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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months

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By: Céline Calame

Published: Mar 13, 2024

Last year, I made one of the biggest changes of my life when I decided to stop trying to disguise my sex. A few days after my 28th birthday would have marked ten years since I began injecting testosterone. I had always thought I would feel at peace with that milestone, so deep in my so-called “authentic life.”

Heading home from work one day in February 2023, I stopped to look at the newspaper stand, where a headline about Jamie Reed blowing the whistle on “gender medicine” at the St. Louis Children’s Hospital caught my eye. As I read the article, it shook me to my core how much I related to each and every line. I myself had used the phrase, “Would you rather have a dead daughter or a living son?” on my mother, a phrase I had heard online, a phrase apparently recited by medical professionals to distraught parents. I was horrified to realize I was not the only one who had gone down this path as a minor.

I had already stopped taking testosterone several months prior, fearing medical complications. Despite my facial hair, as my body fat began to redistribute I began to be correctly sexed by confused men in public restrooms. I debated my next step. My little niece had only ever known me as her “uncle,” since my husband and I lived outwardly as a happy “gay” couple. Having grown a beard and undergone a double mastectomy, I continued pretending to be a man… but did I want to?

* * *

As a child growing up in Alabama, I simply thought life would be better if I were a boy: I wouldn’t get stared at in the video game aisles or made fun of for liking sports. Never mind that if I were a boy, other boys would have judged me for my Care Bear collection and my affinity for Barbies. Each night I prayed and every year I made birthday wishes to one day wake up as a boy with not a soul having any recollection to the contrary.

And yet in some ways I did not really mind being a girl. Our neighbor loved to tease my sister and me by yelling to us, “Hey, boys!” which was met without fail each time with: “WE’RE GIRLS, MARK!” In truth, I was less of a classic tomboy and more of a healthy young girl who did not let stereotypes dictate her life. I didn’t worry about my body until I learned about the ways others changed theirs. My issue was that everyone around me seemed obsessed with separating boys and girls by telling us what hobbies or friends we were allowed to have, something I did not understand.

When I first went online, in 2006 or 2007, I was about 10 years old. At first I mostly played dress-up games. Eventually I learned that I could look up questions I had, which led me to Yahoo! Answers. I wound up on the LGBT section of the site, where I asked if I could be “a boy inside” even if I loved my long hair, liked my “girly” clothes and hobbies, and didn’t really mind being called a girl. The answer was, bizarrely, a resounding “yes.” Several of the responses even gave me resources: forums I had absolutely no business being on, full of adults trying to change their sex, as well as webcomics glamorizing medicalization.

I learned to hide things from my family and to judge them negatively for not being able to understand or accept the complexity of “gender identity.” How could they deny that I was a boy inside? How could they deny “gender” might exist in shades of gray? Adults online told me that males who said they did not “feel like guys” were only saying so because they “never had to think about gender” the way I did.

My mother, at her wit’s end with how much I had gone silent towards her, did the only thing she could think to do: She read my diary. The first page of this new journal was dedicated to the logistics of stuffing my underwear with rolled-up socks to create a phallic bulge while still needing to use the girls’ locker room at school… my mother confronted me angrily, asking me how long I had been doing all these things to look like a boy. I completely shut her out, my trust in her shattered. I decided never to tell her about things going on in my life, such as self-harm, sexual abuse from a neighbor that made me ashamed of my own body, and the isolation I felt as a result of my hereditary progressive hearing loss.

My mother took away my “boy clothes” and refused to let me cut my hair. She would threaten to send me to all-girls schools. Several times she followed me to the store to ensure I was not buying duct tape, which she learned I was using to flatten my chest, or shaving razors, because she knew I was no longer shaving but instead self-harming. All of these things pushed me further away. My story finally looked more like the desperate stories of other teenagers in my boat, with families who fought every step of the way against gender ideology.

One day, realizing that my mother sometimes used male pronouns in front of me but used female pronouns when talking to anyone else, I came to the horrifying conclusion that I would never be accepted by my family as the opposite sex. Everyone online told me that suicide rates for “transgender” teens were sky-high, that without “transition” death would be my only relief. I attempted to take my own life. The tides turned in my favor: I never heard my birth name again, and was exclusively referred to as male.

Years later, when I wanted to back out, I remembered how hard it was to convince her in the first place.

* * *

At age 14 I found a gender therapist in Montgomery and emailed her, explaining that I was uncertain if anyone would let me medicalize my body because I was “a little nonbinary.” She told me I would be surprised at how open-minded she was. I began saving up money to see her. Every single penny was pinched with the goal of one day using it all to “transition.” I did not do anything fun with my friends or create savings goals for adulthood.

At age 17, I finally had an appointment with her. She made sure to schedule it for the same day as a group meeting where I met another 17-year-old girl who was already on testosterone and a man pretending to be a woman who did most of the talking while we both sat there shyly, silently.

I spent all of twenty to thirty minutes telling my story, leaving out details regarding my nebulous sense of “identity” as tumblr had suggested and instead highlighting that I had “lived as male” for a few years at that point. The therapist asked why I had come to see her, since I “sounded so sure” of myself. I needed to see a therapist in order to be prescribed cross-sex hormones, I said. She turned to her computer, entering my name into a form pre-filled for just this purpose. She handed me a printed copy, saying she would also submit my referral to an endocrinologist who worked in the same building. I was floored. Was it really going to be this easy?

When I saw the endocrinologist he was alarmed that I had listed lithium, a mood stabilizer, as a medication I took. I explained that I had mood swings but that I had full consent from everyone to begin hormones. He was uncomfortable and wanted letters from my parents and psychiatrist, but then ignored these letters after I submitted them.

Sometime during the following year, I dragged my mother to the probate judge to change my legal name. She sat there, looking desolate and defeated as I assured the judge that she fully consented. He told me he could not in good faith assist a minor attempting to lie about her sex.

A few days after turning 18, I returned to the endocrinologist, having never seen the gender therapist past that first appointment. On the basis of “informed consent,” he could not turn me down: as long as I said that I was aware of all the risks and side effects, and accepted them as par for course, I would be prescribed cross-sex hormones. Did I understand the medical risks of what I was doing? Sort of. All of the side effects meant nothing to me because I had been told online that the alternative was a life of misery and eventual inevitable suicide. It would be years before I saw myself in Jamie Reed’s words: “All it took for them to permanently transform themselves was one or two short conversations with a therapist.”

I left with a prescription which I filled that day. The taunting at school stopped as the bullies who mocked me heard my voice crack, then drop. Facial hair sprouted. I bound my chest, sometimes with very frilly, cutesy custom-made binders. (A cupcake print one comes to mind.)

I entered college very open about the fact that I was female but wanted to be a man. I frequently wore makeup and sometimes women’s clothes, saying I was “expressing femininity as a man.” I was on every “transgender student” panel and did my best to “educate” everyone on the intricacies of people like me. I got a large tattoo to mask my breasts, thinking I’d never be able to afford a mastectomy.

At the appointment the tattoo artist asked me, her deaf client, “How do you sign MY BODY IS AMAZING?” I showed her and she turned it into a dance. It was the dance of another woman who struggled her whole life to love her body. I had begun to love mine but was still obsessed with not looking completely like either sex. This made romantic endeavors difficult because I insisted on trying to be with gay men despite not being male and no longer even making an attempt to look male.

I found out that my student health insurance covered “transition,” so I made a consultation for a “simple release” metoidioplasty because I wanted ambiguous genitalia. At the appointment, I had no sign language interpreter and did my best to understand the staff and communicate what I wanted. The surgeon asked if I wouldn’t prefer a more linear path involving a mastectomy first. The nurse shook her own breasts at me while looking at my chest, eagerly smiling to indicate that the doctor was right. Uncomfortable, I took off my shirt. The surgeon assured me that my tattoo would remain totally intact and that because I was so small-chested the mastectomy could be done with the keyhole method, leaving me without scarring.

The day of the surgery, I kept wondering if something would go wrong. If my insurance would suddenly fall through. If my ride home would cancel, thus necessitating we reschedule the whole thing. Instead everything went very smoothly. Everyone assured me that when I woke up, I would be happy.

A few days later in my dorm room, seeing my new chest unbandaged for the first time, I could hardly remember having breasts. I thought this meant it was the right thing to do. In hindsight, it was trauma. I was 21 and had no idea that my breasts would not grow back if I stopped testosterone. Prior to the operation, I told my therapist I might one day have a child and want to breastfeed my baby, but we never followed up on that thread.

Post-mastectomy, I got a vaguely worded letter from the surgeon expressing that my sex had been “changed” and that I was now “physically male.” My birth certificate and driver’s license were amended to reflect this lie.

I was not unhappy, per se, but taking cross-sex hormones is like trying to install a Windows operating system onto an Apple computer. You can certainly do it, but the machine is not equipped to deal with that. I had already been through female puberty. My bone structure would never look male. I would never gain muscle the same way men do. I began struggling with my eating disorder much more severely following my mastectomy because I saw my stomach sticking out so much further than my now-flat chest. I developed vaginal atrophy and cervical problems which I am only just beginning to have treated because I avoided gynecologists for so long.

After meeting him on a gay dating website and falling in love, I married a man in 2019. We moved to the Midwest and I did something I always thought I wanted: I went totally “incognito” about being transgender, and let everyone believe me to be wholly male. Instead, I felt empty inside for years. I could never be wholly truthful about my childhood. My husband was privately uncertain how it was possible for me to “feel like a man” and later admitted to being terrified of the medical experimentation I was undergoing. He loved me dearly as his “husband,” and was willing to refer to me as such regardless of whether or not I medicalized myself. He expressed what my family was by then afraid to: How long would I live?

* * *

After reading an article about Jamie Reed in our local paper, I researched detransition. I had been taught to see people who stopped lying about their sex as self-hating, “transphobic,” or even rare cases of other issues being mistaken for “genuine gender dysphoria.”

What I found was so different from what I had been told: thousands of people who had been prescribed cross-sex hormones after a single appointment, many never seeing a therapist even once. Hundreds of women whose breasts had been removed without ever being asked why they wanted that. People whose healthy genitals had been mutilated to poorly approximate those of the opposite sex. So many who really did at some point–or even still–struggle with the desire to be the opposite sex, an impossible endeavor.

The future was uncertain to me. I was nearly 30 and had lived half my life lying about my sex. There was no adult woman I could return to being.

Was there?

Hundreds of people told me that even if I had lived my whole life pretending to be male, detransition did not mean “going back” to anything. It meant stopping the medicalization and the lies. It meant starting over. It meant moving forward.

I planned to wait a year before publicly detransitioning as a way of “serving penance” (a coping strategy my husband suggested, knowing the guilt I felt about my medicalization) and to avoid being perceived as a man pretending to be a woman. I wore women’s clothing at home, along with breast forms, which took an insane amount of courage because I felt like I was crossdressing as a woman despite being female.

One day, I snapped. I felt miserable going to work every day living a lie and absolutely could not continue to handle the frustration of dealing with a period in the men’s restrooms. I told my HR director about my situation, expecting shock. I expected a few slow weeks of telling managers, then coworkers, eventually changing my name tag and restroom habits. Instead, she was completely unsurprised. Expressing that she would support whatever timeline I wanted, she reassured me that absolutely no one would be uncomfortable with me in the women’s restroom.

I changed my name tag that very day and told all of my coworkers through a handwritten note that I passed to them with shaking hands. Not one was fazed. Most reacted with great positivity and support. A few asked me privately why I had “transitioned” in the first place and I told them very honestly: I was groomed by adults online and felt trapped in my decisions. The last decade of my life had been the epitome of sunk-cost fallacy.

Gender ideology ruined my childhood. I wonder today what would have happened had I never been exposed to the rhetoric online or had therapists pressed me about where I was getting these ideas. Today I know that being a woman is just about being female. It has nothing to do with the way she dresses, the way she sits, or the way she walks, talks, and lives her life. My mother is relieved to have her daughter back.

One day my in-laws came to visit while I was wearing breast prosthetics and feminine clothing. My husband and I expected bewilderment that never came. After a few hours of aimless conversation, I told them that if they weren’t going to ask why I suddenly looked like a woman, then I would just have to tell them. I was met with love and support, but wondered if I should say anything about the hole I saw their daughter falling down.

My teenage sister-in-law had brought her sketchbook over to show me her drawings: large-breasted anime characters that she insisted were male. Later, I texted her about my detransition to which she responded with her desire to be a boy, her involvement in the same Internet circles I had fallen for, and her intentions to look more masculine. I see myself in her: She is ashamed of her body and the Internet has already told her this means she is “a boy inside.”

I wrote this for her but she is unwilling to read it.

I’ll be there for her when she’s ready.

About the Author

Céline Calame is an aspiring literacy specialist for deaf children in the Midwest. She volunteers with Women’s Declaration International USA, having joined its Desisted & Detransitioned Women’s Caucus in 2024.

#Céline Calame #detrans #detransition #Jamie Reed #gender ideology #gender identity ideology #queer theory #intersectional feminism #medical scandal #medical corruption #medical mutilation

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c0rpsedemon · 1 year

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actually wait quimcourse is essential romeo deenstaynight lore i need every1 to know what happened or i'll die.

tl;dr all the way back in ~october 2020 this guy (he ended up being a sucky person as w like. half the people involved here) made an untagged tumblr post abt a bizarre + awful tma fanfic he found once which was 100% abt the author's self insert-ish oc having sex w every man in the podcast and uhm. in tma there was a character named mike crew whose whole deal was p much a trans allegory but like. possibly unintentionally. and there's an important plot point abt how he used to try and cover as much skin as possible bc of this massive scar he was trying to hide but after he began serving this evil god* (*oversimplification of the century) he began to embrace it and started wearing loose revealing clothing and it doesn't sound like that's that important but the way ppl describe him in-podcast is used to help understand the timeline and it's a bigger deal than it seems. and this guy. the one who made the post. his whole brand was centered around mike crew. so the part of the fic he made fun of was the fact that it had mike crew post-serving the evil god* wearing a turtleneck and leaving it on during sex. and also briefly mentioned another character who's like immortal* (*oversimplification) and from the regency period referring to the main character's pussy as a quim despite otherwise speaking entirely modern english.

and so in december of 2020. the author found the post and started harassing him, everyone who'd ever interacted w him more than once, and everyone who so much as alluded to the situation bc she's uncannily good at tracking down every post so much as vaguely mentioning her. the drama was stupid, one-sided and memeable and she was v pressed abt how her use of the word quim was justifiable and so every1 just sort of let this unfold for the night and then blocked her once it stopped being funny. the next day i made a joke abt mike crew's turtleneck to a blog called straighttma which was like. a tma parody* (*not quite) blog which speculated on what the podcast would be like if it were heterosexual. y'know. typical terminally online lgbt teenager shit. and added a little 'iykyk' to the end. a lot of ppl didn't know so i ended up giving a tl;dr in the notes.

fast forward to january when she found the post and started harassing me for misrepresenting her (made a joke in the REPLIES (NOT EVEN A RB. THE REPLIES) abt just how much cooking show rpf is on her ao3 profile. bc actually it was just inappropriately tagged master chef au rick sanchez/stan pines fic. bc that's such an improvement and so much different. and so everyone memed on her for a few hours and then realized how old i was (i was 15 but like. my bday's in november so it'd only been 2 months and the younger end of 15 is wayyy different than the older end of 15 so like. i was a Baby here) and got stuck on the fact that she (age 37) was being superr inappropriate towards me (bc again. this all started bc of a smut fic) and blocked her again bc it wasn't funny anymore. and then she blocked me before i could block her. presumably so she could still read my blog.

so then i made a joke abt her blocking me meaning that i could call her a motherfucker now (bc i'd been. wayyy too polite to her bc i was obsessed w everyone liking me at the time) and pinned it to my blog. then march rolled around and guess who took issue w being called a motherfucker and THREATENED SUICIDE OVER IT before dropping off the face of the earth for several days and siccing her fiance + sockpuppet account on everyone for 'possibly driving her to suicide' (100% done to frame herself as the victim here). she was fine and came back a few days later when every1 was ignoring her and i got so worried abt this woman over 2x my age who'd been stalking me for 2 months (she brought up things i'd posted which she had no business knowing esp considering i was blocked so she had to have been deliberately opening my blog) that i got physically ill bc of it.

then in like. may/june she decided to unblock me for a second time a couple days before i got a mysterious anon accusing me of cyberbullying. i dmed her a bit . she once again outted herself as stalking me . and i was. too nice once again. if only 15 year old me wasn't afraid of using the words 'raging cunt' and also made a post abt her being back then went offline. in the brief time i was offline it turns out she'd made another quimcourse-dedicated blog and started self-identifying as quimberlyann (a nickname we gave her derived from a word that means pussy btw. just a reminder.) and trying to reclaim the situation. she got lightly memed on bc by this point in time every1 was sick of her and then disappeared and has since deactivated. batshit crazy situation which i sometimes look back on fondly bc of the sheer wtf factor and also bc she was. so damn quotable. but then whenever i start to do so i remember the feeling of sobbing alone in my room bc i thought i might've killed a woman who had nothing but bad intentions regarding me and i'm more angry at her for deliberately pulling that stunt (bc that's exactly what it was. she had an active sockpuppet at the time. she was faking the whole way through and had planned it out in advance) for the sole purpose of hurting me than anything now. esp since i'm now old enough to recognize that's exactly what it was. and more than anything i'm mad that we parted on somewhat amicable terms when like. i hope she thinks of me as frequently as i think of her and i hope that just once the guilt from what she did to me makes her feel half as bad as she made me feel that night.

#this is overall the oversimplification of the century bc while she did end up obsessing over me mainly she still was Such a fucking freak #towards so many other people and did so many other things that i rlly can't effectively summarize them. esp since there've been so many #deactivations of ppl involved since and i spent 2020/2021 in some sort of haze/mental health episode which makes my memory blurry #romeo.txt

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natehoodreviews · 2 years

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Best Films of 2022

As some of you might have noticed, I didn’t publish many pieces or read many fiction books this past year. The reason for that was that 2022 was a particularly busy year for me in terms of schoolwork and regular old work, specifically my first unit of CPE residency to become a hospital chaplain. Still, though, I did manage to see around 50 movies released this past year. Here are my picks for the best of them.

15) Armageddon Time – Dir. James Gray

If I had a nickel for every Jewish-American cinematic Künstlerroman released in 2022, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice. Jokes aside, Armageddon Time is a fantastic coming-of-age story, and the specter of Anthony Hopkins really helps keep its head above the water of becoming excessively maudlin. In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, this material could've come across as excessively preachy, but Gray nails the correct tone for making it hit like a sledgehammer. That said, somehow in all the time before watching this movie I'd managed to avoid the news that the Trumps were in it. When I tell you that I felt ice water in my gut when they first appeared, I mean I felt like I cannonballed into the Arctic Ocean. I've said it before, but one of the most obnoxious things about Trump is that he's going to become as ubiquitous in future media as a metonym for everything that's corrupt and evil in the USA as Lincoln is for all that's good and noble. I just want Trump to GO AWAY.

14) Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe – Dirs. John Rice and Albert Calleros

I cannot believe that this ended up being one of my favorite movies of the year. It begins with one of the cinema’s greatest nut-shots and only gets funnier. A bacchanalia of juvenile stupidity.

13) Nope – Dir. Jordan Peele

We as a society need to do whatever it takes to keep Jordan Peele making his intensely unique, intensely bizarre flights of cinematic fancy. This damn thing was a slow-burn horror film, a heist movie, a thriller, and a creature feature rolled into one.

12) Top Gun: Maverick – Dir. Joseph Kosinski

The best male weepy since ONLY THE BRAVE (2017). Light years better than it had any right to be, and not really as toxic as I expected. Some of the most fun I’ve had in a movie theater all year. Not the MOST fun, but it’s definitely way, WAY up there.

11) 32 Sounds – Dir. Sam Green

I've been a fan of Sam Green and JD Samson after seeing one of their Live Cinema shows at the Brooklyn Academy of Music several years ago. I am thrilled to report that Green's new film 32 SOUNDS is probably the best translation of their specifically mind-blowing, tender, and intimate live performances that we'll ever get. With only 32 sounds, Green captures a kaleidoscope of the human experience in ways at once amusing yet profound, devastating yet hopeful.

10) The Batman – Dir. Matt Reeves

“I don't know if that was the BEST Batman movie, but it was definitely the MOST Batman movie. That said, it was refreshing to see a Batman film that remembers that he's a world-class detective. I have issues with this film, but almost all of them fall away when I think about how we finally got a superhero film that truly, deeply cares as much about images as it does the characters and stories. The Batmobile emerging from a wall of fire, muzzle flashes illuminating dark hallways like bolts of lightning, Batman leading a spiderweb of survivors through floodwaters while holding aloft a flare—these are IMAGES that are going to stick with me for a long time. Also, that opening sequence of petty criminals getting scared by the sight of the Bat-Signals leading up to Batman emerging from the subway tunnel... #chefskiss“”

[Full review at http://www.unseenfilms.net/2022/03/nate-hood-on-batman.html]

9) The Fabelmans – Dir. Steven Spielberg

An extraordinary work of compassion, contrition, and grace. So much more than an autobiography—it's a Rosetta Stone for one of the cinema's greatest artists. I am have no idea how Spielberg and Kushner can explore feelings and emotions of such byzantine complexity while making it seem so effortless and natural. Pure wizardry.

8) Elvis – Dir. Baz Luhrmann

The first half is pitch-perfect rhinestone gaudiness and the second half almost Shakespearean tragedy. It's equal parts pathos and bathos, wrapped in silk and slicked with pomade. Baz Luhrmann has been preparing his entire career for this one movie and it shows. I'm honestly mystified by people dunking on Tom Hanks' performance. Was it an accurate depiction of Colonel Tom Parker? Probably not, but Hanks created perhaps the greatest ghoul in popular American cinema since J. K. Simmons' Terence Fletcher. And finally, the early sequence juxtaposing a young Elvis spying on a blues joint and attending a gospel revival ranks up there Bheem attacking the British gala with his animal friends in RRR and the opening scene from THE BATMAN as my favorite so far of 2022.

7) The Banshees of Inisherin – Dir. Martin McDonagh

This one absolutely gutted me. I spent the last forty minutes of that film scarcely breathing because I kept waiting for The Bad Thing to happen after the banshee made her prophecy. Also, this film was like watching an autistic person's worst nightmare made real. I'm serious. You want to know the one thing an autistic person fears the most? The people they love suddenly deciding one day for no apparent reason that they just don't like you anymore.

6) RRR – Dir. S. S. Rajamouli

“After years of Hollywood franchise glut—of reboots and remakes, spin-off miniseries and bloated two-part finales—watching S. S. Rajamouli’s Telugu-language epic RRR is like taking that first breath of outside air after being cooped up all day in an office building with no air conditioning. It’s like taking a long, cool sip of ice water after days in the desert with nothing to drink but lukewarm Diet Coke. It’s like being reminded for the first time since you were a child amazed by the moving pictures on the television that movies can truly do anything, say anything, and be anything. It’s not just the most triumphant, crowd-pleasing blockbuster in years, it’s the best, most exhilarating action movie from any country since George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road (2015).”

[Full review at: http://www.unseenfilms.net/2022/06/nate-hood-on-epic-masterpiece-rrr-2022.html]

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5) ACTION BUTTON REVIEWS: Boku no Natsuyasumi – Dir. Tim Rogers (YouTube: Action Button)

The Ross McElwee/Lester Bangs of video game journalism returns with another 6+ hour opus on a video game most gamers outside of Japan may never have heard of before. Somehow, it’s his best yet. An exhaustive yet somehow never exhausting autobiographical examination of nostalgia, loss, and memory, Tim Rogers somehow finds in the act of playing a video game about a young boy’s summer vacation in the Japanese countryside a simulacrum for the universal human experience.

4) We Met in Virtual Reality – Dir. Joe Hunting

Talk about a dark horse pick for one of the best movies of 2022. I've said it before and I'll say it again: my favorite kind of art is the art that makes me feel more human. WE MET IN VIRTUAL REALITY is a stunningly moving and sincere look at how humans have begun creating social ecosystems in virtual spaces. It would've been so easy for director Joe Hunting to play the things he found for laughs—and in fairness, it's easy to chortle at the idea of an anime couple proposing to each other after meeting in an exotic dancing class or a group of furry avatars talking about their sexual orientations around a campfire—but he looks for the human beneath and within his subjects.

3) Mad God – Dir. Phil Tippett

A Voynich Manuscript of stop-motion blasphemies; a compendium of Švankmajer nightmares and H.R. Giger fever dreams. Hieronymus Bosch wept. If your reaction to this movie was that it didn't have enough plot, I hate you. If anything it had TOO MUCH plot. Don't be fooled by the stop-motion animation—there's more Stan Brakhage in this film's DNA than Hieronymus Bosch. I can say with no exaggeration that this film was one of the most overwhelming aesthetic experiences I've ever had in a movie theater. I could feel myself frozen to the seat for its entire runtime.

2) Everything Everywhere All At Once – Dir. Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert

As a film critic, I've seen literally thousands of movies. But only a handful have ever given me an experience close to approximating Stendhal syndrome. I can say with some certainty that EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE is the only one to involve a sex toy kung fu fight.

1) Glass Onion – Dir. Rian Johnson

GLASS ONION left me in a near-constant state of shock and disbelief for its last hour. I have no idea how Rian Johnson was able to outdo KNIVES OUT, but here we are. It's smarter, funnier, nastier, and proves that the first film's populist overtones were no fluke. That it wrapped BEFORE Musk bought twitter is one of the greatest acts of cinematic prognostication maybe ever? But it's so much more than just a furious defenestration of billionaire tech bros, it's another condemnation on how the uber-rich close ranks to protect their own. That whole scene where Miles' "friends" joined in Janelle Monáe's destructive rampage—but only for a little bit!—is such a powerful statement on how celebrities will performatively ape leftist politics in between private jet flights to cross union picket lines. But my favorite part of the film was watching it with my mother. She originally had no interest in it when I chose it (it was my turn to pick the movie!). I LOVED watching it cast the same spell on her that it did on me until by the end she was LITERALLY on her feet cheering! I'm sorry, but I don't know how you could look at Rian Johnson's last three films and NOT consider him one of the best filmmakers working today. I don't know if any director since the heyday of Spielberg has more perfectly mastered the art of the crowd-pleasing genre film. THE LAST JEDI then KNIVES OUT then GLASS ONION back-to-back-to-back? Ladies and gentlemen, THAT is a friggin' cinematic pedigree.

#2022 in Review

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liquidpaperfoundation · 2 months

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Astrology by moi ♥

Aries: You are very good at your job, and very bad at common sense. You spend all day watching makeup tutorials knowing full well that you haven't worn makeup in years. You are willing to buy anything and everything for your son

Taurus:

Gemini:

Cancer: You are a really kind, if somewhat hotheaded and sharp-tongued person who cares deeply for others and generally has your shit together but has little tolerance for stupidity. Or maybe you're an emotionally stunted womanchild filled with rage who stuffs it down with overeating and shopping and who is constantly convinced they are the innocent victim despite usually being the one victimizing others. Either way you often feel unappreciated.

Leo: You're old and kind of out of it. You're not a very good cook, but you seem nice enough. Your children all have severe emotional issues, though, which is concerning.

Virgo: you are either an extreme perfectionist with stunted social skills and substance abuse problems whose dark sense of humor is often more concerning than funny and whose supposed natural talent is really the result of severe overwork, or you are a happy-go-lucky, impish person who enjoys games and puzzles and is rarely unhappy. Either way, yes, you have ADHD

Libra: You feel a constant lack of control in your life that you try to counter by being ridiculously anal about things that really don't matter. As if your real problems weren't enough, you tend to turn minor inconveniences into doomsday scenarios. Once you do something a certain way once, it instantly becomes an unbreakable habit that you must do the same way forever. You mask your severe anxiety by constantly turning every interaction into some kind of joke that is funny to nobody but you. In many ways, you are just like Capricorn and Pisces, which is why the three of you constantly argue with equal conviction. Also you constantly correct people's grammar, and you seem to think you were appointed the Sole Arbiter Of Taste by the president himself.

Scorpio: You are very self-aware, and yet this doesn't stop you from still making your own life harder. You are caught in constant conflict between doing what you want to do and at the same time never wanting to do what others tell you to do. You torment yourself every night with circular questions about your own identity as a woman? man? something else? You also suffer from intrusive thoughts, but have gotten so used to them that you usually just roll your eyes at them. You can't commit to a single style because you love almost everything. You have about as much sense of romance as a turnip does and the idea of people finding you sexually appealing makes your skin crawl. You're aware that others perceive you as cute, and you really hope they don't infanticide you because of your looks. You're very close with type 1 Cancer, and you stay the fuck away from type 2 Cancer.

Sagittarius:

Capricorn: whe you were a child, you gnawed your pencils down to nubs and constantly fell out of your chair and lost your homework, but because you were intelligent and polite your teachers and doctors dismissed the possibility you could have ADHD. Spoiler alert, you have ADHD. You have many bizarre or horrific stories that you'll tell as casually as if you were talking about the weather. You're a doting father to a Virgo who is exactly like you. You keep trying to get your family into bitcoin. You're very opinionated and get in many heated arguments with Libra and Pisces. Sometimes Scorpio joins in, and then it's a party. There's nothing you love more than semantics and playing devil's advocate.

Aquarius:

Pisces: Hoo Boy. Your life consists of a series of compromises and coping mechanisms that you use to hide from the big issue that makes your life miserable (being married to a type 2 Cancer). You almost seem to enjoy being persecuted, and seem to think everyone is out to get you in particular. Your greatest skills are procrastination and telling people what they want to hear. You learned to make everything a joke from Libra, and somewhat passed it on to Scorpio.

#Astrology #Passive aggressive #vagueposting

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bat-in-the-machine · 4 months

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Tharsis (2016, I told you most of the games I play are older) is basically a single player dice & card game, except everything is managed by your computer instead of with actual dice and cards.

Time for another rambling game rec!

A bizarre transmission, not from any known source, originating from the Tharsis crater on Mars, instigates the first manned mission to Mars. The Iktomi, enroute to the red planet, encounters a micrometeor shower that severely damages the ship. One of the crew is killed, the ship's pantry is destroyed, and the remaining crew have to survive the trip to Mars as systems continually fail.

Each week, new systems failures occur in one of the seven remaining modules of the ship. Your crew each have a certain number of dice, up to five, to resolve the issue by adding values together to meet a specific "repair" target goal. Dice can also be assigned to crew member ablities, which have an immediate effect, ship module abilities, which affect stats that carry over from one turn to the next, or research, which can be spent on randomly drawn projects for an immediate effect ranging from regaining dice to massive repairs to a module or the ship's hull.

After assigning your remaining crew to repair these modules, the week ends and any remaining emergencies have their effects applied (damaging the hull, reducing everyone's dice pool, injuring everyone) unless the effect is to disable the pod itself, which is an ongoing effect until it's repaired.

After damage is assessed, it's time to prepare for the next week.

Your crew is divided on how to prepare for the next week, and you have to choose what plan to follow. Every plan has a positive effect and, depending on the stress level of the crew proposing it, a negative effect that gets applied to the other option. You'll see here that if I pick the first option, I get one food, but those two crewmembers become more stressed. If I pick the second plan, everyone's stress reduces, but ship's hull takes damage.

The things you have to track from turn to turn:

HULL: If the ship's hull reaches zero, everyone gets to experience the joy and wonder of the cosmos close-up! Game over.

ASSIST: You can hold up to three ASSISTs. At the end of every week, you gain one, up to that maximum. Every time you roll a penalized result (Stasis, Damage, or Void) when repairing a module, it removes one ASSIST instead of doing that effect, until you're out of ASSISTs. You don't get to choose which effects get canceled by an assist.

FOOD: At the end of each turn, crew lose a single die from their dice pool, to a minimum of one. A single unit of food can be spent to restore three dice to a single crewmember's pool, to a maximum of three.

MEAT: You start the game with three meat. This meat can be substituted for food, HOWEVER - the meat is sourced from dead crewmembers. Committing cannibalism permanently lowers a crewmember's max HP by one. Crewmembers who have committed cannibalism have their dice permanently bloodstained to represent this. Once you run out of meat, you can choose to sacrifice a crew member in order to get three more meat at the cost of some stress and OH YEAH A DEAD CREWMATE.

HP: Each crewmember has 1-6 HP. Leaving a damaged module costs 1HP. Some damaged modules do HP damage to all crew at the end of the week. Rolling a DAMAGE result on a die does 1HP. If there are two damage dice in a module with the same number, rolling that number does 2HP damage. Found that out the hard way.

DICE: Every crewmember has 1-5 dice to roll to resolve an emergency, use their or a module's effect, or commit to research

STRESS: Every crewmember has a stress level. The more stressed they are, the worse their ideas at the end of the week are, the higher the penalty for not choosing their choice is. Managing stress is important to avoid cumulative penalties as you go.

RESEARCH: You can store up to 6 dice in research. Each must have a different roll on it, so you can allot a 1 to the 1 slot in research but as long as that's there, you can't allot any more 1s. There are three research projects at any time, with costs anywhere from 1 to 6 levels of research. These have immediate effects and can be huge game changers. Selecting one removes X number of dice from the research pool starting from the lowest value up (from left to right, essentially), or you can burn one level of research to reshuffle your choices.

That's it.

Keep the crew alive and the ship intact until they reach Mars and you win the game! In the main story scenario, you have 10 weeks until you reach mars. Other scenarios, under "Missions" have different objectives. At the end, win or lose, you're scored based on what actions you've taken, how many events are left unmanaged, whether or not you've committed cannibalism (and how many times), etc.

The story, parsed out before each week of gameplay in the main story mode, is easy to predict, but it's not the reason I play. I don't play to find out what's on Tharsis, I already know that. I play to find out how badly screwed I can be and whether or not I can come back from it.

oh shit

please please please please please

oh, I am SO screwed now

It's very highly chance-based, but there's a fair amount of strategy to it, as well. Just... don't get attached to the concept of victory.

Really.

just don't

just...

...don't.

*sigh*

welp.

This is fun.

#tharsis #losing is fun sometimes #holy shit what a shitty run to demonstrate the game with #wow #just #WOW

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momdiaries · 5 months

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04/10/24

Let's talk about sleepovers. My daughter (10yr) was invited to a slumber party at our neighbor's house. Now, this is already a no since there have been some issues with them in a very absurd way.

Little History Lesson for Context:

We used to all hang out with our kids but I started to notice that the wife seems to have an issue with me, I don't know if it's because I'm more voluptuous and younger than she is or because my daughter is more outgoing than her daughter. But there have been times when I make a joke about myself and I catch her rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. It's happened several times and more recently, without really realizing it until after maybe the second or third time, if the husband is outside (by himself) and I'm on my way to my car, he dashes into the house. This has literally happened several times. At first I thought it was a coincidence but then there was one day where he was mowing the lawn (he mows our lawn since we let him use our lawn mower to mow his lawn) and I had to run to the store, I had no idea he was out there but I was walking to my car, I had glanced over since i saw a figure on our lawn and he was in the middle of mowing. All of a sudden, he stops and darts into the garage. I thought it was so bizarre. Maybe I'm being irrational, but I haven't seen anyone behave like that before. Anyways, because of those things and more (maybe I'll post more about it at another time since there is way more, those were just some recent experiences) I'm hesitant to really interact with them.

Lesson Over.

So the slumber party was already a no for me and my daughter knows the situation and she's fine with it, especially since she also doesn't know any of the kids (besides the birthday girl) going to that party but it totally got me thinking about sleepovers in general. When I went to sleepovers, I only remember having fun when it was just me and one of my friends (I didn't have a ton of friends growing up) but when it came to full slumber parties with other kids, I hated them, I don't know if it was because I wasn't really friends with the kids or the fact that they were playing "pranks" which involved someone getting picked on somehow and I remember always asking to leave early. I truly don't remember thinking they were great.

Now, as a mother, my first instinct is that sleepovers are always a no since there's that fear of child abuse or inappropriate behavior from an adult figure in the household. I was reading articles about whether or not they are even beneficial for a child, and one had stated that it helps build independence for that child. My daughter is somewhat independent, meaning she knows how to do laundry, she knows how to cook and clean and she does a lot of self care on her own but she knows I am there whenever she needs me. I technically don't see a need for her to go to sleepovers or slumber parties, but I also don't want to be that overprotective mother preventing her from having fun. Maybe in the future, I'll let her go, depending on how well I know the kids and the parents.

#sleepovers #slumber parties #kids #mom diaries #dear diary #spilled thoughts

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turtlethon · 2 years

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“Zach and the Alien Invaders”

Season 5, Episode 18 First US Airdate: November 9, 1991

Friend of the Turtles Zach is sent to a military boarding school, where he discovers an alien plot to take over the world.

“Zach and the Alien Invaders” first aired back-to-back with "Leonardo, the Renaissance Turtle". Like many of the episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles featuring Zach, this one was written by Francis Moss, on this occasion in collaboration with Ted Pedersen.

Michaelangelo arrives in the Lair and informs the other Turtles that he happened to encounter Zach at the comic book store. Both are fans of a title called “Alien Invaders”, and in the next scene we see the young friend of the Turtles so engrossed in the comic that he��s entirely oblivious to events unfolding around him. His reading only pauses when he happens to spot a group of shadowy individuals entering a nearby building. As his imagination has gotten carried away, he becomes convinced he’s witnessing an actual alien invasion.

Zach calls the local police station and reaches Sergeant O’Flaherty. I assume the intention of the writers here was for the misguided Irish policeman seen in the earlier Zach story “The Great Boldini” to be used here, but instead the animators utilise the craggy policeman model that’s appeared several times throughout this season. The officer takes the news of an alien invasion seriously, falling out of his chair before issuing a radio alert to the force. April is driving around in her news van with Irma and hears this over the airwaves. She remarks that the idea of “bug eyed aliens” invading sounds absurd, which is an odd thing for someone who encounters aliens and bizarre creatures all the time to say. Figuring there may still be a story in it, she decides to investigate.

April and Irma meet up with Zach as the police raid the building. Emerging from it are a group of individuals in dark masks, who turn out to be nothing more than bug exterminators. Later, an unimpressed April reports on the unfolding events anyway. The Turtles watch this coverage on TV and decide to check in on Zach via Turtlecom.

Later, Zach is in the mall with his brother Walt, returning to the series for the first time since season three’s “The Missing Map”. When the siblings briefly split up, Zach sees some robots rolling through the mall and immediately jumps to the conclusion that they, too, must be alien invaders. He alerts a disinterested security guard – another character who’s been popping up routinely throughout this season – and ultimately ends up dealing with the problem himself, knocking a wheeled piano through the mall and destroying the robot. It turns out that these were intended for display in a department store. The Turtles arrive in time to see a commotion resulting from the chaos caused by Zach, with Walt angrily dragging his younger brother away.

More time passes and the Turtles are driving around in their van when they receive a distress transmission from Zach, informing them that a group of slime monsters just emerged from an excavation on Hill Street. The team are sceptical after everything that’s happened but begin to second guess themselves after Zach relays footage of what do indeed appear to be slimy creatures walking around. Upon arriving on the scene, the Turtles use one of their old techniques to handle the monsters, deflecting water from a fire hydrant to spray the intruders. In truth, the invaders are nothing more than an innocent group of city tunnel workers, who thank the Turtles for helping them to clean up. Frustrated by all these false alarms, the Turtles scold Zach for his overactive imagination. After handing in his Turtlecom, the young ally of the team tearfully runs away.

Zach’s parents – appearing in the series for the first time – are seen enrolling him in Ten-Hut Military Academy. They introduce him to Colonel Clout, who in turn has Sergeant Rambo escort the young boy to his sleeping quarters. Upon meeting the other recruits, Zach finds they all express the same dead-eyed obedience to the Colonel and the Academy. The only person in the school who doesn’t act this way is Zach’s fellow newbie Eric.

In the middle of the night Zach steps out of his bed – fully dressed, boots and all – and sneaks off in search of a snack. While wandering around, he sees Eric being pinned down in a hi-tech chair by Colonel Clout and Sergeant Rambo, who remove their outer skins to reveal their true identities: Rambo is an alien bat named Wingnut, while Clout is a four-armed humanoid mosquito called Screwloose. The villains reveal to Eric that they’re from the planet Flagenon, and have set up the school as a means of staging an invasion of Earth. After the mind changer device is activated, Eric becomes fully obedient, parroting the same lines about who wonderful the academy is that the other recruits did earlier.

Zach watches as Wingnut and Screwloose move to the school’s gymnasium, where they look over their weapons and an army of robot roaches. He attempts to phone the police for assistance, but they immediately become suspicious after realising he’s the same child who wasted their time earlier. With that option off the table, Zach opts to phone the Turtles, noting that it’s “a lucky thing [he knows] their unlisted number”. The team are wary about this being potentially yet another tall tale, but after the call gets cut off – due to Zach being captured by Screwloose – they decide that it’s worth checking out, with Michaelangelo and Donatello deployed to survey the area.

Wingnut and Screwloose taunt Zach, informing him that by tomorrow, the students of the Military Academy will be ready to take over the planet. (I don’t care how advanced their weapons are, the idea that this one group of teenage boys will conquer the world feels like something of a stretch.) Zach is dragged away to become the final member of this army via the mind changer.

April and Irma are assigned by Burne to investigate reports of a giant metal cockroach. They arrive at a construction site and begin filming the robot. The creature spots them, leading Irma to flee; the second act ends with April’s assistant falling into a dug-out ditch and facing the imminent wrath of the robot.

The final act opens with April using a crane-mounted magnet to pick up the cockroach. Caught up in one of the giant insect’s legs is Zach’s bandana, which prompts April to alert the Turtles. Leonardo and Raphael head off to join Mikey and Donnie, who at the same time are arriving at the Military Academy. There, “Sergeant Rambo” informs the two Turtles that they can’t see Zach as he’s “on a special training mission”. Not about to take no for an answer, Mikey and Donnie use the Turtle Van’s launcher to bypass the fences of the academy and gain entry. Once on school grounds, they cut off the power and sneak in before being captured by the robot cockroaches.

April and Irma arrive at the school, as do Leonardo and Raphael in the Turtle Blimp. Meanwhile, Donnie, Mikey and Zach are all about to become obedient minions thanks to the mind changer. Zach makes a last-minute play to sabotage the invention by hurling his metal Turtle badge at its central electrode. This generates an explosion large enough for the trio to be able to escape in the confusion. Mikey and Donnie lead the robot cockroaches away while Zach works with the students – now no longer under the mind changer’s control – to spray water on the robots. Seeing that their plan has been thwarted, Wingnut and Screwloose rush to escape in their flying saucer, colliding with the Turtle Blimp before flying back into space.

Returning home, Zach is forgiven by his parents, who concede that they should have believed his story about alien invaders. (Why? He was wrong at the time and didn’t tell them about Wingnut and Screwloose, effectively this is a “broken clock is right twice a day” scenario.) April reports on Zach now being declared a hero for thwarting the alien plot to take over the school, and her coverage is watched by the Turtles in the Lair. Splinter remarks that “some youngsters never learn the difference between reality and illusion”, moments before the other Turtles mistake Michaelangelo carrying a huge stack of pizzas for another alien invader.

We really have reached Peak Zach here, as this adventure features him so prominently that the Turtles are pushed into the background of their own show, none of them getting to do much until the final act (even then, only Michaelangelo and Donatello see any real action). Mercifully, this is the penultimate appearance of “The Fifth Turtle”, and we won’t have to endure him again until season seven. His brother Walt, however, is seen for the last time here.

Wingnut and Screwloose join the various prominent characters from the TMNT action figure line who appeared earlier this season in making the transition to the small screen here, though like the Turtles they end up feeling like something of an afterthought in this story, a pair of aliens who show up at the halfway point and scurry off again as quickly as they arrived. Disappointingly, this will prove to be their only appearance in the TV series: they came, they saw, they went back to their home planet. Their brief stint here is perhaps the only notable or interesting thing about this episode, and unless you’re a big fan of the duo from their appearances in the toy line or other TMNT media I’d suggest this one is an easy skip. Let’s move on to the next episode, and...

(Checks notes)

Oh no. Oh no. Not him. Anyone but him.

#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #TMNT 1987 #1991 #Ninja Turtles #Turtlethon #Zach and the Alien Invaders #Wingnut #Screwloose #Wingnut & Screwloose #Wingnut and Screwloose

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spacelazarwolf · 2 years

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I had no idea about “Trans broken arm” syndrome until I just read your post, and OMFG. Been there, done that. I just didn’t realize the full dynamic of what actually went down. Eyes opened now. Here’s my experience. I am 50y.

I had been ordered (barked demands at) by the bigoted “ally” nurse assigned to me as my primary at my GP LGBTQ clinic, to hospitalize myself if I took more than 4-6 inhalations of albuterol rescue inhaler in a 24h period, or she would have me hospitalized for drug abuse treatment against my will (not for the asthma) because I was Transmasc, she didn’t believe in my life-long prior diagnosed allergic asthmatic medical condition- Transmasc meant to her that I had to be a junkie that just wanted to get high on prescriptions. So, though I couldn’t afford all the bills without insurance, was a multi violent hate crimes survivor from my hospitalization 2 months prior for the latest round of allergic asthmatic pneumonia and anaphylactic shock, I went anyway, in fear of having my freedom taken away, imprisoned over an asthma attack.

After those violent discrimination hate crimes from another hospital in the area, my local LGBTQ community center strongly recommended if/when I was hospitalized again, that I go to a specific hospital in my area that was “trained and certified LGBTQ safe”… so I went with their recommendation.

This is how that went.

I had been brought by the county paramedics into the emergency room, covered only with a sheet of paper they called a “blanket”, naked and hate shamed as a disgusting “exhibitionist” (reality: bedridden and covered in blankets to my neck, without a caregiver, sick, isolated, without access to a washer & dryer, unable to stand, and way too ill to spend hours hand washing jeans and a t-shirt the night before in preparation), via ambulance for anaphylactic shock and uncontrollable asthma, which the hate attacking paramedic team leader refused to document, and out of the blue told me that he was putting on the records that I was “uncooperative”- a common game I’ve faced by medical providers who hate Transmascs to block my long term access to state financial and food aid, because it’s effective. I was rolled in on a stretcher, and after a very prolonged stop at the hospital door, being treated like a criminal while in medical crisis, frisked for weapons and drugs, bag searched, background checked, and attempts at verbal entrapment by the clearly bigoted security guard snarkily demanding detailed descriptions of where I grew up and other irrelevant private information trying to prove that my regional accent was fake and I was actually local criminal element lying about having moved here, while I couldn’t breathe. I finally got taken into a room.

A bigoted nurse demanded to drug test me solely because I identified as Transmasc, and decided that my asthmatic condition that I was already under long term treatment for must actually be drug junkie issues, and she shook, beet red and enraged when I said no, this is ridiculous, I’m here for my asthma. Then another one came in and with great schadenfreude started to misgender me “little girl! missy! miss! denying my intelligence, agency and validity as an adult as a twofer bonus. When asked to stop, she kept laughing and said “I’m from the Deep South, and you can take the girl from the Deep South, but you can’t take the Deep South out of the girl! It’s just who I am!” (She returned several times during my visit to do that.) Then another nurse came in after she left, and speared me with a hard plastic covid test and physically wrestled me as I screamed in tears begging for her to stop, to ram it even deeper, causing me to cough up blood in agony for over a month & 1/2 after and it got infected. Then the doctor came in and bizarrely checked me for blood clots in my legs instead of asthma, and told me to stop T. I told him that I wasn’t on HRT, and he thought I was lying at first and was adamant; then finally with a shit eating grin, s l o w l y so I could understand him, told me “Gooood. Don’t ever, ever go on T or try to medically transition, because you will die of a heart attack from it.” Then I was forced to take prednisone on an empty stomach (huge no-no) by ‘miss-missy’, forced to leave while still ill, and refused a wheelchair when I couldn’t even walk, barely stand. Pissed, she eventually put me into a dirty used & abandoned wheelchair in the lobby (during peak covid in a burgundy zone hotspot area) when I was begging for assistance after the long distance hobble that was too slow for her to tolerate… even though she was required to have me in a wheelchair while on the premises.

And this was before DeSantis’s anti LGBTQ laws struck us here, February 2021, at the hospital in my area that proudly advertised that they were all trained to be LGBTQ allies, strongly recommended by the local LGBTQ community center. The hospital staff had used everything they had learned from their LGBTQ compassion training as an instruction manual for how to find the most juicy sore spots to prod at during their discrimination, and what to say to their supervisors to skirt prosecution instead. The hospital brushed it all aside and didn’t even bother to follow up on my injuries (which were very high risk for problems because I’m immuno compromised). This, and for all the other medical provider hate crimes that are even more shocking and horrific that I’ve been put through, no lawyer in the state is willing to defend my federal constitutional civil and human rights… erased and dying from it without access to safe medical care, and the bills making me battle waves of starvation and possible homelessness because I’m 50, disabled and deliberately blocked from all aid.

This is just one of many experiences of violent discrimination that I’ve experienced in the hospitals and clinics here. There’s a lot worse I’ve experienced… but this is a PRIME example of “Trans broken arm”.

holy shit i’m so sorry this happened to you. thank you for sharing.

#ask avishai #trans #transphobia #trans broken arm syndrome

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

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Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

#maribat #daminette #maridami #mgi trope tussle #mgi- server event #enemies to lovers #speedrun #i #like a dumbass challenged myself to use three prompts and i delivered #i hope #i hope yall enjoy #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #please #im begging #ml x dc #mlb x dc #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #no beta this is tussle

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derailedfiction · 3 years

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The Most Wanted | Baron Zemo | The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Part 2 Pairings: Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader | Sam Wilson & Fem!Reader | James Barnes & Fem!Reader Word count: 6017 (sorry) Warnigns: swearing, a bit of kissing, shooting Summary: As Reader’s presence is exsposed the only way to get to Zemo is to cooperate with Sam and Bucky.

A/N: Reader is German-speaking which means that ¾ of what she says is in that language. If she speaks with Zemo, one to one, I switched to English (pls pretend it’s still German xD). Also next time I’ll put translations next to German version. It will be easier to read probably.

You grunted as you were seated on a chair, and quickly restrained with a rope around your arms and hands. You scanned the room looking for Zemo but he was nowhere to be found. As your search did not bring you any satisfactory answers, you set your eyes on the other man, expectantly.

“Was kann ich für sie tun?” you asked calmly with a nonchalant smile.

“What?” Sam looked puzzled at James, and back at you. “What does it mean?”

“She asked what she can do for you, Sam,” Zemo answered leaving the bathroom with a bottle of cologne and a towel in his hands.

“Well first of all she can tell what the hell is she doing here,” you observed the dark-skinned man with much amusement. He seemed to be quite annoyed with the situation.

“Warum ist er so verärgert?” you asked Zemo, still carefully observing Sam.

“What?” he asked again, clearly agitated that he did not understand what you were saying.

“She wants to know why you are so annoyed,” Zemo replied, spreading some cologne on his hands and then on his neck with a gentle pat.

“Can’t she speak like normal language?” Sam sat down on the couch with a helpless expression.

“Wha–at?” you mocked Sam with a silent laugh. You saw a corner of the Baron’s lip went up for a moment.

“I don’t really understand why the whole world should speak English, Sam. Oh, mein Gott, Y/N, sprichst du noch kein Englisch?” Zemo looked at you with a question in his eyes. A similar question was in Sam’s eyes as he desperately wanted to know what was happening.

“Nein, aber ich verstehe was er hat gesagt,” you shifted on the chair you were restrained to.

“She will not speak English, even though she understands you,” Baron translated.

“What do you want?” you felt observant gaze received from James.

“Ihn,” you pointed at Zemo with wide grin. “Ich wollte euch beide zuerst erschießen und ihn dann nehmen.

“She wants me and wanted to kill off the two of you before,” Baron replied emotionlessly.

“That would add up, she had a sniper rife literally next doors,” James said, “Who beat you up like this?” he asked after a moment, pointing at your bruised lip and a black eye.

“Die Wakandanerin. Sie dachte, ich würde sie zu Zemo fuhren. Aber dann hat sie mit dir gesprochen,” you smiled lightly towards James as you thought, it was kind of him to ask about it.

“The Wakandian did it to her as she thought she would lead her to me. Then, the Wakandian has spoken to you, James. It’s quite surprising how fast they sent somebody to fetch me.”

“Is it really?” James looked at him with disbelief. “I bargained us more time to deal with things, so no need to thank me.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least,” Zemo turned from the window and lightly nodded towards James, much to his dismay.

“You killed T’Chaka and now Nagel” Sam echoed, and yet Baron shrugged that information as he would an irritating fly. “How long do you follow us?”

“Seit Madripoor. Übrigens war dein Tanzen komisch, Zemo,” you winked at the Sokovian with silent laugh. You were way too much enjoying this questioning.

“She was following us since our visit in Madripoor. Ich dachte, ich habe dich dort gesehen, Y/N,“ he put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

“Du war recht,” you turned your head to catch glimpse of his figure behind you. The smell of cologne he used was rather intoxicating.

“Is it me, or you two like know each other?”

“Yes, we have worked together before and as I said, I had a feeling that I saw Y/N during the party,” he answered and went to examine kitchen shelves. “She’s one of the best bounty hunters I have known, and it’s a delight that she’s hunting for me now.”

“Man, you have some strange definition of a delight…” Sam stated, crossing his arms. “Why you hunt him now?”

You fell silent for a longer moment not really wanting to tell why.

“Meine Schwester –” you started talking.

“Her sister was kidnapped and is held by someone. She will be released only in exchange for my person,” Zemo translated simultaneously, playing with a cookie on his finger. “She doesn’t know who that is. Y/N only received a video with her sister and information about what she’s supposed to do. If she cannot fulfil the expectations, her sister is going to be killed. Es tut mir sehr leid, Y/N.”

“Hör jetzt auf, Zemo. Du kümmerst dich nur um dich selbst und zerstören Super-Soldaten. Das ist es,” you felt closely examined by him and then he did something most surprising for you.

“I don’t believe she will pose any threat to our cause. I do think that she actually can be quite an asset.”

The three of you looked surprised at Zemo. Sam and James because they both thought dealing with another shady character would be too much. And you because it would make your job so much easier, just to use distraction and snatch Zemo right from their noses.

“Wunderbar! – No!” the three of you exclaimed at the same moment.

“Why not? I would get three watchmen, making sure I would not escape,” he continued undisturbed by your sudden vocalization. “Moreover, Y/N is excellent in hand-to-hand combat and is trained in any kind of weaponry.”

“I don’t even…” Sam started and put his hands in the air as if he surrendered to this whole situation. “I mean, it’s not bad to have additional pair of eyes on Zemo but is it worth it? She’s a criminal too.”

“Right now, we have bigger problems. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot,” James started reading the latest news on his phone.

At that point, you stopped listening to them, as they were deliberating on the subject you were not that much familiar with. Even though Zemo offered a solution for your presence in the team, no one was willing to untie you from the chair. You sat there observing the place carefully, trying to find a perfect way to run away at some point with your prize.

You kept your gaze on Baron for a long moment. He bustled around the kitchen as if he did it every day, without a break of several years in a German prison. Of course, it was impossible for him to forget how the Avengers were responsible for the deaths of his family and yet, it was bizarre for you that he decided to cooperate with them. As you knew him from the past, Zemo would cherish the very thought of destroying this particular group of superheroes, showing them how very human they indeed were. Still, you just witnessed how Baron threw a Turkish delight towards Sam as if he were giving him a treat for a great lead to follow.

“Du starrst, Y/N,” he stated indifferently, handing you some tea.

“Danke,” you thanked him, even though you had no opportunity to drink it. “Ich kenne dich und bin dennoch überrascht, wie du diese Männer behandelst. Sind sie nicht deine Feinde, Zemo?”

“Im Moment sind sie nützlich. Das ist alle,” he answered you and from the look on his face you knew that Baron Zemo had already a plan.

“What are you talking about?” Sam came closer to the two of you.

“Y/N is surprised that I cooperate with someone that I swore to destroy,”

“Well, you can count me in, Y/N,” he replied as he undid the bonds. “One wrong move and you two will be handcuffed to me and James.”

“Das hört sich nicht so schlecht an,” you rubbed your wrists sightly worn from the rough rope and drank tea from Zemo.

“I’m afraid my dear friend that she rather liked that idea,” you winked at Sam coquettishly as he rubbed his face in disbelief.

“Was machen wir jetzt?”

“We are going to ask some questions about Donya’s funeral,” James answered your question, “We gotta move.”

Within fifteen minutes you were ready to leave the apartment, and since James and Sam did not want to take any chances leaving you alone, you were walking in pair with Zemo.

“Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht versucht hast, sie zwischen Städten zu verlieren,” you said to your companion as you walked.

“Nun, wie ich schon sagte, sie sind ein Mittel zum Zweck, das ist alles,” he replied. “Was hast du in den letzten Jahren gemacht?”

“Nichts Besonderes, aber ich war für 5 Jahre wegen dieser Snap weg. Jetzt bin ich hier…”

“Man, don’t you worry about what are they talking about? They could be like planning escape or something, to roll us over,” Sam said to Bucky, cautiously observing the two of you in front of him. “It’s just wrong…”

“It’s not, they’re talking about the past. She was gone after Thanos snapped,” Bucky replied quietly, trying not to give up he’s able to understand German. “She’s still quite lost after she got back.”

“Can you blame her? Or anyone in such a situation? It’s pretty fucked up…”

Bucky cracked for a moment listening to your conversation, “She just told him, she would have killed him back in Madripoor and she didn’t just because of their shared past.”

“Damn man, they have some unresolved issues under those smirks and sass.”

You turned around feeling the gazes of the two of them on your back as you were speaking with Zemo. They were walking behind you, keeping a reasonable distance, and talking about something rather lively.

“It is shame of what became of this place,” you rose your eyebrow lightly looking around the small courtyard, which wasn’t in its best condition.

“I’ll go check upstairs. You keep eye on him,” Sam went up for the next floor and you were left alone with James, as Zemo softly humming a lullaby came closer to children.

For a moment two of you stood in silence watching how Baron was approaching children, and then you asked, “Du verstehst mich, oder?”

“A little, yes,” James answered you. If he was surprised how quickly you found out about it, he didn’t show it at all.

“Was machst du mit ihm? Wenn du er nicht mehr brauchst?” you crossed your arms following James’ stare.

“He’s going back to the prison.”

“Und die Wakanderin?” you heard long sigh from him, he did not really know what to do in this situation.

“I’m not sure. Zemo is too dangerous to let him be unsupervised, or to be intercepted by a shady character, no offence.”

“Nicht genommen,” you smiled lightly.

“Now, what the hell is he doing?” Sam came closer to the two of you, seeing the idyllic conversation between Zemo and children.

“Wish you didn’t hear him sing – What?”

“Cute kids,” Zemo said as he passed the three of you heading to the exit.

As you left the CPR facility, you had a feeling that someone was observing you as four of you walked down the street back to the apartment. You observed each passing by person, sensing something was going on.

“Was ist los?”

“Jetzt nichts als ich denke jemand folgt uns. Der Power Broker hat Leute nach drei von Ihnen geschickt,” you replied quickly turning around your head.

“Achtung!” just as you saw the mercenary take out the gun, you pushed Zemo away and took the bullet. A sharp pain tore your arm as you landed on the ground next to Baron looking at you surprised. “Was?”

“Warte,” he took out the knife and tear for pieces your sleeve to create a tourniquet above the wound. “Versuche es zu drücken, Y/N.”

You nodded holding your arm firmly, trying to prevent any further bleeding. On the other side of the road, James was just knocking out the assassin.

“We should move. I don’t want to take any more chances with other killers,” Sam helped you stood up.

“Und der Söldner?” you asked.

“He won’t be conscious for longer time and we will probably be somewhere else. Come.”

Four of you hastily returned to the quarters, making sure no one was following you. Sam and James armed themselves with additional weapons as they wanted to be sure you were safe in there.

“We’ll go and check whether this place is safe. You two stay here, understood?” Sam told you as he went out with James.

You stood in the middle of the room trying to gather yourself to do something with the wound you have been pressing. You took few steps towards the bar and made yourself two drinks, one of which you immediately drank.

“Now, take these, it will help with the pain.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you took the pills from Zemo and swallowed them with few sips of whiskey. “Now, if you allow, I’d like to take care of this,” you pointed at your arm wound, as you slowly went to the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

As you were finally alone without any sympathetic or wanting-to-help gazes, you sighed loudly and quite shakily. It was not your first time being shot, and honestly, you knew that having Zemo around and babysitting him for not to get killed, would mean more bullets to take.

You sat down on with tiles of the floor, observing how blood was slowly dropping on it creating a small plash. You moved your fingers carefully, trying to determine whether some muscles or tendons were damaged. It hurt badly. Burning pain ran through your whole hand up to the arm wound.

“Fuck,” you whined quietly, and you rested your head over the edge of the bath.

That was not the plan at all. At last, the pills you got were starting to work as your pulsating pain did not bother you anymore. Slowly with the biggest caution, you could have at that moment, you removed the makeshift bandage and examined the wound. It was still bleeding, rather profusely, despite the pressure band over the injury. The longer you stared at it, the more light-headed you felt.

You heard somebody opened the door and Zemo entered the bathroom. You had not had enough power to say something sarcastic about his way of respecting somebody’s privacy.

“What are you doing? I don’t need any help,” you observed Zemo as he sat next to you with a first aid kit.

“I’m not going to do anything. But you might need this if you really want to take care of the wound,” you snorted and took the kit. “Why did you do that? Why did you take a bullet for me?”

“Does it really matter?” as you heard nothing from the man, you looked up and saw Baron watching you expectantly. “I must deliver you alive if I want my sister to stay alive,” you answered hesitantly, cleaning the wound.

“It is admirable how dedicated you are to your sister, Y/N.”

“Is it though? If not her I would be free as wind getting other shady figures for actual money. Not to mention that it was not, the plan,” you scoffed and gritted your teeth as the wound began to burn hellishly.

“I would do anything to save my family.”

“I know Zemo, I know it,” you agreed looking at him softly, and then you sighed heavily. “I will need your help with it. I thought the bullet went clean through, but I can’t see any exit wound.”

“How could you not know it?” he asked in growing amusement.

“I don’t know man. I am high as kite, Zemo. I don’t really feel that much,” you looked blankly at the hole in your arm for a moment before you gave him a pair of forceps. “I will cut the wound from both sides and you have to take the bullet out, got it?” He nodded in agreement.

You proceeded with careful cuts along the edge of the wound, as precise as you could. You took a deeper breath and nodded for Zemo to try and retrieve the bullet. Even though you were on strong painkillers, it was almost impossible to not move or whine.

“Don’t move, Y/N. I almost have it,” you grabbed the bath edge firmly trying not to shift any more.

“Easy to say… Fuc–” a cry of pain escaped your mouth in the same moment as the bullet was taken out. “Oh, God that was awful. I will never get used to it. Thank you,” shakily you reached for a needle and thread to close the wound.

“Let me,” he took over the instruments and without further ado, he quickly stitched the wound and put a fresh bandage over it.

“Hey! You alive in there? We heard some screaming,” you heard Sam from the other side of the bathroom door and lightly smiled.

“Yes, it’s alright,” Zemo answered as he helped you to stand up from the floor.

“He cares, doesn’t he? Even if you did him wrong, he cares.”

“Yes, he does,” Sokovian agreed. Still supporting you, he led you to the sofa, on which you fell with relief as you were feeling more and more dizzy. “Du solltest dich ein bisschen ausruhen, Y/N. Du hast ziemlich viel Blut verloren.”

“Yeah, yeah, was auch immer,” you weaved him off impatiently and laid down with your feet up.

You felt absolutely awkward that you got yourself shot because you pushed Zemo to the side. It was probably one of the dumbest things you have ever done. Well, if you counted being caught by Winter Soldier, that is the other dumbest thing you did. It was not your best day at all. You heard somebody was clamouring in the kitchen pouring water into a kettle and then into small cups.

“How are you?” You looked at James, who asked you the question.

“Gut,” you replied shortly, taking the cup of tea from Zemo. You felt in fact a bit better as the medications you were given truly kicked in.

You pressed yourself deeper into the sofa with your eyes closed, trying to rest for a while. You disconnected completely from external stimuli, focusing on your breathing, and calming the heartbeat. Even though you lost some blood, you didn’t feel that bad.

Suddenly you heard the sound of breaking glass and louder exchanges. You opened your eyes and looked at Zemo surprised as the Americans went dealing with their things.

“You can’t play with others, can you?” you asked with a soft chuckle making him some space on the sofa to sit. “I know you probably have some plan but still, being followed by the Wakandians, and bounty hunters, and probably some other killers it’s not an easy thing to cope with.”

“You think I need protection?” you showed off your arm. “I don’t need any, I am perfectly able to use my mind to gain in every situation.”

“I’m just saying that playing on different fronts at the same time always ends rather badly,” you finished off your tea and put the glass on the table.

“What can I say, I am a wanted man,” you snorted lightly at his words. He was truly the most wanted man at the moment.

“What was that tea again?”

“Cherry blossom, why?”

“I feel – dizzy,” you said unsure. You looked at the glass and at him, and then back at the glass. And then it clicked. “You little –”

“Shh, mein Schätzchen,” he immediately caught your falling head and swiftly stood up, making a place for you to lay down. “You will sleep for some time.”

You felt so heavy and dizzy, you had no power to fight with him. The last thing you saw was Zemo unfolding a blanket and putting it over you.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing Sam, she just fell asleep after the pills I gave her to ease the pain,” Zemo lied without a blink of an eye and made sure you were comfortably sleeping. “We should probably move.”

***

You woke up sometime later, just as Zemo said. What he didn’t mention was an extreme headache you got as soon as you opened your eyes.

“What a fucker…” you murmured as you got up from the sofa, throwing the blanket on the side. How thoughtful, you thought ironically looking at the material.

There was no one in the apartment and as you figured out, they have probably been gone for the funeral ceremony to talk with Karli. You moaned softly, rubbing your temples in hope that the pain will go away. It didn’t do anything and bright light coming through the stained windows wasn’t especially helpful either.

You wandered around the room and kitchen to find some painkillers. You suspiciously sniffled tea in a small metal box, still remembering what Zemo did. As you thought about it, if he didn’t get into a quarrel with James all of them would be asleep and Zemo would have been far away. A perfect getaway.

“Rather shameful not to carry it to the end,” you said to yourself washing down the painkiller with a drink. But then again, it was Zemo considered so he probably saw another opportunity for him to run away.

As slowly the painkillers once again started to work, you decided to go back to your rented room and take your belongings. It was hard to guess when your company would be back and you didn’t want to risk them, at least James and Sam, discovering you were gone, and the hideout was left unsupervised. But then again, you shrugged your arms carelessly it was not your responsibility to look after it.

You poured water into a kettle and put it on the burner of the stove. I’ll be back before the water boils, you thought and took one Turkish delight on your way out.

In fact, you got back just in time to take the kettle off the heat and make some tea for yourself and you started to explore the residence in search of some clothes to change. You did not really think it would take that much time to extract Zemo. It was supposed to be a day, give, or take. The whole situation of you being captured and somehow kept hostage was not included in the plan.

You took off your torn blouse and dropped it on the floor, in search of something new to wear. You looked through one of the few wardrobes that had any clothes in it. Mostly male, but you also found a few dresses and children's clothes. As tempting as it was to wear one of the dresses, you felt it would be somehow a sacrilege to wear Zemo’s wife clothes. Instead, you chose one of his purple shirts and tried it on. It would suit you nicely if not the zip across the chest which was a bit tight, so you had to keep it slightly unzipped.

You returned to the kitchen, finding yourself extremely hungry if not ravenous. Eating more Turkish delight would do no good either, as they were extremely sweet. Rummaging through kitchen cabinets you found ingredients to make a stew and you thought everyone could eat something warm. You quickly chopped some vegetables and put them in a ceramic casserole along with meat and seasoning. Now all you had to do was to wait and control if it’s not burning.

“Du siehst gut aus in meinem Kleidern,” you heard suddenly as you were checking up the food in the stove.

“Danke,” you kept your smile for yourself and you turned around to see three men coming in. Zemo went straight for a piece of cloth and wet it in ice-cold water, which he put over his eyes as soon as he lied on the sofa.

“I thought you would be gone, the second you wake up,” Sam was rather surprised to see you casually cooking.

“Warum? Ich muss ihn abfangen. Er ist mein Ziel,” you took out the stew out of the oven and put it on the counter.

“And you made us food?” you took four plates out of the cupboard and put them on the table along with silverware.

“Ja, warum nicht?” you were quite content of yourself as the food smelled wonderful and you took pleasure in cooking it. You missed your domestic life dearly especially knowing it was impossible to get it back.

“Das ist sehr nett von dir, Y/N,” you muttered under your nose to his words and poured him some bourbon. Zemo looked as you could use some.

„Und mich zu betäuben war nicht sehr nachdenklich von dir, Zemo,” you replied angrily, handing him the drink as he lied on the sofa with cold patch over his head. „Was ist mir dir passiert? Bitte essen.”

With the move of your hand, you showed Sam and James to sit at the table and eat what you have prepared.

“She invites you to eat,” he translated, slowly drinking his bourbon. “Der neue Captain America warf seinen Schild auf mich ,” he then replied to your question and removed the compress.

“Was?” you chuckled at the mere thought of him being knocked out like this. “Komm, du muss auch essen.” You encouraged Zemo to join the Americans at the table and eat together.

The four of you sat awkwardly at the table as you were putting food on the plates and handing them over to each of them.

“So, Sam would you consider taking the serum if you were offered it? Hypothetically speaking, of course,” you said nothing just rolling your eyes internally. What a perfect question to ask at the table.

“No,” he cut it shortly between the bites.

“No hesitation? That’s admirable.”

You looked at James sitting quietly as you and eating. You sensed he was still tormented by his past and listening to them hypothetically speaking about taking or not the super-solider serum was uneasy. You felt sorry for him being used as a pawn in other’s men fight. Living without the ability to decide what to do must be haunting, let alone the knowledge of your forced actions.

“Danke,” you heard from him as he finished eating.

“Gern geschehen,” you couldn’t help but to give him a warm smile and watched him go to another room to get some rest. He was still bothered by his past and even though he tried his best to make it go away, it did not work as he wished it to work.

Zemo as he finished, also stood up but helped you with cleaning the table and putting dishes into a dishwasher. Then once more he retrieved to his favourite, horizontal position on the sofa with another drink and cold compress. Unfortunately, his rest didn’t last long as two men stormed into the apartment.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over,” Walker said authoritarian pointing at Zemo.

“Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth,” Sam confronted him as everyone tensed up for inevitable conflict. “He’s actually proven himself useful today.”

“Who is she?” Walker pointed at you rudely as soon as he was denied getting Zemo.

“Temporal associate,” you heard Sam answering in your favour.

“Another criminal? You two are just falling down as you collaborate with such people,” he summed that up in his pretentious, all-knowing manner. He looked at you for a moment. “John Walker, Captain America.”

“Ich weiß das,” you muttered to him.

“Can’t she speak like normal language?” you heard Walker scoffing.

“You know, people can use different languages too, Walker. Maybe learn another?”

“That’s how it’s going to be, Sam? Should I put my shield down, to make it fair?” Sam smiled lightly with disbelief. That man was insufferable.

The atmosphere was tense, and it was seconds away for Sam and Walker to start the fight. It was postponed for a while only due to a sudden appearance of a spear that stuck into the column right next to Walker’s head. The Dora Milaje arrived, and they had no fucks to give.

The leader of them start talking with James in Wakandian, and you knew it was the time they wanted to get Zemo to pay for what he has done.

“Hi, John Walker. Captain America.”

Is he dense or something?, you thought looking at how thoughtlessly his actions were. Even you knew not to disregard Dora Milaje nor to interfere in their businesses, and he was going straight into it. You saw his partner being a bit agitated by the sudden entrance of warriors.

“Sagt er das jedes Mal, wenn er sich vorstellt?” you snorted watching how Walker was trying to talk reason to the Wakandian, and even you knew it was one of the stupidest things he could do.

“Yep,” James said pouring himself a drink.

As you have foreseen second after John’s hand was on Dora Milaje’s arm he was doomed as three of them attacked him and Lemar.

“Are we going to do something about it?” Sam asked James, who took quite a pleasure observing the fight.

“Looking strong, John,” he shouted back at the fighting men.

You could not help it as a short laugh escape your mouth. It did not take long for Sam to join the quarrel and shortly after James followed him.

As Falcon and Winter Soldier came into the fight, you approached Zemo and asked, “Should I also fight them as your champion? To get the right to, have you?” you smiled cheekily over your whisky.

“You can have me any moment, you want Y/N,” you choked on your drink. “Now, if you excuse me.”

You watched him taking a bottle of alcohol and aggressively zeroed his glass. Then undisturbed by anyone he went to the bathroom and just before closing the door, your eyes meet. You perfectly knew Zemo was escaping and all you did was to raise your glass towards him and finish your drink.

That’s going to be fun, you thought pouring another glass of whiskey, watching how everyone is getting their asses whooped.

***

“How could you let him go?” you held up your arms in a gesture of ineffable incomprehension of your act.

“C’mon man, it’s not that we need him that much now. We must focus on our mission, Bucky. I know it’s hard for you, I know it, but we can’t blow it away,” Sam put his hand on James’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly, trying to reassure and comfort him.

“I helped him escape from Berlin that was enough for Dora Milaje,” James said sternly and stopped in front of the building they had set up a meeting in. “You can’t go in, Y/N, two of us is already too many.”

“Klar,” you agreed and watched them go inside the beast’s belly.

You walked down the street, heading to a small square located in this part of Riga. You surprisingly found yourself enjoying this short stroll without anyone to interrupt you or anyone to chase after. Quite a lovely vacation you could have had. You liked this city as it had interesting history and architecture that survived Second World War.

The fountain in the middle of the square was captivating and a lot of tourists were taking pictures of it. You were surprised that despite incidents caused by your company, there were organised groups and sightseeing tours. You admired the monument for a longer while until you noticed something on the opposite side of it.

“I thought you would be far away from here,” you approached slowly Zemo, standing in the shadow.

“I thought about it but then again I feel somewhat responsible for how everybody jumped to each other’s throats just to be able to get me.”

“Isn’t that what you are famous for? And don’t tell me you feel bad about it,” he looked at you and smirked.

“Bad, no but it’s rather tiresome for me. I don’t really take any joy from it,” Zemo hesitated for a second and you could tell he dropped some part of his act. You could have seen the very broken man who was the reason for the Avengers split. “Why not a dress?”

“What?” you were taken by surprise with his question.

“There were few dresses in the closet, and you decided to take my shirt,” you looked at Zemo frowning.

“I won’t do anything to it, if that’s what you mean,” you tried to laugh it off, but it wasn’t successful. “I thought it would have been strange to wear your wife’s.”

“I wouldn’t mind if someone could do a good use of them,” he smiled sadly. “Anyway, I enjoyed your company today. It reminded me of your visits when I was imprisoned.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring blankly at the pavement. That was quite charming of him and you smirked at this thought.

“Yes, me – ” you stopped talking at the sudden sound of breaking glass and crushing metal.

In front of you two men were fighting, of which one was much more superior. You watched Walker throwing his shield again and again at the man, treating him like a training bag.

What the actual fuck, you thought as you heard other man pleading for his life, but Walker was out. He didn’t hear him nor listen to him, there was something more going on. He put the shield up, above his head and allowed his rage to take control over him. Walker repeatedly smashed the head of the poor man several times with his shield and then he stood with it.

Unmoved. Triumphant in his imagination. Covered in blood splashes. And the shield bathed in bloody strains shimmered ominously. The new era of superheroes has arrived in its brutal glory. Unstoppable. Utterly frightening.

“Jesus and that is how Captain America deal with things now?” you couldn’t believe your own eyes, as Walker murdered a man in daylight. “Now, I can see more vivid than ever why super-soldiers pose a threat to the order.”

“The whole world is watching, and they know what he did. He will be never forgiven for such a barbaric act. Previous Captain America stood for what the US wanted to be, righteous and good. This one, he’s … he’s what America is like. Brutal and not afraid to kill anyone who wronged it,” you listened to Zemo seeing how every single one of passing by people were with a phone, recording or even streaming live this whole situation.

“Where are you going now?” you looked at him for a moment, still cautiously monitoring the surroundings, trying to digest the terrifying view.

“Sokovia, or rather to what is left of it…” Zemo answered looking plainly before himself. “Will you give me a week?”

“I will give you two days tops before I go after you again, Zemo.”

“Good enough,” he smiled lightly and looked at you. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“Nah, I’m good. I want to be around here and see how this will develop.”

All of sudden he caught your chin and moved it up, and then kissed you gently. You stood in awe, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, as you were not completely over that you have witnessed Captain America going apeshit. But after a moment of suspension, you kissed him back.

“Care to explain?” you asked as you separated from the kiss.

“People tend to feel uncomfortable when they see a kissing couple and I didn’t want to be filmed,” he said with a charming smile. “I don’t want Sam nor James to find me before I want to be found.”

“People or you wanted me to feel uncomfortable?” it felt strange but in a good way. You only hoped that he wasn’t trying to play with you as well as he did with others.

“And are you?” you rolled your eyes with a groan. He was acting impossible. As he managed to temporarily escape his guards, Zemo was probably going to be even more of himself than he already was.

“I will see you in two days, Zemo.”

“That’s the plan,” he smirked and disappeared into the crowd.

________________________________________________________ German vocab.: Oh, mein Gott, Y/N, sprichst du noch kein Englisch? – Oh my God, Y/N, can’t you really speak English? Übrigens war dein Tanzen komisch. – By the way, your dancing was ridiculous. Ich dachte, ich habe dich dort gesehen. – I thought, I have seen you there. Du war recht – You were right.Es tut mir sehr leid. – I’m very sorry.Hör jetzt auf, Zemo. Du kümmerst dich nur um dich selbst und zerstören Super-Soldaten. Das ist es. – Stop it now, Zemo. You only take care of yourself and to destroy super soldiers. That's it.Wunderbar! – Wonderful. Du starrst. – You are staring. Ich kenne dich und bin dennoch überrascht, wie du diese Männer behandelst. Sind sie nicht deine Feinde, Zemo? – I know you and am still surprised how you treat these men. Aren't they your enemies, Zemo? Im Moment sind sie nützlich. Das ist alle. – Right now, they are useful. That's all. Das hört sich nicht so schlecht an. – That doesn't sound too bad. Was machen wir jetzt? – What are we going to do? Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht versucht hast, sie zwischen Städten zu verlieren – I'm surprised you didn't try to lose them between cities. Nun, wie ich schon sagte, sie sind ein Mittel zum Zweck, das ist alles – Well, like I said, they're a means to an end, that's all. Was hast du in den letzten Jahren gemacht? – What have you been doing in the last few years? Nichts Besonderes, aber ich war für 5 Jahre wegen dieser Snap weg. Jetzt bin ich hier… - Nothing special, but I was gone for 5 years because of the Snap. Now I'm here… Du verstehst mich? – You understand me, yes? Was machst du mit ihm? Wenn du er nicht mehr brauchst? – What are you going to do with him? When you no longer need him? Und die Wakanderin? – And the Wakandian? Nicht genommen – Non taken. Was ist los? – What’s going on? Jetzt nichts als ich denke jemand folgt uns. – Nothing now but I think someone is following us. Der Power Broker hat Leute nach drei von Ihnen geschickt – The power broker sent man after the three of you. Achtung! – Watch out! Warte. Versuche es zu drücken – Hold on. Try to push it. Und der Söldner? – And the mercenary? Du solltest dich ein bisschen ausruhen, Y/N. Du hast ziemlich viel Blut verloren – You should take a rest. You lost a lot of blood. Yeah, yeah, was auch immer. – Yeah, whatever. Gut – good Mein Schätzchen – darling Du siehst gut aus in meinem Kleidern – You look good in my clothes Danke – Thanks Warum? Ich muss ihn abfangen. Er ist mein Ziel – Why? I have to intercept him. He is my target. Ja, warum nicht? – Yes, why not? Das ist sehr nett von dir – That’s nice of you Und mich zu betäuben war nicht sehr nachdenklich von dir – And knocking me out wasn’t very thoughtful of you Was ist mir dir passiert? – What have happened to you? Bitte essen – please eat Der neue Captain America warf seinen Schild auf mich – The new Captain America threw his shield at me. Was? – What? Komm, du muss auch essen – Come, you too should eat. Gern geschehen – You’re welcome Klar - Clear

#zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfatws #sam wilson #james bucky barnes #john walker #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - A Corpse, Cake, and a Cuppa (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with. (1714 words)

Notes: Written for the above Halloween prompt from @new-endings/M.A.D.#8943. Human Crowley au. It’s kind of gory, I’m not going to lie.

Read on AO3.

“Jesus Christmas!" Aziraphale yelps, tiptoeing through the thick pool of red coagulating on the concrete. Threads of it cling to the soles of his shoes when he lifts his feet as if trying to drag him down. Aziraphale has seen a great deal of blood in his time. None of it has been pretty. But this is especially gruesome.

He wonders if that’s for his benefit.

"Look at... look at this! Look at all the… !” Aziraphale takes a pause and breathes in deep, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to his forehead. Tension causes a vein to distend and throb - quite the feat since, as a non-human entity, he shouldn't be able to experience this kind of pain. Or so he thought. In the thousands of years he's roamed earth reaping souls, he's finally found the one mortal who can give him what humans call a migraine. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. “Could you please just… stop already?"

Crowley grins, thrilled giddy by the arrival of his intended audience. “No,” he replies, shoving the slicked head of his filthy ax deeper into the severed spine of the fresh corpse at his feet.

Aziraphale grimaces as the blade lands with a resounding slap.

That ax of Crowley's gets on every one of Aziraphale's nerves. It's effective for its purpose but positively unsanitary. It makes his skin crawl every time he sees it.

Crowley lifts it slowly, eyes Aziraphale menacingly.

Eyes his nice, clean coat, Aziraphale realizes.

“Crowley!” he warns, putting both hands up in defense. “Don't you dare... !”

But Crowley doesn't let him finish, hoisting his ax higher with part of the dead man's torso attached. He doesn't need to do anything after that. The torso falls from the blade and splashes down in the pool, accomplishing what Crowley set out to do.

“Holy... GAH!” Aziraphale leaps back to avoid the spray. He frowns at his clothes when he sees he wasn't quick enough. "Look what you've done! You’ve made a mess of my coat!”

“Improved it, I’d say,” Crowley snarks. “Given it a pop of color.”

“I've had this coat for ages and hadn't collected a single stain! Not one! And look at your shoes! Ruined!" He gazes down at Crowley's feet in despair. "I actually liked that pair.”

“Really?" Crowley tilts his head, batting his eyes innocently. "You didn't tell me that.”

“Yes, well... " Aziraphale busies himself fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. Praying he’s swift enough to save the fabric, he pats at the specks on his sleeve "... it’s not my place to tell a homicidal maniac that he looks fetching in snakeskin, is it?”

Crowley pouts, his lower lip jutting out, making him look comically childish despite the streaks of blood running down his cheeks.

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. He glances around, trying to work out what's wrong. "What? What is it?"

"You're being mean."

"How am I being mean?"

"You're calling me names."

"Accurate ones, yes."

"You sound disappointed."

"You think so!?"

“B-but... but why? I took your advice!" Crowley argues. "I changed me m.o.!”

“I didn’t give you advice! I said you should stop killing innocent people!”

“I did! This guy?" Crowley plants the heel of his sopping shoe into the dead man's crooked neck for emphasis. "He weren’t innocent! He was a serial killer, too! He just happened to be shite at it!”

"I can see that." Aziraphale peers into the vacant eyes of the man on the ground, spirit buzzing beneath his skin, waiting to be reaped. But Aziraphale is in no rush. In the choice between filling out paperwork and shooting the shite with Crowley, surprisingly, he chooses Crowley.

Or maybe not so surprising, Aziraphale muses, biting his lower lip and indulging in a private chuckle. He rolls his eyes in disgust at himself right after. What are you doing? Stop that!

"Besides, I'm doin' you a solid!"

Aziraphale scoffs, snapping back to his senses. "How do you figure?"

"You're Death, ain't ya? I'm keeping you in business!"

"I don't know if you've read the papers lately, dear boy, but humans are dropping like flies thanks to their own stubbornness and stupidity. You're slap in the middle of one of the worst pandemics in history, but instead of doing what you can to stay safe, you lot spend your time arguing over petty b.s.! I won't wear a mask! It's against my rights! I'm not taking the vaccine! It'll make me sterile! There is no disease! It's all a big conspiracy! Meanwhile, in the states, some orange lunatic has everyone drinking bleach! Believe me, I hardly need your help doing my job!"

“Oi! Don’t lump me in with those prats!”

“Why not? You’re not wearing a mask, I see.”

“Don’t have to. I got my shot. And I keep me distance.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Did that man you dismembered have the virus!? You don’t know!” Aziraphale cringes at words that sound far more like concern than scolding. Which he should be doing. Scolding and ridiculing, and possibly calling the police.

But he won’t.

If Crowley were thrown in prison, it would be harder for Aziraphale to find an excuse to see him. Aziraphale has yet to decide if that’s something he wants, but either way, he’d prefer it not be at the expense of another life.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's the way you feel about it... " Crowley grumbles, letting what remains of that statement die as embarrassment rises to his cheeks, settling beneath the red already there. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his face away.

Just like a child, Aziraphale thinks.

And as with a child, Aziraphale should have nipped this in the bud much, much earlier - like when Crowley realized that he could summon Aziraphale whenever he wanted by upping the frequency of his murderous antics.

This, to date, is his twenty-seventh kill.

Aziraphale doesn't know how Crowley spotted him. He's pretty adept at avoiding human detection. But after victim number eight, Aziraphale turned around, scythe in hand, and there he stood: tall, gangly, bizarrely besotted, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses at one in the morning. Aziraphale thought Crowley was a run-of-the-mill psychopath looking for attention, seeing Aziraphale as a hapless dolt to play cat-and-mouse with, not knowing for one second who he was dealing with.

Not only did Crowley know exactly who Aziraphale was, but he had taken a considerable shine to him.

Aziraphale humored the man when their paths crossed so he could get on with his work, never for one minute considering the consequences. Thinking back on their past interactions, Aziraphale can pick out the hints Crowley had been dropping.

Aziraphale played right into them, and he could kick himself over it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Aziraphale quipped dryly after Crowley had beheaded some poor, down-on-his-luck fool. "I'm going to start thinking that you have a thing for me."

"Finally!" Crowley tossed his arms in the air. "At this rate, I was going to have to murder half of London and spell out the words ’Will you go out with me?’ with their bodies. Do you know how time-consuming that would have been?"

Aziraphale had written that comment off as a morbid attempt at humor.

Now he feels like an imbecile.

He’s going to get an earful from Gabriel if he ever gets wind of this. Aziraphale has been able to cover up the increase in London deaths by blaming the pandemic. But once people get their acts together and things calm down, he’ll have to come clean.

There’s a serial killer roaming the streets that has a serious crush on him.

Aziraphale lets out a heavy sigh as he comes to a decision.

A bad decision.

He's going to regret this. He knows he's going to regret this.

But will he really though?

Aziraphale looks Crowley over, still moping with his nose in the air. He examines him at depth - his sharp features, his debonair style (hiding beneath a litre of blood), his devil-may-care attitude, his rowdy sense of humor. If he were another angel, or even a demon, Aziraphale would have asked him out already, body count or no.

So what is he waiting for?

It’s not entirely unheard of, an angel dating outside their dominion. And as for the moral issues of dating a murderer, well, Aziraphale is an angel. He has a responsibility to bring sinners to the light, help them see the truth. That can be done anywhere, not just in church - on a street corner, in a diner…

Back at his flat.

Besides, he and Crowley have a lot more in common than Aziraphale did with his last paramour, an angel he had dallied with solely for the fact that he was guardian of comestibles.

It seemed like a match made in Heaven, so to speak.

Far from it.

“Look - if I let you take me out for coffee, will you stop the gratuitous bloodshed?”

Crowley all but gasps when that question leaves Aziraphale’s mouth, the grin growing on his face transforming, becoming less maniacal and more… normal if that makes any sense. "One cup of coffee. That's all I ask."

"Then come along. Here… “ Aziraphale snaps his fingers, cleaning Crowley thoroughly before he takes his arm. “If you're good, I'll let you buy me a slice of cake.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m a very slow eater. And I figure the longer I stay with you, the more I can keep an eye on you."

“Deal. But, you know," Crowley starts, his tone so filled with teasing he’s on the verge of giggles, "if you, say, spent the night at my flat, you could keep an eye on me for hours. Think of all the people I wouldn’t be able to kill.”

Aziraphale smirks, amused that they both had a semblance of the same idea. “You don’t say?”

“I do.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“More so than you bartering human lives against a cuppa and cake?”

Aziraphale shrugs, but he doesn't relinquish Crowley's arm. He does, however, relieve him of his ax so he doesn’t get any ideas along the way. “Fair point.”

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