#shes not dead just living her best life in morocco

[tastywormfood]

My dads cat Mini mis, she's a tyrant and a menace

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

Sophia Loren (Marriage Italian Style, Houseboat)—Major Italian star, first actress to win an Oscar for a performance not in English (for Two Women (1960)) and later when Roberto Benigni won an Oscar in 1999 he jumped over the chairs towards the stage going "Sophia Sophia!!" because he was running towards Sophia Loren and said he cared more about her than the Oscar, that's the effect she had on people. She was big in the 60s already even though she gained a lot more notoriety after that. And I mean. Can we take a moment and just.

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Sophia Loren:

She has maxed out all her stats: beauty, elegance, sensuality, she's got it all. her mesmerizing eyes, her sensual mouth, her sharp face shape, her everything is so striking and unlike any other beauty in films. she was also voted the world most beautiful woman when she was freaking 65

im submitting her in honor of my dad bc she was the first celebrity crush of his he ever admitted to me and my sister :) and he was right. shes so pretty

OSCAR WINNER. Worked with some of the hottest leading men in Hollywood but remained faithful to her husband whom she had a loving marriage with till he died (even though Cary Grant almost tempted her once, it's complicated)

One of the most well-known sex symbols of the Golden Age of Hollywood, and unlike some unfortunate others, she seems to have been pretty well at peace with occupying that status. She made assertiveness and a tempestuous temper seem glamorous, and although she's famous for side-eying Jayne Manisfield's cleavage, honestly? She's one to talk.

Absolutely, drop-dead sexy, also a hard working, extraordinarily talented actress who didn't shy away from the less glamorous roles to gift us some gritty, memorable performances

Submitting this on behalf of my dad, who knows nothing of tumblr or this blog, but I remember being a kid watching Houseboat while my mom thirsted after Cary Grant, dad thirsted after Sophia Loren, and I was excited that they lived on a boat. Anyway, she's extremely beautiful and was an international star, doing a ton of movies in Italy before being recognized in the US.

JUST LOOK AT HER Y'ALL

Very smart and beautiful, the characters that she played (I mean those in the movies that I put in the previous question) are as strong and determined as her which I think adds to her hotness.

Global superstar and my late grandfather's long time movie star crush and for a man as quiet as he was, and as hopelessly devoted to his wife as he was, the fact that I know that means she was EXCEPTIONAL.

Big in the chest, snatched in the waist, pretty in the face 😳

Sexy, beautiful, deep. A real star.

Her performance in "Man of La Mancha" is just so very captivating. Dubbed as "the Italian Marilyn Monroe", she looks beautiful in any movie and at any age.

Forget the exotic sexpot of her Hollywood films and go back to her Italian career: sparking with Marcello Mastroianni as the woman who drives him mad and outwits all his fumbling attempts at macho posturing in their early films, and showing a tender side in their 1970s films. Sophia isn’t self-conscious about who she is or her beautiful body: she enjoys being herself and she wants us all to enjoy ourselves too.

She starred in films as a sexually emancipated persona and was one of the best known sex symbols of the time. She is a great cook and her filmography is immense.

On the misattributed quote that Sophia owed everything to spaghetti: 'Did you actually say the quote frequently attributed to you, "Everything you see I owe to spaghetti"?' "Non è vero! It's not true! It's such a silly thing. I owe it to spaghetti, no, no. Completely made up."

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

[notaspectator]

part 4 of valorant hc's (i have too much to talk about this. please send help.) Viper does know who Omen was before whatever the hell happened that made Omen to what he is now. Viper will not tell Omen because Viper refuses to see them as the same person- in her attempts to move on and stop grieving for who Omen was, she refuses to let Omen even consider trying to go back. She knows it wont be the same. Cypher doesn't have any photos of Nora. His memories of her are fuzzy and contain certain smells, textures, and little things he remembers more clearly than the rest of it. Despite his best attempts to not forget, he doesn't really remember quite what she looked like anymore and it scares him deeply to think he's forgotten her. He thinks that it is a betrayal to her. Cypher really, *really* hates when its humid out. unfortunately for him, the VALORANT protocol is stationed on well.. an island. So, oftentimes, he's up at 6 in the morning stumbling blindly onto the helicopter to fly to a mission site while it is humid out. Cypher hates it mostly because his mask always ends up feeling damp and it is harder to breathe in. Omen often holds onto people when he doesn't want them to leave. This includes when another Agent dies in front of him. Oftentimes, since Omen is too cautious to take a fight he can't win, he ends up carrying one or two of the other agents (dead or fatally wounded) to the extraction site. Many of them appreciate this company, though the younger agents find it unsettling. It is an ironic little thing since Omen is most talkative and protective when someone is dying in front of him. Omen doesn't know why he does it; it is not a learned behavior. It probably stems from how he cannot stand to be alone when he is hurt because he can and will fall apart painfully. Cypher probably smells like a mix of spices and cinnamon. He cooks a lot for the others on his own time. He prefers for his room to smell similarly because it reminds him of his home. Cypher likes to whistle! He doesn't do it often, but he does whistle to songs he remembers hearing along the street. He stopped because the others often laugh about it when he does. Cypher has quietly sang under his breath over comms in the middle of a mission while aiming a gun to kill someone. It unnerves most of the others because Cypher uses it to focus before he ends a life. Omen often reprimands the duelists that gloat about their kills. He finds it vain and disrespectful to mock the dead, even knowing that they all will be revived in the end and will persist to fight again. He doesn't like the idea of becoming indifferent to death to the point of laughing about it, even if he cannot help but feel apathetic about the lives he takes. Cypher probably has his computer displaying everything in Arabic. this is mostly so that other agent's just plain can't understand what he's looking at. It frustrates the younger ones the most that they can't look over Cypher's shoulder at Cypher's phone and figure out anything relevant. Cypher only really uses his phone to text the other agents and look at cat pictures from time to time, or look up recipes from Morocco that he isnt so sure about. Omen likes to help with cooking. He isnt very good at cutting things up, but he likes to mix things together and to arrange them in preparation. Cypher often brings Omen to his room so they can cook together since Cypher misses rambling while he cooks. Since Cypher likes to taste it while he makes it, Omen just tries his best to not look at Cypher whenever he tugs his mask up to taste whatever they're stirring. Cypher doesn't bring the other agents back to cook with him because he only trusts Omen not to mention it. Sage has seen Cypher's face. its just,, unavoidable, seeing as Sage is a healer. Cypher loathes that fact, but trusts her nonetheless. He prefers to be alive with one person knowing his face than to be dead and left to be forgotten entirely.

[callmearcturus]

@icecreamvi replied to your post “Ok just finished rogue nation i think i liked...”:

I loved when they put the guy in the box

i loved when Ethan had a cute lil convo with the terminal agent at the start

i loved when ethan fixated on ilsa's shoes, and when ilsa tossed him the key but he couldn't fucking reach it so he just vaulted the pole, and the power of both of them barefoot and fighting in tandem

i loved every moment alec baldwin looked like an idiot

i loved all of Brandt's microexpressions (there are a lot)

i loved Benji just casually being able to completely clown on a lie detector test, the first of many hints that his competence has grown. also grown: his beard, and it looks amazing and soft

I loved "Hi Benji. Miss me?" like my god <3

I loved how Benji is GENUINELY INTO OPERA, we never get hints that he's a scifi or fantasy geek but we KNOW he is into classical music and live performance, that's so good

I loved Ilsa in the golden dress, esp the lil shorts underneath that are so functional

I loved Ethan vs a Tall Dude and how it genuinely alters how Ethan has to fight, and the desperation of his physicality, esp that double kick to the guy's chest, it's so GOOD

I love how Ilsa spots Benji once and saves his life bc everyone who lays eyes on Benji imprints on him

I love the car chase and how Ethan bodily searched Ilsa but it's not gross or weird, it's professional, I love it so much

I love the fucking scene between Ilsa and Solomon, the seething annoyance between them, the grit-teeth cooperation, I adore it. also just how she tossed the gun and how NOISILY it clatters on his sushi setting

(i'm gonna keep going )

I love that Simon Pegg pointed out that Benji is the only person allowed to yell at Ethan, and its GLORIOUS when it happens. i love Ethan's stunned little "okay" after and the microsmile he gives as he turns away.

I love Luther's role in the story, I really adore how Luther and Benji on paper have similar roles but in function they are just so different. Benji is a field tech, he has initiative and moves on his feet. Luther is better at the actual tech stuff, can do much more impressive feats, but doesn't have that same boots on the ground vibe. It's amazing.

I love Ethan and Benji's Morocco outfits. Ethan's in maybe his most colorful outfit of the series and I love it, and BENJI'S SHOOOOES.

I love Ilsa debriefing the boys and how cute they are and her expressions during it.

I love that Tom Cruise can hold his breath for fucking five to seven minutes and he freaked out the filming crew during the torus sequence.

I LOVE THE FUCKING WRITING CHOICE, THAT BENJI TELLS ILSA "I MISJUDGED YOU" RIGHT BEFORE SHE FUCKS HIM OVER. OH IT'S SO JUICY.

I love that in MI3, when Ethan came back from the bed he was immediately 'on' and ready, but in RN when he comes back from the dead, he's like. he's so fucked up l m a o.

I absolutely adore that when the script called for Ethan and Benji to get into the car, TC was like "I can't just get in the car" and then was like "I got it. roll cameras, I got it," and then improvised the moment when ethan faceplants off the car. And I love it bc I see myself in that technique, because it's a moment that had the potential to have Something, so he made sure it did. With a movie, you have 2 to 3 hours to tell a story and convey characters, and TC refuses to waste any of the moments, and I try my best to do the same with my writing, so I respect it.

I love the motorcycle chase but I'm a slut for all motorcycle scenes.

I love "Tell me you made a copy of that disk," "Of course I made a copy," the LOVE IN BENJI'S EYES. GOD.

I love Ilsa vs her shitty handler and the horror of how screwed she is, how you can watch the hope in her eyes die. Also the shake in her voice with "You bring me in," its amazing.

I love Brandt vs Ethan for the entire end of the story, the Bitchiness vs the Tiredness, it's tasty. Great chemistry.

The entire scene between Solomon and Ilsa in the graveyard is honestly gorgeous. The scenery, the camera pulled all the way back, the black slim look Lane has, Ilsa's amazing coat, the way they talk. I really adore that entire scene.

I love how Ethan doesn't think for a second about running away with Ilsa.

AND OF COURSE I LOVE THAT THEY TOOK BENJI. He's the damsel! And Ethan immediately loses it, he's out of his mind, yeah lets kidnap the fucking PRIME MINISTER, and how every time he tries to explain Lane, everyone else is like "ethan, u cray tho" I love Ethan's desperation, I feast on it.

I love how... Ethan memorized the fucking list. What a fucking batshit move. God.

I love Ilsa vs the Bone Doctor and how she rides his body the fuck down. THE WAY THAT RN KEEPS FUCKING WITH GENDER, like Ethan's play against Lane is a Wounded Gazelle Gambit, a very femme-coded move that fits with his MI1 history as a honeytrap, while Ilsa gets the extended fight scene.

I'M FORGETTING OTHER THINGS BUT I LOVE RN

not as much as I love Fallout tho

[evita-shelby]

Love's a state of mind

Robert Fischer x Eva Smith

Cw: mentions of murder

Prologue

Her totem is a gold Mexican peso from the year 1896 with a gunshot near the middle. For extra measure, she keeps her family dead as they are in real life to keep herself from attacking his subconscious.

If the peso is in perfect condition, she is dreaming.

If the peso is rusty as hell and with a 9 millimeter hole, she is awake.

Tonight, as she plays cat and mouse with Robert Fischer, it is as if it had come fresh from the mint.

“And what will you do now that you’ve caught me, Mr. Fischer?” she asks the billionaire beside her.

She’s managed to make it impossible for him to catch up to her until now, made the sidewalk just a hint longer, had her taxicab change when he tried to get into it and even changed the city they were in until they were in Los Angeles, where he runs his father’s empire from.

She created this dream and yet his subconscious pays her no notice and takes the changes she makes as if they had been made by him.

His projections do not attack as he has trained them to do ---and it won’t unless she tells it to.

Robert believed that because he knows he’s dreaming his subconscious hasn’t her killed twenty times over the moment he found himself chasing after her through twenty different cities.

Eva has a unique ability that allows her to create dreams and make you believe she is part of your subconscious. In fact, she has also been able to take over dreams created by others with it.

Not a single extraction has been successful on her, something Eames had said as he and Yusuf put her to the test in Morocco.

“I thought I’d never catch you, Miss. Smith.” Robert is winded and yet looking as perfect as he wants the world to think he is.

In this dream he is not under anyone’s shadow, his insecurities have been shoved aside as he plays her games and best of all, he believes he is the one in control.

Well, he was until Eva decides enough is enough.

It had been done as a whim, a couple of drinks, a few suggestions to break the monotony of his life and he had agreed to share a dream for a night.

When they woke up, they’d be in the same hotel room, wishing to make what they saw a reality and he is asking himself where Eva had been his entire life.

It was not a true inception, but it works the same without needing three levels of dreaming.

The witch heightened his desire in the real world by getting him to play her games in what he thinks is a field rigged in his favor.

You can do anything in a dream.

You could kill, fuck and live a life you want in it.

Fischer wastes no time in giving his all fantasies a try.

He has her on the elevator that is suddenly empty and full, on his desk, on the conference table and when he realizes he can do more, he grows bolder.

Places he’d been before, never been to and then suddenly, time slowed down.

Robert started with a perfect date, then a perfect relationship culminating with a family dinner hosted by his dead mother where his father loves him, and they adore her just as much as he does.

Eva panics when she sees herself in a designer wedding dress being walked down the aisle by her dead father. In the next second, she fashions a machine gun out of thin air and guns down her groom and their guests just as his snipers riddle her with holes.

“That was an experience.” she said as he looked embarrassed at how it went.

He looks at his wallet and she looks at her fucked up coin to remind themselves they are back in the real world.

His wallet doesn’t have five one-hundred-dollar bills – it is six hundred with the last hundred divided in twenties, a ten and a fifty---- nor the photograph of him and his father.

Robert has, aside from his own totem, an ultramodern militarized subconscious.

Eva has a similar defense, although hers is more about horror and the supernatural because she went through a goth phase as a teenager (and was still goth deep down)and now the macihuatli or horse-faced woman comes and drowns those who try to perform extractions or resurrect her dead family.

No extractor has been able to get past her yet, nor forger can replicate her, and she’s broken about every dreamcade she’s ever taken part in thanks to her secret weapon.

Had she not murdered her lover, he would’ve discovered a Mexican folk monster behind him about to drown him in a puddle.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.” He apologized thinking it was his fault, and she dismissed it because it was hers.

Still Fischer looks like he’s ready to run, but she needs him to stay.

Eva hates herself for this, but the only way to stop Fischer Morrow from absorbing Riley International's energy companies was through him.

She needs him to want her and make her Mrs. Eva Fischer. Hence why she suggested dream sharing when they hit it off at a boring conference in New York.

“Don’t be sorry, besides, I enjoyed it.” The woman gave him a reassuring smile while removing the monitors that attached them to the dream sharing device. Somehow, she never breaks her own PASIV device.

His eyes are even more striking up close, so expressive, so clear and so blue. Eva isn’t even sure a paint that color exists.

Adds to the beauty of him, she thinks.

So insecure, so desperate for his father’s approval, and oh so beautiful even in his most pathetically vulnerable state. “And I have to say, your defenses are the best I have ever seen. I can’t even control mine as well as you do with yours, Bobby.”

You couldn’t even tell by looking at him that he had a subconscious military so efficient that it could conquer a mid-sized country in days. In the second she fired the machine gun; his snipers had given her more holes than a wheel of swiss cheese.

Eva had been more turned on by his militarized mind defenses than his delicious appearance.

And because her praise is genuine, he hesitates as he makes up an excuse to leave and return to his suite.

Robert Fischer is halfway to the elevator when he turns on his heel and returns to her room. “Last person who called me Bobby was my mother.”

“Nice woman, made me feel so welcome I almost thought it was real.” Eva comments as she offers him a chance to make those fantasies real in many ways.

“Is that why you killed me, Evita? It became too real for you.” He asks using the nickname her father had used.

“If it starts to feel like a better reality, neither of us would ever want to wake up. You’ve heard about what happened to that woman the Frenchmen told us about, went batshit insane after her husband woke her up.” she answered, returning his vulnerability with hers.

And it works, Robert stays, and Eva shoves her guilt for using him by making some of those fantasies a reality.

By morning, Eva’s checking out of the hotel on the arm of Maurice Fischer’s heir, by the end of the year, she is Mrs. Fischer.

The guilt never leaves, even when she builds a real life with him and comes to love him more than anyone else in the world.

“If you want me to go with you all you have to do is ask.” She says as they parted ways at the private airport.

“No, he said I must go alone. Uncle Peter said it’s best if I do as he says just this once.” Rob shook his head and she wished he had a bit more of a backbone.

Those two could tell him to jump and he’d ask how high. A wonder they didn’t get him to break up with her after he introduced her as his girlfriend and future wife.

“Gonna dream of you every night I’m away, baby.” Rob assured her with an almost pained smile.

[fayedartmouth]

i can just imagine jj saying 25 to kie post season 4 reunion

I won't get to all of the asks until after the holidays, FYI. The next three days are kind of an intense travel schedule, but I did manage to get this one out!

It is 100% unedited (didn't even read it twice!). Maybe I'll polish it and post it on AO3?? Don't know, lol. It might not be coherent.

Prompt is: "Go to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."

It's hard to tell, really, which part is the dream.

Because Kiara knows the reality, that JJ is dead.

But it's not a reality she wants.  It's not a truth she can tolerate.

She wakes, she moves, she breathes, and it feels like a nightmare.

And all she wants to do is wake up, wake up, wake up.

-o-

For the past month, Kiara has been consumed by grief.  Vengeance had been her only sanity, driving her forward when everything else pulled her back.  The more she thought about killing Groff, the less she thought about him killing JJ, and she had told herself that it was what JJ would have wanted, that it would bring them both peace.

But Groff's blood is on her hands, and she still feels it, the way the blade went in, cutting through flesh.  She can still feel it, like she'd plunged the blade into her own heart.

It hadn't so much been belief but desperation that made her take the crown, demanding that they go back to Morocco.  She'll either pull JJ out of his grave of bury herself alongside him, because she thinks Groff killed her, too, in the end.  He hit JJ in the gut, twisting it through his intestines, but he got her in the heart, and she can't.

She just can't.

She sobs at JJ's grave, holding the crown.  The grief overtakes her now, and she cries with an intensity that she can't curb.  The others stand nearby -- too scared, too worried, too everything -- and she doesn't care.  They have all grieved in their own way.  They have all lived this waking nightmare. 

It's time to wake up.

"JJ," she begs, hands clutched in the sand.  "It's time to wake up."

The sand shifts; the universe rends, pulling apart at the seams.

And JJ Maybank comes out of the grave.

-o-

It's surreal, of course.  JJ's been dead for a month, buried in the Moroccan desert, and then he's there.  He's alive, he's whole, he's perfect.

He's confused, too, of course, as they hug him and they hold him.  He gasps, each breath new and terrifying, and his fingers grab onto them as he blinks into the night.

"What happened?" he asks.

There's no answer for that, not one that captures it.  There's no way to explain the way losing him broke them.  There's no way to explain how grief nearly tore John B in two, leaving him unsteady and full of doubt.  It had made Sarah hesitant, holding her stomach and staying back, and Pope's mind didn't just reason to the best conclusions.  His logic was cold and hard as he helped Kiara plot revenge, and Cleo was left with regret for the man she'd made when she asked Pope to pull the trigger that first time.

And Kiara doesn't know how to tell him that the part of her that died, that girl he fell in love with, may be buried, and it might not be resurrected again.  JJ Maybank may come back to life, but she fears Kiara Carrera is well and truly dead.

"Guys?" he asks, gasping for air.  "What happened?"

They wrap their arms around him, holding him as they cry.  He fills the gaps, see.  He completes the circle.  He's the missing piece that makes them whole, and he's back.

That's all that matters is that he's back.

-o-

The answers come hard, and none of them understand.  They tell JJ as much as they can, but the answers still beg questions.  They look at the scar on his stomach, raised and red, and he tries to shake the sand out of his hair.

John B seems unable to let him go, hovering close and touching him constantly.  Sarah mothers him, making sure he eats and drinks, wrapping him up in a blanket to keep him warm against the chill of the air.  Pope cries, kissing JJ and telling him how much he loves him, and Cleo sits down next to him and sighs.  "I'm just so glad you're back."

Kiara watches and wonders.  Her eyes grow heavy but she's afraid to sleep.

Because she's still not sure, is she?

Which part is the dream.

-o-

In the end, the fire burns low, and the others drift to sleep.  JJ doesn't seem tired, as if the last month has been a long nap for him.  He lays down next to her, spooning her in his arms, and nuzzles her cheek.

It's so familiar that she nearly breaks.  She rolls toward him and looks at him.

His lips, his nose.  His dirty blonde hair and those blue, blue eyes.  Her boy.  The other half of her soul.  JJ.

She reaches up, tracing the shape of his face, and it's so real that it hurts.  The idea that she'd lost this, that she'd buried this -- isn't something she can comprehend.

"I couldn't do it without you," she admits.

"You could," he murmurs at her.

She shakes her head, and her eyes are burning.  "I couldn't.  JJ, it -- destroyed me," she says.  "I couldn't."

He frowns, brows pulling together.  "That's not -- I would never--"

She can't stop, though.  "All I could do was think about revenge.  About how you would want to get even.  That was all that kept me going."

He tips his head to the side, and for the first time, she sees his grief.  He'd been grieving for years, struggling against a life that took more than it gave.  Kiara had shattered in a single month.  JJ had been keeping himself together for 20 years, and here he is, still doing it.

"I would never want that for you," he says.  "I just want you to be happy."

"But how was I going to be happy without you?" she asks, voice so quiet that it doesn't feel real.

"There's so much more out there," he tells her. "So much better than me--"

It hurts, like a knife to the heart -- again.  She shakes her head, jaw going hard.  "No," she says.  "JJ, no--"

"I'm just saying, Kie--"

But she won't let him finish.  She won't let him think it. 

It occurs to her now, that JJ died thinking he was expendable.  That JJ died thinking that it was okay that it was him.  JJ breathed his last believing that he had it coming, that he was never meant to be happy anyway, that he'd made too much of a mess to fix it.

JJ had died thinking he deserved it.

He had no idea, did he?  That for all his mistakes, he was the best of them?  That he'd lost the money -- yes.  But they'd lost him.

They'd lost him well before Groff put a knife in his gut to finish the job.

They'd lost him when he jumped off the boat.  They'd lost him when he drowned his misery in alcohol.  They'd lost him when Groff left him for dead the first time, and when he went to his mother's grave alone.  They'd lost him that day in the courthouse, and they'd lost him when he got that letter.  They'd lost him because they stopped trying to hold him.

They'd lost him because they'd stopped seeing him as a person -- and just a problem.

Luke beat the shit out of JJ for years.  Groff had abandoned him and put a knife in his gut.

But the Pogues?  His friends?  The family he'd chosen?

They'd been the ones to bury him in the end.

JJ had been falling apart in front of them, and they'd ignored it.

"JJ," she says.  "Do you know how much we love you?  Do you know how much I love you?"

He looks at her, blinking for a second.  Then, his gaze skitters away.

It's ripping her apart, and she reaches up, cupping his face until he looks at her.

"I should have asked if you were okay," she says.  "I should have sat you down and made you talk.  I should have told you how much I loved you, how nothing changed that."

He looks distressed by this, and he shakes his head.  "I shouldn't have lost the money.  I shouldn't have started that riot.  I shouldn't have brought the cops on all of us," he says, voice heavy with grief.  "Dying was the least I could do--"

She's hated Groff so much over the last month.

But now, she hates herself.

She hates that she let JJ die so alone.

She hates that she used his death for her own means.

She hates everything.

"Kie?" he asks.  "I'm sorry--"

It's a game, right?  This blame game.  The back and forth, who started what and who hurt who.  It doesn't matter, in the end.  There is no good guy and there is no bad guy.  There are just people who make mistakes.

And the people who forgive them in the end.

She kisses him, tear on her cheeks.  She pulls him in, pulls him close.

"I love you," is alls he can say.  "I love you so damn much."

Because she can't change it.  She can't wash the blood from her hands any more than JJ can put their money back in the bank.  She can't go back and make sure JJ knew she loved him any more than JJ can change the downward spiral that got him killed.

"I love you, too," he says, he breathes it.  She feels the cadence of his heart, pounding against her own, and the warmth of his skin as they hold each other.  "I love you, Kiara."

It's penance, and it's absolution.  It's an apology, and it's a promise.

In the end, it's all they have.

It's all they need.

-o-

The night grows deep and dark as the embers die out.  He's still holding her, and she blinks sleepily up at him.  It's hard to tell, see.  Which part is the dream.

And if she closes her eyes.

What the world will be like when she wakes up.

He seems to understand, as he always does, and he caresses her face, kissing her gently.

"Go to sleep," he soothes.  His voice is steady; his touch is strong.  "I'll still be here when you wake up."

Kiara has doubted so much -- the world, her friends, herself -- but she doesn't doubt him.  Not now, not ever again.

So she closes her eyes and leans into his touch, and lets the sound of his heart lull her to sleep in the soft Moroccan sand.

Whatever she wakes up to in the morning, she'll wake up with him.

[spice-and-fire]

PARTIES: @spice-and-fire TIMING: Months before Devi arrived in Wicked’s Rest LOCATION: Rabat, Morocco SUMMARY: Devi confesses to a comrade’s widow. CONTENT: Gun use

Heaven offers nothing that a mercenary soul can desire. Devi never understood what that meant when her father shared it with her the first time. But she never expected those words to stand the testament of time, surviving even her old man. Maybe she still doesn’t. The closest she almost came to realizing what it could truly mean was months before she arrived in Wicked’s Rest, when she turned her back on the life her old man had given her, a life neither of them ever wanted but had to turn to in order to survive. Devi could have turned her back on it months earlier, though, years even, but her mercenary soul wouldn’t. Not until another family had to experience her similar fate.

ﮩ

Gunfire. A hail of bullets. In a dimly lit room, where an inexperienced soldier could feel that the walls were closing in, Devi relished the violence, excited at the chaos that came with a life filled with action. She laughed, a little too maniacally then for her present version’s tempered taste, as she contended not only with the closed space, but also with the bad lighting, the dust and the iron, in that hellhole. They were outnumbered. Or at least that’s what the enemy wanted them to feel. Truth was, Devi and her company weren’t sure. It was hard to see down there. Not just because of the terrible quality of vision but also because any attempt to lay eyes on whoever was gunning them down risked losing an actual eye. Or both.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Soldier!” The man’s name was Tarik. He was handsome. Tall and dark. But unfortunately already married. Devi had met his wife once. Or twice. Even before they made it official. This was supposed to be his last job before he retired. Devi thought he was too young to do that but still honored his wishes. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory, right? Should be one hell of a story to tell his kids. And his kids’ kids. “Get down, will you? What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”

Devi laughed again. She could barely hear him amidst the gunfire. No doubt he was the same with her. But that was why they learned to read each others’ lips. Among other things. “Can’t die, Turk,” she pressed her back against the hard earthen wall, a suitable cover in that underground ruin that quickly became the crypt of allies and enemies alike. “You know that! More importantly, any theories on how they found us?”

Without waiting for his response, Devi quickly stepped out in the open, fired a few bullets at their antagonists, and then instinctively slipped back, behind her cover, as if this was not a life-threatening situation. To her, that may be true. To the rest of their crew, however, and to those against them? Well, dead men can’t argue. Only the living can. Best survive to say one’s piece.

“The usual, most likely,” Tarik heaved a sigh, following her suit. The only difference was, instead of just taking a step and immediately shooting like a careless immortal, the recently made husband took a knee, surprising an enemy combatant, and shot them down like it was hunting season, with cold-blooded precision. Then, like Devi had done, he returned to his much safer position: behind the stone wall. “Another local guide betrayed us for a few pieces of silver.”

“That a Christian reference, Turk?” Devi slipped back in the fight, took down another enemy, and slipped back into her cover. Seamlessly. Without any fear or remorse. “You know you just inserted the f-word in the middle of the big guy’s name, right? Not very Christian of you.”

“Don’t tell my wife,” Tarik casually quipped as he threw out a live grenade, making their enemies scream before the inevitable boom. “I’m still learning, but I was terrible at school.”

The long-time partners laughed. Even as the bullets continued to rain on them, steel against earth and flesh, people on both sides screaming in pain and fear. Despite the chaos and confusion around them, the pair still found solace in each other, a welcomed respite from the violence and desperation, a terribly timed delusion and mockery of death and life. And that last sentiment weighed heavy on fate, maybe even the universe, and the devil or death itself took it upon themselves to enact justice. Destiny has had enough.

“Yeah, well, tell her when you get back,” Devi grinned. The bullets from their antagonists began to dwindle. Someone on that side screamed something. It was a language she didn’t understand. European? Whatever. She gestured for Tarik to wait on her signal, cover her if need be, and took a quick peek. Her eyes grew wide in horror when she realized why the gunfire that was pinning them slowed down to a halt. What the fuck?! “ROCKET LAUNCHER!”

The last thing she heard was Tarik screaming for everyone to get down. Then the inevitable doom. The loud explosion. Bits and pieces of earth flying everywhere, people screaming and crying and coughing, and Tarik’s own yelling, though she could not hear him that well. It was the painful ringing in her ears and the equally painful aftermath of being thrown back by a freaking rocket that made it hard for the phoenix to concentrate on her partner’s voice.

When she opened her eyes, she could barely see anything apart from the dust and shadows, the silhouettes of her own people on the ground. Devi mouthed Tarik’s name as she searched for him as fast as she could, though she was barely moving at her normal pace. Letting out a cough, she tried to get back up to her feet. Despite her fragile bones, she wasn’t going to die down there. She should have died years back, with her late father, but it was too late now. That would have been the best death for her. Everything else would fail in comparison.

A smile formed across her lips, though a cough still persisted in escaping them, when she saw Tarik’s form standing tall over her. When their eyes met, she felt like a heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders. Hell, she even heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Soldier…” Devi remembered him smiling back at her, a confident smirk on his face. “I've got your back.” Always and forever.  

And then he got run down by the enemy, a million bullets exploding through him, from his back. One after another. Without an end in sight. 

Devi screamed his name, and as if on cue, their remaining comrades-in-arms came pouring forth from behind her, all ready to give their lives to avenge their favorite leader. Their favorite son. Or maybe they just realized they were all going to die down there, so why not take the bastards with them? Again, gunfire. A neverending hail of bullets. People screamed, some their last, and bodies dropped to the ground like used clothes. Devi ignored everyone and everything else. Two sides of a fight, both were just trying to survive, none of which mattered to her. 

“You’re gonna come…to my kid’s birthday, right?” 

She took to his body, cradling him in her arms.

“No, no, no…” Devi looked him over, trying to reassure herself, the both of them, that it was all a trick, that he was just fine, that he would survive. The bullet holes denied her that outcome. He was bleeding everywhere. On the ground. Even on her.

“...gonna visit…during the holidays?”

“...no, please… Please stop… No, you can’t…”

“No…? To the birth…day…” Even dying, Tarik still kept his sense of humor. “Or the holidays…?”

“Turk… Tarik, you’re going to be fine, alright?” Tears began to streak across her cheeks as her voice slowly started to quiver. “I’m going to bring… We’re going to make it back, alright? Together? Just hold on…” Devi looked around, hoping she’d find someone else to help. Yet there was no one. No one but the two of them. The rest were bodies. Or were close to joining him. Hiding behind unsuitable cover. Bleeding. Screaming. Heaving. They were supposed to find treasure there, not death. It was supposed to be an underground treasury, not their grave.

Tarik’s hand made its way to her cheek, struggling to even wipe a tear away. “They got me good, huh, Soldier?” He was smiling. She was crying. They were both losing each other. And him his life. His future. “It’s okay… Hey, l-listen to me… Just p-promise…me…one thing… Look out for…”

In a way, it was indeed his last job. They just thought it would end differently.

As Devi watched in horror, her best friend breathed his last, and her entire body trembled. Her once-dried eyes, wide with excitement, were now soaked with her tears and his blood. The rest was noise, but she could no longer hear anything else. She panicked, screaming at him to come back, to hold on, to fight the light. Or whatever was waiting for him in the afterlife. Because she was waiting for him in that life. His wife was waiting for him. His child… Dear gods, his child… His child wouldn’t even get to meet his father!

The loss was too much for Devi to bear. The grief was too much to contain, and in the phoenix’s rage, her scream blanketed everything else, turning the battlefield into something much worse, as the fires from her soul followed her desperate wailing, escaping her body and pouring out to drape everyone and everything else in their furious revenge. 

ﮩ

“I scorched them all,” Devi stated, eyes firmly stuck on a single pattern of the wallpaper across from where she sat. Her right leg was bobbing up and down like there was no tomorrow. Her body was leaning forward, despite her head being too afraid to meet her witness’ face. She clenched her jaw, swallowed air, as she made her biggest confession. “...everyone. Nothing remained. Nothing but cinders and ash. Nothing to even remember them by…”

The woman opposite her was drenched in tears, a hand on her mouth. It wasn’t to hide shock, to keep her jaw from falling to the ground. It was to contain her hateful scream, to keep her sobbing, her anguish, from drowning the entire house. She knew what had happened to her husband, feared the worst in the days prior to his departure. She had warned him against the job, after all, but he was so stubborn, so blinded by the possibility of wealth and a future where they would no longer worry about anything material that he could not see this very possibility. And now he was reduced to a memory by a “misfired explosive.”

An eternity of silence erupted between Devi and Tarik’s widow. It was just the two of them in that small room in that small house, but the distance felt farther and farther with each silent second that passed. 

ﮩ

“You go where the angels tell you to go,” Devi listened to Tarik’s voice in her mind’s ear, remembering the advice he gave him before they did their last job together. It was a cozy afternoon in Morocco. Just him and her and the sun. “You do what they ask you to do…to the best of your ability.”

She continued to cry on the train, empty and alone.

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this week (Year 4, week 6)

2 more by Irish director John Michael McDonagh:

🍿 "Piece by piece, the camel enters the couscous..."

The Forgiven, my 4th atmospheric, restrained thriller by [Martin McDonagh's brother]. A jaded, cynical boozer Ralph Fiennes arrives in Morocco for a weekend in the desert, and accidentally kills a local boy. Ominous, well-made drama about the clash of cultures, guilt and the search for redemption, with luminous Jessica Chastain. 7/10.

🍿 The second death was his first short. A taciturn alcoholic sits in an Irish bar, grapples with his memories.

By now I've seen the 5 movies he directed, and all but 'War on everyone' were great.

🍿  

I've waited to the much-anticipated American Fiction, an intelligent meta-film about a writer pandering to black stereotypes. It's an intellectual and erudite story about bookish people, with a protagonist named Thelonious "Monk" Ellison. The 2 highlights were the subtle dancing scene (at 1:18) between the mother struck with Alzheimer and her son, and the meta-ending, trying different hats for size. The score was great, the sister was funny, the approach was highbrow. But best film of 2023?... C'mon. 8/10.

🍿  

Robot dreams is my second by Spanish Pablo Berger (I just saw his Torremolinos 73 a few weeks ago). It's a very emotional, wordless tale of loneliness and friendship between "Dog" and his robot. Outstanding sharp animation from the very first images, it vividly depicts NYC in the 80' in rich and colorful details [eating Cheetos, playing Pong, cleaning bowling balls like Jesus Quintana]. 9/10 and my happiest film experience of the week. Deserves an immediate re-watch.

I haven't seen 'The boy and the heron' yet, but it was nominated for this year's Oscar, and I hope it wins.

🍿  

First watch: Murnau's classic melodrama Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, winner of the first Oscars in 1929. Tracking camera movements, elaborate German expressionism sets and visual poetry.

🍿  

5 more groundbreaking animations:

🍿 The amazing short, voted as the 19th Greatest Cartoon of All Time: Betty Boop in Snow-White. Max Fleischer's 1933 surrealistic piece, with Cab Calloway as 'Koko the Clown' singing "St. James Infirmary Blues."

Cab Calloway, the originator of the Moonwalk, collaborated with sexy Betty Boop in two other insane ditties: The Old Man of the Mountain and Minnie the Moocher.

🍿 Also, Dziga Vertov's 1924 Soviet Toys, the Soviet Union’s first ever animated movie.

🍿 Every time I watch the Dutch Father and daughter, it annihilates me, because I'm the father. Oscar winner for 2000. 10/10.

🍿  

The Brother from Another Planet, my 3rd film by John Sayles, and the first disappointing one! This low-vibe sci-fi about an escaped extraterrestrial slave trying to find a new life in Harlem went way over my head. Originally, he was in a state of confusion, not knowing what things are. But then he developed some survival skills, but not others. (?). With young Fisher Stevens as a card hustler. 3/10.

🍿  

2 with Laura Linney:

🍿 Suncoast is a semi-autobiographical coming of age story that feels crowded and depressing. A isolated 14-year-old girl in 2005 Clearwater, FL lives a life of trauma. Her brain dead, vegetative brother is being admitted to the same hospice where Terri Schiavo is, her father is already dead, she has no friends at all, and her mother, Laura Linney, is semi-crazed from all the tragedies. It's tough to take all that in, with death, Christianity and politics, mixing it up with regular teen angst and mother-daughter conflicts. With stirring performances by the two women, as well as Woody Harrelson as an irreverent anti-euthanasia activist. 4/10.

/ Female Director

🍿  "We're not in therapy right now. We're in real life..."

The Savages was the last of this week's movies, an afterthought. But it turned to be my favorite drama. My first by Tamara Jenkins, it tells of brunette Laura Linney, and her estranged brother Philip Seymour Hoffman, who have to get closer to each other, as they handle their distant father, now suffering from dementia. An unglamorous story with tender and subtle performances. 8/10.

[Strangely, both films, which has otherwise nothing in common with each other, include the same sad, cold scene of walking away in the corridors of a impersonal health-care institution, after the eventual death of a close relative.]

/ Female Director

🍿  

The Company of Strangers is a Canadian story about 8 old women on a trip to the countryside, and who are stranded at an isolated cottage when their old tour bus breaks down. It's refreshing to see such a different premise for a movie, although, tbh, it wasn't too exciting.

/ Female Director

🍿  

Carnival of Soul X 2:

🍿 "That's strange, Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home".

Carnival of Souls, a 1962 indie ghost story, the only feature film created by a guy from Lawrence, KS (who also played "The man"). A low-budget creative look, with German expressionist style, eerie organ score. A creepy neighbor, and a mansplaining doctor gaslight a single woman. There's an abandoned pavilion where the climax of the movie takes place, and it's clear that the whole plot was written around it. 4/10. (Photo Above).

🍿 Yella, my third enigmatic drama by Christian Petzold, loosely transported the narrative of 'Carnival of Soul' to modern day Germany. The heroine, Yella, is a submissive young woman with an abusive ex-husband who sees visions without agency. But replacing the spookiness of the original with unconvincing business machinations and unexplained sounds made it unremarkable and tedious. The fact that everybody left their hotel doors ajar was a big turn-off for me. 3/10.

🍿  

Buster Keaton's The Navigator was his biggest commercial success. Later on it got selected for the National Film Registry, and earned 100% on Rotten Tomatoes. A few memorable set ups: Shuffling a deck of wet cards and an underwater sword fight with a swordfish. There's also the plot of the savage 'natives' / cannibals.

🍿  

Kings of pastry, a D. A. Pennebaker documentary about three pastry chefs trying to achieve MOH status in 2007. For people with sweet tooth. Lovely over-use of Django Reinhardt 'Minor swing'. Re-watch.

🍿  

In One Hour Photo Robin Williams played a lonely and obsessed clerk at a photo developing center at a mall. Not completely psychotic, he's sad and pathetic. The climax does not deliver.

🍿  

First re-watch in many years: Tootsie about a unemployable actor who finally scores playing a female role. A melodrama about sex-roles and 1980 feminism that aged well for the most part. Mostly thanks to Sydney Pollack solid direction (and acting! He was better than the NY-actor Dustin Hoffman here, and he had all the best lines). Cross-dressing for the sake of a paycheck. 7/10.

🍿  

First watch: Stephen King's middle-brow The green mile. Three hours of shallow drama, even before the supernatural miracles starts. A man-child 'Magical Negro' with the power of healing, all the time sweating like hogs, because of 'The south'. 3/10.

🍿  

Nir ve Gali (ניר וגלי) is an Israeli animation studio that produced 91 anthropomorphic shorts. Unfortunately, their humor, which is among the funniest shit I ever saw, is probably untranslatable to people who don't speak Hebrew. Re-watch. 10/10.

🍿  

Throw-back to the "Art project”:  

Buster Keaton Adora.

🍿  

(My complete movie list is here)

[theunreliablewriter]

When Love Collided

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

A Whole Lotta Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Black Widow Spoilers!, Mentions of fighting, Mention of killing, Mentions of near death experience, Cussing, Mention of Suffering/Trauma,

Request: hi !! i love your stories you're a really great writer and your stories made my day :>> could i request a yelena belova x reader story where r and yelena are pining over each other like idiots and r confesses to yelena and yelena is an awkward mess and yelena somehow brings up the courage to kiss r in response since she's in a total loss for words but they kind of just headbutt each other in panic- thank you !! :D

Author’s Note: Yes, this is the cheesiest title possible, but it fits, and this was such a cute request. Thank you so much for your sweet compliments, anon! I’m sorry, I know I said I was going to try to avoid spoilers for at least a week. I wish this was longer, so I apologize for that too. I hope I wrote our beloved Russian awkward enough, and that somebody enjoys! 💜

Together.

That is how it had always been since the night you were both dragged from the back of that dark, Godforsaken truck.

Over twenty years had now passed, and so much had happened and changed since then. But, there was one constant—one thing that had remained the same.

And that was your bond with Yelena Belova.

You grew up together as children. You trained together. You…you suffered together.

Usually, the Red Room forbid friendships as close as yours. They couldn’t risk you two choosing each other over the completion of a mission. Although neither of you ever allowed yourself to speak of it, you both lived in a constant fear that one day, you would be forced to fight each other. And only would it end, when just one of you remained.

But you two were too good to forbid. Even if it went against everything the Red Room believed, they had to allow your friendship because by permitting you two to remain together, it meant they had an unstoppable duo.

Years upon years upon is what you spent together. As you grew older and matured, even the worst of the Red Room’s conditioning couldn’t prevent your feelings for Yelena from doing the same. Several of those years were spent wanting more—wanting her.

No weapon, no fighting style, no mission—nothing—scared you. But, the risk of pushing Yelena away did. That was the lone risk you simply could not take. You couldn’t tell her the truth of her feelings and risk losing your partner, your ally, you best friend.

Despite how badly it hurt, you said nothing, making you spend so much time pining for her, wondering if she could ever somehow feel the same for you.

Little did you know that Yelena also spent her numerous sleepless nights aching for precisely the same answer.

While you two were left questioning, the Red Room got an answer to their decade old question: Would they come to regret the special exception they made for the sake of having such a powerful pair?

Yes.

Yes, they would regret it.

Your chains to Dreykov were both severed that day in Morocco, and, along with Natasha, Melina, and Alexei, you became a force to be reckoned with. The force that would finally bring the Red Room to a crashing end.

Now, a few months had passed since you and Yelena began the mission to free the world’s Widows from a dead man’s remaining chemical control.

While the task was worth every high and low, it was by no means simple. Dreykov’s hooks were so deep in many of the women that, more often than not, there was a fight just to get close enough to them for the antidote enter their system.

All of the fights had been messy and left you both with cuts, bruises, and pain, but it wasn’t until today when one was nearly deadly.

Your scouting had lead you to believe there were no more than three Widows occupying the same house. But, when you and Yelena entered, you quickly learned you could not have been more wrong.

It was an entire pack of Widows.

And your mistake nearly cost Yelena her life.

“I’m so sorry,” you said for what had to be the fiftieth time.

Despite needing your help to make it through the door of your shared hotel room, Yelena maintained her talent for sarcasm. “God, (Y/N), you’re almost making me regret you freeing me from that chokehold.”

Even now, she didn’t fail to make you laugh, but it didn’t last. “Seeing you nearly die is one thing, and knowing I am the reason…makes it that much worse.”

“You watched that location for a week. The same three were the only ones to ever come and go,” Yelena stated as you helped her settle onto the couch. “I would have thought no differently.”

With a single, reluctant nod, you hurried off to retrieve the first-aid kit that was so large it was practically a small duffel bag.

You were lost in your thoughts as you returned to the living room and got to work on cleaning and covering her wounds.

Countless worse case scenarios showed in your mind, all ending with Yelena being taken from you.

What if she actually was, someday? What if you were taken from her? Would you be able to live with the fact of her never knowing the truth? Would you be able to rest in peace knowing, after everything you had been through together, you never had the nerve to tell her?

As Yelena went on about the night’s television “being shit,” you could only reach a single answer.

No.

No, you wouldn’t be able to.

“It’s fucking nine o’ clock on a Friday night,” Yelena ranting. “You would think they’d show at least one decent show or mov-“

You couldn’t help it. You could no longer hold it in; you had for too long. So, you couldn’t stop yourself from finally abruptly announcing, “I love you.”

The blonde immediately turned her attention away from the tv. The surprise was written all over her face and was unmissable in her eyes. Her accent was so thick when she said a quiet “What?” that most wouldn’t have been able to understand her.

“I love you…Yelena. I have for a long time.”

Each second she just started at you felt like a year, leaving you to question if a heart truly could beat out of a chest.

“W-when…why did you…” Yelena stammered for words. “How did you decide that?”

“‘How’? I don’t think I can explain ‘how,’” you replied with an incredulous chuckle.

“D-do you… Are you sure you want to?”

If you had been a third party watching this moment, you knew you’d be laughing hysterically at how blatantly awkward your best friend—the calm, cool, collected, ruthless ex-assassin—was currently being.

You glanced down at the roll of bandages in your hands as you told her, with a voice filled with momentary humor, “I’m pretty sure.”

What felt like eons of silence passed, making you feel like your worst fear had happened—you scared her off with the truth.

You breathed in a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, after deciding you were going to ask her to forget you ever said anything.

Knowing you would have to do it like ripping off a bandaid, to meet her gaze, you shot your head up…only to have it collide with her face.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Yelena said flatly, clutching the nose you had just head-butted.

“What did you do?” I asked laughing.

“I was trying- I was going to… Oh, shit, fuck it.”

Your laughter was cut off because before you had another chance to blink, Yelena swiftly closed the space between the two of you. It took your brain a second to realize what had happened—to realize her lips were gently attached to yours.

Her hands rose to hold your face, making you further melt into her touch, as the kiss deepened.

It would be impossible to count the number of times you had imagined this very moment, but no daydream ever got it right. Never could you have known her lips would be this soft and fit so perfectly with yours.

Above, never would you have imagined her only reason for pulling away, would be to say, “I can’t remember I time when I didn’t love you.”

| Masterlist |

[movieandseriesjunkie]

WORD OF ADVICE: WATCH THE ELITE SHORT STORIES FIRST TO FURTHER UNDERSTAND THE CIRCUMSTANCES IN THIS SEASON

THERE MIGHT BE SPOILERS AHEAD.

It is devastating to watch Elite without the three main ladies we've seen from the beginning which are Lu, Nadia and Carla. Lu has gone to study somewhere else and with her is her step brother Valerio (who is no longer in season four as well), Nadia went to study college in New York while Carla went to London, we know that Polo died in the previous season. I will also be happy to let you know that the Inspectora is not around anymore.

First off, let us talk about the new characters. There are four or five main new characters in season 4: Mencia, Ari, Patrick, Philippe, Benjamin & Armando are the ones to watch out for. So, Las Encinas has a new principal—Benjamin and he has three children: Ari & Patrick (twins), Mencia. Armando is an older man who enters in Mencia's life and has a bigger impact on the characters. Ari becomes a part of a love triangle with Guzman and Samu (as shown on the trailer) and Patrick becomes a third of Omander. Another new character is Philippe who becomes Caye's new love interest after the death of Polo.

People have been saying that the Las Encinas students are partying in every episode of season 3 but there's just two or three parties in season 4. First, the towel party where a lot of very graphic things happened. Second, the le Bal orchestrated by Philippe and third is orchestrated by Philippe's mom— the New Year's Eve party. In these parties, major pieces of the plot happened.

In this season, what I like most about is the old characters' development. Caye decided to be not a liar anymore (as she said in the first Elite Short Story: Guzman, Caye and Rebe). She stood by this decision of hers. She went to college, majored in fashion design while being Las Encinas' cleaning lady. She did attempt once to get close to Prince Philippe while wearing fancy clothes but that was interrupted so she saw no use for lying to him. ESPECIALLY because Philippe is a bigger liar/hypocrite than her (to know why, u gotta watch season 4)

Guzman has experienced changes in this season. His character has been developing ever since his sister Marina died in season one and Polo died in season 3, when he was with Lu, and also when he was dating Nadia. That is when we saw his soft side. But a downgrade happened in this season because he basically lost Nadia. He came back to being a prick and showing it by competing against Samu. But also, he was not ashamed to admit that he thinks that Samu is greater than him and he sometimes is jealous of him. He even said that Samu is the best thing that happened to him in the last two years (since Marina died)

Ander has hardships about his sexuality, especially when he and Rebe talked about bisexuality during season 3. His mother accepts him for who he is, because that is how Azucena is and we love her for that. It has been shown that his relationship with Omar has matured in this season. He accepted Omar even if he cheated, they talk about their problems. And as seen in his shorty story with Alexis and Omar, he dealt with survivor's guilt after his cancer went into remission. But one thing did not change: the fact that he will do anything for Omar. Like suspending his plan of traveling the world to stay with Omar, twice.

Omar have dealt with his sexuality and family throughout the season. He is living with his best friend Samu now and he is still working to finance himself. His relationship with Ander has been complicated but they always compromised and got back together. This cycle has been repeating for a while now. Since their relationship had a third, things got messier. Even if Omar and Ander promised that it'll always be them, Patrick still got in the way of them. But in the end, when Omar knew that Ander suspended his travel plans again because of him, he finally let Ander go. That is how much their relationship has grown and in this series, their relationship was the most mature (at least for me).

Samu has took a great toll ever since the series started. He struggled on being Las Encinas' scholar, falling in love and grieving for Marina, falling for Carla and dating Rebe, his brother being in prison, financial problems and his family moving in Morocco and him living alone. He worked as a camarero for a living. His type in women are coincidentally rich ones, that's shown in his dating history. The only bad thing he did, in my perspective, was using Rebe (a woman who likes him very much) to make Carla jealous. His development after the short story he had with Carla explains why he is mostly down in this season. He sees Ari and likes her instantly mostly because she is like Carla–pretty, out of his league, and he is invisible to her. He is as humble as ever and him being on the debate team (yes he joins the debate team in season 4) shows his side where he speaks up.

Rebe was a character we all thought we'd never like. But my thought now is: what's not to like? She speaks her mind, she loves hard, and she is an honest person. She expressed anger towards Samu, she was repeatedly lied to by her mom so I see why a liar is her least favorite person. In this season, she met her match—Mencia, a woman who also speaks her mind but a very complicated character. After realizing she was bisexual, Rebe had no problem exploring her sexuality. At first she was closed off when Mencia expressed admiration towards her, due to what happened with Rebe and Samu. But she later opened up, said to hell with it to the people and things that came in the way of her love for Mencia. She is a knight in shining armor.

The main plot of this season is Ari, who they found almost dead by the lake, beaten up. The question is the same as always: whodunit? But there is always a twist in this series, as we all know. The detective is now a man. To know about the mysteries and witness these characters' development, go ahead and stream Elite on Netflix now.

[boykingofdestihell]

uh have y’all read “daughter of smoke and bone” by laini taylor? yes? destiel au. no? allow me to explain. (spoilers for dosab)

so the plot of daughter of smoke and bone is that karou, the adopted human daughter of a ram-dragon-lion-bear monster who trades teeth for wishes through a magical quasi-teleporting shop, starts finding that the doors across the world that open into her dad’s teeth shop have been burned with handprints on them. before she gets a chance to bring this up to her dad, she gets attacked by an angel in morocco. the angel pauses just long enough to stop from killing her when she cocks her head a certain way and her snake-woman adoptive mom pulls her into the teeth shop to safety. she passes out, wakes up, goes through a forbidden door and finds a cathedral of more human-animal hybrid corpses with whom she has matching tattoos, one of them wakes up and tries to kill her, her dad shows up, rescues her, drags her back to the human world and kicks her out. a few days later all the doors, all across the world, that have all been marked with a handprint, burn away and karou can’t get back to her family.

a few weeks later, akiva, the angel who attacked karou in morocco, can’t get her out of his head and he eventually realizes that it’s because the way she cocked her head was the exact same way his dead monster girlfriend used to before she was executed. things happen, karou figures out how to fly, they beat each other up a bit, they go out for breakfast—eventually a few of akiva’s siblings show up to yell at him for ???whatever it is that he’s doing? fucking a human? they’re not sure. and akiva has some important revelations.

it turns out that through complicated magic involving teeth and pain her dad was building bodies for soldiers who were killed in the chimera people’s’ war against the angels. karou was one of these soldiers. she was mostly human and, and this is important, incredibly hot. an evil prince was creepy with her. at once point after a battle she found a dying enemy solider and decided not to kill him and instead tied a tourniquet and led her comrades away from him. akiva was instantly in love and he dedicated the next several years to finding a way to sneak across enemy lines and into a city where he would be both easily recognizable and killed on sight, just so he could thank her. he does find her again, he gives her a chance to avoid marrying the creepy prince, they dance, they fall in love, they have a month long sex marathon and plot to end the millennia-long war between their peoples, they get ratted out and imprisoned. karou 1.0 gets executed first, they make akiva watch, she possesses her snitch of a sister and frees him. he has no idea it was her and knocks her out and she wakes up as a human baby because her dad secretly rescues her and gives her a safe life as a human with no idea where she came from.

meanwhile akiva has gone absolutely crazy with grief. what does he do while karou was fingerpainting and playing with her dad’s tail? spends seventeen years planning a genocide against her people because they executed her. that’s what he was doing in the human world. that’s what he was doing those few weeks between karou getting kicked out and him returning to the human world. so he succeeded in pretty much wiping out her people and killing her family and he realizes too late that her family actually had saved her and he has fucked up badly.

it’s terrible and painful and brilliant. it’s the first book in a trilogy—the second one involves karou doing teeth magic in a sandcastle and akiva trying to save as many of her people as he can as penance, the third involves their respective armies in a tentative truce to stop another faction of angels before they can buy nukes from the pope and karou and akiva trying to have sex in a shower/on an autopsy table but his sister and his grandma keep getting in the way. it’s my favorite book series of all time.

all this to say: destiel au.

cas and dean have one (1) interaction and cas falls in love, leading him to eventually forsake his people? cas discovering a new and truer meaning of faith and hope because of dean? cas doing a genocide? cas doing insane things in monster land as penance for his crimes?

i didn’t get so much into it because if my summary of the book was any longer I should have just copied the book entirely, but karou is both an incredible badass and she blames everything bad that has ever happened on herself. who does that remind you of. also bobby would be his sorcerer adoptive dad. sam can take the place of karou’s human best friend and be like, a kid that dean met as a twelve year old living on his own and decided to raise. or karou 1.0’s much younger friend that looked up to her and tried to save her and later helps her stage a very very secret coup. doesn’t matter.

anyway all this to say: cas is an angel who commits genocide and does insane things in the name of the person he’s in love with regardless of how he’d feel about them; dean hurts himself for the convenience of others and refuses to let himself be happy; i would like to see them in my favorite book series from high school. someone, even if you haven’t read this book series, please talk to me about this au.

[its-freakinbats]

heaven don’t have a name—q.b.

Requested by fandomizedtrash

A/N—I lost the actual ask because I am a clown, but the general idea was Quentin Beck attempting to seduce a (reader) SHIELD agent to further win the masses over in his attempt to become the world's greatest superhero. What happens when he starts to fall for her himself? (as far as a sociopath like him can fall, that is). I tried not to woobify him too much, (I mean he DID hold a gun to a sixteen year olds head and tried killing like three other minors, along with Fury and Hill, but the man’s a five course meal, so fan fiction I shall write).

Also, I am aware that I may have screwed up by making the air elemental first, as opposed to being the second one that attacks. That being said, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I had way too much fun with this one, friends and foes.

(I used a Jeremy Renner song title for this, what about it)

The energetic music blaring through the bar seemed to add to the uneasiness you felt as you lamented upon the past one more time.

The Avengers were effectively dead, and you still didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

It had been just over a year since the Avengers had battled Thanos one last time and over a year since your life had drastically changed once again.

You weren’t too sure where your life had gone in the following months as you helped to rebuild the world from the ashes.

Or where it was headed, for that matter.

Despite the pretty words that had been said for your fallen teammates so long ago, it was still so difficult to grow accustomed to a world without them.

Steve, who you had grown to love as a sibling, had given up his life in this time to return to the world that had been taken from him. Last you heard, he was in Brooklyn now, living out his final days in silence. It had seemed he’d gotten the quiet life he’d always desired, something you envied.

Tony, whose heart and mind always competed for mastery over him, had led the final hurrah against Thanos with an act as simple as snapping his fingers. Tony, who had brought the world into the future more than once, just as his father before had done.

And then...Natasha.

Nat, who shouldered the responsibility of keeping the world together in it’s darkest time had given her soul itself, or so Clint had said. Nat, who you’d followed around like a happy pup in your first years at SHIELD, and who had taught you more about being apart of SHIELD than anyone else had. Nat, who you stayed up with most nights to try and fix every single problem during those five years, solved the biggest one by giving her life.

Even a year later, you still couldn’t move on and find purpose in the way that others had.

Thor was offworld with Rocket Raccoon’s crew after shirking his responsibilities as King. Last you heard, Brunnhilde was running the new Asgard like a well oiled machine.

T’Challa, who resumed carrying the same responsibility, was equally busy with restoring Wakanda to the power house that it had been revealed to be. Maybe give earth another long leap into the future, just as Tony had done.

Judging by the cryptic message that Sam and Bucky had left behind several months ago, they had decided to take it upon themselves to bring certain people to justice. An unrelated story a month later had informed you that Helmut Zemo had been declared missing from the Joint Counter Terrorist Center.

Clint and Scott were off with their respective families, each reveling in the retirement that they had sought for so long.

Rhodey followed in retirement, but still interfered as much as he could with what remained of Stark Industries. You thought you’d seen him flying around Manhattan once or twice, too.

Wanda had insisted on hiding out in the meantime, taking up teaching while she did so. You thought it suited her.

Even Carol, who was busy watching after the stars, hadn’t been heard from in months.

You wondered how Fury felt about that.

You couldn’t even begin to think about which dimension Doctor Strange was in at that moment; was he rebuilding elsewhere, too?

While you’d once been part of a team to keep the peace on earth, you were now following Fury and Hill in their attempts at making the world safer, as if there had been any threats in the fourteen months that had passed.

To say you didn’t feel needed anymore was an understatement.

Your finger ran around the rim of the glass as you recalled what had been your breaking point.

You had thought that sharing a celebratory bottle of bourbon with Rhodey had been much warranted, yet it resulted in you divulging your insecurities about the uncertain future. He was more than understanding, and you’d nearly cried when he’d spoken next.

“You’ve spent a year trying to go back to normal. We don’t even know what normal is anymore. Why don’t you try living in the new world?”

Fury, meanwhile, had other plans for you.

He’d stopped you on your way to the airport ticket counter in the middle of the night just shy of a week ago.

“Looking for a little vacation time?”

“Hard to believe that you’re not after everything that’s happened,” you had said. He had crossed his arms in a very Nick Fury way and replied, “Nick Fury doesn’t take vacations.”

You had laughed at that; however, when he had gifted you a mobile device and his usual no-nonsense stare, you knew that your vacation would have to be postponed. Even incognito, Fury still had the ability to frighten you.

Something about electro-magnetic pulses that Hill had noticed, and another lecture about how Earth still needed someone to look after it.

“Your team might be gone, but the idea of the Avengers isn’t. You got anything better to do?”

At risk of sounding like a petulant child, you wished it didn’t have to be you.

It wasn’t all bad, though; Morocco had quite a lot to offer.

You had briefly cursed Fury for taking away your opportunity for self-reflection, but he was right: you had nothing else to go to.

You would always be a part of SHIELD.

You’d always be an Avenger.

With that melancholic thought, you finished your second scotch of the night and slid off of the barstool.

Day two, and the energy pulses had remained stagnant.

‘So much for an otherworldly threat,’ you thought.

You shoved your hands in your pockets as you began to trail towards your hotel, not paying particular mind to the greying clouds in the sky.

It was when a gust of wind made you shiver that you stopped in your tracks.

A glance at your phone reminded you that it was due to be nearly 70 degrees that evening, with no chance of wind.

Or storms.

As you pocketed your phone, you observed the graying skies in the distance and the way the wind picked up.

A clap of thunder roared through the sky.

The uneasiness you had tried to quell with your trip to the bar reared its head once more; was Fury getting under your skin, or was there something more sinister hiding under the ground of Morocco?

Several more cracks of thunder sounded across the horizon, and you were thrown off by just how idyllic it had been just a little bit before.

Not a cloud in the sky, you had mused before entering the bar.

You pulled your hair back when the wind roared louder this time, and you happened to see a few teenagers warning each other in Arabic. Even with a very basic understanding, you gathered that they were telling each other to book it.

Your gaze shifted from the kids to the storm again, and you frowned. It couldn’t be Thor back, could it? His storms were always so much more...organized. This was unprecedented. Disorderly.

Was Fury right? Was it another extra-terrestrial attack?

You blanched at the thought of Thanos returning somehow.

Small groups of people slowly exited from the block you stood at, some of them muttering about the buzzkill weather.

Another, much larger gust of wind hit you, nearly throwing off your balance.

Your phone rang then, just as another loud crash of thunder was heard from the mass that grew in the sky.

“Energy pulse is rising. What do you see?” Fury said on the other end, as straight to the point as ever.

“Far from what the forecast predicted,” you breathed. “A massive stormcloud with the wind speed of something I’ve never encountered.” At that, you shivered as another long gust hit you.

“Marrakech isn’t known for tropical storms,” Fury pointed out. “And even if they were, they wouldn’t be giving off the kind of readings that this thing is. Keep your eyes up. I’ll do the same. If either of us see something, we alert the other ASAP, understood?” Fury concluded. You gave an affirmative before hanging up your phone. As you pocketed it, you furrowed your brow.

Why couldn’t the world go more than a year without some sort of cosmic disaster raining down on you all?

You reprimanded yourself for thinking Fury had no business sending you out this way.

He was absolutely paranoid, but he was right.

He was always right.

You gazed at the growing storm, and were taken aback by it as your eyes were able to properly register what it was. The maelstrom, if that’s even what you could call it, had arranged itself into a body. Moreover, it looked like it had a face.

You dropped your gaze long enough to observe the passers by in the area. While most of them were tucked into each other to avoid the freezing wind, you saw that a few were recording the unprecedented change in weather.

Your focus shifted to the area over which the amalgamation was hovering. You were no Clint, but you could see that people were still leisurely occupying the area.

You began jogging in the direction of the storm; you heard a few people telling you to turn away from the monster, but you ignored their cries to leave, and continued your trek.

Fortunately for you, there were very few tourists to actually escort from the area. Occasionally, you veered from you path to order people out of the area and to find a safe place, trying your best to sound calm.

As you neared the creature, the wind grew more and more violent, and you did your best to remain vigilant about the occasional sign that the wind had picked up.

You jogged from your route to approach a small group of people looking around wildly and speaking to each other frantically; one appeared to be trying to calm down a couple, and was speaking quickly in French.

“I need you to get out of here,” you said as you approached them, but half of the married couple stopped you.

“Mon fils!” the older woman cried as you approached her. “Où est mon fils? Mes Louis?”

You quickly calmed her as best as you could, and promised you’d find her son. When she refused to move from your side, you insisted that they find the nearest shelter. The boy’s mother stood for a moment, unwilling to leave her son behind. You felt your heart ache slightly at that, but you were adamant that they leave as soon as they could.

Another older woman informed you that the boy and his friend were last seen across the shopping center, right in the eye of the storm. You masked your cynicism, and thanked them for their time. The second woman nodded, and muttered reassuring things to the boy’s mother before leading her away.

Once they began to make their way in the opposite direction, you turned and started for the storm.

The closer you got to the maelstrom, the more things were being picked up. For a while, you did a pretty good job at avoiding tree branches and the like.

In your attempt to dodge a large remnant of a window, however, you managed to leap right into the path of more debris.

You grunted as the wood knocked you right to the ground. Pain blossomed on the right side of your face, and you had to brace yourself against the road before standing back up to continue your venture.

Just under one hundred feet from where the creature was hovering, you ended up in a small, seemingly abandoned market. You heard the sound of someone swearing in French, and looked around until you found a teenager not too much younger than Peter Parker.

He was clutching his phone angrily, and sitting on the ground as he tried to make a phone call.

His wet eyes found yours, and he seemed slightly hopeful.

This had to be the missing kid.

“Louis?” you asked.

He nodded again, before growing worried.

“Ma famille?” he asked frantically.

“Sûr,” you told him calmly, as you helped him up from his spot.

“Your family took shelter nearby,” you said, silently thanking Steve for the many French lessons he’d gifted you. “If you can’t find them, then get to safety before the storm gets here.”

The kid shook his head, his eyes going wide in panic.

“My...friend, Blase. He’s stuck,” the boy said.

Before you could ask him where the other kid was, Louis began to jump over debris to lead you to where the other boy was. In a nearby parking lot, you saw a boy around the same age laying on the ground. He groaned in pain as he gripped his thigh.

True to Louis’ word, you saw that the other boy was struggling underneath of the remnants of a roof. You kept your cool as you approached him, and you prayed to whoever was up there that the kid wouldn’t lose his leg in the middle of the storm.

Louis spoke gently to his friend, assuring him that you were there to help them out.

“Blase?” you said. The boy was fearful as he looked at you.

“I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

He nodded stiffly.

“Louis, I need you lift as much as you can from that side,” you ordered. The boy was only too happy to help. You grabbed the other end of the wreckage and lifted as much as you could. You didn’t blame Louis for running away to get help. The thing was heavy.

Once you lifted it up substantially, you peeked under to see the state of his leg.

From underneath, you saw that the boy’s leg looked crushed. You kept your face even, not wanting to scare either of them.

“Can you move from under?” you asked, and you started to feel the weight from the debris grow heavy. Blase grunted, but wiggled his way out from underneath the roof. When he was far enough away, you told Louis to let go.

The two of you dropped it, and you rushed over to check the other teen’s injury.

“There’s nothing I can do for you here. I need you two to go back. Maybe find your family along the way, but definitely get medical assistance if you can.”

As if to emphasize your point, the creature roared again. Without missing a beat, you helped Louis pick up his friend, and helped adjust his weight accordingly.

“Thank you,” Louis said, and you nodded in response.

Blase opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. You followed him to see what had surprised him so, and couldn’t believe the sight.

A newcomer had arrived on the scene, dressed in what you could only compare to Roman armor.

It wasn’t anyone you recalled from the attack on the Avengers base last year, and you didn’t seem to recognize him from SHIELD’s radar so many years ago.

You were mesmerized as he flew around the monster, striking it often with green bolts not unlike what Wanda produced. Who was it? It wasn’t often you were missing so many different variables in an equation like this.

You felt your feet inch you closer to the attack.

You pulled the gun from your holster, and warned the kids one last time.

“Go!” you said over the shrieking of the storm. Louis glanced between the gun, the storm, and you. Without another word, he adjusted his grip on Blase, and the two began their trek around the fallen trees.

As you turned around, you could practically hear Fury in your ear telling you to book it before you were crushed like a bug under the monster.

But God were you curious.

Perhaps this is what Hill meant when she said that interfering was your downfall.

You jogged to get as close as you could without catching the attention of the creature. The more you looked at it, the more perplexed you grew. Perhaps it was an alien? If Thor was real, there wasn’t any reason that the Titans from Greek mythology couldn’t be real, right?

The stranger in the sky must have caught you staring, for when he was close enough, he called over his shoulder.

“You need to stand back. I don’t want any casualties,” he ordered from behind his helmet. Your gun was repositioned in your hand and ready to fire.

“Standing back isn’t really in my job description,” you shouted over the wind.

“Do what you like, but a gun isn’t going to do very much in a situation like this!”

He kept his gaze on you for a few moments longer, before swooping around to narrowly dodge a hit from the monster. In his departure, the creature managed to spot you on the ground below him.

You jumped over the debris that lay scattered around the area, and narrowly ducked the fist of the creature. It wailed again, and you turned around to fire a shot into it.

To your dismay, the shot did nothing but piss the creature off. You could see the flying man’s helmet turn in your direction.

In his moment wasted to watch you, the creature attacked its nearest enemy.

It knocked the man to the ground, and began to follow where he landed.

Shit.

Unsure of what else to do, you decided to get it’s attention again.

“Hey! Earth’s had more than enough weird stuff the last ten years, thanks!” you shouted at the monster, unsure if it would actually hear you. It roared in your direction, and rather than run, you shot at it a few times. You hoped that the flying man would be able to get his bearings again, and soon.

You ran away from the creature, doing your best to keep it from destroying more of the city than it already had.

You jumped over the nearest car and ducked behind it, gun still ready.

You took a few moments to catch your breath. What would your next step be? Calling Fury? You thought it a bit overkill to send in so much help when you had the green guy helping you out.

Assuming he wasn’t completed demolished from landing on the ground as hard as he did.

A nearby roar was heard again, and you cursed.

You stood up and shot one more round into the creature.

It saw you, and began lifting up some parked cars to throw in your direction.

As you ran, you were able to duck the cars, but were caught off guard when you were knocked off of your feet by the monster itself.

You weren’t sure how far you were thrown, but you had managed to land in a field.

Your back took all of the weight as you landed, and you released nothing more than a strained gasp on impact. You felt the breathe leave your body and were unable to move for a moment.

As you struggled to prop yourself up on your forearms, you saw the creature was still turned toward you.

From behind it, however, you could see that the newcomer had gotten back up. With his gaze in your direction, you felt he was trying to communicate something to you.

You crawled over a few feet, and grabbed the gun that had fallen from your grasp. You fired what very well may have been the last round in your gun, and swore as the monster advanced on you faster.

‘Anytime, green guy,’ you thought.

As if on cue, green bolts of light went through the creature’s middle. The monster turned around to attack the newcomer, but it moved too slowly. An inhuman sound came from it, and it slowly moved its hands around to catch it’s antagonist.

It was futile, however, as more of the same green light came from the man’s hands in a steady stream. You watched in wonder as the creature roared a final, deafening roar.

It collapsed into nothing, and you slid the mostly empty gun into your holster.

As you pushed yourself up, you felt a groan build in your throat. You stumbled your way across the field and into the parking lot. Fortunately for you, you were able to collapse upon a fallen palm tree.

The pain that you’d been doing your damndest to ignore took over most of your senses; you’d thought that the adrenaline had masked most of the pain in your face, but that changed when you were thrown by the typhoon-thing. You hated to think of how it would feel once the adrenal fatigue hit you.

“Son of a bitch,” you swore after you moved your jaw around.

You felt, quite honestly, like shit.

As you admired the now clear skies, you saw the mystery man’s silhouette against the setting sun, until he was before you. As he got closer, he dropped and walked your way.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, resisting the urge to groan.

“Thanks for helping out,” he said then. “It was exciting to have an Avenger for backup.”

You were suddenly unsure of how he was able to see through his helmet.

“The Avengers don't exist anymore. Not in the way they used to,” you added, wiping your admittedly unsanitary sleeve at your head injury. “Or have you been living under a rock the last year?”

“Something like that,” he said with a hint of amusement. “Listen, are you okay? You seem like you’re pretty hurt. You took a pretty bad fall back there.”

“Uh, it’s...it’s nothing I haven’t felt before,” you stammered before attempting to stand up. You struggled slightly, and he offered a gloved hand to assist you. You took it, all the while suppressing a hiss.

“I know,” he replied. “If I remember correctly, you're the one who takes the most hits out of the group.”

You scoffed, and didn’t bother to hide the cynicism in your voice.

“Yeah, tell that to Tony Stark, or Natasha Romanoff. From what I hear, they got the worst of it.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so the two of you fell into an awkward silence.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t at risk of immediately dying. I should get going,” he said after a few moments, turning the other way. Just as he braced himself to fly, you caught his arm.

“Wait!”

He paused and turned to face you, and you let your arms drop to fall awkwardly at your sides while you spoke.

“You...I don’t know who you are.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” he replied.

You ignored his comment

“I mean...heroes aren’t masked symbols anymore. Heroes don’t get secret identities, not with—with governments and whatnot to monitor all of that now.”

“You’re right, they don’t. Not here, anyway,” was all he said.

You frowned, unsure of what he meant by that. Was he an alien, too? Was earth pulled into another inter-planetary dispute amongst aliens?

“So, what’s your game?” you asked, not bothering to hide your suspicion. He seemed to pick up on your tone pretty quickly.

“Look, I’m not here to join the Avengers, or get some sort of award,” he assured you after a moment. “I’m just trying to stop a threat I should have stopped sooner.”

That answered next to none of your questions.

“You know who I am. Why can’t I know who you are?” you pressed.

“That’s a long conversation. I’d prefer not to keep you out so late after all that’s happened.” There was a beat, and he spoke again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Soleil.”

You frowned when he used your codename. No one had used it in a long time.

“Make sure to get looked at,” he reminded you, before turning away.

He flew away with a trail of forest green behind him, unknown to you and to the rest of the world.

You wondered where the guy had been this whole time. Who was he, and why was he just now emerging? Was he known to the other heroes, and you were just now catching wind of it?

As he disappeared from your line of sight, you turned your gaze back to the evening sky. As the sun set, the first few stars began emerging for the night, and you wondered just how many surprises this new world held.

The sound of a medical vehicle approaching surprised you, and you began the slow trek back to your hotel; you didn’t want to speak to anyone, not with the million questions that might be asked.

It was then that you felt another sharp sting as you breathed in.

Maybe he was right. You were hurting like a motherfucker just about everywhere.

                                                               ●

Quentin sat on his bed while the rudimentary footage of the attack played over and over again on all of the major news networks; the first elemental had been pulled off without a hitch.

Without a major one, anyway.

He thought he’d been thorough when ensuring that the Avengers were nowhere to be found. As far as he was concerned, the Avengers were practically disassembled.

At first glance, he’d hardly recognized her. He’d wondered how she’d gotten all the way over to this part of the world with no backup tagging along.

What to do with a loose end like her?

Janice had called earlier, asking if the woman should be confined to the hospital under the guise of massive internal injuries.

Then, a thought struck him with the force of a lightning bolt— how the masses did love their superhero stories, and none was more heartbreaking than his. A battle-hardened warrior who had lost everyone who meant anything to him, as well as his home, no matter how hard he had fought to keep all of that?

How the sympathy and support would grow when he became involved with one of the original Avengers, someone just as broken and lonely as he was.

Someone who was disillusioned, and needed someone like him to give her hope.

“Keep an eye on her, actually,” he had said. “Let me know when she’s discharged, and try to find out where she’s staying,” he requested of his co-worker. “We could use someone like her.”

Then, he’d pondered just how he’d get her on his side. What did he know about her?

He knew she was the youngest to join, and did so during the Chitauri attack in 2012. He knew she had an affinity for blasters, something he noticed she was missing that evening. He also knew that she was one of the few original team members left.

The footage on the television continued to play, and he looked away briefly to answer a call from another coworker.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sending you the files you requested, and then some. Let me know if you need additional information,” Victoria said. Quentin pulled away to quickly scan his incoming mail.

The more he saw, the more he smiled.

“This should be plenty. Thanks,” he said appreciatively before hanging up.

He opened the first file, one that had been leaked when SHIELD was under fire back in 2014. He settled into the armchair as he started reading.

He had thought that maybe he’d have to add another casualty to his list, but the more he thought of the alternative, the more his smile twisted.

How poetic it was that it would be one of the Avengers who would ensure his acclaim with the rest of the world.

[whalexflowers]

{ sophia bush, lesbian, cisfemale + she/her } ➸ hey look, it’s SAWYER CICERO! they’re a 32 year old originally from WASHINGTON, DC. i heard she’s pretty EVASIVE, but i think she’s so LOYAL at the same time. while they’re terrified of being harmed, they’re perhaps more afraid of people finding out HER FATHER IS A DESPISED FORMER PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. they had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they moved to wrenbury.

tw: abuse, republicans, sex, drugs, rock’n roll, non graphic mentions of assault, lesbian butch mess

ok here i go again, reg back on her bullshit with my chainsmoking, dog training, doberman wrangling, chip-on-her-shoulder lesbian

Decades before Sawyer Cicero existed, there was Sally Maxwell, the youngest of the six children of Ernest Maxwell, a prolific republican politician from Topeka, Kansas. The power of her first cries was a force to be reckoned with, for an already exhausted mother that was trying to juggle her husband’s rapidly growing career and very attention demanding siblings.

Sally was born with the label of black sheep tattooed to her face even before she learned how to run. She was loud, curious and would not stay still, constantly interrupting the peaceful formation that her picture perfect family had to maintain as they got more and more thrusted into the public eye.

As Sally grew and started being more aware of her surroundings, she noticed that a lot of the things that happened around her made her feel uneasy: the bruises on mother’s face, the smell of alcohol on her parents breath’s before 10 am and the way her siblings did everything to get out of the house. Also, there were words thrown around that Sally knew they weren’t supposed to say, words thrown at their maids, and cooks, and gardeners and waitresses, usually people with skin darker than hers. They were called slurs, she learned one day at school. 

The pain of Sally’s self awareness did nothing but intensify as the years went on. The Maxwell’s house grew bigger and their universes got smaller, a sea of ignorance and bigotry surrounding their existence. And Sally was trying her best to stay afloat, to not be one of them, to not be like her father and her meek mother. She liked her nannies and chauffeurs better, they were the ones with the real knowledge, with the colorful worlds and tolerant answers that spoke of real freedom. Not the American Dream bullshit that Sally’s father went on and on about during dinner, face red from whisky and expensive steak dripping with blood.

So Sally did the only thing she could and started rebelling. She went by Sawyer and stop responding to her real name. She pierced her ears and went heavy on the eyeliner. She snuck out of the public appearances her family made or scowled directly at the cameras, proudly displaying her USA flag pin upside down. 

She was sixteen when Republican candidate Ernst Maxwell won the presidential election and her family started packing to move into the actual White fucking House. Sawyer’s worst nightmare had come to life, both personally and for the minorities in the country that just wanted to live a decent life away from the bullies that populated Sawyer’s daily life. Her mother, the First Lady had long ago lost her voice and so had her siblings.

So she rebelled even harder, openly flipping off cameras, speaking against her father’s policies, attending democratic party events and reading everything she could to educate herself. The coup de grace came when paparazzis caught her in the Rose Garden, fervently kissing a female classmate from her private school. Sawyer was, of course, a lesbian. She had been stealing kisses, glances and handholds since her early teen years, trying to figure out her identity. And as soon as she did, there was no holding her down. Sawyer was pictured almost every week with a different girl, in gay bars and lgbt+ events.

Her chaotic ways reached newer heights in college, when her parents swiftly shipped her off to London. Sex, drugs, rock’n roll plus a whole lot of lesbianing and disorderly conduct, but Sawyer finally felt free. It took her almost seven years and four colleges to finally graduate with her own mixed-and-matched degree on Pre Law, Ethology, Women’s Studies and Political Science.In the meantime, her father, President Maxwell had done a number on America. Cut ties with nations and organizations, failed military operations, dubious alliances. Almost everyone hated him and his time in office. And even having distanced herself from him from an early age, Sawyer felt the repercussions of their relations everywhere she went. Sawyer Maxwell became Sawyer Cicero after being assaulted by a small mob while working in Morocco. It took several months in the hospital for Sawyer to get back on her feet, take control of her hefty trust fund and disappear into the shadows, completely off the grid. Some tabloids reported her dead, some missing, nobody knew for sure, not even her parents or intelligence agencies.

In reality, Sawyer was bouncing around the world, exploring sights she never imagined she would see, with only a backpack and a flip-phone. It was a lonely existence but it was the price she had to pay for her freedom. She charmed ladies here and there, but she was always gone before breakfast. She got certified as a professional dog trainer in South Africa and that’s when she met her new best friend and companion: Lazarus, a 75 lb, purebred Doberman trained to protect and attack. He is always by her side, having been certified as a service and support dog for PTSD and other remnants from the incident in Morocco.

Sawyer landed in Wrenbury thinking it was time to take a break from international waters, looking for a quiet coastal town to set some roots and maybe get rid of the unbearable grief that has been festering inside of her. She comes across as a detached, unimpressed, chain smoking hermit, with a whole lot of a bad girl charm. She misses people, she misses connections, she misses not looking over her shoulder every two seconds, and letting down her guard. Maybe this town will do. 

[beautymercurydragon]

Kara Lahiffe

YAY I WAS HOPING SOMEONE WOULD ASK ME ABOUT HER!! She’ll be really fun to write with, and she’s one of the most featured of the main seven.

Full name: Kara Christine Lahiffe (Christine is actually a French-used name, and since I hc Alya as being a Supergirl fan, I had to name her firstborn child/daughter that. Tho it’s pronounced as the ‘Cara’ part in Nino’s Carapace hero name, so it’s a blended nod to both.)

Gender: Cis female

Sexuality: Straight

Pronouns: She/Her

Ethnicity/species: Human, Moroccan, Martinique and French (50% French, 25% Moroccan and 25% Martinique, if my math is correct)

Birthplace: Paris, France (she was born in England, actually. Alya and Nino took the Startrain there for an event Alya was interviewing at and the night before, she went into labor a week-ish early. Kara was supposed to be born on the 25th of August lol. So technically, she’s always lived in France, but was born in England [tho Alya and Nino left there as soon as they got out of the hospital]. Either way, she still considers herself born in France.)

Birthday: August 19th, 2029 (she’s 15)

Guilty pleasures: Hmm… oranges? She only really likes extra-sweet fruit, so for her to like oranges is rare. Also lemonade, considering the regular-flavored is usually more sour than sweet. But she does prefer strawberry lemonade.

Phobias: Snakes. Which is funny, considering she was trained by Luka (who was the Snake holder, Viperion) as a musician and theater singer. Also lying, boredom, no fun etc., considering she’s more vibrant and energetic than one would usually expect of someone of her age group.

What they would be famous for: Definitely acting and theater/singing. She actually wins a contest for her school at one point and gets her own imagined story as a child turned into a TV show, called Codename: Scarlet Fox, and it’ll have a lot of importance to the story. As for doing theater, she’d likely be a West End star at some point in her life as a young adult (basically London’s version of Broadway, from my understanding. I live in the US lol), considering she could easily take the Startrain to England.

What they would be arrested for: Doing something to Brooke lol. She’s one of the ones who’s more fed up with her and treated worse, right up with Vivienne, considering Brooke’s racist and doesn’t consider dark-skinned French people real French citizens.

OC you ship them with: Her love interest Gino, who gets the Monkey Miraculous at some point. And even tho she’s straight, I think a relationship between her and Rebecca (who’s bi) would be interesting. They have the competitiveness in common, both dream of being on Broadway/sing and act, and are both great at baking. (Rebecca ends up with Emma though) If I didn’t have so many ideas in mind that would be a factor of developing their friendship and Kara wasn’t straight with a love interest, I would likely have put them together as a couple.

OC most likely to murder them: Despite how much Brooke hates Kara, I feel she wouldn’t try to harm her. Mainly because Kara knows how to fight (blame Nora lol), and she’s quick and witty and always has a response to her as well. Plus, she’s a superhero and has flexibility, so she could kick her in the face or elsewhere lmao.

So, I don’t really feel like anyone would. Not to mention, she could easily fool them with her Mirage and make a run for it as Scarlett Fox, considering nobody really hates her that much as a civilian to want her dead.

Favorite movie/book genre: Humor, adventure and action

Least favorite movie/book cliche: ‘Misunderstood’ high school clique. Lol she HATES that with a burning passion

Talents and/or powers: She’s good at bare-knuckle boxing, and is a harpist, flutist, theater/stage/TV-trained actress and theater singer.

As for her alter-ego, she gets the Fox Miraculous, and she has a more powered-up version of the Mirage considering Vivienne uses the Butterfly to permanently upgrade their powers at one point. Her upgraded version allows her illusions to actually become 3-D and realistic, so she can make her Mirage create fake versions of the other heroes to distract villains.

She’s also another one of the multilingual next-gen kids (well they all are really lmao), so she’s a speaker of French, English, Arabic (considering Nino is confirmed Moroccan and that’s Morocco’s official language they speak) (she’s faring nicely but is still a little rough in some points), and begins to take Japanese lessons from Kagami. Tho she’s awful at it at first, and it is her worst class at the start, but over time she improves vastly.

Why someone might love them: She cares for others, knows how to put a smile on one’s face when they’re sad, and is in general a fun and great person. She’s also rather loyal and knows how to help others, and is always up for a challenge.

Why someone might hate them: Hmm…. she’s really likable in general, but I feel her doing-before-thinking behavior she can have sometimes really can get the best of her. She’s also a bit loud, but not always.

Once she becomes famous because of her TV show, she also becomes really prideful about it and will sometimes use it to boast about herself, but she really doesn’t mean it and is just excited about her lifelong dream coming true, in reality, which is something only those who are close to her know is true.

How they change: She learns how to get a hold of herself when hard, be serious always, and how to work with others and expand her priority (and soon enough, gets a role in a movie and a West End summer camp for teens).

Why you love them: I honestly adore her sense of humor, wittiness, and how she’s always there for those she loves and is so chill about everything.

Another thing is that she’s actually really smart, despite her ‘party girl’ image and the promiscuous stereotype she gained over the years (because the media in next-gen AU is crappy except for Alya and Nadja lmao, with a few other exceptions), ever since she was thirteen. The media really hated her and applied that stereotype to her, considering her image as a ‘bad kid’ made them believe she’d be a bad role model for Maddie, who’s been a media darling since forever. She’s also rather good at memorizing things quickly and is able to think fast/on her feet, and while I consider myself highly intelligent, I really am not the best at thinking fast sometimes haha.

Thanks for the ask @jazzymarie1006! Sorry for taking a while to respond lol.

[tvmoviechristmas]

Ghosting: The Spirit of Christmas (Freeform, 2019)

I’m just a ghost. Standing in front of her best friend. Asking her to fly.

Starring: Aisha Dee, Kimiko Glenn, Kendrick Sampson, Missi Pyle

Plot Synopsis: Jess goes on the greatest first date of her life, but inadvertently "ghosts" Ben when she tragically dies in a car accident on the way home. (x)

In My Humble Opinion: Romantic comedies centered around a romance where one partner is dead (angel, ghost, whatever) and the other is earthbound are hard to pull off. There’s an inherent tragedy in the premise and the ending basically requires that your two romantic leads have to have a bittersweet parting (unless you can pull some Just Like Heaven coma wankery out of your ass). It’s something I hate, but it’s something that is essential to the movies.

Ghosting: The Spirit of Christmas tries to get around this in the most bizarre way possible (spoilers to follow). After a full movie about grief and moving on, we see the lead character in a nightclub (apparently, this is heaven), she’s complaining about Steve Jobs and fully embracing being dead. Then her love interest throughout the movie walks in. He’s delighted. He’s dead! Cardiac arrest or some shit! Isn’t that just grand? The lead smiles and they plan a trivia date and I just sat there trying to piece it all together in my head.

It’s a move that undercuts the entire movie in the name of a “happy” ending. The whole thing is about moving on and living with missed chances and growing up (even after death). There is whole subplot about grieving and dealing with it properly to become a better you. And that’s all thrown out because the romance needed a happy ending and I guess that was only possible if the lead dude also dies tragically young and is just like .... jazzed about it.

Which is especially cruel of him because one of the main characters is his sister who is trying to help him deal with his grief about his lost date and his dead mother. She also has to deal with the death of her mother. She doesn’t get a happy ending because now her brother also died tragically young, but who gives a fuck about her? There are ghosts that can bang in nightclub heaven now!

The film just decides to straight up forget she exists in the ending, which is also problematic because she’s supposed to be one of the characters in the central lesbian romance. They hint that she’s going to start dating the lead character’s best friend when she gets back from her semester at tea school (I know), but we never get to see that fulfilled because her character is straight up cut from the epilogue. Probably because it would ruin the happy “I’m dead now!!!” epilogue to show the sister that the brother so carelessly left behind.

Ghosting: The Spirit of Christmas wants to do it all. It wants to be progressive (none of the leads are white! two of them are lesbians!). It wants to be a spirited look at death and our twenties. It wants to be sad but it wants to have a happy ending. It wants to be wacky (ghost sex! tea!). It wants to be a film about friendship trumping all. It wants to be about romance so big you are happy to die for it (fuck your family). Throughout the film, I was willing to just go with it. Sure, it was messy, but it was trying? And isn’t it important that it’s trying?

But that ending, man. That ending sucks. It sucks in a way that zapped a lot of my previous goodwill. That’s how much it sucked. God, fuck that ending.

Watch If: You don’t know what your total truth is, if people will miss your chewing when you die, or if you and your best friend wrote eulogies together years ago.

Skip If: You spend your Saturday nights printing things at home, if you don’t think the Morocco tea culture is essential or if you would not want an apology portrait.

Final Rating: ★ ★ (★) ☆ ☆

If you like this blog, consider donating on my Ko-fi page!

[halogensleep]

pour your gasoline on me (let’s torch the whole world down) Ch. 6

“What is your second favourite dessert?”

“Tiramisu.” Charlotte didn’t bother to turn away from the plane window her eyes were fixed on as the small talk became exactly that.

“Mine’s rhubarb crumble,” Becky replied instantly. “And your first?”

“Banana pudding.”

“Disgusting.”

“I wasn’t seeking your approval.”

“Good, because you’re not getting it.” Becky folded her arms as if she were truly, deeply offended. “Banana pudding, absolute mayhem.” Her ginger head shook in disbelief.

“The best night of your life?” Charlotte lifted a brow.

“Not with you.” Becky smirked. “It was the military attaché to the Ambassador of Qatar. He was a ride. The man knew exactly what to do with his hands, well, right before I cut them off—”

“You should probably cover your ears.” Charlotte interrupted, she craned her head forward to peer at the unaccompanied minor sat beside them. “Go on, headphones on.” She nodded down to the wide-eyed little boy.

Becky smirked a naughty wolfish grin as he did as he was told.

“Little ears always listening.” Becky looked back at Charlotte and wiggled her eyebrows in amusement.

“Considering little mouths are the first to talk you should probably work on your spacial awareness.” Charlotte leaned back in her seat and rubbed her forehead. “Twenty minutes until we land. Food first or pit-stop at the hotel before dinner?”

“There’s only one thing I want to eat and you’re sitting on it.”

“Don’t be crass,” Charlotte warned, stern and quiet.

When the plane landed they made efficiently quick work of the airport. After passport control, Becky grabbed the bags, Charlotte bought the coffees, a quick jaunt to the taxi rank later, and they were on their way to the outskirts of Zurich with barely two words said between them the entire car trip.

The snow fell and coated the world in a neatly crisp blanket of white, piling on top of cars and thatched roofs politely without much disturbance. The air was cold and sharp, stinging their cheeks and noses as they walked and pressed against one another for warmth. Switzerland was picturesque this time of year, that’s what the travel agent back in Dublin had advised, however he did forget to mention to pack Arctic-ready coats and wooly hats, and so they wandered along with their inadequately thin jackets wrapped around their chilling bones and their hands entwined with one another.

“I hate this,” Becky admitted with a roll of her eyes.

“Me too.” Charlotte stopped and looked around. “I did mean it when I said I wanted to runaway with you for a little while until it all dies down but… gingerbread and hot cocoa isn’t really my speed.” She shrugged.

Becky nodded in agreement and pouted slightly, thinking hard.

“Shall we go straight for the hotel and just fuck all night instead?” Becky turned and looked at her with a wry smirk, as if it were the best idea she’d had all day. “We can go back to the airport in the morning and try again.”

“Eh.” Charlotte shrugged and bobbed her head side to side as she weighed it up. “I guess there’s worse ways to spend a night.”

…

In Marakesh, Morocco, the outskirts of the city to be exact, a singular yellow apartment building rose proudly from a colourful street with market traders shouting and selling spices to passing custom below. It was a swelteringly hot day — too hot for either of them to care to go outside. Seventies disco music blared from the open balcony doors at the top and angered the people below, which only made Becky turn it up louder and sing around the living room while breakfast burned in the pan.

It wasn’t keeping a low cover. Charlotte didn’t need it to be. She was the deadliest female assassin in the world… and number two on the list was currently wearing number one’s unbuttoned white shirt and blowing kisses a few feet away.

“Ohhhhhhhh yes sir! I can boogie! but I need a certain song…” Becky twirled around on the wooden floor in a spot where a hot streak of sunshine cut through the open balcony doors and warmed her skin. “I can boogie, boogie boogie, all night looooooong!” She span and shimmied her hips.

Charlotte blinked and stared at the insane woman.

“Is that…” She paused for a moment and looked to  the half naked troublemaker with last night’s lipstick still smeared around the inside of her thigh dancing wildly. “Is that supposed to turn me on?” She furrowed her brow.

“Is it working?” Becky grinned wickedly and flashed her breasts.

“It’s not your best work,” Charlotte said pithily and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. “You dance like someone is holding you at gunpoint… but... the thought of holding you at gunpoint until you dance for me? Well.” She smiled slightly and narrowed her eyes.

When she lit the cigarette and leaned backwards against her seat, inhaling a long deep puff, her long legs tossed up on to the coffee, toes wiggling in the vibrant heat, head nodding away to the neverending chorus of the song on repeat, she turned her head and looked at the troublemaker who had long since stopped dancing.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Becky raised an eyebrow.

“Ask me a different question.” Charlotte chewed her jaw. “Ask me if—”

“You know the rules of the game,” Becky reminded of the agreement they shared with one another. “Any question, any time, always an honest answer, on the risk of death otherwise.” Her slender nose wrinkled with a slight scowl.

Charlotte brought the cigarette to her lips and kept it there for a moment, puffing, then rubbing the back of her neck. It was a terrible idea this game but the thing that irritated Charlotte the most was how much she always wanted to answer truthfully. Sometimes just for the sake of having a person to be honest with. Sometimes just for the hope that an answer would be surprising enough to see the faint outline of surprise in Becky’s expression.

Sometimes, just because it was nice believing for a moment that Becky truly cared about the answer.

Charlotte was too smart to know the latter was true. She believed for the most part Becky asked personal questions for one thing and one thing only, leverage. The thought of Becky feeling things deep enough to be frightened by the fact flattered Charlotte. It felt strangely like a compliment.

“Once. I’ve only been in a relationship once.” Charlotte finally answered. “Although I did marry them,” she added, quietly.

“Man or woman?” Becky infuriated her with the way she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “I can’t imagine you at an alter, in white, virginal and pure.” The Irishwoman smirked and moved to the sofa to sit down.

“The Elvis at the Little White Chapel special — four-hundred dollars plus courthouse fees which is barely a wedding at all. I was twenty-one. He… was not twenty-one.” Charlotte smirked slightly too and peered at the troublemaker with a wry look. “I was young and figuring out who I was and he was none of those things. It made him interesting, maybe. It was never going to be a white picket fence and three kids in the suburbs but he respected that. I liked that he respected that.”

“So you married him because of what exactly?” It was a glorious feeling watching Becky become perplexed and exasperated.

“I was twenty-one and heading to boot camp because I thought the military would give me some stability! What else was I going to do? Not marry the first man I could tolerate?”

“So how did you kill him?” Becky hurried to the conclusion.

Charlotte paused and smiled for a moment.

“Who said he’s dead?” Charlotte savoured the way it immediately earned a deep, frightening glare as if the thought of an ex-husband existing in the world was something Becky couldn’t tolerate.

“Well.” Becky cleared her throat after a moment passed. “I didn’t put you down as the cordial divorce type?” She tried to seem unphased.

“That’s because I never divorced him.”

“What do you mean you didn’t divorce him?” Becky spat.

“I mean… I never got round to divorcing him?” Charlotte blinked and puffed her cigarette innocently.

“You’re lying, and you know I hate it when you smoke around me.” Becky snapped and snatched the cigarette from Charlotte’s fingertips. She knelt there on the sofa, precarious stare becoming all the more venomous and hateful, cigarette squeezed between her thumb and finger, teeth on the edge of themselves. She was utterly stuck, and Charlotte loved every second of it. “You wouldn’t do that. And even if you did do that—which you fucking didn’t—I would know about it! I know all of your little secrets, Charlotte Flair, don’t forget that...” Becky became all the more sure of herself as the cigarette was flicked over the edge of the balcony.

“I was still enjoying that.” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“I told you if you ever lied to me I would kill you.” Becky pushed forward and grabbed Charlotte’s jaw, hard. “Are you lying to me?” She pouted softly until the soft Irish curve of her lips pushed over one another.

The fingers around Charlotte’s jaw were so tight that it made the act of smirking all the more difficult, but Charlotte did it anyway, face trapped between that wild woman’s claws, eyes looking her up and down victoriously, she smirked so hard that Becky’s growing anger was taken out against the side of her jawbones.

“I’m telling the truth,” Charlotte whispered with a soft rasp to her voice.

“I could kill him.” Becky released her with a slight push, and Charlotte rubbed her sore jaw while the troublemaker continued to hiss. “It feels awfully rude and boring of you to not mention you’re married!”

“Rude maybe… but boring?” Charlotte shook her head severely. “I’m many things but boring isn’t one of them.”

“No,” Becky cleared her throat and became thin mouthed. “I suppose you’re not boring.”

There was a heavy, ominous, thudding knock to the wooden front door. It made them both shoot a brief decisive look at one another.

“Noise complaint or the Collective catching up to us?” Charlotte asked for a second opinion, calmly.

“Get the suitcase.” Becky grabbed the Glock from the coffee table and put her breasts away. “I hate noise complaints…”

…

“Now this…” Becky whispered through a strangled tight moan and fluttered her eyes closed. “This is more my speed…” She gasped and rolled her hips.

Charlotte stayed between her thighs, kissing and nibbling her way around the outskirts of town until the troublemaker couldn’t take it anymore, until a trembling hand found the back of her blonde hair and guided her around the local attractions.

Time passed. The sunset came, and so did Becky. When the sun finally set over the rainforest outside they remained collapsed in a warm pile of gleaming pink limbs, satisfied but not quite satisfied enough, humming against each other’s warm muscles like moths near a flame. It was strangely romantic. It was strangely… normal.

Charlotte hated that.

“Cambodia next?” Charlotte tiredly mumbled into her hip bone, desperate for something new.

“I like Belize.” Becky yawned and put her arms loosely around the psychopath’s shoulders. “Good weed is cheap and easy to come by and there’s work too with the drug cartels. It’s not much, but it keeps me busy for now. You should try it sometime.” She patted her back.

“The Collective will catch up to us eventually. It won’t always be noise complaints, Becky.” Charlotte shifted uncomfortably.

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

“You think they won’t come looking for you too?” Charlotte laughed slightly at the misplaced optimism. “They asked you to hit me and you turned down the job. An awfully bold move for a supposed psychopath. When they find out you’re not dead…”

“There’s still time to kill you yet,” Becky reassured with a raspy voice and truly meant it. “I will get bored, eventually.”

“I’m already bored,” Charlotte complained with a sigh. “It’s been…what? Two months since I last killed someone?” She winced and struggled to remember the last time she felt warm blood spatter against her cheeks.

“Laszlo told you to call him when you’re ready to work.”

“But then I have to stop doing this and actually go to work.” Charlotte became stuck between which seemed worse, Becky or Laszlo.

“There’s no pleasing you sometimes,” Becky said frustratedly.

“Well…” Charlotte danced her fingers up the middle of Becky’s chest. “I don’t know about that…” She wiggled her brows.

Becky caught the fingers dancing between her breasts and bent them back hard enough to hurt. Charlotte hissed and tried to pull away, but the troublemaker held her hand tight and pulled her closer. They kissed hard and without passion, forcefully, teeth bruising each other’s lips.

“I’m not a fuck toy to distract yourself with.” Becky pulled away and stared into her eyes. “This is nice but it won’t be nice forever, you should have something to fall back on when this starts to unravel.”

Charlotte paused and nodded.

“Understood.”

…

In Cambodia, just beyond the killing fields that those old enough to remember never talked about, they played house in a small shack sat on top of the hill overlooking a fishing village that sold tilapia and khmer, mostly. The locals whispered about them, about the coldness of their stares and the strange passionate noises that could occasionally be heard from the hill in the quiet hours of night.

Tonight officially became the tenth silent night in a row, and the locals were slowly running out of things to gossip about.

In her deepest layers of sleep, Charlotte felt movement on the bed beside her as if somebody was sitting down for a few minutes at a time and then standing back up again. It stirred her slightly, enough for her to briefly open her eyes and swallow her dry mouth.

“Oh,” Charlotte whispered tiredly at the fishing knife glinting in Becky’s hand. “Is that for me?” It was said politely and without accusation.

Becky paused for a moment with a weighty brow.

“It’s been three months and I’m bored, Charlotte. I’m so fucking bored of you that it feels like I can’t breathe.” She exhaled shakily.

“I know, me too.” Charlotte agreed quietly and then paused for a moment. “Do you want to take a walk somewhere and have a knife fight the old fashioned way or shall we head back home and go our separate ways?” She wasn’t sure she cared about either anymore.

Slowly, Becky put her knife away.

“Good.” Charlotte yawned and closed her eyes. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

...

Charlotte surveyed the abandoned amusement park, the rusted ferris wheel in the distance, the rotten wooden roller coaster that snaked around the site with support beams dotted here and there as if it were the skeleton of a long dead beast. The family theme park had been closed for some ten or maybe fifteen years after an accident that bankrupted the owners. But the chalets still stood and only one road came in and out with a view that went for some miles, so it was an ideal place to hide out for the night on their way back north.

“Well.” Becky huffed and wiped the ginger hair out of her brow as the bolt cutters were slung down. “It’s not Belize, is it?”

“Can you not?” Charlotte shot her a stern look. “It’s one night. We head north once the storm passes over then Laszlo pulls a few fingers back with the Collective, after that the only person you have to worry about killing you in the cold long night is me.” She smiled coldly.

“Hmm,” Becky rolled her eyes and kicked the chalet door in. “You say the sweetest things.”

Charlotte followed her inside and threw their bags down on the dusty counter top. The furniture and fixings were moldy and ancient, squalid even, but it would do for their last night together. Charlotte watched Becky sit down at the table and pull out the bottle of whiskey from her backpack along with two metal canteens.

Charlotte closed her eyes and smiled.

“Feeling sentimental?” She opened them again.

“For one night, maybe.” Becky poured the liquor and offered one canteen forward. “It’s been a good three months. You bored me at times, you excited me at others. I’ll drink to that?”

“To the last three months.” Charlotte clinked her metal mug and sat down at the table too. “A last night of question game?”

“Alright. Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” Becky asked instantly.

“I like having my cards close to my chest.” Charlotte shrugged. “If it makes you feel better I haven’t seen him in… hmm… maybe ten years?” She removed her jacket and leaned back against the breakfast seat. “When was the last time you felt an emotion?”

“Well right now I feel—” Becky tried to answer but Charlotte cut her off.

“No, no, stop. I’m not asking you about your mood. I’m asking you when was the last time you felt an emotion? The last time you had a reactive feeling?” Charlotte made her question more pronounced and specific.

Becky’s expression became angry and narrowed but then she just swallowed and thought about it for what felt like forever.

“Istanbul, two months ago. I asked you what happened to your cat and you told me you had him put down so we could travel and I fell in love with you for three and a half minutes exactly. What about you?” Becky blinked coldly.

“I did like that cat.” Charlotte sighed and drank a little more. “Belize, the night before we left for Cambodia. You were asleep and I wanted to put a pillow over your face and watch you fight for a breath until you just… stopped fighting.” They both smiled faintly at that. “I felt sad afterwards. I think it was sadness, maybe. I realised that whatever I’ve been looking for… it wasn’t a rainforest in Belize with you.”

“Your favourite moment of me?” Becky lifted a brow expectantly.

“All the moments you weren’t actually there,” Charlotte whispered and held her stare. “Chasing you, wondering where you were, what you would do next, who would kill the other first. I liked you the most when it was me playing the role of you in the space you left behind.” It earned a smirk. “And you?”

“What’s your husband’s name?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Kill me then. What’s your husband’s name?” Becky abruptly insisted.

“James,” Charlotte whispered. “Now what was your favourite moment of me?”

“Here, right now.” Becky shrugged and sipped her drink. “I’m a sucker for goodbyes.”

“If you kill him you know I’m going to have to snap your daughter’s neck. You know that right?” Charlotte blinked. “It’s not that I care about him but I think I like having parts of my life untouched by you.”

“Scouts honour, baby.” Becky raised three fingers with a wicked smirk.

“Becky…” Charlotte hesitated for a moment and wanted desperately to feel something. “I’m not capable of loving you but I respect you, I want you to know that.”

“I don’t know what I’m capable of anymore,” Becky whispered and finished her drink.

…

After Laszlo cleared everything up with the Collective the hitwomen went their separate ways. Six months passed without contact. It was as if Charlotte Flair had never existed in her tiny compounded world of violence and boredom. Except, she did. She had existed. She existed until she ceased to exist. Until all that Becky had left was the ghost of her.

It wasn’t that Becky missed her because that was the wrong word all together. To miss Charlotte implied that Becky wanted her around. Sometimes she did want Charlotte around, once in a while when she was feeling sentimental at least. But if Becky had to put her finger on it the thing she truly missed then it was the game. The theatrics of it all. The paradigm of having someone to play with. The excitement of being hunted in return. It was enough to leave her playing with the idea of going after Charlotte on her best days. It was enough to leave her sickened and furious wondering if Charlotte had forgotten all about her on her worst.

It took a lot of patience and time to find the man she promised not to kill. Charlotte had done everything she could and then a little more in order to hide him away, but Becky did what she did best and found the little duplex south of nowhere that belonged to a man who had long since fell off the face of the earth.

When she kicked the door of the apartment off its hinges, the first thing that struck her was the sickly sweet smell of rotting meat and putrescine. It was enough to make her lift the balaclava and reflexively gag between her legs. Becky just about held onto her breakfast and spat the saliva that pooled in her mouth on to the floor. The light switch was flipped on and the front door closed behind her. In the kitchen the radio was playing quietly, and the song left Becky hopeful that she would find an old lover waiting for her with a knife in hand.

‘Baby… I wanna keep my reputation. I'm a sensation… you try me once you'll beg for more. Oh, yes sir. I can boogie. But I need a certain song…’

If Charlotte had a gun, well, that would put Becky at an immediate disadvantage. But a knife? That seemed like a fair fight that would leave a few scars to remember each other by until the next time around.

‘Yes Sir, I can boogie! If you stay you can't go wrong… I can boogie, boogie boogie, all night long…’

Becky pushed the door open and instantly covered her mouth and nose from the horrific smell. She became instantly disappointed, the man was dead and had been dead for some time if the puddle of wibbly wobbly chunky bits where his putrefied skin had fallen off was anything to go by.

There was a note with her name on it resting against the radio speaker that caught her eyes.

“Pardon me,” Becky mumbled to the rotten body through her cupped hand and walked around to retrieve it.

Number two,

I really don’t want to kill your daughter but I have a feeling you might try to force my hand.

You’re predictable and I’m ten steps ahead. Come looking for me, I double dare you.

Let’s play,

Number one xoxo

Becky finished reading the note with gritted teeth and tore it up there and then. It was maddening. It was infuriating. It was, above all things, the calling card of a woman who was woefully bored too.

"Your ex-wife wants to play games with me?" She looked at the festering man falling apart in the chair furiously. "It's time to play dirty."