children live, or that they could instead take one of the planes at the airstrip and seek asylum in Russia.

As he shut down Miller’s protests, Jones kept preaching and encouraged his followers to drink. He urged parents to calm their babies and instructed older children to comfort their younger siblings. As everyone lined up, Jones’s nurses filled syringes with the punch. The first woman in line used one of these syringes to squirt punch into her baby’s mouth, before drinking her own cup of poison.

The nurses tried to coax hesitant parents into handing over their babies to have the poison administered, and those who refused were forced to hand them over by the armed guards. As babies and younger children began crying, Jones and the nurses told parents that it wasn’t because of any pain, that the punch was just bitter. Soon enough, though, the children started convulsing and writhing in pain. Their eyes rolled back into their heads, and eventually, one by one, they went limp with death, their mothers doing the same shortly after.

Tim Carter was one of the few survivors of this White Night and is quoted in Part 3 of the Casefile coverage of Jonestown, saying, “Outside, I saw a woman named Rosie on the ground, holding her dead baby…inside I just wanted things to stop. I looked to my right and saw my wife with our son in her arms and poison being injected into his mouth…my son was dead and he was frothing at the mouth…my wife died in my arms and my dead baby son was in her arms.” Carter also stated later, “They were fucking slaughtered. There was nothing dignified about it. Had nothing to do with revolutionary suicide. Had nothing to do with making a statement. It was just a senseless waste. Senseless waste and death.”

As panic ensued, nurses began pouring the liquid into people’s mouths and injected it directly into them if they resisted. In the chaos, two of Carter’s friends pulled him away from his dead wife and child, and the three of them escaped into the jungle.

Christine Miller, the protestor heard on the Q042 tape, was forcibly injected with the poison and died soon after.

As Jones’s most loyal followers continued to drink their own poison laced punch, they left the pavilion after they drank, in order to shield remaining residents from watching them die. As the field outside the pavilion filled with dead and dying people, bodies were dragged into rows and placed on their stomachs so that remaining followers wouldn’t see their contorted faces.

Eventually, as aides ran out of room to line the bodies up, they were piled on top of one another and one of Jones’s doctors walked around with a stethoscope to confirm that each person was dead and not faking it.

Roughly forty minutes later, the light had left Jonestown. It was dark, except for lights coming from the pavilion, and Jones concluded his final speech. He switched the tape recorder off. Instead of drinking his own poison as he had forced his followers to do, Jones chose to die with a single bullet to his head. After seeing his followers contort in pain and after promising his followers that their death would be just like falling asleep, Jones decided that that wasn’t how he wanted to die. It remains unclear whether Jim Jones shot himself, or whether he had one of his aides end his life.

Ultimately, 909 people died in Jonestown on November 18, 1978. Of those, 304 were children.

The next day, a rescue team was sent to Jonestown, but they carried no medical supplies as they weren’t expecting to find any survivors. Shockingly, there ended up being 33 survivors who were either able to escape into the jungle, or avoided going to the pavilion all together for one reason or another.

Once recovered, survivors were airlifted to a Guyanese hospital, and then transported to a US Air Force medical evacuation aircraft. Some survivors who hid in the jungle remained there for up to three days before feeling safe enough to emerge. Many had been shot while trying to escape and had infected wounds by the time they were discovered, but all were simply glad to have survived the ordeal.

On November 20th, 1978, two survivors joined the recovery team to help identify bodies. In the end, only 631 of the 909 dead were identified, leaving nearly 300 people whose identities remain unknown. It took 8 full days to put all of the deceased into body bags.

The Guyanese government denied requests to facilitate the burial of the dead, leaving the American government to decide what to do with the 909 bodies being transported back into the country. Of the 631 identified bodies, barely half were claimed by family members back in the United States. The remaining 412 unidentified bodies and identified but not claimed remains were buried in a mass grave near Oakland, California where a memorial for the Jonestown victims now stands.

Larry Layton, who was instrumental in the attack at the airstrip, was the only one who was captured and faced charges for the Jonestown massacre. He was sentenced to 18 years in prison and completed his sentence in 2002. From everything I could find (which wasn’t much), it appears that Larry Layton now lives and works in Northern California.

One of the largest debates surrounding Jonestown is whether this should be considered a mass suicide, or a mass murder. Julia Scheere argues that it should be considered the latter, and that Jones had always had the intention of killing his followers in Guyana, pointing to the early suicide drills he conducted with his inner circle before moving to Guyana as evidence.

Scheere argues that a mass suicide was always Jones’s plan, and that many of the deaths that occurred in Jonestown can’t be considered suicides, as one third of the deaths were children who were forced to drink the poison, in addition to all of the other residents who were either forcibly injected with poison, or had it poured down their throats against their will.

Scheere also asserts that the use of the phrase “drinking the Kool-Aid” is insensitive and offensive to both survivors and victims of the Jonestown incident, and I agree with that assertion wholeheartedly. Since learning about the Jonestown incident, this phrase has essentially vanished from my vocabulary, and it’s my hope that it only gets rarer and rarer as more people learn about the atrocities that inspired it.

There are obviously WAY more parts and pieces to this story, which I would definitely recommend learning more about the next time you need an internet rabbit hole to dive into. From Jones’s ��Rainbow Family” to more in-depth accounts of all of the abuses committed against his followers, this is only the tip of the iceberg that is Jim Jones and Jonestown.

I’ve included references and additional readings and recommendations below if you’re interested, but even if not, I hope that the next time you hear anyone talk about “drinking the Kool-Aid,” you’ll think of the 304 children and 605 adults who perished in Jonestown on November 18, 1978, and pass this story on to whoever still feels okay saying this phrase. Besides…it was Flavor Aid…it wasn’t even Kool-Aid, anyway.

SOURCES/SEE ALSO

Sword and Scale Podcast, Episode 50

Casefile Podcast, Case 60: Jonestown (Parts 1-3)

Part 1

Part 2 

Part 3 

Truth and Lies: Jonestown, Paradise Lost, available to stream on Hulu

Jonestown: Rebuilding my life after surviving the massacre

Archive footage of Jonestown

Q042 Transcript and MP3

[starswelike]

Hot beginning (The Heart - Marvel fanfiction)

This is the first chapter of the Marvel fanfiction titled The Heart

Pairing: Loki x OC

Warning: strong language

In this Story you can except:

massive character developement

an OC, who's secretly Not an OC

a hate to love relationship, and love át first sight

Loki becoming stronger

Lots of fun and sassy remarks

Warning again: I have to admit English is not my first language, but I try to learn it. I think writing is a good way to do it, because I love books and stories, and of course, fanfictions. 🙂

So I really hope if you give my story a chance, you won't regret it (and that I can write understandable 😅)

Well, enjoy the Story! ❤️

Chapter - Hot beginning

The armored troop-carrying SUV seemed to be moving at its greatest calm. Thanks to its serious equipment, the passengers could not feel it when the vehicle drove into a pothole, so starkly, keeping its speed, it broke towards their destination. The prestigious vehicle was perfectly suited for the transport of armed troops.

The nine people the monstrous SUV was carrying did not detect at all the wild pace dictated by their driver, middle-aged Dylan Johnson. The man was not a model of patience, it also appeared in his driving style: if he could not get around something on congested inner-city roads, he pushed it down with noble simplicity.

“Next time let's take a helicopter, it'll be faster." He had a slight annoyance between his teeth, though he could not deny that he enjoyed deep down that he was the greatest and that no one could stand in his way. Rather, the reason for his nervousness was that he was afraid of that, another unit was ahead of them. Dylan always wanted to be the first one who arrives to the crime scene, thanks to his competitive personality.

“Just take us there, Johnson. There will be plenty of other reasons for headaches." replied the small team's chief, Commander Miya Okamura, in a harsh tone. Her ominous words were noticed by all of them, knowing Okamura never exaggerated.

“Can you tell me what we're afraid of?”

Juan José Navarro, the team's sniper questioned in cold blood. His eyes and expression reflected his interest before his voice.

"Here's what we know," she began with the boss's usual firm voice. “There's been a report at 177/A Bleecker Street.

“Isn't that the title of that weird Strange?”

Aidan Cole, a handsome man in his 30s, could not wait for the boss to report everything undisturbed, as expected. He had comments all the time. What's more, he once again expressed his disinterest in magic.

"If you spit at Dr. Strange like that, you can scratch off the background of your phone, snitched," grumbled she, the team's med coach, Bria Hornback. “Scarlet Witch is not appropriate for you, who can't respect magic at all.”

“When did you check my phone, Hornback?” he asked with shock.

“I guess I found it out.”

“Wait. So you didn't know? Then how do you...?”

“Are you still asking? You always talk about her as the perfect woman.”

“Don't discuss who's looking at what now.” Okamura put an end to their light-hearted pecking. “Yes, that's where we're going. Wong came to us, Strange's most loyal man, claiming that particular events had taken place there in recent times, but before they could shed light on the secret, someone created a dimension gate that opened with a spell.”

“Can you make that a little clearer, boss?” Ella Willis was shocked. Her face showed the woman's lostness on the subject with undisgued sincerity, but she was not alone in doing so. Bria herself couldn't suddenly imagine what a dimension gate that would open all the time might look like.

"These wielding fuckers have created again," said Aidan, with mere despity. “Tell me, what's our job, boss?”

“Aidan, I'd like to know more about the situation.”

"So am I," said Bria, taking Ella's side. The weapons expert waved off the tea, which she wouldn't have left without a word. She felt the anger that was pouring in from her insides, but she exercised calm, for she knew it was not the best time to create a big-mouthed rival, even though in most cases she was happy to get involved.

“According to Wong, they don't know who caused the complication, which is why they need our help. Since the summoner's identity, and more importantly the spell itself, is not known, it is much more difficult for them to take them out," continued Miya, noting that the discussion had almost swerved in a different direction again. “What we know at the moment is that there's a dimensional gate that opens the way to several other dimensions at the same time. It's also feared to open up to a place where evil creatures sit on pins and needles waiting to be released to Earth.”

“That's tough. Then what do we do?" One of Bria's best companions, Takahashi Arashi, came out in the dismay of his eyes. He probably didn't get any smarter with the explanation; at least he probably didn't understand how the dimensional gate worked. Bria didn't fully understood it either, she didn't blame him, and she thought it was a sympathetic step to clarify what to do.

“According to what was discussed, Strange is trying to find the magic in the library, or a counter-spell to eliminate it. He noted that because he did not know how to eliminate it, at least traditional techniques do not work for the gate, it is feared to have been created by a force that is in the same way as Strange's power." Hearing the commander's remark, they all understood that the task would be more serious than expected, and Bria swallowed a great deal of concern, fearing that she would have to care for many of her comrades. “While the monks are protecting him, we, the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s units, are striving to catch the creatures pouring out of the gate, take them out and most of all, and not let them get away from the area. The lives of innocent civilians are at stake here.”

"That's why I hate all these magicians," shudded Aidan. “Their spells are like a bad experiment, only if it goes wrong, we could be in big shit.”

“Yes, because the gun is obviously completely harmless. Not to mention the nuclear bomb and its associates. And even these are old-fashioned compared to today's new weapons.”

Bria was unable to stop responding to the man's statement, which earned her inciforming gaze.

"The line-up is the usual," continued Okamura, once again noting the little digression. “Saunders is on his way, Ella's covering for him from above. Aidan and Takahashi will follow him with me. Alma, Hornback and Johnson stay in the back and cover Navarro until he can find the best shooting position.”

“I've been looking for some for you, Juan. Do you see them? “ the young technician in the passenger seat, Alma Mariano, turned back.

“Yes, I picked out what I thought.”

They all had digital display phones as work equipment. A fantasy image of the area to be secure has already appeared on it, beamed by S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites. The gate was located in the middle of the four-lane road, which was open in the north-east and southwest. But they weren't aware if anything had come through.

They all saw the small front terrace that Juan had chosen. Okamura nodded, approve of the decision.

“All right, Alma, you cover Navarro and Johnson's got Hornback.”

Bria was very feared for her associates during every operation. The boss always explained this by saying that they needed her, as a med schooler, to save lives, not to risk her own at the forefront. If she's lost, maybe there won't be anyone else to help. She appreciated the same, and it felt great to her that there was always someone to protect her even when she was in the danger zone, but she wasn't completely satisfied. Even though they told her that she deserved it as a med coach, she somehow felt like a clog and longed to fight better on the battlefield. Unfortunately, she only received basic combat training, and the main education for her was physiology, biology, chemistry, all that science. She gained useful knowledge, but at times she felt like a bird locked in a cage.

The bends were felt from slight inclinations. Bria and the people on the same side as her were leaning forward on a left turn, holding them only with their straps in place, when Dylan said:

“That stinking fucking sky! It's like it was in ‘12.”

If she could, Bria would have jumped up to see what might have been out there, but she knew what was late wouldn't go away, so she waited, despite the immense curiosity that consumed her insides. Their driver compared this one to the incident in which the Asgardian gods appeared on Earth, and Loki unleashed an army of alien beings called Chitauri on them. Would that have meant that bloodthirsty race had re-found? There was a chance, the dimension gate gave them every opportunity.

She took it upon herself with a big sigh, and decided that she would do everything she could to make sure that no such great devastation could occur again. That old case did enough damage to her and her life, and she was just one of them. To this day, countless people have thought of that day with anger, grief, sadness, and they all had their rightful reasons.

Takahashi put his hand on her shoulder and stroked it a little to help her relax a little. Perhaps he did it a little more gently than he should have, but Bria appreciated that and his smile. That man knew her too well, he noticed her tension. She couldn't have kept anything from him.

As soon as the vehicle stopped, they untied their seat belts and armed and prepared for the command.

“Johnson, what do you see?”

'Well, there's trouble' murmured the man, then exchanged a meaningful look with Alma sitting next to him. ‘Conventional weapons won't work here. Some creatures don't even have a solid body that pops up.”

It didn't prove a little reassuring to hear that. Although the arms industry also tried to keep up with magic and space technology, the most widespread weapon was still the one that threw up bullets. True, those who fired shots similar to those of the late Iron Man's energy beams began to gain ground. Fortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. circles did not prove to be a problem to obtain these types, yet Bria was less confident in grabbing her small pistol, which was handed to her after the gun cabinet was opened. She didn't have one, only that and her combat knife.

“Let's go, let's go” Okamura commanded, and Saunders opened the back doors at that moment.

It couldn't be put off any longer, so Bria swallowed all her tensions and went with her companions as discussed. Saunders cut forward with a huge gun, Ella pulled over his head with the help of a jet-pack. Just as Okamura and they discussed, everyone was grouped together to whom they were commanded. Bria waited for Johnson, and together they cleaned up the creatures that got close to them.

The view turned out to be astonishing. At first glance, they couldn't figure out the tangle. Despite the fact that Bria thought it might be time for her to finally be in the lead, Bria was grateful that she could stay a little behind to map the field. If she had been in the front, she would suddenly not have known what to do, but the others shooted at their opponents almost without thinking, reflex, habit.

The sparkly dimension gate was located right in the middle of the road, as the digital map showed. When she looked into it, Bria saw that the place changed from second to second. She saw worlds she never dreamed of. There were some strangers from where they came from. Flaming skeletons or icy giants, splashing swamp creatures or space creatures floating in ghost form. From the horrible to the more beautiful, there were all sorts of things, but thank goodness not all the areas where the gate opened proved dangerous.

With a big leap, a strange, blue-bodied creature, looking like a half-grown frog, landed near her. It was ugly, especially I’s huge canine teeth, which it clapped towards Bria. The woman was startled by the unexpected incident, but she was neither a beginner nor a clumsy one, so she quickly put her gun on him and destroyed the ugly creature with an energy beam.

Dr. Stephen Strange was not present. He must have been wildly looking for a counter-spell. His disciples and members of the order, on the other hand, have been very aides in capturing the terrible creatures. They were mostly pushed into other dimensions, and the monks were very smart. If a creature came from underwater, it was sent to the desert, which came from the cold, thrown next to lava. The cruel but useful procedure has brought its results, and for the time being they have managed to control the various species, none have ever attacked anyone. It was a real relief for Bria to see that the situation was under control. So she aimed her targets with much more confidence. Unfortunately, sometimes she found someone who had just been sent through a dimension gate from under her nose, but it was better to try twice than not once.

“That's going to be fine. Only the doc has to rush” said Dylan, and the medic nodded.

If everything had stayed that way, the situation would have been resolved over time, but no one said that more serious opponents would arrive. The gate made sure it opened in most of the places that exist. Some were given the moment it saw the gate that opened at their home, and some of them were unwittingly dragged in. And Bria was the first to see him.

It's been more than ten years since Bria was attacked in Manhattan. The losses she suffered that day proved to be heavy for her. Although she always thought she could never make amends, and she had to learn to live with the thought that what she lost that day would never get her back, she was overwhelmed with feelings of anger and vengeance when that day came up or whatever hinted at it. That's why she was so ready to act in the open-plan, but the moment she saw Loki unearthed from the gate, who could not be mistaken for anyone else, she was blinded by rage to the extent she had never before. At the same time, she felt a sudden desire to act. If she catches that cunning but dangerous god, they'll finally, maybe for once in her life, appreciate her and realize that she's dynamic, too.

Anger is not a good counselor. Bria, who always tried to act judiciously, even if it was difficult, proved unable to restrain herself this time. She wasn't thinking, she was just doing what she wanted to do in those moments.

“Loki!" She screamed, like a wild Amazon, and immediately threw herself toward him, not counting, not caring about the command, nor her team, nor the potential danger. She just wanted to get close to him before God knows what he would do. Bria's only advantage was that she was on her way before Loki could even figure out what had happened to him. She could tell he didn't intend to be here at all. His face was clear with surprise and anger.

Bria almost instinctively pushed aside those who got in her way, could have been her teammates, Strange's men or monsters. It's like Loki was in the crosshairs, and she waded through anything to get to him.

“Hornback, stop!” Okamura shouted at her, hearing it loudly over the radio, but not she heeded it. She wouldn't let anyone stop her.

Loki seemed to be surrounded by a faint blue light. Although Bria had never seen anything like it before, she didn't dilate, and she kicked off and caught the Asgardian before the light flash blinded her.

The next thing she knows, she's feeling them fall and she's burying Loki under herself. She didn't even notice it was hot, and everything looks so red. She wanted it too much. She sat on Loki's chest and held his hands down.

“I've got you!” she declared triumphantly. At that moment, their eyes met. She could see Loki’s confusion, and then his pupils dilated. Bria didn't know where to put this. She thought maybe the god of mischief had seen something that scared him, and her vanity was fading at the thought that it might be her.

Then she noticed the change of environment. She looked carefully around, not yielding to her grip, and discovered they were near a volcano, on a protruding rock, plenty of hot air. And Loki didn't look at all like he was having a good time. He was sweaty, his eyes fell in and his lip was dry.

A dimension gate opened, and they all caught their heads to see an overly muscular creature, resembling a minotaur of legends, fall straight into the hot magna. Their demonic cries, while burning, penetrated to the veal, Bria trembled for a moment, but she ruled.

"I didn't want to come here," murmured Loki under his nose, looking at Bria, as if he expected the answer to the big question of how they got here.

"They probably caught us with a dimension gate and sent us here."

"And why are you here, pretty eyes?"

Bria didn't show anything because of her equipment, just her eyes. They were just as blue as the sky on the most beautiful summer days. Loki looked at her with a peculiar smile, he seemed so confident, she wanted to shout at him, but now she finally ruled herself. She took the first step, caught him and got close to him. She quickly completed the final phase before Loki could escape, pulled a tiny circular object from one of her waistline bags and quickly pushed it to his neck.

"Auch" he hissed and Bria pressed the button in the middle of the device to activate itself. "What's this?"

"It blocks magic" she smiled, smiling slyly, and even good enough to lean close to the face of the God, looking even closer into his eyes, emphasized what she had to say. "You're my captive."

"Hm" sighed Loki and rolled his eyes. Somehow, the threats never work, and he's already reached out to rip the device out of his neck. Bria quickly pressed the button on the remote control for the device, and her prisoner shocked throughout his body and froze.

"If you do something I don't like, count on me to torture you."

"There's has to be a time when you're not watching" chuckled Loki. He was ready for the challenge, he wasn't daunted, even when Bria was sure he wouldn't get out of it. She leaned even closer to him. She herself behaved in a challenging way, feeling in the saddle.

"Test me."

They stared into each other's eyes for a long time. Loki didn't move either. It seemed serious, as if he had studied his situation, but Bria's attention was not abated. But she couldn't deny her excitement. For all the things he did that day, Loki could now be penalized and she was happy to be so close to him. She's heard the saying more than once, revenge isn't worth anything, but it's proved undeniable that it's sweet.

"What do you intend to do to me now?"

If they were already in the crater of a volcano, there must have been a reason to be lured. Bria could have rolled Loki down into magna, he probably wouldn't have survived, especially with a teaser blocking his strength around his neck. Her gaze suggested that she had thought for a moment about this possibility. Once and for all, ridding a villain of the world turned out to be truly graceful, but in the end she followed protocol by pushing his position indicator so that if they sought her out, they would find her.

"It's an enjoyable position, the way you sit on top of me, but maybe we should move."

He was sick of the heat, which is why the Asgardian was talking. Bria, on the other hand, wasn't touched by that. Seeing him suffer was a pleasure for her.

"Commander Okamura!" She told his transceiver, but the static chatter revealed that they wouldn't be receiving it. "The rocks are shielding the channel."

"Should I take you somewhere else?"

"Listen, the easiest thing for me would be to push you into the lava, so you better not pull the plug."

He smiled again. He’s never been scared of threats? Bria was a little amazed by this, but at the same time annoyed, but calmed herself with a quick sigh. She couldn't let Loki mislead her. She knew exactly how emotional manipulation could achieve his goals, which is to escape at the moment. If she’s already captured him, she really didn't want him to get out of hand.

She was hot, but not as hot as Loki. The Asgardian was tormented by the symptoms of heat, while Bria simply took the mask off her face and then the helmet off her head. She left her blond hair in a bun, and to torture his prisoner even more, she took out her canteen and pulled a big one out of it. Deliberately so that the fine water drips over her face, and then on her waterproof clothes, a few drops reach Loki. She looked at the man with a sarcastic smile, barely visibly licking her mouth, his eyes almost staring out, so he observed. This filled her with satisfaction, and she even made a small laugh.

"You're an evil woman, you know that?" Loki said softly. Although him tone might have been surprising, Bria ignored it.

"I'm just enjoying the moment."

"As do I."

"What?" she tipped his head to the side. "I can tell you're about to die of heat, and you can't even get the teaser out of your neck, because if you reach for it, I'm going to push the button. What is it that you can enjoy now?"

He smiled again. Despite the circumstances that were really causing him suffering, Loki was very easy to use to confuse Bria. She was terrified to realize that he had already begun manipulating her, as he had piqued her curiosity.

" Yes, even though you can see that I'm not a fan of heat, the energies that come out of you, the passion, the sexuality, the confidence, and how beautiful you are and how close you are to me..."

"Are you seriously complimenting me?!" Bria screamed, as did another being that they didn't pay attention to, but in the meantime it got here and fell into the lava. Loki smiled like rabies. The Asgardian was crazy, if he really thought it would take her off his feet. The woman was sure that Loki had not taken a word seriously, if only because of his great egotistical reputation, which, because of his divinity, looked down on people so despised that he would have condemned them directly to servitude. When someone felt this way about humanity, the compliment could not have been real, but in Loki's case, the issues should be treated with reservations.

"What's so surprising?" The man's half-smile would have been quite heartwarming with those sparkling eyes if it wasn't for Loki who Bria hated so much because of the old attack. "Don't they ever tell you how beautiful you are? Or are your fellow human beings so blind?"

"Don't think I'm going to fall for the honey-glazed words. You're a god, and I'm a human. You look down on us."

"But I recognize beauty."

"You're just trying to embarrass me so you can manipulate me."

"Yes, because I'm guessing you're trying to lock me up somewhere. I can see the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo pinned to your chest."

Bria almost screamed at Loki not to stare at her breasts, but she couldn't let anger take control of her. The Asgardian tried hard to get out, obviously by all means. She was starting to feel uncomfortable alone with Loki. She was really hoping the beacon sent the notification. Even if the radio waves were blocked, the position indicator sent a signal to every satellite in existence, which could then be decoded in S.H.I.E.L.D's central application.

"I am surprised by your sincerity," she replied, more calmly than she had first planned.

"At the same time if I can't escape, I'll try to enjoy every moment with you at least."

"I'm afraid I'm not enjoying anything with you."

"You sat on my chest quite easily. Maybe you could do it to my lap too."

"With these perverse innuendos, you're not going to get anything from me," chuckled Bria. "Even though I haven't had a relationship yet, I'm not embarrassed by the subject of sexuality. "

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know how many people make pig comments about me at work? I had to learn to handle these."

"I guess other people recognize the beauty you have," said Loki, raising his eyebrows with some anger, which gave Bria joy in the hope that these compliments would finally spare him. "But now that I've found out you're a virgin, you seem interestingly more attractive to me."

"Come on, don't make a stand. I know you despise me for being human, so I can't be attractive to you."

"Why is Hornback written on your dress? Is that your name?"

"Yes, I'm Bria Hornback," she nodded, it's okay for Loki to remember her name." What's wrong with it?"

"It's such an interesting coincidence, don't you think?" the Asgardian flashed that half-smile meant to be alluring again, and his eyes shone despite all his suffering. "Your name is Hornback, and I have a helmet with horns swerved back..."

"Don't explain to me that we have anything in common." Bria was still more restrained than she first wanted, while the sounds of death filled the space. "You're a monster!"

"What did I do to you to hate me so much? Or are you like this because of New York?"

Bria kept quiet. Her ears were hurt by the bitter cry of another creature. Death proved to be shocking, no matter how it came.

But she didn't stay quiet because she wanted to hear the cry so much. She just didn't want to answer the question.

"You don't know me, yet you judge me," continued the Asgardian. "Tell me, do you really think you guys are so flawless? I mean, judging isn't a very nice gesture."

"I didn't say we are, but you did enough damage to my life to make me hate you."

"Yes, it was a big mistake, and yes, I'm guilty. Since then, however, there have been a lot of events that have made me change, so..."

"Oh, don’t you dare make yourself look as a good guy." she snapped. "You're evil, the god of mischief, unreliable, and..."

"Don't be so stupid!"

Loki's voice thundered with anger for the first time, which frightened her. The word was stuck in her throat.

"Are you seriously going to put a little tip on everyone? Good and evil? White and black? You should know by now that there's no one in the universe who has only good or bad qualities. We all have our faults. Even you, Bria."

It turned out to be an odd feeling when Loki called her by her name. Despite the fact that he intended his monologue to be a reproach, it was as if the man found her worthy calling by her name. That said, after he liked her last name, maybe she shouldn't have been surprised.

"You're not treating me like an equal. You judge me without knowing me. You're being this erotic, and you're putting me through this heat. These are bad qualities."

"Merry Christmas! I hope you're pleased with your discovery."

"You're as cynical as I am," laughed Loki, but his throat was scratched. Maybe he was starting to dry out. "They say cynicism is a sign of intelligence."

"Do you have anything else to study on me?"

"Interestingly, the more I learn about you, the more I care about you."

'Wow, That’s good for me. " Bria sighed not a little joyously.

Suddenly she saw a bright flash of light in the sky. A helicopter appeared over the crater, and the beam of light settled on them after some searching. Bria's relieved to see this.

"This is Bria Hornback, med school of Commander Miya Okamura's unit," said she to her transceiver after setting up the general S.H.I.E.L.D. channel, holding one eye on Loki. "I have a captive I'm asking for urgent support for. I catched Loki!"

"All right, Agent Hornback." received the answer via radio. "We're taking Loki into custody immediately. We help you! Please don't move."

Bria smiled for the first time with a truly great exultation at the man who had been laid down. His face finally showed a slight sign of disappointment.

"So you succeeded," he said resonantly.

"If there's anyone you shouldn't look down on, it's me. "

"I'd add, for now. Because I can't guarantee I'll stay with you for a long time."

Bria looked deep in Loki’s eyes, and the feelings of victory were gone. It was perhaps the first sentence she believed without doubt and took as a warning. She did not want to tell the Asgardian that she was up to the challenge.