#god forbid women burn innocent people

[lesbicastagna]

i blog for women who are the problem and are in fact abusive hysterical pieces of shit on a power trip they are absolutely under qualified for. i blog for girls who are catholic nepo babies and go around with their gay purse dog of a servant

#god forbid women burn innocent people #i dont mind her character arc it gave some fun things but this was her peak. i wish they let her be a villain a little longer #she was awful at it. but its the thought that counts #like they put her on the 'good' side at the same time her religion started to get even more cultish! she would have thrived! #a #they are sharpay and ryan btw. just pointing out #berserk

[dsghnzda]

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[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@sebastianshaw​  Hey, remember when I said that Potoroo Park was the dumbest thing I’ve ever written?  I take it back.  It’s this.  This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever written.  You have my deepest apologies. 

Dreams

Pyro was wearing one of his very old outfits – tight-fitting white pants that flared out at the ankles and a shimmery purple shirt. That was his first clue that something was wrong.  The second clue was that he appeared to be standing in the sand at Bondi Beach, one of Sydney’s most famous and popular tourist spots, instead of his familiar cabin on the Marauder.  

The third clue was the crowd of people rushing past him, screaming in terror.  

“What – “  A panicked surfer slammed into him before he could even get the question out, knocking him into the sand.  For a moment, Pyro was furious because the pants stained so easily, and he’d spent most of his paycheck for that last article on this outfit, and then he remembered that he hadn’t worn any of these clothes in decades.  They’d all gotten sold off at second-hand shops when St. John Allerdyce was packing up his civilian life and running off to become Pyro. He’d worn a lot more red and orange after that.    

The stampede continued around him as he picked himself up, and he could hear voices in the crowd.

“Emus!  The emus are coming!”  

“What?”  

“Emus, mate!”  One of the fleeing beach-goers stopped for a moment to push him along, and Pyro found himself running in spite of himself.  “They won the war and now they’ve turned on us!”  

“What?!”  

“And they’ve allied with cassowaries!”  

“Oh, fuck!”  And then Pyro was running in earnest.  Tourists were always fooled by cassowaries, with their vibrant blue heads that were so very pretty.  To hell with those those murder peacocks.  They were basically feathered dinosaurs, and they’d kick your guts out like an extra on Jurassic Park.  

The fact that none of this made any sense at all did not occur to Pyro.  He was too busy flailing as an errant foot sent him down into the sand again, this time getting stepped on by a few people.

“Augh!  Fuckin’…….gettoff!  Gettoff ya cunts!”  He pushed himself up, dazed, as the crowd receded into the distance, fully intending to burn every god damn one of them, which they totally deserved for trampling him into the dirt like that.  Although he might have to burn a few cassowaries, first.

Two booted feet suddenly appeared in the sand before him.  Pyro looked up, and immediately regreted it.  

The man wore thigh-high black leather boots, and what appeared to be a red diaper held up by odd suspenders crossed over his chest.  And nothing else.  Pyro was not a prude, or someone disgusted by the male body (quite the opposite, in fact). But he had no desire to see anyone dressed like that.  Especially not Fabian Cortez.

“You poor dear, those brutes have left you behind! Are you hurt?”  With a dazzling smile, Cortez offered Pyro a hand up, and the threat of murderous birds on their heels was enough to make him take it.

“Not to worry, my beauty,” Fabian continued before Pyro could even respond.  “I’ll save you!  You can be part of my harem when I defeat the emu army and am declared emperor for life!” He swept Pyro into his arms with surprising ease, and began sprinting down the beach.  

“Put me down, you sleazy piece of – “  Over Fabian’s shoulder, Pyro saw a cloud of dust on the horizon behind them.  The ground rumbled with the sound of powerful, clawed feet.  “Never mind, please keep carrying me.  And run faster.”

“Haha!  Don’t fret, my precious flower!  Those birds are no match for the mighty thighs of Fabian Cortez!”  

“Uh-huh, that’s great.  But I’ll just torch a few to discourage them from getting too close, shall I?”  The dust cloud was getting bigger, and Pryo could faintly see beady eyes and geaming claws in the mass.  He felt in his pockets for his lighter.  Then he felt again.  Then he desperately ran his hands all along his body, praying that he had it in some shirt pocket, even tucked away in his shoe.  

“Stop fidgeting, my cuddly koala!  I know you must be going nearly mad with desire, being so close to me, but please control yourself until I can deal with this crisis. Then I promise I’ll give you full and complete satisfaction, until you faint from sheer delight.”

“Where’s my bloody lighter you wanker?”  Pyro yelled, yanking on Fabain’s long red braid. “I need my lighter!”  

“You don’t need that!”  Fabian argued.  “You only need me!”

“I.  Need. My.  Fucking.  Lighter,” Pyro growled, punctuating each word with another yank on the braid.  He tried to focus on the anger, and not on the panic that was bubbling up in his chest.  No lighter meant he was completely and utterly exposed.  His powers meant fuck-all without fire for him to grab hold of. Because God forbid the fire-manipulating guy actually be able to create fire, right?  That would make things too easy.  

“Don’t get hysterical, my darling wallaby!  Upon my word as a gentleman and supreme mutant, I’ll protect you.  We just have to get to the high ground!”  

“What high ground?”  Pyro exclaimed, but suddenly they were right in front of the Sydney Opera House.  Which was miles away from Bondi Beach, nowhere near running distance, but what the hell.

“We shall climb to safety, my exquisite dingo. And from there I can come up with a strategic plan to save the country –“  Fabian was interrupted as a cassowary charged at him, kicking and squawking.   He jumped back with a rather undiginified squawk of his own.  The birds were all around them now, jabbing and kicking with beaks and claws.  

“Never mind, Allerdyce, it’s every man for himself! I’ll remember your sacrifice, my dearest Tasmanian devil!”  Fabian dropped Pyro, leaped onto the wall and began climbing.

“Wait just a damn minute, you piece of – “   Pyro began climbing himself.  It shouldn’t have been possible to scale Sydney Opera House, but somehow he was doing it, and very quickly went from the main building up onto the shell-like half-domes that protruded up from the roof.

“We’ll be safe up here, my sweet funnel-web spider! Emus and cassowaries are flightless birds!”  Fabian called down.

“I know they’re flightless birds, I’m from this country!”  Pyro looked down for a moment, at the dark mass of birds gathered below him.  There were thousands of them.  Which wouldn’t be a problem if Pyro just had his damned lighter, but of course he was one of the few mutants that needed some outside “help” to use his powers. Fuck genetics right up the arse.  

But it was okay, as long as they stayed up high on the building.  

Wait.  There was a flurry of activity down below, and Pyro saw, to his disbelief, the birds starting to stand on each other’s backs.  

“Climb faster, Cortez!” he yelled up, but soon they reached the tip of the tallest shell, and there was nowhere else to go.          

“I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance you’ve got some matches in that diaper of yours, is there?”  Pyro asked in despair.

“I’m afraid not, my beloved duck-billed platypus. The only hot thing inside my pants is – “

“Shut UP, Cortez!”  Pyro looked down, and immediately regreted it.  The emu-cassowary “ladders” were working their way up the building.  

“Look!  Up in the sky!”  Fabian pointed at a dot far in the distance.  “Is it a bird, or perhaps a plane?”

“That’s not really a pressing issue right now, Cortez!” Pyro snapped, but he paused to look at the dot all the same.  It was quickly getting bigger, as if approaching them.  In a moment, it took shape, revealing the sillouhette of a man.

That in itself wasn’t so strange.  There were all sorts of mutant flyers, both men and women. But there was something especially odd about this one.  There were thin, wing-like appendages that seemed to be protruding out of his face. Then the figure came close enough to recognize, and Pyro groaned.  This was the only thing that could make his day worse.

“Greetings, friends!” exclaimed Sebastian Shaw, looking far cheerier than usual.  “It seems as though you need some assistance!  Let me read to you from the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People!”  

He was wearing his usual rich-as-fuck business suit, but…his hair.  Pyro realized with growing disgust that Shaw’s sideburns had grown freakishly long and seemed to move of their own accord, like the tentacles of some deep-water sea creature.  It appeared to be the primary thing holding him aloft.

“Shaw, what the fuck?!”

“Who is Shaw?”  Sebastian looked innocently confused, a completely alien expression on his face.  “I am the Flying Capitalist, my friends, and I’m here to help people help themselves! I know that with the proper encouragement, you two can overcome adversity, just as I once did!  I worked 13-hour shifts in the foundry starting at age 9, and it made me the man I am today!  Here, have some applications for a management training program!”  Shaw tossed paper down at them.

“Or maybe you could carry us out of here?” Pyro asked.  “Since you can fly and all that…..somehow.”  The sideburns fluttered like pennants for the world’s most disgusting baseball team as Shaw bobbed up and down with the air currents.

“Yes, save us, Flying Capitalist!”  Fabian begged.  “Or at least save me, if there’s only room for one!”    

“Oh, I could carry you to safety.  But would that really be helping you?”

“Yes!”  Pyro exclaimed.

“Nonsense!”  Sebastian waved a hand.  “The real assistance is to help you help yourself.  After all, give a man a fish and he eats for a day.  Teach a man to fish, and he becomes your competitor. But, teach a man to sweep floors and carry buckets of cod, and you can employ him at minimum wage in your fish processing plant!  Everyone wins!  But especially me!”  

“What the absolute bloody fuck are you talking about?”

“There are no free rides in this life, son,” Sebastian continued, now looking stern.  “I’ve done all I can at this point.  You’ll have to get yourself out of this.  Just pull yourself up by your bootstraps and levitate!”  

“That’s completely impossible!” Pyro said.

“Nothings impossible if you’ve got will and drive! It’s the American way!  They said I’d never bring sideburns back, but look at me now!”  

Pyro was trying not to.  The horrible, undulating waves of hair stretched too far across the sky.

“Just pull yourself up, Allerdyce!  You can do it!  Actually, I doubt you can, but it doesn’t matter.  Progress and industry don’t slow down for the incompetent.” Sideburns flapping, Sebastian started to rise into the air again.  “Read Atlas Shrugged!”

“Shaw, have you got a lighter?  At least toss me a lighter!”  Pyro called after him.

“Boooootsraaaaaps……”  came Sebastian’s voice, faint on the wind as he flew away into the clouds.    

For a moment, Pyro and Fabian looked at each other, then back down at the ground.  The emu and cassowaries, piled atop each other, had created a massive living wall that was now dangerously close.

“Maybe we can negotiate?”  

“With who exatly?”

“I think that’s their leader!”  Fabian pointed at a small figure, perched atop the head of the central cassowary.  If Pyro squinted, he could see that it appeared to be wearing a tiny crown and mantle.

“Oh look at it, it’s so cute!”  Fabian gushed.  “Look at its little whiskers and paws!”  

It was cute.  The tiny rodent – Pyro thought he remembered it having some silly name….pootalo?  Poorooto? – gazed up at them with unreadable black eyes.  It twitched it’s adorable little nose, and held out a tiny paw.  Then it turned the paw in a very clear thumbs down gesture.  

“Oh, for fucks sakes!”  Pyro exclaimed as the emus surged forward, up towards them.  

“Maybe we can appease them with a sacrifice!  Forgive me, my petite salt-water crocodile.  I’ll never forget you!”  Cortez grabbed Pyro and attempted to shove him off the ledge.

“Like, hell, Cortez!  You’re coming down with me!”  Pyro wrapped his hands around Fabian’s neck and held on as they tipped forward past the point of no return.  For an instant they were tumbling down towards the sea of birds and the cold dark eyes of King Potoroo –

Then, Pyro jerked awake and felt himself hit the floor.  He flailed around frantically for a moment, and realized that he was sprawled in his cabin on the Marauder  

“Ugh…..”  Pyro lay still while the wave of nausea that always accompanied his hang-overs washed over him.  This time it was accompanied by a sense of relief as the nightmare faded.

“What the god damn hell was that all about?”  Pyro muttered aloud.  Was it some kind of extremely problematic expression of suppressed guilt for living in a country founded on colonization?  Pyro didn’t really dwell on it, but he was well aware of Australia’s bloody history.  Was it his own underlying insecurity about his powers, which at times seemed to reduce him to “guy with flame-thrower”?  Was it a twisted version of his latest romance novel, first draft still halfway completed?  Was he somehow punishing himself for past crimes by dreaming about the two worst people in the entire world?

As his vision came into focus, Pyro spotted the bottle lying next to him.  Tequila, laced with mescaline, which Shinobi had acquired on the black market.  Shinobi, who was still on the bed, snored peacefully, with every inch of the sheets wrapped around him in a satin cocoon.  

Well, that explained it.  Throwing on a pair of shorts, Pyro staggered out to the top deck, and tossed the bottle overboard.  Never again. 

FYI: Fabian is wearing this outfit from the terrible sci-fi movie Zardoz.  I’m so sorry.

#pyro #st. john allerdyce #fabian cortez #sebastian shaw #thecorteztwins cinematic universe #I'm sorry to any pyro shaw or cortez fans that stumble across this #it's related to a very specific fan-fic alt universe #also it's extremely stupid #alt-marauders

[just-another-romantic]

How to Date a Broken God - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Honest Apologies and a Sparring Match

Series Summary: After too many years of pain, a mortal teaches a god how to feel again. Maybe she can learn from him.

Warnings: ngl (Y/n)’s just rude in this one, language, sad Loki, fighting

That night, Loki threw up. After (Y/n)’s confession, the god quickly excused himself from the room, and barely made it to his bathroom before puking up everything he had within the past century. He hadn’t been ill since he was a child, and here he was: knelt over on the cold tile, head in the toilet bowl and clammy hands holding on for dear life.

Last time he had been ill like this, his mother had scooped him up in her arms - despite his protests - and tucked him into her bed, pulling the silk blanket up to his chin. He tried to recall how her hands stroked his hair in comfort as he pushed a stray lock from his face.

He was sick at himself. The once vain god now looked in the mirror and hated the face that stared back at him. He hated his heritage, Odin’s lies and abuse that lasted centuries, and he hated the spiral the truth threw him into once it was unveiled. He hated Thanos with his mind control, that he was weak enough to fall into it - costing thousands of innocent lives, including that poor girl’s parents.

Loki let out an audible groan of anguish, his head dropping lay on his land clutched to the toilet bowl. He hated her...well, not exactly. He hated how his heart twisted at the mere mention of her name. How his heart burst at the melody of her voice or, Odin forbid, her laugh. How she was not a normal mortal, that she stood her ground and held a knife to his neck the second he dared test her. He hated that in every aspect, (Y/n) was what Loki wanted in a lover.

She could never love you, he remembered. You’re a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. A monster, like the world...like your own father and brother think of you. Who would ever want to hold your crimson-stained hands?

Shakily, the unbreakable god stood up from the bathroom floor, quick to splash water in his face in attempt to refresh himself. He looked into the mirror and a monster looked back at him. If asked, he would deny it, but that night Loki fell asleep with tears running down his cheeks.

The morning wasn’t any better. An awkward heavy air still lingered above the Avenger’s heads, leftover from last night. Loki entered the kitchen nook of the floor around seven, grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and maroon t-shirt contrasting against his pale complexion. The golden rays of the still-rising sun fled into the room, enveloping the god in what one could only describe as a halo. Of course, Loki was tired and disoriented from sleep; the only thing he felt like was disheveled. No one noticed the beauty of the waking deity, no one except (Y/n), who promptly choked on her hot coffee.

Bucky was laid out on the sofa, the morning news drowning out his soft snores. James Rhodes sat at the dining table, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Sat on the ground by the television, Peter started on a new Lego set of the Avengers Tower, mumbling about the minor mistakes there were in the tiny architecture. Loki was worried he’d convince Pepper to sue the company.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam called from the barstool, cup of coffee in hand. His eyes traveled from Loki, to Wanda and the pans of scrambled and fried eggs and the pot of boiled eggs, then the pile of bacon next to her. “I hope you like eggs. Don’t really know what you guys eat on different planets.”

Loki stifled a yawn. “I’ll get myself a bagel. But, Birdbrain, yes, we have eggs on Asgard. I just don't eat them.”

“Oh my god is he vegan?” came Peter’s small voice.

Loki chose not to respond to that question and only walked into the kitchen in search of the toasters. He found them pretty quickly, (Y/n)’s small form serving as a landmark. She looked snug and smug, giving Loki the once over as she sipped her coffee, her feet dangling from where she sat on the counter. She looked innocent enough, cozy and clad in sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, and though she was barefooted, Loki had no doubt she was hiding another dagger somewhere.

“Good morning,” she chirped sweetly. “Don’t worry, I don’t have another dagger on me.”

Well, there’s one question answered. He gave her a smile in greeting. There was a bit of a pause before she raised her eyebrows as in ‘Aren’t you getting something?’ to which Loki quickly grabbed the bagels from the breadbasket.

After putting the two slices into the rack, he found himself suddenly interested in his cuticles, while it had been a bad habit he picked up when he was only a child- that constantly got him ratted out by his mother for it. The once suave god that had women falling at his feet lost his tongue in the presence of a mortal girl. “(Y/n)-”he began, before getting cut off.

“Don’t. I know what you’re gonna say.” He gave her an inquisitive look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “The air’s still heavy from last night.”

Loki felt his cheeks heat up. “(Y/n)...I give you my sincerest apology. And I’m well aware that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t even close enough to covering it.”

She shrugged. “I loved them. Still do, with every ounce of myself. My parent’s were my best friends. But you know what they always taught me?” Her burning stare locked with his. “That there’s two sides to every story, and even the monster thinks he’s the hero.”

Her voiced echoed monster in his ears and left an impact in his gut. “I’m sorry darling but I’m not seeing your stance on this...are you offering forgiveness?” His mouth dried up and he found himself unable to speak more than one sentence. He couldn’t even think.

(Y/n) scoffed, swinging down from her perch on the marble. “Oh no. Not even close.” She stepped uncomfortably close and Loki was intimidated, though she barely came up to his nose. “No. I hate you,” she seethed.

His stomach rolled in his belly at the venom in her voice, the words she spewed stinging like hellfire. 

“But I will never wish you bad intentions. Like they always say, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’.” She flashed him an innocent smile, the façade immediately building back up. “We’re teammates, we have to at least tolerate each other.” Tolerate. Enemy. “And for the record, don’t call me ‘darling’, darling.”

Loki gulped, feeling as though his throat had filled with cement, stepped down from his stance with her, and quickly grabbed his food before retreating to his room without another word.

Throughout the entirety of (Y/n)’s accusations, the newest Agent's voice had grown tremendously in volume, drawing the attention of the rest of the room’s occupants. There was a sweet moment of silence and (Y/n) turned to enjoy her coffee in peace, but Sam was too blunt for a Saturday morning.

“Don’t you think that was a bit...I dunno...harsh?”

“If it was, I don’t care.”

“You should,” said Bucky from the coach, his face stony and serious. “It’s how the whole Civil War ordeal started.”

“That’s completely different,” she snapped. “They had their reasons, Stark was being ignorant to the truth, as always it seems-”

Coronel Rhodes’ voice boomed through the kitchen, “Hey!”

(Y/n)’s head turned as the silence fell over the room. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed in on her. “I suggest you watch yourself, little lady,” he said. “You are the new comer, you have absolutely no right to waltz in and talk bad about the man who saved the universe, saving your ass as well.”

“Loki killed my mother in cold blood! My brother! My sisters and my father! And I had to watch!”

“Stark’s weapons killed my family, sweets,” spoke Wanda, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Her slender fingers interwove with the agent’s own, soothing and warm. “And I forgave him. In a matter of weeks.”

“He had no control of who used his weapons, Wandie.”

“I killed his parents,” mentioned Bucky. “He forgave me.”

“You were brainwashed!”

Rhodey leaned against the counter, arms crossing and face stern. “Loki was too.”

Agent (Y/L/n) felt her heart drop at a sickening speed. “He was...what?”

“It was all a part of Thano’s mastermind plan or some bullshit,” explained the Falcon. “He sent people to collect all of the infinity stones, but that ended up going south and he took it into his own hands. One of them being Loki.” Sam’s brown eyes fell to the ground in a silence, and the extremity of the situation hit the girl like a truck. “He found him, floating out there in the depths of the universe, took him, and convinced him to go on a killing spree. Basically.”

(Y/n)’s mind was going a million miles an hour and everyone in the room could practically see the wheels turning in her head. All the blame, all of the hurt, she had cast onto the wrong man. Her voice was shaky and breaking, “So...my parent’s death was - was that raisin’s doing?”

“Thanos killed millions before the Blip,” said Bucky gently.

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Jesus, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”

Rhodey laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You have a few things to learn before we put you on the field, that’s for sure. Gotta control those anger issues, but I think we can whip you into shape pretty quick.

------------

And boy, did they whip her alright.

Hesitantly, (Y/n) agreed to beginning her training early on Sunday, instead of waiting for the work week to start. First, it was a three-mile run with Sam and Bucky around the compound at the crack of dawn, nothing she hadn’t done before or couldn’t handle. After breakfast, there was weights with Rhodey, then yoga with Wanda. Thankfully, she caught a break with Banner in the lab in between sessions, talking about the design of her new suit and how the tech that she didn’t understand would work. Now, she laid flat on her back, thrown for the fifth time in a round of sparring with Bucky.

“C’mon doll,” he taunted in his Brooklyn drawl, “get your butt up. Or do you need help? Do I need to phone 911?”

“For an old man, you sure do know how to talk shit, Granny.”

His black brow quirked in amusement. “That was the best you could come up with?”

Shakily, the agent denied the hand he offered and pushed herself up again, resuming the fighting stance. “I’ll work on it.”

The brunette supersoldier smiled at her, wiping the minimal sweat off himself with a towel. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m giving ya someone that’s more so your size this round.” He called off behind his shoulder and low and behold, Loki took his place on the mat, looking unpleased.

The first thing he said was the simple, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I doubt you would,” she replied, masking her nerves with a stern voice. She shot a glare at Bucky, who sat off to the side with a grin that could beat the Chesire Cat’s. “’I’m pairing you with someone more your size,’ he said! ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said! Bullshit, Buchanan!”

“He’s your size!”

“He’s a god!” (Y/n) looked the mischief maker up and down. He was scrawnier than his blond brother, but his stance and build clearly stated he’d be a difficult opponent. He stood a good half-a-foot above her head, and she doubted her own strength could outmatch his.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Barnes began matter-of-factly, “Loki isn’t built the same as Thor. He’s less jacked and smaller.” Loki’s muttering was heard but disregarded. “However, he’s still one of the strongest of the universe.”

“Then why the hell are you putting me with him if he could squash me between his fingers? I’m human.”

“Yesterday morning, you seemed to be out for his blood, I’m giving you what you wanted.”

Heated shame crept up (Y/n)’s chest and face and Loki’s smirk rendered her speechless.

Bucky ignored her redness, continuing, “He uses his brain, his cunning, his agility, and his speed. Along with his magic, he become’s a dealy combination. You could learn a lot from him, which is exactly why I’m pairing you with him. But for a fair fight, no magic.”

“You’re no fun, Sargent,” the god complained.

“Unless (Y/n) has a trick up her sleeve, no magic.”

Loki looked at her with hopeful eyes, to which she only shrugged. “I only know party tricks. Sorry.”

The mix-matched pair stepped onto the mat, both hesitant. The moment Bucky’s voice rang “Start!” throughout the room, (Y/n) swung a punch, that was quickly deflected and brought behind her back. His body pressed against hers, heat and electricity in-between the two bodies. The agent writhed, brining her elbow hard into this side, then looping her legs around his own.

“That’s it, (Y/n)!” Bucky praised, and (Y/n)’s face flushed under the compliment and the god’s mighty stare. The applause fueling her, she had Loki down a moment later, sitting on his upper thighs, her own straddling his waist. His arms were pinned helplessly against the floor; she smirked.

Loki’s eyes were blown wide, breath heavy, but he smiled back. “You okay there, Silvertongue?” (Y/n) cooed sweetly. She had won.

“Loki,” Bucky called from behind the ropes, “quit holding back!” and the agent’s blood ran cold.

Instantly, her back slapped against the mat, the positions now reversed. Pinned, despite how hard she struggled and fought against his strength. Loki’s eyes locked with hers and her breath caught in the base of her throat, mouth running dry. 

“Never better, petal,” the god answered, whisper of breath crossing her face. The heat left her body as he got up, grabbed his duffle bag, and exited the gym.

(Y/n) sat on the floor, heaving and images of the bluest eyes flashing through her mind. 

AUTHORS NOTE

Holy shit. The first month of 2020 has been kicking my ass. Lord help us all. I’m so sorry for the wait, guys. I hope I can make it up to yall.

TAGLIST

@cosmic-souls-and-stardust @rinthehufflepuff @electroma89 @madshelily @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @acf2510 @daddylouislittle @fanartdom @iam-a-painted-whore 

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #Loki Angst #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki fanfiction #loki headcanon #loki drabble #loki fluff #Avengers #avengers endgame #endgame spoiler alert

[thisiswhatwereupagainst]

An assortment of minor Marvel characters, mainly X-Men ones that I find interesting! Descriptions under the cut: 

Volcana - Marsha Rosenberg was a normal Colorado woman who received her power to take on a super-heated plasma form (later expanded to include a hard volcanic rock form and fluid volcanic ash for as well) from Dr. Doom in exchange for serving as his minion during Battleworld against the X-Men and Avengers. Since then, however, Volcana has sought to live a happy, normal life with her boyfriend Molecule Man. A kind, sweet, and simple soul, the large and voluptuous Volcana is also one of the few canonically plus size women to grace the pages of Marvel (though her weight tends to be more informed by the remarks of other characters than actually depicted by artists, because god forbid they have to draw a “fat” girl) Fantasma - The Soviet sorceress known only as Fantasma served on a number of Russian superhero teams until she discovered that she was actually a Dire Wraith (a race of evil shapeshifting aliens) with amnesia, who had been raised as a human foundling, forced to hide her true form. Once she learned this, she allied with the Russian supervillain The Presence and attempted to infect the world with Dire Wraith egg spores, only to be banished to Limbo by her former teammates. Anaconda - Blanche “Blondie” Sitznski was a former steel worker and calisthenics instructor who was modified by Roxxon to have scales, gills, and super-strong, super-stretchy, adamantium-enhanced arms that can elongate and coil around her foes like the great snake from which she takes her names. After serving Roxxon in the underwater mission (hence the gills) that she was modified for, she joined the Serpent Society, a group of snake-themed supervillains, and has been with them since. Blanche has a stereotypical New York “tough guy” personality right out of a 1970s Bronx diner, but a soft spot for musicals. Catseye - This young mutant possessed the ability to shapeshift into a feline form, and was raised by stray cats in the sewers, apparently having been abandoned by her parents as a baby. As a teenager, Emma Frost located her and recruited her into the Hellions, giving her the civilian name Sharon Smith. Sharon believed herself to be a cat that could turn into a human, rather than the other way around, and was a blithe, innocent soul who wished to befriend the New Mutants (especially Wolfsbane, whom she saw as a kindred being due to her similiar powers) rather than fight them. She was tragically killed with most of the other Hellions at the hands of the time-traveler Trevor Fitzroy for some grudge he held against the future Emma Frost of his timeline, and has yet to see a permanent resurrection of any sort. Roulette- The teammate of Catseye in the Hellions, Jennifer “Jenny” Stavros was far less innocent. The youngest daughter of a casino owner, Jenny appropriately possessed the power to manipulate the luck of others for good or ill, and enjoyed using this power to bully or even hurt people. She was running with a gang until Emma Frost saved her from jail, and was the only member of her team to come close to liking Empath, the most sadistic and evil of the Hellions, often acting as his cohort in his cruel schemes. All that said, Jenny was still a teenager, and probably had a lot of room to grow, if she had only gotten the chance. Alas, she met the same fate as Catseye. Shinobi Shaw -  The illegitimate and abused son of Sebastian Shaw, Shinobi killed his father (or at least, so it seemed) and assumed his mantle of Black King of the Hellfire Club. He proceeded to do very little with it, nor with his membership in the Upstarts (a squad of murderous rich young mutants which the previously mentioned Trevor Fitzroy was a part of), preferring instead champagne, hot tubs, and hot people of both genders. While his powers to control his density could be lethal, becoming diamond-hard or phasing like a ghost the way Shadowcat does, Shinobi generally preferred to flee rather than fight. He couldn’t run from his father, though, who turned out not to be as dead as the poor boy thought… Jetstream -  Haroun ibn Sallah al-Rashid was born in Morocco, and loved using his jetblast-like mutation to fly. Unfortunately, it also burned his legs off. The Hellfire Club replaced them with cybernetic legs, and in return the teen served Emma Frost in the Hellions squad. He clashed with Empath greatly, but became close friends with Catseye, often watching out for her and protecting her from her own headstrong naivete. He also formed a friendly but intense rivalry with Cannonball of the New Mutants, since they had nearly identical powers, and was determined to prove he was the better/faster flyer. Haroun was the first victim to fall Fitzroy during the slaughter of the Hellions. Bevatron - Hailing from France, Fabian Marechal-Julbin was a teenage mutant recruited by Emma Frost into her Hellions for his ability to project lightning from his hands. Bevatron was a late arrival in the Hellions so he did not have as much time to establish a personality before his untimely end at Fitzroy’s hands with the rest, but he seems to have been less aggressive than his teammates…until Emma Frost was threatened! Mindmeld - The mutant known only as Mindmeld appeared in just a single issue of X-Force as a bodyguard and enforcer for Shinobi Shaw. She had a jaded outlook on mutant/human relations, thinking that dreams of peace and harmony were nothing but silly shackles. She was also hinted to be a transgender woman, but given her ability to swap minds between bodies, she could simply be an originally female person who was simply occupying a male body at the moment.

#xmen #x men #x men fanart #marvel fanart #hellions

[chim-chimmie]

Dancing with the Devil

CHAPTER 7: THE BONNIE & CLYDE CONCEPT

✧ pairing: jungkook x reader ft. taehyung

✧ genre: angst

✧ words: 7.5k

✧ description: being locked up with taehyung wasn’t half as bad, but being locked up with jungkook was pure hell.

✧ warnings: violence, weapons/guns, hostage !!!

prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

“Well, it’s half as bad,” Taehyung exclaimed after nothing but silence filled the thick air, and the quiet snicker in his low tone was making you decide whether he was being serious or not.

You exhaled and once again inhaled deeply as if it took you all the strength in the world to start talking, but you weren’t even sure how to react. “Are you serious?” was the only thing you brought out in a tired voice.

Pulling your hands once again, you realized it was pointless now and there was no chance for your skin to be freed from the tight rope cutting in your wrists. And honestly, the more the both of you tried, the more the tie dug into your stomachs as well. You sighed, giving up officially as you leaned back your head against Taehyung’s. The sweat lingered between your backs, overflowing your bodies with it, making you two stick together like glue.

“Actually, no,” Taehyung answered in a deep breath.

You closed your eyes to at least blend out the small room you were in – grey, dusty, dirty and more over without any windows. You had always wondered how it must feel to be locked in such a room – you watched way too many crime shows – but now that you were one of them, you wanted nothing else but to escape. Why did you always have to be so god-damn curious? “Are we going to die?”

The man behind you now laughed out loud and almost rolled over, pulling harshly at the rope in your skin.

“Ouch, stop doing that!”

He immediately brought himself back up, calmed himself to at least a shy giggling and responded, “I’m sorry.” “Well? Are you laughing because you don’t want to face the truth of us dying inside of here?” you cocked up an eyebrow in annoyance now, even though he couldn’t see you, and underlined your question with arrogance.

Taehyung firmly answered, “No, I laugh because you do not know Jungkook very well as I do. He’ll get us out of here in a minute.” “I’m going to count then,” you divulged.

“Okay, I didn’t mean it literally. But do you know how often I was stuck in places like this? I’m not even afraid anymore.”

You snorted in high disbelief, this shouldn’t be something to be considered normal, was it? “Fucking hell, great for you. But I’m clearly not used to it.”

“Well,” he started and you could hear the exhaust in his voice, “when I started, I was all lonely and could help myself out of trouble somehow. But since I’m in Agma, I knew from the beginning I can trust Jungkook with everything I have.”

First, you frowned your eyebrows as his respond had no correlation with what you said. Of course, he had to make this about him and talk about his oh-so-brutal experiences. But as you started processing his answers, you knew this was your chance to bomb him with questions and more questions, because again, your curiosity needed to know everything. “Wait, what do you mean with when you started? Started what? And how long have you been with Jungkook? And how did you even get there? Was he like hiring people for stuff like that? I don’t get it.” “Woah there, that’s too many questions at once,” Taehyung chuckled and you were left breathless as you again asked way too much – things, to which you probably would never get any concrete answers like you wanted to. That’s what you got from being you.

So, you just wanted to let it be – just sit there and wait for the almighty Jungkook to get you out of here. You couldn’t lie, you were scared for life and that’s not exactly what you imagined yourself to get into. But slowly, your brained started processing what all of this meant, what it meant to be with that man, what Jungkook had been trying to tell you all the time. But it was too late now, the rush of excitement in your blood got it out of you as you were trying to avoid him but simply failed. You started understanding this way of living step by step, tapping in small puddles of water – but as you didn’t watch your steps accordingly, you fell into this deep and dark sea. And now? You needed to learn how to swim properly to keep your head out of the water.

Taehyung made notice of your silence way too quickly, so he added, “Look. I’m not someone to lie and say things you want to hear or soothes your heart. It’s not all flowers and sunshine, and I keep it realistic when it comes to serious things. So, if you seriously want to ask me about us, you better prepare yourself for some harsh truth.” You swallowed a big lump down your throat as it has been itching since day one you met Jungkook. Taehyung’s words weren’t harsh or rude, but they sure made your stomach tighten in a weird way. This was your chance to finally make the drought in your mouth stop, so you went for it. “I see… I appreciate that, really. I love honesty.” “Hah, that’s great,” the man cackled in a degrading way, “So?”

You let the disgusting air wash your lungs one more time and straight forward asked, “What exactly is your job?”

“External or internal?”

You frowned, “Is there a difference?”

“Well, would you kill a guest in the casino in front of everyone else’s eyes?”

Silence. The only thing you could hear was your breaths along your heart pounding, and pounding, and pounding… Second by second passed by slowly as ever, his question echoing through your brain. He did… what?

“Exactly, you wouldn’t. It does make a difference. For the face of the casino Agma, I am simply the controller. You know, things like taking care of events, organizing stuff, keeping the whole business going and keep all processes under control. For example, I also clear up fights between guests,” he told you like an open book and in that moment you were scared of the continuation of his answer.

But your ears perked up, all of your tiredness suddenly gone even though you could literally feel the long bags under your eyes. Your chest burning from the rush in your blood, your heart bouncing loudly still. “And… internal?”

“Hmm, a similar role. But there is a completely other business going on behind the scenes. Not always legal ones,” he paused then cackled, “Well, barely legal ones. And there are way more things going wrong, so I have to take care of that.” “Which includes killing?” you gulped, and you have never been more anxious about an answer.

Taehyung snickered at your innocent question. “Exactly, but only if I really have to. I don’t like doing it, honestly. Imagine, that person owes you five million dollars and we kill him. Five million gone, right?”

“Mhmm,” you murmured with widened eyes and nodded, trying to understand what he was talking about. “And what exactly is the business you do behind the scenes?”

“Ah, Y/N, you’re asking questions…” the man sighed in frustration and you were sure he was forbid to talk about that to any third-parties. What else would you have expected.

You shook your head, “No, I’m sorry. I’m just very curious, you don’t have to answer of course.”

“I mean, Chocolate is really attached to you, so I’m sure he’d tell you sooner or later anyways and-“

You had to interrupt him now, “Ch-chocolate?”

Taehyung laughed out shyly, “Oh yeah, that’s how we call Jungkook most of the times. Especially undercover.” “Why?” your mouth somehow formed a smile.

“Ah, we used to call him Kookie at first and we all know he loves cookies. And his favorite are the chocolate ones, plus he eats a lot of chocolate anyways. I don’t know, I think Jin called him that one day and since then, we all do it.” You didn’t know why exactly, but his answer made your heart warmer with every beat of it and every thought of Jungkook. You imagined how he’d react when you’d call him his favorite taste in the softest way you could. To be honest, it even fit him – chocolate, like his dark brown hair, his beautiful brownie eyes and his skin. Oh god, his warm and soft skin glowing in the perfect melanin, and sweet, sweet as chocolate. Chocolate, you grinned harder than before and made sure to engrave it in your head to use the nickname – hopefully – sometime soon.

“Anyways, what I wanted to say: I haven’t seen him like that in such a long time. He’s in a great dilemma because of you.”

Your lovely day-dreaming drained down in a second, and confused you asked, “Dilemma? Why that?”

“I mean,” Taehyung started but hesitated with a long pause, probably thinking about an answer, where he wouldn’t say too much. But he realized, there was no point in that. “He really likes you.” “And?” You couldn’t deny those words, those little four words, shot straight to your heart, having the biggest impact on it as it spread sparkles through your whole body. But you really weren’t satisfied with a little sentence as an answer.

“I can’t really remember the last time he talked about a woman non-stop. Mmh, maybe two years ago? Three? Something around that… Anyways, he really likes you but exactly that is the reason he doesn’t want you to be hurt. Aaand that is most likely going to happen, or has happened already. I mean, look where you are now. Women usually leave him after they realize what he does, or simply take him granted for his money. He didn’t know anything else than people constantly running away from him. He’s in the biggest confusion ever with you. Jungkook doesn’t want to lose you, but his actions are going to push you away sooner or later…”

Meanwhile, a tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another one. Your vision blurred out a little as you listened to Taehyung. You knew he must say the truth as he had known Jungkook for years for him to even say something like this. And it hurt, it really hurt, that’s why it must be honest. You didn’t cry because you got yourself in this position, but you cried because you could see yourself in him. People running away from you, people taking you for granted, you pushing people away, getting hurt all the time, not knowing what true love is… All the same. You always thought if you let yourself on a ride with any man ever again, it would happen all over again. That’s what you thought with Jungkook too, and that’s why you didn’t want to get to know him in the first place. But now you only realized, he was in the same position as you. The little game in the beginning, the push and pull, the seduction but the rejection. What started off as something meaningless and seemed small, turned into something huge so quickly, without realizing. Neither of you knew and that was it. For someone outstanding to watch this, of course, quickly processed what it was. So, Taehyung told you what he had to – he also only wanted the best for his friend.

“Are you crying, Y/N?” he now asked, turning his head but it wasn’t enough for him to see your reddened eyes.

You dried your skin on your shoulder, probably smearing all of your make-up and then answered, “S-sorry. I just fell in thoughts.”

“I told you about me being brutal honest, so don’t cry now,” Taehyung said and his soothing voice made his words sound less harsh than they actually were.

You now fought a little laugh, “I know, I know. It’s good to hear the truth, but I just realized he’s the same as me. And I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. I was used to get hurt, my partner was used to hurt without having any bad feelings. But I’m not sure what will come out if both people in a relationship are being used to get hurt.”

“Do you like him, Y/N?” Taehyung asked, lingering his fingers between yours, trying to hold them.

By your surprise, you felt relieved in that moment, to know you weren’t alone at all. You were sure he was a good person, even though he killed people, and so was Jungkook and the rest of his men. “I do, Taehyung, I do. But I am scared.”

He now squeezed your fingers, whispering, “Call me Tae. And see, you have mutual feelings. It’s all good.”

“But what if it doesn’t turn out good in the future?” you asked, fingers shaking and he stopped them.

“You’ll never know if you never try. Yeah, it’s a cliché saying, but it’s true. If you throw it away, you’ll always wonder what would’ve happened if…”

You exhaled the heavy air from your lungs and firmly nodded, “You’re right. But right now, I just wonder if Jungkook is fine.”

“What exactly happened there anyways?”

After explaining what exactly went wrong with the plan and how you were frozen watching Jungkook getting beaten up by his fiend. When you finished, the tight and warm grip around your fingers disappeared and you heard Taehyung swallow hard, his breath shaking. It wasn’t exactly the reaction you expected, but now you were even more worried than before. “Is everything okay, Tae?”

“Y-yeah, we’ll get out of here, d-don’t worry,” the man babbled, but when you felt his shivers running through you as well, you couldn’t really believe him.

You pushed your elbow softly into his body, whatever part it was, and starkly asked again, “Are you sure? You don’t sound very confident in your answer.”

Now he let out the loudest and most grunty sigh you had ever heard, and in a lower octave, he kept his answer the same, “I am sure. He’s probably locked up as well right now, but I think Jeehyung only got me, you and him. The rest had escaped, so they’ll come for us.”

You let your head sink low now, because you were tired at this point and didn’t have any other choice but to trust in his words. Only then, she crossed your thoughts and you had to take a deep breath. “That’s great, when you’re missing, and you know they’ll come and get you,” you flashed yourself a smile, a bright fake and tiring one.

“Huh, what? Something happened?” Taehyung now shot his back up, probably heard the sadness in your voice.

You pulled your knees up to you and leaned your forehead against it, every inch of your lower body hurting and pinching for whatever reason and you suddenly felt cold. There was that feeling in your throat again, where it all felt stuffed and narrow.

“Y/N?”

You opened your eyes only to look down at your dress, not so bright and shiny as it had been few hours ago – only darker and dustier. The cotton caught drops of your tears and as it was material of high quality, they dried very quickly. Everything seemed half as bad when you watched that, then you spoke up, “My best friend Hana. We live together and ever since she found out Jungkook is a criminal, she wanted me to stop seeing him, which I tried at first. But I couldn’t hesitate to help him when Yoongi came by and now I haven’t seen her ever since. I bet she doesn’t even care anymore. She’s probably so filled up with me.”

“Oh…” Taehyung whispered at your unexpected rant, then grabbed your hand again – warmth rushed through you and you felt so safe. “Haven’t you guys like texted or something? Didn’t you call each other?”

“Well, I tried reaching her multiple times with Jungkook’s phone but she didn’t pick up. She’s probably having the time of her life now without me always being a burden to her,” you wailed quietly.

Taehyung exhaled loudly, then stated as he was about to go off like the biggest drama ever happened, “Okay, that Hana is a bitch.”

You cackled a little at his answer and he immediately continued, “Listen, Y/N. We always think we are a burden to someone. But we definitely are not. Hana simply couldn’t handle you or Jungkook, she was too weak for something serious like that. I’m sure she’s someone who likes simple things without any big complications. And she needs to know life isn’t as easy and smooth as she thinks. Stupid things will happen, heart-wrecking stuff will occur, and if she is not there to handle it with you together, then let her be. Everybody needs at least one person, who will go through thickest and heaviest walls with you, and in that case, it clearly is not Hana.”

Your lips parted at this whole life advice Taehyung just gave you, but when you came to think of it, his words did make sense, they were true. “Wow, I mean… You’re totally right. But I always considered her as my best friend – since pre-school to be exact. If it’s not her, who then?”

“That is a question I cannot answer you. It’s your duty to go out, walk around, go on adventures and find out who will stick by your side. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s Jungkook, maybe it’s even Jeehyung. Maybe it’s the son of our president. Maybe it’s a dog. But you have to step out to find out.”

You let his wise words wash through you and thought about it. It was a similar feeling Jungkook had been providing you all the time – the stepping out of the comfort zone, walking barefoot, exploring new things. You felt comfortable with not only Jungkook, but now with Taehyung too – well, of course not in the same intimate way. But you were so sure Agma was so much more behind the casino than only the illegal business. It was friendship, it was family, and you were finally starting to feel and recognize it. If Hana thought you’d get back home anytime soon, you could bet on everything you wouldn’t. Not before you found out about this world outside.

Your mouth widened in a grin, “Thank you, Tae. You’re so right.”

“Of course I am,” Taehyung laughed out only to break the tense and depressing air. “By the way, Jungkook is by far the least criminal out of us all.”

Before you could come to words, you only caught breath and then the heavy door got torn open and smacked the wall loudly, making you and Taehyung both jump up like scared cats. You looked to the side, seeing the grand outline of Jeehyung standing in the door frame and his loud cackling penetrated your ears. “Jungkook the least criminal? Shit, Taetae, you must be day-dreaming.”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t even know him,” the man behind you hissed and pulled his body aggressively to the front, causing you to cough as the rope dug into your skin even deeper.

Jeehyung’s heavy steps tapped on the concrete floor and only turned louder and more unbearable the closer they got to you. He stopped right in front of you, but you didn’t dare one bit to look up to him, so you simply broke the gaze down to your knees while you watched them tremble as if they had a hurricane on their own inside them.

“We both know very well that I have known Kookie since we were children, Taetae, isn’t it?” his tone sunk the lowest it could, giving you goosebumps.

You literally felt his body hovering over Taehyung’s, and you thought the only thing you could hear right now was your heart whipping in angst. But you were very mistaken in fact, when you heard a sharp clang of a knife struck echo through the small room, piercing into your ears as if he had just directly cut into your ear-drums. You gasped, way too loud to your unfortunate, but Taehyung just snickered behind you. While you were heavily scared for life, the man was literally mocking this whole situation. What the hell was wrong with him?

Jeehyung’s breath now neared your shoulder and you trembled in your very own place, unable to move any inch or react at all. You were stuck under him, feared of this dark and large feature above you and when you felt his resting on your shoulder, your dry throat let out a small but very scratchy and significant cry. Taehyung grabbed your hands again and you held onto them as if it meant to hold for your dear life, but it didn’t help at all.

“Y/N, Y/N… Look at me, gorgeous,” he demanded in a very calm and generous tone to your surprise. “Breathe, breathe. I won’t kill you if you think that’s it. You just need to look me in the eyes now, will you?”

Your eyelashes twitched quickly to regain at least a little clear sight from all your tears before you collected all of your courage to lift your head and turn to his side. When you finally did, your irises shook from side to side, not knowing whether to look into his deadly eyes or any other part of his face that seemed less intimidating. He was unbelievably close, his warm breath brushing over your nose and cheeks, and the handsome face you had seen on Tinder suddenly disappeared. Not that he turned ugly, but somehow all of his beauty faded away in this very second. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, his face frowned and he seemed very angry in fact. Strands of his hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t bother at all and the more you observed, the more you felt like you were staring into pure emptiness. Yes, that was it – he looked so empty and soulless. Heartless. Antipathy washed through you and you’d rather spit into his faced right now more than anything.

After a while of silencing and icing, Jeehyung’s lips moved to a small smirk, then he asked in the same soothing voice as before, “Do you want to see Kookie?”

“Yes!” you screamed from the bottom of your lungs and it took all your breath away at once. How could you even think of hesitating to answer this question. You didn’t even know in what condition he was, if he was okay, if he was hurt. You needed to see him yourself.

The man chuckled at your quick response and brought his long dirty fingers up to your face – to which you immediately flinched – pushing your hair behind your ears. The last thing you wanted was to be touched by him. “Then come with me,” he inquired with a grin, but there was so much evilness hidden behind it, you were so sure.

The next second, the knife swooshed through the air and stood still only inches away from your nose, right between you and him. You watched the metal now twist and turn in between his fingers, showing off tricks or whatever with it and your eyes couldn’t keep up with it. What was he up to now? The sharp object stood still again, Jeehyung’s hands didn’t even shake one bit, while you were drowning in a wild tsunami internally. What a contrast.

“Cool, right?” he asked, his eyes wandering along the length of the tool as if he was in love with it. Well, he probably was.

Were you supposed to seriously answer his question now? But before you could think rationally, you nodded fast, in hope he would simply accept your sincerity instead of cutting you or something. God, why was he holding you on the line for so long – all you wanted was to see Jungkook!

And before you could realize, he already lifted his knife and you could only follow the weak shimmer that was left as a trace in the air – then the rope between your and Taehyung’s body got cut off. Air filled your lungs and your stomach heaved up and down in final freedom. You thought Taehyung might jump up and attack Jeehyung now that he wasn’t tied to you anymore, but he stayed still. Although you were surprised at first, you knew there wasn’t much he could do with his hands still tied behind his back, so he stayed calm and of course trusted in Jungkook. But how was he supposed to get you two out of here when he was probably locked here too?

“C’mon,” Jeehyung said and in contrast to his soft voice, he gripped your arm harshly and pulled you up. Only now you realized how much your feet actually hurt and when you looked down, you still found your high heels on them. As the tall man was dragging you out of the room, you looked back to Taehyung, who mouthed ‘Be careful’ and you nodded firmly, kicking your painful shoes off your sore feet.

You stumbled behind Jeehyung, the callous and icy floor crawled in the skin of your bare feet and you were sure it wouldn’t take much longer until your muscles gave up. Only few seconds passed by until you reached another heavy door at the end of the dark and narrow hallway. You supposed this was a cellar or something – well, it certainly was your rock bottom now.

Without any words, the door creaked open and without any respect, you got pushed inside. Jeehyung followed with closing the door behind and realized this room was even smaller when he switched the light on. But what you noticed next, was the figure leaning against the wall – hands up high as they were tied with chains hanging from the ceiling. Your jaw dropped low and your eyes widened at the picture of him being in this position. But moreover, it felt like someone would nonchalantly punch into your chest.

“Y/N!” Jungkook fought to say as soon as he looked up at you.

Your lips trembled when you neared him, observing how his thighs trembled and his breath uneven. The snow-white suit jacket he had worn last night – last night? or was it only a few hours ago? – was thrown to the ground. His purple shirt was torn open to expose his stomach and chest, and only then you saw the stains all over it, as lilac as the cotton hanging from his torso was. You could only imagine what he must’ve gone through by swallowing Jeehyung’s punches and you wondered if there had been more by the time he was locked up in here. “Jungkook…”

“Sorry, your man had to take some more punches,” Jeehyung whispered as he grabbed your arm to pull you backwards to him. “I hope you don’t mind, it’s what he deserves.”

Jungkook observed how Jeehyung untied the rope from your wrists and oh, did he look mad. His eyes were glaring with so much hatred, but when his eyes fell into yours again, they softened. They were sad, filled with so much regret and apology, then he spoke, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I know you can never forgive me this.”

You gave him a light head-shake as an answer because nobody was at fault, really.

“God, you two make me want to throw up,” Jeehyung exclaimed, and pulled at your wrists even more aggressively now. Only now you realized your hands were freed, but not too long as you felt getting heavier stuff attached around your wrists. When you looked back, you saw that he was binding chains instead.

“Then puke,” you spat out, and now you were feeling much more hate than anxiety. In this room together with Jungkook, you suddenly felt energy rush in you, and you felt stronger than seconds ago. So, you were about to fight back, no matter if it only meant verbally.

Jeehyung mumbled in a smirk, “Hah, kinky.” Then dragged you a few inches further until you stood right in front of Jungkook, where only a hand could fit in between your bodies. You got lost into each other’s eyes, you blended out what the asshole was blurting about and more than that, you weren’t realizing what he was doing to you. You just let everything around you happen, while a tear flowed down your cheek – delighted and wretched you got to see Jungkook again. Delighted, because you were in his presence, alive. Wretched, because this horrible room, where you both were restrained, was the current setting.

“What the fuck are you doing! Let her go, Jeehyung!” Jungkook suddenly shouted as only now he awakened from the same trance as you and saw you as his mirror-picture – hands up high, chained, hanging from the ceiling. When reality hit you, you started shaking your arms, in hope you’d somehow slip out of the chains. But as Jeehyung only laughed at you in mockery, you comprehended you were done for good.

“Now, stay still,” Jeehyung demanded in a harsh attitude, “neither of you want to get killed, I suppose.”

He walked right to the side of the both of you and watched you, his grin sickening and evil. One knew how to possibly shut someone up with threatening and you had to give him that point. You didn’t want to die yet and neither did Jungkook – but if you compared yourself to him, you were more likely to be ice, frozen and unable to even move one inch. But he was the fire itself, his animosity burning inside of him and you wondered which point was needed to be reached until he’d flip tables.

“So, thank you for coming to this little party, my friends,” Jeehyung began and looked into this very small round before he continued his monologue, “I see you found your little Bonnie, Jungkook.”

“What fucking Bonnie are you talking about?” Jungkook hissed at the other man, gaining no reaction whatsoever.

“Don’t you know Bonnie and Clyde? That couple, which goes through crimes together and loves each other unconditionally. I mean, she isn’t the first one in this position here, right?” Jeehyung stated calmly, exchanging looks between the both of you in a friendly tone, as if he was waiting for a serious answer.

Anger slowly started building up in your gut and you couldn’t listen to his voice anymore, so you just fired back, “So what? I’m his Bonnie now, and? Why would that be your business?”

“It is my business indeed, because sooner or later he’s gonna get bored of you and will sell you to me,” he tilted his head in pure joy and you only opened your mouth in disbelief as you looked over to Jungkook again.

He firmly shook his head and defended himself, “I never sold any woman, Jeehyung, why are you saying this crap?”

Now Jeehyung started cackling out loud and seemed to have the time of his life, then added, “God, why do you take everything so serious? This is a little party, we should be joking around, hm?”

You breathed out exhaustingly and rolled back your eyes in tiredness, not knowing how much longer you could bear all of this. Not only were you chained up, but the man you desired as well – on top of that, Jeehyung was humiliating the both of you. Just when you let your head sink low to show no feelings anymore whatsoever, Jeehyung’s phone rang. Your head snapped back up and the man quickly checked it, stating, “I’ll be right back. Until then, you two try to fuck each other or something.” With that being said, he stormed out of the small room and seemed to have walked all the way down the hallway to pick up his phone. Pure relief extended under your skin when you now could finally bore your eyes into Jungkook’s again, without having to fear anyone else’s attendance.

“Jungkook…” you whispered, one edge of your lips lifting in a painful smile.

Instead of words, he simply leaned in to crash his lips on yours, filling you with relish and the comfort you just needed. You kissed him back, even harder but passionate enough for you to be left breathless.

When you broke the kiss, neither of you pulled away, you just stayed like that, forehead against forehead, feeling each other’s cold sweat and burning hot skin. “Say nothing and don’t be scared. Yoongi and Xio are on their way,” he murmured, softly rubbing his nose against yours to show his affection and care.

You asked back insecurely, “How are you so sure?”

“I just know it. They never leave me hanging…”

You fought another smile and so did he, and Lord, did it feel good and safe just to even be with him despite the horrible setting. You were simply glad he was alright and here with you.

“And I know you will never forgive me this, so I’m not sure how to even start apologizing. You don’t deserve any of this, this isn’t your world,” Jungkook stuttered in fear, but you wished nothing else but to hold him in your arms and give him warmth and strength.

You sighed, “I mean, this isn’t exactly what I expected when I let myself into you. But you made me fall in love again, so you can bet I won’t let go of that anytime soon.”

His head popped up with widened eyes. “You f-fell in love?”

“I-“ you swallowed hard, overthinking your next response very well as you didn’t want to say anything wrong. But where was the point in lying now? “I think so… I don’t remember the last time I have felt so wild, free and mostly alive. You provide me exact that feeling and I want to go on adventures. With you.”

His beautiful face now lightened up and a bright smile crossed his sharp but gorgeous features. Jungkook didn’t respond and you didn’t even expect him to. It solely felt virtuous to let out your feelings for once. You were more than ready for him.

“Then,” Jungkook started off, taking a break to breathe in properly, “you’ll need to know more about me, about the business behind.”

And there was it again, the adrenaline flowing in your blood. God, how eccentric and altruistic it felt, you could get addicted to it. You were totally going irrational.

“I don’t think we have enough time for everything, right? Jeehyung will be back soon. Just tell me superficial about it, because I have been curious about it way too long,” you bit your lower lip, all excited like a little child who was about to open their Christmas present.

Jungkook smirked at you directly, his gaze sending shivers down your spine. “You’re right, my dear. Let’s just say, I trade with a lot of things. Weapons, drugs, money, different currencies, illegal funds, and stuff like that.”

His expression was insecure for sure, but you gave him a small peck on his pretty mouth, saying, “Thank you for trusting me.”

As soon as you heard heavy steps from outside, you pulled away a little from Jungkook and both your expressions turned blank. As you assumed, Jeehyung stormed back in, a lot angrier this time and directly walked towards Jungkook. He pulled at his hair to get him to look in his face and you went numb when you watched the scene.

“This is it. You snatched my sister? Is this what we’re gonna do now? I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger this time, Jeon,” Jeehyung barked into the other’s face, and you weren’t sure if his eyes were red and his face covered wet because he was tired as hell or if he had just cried his eyes out.

You tried gaining your own little space by shyly pulling away from Jeehyung as you remembered Jungkook’s words from before. You better shut up before making everything worse, although it was easier said than done as you had no other choice but to watch them go off, letting outrage build up inside of you.

“What are you talking about?” Jungkook blatantly asked, white shock washed over his face.

Jeehyung rolled his eyes and clenched his jaws to the maximum, the outline of his face turning sharper than any sword. Before continuing to ramble, he pulled out a gun in under a second, now shoving the tip right under Jungkook’s chin. He was now forced to have his chin up high, eyes avoiding you in every way possible and you? You were completely anesthetized by now.

“Don’t lie to me. How dare you to touch a member of my family? That’s very disrespectful and you know what I do to people, who disrespect me. I kill them without hesitation,” Jeehyung growled and you closed your eyes in greatest fear. But when you heard the click-clack of the metal in his hand, you knew it was only a matter of seconds before he pulled the trigger for real.

“No, shoot me instead!” you cried out, unpredictably, and tore your eyes open again just to find them both glaring at you – one definitely amused and the other begging you silently to shut up. But that wouldn’t stop you. “Go ahead and kill me. If you’re going to kill him, kill me first!”

“Y/N, hold your mouth, you’re crazy! You don’t know what you’re talking about! If you want to kill anyone, it’s me! Let her go!” Jungkook pleaded from the depth of his heart, you could feel it.

And of course you were providing Jeehyung the best show he had ever witnessed, making him laugh a little – at least he felt some kind of joy with what he was doing. “Oh, Bonnie,” he now turned to you, whispering, “here you go again. This man is worthless, believe me.”

“No! I won’t let you kill him for fuck’s sake!” you screamed and the squealing noise was immediately followed by a gun shot, making you flinch abruptly and look to the ground, not wanting to see what you were afraid of.

Your quick heart pace caused your lungs to stop functioning normally as your breathing got uneven and too fast for you to catch up. Did he really just-

“You little bitch have no right to order me around!” Jeehyung spat out, lifting up your chin in a forceful grip – to let you see dust falling from the ceiling down on all of you, and Jungkook still shaking helplessly with the gun in his throat. Thank God, he only shot upwards.

By now you were covered in cold sweat and so were all of you as far as you could see. When you dared to catch Jungkook’s eyes again, you saw how much he begged you to shut up again, how his mouth formed words and sentences but no sound came out. Everything occurred in slow-motion now and it took you seconds to even process what was happening, who was talking about what, who was swearing who and who is begging and pleading and who was shouting and, and, and… But you didn’t want to give up yet, how could you be able to watch Jungkook go under right in front of your eyes? Was it supposed to end like this? Would that teach you a big lesson? No, you didn’t want it to end and the least thing you needed now was a wise lesson from all this bullshit happening.

It was again the push and pull. Jungkook didn’t push you away, he was pushing himself away from you, for you to not be hurt, for you to be free. But what you were doing, was the exact same thing. You were used to sacrifice yourself for someone else and so was he. If any of your exes would be in Jungkook’s place, he’d try and get out of here as fast as possible, caring about his own will to live. But the man in front of you would take all of it just to get you out of here, even if it meant his death. You pulled him, but he only pushed you into freedom, falling back all alone. You weren’t going to let that happen.

“No, Jungkook, you shut up. Jeehyung!” you fumed at both of them, leaving them both in surprised shock now. When you got the man’s attention, you simply repeated, “Shoot. Me. C’mon. Shoot. Fucking hell, shoot now!”

All of your anxiety turned into the biggest hurricane of adrenaline, causing everything inside you to burn and you weren’t going to let that sit still in there. You were ready to burst out, even if it meant to show a side you hadn’t even seen yourself but right now, you couldn’t sit there and cry, wait until someone from above came to save you. Your look fixed on Jeehyung, you were angry and made sure to not let his intimidation dominate you, but to let your abhorrence rule over him.

“Wow, Y/N, you’re the first girl to ever talk back to me like that, but you know what?” Jeehyung chuckled again, not letting himself down for sure.

As he observed Jungkook’s face one more time, the other man spoke with tears breaking through his eyes, “Y/N! Stay still, please, you’ll get killed for real. I want you to live, I want us to live. We can solve this somehow else.”

His words and the aching look on his face pinched you in the heart but it was too late now to regret your lost head from just seconds ago – Jeehyung had already picked another gun out of his pocket and you felt the cold metal shoved into your skin as well. A tear rolled down your face but that won’t do anything better, right?

The gun thrilled in your veins and you were constantly changing between breathing in a fast pace and not breathing at all for a few seconds. The only thing you were left to do was stare into Jungkook’s dark and hurt eyes, which at least filled you with some last hope.

“Hmm, how about we change from Bonnie and Clyde to Romeo and Juliet? I kill you both. It isn’t exactly suicide, but you die together and can continue your love in hell. I’ll be happy to engrave you two together forever,” Jeehyung lectured in a tone of a pure psychopath. Your head was sure lost already, but you wished you could now turn the tables somehow and kill him instead.

Jungkook didn’t dare to move one inch but he whispered in definite pain, “I told you, I fucking told you. Fuck.” Then he turned to Jeehyung, “Please, can you put the gun off her. I beg you. She has done nothing, man, nothing. I’m carrying all the weight and you know it.”

“She does have a little weight. Cheating on me in that poker game. You thought I wouldn’t realize, hm? I only let her go because I knew I’d catch her again sooner or later. And having you here in a package is the best thing that could happen to me,” Jeehyung snickered and kept shoving the guns deeper into your skins, and soon you would be off edge.

“So, who are we going to kill first? Or are we going to do it at the same time?”

You shut your eyes close very tightly, in hope to let this all fade away, let all the pain and fear of death disappear. In hope to wake up in the king-sized bed in Jungkook’s arms. But when you unsealed your eyes again, Jeehyung’s visage was still inches close to yours, frowning nauseatingly, a horrible grin put up and the devil spread all over his figure.

“We’re gonna do it as a surprise! I’m going to count from three, alright? Careful,” he announced and if this was truly going to happen, you’d want your last sight to be Jungkook’s eyes.

“Three…”

This short amount of time you spent with him was more meaningful than with any man you had ever met. He had shown you so much more than you ever thought you’d needed.

“Two…”

And this was how it’d all end. Not only the relationship, but your whole life. And you were only left to wonder if you’d ever meet him again in the after-life or whatever there was coming.

“One-”

“You’re not going to kill anyone, or you’ll be the next dead body lying on this floor!” a sudden loud female voice intruded the ceremony from behind Jeehyung and to the back of his head, he now had a gun breathing down his own neck as well.

---

a/n: ok guys, I’m dead and gone idk where to go from here I feel... empty. :)

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #btswriters #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook mafia au #jjk #jungkook gif #jungkook boyfriend #jungkook fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts mafia au #bts smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts jungkook #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #jungkook x reader #bts assassin au #kpop fanfic #kpop angst #bts army #jungkook audio

[strawberryspeachy]

Um. Ok... I didn’t particularly like game of thrones... it got better after it stopped being porn with a story

1) I love Arya and only watch it for her

2) I hate Sansa and have been hoping she’ll die since episode ONE

3) I don’t like that they made the most perfect and strongest and marysue character a pale bleach blonde green eyed model...... but she’s existed and you can argue that up until this season Danny has been the best choice for a ruler

(Ugh I hate monarchs. I liked it better when she kept saying she’d get rid of that system)

K. I’m not a big fan of the show but it’s story has been interesting none the less

And I hate fairly tale unrealistic endings. Cause I hate unrealistic storys.... SO WHY THE FUCK DID I JUST WATCH THE ONLY CHARACTER WHO EVER GAVE A FUCK ABOUT THE LITTLE PEOPLE IN THE SHOW BURN THEM ALL??

I knew since the middle of season 1 that the writers just adore fucking Sansa. So many times that spoiled self centered unempathetic character should have died but miraculously is always saved

Of course a character like her wouldn’t trust daenerys. I’ve met so many girls like Sansa irl and they hate strong women. They hate everyone especially people who don’t make them feel superior.

But you had to make Sansa right?! So that she and John and rule over everyone in “her rightful place”

I don’t care that Arya managed to survive what every other fucking person in the city did not. Well chalk it up to her reflexes and also... she’s cool... and if they were gonna give Cersei such a lame death they should have let Arya take her life.

why did Cersei have to be able to die with Jamie. That’s dumb. All the build up of her being evil and she gets to die in the arms of her one love... dumb. Someone should have killed her while she groveled on her knees while she sees Jamie in the background, arriving too late to help.

At least let John kill her

and he for being such the ‘perfect leader’ didn’t do anything to help. All they did was set it up so that he won’t support daenerys next episode. If he were really so great he should have been able to control his fucking army and help people of the city escape

Humans are scum and wars are only fought because people in power have little arguments and send thousands of innocent people to die in their place on the battlefield. The vast majority of mankind are disgusting awful people and massacres happen so often in human history. I’m not against a character doing what Daenerys did... it’s just dumb that they had her do it.

It’s like when they turned light in death note from being a dude who just wanted to rid the world of crime to - a psycho who’d kill anyone who didn’t like him. Because god forbid the morality be left to the audience to decide. No. They writers have to tell you whose bad by suddenly pushing them far over to the evil spectrum so that the audience will dislike them.

You know what you could have done instead of make a sane and empathetic character suddenly turn psycho.

- have random people in the city who didn’t support her start killing other people in protest thereby causing massive fights to break out and killing innocents

- have Daenerys troops march in but get blown up by the wild fire Cersei set that kills a bunch of innocents

- have a fake surrender where after the army’s walk in the change and fight, giving Danny a reason to start using her dragon and accidentally killing innocents in the process

- have Daenerys surround the kingdom in fire so she can find and kill Cersei before she can escape. OR go burn her castle and piss off the people of the city who then riot against her

My god. People are scum. If you wanted to kill everyone there were so many more believable ways to do it rather than being like

There’s good guys and there’s bad guys. Danny’s a bad guy. There done.

How stupid. She’s lost everything she’s had several times throughout this show and hasn’t gone mad before so like? No. Doesn’t make sense. It was all for shock value and it was dumb

#game of thrones #daenerys targaryen

[huntertales]

I Don’t Need Saving | Chapter Three.

Pairing: Superhero!Dean Winchester x Journalist!Reader

Word Count: 6,885. (So...that happened.)

Warning: None.

Summary: To friends and family he’s known as Dean Winchester, at night he transforms into the Red Hood. The vigilante of the city beating up criminals and saving damsels from danger. Nobody has seen his face, nobody knows his true identity. Except for a few helpful allies. The reader is best friends with Dean for long as she can remember, and head over heels in love with the man. But she doesn’t have mutual feelings for the Red Hood.

However an encounter with the vigilante starts to change her opinion on the hero, and soon, she grows a fascination with him. Somehow she finds herself growing a strange friendship with the vigilante she once was supposed to hate, not realizing it’s someone she knew. Dean, hiding behind the mask of the Red Hood, shows his true feelings for the reader in disguise. Little do they realize both of them are holding a secret from each other that will put them in danger.

*Based upon Jensen Ackles as The Red Hood.

Previous Chapter | Story Masterlist

The next morning was Saturday, the start of the weekend and an escape from work for some who worked the traditional nine to five, for you it was just another day on the calendar. Working as a journalist meant you had no set hours you needed to abide by, just an deadline to meet. Sometimes you loved the freedom to work whenever you wanted within reason, sometimes you hated it because the job called for your attention when you least expected it—and at some inconvenient times, too. But you wouldn't chose any other career in the world.

You loved being front and center at breaking news and chasing down every lead and interviewing people to get their side of the story to give the most factual article for the public to read. Lucky for you there was never a shortage of stories to write in the city. Crime never stopped in a city that never slept. You lost count how many articles you wrote about from crooked business owners to major drug busts. And the world around you provided even more things to write about, too.

When you did come to the office to either work on an upcoming article or try to get done writing done, you dragged your feet gave a deathly glare for anyone who dare so look in your direction to say hello, or God forbid, smile. You hated early mornings when a big article was due in such a short time span, because it meant you were up half the night making sure everything was perfect. You took pride in your job and reporting the news seriously. However you were feeling quite the opposite when you rolled out of bed today. You walked into the building with a smile on your face and actually greeted fellow coworkers who passed you by. Today was going to be a good day.

“Good morning.” You greet your partner and best friend Cas with a warm smile and friendly tone of voice he would have never expected out of someone like you. You stopped by his desk before your own, your bag draped over your shoulder and your jacket still on. In your hands were two coffees in a paper tray and a crumbled up to go bag from your favorite shop. The man stared at you for a moment with a slightly hesitant look. “What? It’s coffee, Cas. I didn’t lace it with arsenic.”

“It’s not my birthday.” Cas thought to out loud to what could be the occasion where you brought him coffee and were in the office so early, especially on a Saturday. He tried coming up with an idea that might explain what you were doing here and looking so cheery, but he came up with nothing. He reached out a hand to grab the coffee that you offered him. “Did you make yourself an Irish coffee or something? Most of the time I have to keep my distance until you circled around the break room twice to get your coffee intake. And you even more bitchier when we’ve got a story due.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, pretending to be a little offended at the description of you that too accurate not to be you. “A girl can’t be happy?”

“In your case, no.” Cas replied as he took a sip of the coffee after making sure it was cool enough so it wouldn’t burn him.

You narrowed your eyes on the man as you dropped your bag to the floor and sat down on the edge of his desk that you knew could hold your weight. You placed down the bag of food and pushed it closer to you when he tried to sneak a peek at what it was. “Hey! That’s not for you.” You said, nearly slapping his greedy hands away. “Is Gabriel in? I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah. He’s late to everything except work.” Cas said. Your happy persona faltered for a moment as you inhaled a deep breath, suddenly overcome with nervousness at what you were about to do.  “Is this about the article?”

“Sort of.” You admitted. “I want to ask him about a idea that I know would make a perfect front page story. But I’m gonna need some time.”

Cas leaned back in his office chair and grew a smirk across his lips that was hidden behind the paper cup he brought to his mouth to take another sip. “Oh. Are we talking about one of Y/N Singer’s famous investigative articles?”

“Something like that.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Well, what is it?” Cas asked out of curiosity.

Before you could answer your friend’s question, you saw your boss coming out from the break room and heading back to his office with a cup of coffee in his hands. You jumped to your feet and grabbed the paper bag, following behind Gabriel as you called out his name to get his attention. Cas rolled his eyes and grabbed his camera before following behind you, knowing he was going be called in so Gabriel could inspect the photographs he took the previous day and pick one that would be printed and others published on the site to compliment the article you wrote and capture the feeling in the photographs he took.

You and Cas had worked together on many stories over the years since you were hired at the paper, and that’s where your friendship started. You were good with words, Cas had a talent at takings photographs. It didn’t matter if there was complete chaos, it didn’t matter if the sky was falling. He always managed to capture what was going on around him without fail. Both of you were a duo that Gabriel swore was gift from God.

You straightened out your shoulders and made your way into the office of your editor who sat at his desk, pretending to look busy like he always did to get people to leave him alone. But you knew if you didn't do this now, you were never going to get the courage to ask him again. When he noticed your approaching figure, you greeted him with a smile as you plopped down the bag in front of his face. Your smile grew wider when his eyes dropped to the label on the bag that was from his favorite bakery you saw him come into the office with at least once a week.

You learned from another writer that one way to persuade him into letting you do an article was to bribe him with food to satisfy his sweet tooth. While the contents inside was his favorite, you pulled it away from him before he could even reach out an arm and grab it from you.

“I want the front page of Sunday’s paper.” You demanded as you told him the reason why you were here, but the tone of voice came off more nervous than you had intended for it to be.

“Good morning to you, too, Sugar.” Gabriel asked, his eyes darting straight to you when you barged into his office without even saying hello, which wasn’t like you. You crossed your arms over your chest and nodded your head to the paper bag that he was eyeing. He opened up the bag to see that it was his favorite. He slowly crumpled up the bag and raised his brow in curiosity. “What can I do for you, Y/N? Excellent work on the article, by the way. Read it last night. But I’m sorry. I would love to put your story on the front page, but there was that whole—“

“Thank you. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I want to do an investigative piece. Something that’s gonna take some time.” You told your boss. Gabriel seemed curious as he wondered what you had in mind. You inhaled a deep breath as you forced yourself to tell him what you wanted to write about. “I want to do a piece about the Red Hood.”

"The Red Hood?" Cas repeated the name of the stranger who had made headlines a few times here and there over the past few years since coming out of nowhere. You always gritted your teeth and unwillingly wrote about the hero and their good deed. You looked over to the side to see he was standing right next to you with his camera in his hand and a baffled look on his face. "I thought you didn't—”

“I don’t like him/her/them.” You said, bringing up the opinion you shared with him last night after you interviewed the three women in the hospital, who claimed the masked vigilante saved their lives. “Whoever the hell is running around this city.”

“You want the front page to say you don’t like some guy who saved three innocent girls from God knows what future? Not to mention dozens other crimes they stopped? Sorry. Not gonna happen.” Gabriel said. You rolled your eyes from how he was shooting you down without letting you pitch your real story. “Go work for Fox news if you want to spread your opinion. Here at the Daily Insider we like to report on important things that—”

"What if I personally got an interview with them?" You asked, cutting off your boss. Gabriel had one hand shoved into the paper bag to grab his breakfast as Cas was flipping through the pictures on his camera to pick out the best ones, but both men stopped from what you said. You swallowed slightly and went at trying to explain your idea without sounding like a lunatic. "You're always telling us to ask the questions everybody else is afraid to do. Push the boundaries and get to the real source of what’s going on. That’s what our readers count on when they read our newspapers. And this city knows the Red Hood—but they don’t know him or her. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a few questions of my own.”

Gabriel pulled his hand out from the bag and settled it on the desk as he arched his brow. You knew by that look you got his curiosity going from what you were saying. “Yeah? Like what?”

"What made them decide to dress up in a costume and put the justice system into their own hands? How do they know where all these crimes are happening? And most importantly, how about the countless people he's beaten up and caused serious damage?" You proposed just a few questions you had come up with last night for an interview you planned out all in your head that could have taken place behind the plexiglass window of the jail where the Red Hood would be in after you found out who they were. “And I know, I know. They're criminals. The public doesn't care about them. But you know what the public cares about? The fact that their taxes are being spent on said criminals to pay for their medical bills. And the cops who protect this very city. Red Hood is taking the law into his own hands and making it harder for them to do their job. This...masked psychopath is not a hero. And I want to prove it.”

"What are you going to do? Write an article asking for them to stop by at your house to have a formal interview?" Gabriel asked you, entertaining the idea. You rolled your eyes and shook your head no. "You can't get an interview with someone who doesn't want their identity found out. Hence the whole secret identity, Sugar."

"I said I wanted an interview, not to dox the person behind the mask." You corrected him, even though that was your true intentions. Gabriel still seemed hesitant to say yes. "Come on, Gabe. Who else can say they've got a personal interview with the one and only Red Hood? Think of how many papers we could sell.”

Gabriel thought about what you said and sat on the idea for a moment. You bit the inside of your cheek as you impatiently waited for him to answer. He looked at you for a moment before he rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you can somehow give me a legitimate story and somehow pin down this person to ask a few questions, the front page is all yours.” You broke out into a smile as you got ready to thank him, but your boss stopped you with a few guidelines. "This is a personal project I want you working in your free time. If I ask you to cover another story, that comes first. I mean it. And don't do anything stupid to get yourself killed.”

“Of course. I leave all the stupid stunts to this one to get the money shot.” You said, nudging your fellow friend in the shoulder as you gave him a playful wink. Cas gave you a sarcastic smile before rolling his eyes. He headed forward to Gabriel to discuss what he came in here for when your boss waved you off. “You won’t regret it, Gabe. Promise!”

Gabriel brushed off your words and waved you away to complete the job that he was unwillingly giving you time to do. You headed back to your desk with a victorious smirk on your lips, wondering how good it was going to take this son of a bitch down once and for all.

+ + +

Even though Gabriel had given you the go ahead for the story, there was still so many little things you needed to worry about before you could actually sit down and start writing. Your editor thought you were going to change your tune about the stranger behind the mask when you sat down and began to hear the good they had done for the city. But you couldn’t do that. Maybe it was because you grown up always being told that violence didn’t solve anything and your father was a cop. Maybe it was because you were a good person who obeyed the law. Maybe it was because you saw a good man spiral into a pit of self destructive behavior to solve a crime he would never be able to. And his kids were still paying the price for his actions. You wanted to know everything about this person; from who they were to why they thought it was their responsibility to stop muggers and beat up sex traffickers. (Okay. If you had to admit one good thing he had done it was saving those three girls. But a good deed didn’t stop all the bad he had also brought on.) If he knew that there was a serious problem going down than they should call the cops. Not put their life in danger and get themselves—or worse, the victim they were trying to save—from being killed. There had to be someone out there in this city who shared the same opinion as you. 

You spent the rest of your day between working on a list of topics and tasks you needed to complete for the story. The vigilante was a hushed secret nobody liked to talk about, it was sort of like politics. Everyone had an opinion on the matter, and they thought they were always right. There was a few published articles about the Red Hood’s heroic antics, but you wanted more than just someone else’s glorified words. You wanted to speak to the victims themselves and get to the police reports of what happened. Maybe even talk to a few cops to see how they felt about him. You even contemplated on talking to a few criminals who were busted by the vigilante to see what they remembered.

You immersed yourself into work and search, not realizing the morning had blended into the afternoon, and the lunch Cas had brought you from your favorite food cart was devoured between the things you were doing. As the time ticked away and the office thinned out, you didn’t realize how late it ended up until your computer screen went black. Your heart suddenly stopped in absolute fear from what happened, everything you had been working on all day was still there. All the news articles you found and people you were trying to track down...all gone just like that. “All work and no play makes Y/N a lame friend.” You quickly tore your gaze away from the black screen and to the person who was to blame. Your expression dropped into an annoyed glare when you saw Charlie standing in front of your desk with her finger on the power button to the screen thankfully. Cas was standing right next to her with his messenger bag strap resting on his shoulder and a twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes.

“Charlie, I love you, but I’ve got a big story I’m trying to work on.” You said to her, lightly slapping her hand away so you could turn on the screen again to get back to work. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Charlie to pop into the office. She sometimes visited when things were slow at her own job, and she even helped with an I.T. problem instead of paying someone to do it. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you and Dean had a ton of stuff to do today.” “We did. But one of the joys of being self employed is that you get to make your own hours. And we mutually agreed it was time to call it quits.” Charlie said. You scoffed at her bragging as you went back to work, oblivious to the time just yet. The redhead looked over at Cas as she raised her brow slightly from how concentrated you were. “Is she always like this?” “Only when she’s got something on her mind.” Cas replied. You rolled your eyes and saved your work when you saw the time. You started to shut down your computer and gathering your things, calling it a day. “Wow. You’re actually coming out with us tonight?” You gave the man a confused look as you slipped on your jacket and then began to shuffle up some papers you needed to help conduct further research. “What are you talking about?” You asked, shoving the papers into a manilla folder and then straight into your bag for safekeeping. “You’re kidding, right? It’s my birthday.” Charlie told you in a dead serious tone of voice. You felt your breathing stop when your best friend mentioned something that you swore you would never forget. The panicked look on your face quickly made the redhead break out into a smile as she lightly punched you in the shoulder. “God, you’re so gullible. It’s kinda sad with you being a journalist and everything.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly on the redhead as you gave her a type of glare that Cas was all too familiar with. It was the exact same one he expected to be greeted with this morning, but it seemed you were saving it for someone else. “Word of advice,” He leaned forward slightly so he was whispering to Charlie. “I’d be careful if she tries and offers you coffee. She might try to poison you.” “Nah. I’ll just brutally murder the both of you and write about it. ‘Charlie Bradbury and Castiel Novak disappear, never to be seen again.’” You said, coming up with a fake front page header as you gestured a hand to mimic the title. Charlie pretended to be scared from the empty threat and began walking in sync with you and Cas. “Is Sam coming, too?” “Yeah. He’s coming out for a couple of beers. Dean really wanted to get all of us together since it’s been forever since we all hung out. And he especially wanted to see you out having some fun because he knows how much of a workaholic you can be." Charlie said.

Her voice shifted into a playful tone that made your cheeks suddenly feel like they were growing warmer at how easy she was for her to tease you about Dean. You lightly shoved her forward as you continued walking to the exit, trying to hide the butterflies that were starting to flutter in your stomach from the shenanigans all of you were bound to get into tonight.

+ + +

Cas split up with you and Charlie when you mentioned about wanting to go back to your place to change out of the clothes you had been wearing all day and put away your work belonging before meeting back at the bar. The both of you made it there a little while later, the bar you frequented since your early college days was rather busy for the time of night. The place was a hole in the wall bar downtown where the beer was cheap and the company was decently friendly. You made your way through a small crowd of people and to the back of the bar where you spotted Cas talking to a familiar face. A smile broke out when you saw his  ginormous frame with a head of hair that always seemed a little too perfect.

“Sammy!” You called out the man’s name in an excited tone as you approached him and Cas. You noticed he wasn't dressed in his usual suit and tie, but in jeans and flannel that almost seemed like a Winchester uniform. Sam momentary paused his conversation when he noticed you were finally here. You waved your hands for him to bend down slightly to your level so you could give him a hug. The both of you embraced one another in a tight hug after the long time it’d been since seeing each other in person. When you pulled away from him, your smile dropped as you lightly shoved him in his chest. “It’s about time since I’ve seen you. Does the firm chain you to your desk?”

“Kinda. I’m up to my eyeballs in cases right now.” Sam said, giving you a glimpse of what his life had been like as a lawyer. You pretended to wipe away a tear at his life out of sarcasm. “But I managed to pick myself free for a couple of hours before they find out.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to break you out more often. It’s been too long since I’ve seen your handsome face, Sammy.” You said, teasing him slightly as you reached up to lightly pinch him on the cheek and use the same nickname he once hated when he started college. And speaking of handsome faces, you dropped your arm back down to your side and began to absentmindedly look for Sam’s older brother. “Hey, do you know where—“

"Hey, sweetheart." You turned around just in time to see the person you were looking for. Dean greeted you with a smile as he came back from the bar, his fingers cradling two beer bottles by the neck that you presumed for himself and Charlie. The other drink he was holding was your favorite cocktail. "I thought I might save you two the trouble."

"Thank you. That's so sweet of you." You said with a smile of your own at his generosity. You grabbed the drink from him and took a sip to see that it was exactly how you liked it. "I swear you've got a sixth sense or something. Charlie and I just got here."

"Well, I guess we're just that in tune with each other." Dean replied, shrugging his shoulders. He took a sip of his own beer as you took another one from your drink, your eyes moving around the bar as his wandered over to the redhead standing next to you. She hid her smirk behind her beer, knowing it was her who had told him about your upcoming arrival and suggested to get drinks ahead. You wondered if you could find a spot in the bar to occupy when you saw a wave of people come in. Dean heard the sound of pool balls clacking against one another, a sound of a game he was all too familiar with. "Hey, Sammy. Up for a game?"

One of the good things about the bar was that there was a few activities around the place for people to enjoy from foosball to darts, and the game of pool Dean suggested to his younger brother. While it was still early in the night, you knew in a few hours the competitiveness among the players would be replaced with giggles and people missing the target. Sam shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth to agree to the game, knowing he was the only one good enough to play against the man. Charlie, always being the one to be a good wing woman to her best friends, quickly spoke up before the boys could get going.

“Sam!” Charlie suddenly shouted the younger Winchester’s name, taking the four of you slightly by surprise. Sam gave her a confused expression from what she just did, you let out a quiet chuckle from her outburst. Charlie smiled as she quickly struck up a conversation. “W-Where’s Amelia? I thought you would sure bring her around.”

You watched as the mention of Sam's year and a half long relationship with his girlfriend, Amelia Richardson, didn't turn out the way you expected. You and Dean were the only single people in your small group of friends. Charlie had been going serious with Dorothy for the past few years, Cas hadn't really settled down. But you knew that his friend, Meg Masters, was always something with no strings attached. However you always suspected he had some feelings for her. You had a few relationships of your own that barely went anywhere from a couple dates to a handful of months. Dean was in the middle of the spectrum from how his love life went.

You wouldn't say that he was a complete womanizer, but he had his fair share of one night stands that you accidentally walked in on and while they were doing the walk of shame out of his apartment. When they saw you, it was the awkward pause of silence wondering if you were the the other woman. Dean had only two real relationships in his entire lifetime for long as you had known him. There was Cassidy, a sweet girl he had a thing for when you were in college. He started to fall for her, but things were moving faster than she liked, so she dumped him. And then there was Lisa Braden...the woman you thought Dean was going to spend his life with.

However if anyone's love life was tragic it had to be poor Sammy. He got his for real relationship when the both of you were in college. During his time at Stanford he met a woman named Jess, a sweet blonde who was the apple of Sam's eye. You met her a few times when Sam brought her home for holidays and summer break. Sam had confided in you at the fact that he was wanted to marry her. Unfortunately tragedy struck one night in their apartment they shared got had a gas leak, and the place burst up into flames. There was no way that it could have been prevented, but Sam blamed himself for months after her death.

You thought he was never going to get over her. And then he met a woman named Madison. The both of them seemed cute together, however she ended up breaking up with him after his dog, Riot, bit her by accident. And then there was the one crazy ex he never liked to talk about, Ruby. She had almost all of you fooled that she was Sam's perfect match. Except it turned out she was a complete psycho. A few years after Ruby came Amelia, a veterinarian who had been going steady with the man for the past year. Both of them seemed like wedding bells were in the air, however the sullen look in Sam’s face made your heart sink.

“Yeah, about that…” Sam cleared his his throat as he broke the news to all of you. “Amelia and I are no longer. We broke up a month ago. She didn't like the fact that I was spending almost all my time at the office and didn't want to move to Texas with her like we talked about. So we decided to end things mutually."

"Oh, Sammy." You whispered the man's name as you placed a hand on his back to give him a supportive pat. "I'm so sorry. I wish you told me."

Sam shrugged his shoulders, "I’ve had time to move on. I had a feeling things were heading in this direction. Besides, there’s a new woman who started at the firm. Her name is Eileen.”

“Sammy,  you sly dog.” Dean broke out into a grin at the mention of another woman his brother was interested in so soon. “Normally you sulk for weeks before putting yourself back out there.”

“It’s not like that…yet.” Sam said, giving his brother a slightly annoyed look from the way he thought so quickly. You lightly shoved Dean before you looked back at the younger man with a curious expression to know more about this Eileen. “She’s pretty cool. And smart. And, this is gonna be random, but do you guys don’t know any ASL?”

“I know a few sayings. Dorothy has a deaf cousin. She taught me a few things.” Charlie said. She reached out and grabbed Sam by the arm as she face him a smile. “Come on. I can teach you a few things like ‘Hi’ and all that.”

“What about the—“ You pointed to the pool table that was going to be free for so long before it was going to be snatched up by another group.

“Hey, didn’t you tell me you always want to learn? Well, this is the perfect time. Dean can teach you and I can show Sam some sign language.” Charlie suggested a way to spend the night. You felt your cheeks suddenly start burning when she gave you a cheery smile, the kind you saw yesterday morning when she was talking about your feelings to the older Winchester. You gave her a glare as she began walking away with a smirk you wanted to smack off her face.

You and Dean weren’t a stranger to hanging out with one another, you practically did it every chance you weren’t busy. While you were hoping to catch up with Sam, Charlie had other plans for tonight. You tightened your grip around the glass as you looked over at the older Winchester with a small smile.

“Out of all the years we’ve been coming here, you seriously never learned how to play?” Dean couldn't help himself but ask out of curiosity. You shrugged your shoulders, saying how you liked to observe from the sidelines than participate. Dean set his beer down on the wooden edge of the table and grabbed a stick for himself. “The game’s not that hard. My dad taught me how to play. But how I really got good at the game was the help from a wise and old mentor. We took our gig around town and made a few bucks.”

"I feel like you're lying and got the idea out of that Tom Cruise movie,” You approached the table as you placed down your drink next to his and rested your hands down on the wooden trimming, your fingertips almost grazing the green fabric. “Or there’s a really good story behind this you’ve never told me.”

"I wouldn't say that it's an exciting story." Dean said, shrugging his shoulders. “Bobby and I used to go to the bar when you and Sammy were still in school. We would knock back a few beers after he helped me figure out how to get my P.I. license and stuff. Let me say, your dad is a pool shark."

"Wait," You felt your face break out into a smile that seemed to light up your entire face when the story turned into a direction that you weren't expecting. While Dean was rubbing chalk at the end of the pool stick, he couldn't help himself but think about how pretty you looked underneath the bar florescent light. "You're telling me my dad taught you how to hustle?"

"Well, he wouldn't use those kinds of words. But, yeah. He did. My dad was a good private eye, but it didn’t always make bank when we needed it. And that’s how I helped pay for Sammy’s textbooks when he went to college." Dean said. You honestly thought you couldn’t think that he couldn’t have been a better big brother, and there he went. Dean set everything up for a game, and since he knew you saw enough of these to know the general rules, he handed over the stick to you. For some reason you stared at him, not sure what he wanted you to do. "Come on. It's not gonna bite you. I just want to see what you know and then we can improve on that."

You grabbed the pool stick from him and walked over to the side of the table where Dean had set everything up, saying a little prayer in your head so you wouldn't look like a complete idiot. As you inhaled a deep breath and began to remember the position that you saw him and Sam get into to hit the ball, your eyes wandered away from the white one when you saw Dean moving around in the corner of your eye. You turned your head to see that Dean was shrugging off his jacket, revealing the red button up shirt you had gotten him for his birthday a few years back, paired with a black t-shirt you swore he owned at least a dozen of from how many times you wore them.

Maybe it was because of the bar lighting, the few sips of the cocktail you had, or the nerves wracking inside your body that was making you think of how good he looked tonight. There was no denying the Winchesters had good genes. Sam might be tall and large compared to most people, but he carried a soft charm and a dimpled smile that wooed over so many women. And Dean...well, you could go on forever about him.

It was his green eyes that you got lost in while it was just the both of you talking at his place and at dinner, his hair that always remained short and yet made you long to run your fingers through the sandy locks. The muscles you saw outlined in his clothes when he moved. There was so many things you could list about him that you loved about him. And you swore if Charlie was looking your way she would be grinning like an idiot from what was about to happen next.

You slightly leaned over the edge of the pool table with the stick at a perfect ninety degree angle like you were supposed to, As you got ready to hit the white ball, Dean momentarily distracted you when he remarked about how good you look. All though you knew it was about your posture, your mind went in a completely different direction, making the stick fly off the table. You let out a sigh from what you just did, knowing how much you were making yourself look like an idiot when you heard Dean let out a chuckle. It might have been out of amusement, but he wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet.

“Not bad. But the problem is in your fingers. Here, let me show you.” Dean walked over so he was standing behind you and in attempting to fix your posture. He reached out his hand and grabbed your wrist that was resting the stick on. He dragged it backwards so your fingers were now just resting on the edge of the table and laid out almost flat. "It's all about how you position the index finger and the thumb. You see," Dean talked you through the steps, making you realize he was closer than you thought. You swallowed slightly as you felt him move the fingers so they were holding the tip of the stick at a better angle. "That should help guide it a bit better."

You listened to what he told you, and trying again, you hit the cue ball perfectly, sending all fifteen pool balls to scatter across the table. You broke out into a smile as you turned your head to the side Dean was leaning over, getting ready to thank him for how easy he made it out to be. But in doing so, you realized how close he was to you, and how his fingers were still on yours, making your smile begin to fade slightly as you felt your heart start to beat faster. The both of you found yourselves staying in that position for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next.

"You know if your pool skills were half as good as your writing, maybe you wouldn't suck so much." You flinched at the sound of Cas' voice, making you realize what you were doing. Dean cleared his throat as he quickly stood back up, you did so a few seconds later. You gave the man a sarcastic smile, resisting the urge to smack him with the stick you were leaning on. "Did you tell everybody yet of your big story you're gonna do?"

Sam headed back over to the pool table, seeming to have leaned enough words to break the lesson you were having with Dean, and curios to find out what you were working on. “Really? What’s it about?” You fell silent for a moment as you contemplated of even telling them, knowing how all of them were going to take it in a different way. “It’s about...someone.” “Very specific. I think I heard of this ‘someone.’” Dean teased you, wondering what was making you suddenly grow so bashful. You looked away from him when he kept pushing for an answer. “Come on, Y/N. Tell us.” “No. It’s not that big of a deal.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. “It’ll probably go nowhere.” “Fine. I’ll tell them. Our dear Y/N has officially lost her mind. She wants to write about the Red Hood.” Cas announced to your group of friends, making you dread how they were all going to take it. You stared at the ground for a moment as he kept on going what you had asked for your boss to do. “More specifically, she wants to interview him.” “Huh. Did you hear that, Dean?” Charlie asked her best friend when she heard something that seemed to contradict what you had said yesterday morning. The older Winchester suddenly felt four pairs of eyes on him, making him panic about this. It was like a nightmare come true. “Y/N wants to interview the Red Hood.” “Yeah, Charlie,” Dean mumbled as he let out a quiet chuckle, hoping nobody would see how nervous he was becoming for all the wrong reasons. “I heard her.” “Not exactly.” You said, correcting the redhead. Dean felt his heart suddenly starting to beat a million times a minute from what was going on. It was like a nightmare come true. "I want to find out who this person is and put a stop to the crap that they've be causing for the past couple of years."

“‘Crap’?” Charlie repeated after you. She seemed a little offended at the wording you used to describe someone who made this place a little safer. But you didn’t see it that way. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

"Please. You can't tell me you're okay with some psycho running around this city and taking jobs away from the police—whose job is to protect us." You said, giving your personal feelings on how you felt about the vigilante to your close friends. "It's a matter of time before someone gets hurt, or worse, dead."

"While I agree that taking the law into your own hands is never a good idea," Sam said. “some people think of this person as a hero.”

“We’re not living in a comic book. There's no evil villain that's harassing the city that the police can't arrest. And heros don’t wear masks. It’s people like...Dean,” You looked over at your best friend that you thought was the perfect example you could make from what you were about to say next. “He stepped up and saved Charlie’s life. He’s a hero. Not this Red Hood creep.”

"Thank you. But it was nothing." Dean said. The mention of the night he got stabbed made his shoulder start to ache. He cleared his throat as he kept his composure, casually asking you a question he really didn't want the answer to. "So...What are you gonna do about this Red Hood?”

“I’m gonna expose them and put a stop to it.” You said in a matter-of-fact voice.

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[drmaqazi]

JEWISH TERRORISM & GENOCIDE OF PALESTINIANS IN THE HOLY LAND (OCCUPIED PALESTINE)  SINCE 1948, AND STILL CONTINUING TODAY BY KILLING OF HELPLESS & INNOCENT CHILDREN, WOMEN & OLD PEOPLE UNDER THE EYES OF IMPOTENT SO-CALLED WORLD LEADERS, GOD FORBID, AMEN. 

                                                                                                                                                      March 2, 2001, 9-year-old Palestinian boy shot to death in his home by Israeli Army

The boy, Obei Darraj, age nine, was killed on Friday March 2, 2001 in his family’s home, in El Bireh. The little boy was watching his father paint the wall of a brother’s bedroom when gunfire crashed through its window, and hit the child in the chest.The Israeli army took credit for the killing, saying: “The gunfire came in retaliation to Palestinian shots aimed at the Psagot settlement” (Ha’aretz, March 4, 2001).

March 15, 2001, Israeli army targets Palestinian children in grenade attack on playground

Palestinian child, wounded in Israeli army grenade attack on his schoolyard, is carried to an ambulance

“In the Old City of Hebron, (March 15, 2001), Israeli soldiers lobbed a stun grenade into a schoolyard during an elementary students’ demonstration. The students were throwing stones at Israeli cars, Israeli officials said. Six students suffered moderate or light wounds, including burns, broken bones and blisters, Palestinian officials said. The Israelis said five Palestinian children had experienced ‘light impact injuries from the grenade.’

“‘The army sees the removal of children from the circle of violence as extremely important,’ an Israeli army statement said. The army will ‘continue to act against anyone trying to compromise the security of Israeli citizens,’ it said.”

Source: N.Y. Times, March 16, 2001, p. A-10

“Six Palestinian children suffered burns on Thursday (March 15, 2001) when Israeli soldiers threw a stun grenade into a West Bank schoolyard in new violence after an Israeli pledge to ease its blockade on Palestinians. Doctors in Hebron said three of the six children sustained burns to the head, hands and back and the other three were suffering from blisters and shock. ‘Why did they throw the grenade into the yard? This is only a provocation,’ said teacher Mohammed Hawaismah as parents carried children out of the school and into ambulances.”

Source: Reuters, March 15, 2001

May 7, 2001, Israelis Kill Baby Girl and School-Teacher, Wound Ten other Children in Refugee Camp

Khan Yunis Refugee Camp, Palestine, Israeli troops shelled homes in this Arab refugee camp today and fired large-caliber machine guns, killing a 4-month-old baby girl and wounding 24 civilians. Doctors said 10 Palestinian children were among the injured.

One Israeli cannon shell hit the shack of the Hijo family in the refugee camp, instantly killing 4-month-old Iman Hijo, with shrapnel tearing a hole into the infant’s back. The girl’s 19-year-old mother, as well as three brothers and sisters, were wounded, including 18-month-old Mahmoud Hijo, was in intensive care at Nasser Hospital with shrapnel wounds, doctors said.

The slain infant’s uncle, Wael Hijo, carried the girl’s body from the hospital’s autopsy room to the X-ray department. In the emergency room, Iman’s 7-year-old aunt, Dunya, sat on a bed with a dazed look on her face, her frilly white-and-green dress pulled up above scraped and bandaged legs. “They killed the baby,” Dunya said, then burst into tears.

Israeli troops also fired on the refugee camp’s Khaldieh School in the West Bank, killing a Palestinian school-teacher.

June 2001, Ali Murad Abu Shaweesh was 12 when Israeli soldiers shot him in the back. Ali was killed on the same day in June, 2001 that Sharon refused to let the Israeli foreign minister, Shimon Peres, meet with Yasir Arafat, yet his death also went unnoticed by American television news. But not entirely unnoticed, since the Israeli soldiers, who taunted the Palestinian boys over loudspeakers outside the Khan Yunis refugee camp in the Gaza Strip, goading them to come out and throw rocks, did so under the gaze of Chris Hedges, a reporter for the New York Times.

July 7, 2001, Israeli Army Opens Fire on Children’s Playground

“Ibrahim Al-Mugrabi weeps over his 11-year-old son, Khalil Ibrahim, who was slain in the Rafah section of the Gaza ghetto after the Israeli army strafed the boy’s playground with machine gun fire.

Khalil Ibrahim al-Mugrabi, 11, was shot in the head and killed July 7, 2001 near Rafah in the Gaza ghetto. Two other Arab children playing with him were wounded, one seriously, after the Israeli army sprayed machine gun fire at a crowd of Arab children.

The children were gunned down by Israeli soldiers from a Jewish guard tower as they were playing. Doctors said the dead Palestinian boy was shot in the head and that a 10-year-old boy was seriously wounded with a gun shot to the stomach. A third Palestinian boy, age 12, was injured less seriously.

Mohammed Abu-Shikadem, 29, who was nearby when the shootings took place, said that a group of some 30 children were playing near the refugee camp when he heard a burst of machine gun fire from the Israeli guard tower. ‘Two of the children fell in front of my eyes,’ Abu-Shikadem said.”

Ibrahim Al-Mugrabi weeps over his 11-year-old son, Khalil Ibrahim, who was slain in the Rafah section of the Gaza ghetto after the Israeli army strafed the boy's playground with machine gun fire.

July 19, 2001, “The body of murdered 3-month-old Palestinian infant Diya Tmaizi, center, is flanked by murdered Palestinian civilians Mohammed Hilmy Tmaizi, 20, right, and Mohammed Salameh Tmaizi, 22, left, in the West Bank village of Idna, near Hebron. The Palestinian baby and the other civilians were shot and killed, and at least four other Palestinian civilians were injured late Thursday, July 19, 2001, near Idna. According to Israeli radio, a Jewish ‘settler’ group took responsibility for the murders.”

July 31, 2001, Israeli government assassinated Palestinian leaders Jamal Mansour and his cousin Omar Mansour, in an attack on their office in the West Bank town of Nablus. Six other Palestinians were killed in the Jewish ambush, including two little boys, Bilal Abu Khader, 8, and Ashraf Abu Khader, 5.

August 5, 2001, Amer Mansour Habiri 23, who was assassinated by Israelis in a missile attack on Aug. 5, 2001 in the West Bank town of Tulkarem.

August 12, 2001, Israeli soldiers shot eight-year-old Palestinian girl, Sabreen Abu Sneineh, in the head, in Hebron.

August 15, 2001,  27 year old Emad Abu Sneineh was assassinated by Israeli agents outside his home in Hebron.

August 19, 2001, Mohammed Abu Arrar, 14, shot to death in the Gaza ghetto by Israeli soldiers.

Aug. 22, 2001, The automobile of an 18 year old Palestinian incinerated by an Israeli death squad at the Bureij refugee camp, outside the Gaza ghetto, Aug. 22, 2001. The Israelis sought to assassinate his father. The teenage son was killed instead. Murders of goyim (non-Jews) in this manner are dismissed as “collateral damage” by the Judeo-masonic establishment in America.

August 23, 2001, Mohammed …Zionist occupation troops shot dead the 11-year old Palestinian boy in the Gaza ghetto on August, 23, 2001. Haaretz newspaper reported: “Witnesses said that Mohammed Zurub was shot in the heart after throwing stones at IDF (Israeli) troops.”

September 9, 2001, 13-year-old Mohammed Abu Libda, who was shot to death by Israeli troops.

The sister of 13-year-old Mohammed Abu Libda, who was shot to death by Israeli troops, cries during his funeral as her brother's body is brought home in southern Gaza, September 9, 2001.

November 22, 2001, five Palestinian school boys ages 7 to 14 were on their way to classes in the Gaza strip when they were killed by a bomb planted by Israeli forces.

Israel “....places explosive charges where children are likely to pass and then claims that only the other side practices terrorism?”

Gideon Levy,“On The Way To School,” Ha’aretz, Nov. 26, 2001

December 10, 2001, Two-year-old victim, Burhan Sidir blown apart by Israelis blew him apart. His head was found in the street. His legs were in different places. 13 year old Shadi Arafi killed by Israeli forces. Two brothers, aged 8 and 10 were also seriously injured in the Dec. 10 Israeli attack.

13 year old Shadi Arafi

December 10, 2001, “Palestinian activist Muhammad Sidir, 24, had his face maimed and burned and his eyes blinded by a U.S. made Israeli helicopter firing missiles in a crowded intersection during an assassination attempt on Sidir. Two Palestinian children died in the attacks and two other children were injured. Israeli helicopter gunships hovered over the carnage for five minutes, preventing immediate medical attention from being administered to the wounded and dying.”  http://www.revisionisthistory.org/palestine7.html

December 17, 2001, Israeli troops murder Palestinian activist Yacoub Aidkadik

December 18, 2001, Mohammed Houmeduk, 12, shot and killed in cold blood Dec. 18, 2001 in the Khan Younis refugee camp in the Gaza Strip, by Israeli soldiers.

[dfroza]

Love will turn the dial back to innocence and pure trust

by moving forward with a new start, an end of what is the past (tense) to shape a new beginning.

and we have to be as children before our heavenly Father no matter what this world acts like, and this is our humility. we are not to fear man and the craziness that exists here, and this is our bravery to trust and believe. and this since this world is not our True Home, but earth is promised to be restored to fully cleanse all that has been done here.

and so for now, we have to keep letting go and keep moving on…

but also remembering the pure genesis root of how our Creator made us on earth in His image, equally as male & female to inhabit garden earth.

and we need to share these truths which is why we have these Scriptures documented.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 14th chapter of the Letter of First Corinthians where Paul describes church meetings and prayer, both in unknown tongues and language that is understood:

It is good that you are enthusiastic and passionate about spiritual gifts, especially prophecy. When someone speaks in tongues, no one understands a word he says, because he’s not speaking to people, but to God—he is speaking intimate mysteries in the Spirit. But when someone prophesies, he speaks to encourage people, to build them up, and to bring them comfort. The one who speaks in tongues advances his own spiritual progress, while the one who prophesies builds up the church. I would be delighted if you all spoke in tongues, but I desire even more that you impart prophetic revelation to others. Greater gain comes through the one who prophesies than the one who speaks in tongues, unless there is interpretation so that it builds up the entire church.

My dear friends, what good is it if I come to you always speaking in tongues? But if I come with a clear revelation from God, or with insight, or with a prophecy, or with a clear teaching, I can enrich you. Similarly, if musical instruments, such as flutes or stringed instruments, are out of tune and don’t play the arrangement clearly, how will anyone recognize the melody? If the bugle makes a garbled sound, who will recognize the signal to show up for the battle? So it is with you. Unless you speak in a language that’s easily understood, how will anyone know what you’re talking about? You might as well save your breath!

I suppose that the world has all sorts of languages, and each conveys meaning to the ones who speak it. But I am like a foreigner if I don’t understand the language, and the speaker will be like a foreigner to me. And that’s what’s happening among you. You are so passionate about embracing the manifestations of the Holy Spirit! Now become even more passionate about the things that strengthen the entire church.

So then, if you speak in a tongue, pray for the interpretation to be able to unfold the meaning of what you are saying. For if I am praying in a tongue, my spirit is engaged in prayer but I have no clear understanding of what is being said.

So here’s what I’ve concluded. I will pray in the Spirit, but I will also pray with my mind engaged. I will sing rapturous praises in the Spirit, but I will also sing with my mind engaged. Otherwise, if you are praising God in your spirit, how could someone without the gift participate by adding his “amen” to your giving of thanks, since he doesn’t have a clue of what you’re saying? Your praise to God is admirable, but it does nothing to strengthen and build up others.

I give thanks to God that I speak in tongues more than all of you, but in the church setting I would rather speak five words that can be understood than ten thousand exotic words in a tongue. That way I could have a role in teaching others.

Beloved ones, don’t remain as immature children in your reasoning. As it relates to evil, be like newborns, but in your thinking be mature adults.

For it stands written in the law:

I will bring my message to this people with strange tongues and foreign lips, yet even then they still will not listen to me, says the Lord.

So then, tongues are not a sign for believers, but a miracle for unbelievers. Prophecy, on the other hand, is not for unbelievers, but a miracle sign for believers.

If the entire church comes together and everyone is speaking in tongues, won’t the visitors say that you have lost your minds? But if everyone is prophesying, and an unbeliever or one without the gift enters your meeting, he will be convicted by all that he hears and will be called to account, for the intimate secrets of his heart will be brought to light. He will be mystified and fall facedown in worship and say, “God is truly among you!”

Beloved friends, what does all this imply? When you conduct your meetings, you should always let everything be done to build up the church family. Whether you share a song of praise, a teaching, a divine revelation, or a tongue and interpretation, let each one contribute what strengthens others.

If someone speaks in a tongue, it should be two or three, one after another, with someone interpreting. If there’s no one with the interpretation, then he should remain silent in the meeting, content to speak to himself and to God.

And the same with prophecy. Let two or three prophets prophesy and let the other prophets carefully evaluate and discern what is being said. But if someone receives a revelation while someone else is still speaking, the one speaking should conclude and allow the one with fresh revelation the opportunity to share it. For you can all prophesy in turn and in an environment where all present can be instructed, encouraged, and strengthened. The spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets. For God is the God of harmony, not confusion, as is the pattern in all the churches of God’s holy believers.

The women should be respectfully silent during the evaluation of prophecy in the meetings. They are not allowed to interrupt, but are to be in a support role, as in fact the law teaches. If they want to inquire about something, let them ask their husbands when they get home, for a woman embarrasses herself when she constantly interrupts the church meeting.

Do you actually think that you were the starting point for the Word of God going forth? Were you the only ones it was sent to? I don’t think so! If anyone considers himself to be a prophet or a spiritual person, let him discern that what I’m writing to you carries the Lord’s authority. And if anyone continues not to recognize this, he should not be recognized!

So, beloved friends, with all this in mind, be passionate to prophesy and don’t forbid anyone from speaking in tongues, doing all things in a beautiful and orderly way.

The Letter of 1st Corinthians, Chapter 14 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 49th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that unveils the promise of God’s restoration:

Listen to this, everyone—near and far:

The Eternal One singled me out, even before I was born.

He called me and named me when I was still in my mother’s belly.

Even then, God was preparing my mouth to speak like a sharp sword.

He kept my purpose quiet, kept me safe in the shadow of His hand,

He crafted me into a sharp-tipped arrow and tucked me away in His quiver;

God said to me, “You are My servant, Israel.

Through you, I will be glorified.”

I said, “I’ve worked hard for nothing.

I spent my strength, and what have I accomplished—nothing,

Yet my justice and reward are secure with my God, the Eternal One.”

And now the Eternal who watched, shaped, and made me His own servant

from the womb has determined to restore Jacob’s family;

Israel will be made right with the Eternal again.

For God has counted me worthy and He has been my strength right along.

Eternal One: As My servant you will do even more than this,

even more than restoring Jacob’s family to Me

And making Israel right with Me again.

I will make you a light for the nations,

And You will illumine them until My salvation reaches to the ends of the earth.

This is what the Eternal One, the Redeemer and Holy One of Israel,

told to the one who is despised and loathed by the nation,

To the servant of national leaders.

Eternal One: At the sight of you, kings will rise and princes will bow down,

for I, the Eternal, faithful and true, the Holy One of Israel, have chosen you.

The Eternal has this to say:

Eternal One: When the time was right, I answered you;

on the day you were delivered, I was your help.

I will watch over you, and give you

as a promise, a binding covenant to the people.

Through you, My gift to the people, the land of promise will recover.

Ancestral ground, once deserted, will be entrusted to them.

Through you, My gift to the people, I will declare to the prisoners,

“Come out. Now you are free”;

To those who are held in darkness, “Come out into the light.”

They will find sustenance wherever they are—

Along the roads or in the open hills—

with peace of mind, in comfort and security.

Wherever they are, they will be fine, never hungry nor thirsty.

They will be protected from oppressive heat and the burning sun

Because the One who loves them—as a mother loves her child—will be their guide.

God will lead them to restful places, rejuvenating springs of water.

I will make their going easy, level the mountain road

and smooth the path that leads them home.

Look! Even now, they are coming from lands far away,

some from the north, others from the west, these from the land of Sinim.

Oh joy! Be glad—sky! Take joy—earth! Burst into song—mountains!

For the Eternal, moved to compassion, has comforted and consoled His people.

Zion: The Eternal One has abandoned me. God has walked out the door;

my Lord left me alone. He has forgotten all about me.

Eternal One: Is it possible for a mother, however disappointed,

however hurt, to forget her nursing child?

Can she feel nothing for the baby she carried and birthed?

Even if she could, I, God, will never forget you.

Look here. I have made you a part of Me, written you on the palms of My hands.

Your city walls are always on My mind, always My concern.

Now sweet Zion your children are running pell-mell back to you

Just as fast as those who destroyed you are leaving.

Raise your head, lift up your eyes,

and watch your heart’s desire come—

All your children, gathered and returning to you. As I live, so I promise.

You will wear them with pride all like shining ornaments;

you will put them on as a bride on her wedding day.

Because of all of your destroyed land—the barren fields and abandoned farms—

you are now too small, too cramped for all your citizens;

And those who tried to swallow you whole will be far, far away.

The children you mourned, those born in exile, will return and say,

“It is too cramped and crowded for us;

We’re going to need more room if we are to live here.”

You’ll say to yourself, “Where in the world did all these people come from?

Could these really be mine?

I thought I’d been desolated, left empty.

Where have you all been? Where did you come from?”

This is what the Lord, the Eternal, has to say:

Eternal One: I will lift My hand and signal every nation that holds your people

And they will bring your children back again:

boys bundled in their arms, girls riding on their shoulders.

Kings will tend the children of Zion, and their queens will nurse and nurture them.

These greats will humble themselves before you.

They will bow and lick the dust off your feet,

and in the course of it all, you will remember that I am the Eternal.

Whoever trusts in Me will never be put to shame.

Jerusalem: Can the spoil of war be taken from the mighty?

Can the captives be freed from the hand of a tyrant?

Eternal One: Hard to believe, but it shall be so.

The captives will be taken from the hand of the mighty,

And the spoil of war will be rescued from the tyrant.

I will liberate them from their captors and contend with your enemies.

I will save your children.

I will turn your enemies’ violence back on themselves,

and they will suffer their own atrocities:

They will feed on their own flesh and drink their own blood like wine.

Then every person on earth will know for certain that I, the Eternal, am your Savior.

I am your hero, the strong One of Jacob from whom you come.

I will rescue you, whatever the price.

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 49 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

There are many kinds of love—and not enough words to tell the differences. Hebrew has a word for “love” that is related to its word for a woman’s womb. English has no such word. It is too bad, for it is difficult to describe womb-love, the bearing-and-birthing love of a mother, the kind of love that the Lord has for the people of God’s promise, Jacob’s children. God shaped this people as His own and bound them with no ordinary promise. God loves them in the same way a mother loves the child growing in her womb. It can’t be said so neatly and completely with one “love” word, but that is the idea that threads its way through this text.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, july 27 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the need of having eyes that are open to the wonders of life:

"Only watch yourself, and watch your soul diligently, lest you forget..." (Deut. 4:9a; Deut. 8:11). We are in constant and great need to remember the greatness of God, for when we forget the truth, we lose sight of who we are and why we exist... Therefore we are earnestly admonished to guard our hearts with all diligence, for from the heart flows the streams of life (Prov. 4:23). Forgetfulness leads to apathy and indulgent thinking - a sure recipe for idolatry and despair... On the other hand, as we "practice the presence" of God, we encounter daily miracles and realize that our life comes from above: "In Him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28). If we do not know God in all our ways, we lose touch with the purpose for our lives. If we close our eyes to the wonders of life, we forget both their source and the source of all that exists...

C.S. Lewis related that during his college years he "played with" philosophy as way to show off or gain prestige among his fellow students. One day, however, he overheard a conversation between a Christian acquaintance who was discussing Plato's thinking with another person. As he listened, it suddenly dawned on him that they were discussing philosophy as if it really mattered, as if it could somehow change their lives. Questions about reality, truth, beauty, justice, and so on suddenly became weighty and existential - matters of life and death - and that realization marked a key point in his conversion to Christianity. [Hebrew for Christians]

7.26.21 • Facebook

and another about facing truth:

Just as grace is inaccessible for someone who refuses to be honest with himself, so is forgiveness. If a person refuses to confess the truth about his condition, salvation itself is impossible, since God literally cannot save the soul that denies its need for Him. Therefore the Scripture does not vainly declare: "Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but the one who confesses and forsakes them will find mercy" (Prov. 28:13).

A person who “conceals” his sin denies it, either by outright disavowal or by explaining it away by offering self-deceptive excuses. This person simply cannot prosper – in the spiritual sense of the word – because he is not living in reality... Indeed, his conscience is burdened with a “secret ban,” an inner voice of condemnation that must be suppressed and squelched. It is only the person who comes to the light, who acknowledges the truth of his sin and who is anxious to be free of its effects, who will be shown mercy (i.e., rachamim (רַחֲמִים), which comes from the word rechem (רֶחֶם), “womb”).

Note that God alone has the prerogative to cover or atone for sin, as an expression of His grace, but it is never fitting for someone to atone for his own sin in order to exonerate himself. God’s anger over sin is not appeased when sin is minimized, dismissed, excused, or rationalized away (though the LORD delights when we overlook the offenses of others). This is because all sin is an offense against God and represents a breach of the relationship between the sinner and God. Your sin, in other words, hurts not only yourself and other people, but most significantly, it wounds the very heart of God Himself by causing a breach or separation in your relationship with Him. Therefore we see Yeshua forgiving others for sins they have committed against other people as if He were the offended party in the sin. As C.S. Lewis once wrote, “He told people that their sins were forgiven, and never waited to consult all the other people whom their sins had undoubtedly injured. He unhesitatingly behaved as if He was the party chiefly concerned, the person chiefly offended in all offenses. This makes sense only if He really was the God whose laws are broken and whose love is wounded in every sin” (Mere Christianity, 1952).

In this evil world, it may sometimes seem that crime “pays,” but certainly not before the Divine Presence, and in the world to come, every word and deed will be fully accounted before the bar of God’s justice and truth. But even in this world, the sinner is secretly haunted by his conscience; he is driven to madness, hidden despair, and lives in dread and anxiety over the truth he conceals... It has been said that the problem with “getting away with it” is that you indeed “get away with it,” meaning that your sin will follow you as doggedly as your own shadow in this world... Ultimately sin is a form of cowardice, since it hides in fear from the light of truth. Unconfessed sin leads to anxiety, paranoia, and weakness of the soul...

I have mentioned that one of the reasons God announced the Ten Commandments was because it was His way of saying, "I know who you really are, I see you..." This is why the people drew back in terror, because they realized that God saw the inner condition of their heart, exposed it, and shined the light of moral truth upon it. Nonetheless it is a great and ongoing credit to the Jewish people that they were willing to receive the revelation at Sinai, since it demonstrates that they were genuinely willing to be honest with themselves. Despite their many subsequent failures, they still revered the truth of God’s Torah and meticulously preserved the revelation for future generations (Rom. 3:1-2).

Again, a person who denies or excuses his sin simply cannot prosper – in the spiritual sense of the word – because he refuses to live in reality... Confessing the truth about yourself – owning your behavior, taking personal responsibility, refusing to blame others, and so on, leads to real prosperity, spiritual blessing and true inner peace. [Hebrew for Christians]

7.27.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

July 27, 2021

A Debtor to Grace

“For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.” (Romans 7:18)

All too often we find ourselves as frustrated as the apostle Paul in that we often know to do the right thing, to abstain from a particular sin, but we quickly fall right back into that sin. We must daily recognize our sinful habits and determine in our hearts, with strength from the Holy Spirit, to withstand the sin, to overcome temptation. “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. So then with the mind I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh the law of sin” (Romans 7:25). The writer of “Come Thou Fount” had the same frustration.

O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be!

Let thy goodness, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love;

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.

Scripture tells us we are secure in Christ, never to be separated. Christ informed His disciples that “my sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand” (John 10:27-29). We are safe in Christ’s hand surrounded by the Father’s hand. And then the transaction is sealed by “the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption” (Ephesians 4:30).

Take courage. We are secure in Him. JDM

[truthofherdreams]

people can surprise you (or not)

OR, the reversed How to lose a guy in 10 days AU nobody asked, but everybody gets. (ao3)

Dmitry looks up from his laptop, swallowing down a sigh. The meeting has been going on for what feels like hours now, with no sign of it finishing any time soon. Gleb has rejected two dozen article ideas so far, which is a record even for him. Nothing is fresh enough for BuzzClick’s editorial line. Dmitry has been working here long enough to read between the lines – nothing is clickbait-worthy, nor has the potential of going viral. Which, in Gleb’s world, means it’s useless.

Five years of studying journalism for this bullshit, Dmitry thinks bitterly. What would his father think? Still, when yet another moronic idea gets dismissed, and with a pointed elbow in the arm from Vlad, Dmitry finally raises his hand. “I’ve been working on something,” he admits. Then, with a hand wave from Gleb to go on, “About the scams happening on Instagram right now, and how companies use gullible, young women to promote their products for free.”

Gleb raises an unimpressed eyebrow and folds his hands on his chest, and Dmitry prepares for the inevitable lecture. “And why should BuzzClick’s audience care about this, exactly?”

Because your audience is a bunch of teenager fools who don’t know any better, Dmitry thinks. But he has his answer prepared, thankfully, and instead he offers his boss a placarding smile. “Social networks and the evils of capitalism? It’s a millennial dream, people will love it. Not to mention it never hurts to show how naïve and gullible young girls are, am I right?”

Gleb remains silence for a few seconds, so much so that Dmitry believes him interested, or at least intrigued enough to want to hear more about it. But then, “No. Anything else?”

“Excuse –”

“I said no, Sudayev. Moving on.”

Dmitry is left gaping at his boss, unable to believe his eyes and ears. Gleb royally ignores him as he listens, then rejects, yet another idea from someone else. Dmitry is too gobsmacked to do anything else but stare for long seconds, until Vlad puts a hand on his arm and leans closer to him. “Better luck next time, boy,” he whispers.

“This isn’t fair,” Dmitry finds himself replying like a petulant child.

He swallows his anger with a sip of burning coffee, which does nothing to quiet the fire inside him. The article is good, he knows. Good enough to move him from clickbait list articles and onto a real journalistic job at last. It’s been five years of this bullshit, and Dmitry has had enough. But Gleb refuses to give him a chance, for reasons Dmitry has never understood – some rumours of an old rivalry between their fathers, which is the most moronic excuse ever. Holding grudges can only go so far, and Dmitry has had enough.

“I have an idea,” another man says, raising a hand in the air, then pushing his glasses up his nose. Gleb turns to him. “Some kind of social experiment. About how – how, you know, nice guys finish last.”

Dmitry forces himself not to groan out loud, even more so when a smirk appears at the corner of Gleb’s mouth. “Go on.”

“I was thinking about – seeing what happens when an alpha male is an asshole to a woman, and when a, well, normal man does it. How long it would take for the woman to dump either of them.”

This seriously is the most moronic idea Dmitry has even heard in his life, and he’s heard his fair share of bullshit in this meeting room. But Gleb is actually thinking about it, the fucking idiot, and Dmitry wants to die. As if BuzzClick didn’t already have enough of a sexist reputation as it was, no, let’s jump right into Nice Guy territory! Jesus fuck…

“Interesting…” Gleb mutters, because of course he does. This whole thing is a fucking joke. “We would need an alpha male for the other half of the experiment, though.”

Dmitry wants to chuckle at the obvious jab toward his colleague, but then all eyes are on him, and his laugh dies in his throat. He blinks, once, twice, before he truly understands what basically everyone in the room is implying. “Nope. No way.”

“Why not?” Gleb asks in a very rhetorical tone.

Dmitry is having none of it. “Because you’re asking me to be an asshole to some random woman just to prove a very sexist and offensive point like I’m some guy on Reddit who has no idea women are actually people?”

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife, but Dmitry refuses to look away from his boss, defiant. He knows it to be useless, of course -- you either obey Gleb or pack up and leave, tail between your legs. But he would like to think he is making a point, even though his colleagues are exactly the Reddit type he was talking about. Not exactly the sharpest pencils in the box, the whole lot of them.

“How about,” Gleb starts, his tone saccharine sweet, “You do this, and I have a look at this little article of yours?”

A muscles spasms in Dmitry’s jaw. He hates this situation very fucking much. And yet, still. “Fine.”

“Good. You both have ten days to find a chick and give her all you’ve got. Let’s see how long the poor girls last.”

It’s all a game to them, and Dmitry finds himself a reluctant player.

His father would be ashamed.

 …

 Anastasia has always thought that, out of the five of them, Maria’s smile was the brightest. She smiles with her entire body, not just her mouth, and it makes her all the prettier. It is especially obvious tonight, Maria losing her natural shy demeanour to smile and laugh as she recalls a story. Anastasia’s chin is in her hand as she leans on the table and listens, with a smile of her own, her fingers playing with the straw in her cocktail.

“And this morning, she sent three dozen roses to my office. Three dozens, Nastya!” she exclaims loudly.

It is when Alexei comes back from the bar, shouldering his way through the crowd to drop three shots of vodka on the table. He winks at Anastasia before sitting down by her side. “Sounds to me like Masha finally found her match.”

“Nana will be so proud,” Anastasia adds with her chin up and a shake of the head, making her little brother laugh.

Even if neither of them say so out loud, they all know it wasn’t always that easy -- Nana may be a great many things, kind and loving and so much more, but accepting that one of her granddaughters was gay, well. Let’s just say it was a process. But maybe it will be better now that Maria has found someone she loves and who loves her back. Anastasia hopes so. Nana still has Olga and Tanya to give her as many great-grandchildren as she wishes, after all.

“Know what it means, though,” Alexei adds with a elbow to Anastasia’s side, which makes Maria laugh.

Yes. She knows it all too much, and is not exactly looking forward to it. Anastasia grabs the shot of vodka in front of her, downs it, and winces. The alcohol burns down her throat and stomach, but doesn’t calm her nerves. Quite the contrary.

“Yes, because god forbid I have a good, fulfilling job and an apartment of my own, if I’m not also married with children. My celibacy eclipses all my other achievements in life.”

“What kind of feminist nonsense,” Maria jokes, and laughs when Anastasia throws a peanut at her face. She dodges it easily, and retaliates with the cherry from her cocktail. It hits Anastasia’s nose, and Maria’s next words hit right where it hurts. “Like you know how to be in a relationship anyway.”

She gapes at her older sister. “What does that even mean?”

Maria gives her the best Olga look she can muster, the one the eldest sister always favours when one of the youngest -- often Alexei -- does or says something wrong. But where it is effective with Olga, it is lost on Maria’s kind features and gentle eyes. Anastasia only scoffs at her in reply.

“It means, when was the last time you dated someone, Nastya?” Alexei asks.

She glares at him, the traitor. “I’ll have you know I date a lot of people.”

“When was the last time you dated someone for more than a day?” Maria clarifies.

Which. Not helping. Anastasia opens her mouth even as she keeps thinking, but not a single name comes to her mind. True, she hasn’t dated a lot of men in her life, but she doesn’t see what is wrong with that. It’s not like she needs to be dated someone to have a fulfilling life, and it’s not like she feels lonely. She likes being on her own, and doesn’t particularly envy her sisters for being married with children. It’s never been something she’s wanted for herself, and she won’t force herself to want something she doesn’t need.

Of course, Nana doesn’t see it this way, and Nana will soon decide that Anastasia is too old to be single. Which will lead to a procession of dates with proper Russian gentlemen, all of it arranged by her grandmother. Anastasia doesn’t particularly look forward to it, even if she can see it looming in a corner ever since she blew her twenty-fifth candle.

“Aloysha is single too. I don’t see anyone doing anything about that.”

“I’m busy,” Alexei replies. It’s his go-to answer, and it always works. Because he’s the only one in the family who’s still at university, now working on his doctorate in history. “I don’t have time for socialising.”

Anastasia offers him an unimpressed stare, even more so at his innocent smirk when he downs his shot of vodka. “I’m busy too and yet…”

“Come on, Nastya. Just admit it.” Anastasia directs her stare toward her sister. “You simply suck at dating.”

“I don’t -- I’m not -- no!” she sputters. “I could date if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.”

“Oh really?” Maria singsongs. The mischievous look doesn’t suit her. “Wanna bet on it?”

Alexei snorts a laugh into his beer, but otherwise doesn’t comment, leaving both sisters to stare at each other -- one challenging, the other murderous. It reminds Anastasia of all the bets they had as children, to climb trees and steal candies and annoy Nana’s employees. It often ended in one or two of them grounded and, on a particularly gruesome occasion, in Alexei spending a week at the hospital for a nasty-looking bruise despite his meds.

Sadly for herself, Anastasia has never been one to back down from their games and challenges. “What kind of bet?”

“Let’s say,” Maria starts and purses her lips, stirring her cocktail with the straw. “When is Nana’s gala again?”

“Next Wednesday,” Alexei chimes in.

“Next Wednesday. I bet you can’t find a guy tonight, in this bar, and keep him until next Wednesday. Prove me wrong and introduce him to Nana during the gala. As your boyfriend.”

“A guy? Any guy?”

Maria sits a little straighter in her chair, looking around her at the crowd of people. She seems to be scanning each and every one of the men in the room, pondering on each one, until her eyes sparkle and a smile stretches her lips. She raises a hand to point one finger at someone across the room. “This guy!”

 …

 Dmitry tries not to cringe too much, but it’s a lost battle at this point. His colleagues are all gathered around a table, piece of paper and pen between them, laughing like assholes at the list they are making. Mainly, the list of shit Dmitry will have to do for this stupid fucking article. They’re having a blast about it, like they made it their life’s goal to traumatise a poor girl for clicks, and it makes him sick in the stomach to witness it.

Why he accepted, Dmitry will never know. It goes against his integrity, as a journalist and as a man, but those kinds of jobs just don’t fall in your lap every day. He had to fight to become a journalist, even a shitty one, and it’s not like any publication is going to open their arms to him when he only has BuzzClick on his resume. So it’s either do this shit or go back to working at McDonald’s, and he’s had his share of customer service to last him a century.

He stands up suddenly at one particularly bad joke, deciding that he needs more alcohol if he’s going to survive the night. His beer is lukewarm by now, and he wants something stronger to settle the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

He barely makes it to the counter before someone shows up by his side, and he’s ready to give a mouthful to whichever colleague followed him. Only it’s not them. It’s possibly the prettiest girl he’s ever seen -- a head smaller than he is, with strawberry blonde hair and mesmerizing eyes. He can’t tell which colour they are in the darkness of the bar, blue or grey or something else. But beautiful, they definitely are beautiful, and so is she.

“Hi. I’m Anya.”

There is confidence in her tone and the way she holds herself, and Dmitry can’t look away. He’s always loved a woman who knows what she wants, and tonight is no different. “Dmitry. Want something to drink?”

She frowns at him, just for a moment, before she asks, “ру́сский?”

The use of his native language takes him by surprise, even more so coming from a woman with such a flawless French accent. He couldn’t have guessed, but he knows his French to be slightly rough around the edges. Just enough to be recognised by fellow Russians and to categorise him as ‘not from here’ by some. “Санкт-Петербу́рг,” he replies with ease.

“Пу́шкин,” she says. Ah. Not so far from where he grew up, then. Neighbours, even. Then, switching back to French, “But I’ve been living here since I was a little girl. And a Cosmo, please.”

Dmitry grins at her, before he manages to catch the attention of a bartender. “Cosmo and a vodka on the rocks, please.” Then, turning back to her, “My mother and I moved to France when I was ten. Lyon, not Paris. That came after.”

“Interesting,” she says, and takes a step closer to him. “And what brought you to Paris?”

Damn, but those eyes. He can’t look away from them, even when she offers him a mysterious smile and blinks down. There is something about them, and her, that have Dmitry want to know more, to know everything. It’s never happened before, and he has his fair share of experience with women. But her… Her!

It takes Dmitry a few seconds to remember she asked a question. “Journalism. Well, if you can call it that, really.” He wrinkles his nose. “I work for BuzzClick.”

She makes a face. Yeah, BuzzClick has that reputation. “Top ten worst websites of all time. You will not believe number four!”

He laughs and, just in time, grabs their drink and hands her the colourful cocktail. “Yeah, something like this. Not proud of it, but it does pay the bills. What about you?”

She takes a sip of her drink, looking at him above the rim of the glass and beneath her lashes, and Dmitry’s knees go weak. Damn, but he’s a goner. “I’m in charge of the Truth Of My Dreams foundation.”

Dmitry blinks at her, speechless for a moment. Because of course she would be in charge of such a foundation, making the dreams of almost-dying children come true all over the world. Of course she would.

“Beautiful and selfless,” he can’t help but comment. It makes her blush and look away, even more so when he finds the nerve to go on, “Wanna get out of here?”

When she looks back at him, there is a determination and hunger in her eyes like he’s never seen before. Dmitry makes a silent thanks to the universe because, whatever he did right, he sure didn’t deserve that beautiful of a twist of fate.

“Yes, please,” she says, and takes his hand.

He ignores the grins and hoots of his colleagues as they leave the bar.

#dimya #dimya fanfiction #anastasia the musical #anastasia romanov #dmitry sudayev #* #ff: anastasia #ff: people can surprise you (or not) #fanfic

[cinnamonanddean]

Wincstmas Day 8: New Orleans

Hey! Here is day 8 :)

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Their Dad shoots them a stern look as he heads out of their seedy motel room, just a stone’s throw away from the French Quarter and yet far enough to avoid the tourist rabble.

Dean snorts. They’re in New Orleans. Stupid is required, as far as he’s concerned. He’s just turned 21, Sammy’s got a killer fake ID, and they’re in the land of cheap drinks and easy women. Dad should know better than to leave them alone here, hunt or not; he should’ve left them so far out of town that the locals had barely even heard of New Orleans.

But he hasn’t, so as far as Dean’s concerned, that means playtime. 

He waits the requisite half hour to make sure that Dad’s really gone, won’t be back for a forgotten shotgun or flask of holy water, and then he moves.

“C’mon Sammy, drinkin’ time.”

***

It takes Dean longer than he expects to convince his brother, but he can’t conceive of leaving Sam out of this. Dean’s been wanting to come to New Orleans for years - who knows when they might get another chance to explore? So he argues and cajoles until he’s heading out of the motel with Sam tucked sticky under his arm, both of them dressed for the heat in just jeans and tshirts.

Within minutes they can hear the noise, feel the buzz, of the French Quarter. It’s just a Tuesday evening, not even that late, but people stumble past them, cocktails in hand; dripping in beads and goodwill.

Dean snags them a brightly coloured cocktail at the first open bar they come across, laughing at the look on Sam’s face. “Its New Orleans, Sammy, lighten up.”

“I’ve never seen you drink anything before that wasn’t brown or clear,” Sam retorts. “Let me enjoy my surprise for a minute.” He sticks his tongue out at Dean, and its already coloured a little purple.

“When in Rome,” Dean says expansively, and sets off again. He really loves the fact that you can just walk around with your drinks here.

They wander for a while, content to explore the Quarter in the deepening twilight. Dean pretends to world weariness most of the time, but here, even he can’t keep up the pretence; everything is beautiful, astounding, unique. Greenery drips from iron balconies, cascades down multi-coloured houses, and its all so old. He shivers at the thought of all the ghosts here, just waiting to explode into activity as soon as something triggered them.

But Dad isn’t here to hunt a ghost - he’s here looking for a witch hiding in plain sight, a witch who’s been killing adulterous men across the south. Dean catches sight of one of the many voodoo shops lining the streets, this one designed to appeal to tourists, and scowls. He fricking hates witches.

Soon, they’ve made their way to the centre of the action. Bourbon Street is already heaving, happy crowds milling about, sharing pleasantries and making new friends. Sam’s wide-eyed beside him, so close that his shoulder brushes Dean’s with every movement, and Dean looks at him with happy, neon-induced adoration.

“C’mon kid, I know a place we gotta try.”

It’s getting vaguely towards late now, and they have to push their way into Pat O’Briens, but once Dean locates a waitress at the bar, his smile secures them two hurricanes in minutes. “Such a fucking flirt,” Sam complains, looking a little jealous. Dean tips his head back, laughing, and ruffles Sam’s hair.

They soak up the atmosphere for a while, but Dean wants to sample as many famous bars as he can. “This is a ridiculous drink,” Sam complains, clutching the tall green drink with a wavery frown. He’s starting to look a little loose, usually tense limbs flowing and hands gesturing in a way Dean hasn’t seen for years.

“You’re getting drinks bought for you, Sammy. Stop complaining.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but takes a big sip. He chokes a little as the lurid green mixture goes down.

“Strong?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam coughs. Dean can’t help but laugh, taking a big mouthful of his own drink. It burns a little, despite the eye-watering sweetness, and he grins at Sam so wide that his brother is forced to smile back.

Things get a little fuzzy after that. They weave through the crowds, laughing, stopping to listen to a band here, a musician there. Sam’s always within touching distance, leaning into Dean; giggling into his neck. Sam’s always a happy drunk, when Dean lets him drink; its part of the reason Dean does it. He loves seeing his little brother lose the care, the attitude, he’s developed over the past few years.

They find themselves in another bar, neon lights whirling around a packed dance floor. The bartender thrusts two frozen daiquiris into Dean’s hands and he spins, looking for Sam. Panic floods his slow brain when he can’t see his brother anywhere in the crowd.

Shoving the daiquiris onto a nearby table, he pushes through the crowds, scanning for Sam’s tall head. Sam’s not anywhere in the bar, and Dean’s pulse speeds up as he pushes his way outside. He slump with relief as he spots Sam, leaning against a wall opposite the bar, but then everything slams into laser focus.

Sam’s leaning back, head tipped up to look at an older man. The man is even taller than Sammy, big and bristling with gym-earned muscle, which he’s showing off in a tight white vest. He’s got his paws on Sam’s slim waist, keeping Sam pushed against the wall. He bends down to talk into Sam’s ear, and Sam giggles in response, cheeks visibly flushed.

Red roars through Dean, because Sam’s only supposed to look at him like that. If anyone is going to be pinning his brother against walls, its him. They don’t talk about (or god forbid, name), this thing that shivers between them, that keeps them so close, almost tethered together; and they’ve certainly never acted on it, but Dean thought it was understood all the same.

He stomps across the road, expecting Sam’s eyes to flick to his as they usually do, but Sam’s too busy flirting to notice. It stings.

He pulls on the guy’s shoulder. “Hey,” Dean says. “Back the fuck off.” Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Why should I?” The guy keeps one hand easy on Sam’s hip, and Dean can see his thumb swiping back and forth across the smooth patch of skin.

“Because I said so. “

“Well he didn’t, so fuck off.”

There’s a moment when a fight tingles in the air, the guy staring at Dean and Dean staring right back, each willing the other to look away. And then Sam pushes between them, huffing in annoyance.

“Put your fucking dicks away,” he says, irritable, and stomps off down the street. Dean spares a moment to be amused at his brother’s sass, before he’s following after Sam, not sparing another glance for the guy they leave behind.

Sam disappears around a corner, and as soon as Dean’s off of Bourbon Street, Sam slams him into a wall.

“What the fuck was that, Dean?”

Dean just blinks at his brother. He can’t bring himself to do it, can’t bring himself to shatter this thing between them. Sam’s still so young, so innocent; and it’s wrong. He musters all his willpower and resists in the only way he can: with silence.

The noise of New Orleans whirls around them but the little world they inhabit is still. They’re pressed together so close that a shiver would have their bodies aligning. The moment ticks on, making Dean’s muscles tense; Sam staring into his eyes with all the intensity Dean loves. But Dean won’t do it, won’t make a move to sully his little brother with these feelings.

“I didn’t fucking think so,” Sam says bitterly. He peels away from Dean, swiping his hand across his face angrily. “I’m going back to the motel.”

Dean sags against the wall, glad the threat has passed and yet heartsore, too. Sam’s almost out of sight before he manages to pull himself back to his feet, trailing his little brother home, tugged along by the bond that tethers them together.  

Hope you enjoyed :) Tomorrow’s is a little bit more lighthearted!

#hhgggk #I did not come here to weep #oh the tension #love me some jealous!dean #and both of them wanting #but afraid to take the next step #you hit all the right buttons with this one #if you're stumped for future days #this kinda thing is always perfect #wincestmas #12daysofwincestmas #submission

[lesmotsincompris]

Thoughts on GoT S07E06

Since everybody was discussing the leaks, I decided to watch the leaked episode and almost forgot to post my thoughts here as usual.

Anyway: that was terrible, y’all. That was a whole new level of terrible.

The show was awful long before this, of course, but I think this episode perfectly encapsulates how poorly written it can be. Every scene has a lot to tear apart, but let’s try to keep it short:

Winterfell

Oh boy, did that hurt. What D&D have done to Arya isn’t simply character assassination; they murdered her character, shat on the corpse, set the poop on fire, and put the fire out with vomit.

Arya’s lines during this episode seem to come from an anti-Sansa thread on Reddit. It’s so viciously misogynystic and victim-blaming that I’m losing all respect for fans that buy this kind of bullshit reasoning (and I’ve seen them with my own eyes).

Again knitting is brought in a negative context. Again Sansa is called stupid. Again Sansa is portrayed as an ambitious bitch because she didn’t act as the ideal victim is supposed to act. Again Sansa’s forced marriages are used against her. Again we have another reminder that Sansa was raped, because gods forbid we forget it. This isn’t dealing with trauma, this is rubbing in the audience’s faces one of the most hated scenes of this show.

It’s ridiculously out of continuity too. Everything Arya herself did to survive is ignored (hanging out with Tywin on season 2, anyone?). Also she couldn’t possibly think her sister helped the Lannisters get rid of Ned, she was fucking there. If she saw Sansa’s pretty hair and dress, she must have seen her crying and screaming in despair. Watch your own damn show, D&D!

Once more I must ask: what is Littlefinger still doing in this story? He’s trying to put Arya against Sansa, but why? What does he gain with that? Why is Sansa still listening to him? You can’t give me Sansa being snarky at him in one episode and fully trusting him in another, it just doesn’t make sense.

Sansa was rude to Brienne for no reason, and sent her away purely because D&D needed Sansa alone and unprotected in Winterfell again. It’s so forced it hurts.

Apparently Jon didn’t give any news in weeks. Great job, Jon. But hey, couldn’t they use their fucking omniscient robot brother to see what stupidity Jon was up to this time?

I was giggling during the entire briefcase scene, not even The Room can aspire to be this bad.

Dragonstone

“Heroes do stupid things and they die” is the supreme maxim of Grimdark™. It’s also clearly not what GRRM is going for in the books.

We had a scene with the sole purpose of delivering exposition that Jon is in love with Dany. Is he? Why would he be? What evidence have we seen of this? Oh no, but it’s a lot easier to have a character established as "clever" saying "he loves you" than actually showing the process of two people falling in love.

For all their speech abut sparing the innocent, Tyrion says they’ll burn King’s Landing if anyone touches Dany. See, the smallfolk are only important if they bend the knee, otherwise they can die. So much for wheel-breaking.

(we still don’t know what that means, btw)

Again Tyrion tells Dany what to do and how to act; I’m gonna stab with a knitting needle anyone that calls this show feminist. I don’t think Tyrion is wrong in everything he says, but having him mansplaining Dany constantly is annoying. If he “believes” her, why doesn’t he let her to think on her own? If he doesn’t trust her to do it, then why does he follow her?

I can’t blame Dany for being hostile to the whole succession talk. Yes, it’s an important matter, and one book!Dany still has to address, but it came very suddenly and when they had other more important matters to deal with.

Tyrion doesn’t want Dany to go and she goes, and again the narrative will prove Dany wrong for not listening to a man. Fuck this show.

Beyond the Wall

Aaah, le crap de le crap. Don’t get me wrong, Winterfell stuff made me roll my eyes so hard I could watch my own brain cells dying. But Winterfell was filler, while this is supposed to be the big moment, the “go go go, shock shock shock” we’ve been told about, the core of the wham episode of this season.

And it sucks.

Tormund says that smart people don’t go looking for the dead, and I have to agree with him. The whole plan of capturing a wight and touring it around Westeros was incredibly stupid to begin with, so it’s hard to feel bad for the characters when things go inevitably wrong.

Less than five minutes into this episode they were already joking about Gendry being assaulted by Melisandre. Fuck this show.

Gendry being sold to Melisandre, much like Tyrion killing Davos’ son with wildfire, becomes a “look, those characters know each other” gag. This is a very poor choice and ignores the fact that those characters met under traumatic circumstances that deserve a stronger reaction than that.

Of course you don’t hear Beric “bitching” about being killed six times, that would mean death and trauma carry any weight and in this show they don’t. Not anymore.

I’ve been complaining for a while that the show seems to have forgotten why Jorah was exiled, so they answered me with him admitting Ned was right. That’s great, it would have been a significant character development… if we had actually seen it. Character development is a character going from point A to point B, not suddenly being on point B with no indication of how they got there.

Then Jon says he’s glad Ned didn’t catch Jorah. Why? Does Jon knows that Jorah was exiled for selling people? Is Jon okay with that? Since when? He barely knows Jorah and no relationship was portrayed on screen before this moment, why this sudden concern with him?

Sandor says he hates gingers, which is another nail in the SanSan coffin for the show. We already that’s D&D’s NOTP, but the petty ways they find to demonstrate it always amuse me.

I joked about this being the Ultimate Bro Trip - All the Extras Edition, but boy I was right. There’s everything one could expect from this sort of event: sexual assault played for laughs, dick jokes, the most disgusting reference to Tormund x Brienne, heavy-handed hints of R+L=J, lots of walking for nothing, lots of shitting all over GRRM’s careful worldbuilding, lots of dudes bonding over stuff that makes me hate them as characters, poorly executed action with no real stakes. A true winner!

There are small things that worked for me. I kinda like Beric’s speech to Jon, or Sandor turning around when they burn Thoros’ wound. It’s a simple but effective way to remind the viewer of Sandor’s trauma. It doesn’t cost much in terms of dialogue or screentime, and keeps the character consistent and fleshed-out. But those were isolated moments, and isolated moments are not enough to save us from this torture of a scene.

I like the surprise element of the bear attack, but it was too shaky and confusing for my taste. Gendry says the bear has blue eyes, but I could hardly see the bear itself? And how can I care about characters dying if I can’t even see who’s dying? After some point it was The Revenant - Westeros edition, and still not the silliest scene in the episode.

The white walkers now die like vampires from Buffy and one stab is enough to finish them. Worse, they’re following the route of 'kill the boss, every minion dies’. I hate this trope, I’m sure there’s a name for it. It’s particularly bad in this case because now the white walkers’ impressive numbers don’t mean anything; just kill the extra blue dude with a vaguely Japanese armor and presto! Also, you know, it contradicts what we’ve seen so far including in this very episode.

Despite them walking for ages, Gendry goes back to Eastwatch pretty fast. The white walkers are kind enough to wait for no fucking reason while Gendry sends a raven, the raven reaches Dragonstone, Dany gets ready, and Dany flies to the Wall and beyond. This should have taken weeks, but apparently it happens over a day or so.

Look, when people talk about ‘teleportation’ in this show, we don’t mean that the writers must depict every beat of the trip. We mean that the trip needs to make sense considering everything we know about the setting and the resources available in that world. It doesn’t have to be super accurate either, just not physically impossible like this was.

The white walkers not attacking the group makes the previous Plot Armor evolve to a Plot AT Field from Evangelion. If there was going to be battle anyway, why the waiting? You’re already bending space and time for Daenerys to arrive, so I’m sure there would be better ways to have the ice dragon scene without all this contrivance.

The dragon saving scene would have been awesome if not for all the implausibility that led to it. It’s hard to be invested when you’re already angry and disappointed. The contrivances don’t stop there, and Jon takes two levels in stupidity and keeps fighting all macho when everybody else is safe on dragon back. Also Daenerys loves him for some reason.

That spear throwing was the funniest thing. Congrats to whoever did the dragon animations and noises, though, that was a great job. Emilia Clarke’s nearly-crying face would have been a great start for one of Daenerys’ more emotional moments in the show, watching the death of one of her children. Too bad this is basically all the reaction she’s allowed to have.

Jon got Viserion killed out of sheer stupidity and stubbornness, but somehow Dany loves him even more for that! She wants to wait for him, even if that endangers her other dragons. Back at the Wall, she waits for his return, not perhaps a sign of Viserion. When he apologizes for being the worst, she’s not remotely angry at him. It was “good” that her dragon died, because now she understands. Now she knows that in this show men are always right and women pay a dear price for not listening to them.

Can’t see the narrative goal of leaving Jon behind or him falling in the water. Nobody actually expected him to die, even if he should have. Then you have Uncle Benjen Ex Machina holding thousands of White Walkers on his own, as if that somehow prevents a few of them from going after Jon. This whole scene accomplished nothing but stretching our suspension of disbelief further, as if there was any left at this point.

The walkers somehow put chains on the dragon to pull it. Why not just make the dragon fall on land? Viserion returning could have been cool if: a) it wasn’t a product of a conga line of plot contrivances; b) they didn’t take four years to show us his eyes opening, as if this wasn’t ridiculously obvious.

Daenerys can’t mourn her fucking dragon, she’s too busy finding the Ultimate Man to Listen To. What prompts Jon to decide that Dany is now his queen? Why does he call her Dany? How does Dany know the Night’s King name?

More importantly, why do I still care to ask about all this questions when the answer is “D&D are fucking dumb and they’re hoping we are too”?

Extra notes

Should we start printing Euron’s picture in milk boxes? And what happened to Theon?

Fuck this show, fuckindammit, that was a lot of time and energy wasted just to get angry.

#got negativity #got criticism #antigot #anti got #personal: watching things