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holylulusworld · 3 years

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Shackled

Title: Shackled

Bad Bitches Bingo Square Filled: Enemies to lovers

Written for: @badbitchesbingo

Summary: Dean is at your mercy and you’ll have some fun.

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Witch!Reader; Dean Winchester x Witch!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,6 k

Warnings: language, bratty reader, dirty talk, restraints (rope), mentions of spells/binding spells, smut, unprotected sex, face slapping, hate sex, hair pulling, hand around throat (light choking), mentions of anal sex (barely), nipple play, biting, possessive reader/Dean, odd way to cure a demon (but the best way possible), I label this dub-con (just in case), female masturbation, dry humping, fingering, voyeurism

Divider by @firefly-graphics

2021 Bad Bitches Bingo masterlist

“You know,” you giggle, striding toward the restrained hunter, “I always wondered how’d you taste, Winchester.”

“I’m gonna split you into two halves-“ the demon growls, eyes pitch-black, “with my teeth.” now you snicker, stepping closer to the knight of hell. He still fights to break free, even though he’s retrained to a chair with ropes soaked in holy water. “Come here and get some.”

“Oh-I will, hunter boy,” cooing the words you kick his legs apart to step between his spread thighs, hands cupping his face roughly. “You look so good restrained, helpless and at my mercy. I almost want to make you happy…”

“Fucking witches,” the demon spats, glaring up at you. He hates you don’t even bat an eyelash when he snarls at you. “You don’t want me to be happy.”

“True,” leaning closer to lick over his cheek you smirk as he growls low in his throat. “I want to turn you into a mess, Dean Winchester. You know,” glancing over your shoulder you smirk, “your brother believes I want to help him cure you but little me wants to toy with you.”

“Toy with me,” eyes angry black holes Dean watches you straddle one of his thighs. You grip his shoulders, still that smirk on your lips when you start to rub your aching core over his thigh. “Bitch! You won’t get off using me.”

“Oh-I fucking will, Deano-“ you roughly grip his chin, force your tongue down his throat. “And you’ll thank me when I’m done, demon. I will make you scream so loud your baby brother can hear every moan and gasp.”

“Get off me,” Dean growls, a little less disgusted by you. “I will rip you apart, witch. This is your last-“ he moans feeling your hand cup his growing erection. “Fuck-“

“I’m on it, demon,” kissing him greedily, your tongue in his mouth you ignore Dean fights the ropes holding him. “You know, I never fucked a hunter nor a demon. This is the perfect opportunity. Plus, we hate each other. Three things I can cross off my bucket list.”

“Your life must be lame,” Dean huffs when you hop off his thigh to get rid of your skirt and shirt, revealing you are wearing no underwear. “What if my beloved brother walks in on us?”

“Aw, are you shy, Deano?” grinning you snap your fingers, sealing the dungeon so no one can enter it. “He’s out cold, sleeps like a baby just like the angel. I will have my fun with you and later,” you turn around to bend over a little, shaking your ass to show Dean the tattoo on your left cheek, “I’ll give you a nice new tattoo.”

“What’s that? A little devil?” he cocks his head, eagerly ogling your exposed sex. “Fuck me, she’s dripping. Such a naughty girl.”

“Yep,” turning back around to stalk toward the demon you snicker. “If I get the tattoo on your chest, you’ll be bound to me, Dean. There is no way you can deny me any wish. And now I wish for your dick in my cunt.”

“Greedy slut,” spatting the words Dean must watch you unbuckle his belt. He growls, fighting the ropes but somehow, his cock swells in his pants. “I’m gonna fucking ruin this greedy pussy.”

“I hope so,” you coo, unzipping his pants, dragging the rough fabric down his thighs with one swift motion. “Perfect dick for an asshole like you.” lazily licking your lips, you rip Dean’s red shirt open, smirking as he gasps at the sudden movement. “I want you free of clothing, demon boy. I like my prey naked.”

“Kinky rotten cunt,” Dean growls when you snap your fingers to destroy his undershirt, revealing his chest to him. “Don’t touch me.” he growls but his eyes are glued to your hand creep toward his cock. “I dare—fuck me.”

“Not yet, baby,” you purr, moving your hand slowly up and down his cock, driving him crazy. “Just tell me you want it and you can feel me wrapped around your dick, if not-“ you release his cock, stepping away to sit on the floor.

“What? Do you want to just stare at my dick till you get off?”

“No-“ you spread your legs, reveal your dripping sex to the demon. “I will just get me myself off using my talent fingers.” that caught his attention. His eyes glued to your tongue wetting your fingers the demon fights the ropes.

“Get here on my dick, bitch. You got me hard,” he grunts, gritting his teeth when you start to slide your fingers through your folds, “now take care of me.”

“I didn’t hear a ‘please’ Dean,” shoving two fingers into your cunt you moan loudly. “Feels so good, baby. I’m so, so wet for you, and tight.”

“I-I want you to ride my dick,” panting heavily, his eyes glued to your fingers fucking your slick cunt the demon growls like a wild animal. “I dare you to keep me waiting.”

“I want to hear it,” moving your fingers faster you lock eyes with the demon. “If I cum, before you beg me, you won’t cum at all.”

“P-Please-“ he spats, eyes onyx orbs. “Come here and fuck me or I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.

“If you ask so nicely…”

“Do you think Y/N can end the cure?” looking at Castiel, wondering why the angel frowns deeply Sam looks at the lore again. “She’s sure about this spell? We didn’t use that one with Crowley.”

“Trust me,” Castiel assures. “If anyone can master this spell, it’s Y/N. She’s a bit difficult but deep down inside she’s a good person.”

“If you say so…”

“Bitch,” Dean tries to inhale your scent when you straddle his lap. He fights the ropes again, dreams of wrapping his hand around your throat, and fuck you raw. “Get started or I’ll-“

“Kill me,” you smirk, raising your hips to line his cock up with your dripping core. “Nah, I think you’ll take my pussy and cum when I tell you to,” pushing your tits in his face you grunt, “lips around my nipple, suck it like a good boy.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” a slap silences Dean and you sink onto without warning. He hisses, growls low in his throat before you silence him with your tits in his face again.

“You know the drill, Winchester. Give me what I want,” you gyrate your hips, force a deep guttural growl out of Dean’s throat, “and I’ll fuck you like no slut before me.”

“You’re the only slut I fucked so far,” he husks, plump lips curled into a smirk. “Now get started bitch, or I’ll bite your nipple.”

“Do it,” you whimper, watching Dean wrap his lips around one nipple, crazing it with his teeth. He smirks against your plush flesh before he bites down your tit and you grip his shoulders, crying out. “Fuck, you’re a beast.”

“I’m a monster and you just sank down my dick. I hope you didn’t get into trouble, sweetheart,” he grins, thrusting upward to hit that spot making you see stars. “There it is bitch. Now ride me as you mean it.”

“Fucking shut your mouth,” fisting his hair you force Dean to crane his neck. “Look at me while I fuck you, demon.”

“The moment I get out of these ropes, this cunt is mine, your ass is mine, your body and soul are going to be mine. And I’ll ruin you. Every. Single. Hole,” the demon threatens, licking his lips when you start to move your hips. “Good girl.”

“Shut up,” you tug harder, force another growl out of his throat. “Just take it like a good boy.” You grin, feeling his chest heave up and down against your breasts. “I bet you’d like to push me to the ground and just fuck me raw from behind like a wild dog.”

“Feral wolf, sweetheart,” you ignore Dean throws insults at you or that you’ve got the feeling he’s too comfortable with you on top of him. All you have in mind is to fuck him into obedience. “There, faster, harder. Make yourself cum on my cock, slut. I want you to cream all over me.” Your hips begin to stutter, and you hate yourself for it but you grip his shoulders to bounce faster on his cock.

“FUCK-I-M-“ you dig your nails into his shoulders, moaning loudly when your orgasm ripples through your body. You close your eyes, and for a moment, you allow yourself to let your guard down only to feel Dean’s hands paw at your ass.

“Yeah, and you will for the rest of the night-“ the demon smirks when you snap your eyes open. “Game over, witch. Now you will be good and do anything I want.” He grins, revealing pearl white teeth. “This includes taking my cock like a good girl.”

You shiver as his rough hands guide you up and down his cock. “Look at you, pathetic slut. Impaled on a demon’s cock you’re nothing but a drooling bitch in heat. Now I’m gonna fuck you as you deserve it.”

“OH GOD!” you cry, fighting his hands when he stands to throw you onto the ground. “Dean…”

“Aw, just stay there and take it, baby girl. I don’t bite,” he grins, rolling his shoulders. “Well, maybe a little…”

“Did Y/N just scream?” worriedly looking at the dungeon Sam debates to help you or to listen to his friend.

“Sam, she said we shall not enter the dungeon before she leaves it. And we can’t. She sealed it with a spell.”

“I’m just worried if she tried to keep us out or Dean inside…”

“Such a bad girl,” Dean pushes you to the ground, face pressed into the cold concrete. “I should snap your neck and just leave but I will cream this pussy first.” you moan at his threat, already dripping for more.

“Do your worst,” you whimper. “I can take it.”

“I know you can,” he wraps one large palm around your throat, forces you on your hands. “And you will take me so deep it hurts. Pity I don’t give a shit if you like it or not.”

“Fuck me like a man or leave it,” you quip. “If you can’t get hard, ask your brother for advice. He made me cum so hard last time we had a quickie.”

“You’re mine to fuck,” he grips you by your hips, driving in balls deep without warning. “Fuck, that’s a good pussy.” you writhe on his cock, moaning shamelessly as he starts to hammer into you.

“Hurry up, I got an appointment for cardio training later,” Dean chuckles darkly. “I mean it, Winchester.”

“The only valid form of cardio is taking my dick, Y/N. Now shut your mouth or I’ll gag you with my fist,” he speeds up, arms wrapping tightly around your chest to bring your back against his body. “Your pussy just saved your life.” he whispers in your ear, rutting harder into you.

“Blood to blood, mind to mind,” you chant, crying out the last word when Dean wraps one hand around your throat again. “Soul to soul, bind us. His Darkness, come to me. Let my light swallow it.”

“What the fuck?” Dean roars through his orgasm, shudders when blinding light surrounds you and the demon inside your body.

“Chain to chain, bind our souls. His Darkness be mine. My light be his,” you fall back against Dean’s chest, chanting the last words of your spell. “Let my heart save his…”

Dean pulls out of you, breaks apart, warily watching you. He breathes hard, not understanding why he can’t stop looking at you.

“Darkness fade away, set his soul free and take mine,” you end the spell, ripping your necklace off your neck to throw it at Dean.

The demon screams in agony, falls to the ground, clutching his chest. “It’s done, no turning back, Winchester,” you sigh, losing consciousness.

“How could you let her do this?” looking at you snuggled in his pillow Dean huffs. “You let a fucking witch bind me to her?”

“She said it’s the only way to end the cure. We were—desperate,” Sam chokes out. “Purified blood and the spell didn’t work.”

“Why did she have to do it that way?” licking his lips, Dean remembers the way you came around him.

“She purified your soul and shares the burden of the mark with you until we can remove it,” Castiel explains. “We reached the end of the rope Dean. Be thankful. Y/N was the only one agreeing to help you.”

“That woman is a witch!” Dean groans, when you roll to his favorite side on the bed, giggling when he glares at you.

“Aw, that hurts my feelings, hunter,” you mutter, blinking your eyes open. “I assume the cure worked?”

“He’s human again and pissed,” Sam throws his hands up in surrender. “I’m going to get drunk tonight. Leave me out of this fight.”

“I’ll leave you alone to talk things out,” Castiel ushers out of the room, sighing as Dean slams the door shut behind him.

“You got them wrapped around your finger, but I don’t trust you one bit,” he pokes your thigh. “Get off my bed and out of the bunker.”

“No thank you for your help?” you sit up, grinning at Dean. “Or rather for the fuck?”

“This stays between you and me,” he’s in your face, breathing heavily. “I dare you to tell Sam we fucked.”

“I’m the kiss and not tell kind of girl, Winchester. And—it was a pitiful and disappointing encounter. Why would I tell anyone about the worst sex I ever had?” you fake a deep sigh, batting your eyelashes.

“You are so frustrating.”

“And sexy,” you coo, kneeling on the bed. “Did you already see the great new tattoo on your chest? This means you are mine from now on.”

“A fucking chain,” Dean mutters, watching you pat his cock. “What are you up to? Why did you help me?”

“You’re a source of pure darkness and this gets me all tingly,” purring the words you slide your hand up to his chest to fist his shirt. “I’m the only one controlling it. If you want to stay human, you better satisfy my needs.”

“Your needs,” Dean huffs, but his cock twitches in interest. “Dream on.”

“I only want to get dicked down good and hard once in a while. Oh! And I want you to help me cross things off my bucket list. I already got hate sex, sex with a demon, sex with a hunter, and sex with Dean Winchester.”

“You’re a freak…a kinky one,” husking the words Dean unbuckles his belt…slowly. “What else do you have on that list?” he cocks a brow, smirking as you already unbutton the shirt you stole from him. “Y/N, I asked you a question.”

“Let’s see-“ cocking your head you try to remember all the things on your list. “Sex with you on your car. Eating pie off someone’s body. Killing the coven who killed my family. Sex with Sam Winchester. Sex with both Winchesters. Learning how to play a piano.”

“Holy fuck!” Dean growls, freeing his aching cock. “You are a fucking slut for Winchester cocks.”

“And?” you shrug, eyes glued to Dean’s cock. “I get bored easily on hunts and let my mind drift toward a good dick-story.”

“Get on hands and knees, bitch,” Dean orders. “You’ll recite your bucket list while I fuck you raw. And no, you won’t get Sammy’s dick, only mine. Now hands behind your back, I got a nice rope waiting to tame you.”

“I prefer your dick…”

Tags in reblog.

#badbitchesbingo #smut #Demon!Dean Winchester x Witch!Reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #demon!dean x reader #Shackled #light dub con #hate sex

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okurrroye · 3 years

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Ok all I wanted was to laugh about John getting curb stomped but the Ayo tag is a fucking nightmare like wow

Disclaimer I have shit memory so if I say something that doesn’t add up fact wise let me know. But I’m pissed off so here we go-

(FYI all of your opinions should be kept to yourself, so don’t comment if you fail to read my entire post so thanks)

I know this has been discussed, but there are things that have been left out of the argument, or hasn’t even been considered when it comes to the big I speak no I see no I hear no evil scene y’all making it out to be of Ayo disarming Bucky. So gather around here’s the part where you hear me out without scrolling off regardless of your stance on the situation, because I’m here for all opinions afterwards.

First off I can’t even understand why this is controversial at all considering the history that led to this moment. Oh wait I lied it’s literally because either you have your head to far up Bucky’s ass or because he’s a man or because he’s white, or because *ding ding ding * all of the above. And now you’re mad because how dare this black bitch have the nerve-the audacity to do that to poor little old Bucky (now insert the part where you either scroll off, or put your two unwanted cents in before I finish). And this is where you all want to use the empty ass belief that ThE aRm Is A gIfT, or empty ass excuse tHaT’s HiS aRm. Also someone else pointed out well if they didn’t trust him than they shouldn’t have given it to him in the first place. Which yes all are true, but also not at the same time. *Gasp* yes somethings can not be one or other, because ✨ grey area ✨.

Now I don’t know what world you’re living in where you think a gift can not be taken back, and I use the term gift loosely because you can’t even call it that honestly. Because in reality the whole reason he has the arm in the first place is because he needed a new one for infinity war like duh, why have crap heap that’s easily damageable when they can make an indestructible one, to live or not to live like it’s not a hard choice. Then he disappeared for five years so it would be kinda difficult to get an arm back that doesn’t exist anymore. But by the time everyone came back I think an arm was at the bottom of their to do list, or not to mention the fact well it’s already been made, and you probably don’t know how to properly function without both arms yet and can’t afford a normal one yourself so why not just keep it instead of wasting all the time, effort, and resources of making it, but idk I guess that’s a stretch. But since people likes using the gift excuse guess what, a gift is just something you couldn’t afford to do yourself so someone else was kind enough to do it for you (^^^), but in every other since of the word it really belongs to them not you. So let’s give an example shall we, now your parent(s) gave you something you wanted (shit someone else may have bought it for you) but you fucked around and got in trouble and now you’re grounded. Now depending on your parent(s) you’ll either get your ass beat or your shit will get confiscated, or both if you fuck up enough. Now do you think you have any right to say what they can or can’t do? -Yeah I didn’t think so and if you thought otherwise well here comes round two of another ass whopping or the first one if you’re lucky. Or on rare occasions some (white) kids don’t get physically disciplined, but you’re still going to pay the price regardless.

So same situation (yes I know I can’t compare an amputees arm to an object, but I only say that because Bucky is more than that, more than just a arm) but also very much not because in Bucky’s and Ayo’s situation it is much-MUCH worse obviously, but apparently it’s not obvious considering that there’s a debate in the first place. Or in other words you think Bucky’s feelings-FEELINGS are more important then Ayo’s and Wakanda the truth. Which is you’re lucky that it was only his feelings that got hurt, because she (and Yama) could have killed him and everyone else in that room easily so let’s all thank Ayo (and Yama) for her kindness and mercy first and foremost, also for not taking back both the arm and the shield completely. Because that arm and shield is Wakandan property ok so let’s get that straight, so she had every right to take it if she wanted to-whenever or wherever (which also falls into the part where the Dora does has jurisdiction there, and almost anywhere else since most likely every country wants or have vibranium now, and because Wakanda could literally flatten the whole world so yeah they’re going to have a legal pass because who’s gonna want to fuck with them) but she didn’t key word didn’t which should’ve been a clue they would never take the arm or shield back because he is disabled considering even after what Bucky (& John) did.

Not only is it the property of Wakanda but it’s from the only place that was willing, and did help Bucky in every way a person could be helped literally saving this man physically, mentally, and emotionally- like please. Specifically the royal family themselves firsthand which need I remind you is related to the former King that was killed by the man that Bucky escaped from prison without discussing it with them first. That same King, family, and country that Ayo is from, loves, and is to serve and protect. That she will-IS sacrificing and dedicates her life to...she failed them all-failed herself when T’Chaka was murdered like bruh- like that should speak for it self like that is the ultimate betrayal like he literally spat in their fucking face, especially Ayo’s considering she’s the one who gave Bucky back his mind, his freedom and after all that after everything they did for him they still didn’t trust him, and betrayed him by not telling him he had a fail safe in his arm?! Yeah-no big sike, anyone with a brain knows prosthetics because here’s the real kicker ITS NOT HIS ARM thus it’s O M G...removable. Yes you read that correctly r-e-m-o-v-a-b-l-e. Now put that together with the fact that Ayo is highly skilled and an overall badass I don’t think it would be that hard for her to fucking figure out how to dislocate it with a few pressure points considering that’s literally the whole point of striking a pressure point (if he still had his arm then that hit would’ve stopped it from working, but since it’s fake that mf popped right off). Pressure points are used to disable someone, thus Ayo disabling a disabled by disarming his arm to deescalate the situation go figure. It wasn’t a fail safe it’s just skill and common sense that everyone failed to have in the moment and used as a last resort because oh no Bucky’s face, like boo fucking hoo he did it to himself by breaking their trust first, and defending that bitch. Instead of him waiting for the Dora to have Zemo in custody first, what did Bucky do instead? He had the fucking audacity (and that’s how you use the word) to use that same arm against Ayo, against Wakanda. That speaks volumes considering out of respect as a friend or whatever close bond they have (because they definitely have a connection after what they went through together) Ayo still gave him a warning, and time to do what he had to do before they came for Zemo’s ass. Let it be known she didn’t have to do that at all because her loyalty is to and should be to her country first but in those eight hours it wasn’t, it was in the trust of their friendship so therefore she literally was endangering her well being by giving Bucky just that courtesy, and I don’t think you all consider her position in that predicament and thanks to Bucky she could’ve gotten her status revoked, thrown in jail, or worse killed for disobeying orders because let’s not forget Chadwick unfortunately has passed away, and thus it’s a fact that T’Challa is no longer in charge since Marvel will respect that with tampering with his character, so I don’t want to hear she would’ve been just fine because we’ve seen how the royal counsel has a big say on what goes and doesn’t go considering they did not give a single fuck about their own next of kin, Erik who has every right as them, but would have easily killed him just because he was an ‘outsider’ if T’Challa didn’t speak up for him (I mean they abandoned him while leaving him to fend for himself, killed his father and covered it up so wouldn’t put it past them). So if you think when Ayo fucked up again about retrieving Zemo because she trusted, and helped this outsider over her own kind she definitely would’ve been considered a traitor and be punished for her actions.

Can you imagine the hurt, and betrayal they felt? No apparently not, because it’s all about how he’s disabled and how could she take his arm (like uh she literally left it, and the shield for them to keep, and it’s not like he would’ve died without it to begin with unlike Bucky who was willing to sacrifice Ayo’s entire livelihood) when the fact that disabled people say constantly for others to stop putting their disabilities before them, and how they’re just as capable as everyone else. “They are a someone with a disability, not someone who is disabled,” which is absolutely true, because they’re more than that but everyone seems to forget that all of sudden when Ayo detaches Bucky’s arm (I wonder why) and all of sudden he doesn’t have control of his own body like what- he literally used his entire body nonbrainwashed to stab them in the back like miss me with that bs. Him spending five seconds without his arm doesn’t compare especially since they forgave him without even at least an apology at that.

Detaching his arm was a warning that he needed to learn, because they were letting him know, and I emphasize that that arm does not belong to him so how he dare try to use it against the people who gave it to him after they fed, housed, and freed him when no one else could, or would when he’s done nothing in return while as a repayment was being a fucking ingrate. All the while facing no consequences, not even the need for a fucking bandaid *mic drop*.

#and this is coming from someone who fucking loves bucky #and not to mention when ayo did remove his arm I had the same reaction as bucky did lol #like that shit hit me too ok but y’all are something else #I’m so sorry this came out longer then I expected #but like the racism in this fandom I just can’t #like it’s not that deep #but dumb asses and racists need a reality check #bucky barnes #ayo #wakanda #marvel mcu #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america and the winter soldier tf #tfatws #caatws

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styomi · 6 years

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Fifteen study dates | 15-day prompt challenge | Sweet Pea/OC | Day 5

AN: I’ve been inspired by a bit of rain here and this chapter is more autumn aesthetic than any of the previous ones xD Let me know how you like it :D

Info:

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Sweet Pea/OC Rating: T Word count:1284 Chapter count: 5/15

Autumn time is picnic time

Sweet Pea knocked on the front door of the Wolfe house, before reminding himself that he wasn’t at the trailer park and rang the doorbell. As he was waiting for Ruby to get there, despite the fact that she’d told him numerous times to let himself in if nobody opened it, Sweet Pea shrugged off his Serpents’ jacket. It was warm for an autumn day. Too warm for a leather jacket, especially coupled with his usual shirt and flannel combo. Then, the door swung open.

“Sweet Pea?” Jo Wolfe was standing there, his mouth stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood. Sweet Pea took a step back. He might’ve been taller than Jo, but he wouldn’t like to be pitted against the man in a fight. He’d heard quite a few stories about the Lone Wolf of South High from back in the day. Mostly, they were retold at the Wyrm in gest, now that Jo was a resident of Riverdale once more. Yet, Sweet Pea didn’t want to poke that sleeping Navy SEAL, unless he had to. “What’re you doing here?”

“Um, Ruby invited me over to study,” Sweet Pea’s eyes were still glued to the substance dripping from Jo’s mouth. It was blood-red and positively terrifying. “sir.” The biker quickly added.

“Do I have something on my-“ Jo’s hand went up, wiping at the side of his mouth, and it came back red like blood had been smeared on his knuckles. Sweet Pea suddenly remembered a nightmare he’d had of Ruby’s father chasing him down the Wolfe house driveway. “Oh. That’s unfortunate,” Jo licked the red substance. “I’m trying to recreate this recipe Lisa used to make, strawberry jelly something, but I think it’s just coming out as some cheap version of a Halloween decoration.” The man shrugged and laughed at his own ineptitude in the kitchen. But, to Sweet Pea, the image of Ruby’s father trying to cook, which was a running gag in their family since his retirement from the army, was even more terrifying. Kitchens had multiple knife drawers, after all.

“I’m certain that you’ll figure it out, sir,” Sweet Pea was glad that his voice sounded completely normal despite his growing panic. With Ruby in between them, he managed to get along with Jo fairly well. But, she often mediated those encounters like a court-appointed counselor or something. “Is Ruby home?” Jo stopped trying to wipe his hand on the edge of his already stained shirt.

“I’m sorry, she isn’t. Left an hour ago. I think she went to that picnic area in Fox Forest?” Sweet Pea nodded, pulling his phone out to call the girl and ask her what in the world was she thinking when she left him to the mercy of her father. “You can just go and surprise her, though?” Jo smiled at him and Sweet Pea was torn between running and accepting it as a peaceful action. “She had her books with her.”

“I think I’ll do that,” Sweet Pea nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Jo still had a smile on his face.

“You’re good for her, you know?” Ruby’s father said, making Sweet Pea’s eyebrows rise. “She’s finally found someone more reckless than she is. Forces her to reassess and take care of both herself and you. It’s a good thing, I promise,” Jo added once he saw the disbelief on the biker’s face. “I went through the same thing,” then, Jo’s expression changed and he literally lit up. “Hang on a second, let me give you some stuff to take up there.” Sweet Pea didn’t dare deny the man.

And, that was how the tall Serpent ended up trekking his way up the dirt road which led from the Wolfe house and into the Fox Forest, with a cooler in his hands. He felt positively mortified, seeing as the thing was an obnoxious, hot pink color, but he couldn’t exactly say no to Jo. After following the man’s instructions as to which way to go without too much trouble, Sweet Pea found himself in the middle of the forest, a large loop of the road coming up ahead. In the middle of the half circle was a small picnic area. Wooden tables and benches, a few swings, seesaws and an old-school merry-go-round. It looked pretty nice and quite nostalgic from his perspective.

Sweet Pea spotted Ruby easily enough. She was sitting at one of the tables, books, and notebooks all around her, head thrown back and pen in hand. So, deciding to be a bit of an ass in return for her bailing on their study date, he snuck up behind her slowly. Ruby had her eyes closed and she seemed to be enjoying the sun on her face. Sweet Pea spotted that she was working on her English Lit essay, about halfway done. He bent down, right at her ear level, and made his move.

“Boo.” The simple word, spoken in a low tone, along with his hot breath on her ear, had Ruby jumping up from her seat. Unfortunately for Sweet Pea, that meant that her forehead collided with his with a loud sound, making them both gasp and groan.

“Oh my God!” the girl exclaimed, dropping her pen to hold onto her head. “Jesus, sasquatch! What did you do that for?” she rubbed the red spot before letting it go. Sweet Pea, on the other hand, stood stunned. “Are you alright?” Instantly, her hands were at his forehead, feeling the sore spot.

“I’m fine,” he snapped out of his shock. “And, that was for forgetting our study session, running off to the woods and leaving me to face your father.” Ruby winced. She loved teasing him about this and that, but even she wasn’t so cruel as to leave him in a bind intentionally.

“I’m sorry I forgot,” she pulled him down to her height by the lapels of his flannel shirt and kissed the sore spot on his forehead. “The weather was so nice that I decided to head out to this spot for a bit. I guess I forgot to check the time.” She giggled.

“Dumbass tater tot,” Sweet Pea shot back and slid on the bench next to her. “Here, your father sent this.” He placed the hot pink cooler on the table in front of them.

“Oh, picnic food!” Ruby instantly perked up. She opened it and started rummaging.

“How much coffee have you had?” Sweet Pea asked, noting her peppy behavior. His Ruby wasn’t like that. She was the calm before the storm. The thunder and lightning rumbling right under the cool surface. This excited little beast appeared only when chocolate was mentioned, or after a large amount of coffee was consumed.

“Um… Three cups?” She asked nobody in particular, starting to take out different snacks from the cooler, along with two cans of soda.

“In the past hour?” Sweet Pea sarcastically asked.

“Before I left, sooo… Past three hours?” Ruby’s smirk told him that she was messing with him, as usual. She never backed down from a good verbal battle.

“I want compensation for having to deal with caffeinated Ruby.” Grumbled the biker. Instantly, Ruby closed the cooler and her hands found purchase on his shoulders. From her position with her knees on the bench, she was taller than him for once, giving their kiss a new angle.

“Enough compensation?” She asked breathlessly when they finally untangled tongues.

“Not nearly.” Sweet Pea pulled her back and onto his lap with a gentle hand at her waist, swallowing her giggle with his mouth. He figured that he’d enjoy the loving before Ruby realized that he hadn’t even started his English Lit essay.

That’s all for now, folks!

If you’d like to be added on the tag list, let me know :)

You can find the previous parts here:

Day 1: A way to memorize Day 2: How to prepare for a study date (?) like a proper gentleman Day 3: With proper motivation, anything is possible Day 4: PG13 PDA sugar can be good motivation Day 6: It’s best when we can compete Day 7: Master of procrastination and his jailer Day 8: Take me anywhere, everywhere, away from here Day 9: Dirty French for beginners Day 10: I need… sleep?… no, you… Day 11: Delirium Day 12: Stay still for me Day 13: Debate? Apparently, a turn-on Day 14: Two-seater and Chinese Day 15: Unintentional intentions

Hope you enjoyed!

#styomi #writing #riverdale #riverdale oc #riverdale aesthetic #riverdale drabble #sweet pea #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea oc #sweet pea drabble #sweet pea aesthetic #ruby wolfe #ruby wolfe aesthetic #fanfiction #fifteen day challenge #romantic prompts #study date prompts #bansheehime

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canadian-buckbeaver · 6 years

Text

A Touching Fear - Kustard

For the first time, Undertale and Underfell monsters came to the Surface together, somehow breaking the constant cycle of Resets that they had been forced to undergo at the hands of the seventh soul. Now monsters and people are slowly learning to cope with one another, and their other versions of themselves. Comic and Red find each other drawn to each other through their love of puns and greasy food, but there is a rather large barrier in their way... Red suffers from haphephobia. The fear of touch.

@silverryu25 - their prize for the follower draw!

UnderTale and UnderFell. Two universes, both exactly the same, but so very different. Two sides of the same coin. One was one of brightness and hope, of peace and love. The other of war and blood, EXP and hate. Like looking through a mirror and seeing an opposite reflection, of seeing how things could have been for the other.

The monster skeletons that inhibited these worlds only added further evidence to this claim. Both universes had two skeleton brothers – one tall, lanky and energetic, the other short and stout, and incredibly lazy. They even had the same names as the other, and yet there were many unique differences that separated the two. Tale Papyrus (Rus) was a sweet skeleton, one that had hoped and had dreams of joining the Royal Guard to help everyone, one who loved cooking and his brother. Upon first glance he seemed young and innocent, childish even, despite his twenty years. UnderFell Papyrus (or Edge) was completely dissimilar to him. Sharp mouthed, in every meaning of the word, he was a foul mouthed solider, one well-trained in magic and weaponry, the one who lead the Royal Guards. He lacked the brightness and hope that Rus had, he was one who had seen dust and had dusted. He was the one who had been forced to kill in order to survive.

The Sanses were the same way, but more similar. Red of Fell was angry and foul mouthed, Comic often describing him as a snappy Chihuahua, but at least he had the LV to back up his bark. Comic was more laid-back, but perhaps that was because his universe allowed him to slack off. One who didn’t need to be constantly on alert.

Fell and Tale. Two completely different universes, but both bound by the same fate. Monster races who were sealed beneath the Surface after the Monster-Human war, they had both awaited the falling of the seventh human, the seventh child. The child who would clear the Underground...

The Determined soul with the power to Reset.

They remained stuck in this constant cycle for countless resets, both blissfully unaware of the other's existence until the fated soul finally brought them to the Surface... for the last time. During this journey both peaceful Frisks, as if by fate, released the monsters at the same time. The portals aligned and Tale and Fell met for the first time upon the Surface, meeting each other under the setting sun.

It was not love at first sight. Humans, after centuries of ignorance, were not as accepting to the monsters as the ambassadors had hoped. They had worried over magical abilities, racial profiling, and, particularly from the Fell monsters, revenge for being locked up for so long. As the humans debated to what to do with them, Tale and Fell monsters were housed together, and even worked similar jobs. They had no break from the other. Every time they turned a corner, went shopping or sneezed, there was a double. Arguments and fights were common, often the Fells trying to see what they could get away with and the Tales standing up for their beliefs. Just as it seemed like they were on the cusp of a gang war, something clicked with the monsters and things returned to peace...

Well.... as peaceful as life on the Surface is. We truly know how un-peaceful these days and nights are.

But, let us return to our favourite skeletons....

Surprisingly, it was the skeletons that were the first to develop any sort of friendship with one another. Rus had found a Papyrus that was amazingly cool and confident, one who he could look up to, was already in the Royal Guard, could cook and knew more than just one special attack. He idolized Edge, and Edge, one who thrived off all the attention, allowed him to worship the ground he walked on. It was common to see Rus following Edge like a lost puppy, as Edge let him quietly adore him. The Sanses enjoyed greasy food and those terrible and degrading puns, the more terrible, the better. They would laze around, a bag of Grillby’s best food nestled between them, and would pun or nap the day away.

Eventually these lazy days turned to lazy nights, puns turned to serious talks of stars and resets, and the days at home changed turned to dates in coffee shops, on the hill overlooking the town, or even walks through the planetarium. To no one’s surprise but their own, they were soon dating. No dating manual required, the sparks and conversation flowed better than their respective condiments.

There was just one problem though.

The world of UnderFell, as previously explained, was a rough world. One that had no mercy to its subjects. Monsters would turn each other in a blink of an eye, drunk to the effects of LV and EXP, drunk to what power brought to them. Status, gold, mates, resources… the list went on. The weak, sick, vulnerable or trusting made easy targets for the others looking to climb to status quo. “Kill or be killed” was its motto. You couldn’t trust anyone, not even family, out of fear that you would die by their hands, your dust accelerating their own agenda. Red, as a result, was untrusting of others the best of times. As a mere 1 HP monster, he had been considered an easy target by many rogue monsters. Something that could be used to indirectly attack his brother, thus wounding the Royal Guards. Thus, growing up in UnderFell and in the multiple resets, he had learned to be weary, check every corner, to thoroughly search the darkness for enemies. He had learned to be “the bad guy”. Take no prisoners, dust everyone that he crossed in case they attempted their form of revenge. Any food could be potentially poisoned so nothing was eaten until everything had been checked over carefully. Any friendly hello could be the beginning of a surprise attack or a diversion. Any second glance that was given to them could be someone sizing them up, preparing for battle. Frisk use of the Resets hadn’t helped Red’s fragile trust either. Some runs she would bring them to the Surface, others Red would see her slaughter everyone, even his brother. He had stood in the Judgement Hall more times than Comic had, had painted the hall red with her blood until the smell of meat and rust was permanently written into its code.

Red’s greatest downfall his greatest weakness, was that he suffered from haphephobia – the fear of being touched.

* * * * *

Comic could still remember the first time that he discovered this condition. It was still in their early days, back when they weren’t quite friends but more than acquaintances, Red and him sitting on the couch, watching his Mettaton being interviewed by one of the many talk show hosts on the Surface. As he was finally beginning to perform one of his more well-known songs, Red had sighed and turned to Comic. “man. i would have expected him to play some heavy metal, not this fucking hip hop/pop shit.”

It took Comic a moment to recognize the pun but soon he was snorting like an idiot. “nice one.” he said, gently clapping Red on his back, congratulating him.

Red had frozen, seemingly blue screening in front of Comic’s eyes. The eye lights in his sockets shrank to the size of needles, but somehow the magic was burning even brighter, tears forming in his sockets. Pale red sweat began to bead off of his skull, all the bones in his body beginning to shudder and twitch. Hyperventilating, his ribs shuddering, he curled in on himself, covering his skull and making himself as small as possible. In front of Comic’s eyes, he seemed to become half his size. “burns…” he had whispered to himself, “it burns…” Comic couldn’t believe it. With such a small, innocent touch he had reduced the strong, kick ass monster to tears, quivering like a baby bones.

It had taken what felt like forever to completely calm Red down, Comic wasn’t sure how he managed to, and even longer to convince him to explain the problem from him. “why didn’t you just tell me?” Comic asked gently, gripping his shorts to avoid trying to comfort him as he would Rus. “i would have never touched you and this would have never happened.”

“listen, this fucking problem is a weakness. my weakness. i can’t let everyone know about it otherwise everyone would take fucking advantage of it.” Red told him as he looked away. “you’ll be just like Boss. his soul is in the right place, but he keeps trying to toughen me up. get me past my issues. randomly touching me, trying to help me wash the crack in my skull, and the like. i don’t need more of that ‘help’. this is something that i need to work on in my own time. all you would want to do is help, it is in your Tale code after all.” he snapped. He knew it was unfair that he was treating Comic as such, but he had just reveled a huge weakness, one that could result in his destruction.

Comic swallowed hard. “no.” he firmly said, causing Red to look at him, giving him an annoyed look. “well, you’re about half right. this is your anxiety, you know what makes it better, how you want it to be treated. and yes, i would like to help you. i’ll be here for you, for whatever you need. but i won’t touch you until you are ready, or until you tell me to be touched.” Comic said, stuffing his hands in his own pockets and looking Red over in a new light. It suddenly made sense for him. The entire skeleton dressed, acted and stood in a way that screamed ‘stay back and don’t fucking touch me!’. What better way than to camouflage his own weakness? The golden fang, once labeled as edgy, Comic realized was slightly too long for Red. It stuck out of his jaw at an odd angle, protruding past the bottom jaw, like someone couldn’t measure the length or angle properly before positioning it in place. His jacket was too big, like someone couldn’t measure him properly before making him clothing to wear. And the crack in his skull had never healed, perhaps no one was allowed near it?

Red was staring at Comic with a slightly stupefied expression. His eyes were large and sparkling, his damaged skull once again white. Comic began to feel slightly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “… do i have something on my face?” he asked.

The Fell monster shook himself before glaring back at Comic. “i’m perfectly fine working it out on my own. i don’t need to be babysat.” He spat again, clutching at his knees.

Comic shrugged his shoulders at him, as if trying to shrug off the accusation. “who said that i was babysitting? after all, we both know that i am far too lazy for that.” Comic told him. “all i am saying is that, as your friend and ally, i am here to support you. i won’t force touch you or spew facts or figures or treatments. all i am saying is that you know where i’m at if you do need help.”

He returned his attention back to the TV, now painfully aware of where his body was in comparison to Red’s. After a while, Red too had returned half of his attention between the TV and Comic, watching him out of the corner of his socket. His extended life in Fellverse told him to be careful, weary. That Comic would do what he thought was best to help Red, no matter the cost

Yet Comic did nothing. He continued on like nothing had happened, like Red hadn’t had an outburst. Like Red hadn’t shown him a major weakness. Nor did he do anything the next day. Or the next. Red could only notice one, single change. Comic seemed to be more cautious and aware of where he was in comparison to Red. He still sat next to Red at the table or on the couch, but he made sure that there was a respectful distance between them. Nothing that would crowd Red, causing him to suffocate, nor anything that was too far away to be overly cautious.

That was the first time that Red had ever felt intrigued by the other version of him.

* * * * *

As they figuratively danced together, Comic never treated him like a lesser being, or like he was special. He didn’t force any touches, instead allowing Red to decide when he wanted to be touched. He also made sure that he didn’t sit too far away from Red, not giving him an unnecessarily wide berth like he was contagious. Nor did he demand any exchanges in return for “complying” with his wishes. That alone was unheard of.

No… if Red had to guess, it was almost like Comic had dealt with something similar in the past. If he had, he didn’t tell Red about it. And Red knew better than to press. Slowly Red found himself becoming more comfortable with Comic. His guard slowly lowered, and he found himself enjoying spending time with Comic, even going out of his way to hang out with Comic. Skipping naps, skipping Grillby’s for food, or spending their breaks together. Slowly and surely a bond developed between the two of them. Perhaps it was the natural curiosity of how their universes changed them, but perhaps it was something more?

On one hand Red was almost thankful for that little outburst. It had allowed Comic and him to grow together, even allowing Red to drop some of his natural guard. He began to realize that Comic was a true ally, not someone who was slowly infiltrating him and his brother. He was, dare he say, a real friend? It was almost odd for Red to have someone like that in his life.

Red found himself drawn to Comic. Perhaps in the way that his brother would say “romantically”? But that should have been impossible. He was a Fell through and through. He shouldn’t be trusting anyone this much. And who would ever like him with this condition? This paralyzing fear of the slightest touch?

Yet, around Comic, he almost found that he didn’t feel his fear as before. The thought of being touched, especially around Comic, did not cause him to feel hot or pain. He was safe here, safe with him. Comic wouldn’t betray him…

Comic cared about him.

Months slowly passed, and the monsters slowly adjusted to their new daily lives on the Surface. Fewer fights, fewer interactions with humans. It seemed like the monsters were truly adapting to their new home, their new situation, their new jobs and neighbours. They began to feel and act more like a real community, especially with their two, TWO, incredible ambassadors on their side, fighting for their rights. Edge of all monsters was no different. He behaved more calmly, less stressed and less likely to jump down your throat if you looked at him the wrong way. His sockets had softened and he had even taken to laughing occasionally. Though that could be attributed to the little blue skeleton that was named Berry. Yes, while they were on the Surface, another underworld was freed. UnderSwap. If the Fells were confused by the Tale monsters, they were baffled by Swap. How could such creatures survive, creatures that were so sickeningly sweet and innocent? The Papyrus of this universe drank honey for Asgore’s sake!

Yet, it was nothing to what Edge had seen change in Red. Red… he was like a totally different monster. He was more open and relaxed around humans and other monsters, not quite as uptight and prickly. He still didn’t like to be touched or if someone invaded his personal space, but he was slightly better. Especially around Comic. Around Comic, Red could almost be mistaken for a normal monster. Like the horrors of UnderFell had never occurred, the constant cycle of Resets never took place – yes, Edge knew about those now (and as a result he was keeping a fair distance from their Frisk for the next millennia), like their Gaster had never existed.

Red still had his panic attacks, but they were slowly becoming less severe and less in frequency. Comic had truly been a huge help. As much as Red had tried to reject Comic’s help, he had somehow snuck in there.

His heart had started to open to him. Although he still hated and feared touches, he found that occasionally, very occasionally, he could handle some light touches. Red would reach out to Comic and gently take his hand, nudging him closer to him. He could slap his back in jest, cackling at a new pun. Or, and these were most magical of all, he would wake up from a nap on the couch, finding himself slumped against Comic’s shoulder.

This particular day was turning out like no other. Not that Red had a problem with that. Comic had come over after work and they had spent the evening together. They had ordered pizza and drank their favourite condiments they talked and punned and laughed the night away. Red could feel himself relaxing, allowing himself to come closer to Comic, slowly opening up to him. This was the part of the day that he had truly become to look forward to. After supper they climbed up on the couch and turned on the TV. There was a special, the MTTs of all three worlds were coming together for an hour special, showing the world what talents that they could offer.

Halfway through the program Comic had nodded off, his sockets slowly lidding shut and his breathing deepening. Red watched as he fell against the back of the couch, resting. Red chuckled, gently tossing the blanket over him and turning back to the TV. This special was definitely more on the boring end. Perhaps there was too much demanding robot ass in it.

* * * * *

Comic couldn’t move. He was transfixed at the sight in front of him. Papyrus seemingly standing alone in a snowy fields, arms outstretched. The snow was heavy, the wind whipping it up to a frenzy. Sans could hardly see who was standing across from his brother.

A small child, with glowing red eyes, covered in grey dust and a broken knife in their hand. They stared at Papyrus with empty, unfeeling eyes. Not saying a word, just staring…

But Sans knew that stare. It was the face of a killer.

“… YOUR LIFE IS GOING DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH!” Comic happened to overhear him say to the child.

Oh no… oh no no no no no no no…!

Comic began to run to Papyrus. He could save him yet! He had seen this before, he knew what was coming. He could save him, he could save him…

The child took a step towards him.

WHY WEREN’T HIS FEET MOVING FASTER?

As he watched, Paps’ face changed to Red. The edgy skeleton with the glinting gold tooth, cowering before the child. “don’t touch me, don’t touch me…” he pleaded, his red eye lights growing large and shiny.

The child took another step.

Comic began to breathe heavily, pleading with whatever god or star was out there that he could reach them in time, that he could help Red. For star’s sake, Red was his friend! He needed to do something!

The child took another step.

He needed to-

* * * * *

“COMIC! WAKE UP!” a voice shattered the dreamscape into tiny silvers of colour, destroying the image in front of him. No more child, no more cowering Red or forgiving Papyrus. There was a whirlwind of sight and sound and colour and…

Red was shaking him. “WAKE UP! IT’S JUST A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

Comic took a shuddering breath in, his pupils widening and desperately glancing around. This wasn’t the house in Snowdin. The house he and his brother had shared was smaller, more cramped. This was larger, more open, and they had never had a suit of armour in the front doorway…

The red skeleton stopped shaking him. “thank Asgore that you woke up…” he said, his hands slowly trailing down Comic’s sides. “i now know what my brother goes through when i have them… stars that was terrifying…”

Red continued to talk and babble, his voice calm and deep, slowly bringing Comic back into the present world. Red seemed to know exactly what Comic needed after his nightmare. Reassurance and calming, slowly pulling him out of the drudges of the dream. His soul began to slow, his sweat and tears stopped, and he began to focus again.

There was one thing that he couldn’t get past though.

“Red… you’re… you’re touching me…” Comic told him, speaking softly, trying not to break his spell.

“yeah… yeah i suppose i am.” Red said, smiling slightly. “but don’t you get fucking used to it!” he said in his signature roughness.

Comic couldn’t help it. He chuckled softly, wiping the remains of tears from his eyes. “course not Red. but this is a touching moment after all.”

Red groaned.

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wit-craft · 6 years

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sorry if this is weird and random but do u know any good books with lesbian characters? u just seem like the type of person who would

First of all, can I just say I’m thrilled that i give off that impression? Clearly, I’m doing something right. Second, yes! I do! Not as many as I’d like, but still (also, I’m including bi girls because it does widen the the selection a little.)

Adaption by Malinda Lo

Reese can’t remember anything from the time between the accident and the day she woke up almost a month later. She only knows one thing: She’s different now.

Across North America, flocks of birds hurl themselves into airplanes, causing at least a dozen to crash. Thousands of people die. Fearing terrorism, the United States government grounds all flights, and millions of travelers are stranded.

Reese and her debate team partner and longtime crush David are in Arizona when it happens. Everyone knows the world will never be the same. On their drive home to San Francisco, along a stretch of empty highway at night in the middle of Nevada, a bird flies into their headlights. The car flips over. When they wake up in a military hospital, the doctor won’t tell them what happened, where they are—or how they’ve been miraculously healed.

Things become even stranger when Reese returns home. San Francisco feels like a different place with police enforcing curfew, hazmat teams collecting dead birds, and a strange presence that seems to be following her. When Reese unexpectedly collides with the beautiful Amber Gray, her search for the truth is forced in an entirely new direction—and threatens to expose a vast global conspiracy that the government has worked for decades to keep secret.

they’re sci-fi YA novels with a bi main character and they’re really fun!! There is a love triangle, but it’s resolved super well in the sequel, Inheritance. I promise even if you hate love triangles (I do) just stick it. I don’t want to spoil anything but like… trust me.

The Summer I Wasn’t Me by Jessica Verdi

She never meant for her mom to find out. And now she’s afraid that what’s left of her family is going to fall apart for good.

Lexi knows she can fix everything. She can change. She can learn to like boys. New Horizons summer camp has promised to transform her life, and there’s nothing she wants more than to start over.

But sometimes love has its own path…

This is just about the only realistic fiction/coming out story on here— I’m usually not a huge fan. But I read this when I was younger and first coming to terms with my sexuality so it gets a spot.

Ash by Malinda Lo

In the wake of her father’s death, Ash is left at the mercy of her cruel stepmother. Consumed with grief, her only joy comes by the light of the dying hearth fire, rereading the fairy tales her mother once told her. In her dreams, someday the fairies will steal her away, as they are said to do. When she meets the dark and dangerous fairy Sidhean, she believes that her wish may be granted.

The day that Ash meets Kaisa, the King’s Huntress, her heart begins to change. Instead of chasing fairies, Ash learns to hunt with Kaisa. Though their friendship is as delicate as a new bloom, it reawakens Ash’s capacity for love-and her desire to live. But Sidhean has already claimed Ash for his own, and she must make a choice between fairy tale dreams and true love.

Entrancing, empowering, and romantic, Ash is about the connection between life and love, and solitude and death, where transformation can come from even the deepest grief.

Have you ever wondered what Cinderella would be like if it were gay and had proper faeries? Wonder no more; Ash is the book for you! Seriously though, Lo is a godsend when it comes to queer si-fi/fantasy YA fiction. She has a couple more books that I haven’t read yet but look just as good.

And I Darken by Kiersten White

No one expects a princess to be brutal. And Lada Dragwlya likes it that way. Ever since she and her gentle younger brother, Radu, were wrenched from their homeland of Wallachia and abandoned by their father to be raised in the Ottoman courts, Lada has known that being ruthless is the key to survival. She and Radu are doomed to act as pawns in a vicious game, an unseen sword hovering over their every move. For the lineage that makes them special also makes them targets.

Lada despises the Ottomans and bides her time, planning her vengeance for the day when she can return to Wallachia and claim her birthright. Radu longs only for a place where he feels safe. And when they meet Mehmed, the defiant and lonely son of the sultan, Radu feels that he’s made a true friend—and Lada wonders if she’s finally found someone worthy of her passion.

But Mehmed is heir to the very empire that Lada has sworn to fight against—and that Radu now considers home. Together, Lada, Radu, and Mehmed form a toxic triangle that strains the bonds of love and loyalty to the breaking point.

Okay so… technically, this one probably doesn’t really belong on this list but like. Guys. It’s so good. And there are lesbians, they’re just not quite main characters, and there’s other queer characters who have larger parts. It’s based on the stories of Vlad the Impaler, re-imagined if he were a woman. The pov characters are Lada (Vlad) and her brother Radu, and I love them, and their messy ass relationship, both so much. It’s all set in the royal court of the ottoman empire, in the midst of the crusades, and there’s so much about fascinating political-religious tensions, and it’s historical fiction (queer historical fiction!!! (queer historical fiction not set in Western Europe!!!)). The sequel is Now I Rise, and features the lesbians more heavily.

The Dark Wife by Sarah Diemer

Three thousand years ago, a god told a lie. Now, only a goddess can tell the truth. Persephone has everything a daughter of Zeus could want–except for freedom. She lives on the green earth with her mother, Demeter, growing up beneath the ever-watchful eyes of the gods and goddesses on Mount Olympus. But when Persephone meets the enigmatic Hades, she experiences something new: choice. Zeus calls Hades “lord” of the dead as a joke. In truth, Hades is the goddess of the underworld, and no friend of Zeus. She offers Persephone sanctuary in her land of the dead, so the young goddess may escape her Olympian destiny. But Persephone finds more than freedom in the underworld. She finds love, and herself.

Have you ever thought Ancient Greek Myths were too heterosexual? Probably not, but now they’re even gayer! A re-imagining of Hades and Persephone where Hades is a woman. It’s a really quick read with a great love story and I highly recommend it.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust

At sixteen, Mina’s mother is dead, her magician father is vicious, and her silent heart has never beat with love for anyone—has never beat at all, in fact, but she’d always thought that fact normal. She never guessed that her father cut out her heart and replaced it with one of glass. When she moves to Whitespring Castle and sees its king for the first time, Mina forms a plan: win the king’s heart with her beauty, become queen, and finally know love. The only catch is that she’ll have to become a stepmother.Fifteen-year-old Lynet looks just like her late mother, and one day she discovers why: a magician created her out of snow in the dead queen’s image, at her father’s order. But despite being the dead queen made flesh, Lynet would rather be like her fierce and regal stepmother, Mina. She gets her wish when her father makes Lynet queen of the southern territories, displacing Mina. Now Mina is starting to look at Lynet with something like hatred, and Lynet must decide what to do—and who to be—to win back the only mother she’s ever known…or else defeat her once and for all.Entwining the stories of both Lynet and Mina in the past and present, Girls Made of Snow and Glass traces the relationship of two young women doomed to be rivals from the start. Only one can win all, while the other must lose everything—unless both can find a way to reshape themselves and their story.

I am a sucker for a good adaption of myths and fairy tales, and this is probably my favorite. The plot, the concept… it’s so original and just absolutely delicious. The writing was good, if not the best I’ve ever read, but the characters were wonderful. Also, I picked it up without knowing it was gay, so I was very pleasantly surprised. Oh, but don’t worry– Mina and Lynet aren’t together, there’s no weird stepmother/daughter shit going on. They have separate love stories.

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

Sue Trinder is an orphan, left as an infant in the care of Mrs. Sucksby, a “baby farmer,” who raised her with unusual tenderness, as if Sue were her own. Mrs. Sucksby’s household, with its fussy babies calmed with doses of gin, also hosts a transient family of petty thieves—fingersmiths—for whom this house in the heart of a mean London slum is home.

One day, the most beloved thief of all arrives—Gentleman, an elegant con man, who carries with him an enticing proposition for Sue: If she wins a position as the maid to Maud Lilly, a naïve gentlewoman, and aids Gentleman in her seduction, then they will all share in Maud’s vast inheritance. Once the inheritance is secured, Maud will be disposed of—passed off as mad, and made to live out the rest of her days in a lunatic asylum.

With dreams of paying back the kindness of her adopted family, Sue agrees to the plan. Once in, however, Sue begins to pity her helpless mark and care for Maud Lilly in unexpected ways…But no one and nothing is as it seems in this Dickensian novel of thrills and reversals.

Betrayal! Unbetrayal! Mutual betrayal! Mutual unbetrayal! It’s a wild fucking ride y'all. It also gets pretty fucking dark, but there’s a happy… enough ending, because I don’t do shit without happy endings.

Every Day, David Levithan

Every day a different body. Every day a different life. Every day in love with the same girl.There’s never any warning about where it will be or who it will be. A has made peace with that, even established guidelines by which to live: Never get too attached. Avoid being noticed. Do not interfere.It’s all fine until the morning that A wakes up in the body of Justin and meets Justin’s girlfriend, Rhiannon. From that moment, the rules by which A has been living no longer apply. Because finally A has found someone he wants to be with—day in, day out, day after day.

Eh, I debated whether to put this on here. As you can see, it’s about a kid who wakes up in a different body every day– be it guy or girl. From what I recall, “A” themself doesn’t every assign a gender to themself, and the book is in first person from their perspective, but the Goodreads description does use he/him pronouns. I read it as a non-binary/genderfluid person who falls in love with a girl, and it’s a really good book, so. Take it or leave it, it’s up to you. On an unrelated note, I think there’s a movie coming out soon.

That’s all I can think of at the moment! Hope you find something you like.

#books recs #queer fiction #lesbian fiction

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jhericho-blog1 · 7 years

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Summary: Who Fareeha was was a blurred line. Where did Ana Amari’s only child start and the highly esteemed soldier begin? Were there even things in between, was she – could she – be anything more to anyone?

Warnings: Implied Self-Harm, Implied Suicide/Suicide Attempts, Mental Health Issues

I recommend reading the chapters written prior, they can be found here.

“Shit!”

“Pharah! Mercy!”

“No!”

The screaming was gone the instant they passed over the edge of the cliff. The wind was howling in her ears as gravity drug them closer and closer to the water's edge. Her arms struggled to keep a grip on the Raptora suit, it's massive wings digging painfully into her chest as she clung tightly to the unconscious woman inside the suit.

The wings to the Valkyrie suit were extended as far as possible as they tried to support more weight than they were made for. Her back was on fire, the pain ripping a yell from her mouth and causing the split in her lip to widen.

She should have stayed with McCree. If she had just stayed with Jesse, they wouldn't be in this mess. And yet, Pharah had thrust herself into the middle of a firefight, entering a deadly duel in the air, rockets versus sniper rounds.

Their second mission and Angela was once again in the worst position possible. Well, perhaps not the worse. Everyone had sustained injuries of varying degrees, from Torbjörn's sprained ankle to the shotgun shells littering Reinhardt's flank.

Hurtling off a cliff into a less than calm ocean was pretty bad, but not her worst Thursday night.

The information of a Talon operation in Greece literally appeared out of nowhere. Winston spent countless hours trying to track the anonymous source that leaked the information, tried to find out who the whistleblower might be.

Everyone spent one long night on high alert, Athena's sudden announcement of an unidentified hacker in her systems leaving the team uneasy. “I don't want to poke back too hard.” Winston grimly told them the following morning. “Whoever this is was able to break into our mainframe in what seems like seconds. If they could do that they can certainly see me trying to break into theirs, and it's not an easy hack. I'm afraid if I poke too hard they might do something worse to us.”

The message was simple: Illios. Archaeology site. Talon.

The messenger was a lot less simple. The information was relayed through a serious of various codes that took Winston hours to figure out. He couldn't quite put his finger on one part of the message, one word that was repeated over and over throughout the endless codes. Boop.

The scientist decided to remain in Gibraltar just in case it was a trap to lure them away from the Watchpoint, leaving the remaining six to head straight into a probable trap in Greece. There was heated debate about what Talon could be after at an archaeology site, the only logical explanation being artifacts.

It made Angela laugh. World renowned terrorist organization Talon, stealing ancient Greek artifacts in the night like petty art thieves. She was laughing a lot less when their newly refurbished ORCA landed in the middle of a heated battle between Talon forces and Illios police officers.

“It's important that we not be see,” Winston had explained their first night in the Watchpoint, “if word gets out that we're operating again we'll all be in hot water.”

“Like a slap on the wrist hot water?” Lena had asked through a mouthful of cheese pizza.

“Like we're committing high treason, hot water.” The gorilla clarified.

Which made their sudden appearance all the more fantastic. Angela ignored the questions the police threw her way as she patched up their wounds, giving them plastic smiles and reassurances that they'd be alright. Winston had tried to calm the tension by reminding the team that everyone had a price, but it only seemed to raise everyone's blood pressure at the thought of having to bribe the police.

The plan they had come up with had to be revised quickly to account for the unwanted guests. Tracer would take to the backlines with Torbjörn and provide cover for him while he set up behind the enemy with his turret. McCree and Pharah were to flank the sides and watch for anyone trying to ambush Reinhardt as he marched straight on and into the site, hopefully pushing Talon back and into Torbjörn and Tracer.

Which meant Angela was stuck once again cowering behind Reinhardt's shield, praying to whoever or whatever was listening that he didn't charge off to god-knows-what. Just watching Pharah shoot off in the air made her itch to join her.

The past few weeks had been successful to say the least. Angela had forced herself to get into the gym and start working out again. She knew she was out of shape, but god. Watching Lena run a mile in a little over three minutes made her tired. Listening to Fareeha explain proper form for deadlifting and squats made her body ache.

Progress was made, slowly but surely. Her own personal training with her wings was going better than expected. Within a week in a half she could lift off the ground, and at the end of two weeks she could hang in the air for ten minutes. It still made her back sore, but it was a soreness she gladly welcomed.

Angela had asked Fareeha if she would help her run field tests in the air, but she was always shot down, no pun intended. If the doctor was honest, it felt like Fareeha was avoiding her on work out days. She always had an excuse to not accompany Angela into the gym, always seemed very eager to escape the gym when she walked in on Angela.

It infuriated her to no end, and she never failed to ask what was wrong on the nights they found themselves both in the rec room eating sweets until sunrise. Fareeha would laugh and shrug it off, always managing to change the conversation.

Their meetings had started off unplanned. They never intended to have repeats of the first night in the rec room, but it became a sort of ritual.

Just before three am, they would wake and head to rec room. Whoever got in first would begin preparations for a snack, whoever got in second would choose from a colorful array of children's movies. It was odd to say the least, and when they'd occasionally get an uninvited guest neither knew how to explain.

They had gone through a rainbow of disgustingly sweet treats: cakes, pastries, cheap boxed pudding, cookies, the list seemed endless. Fareeha had surprised Angela with her prowess in the kitchen and she'd be lying if it made her embarrassed of her own half-assed cooking skills. “Mom was never around to make this kind of stuff,” Fareeha explained nonchalantly one morning while pulling a pan of brownies out of the oven, “so I taught myself.”

Ana had been discussed some nights. She was never the center of the conversation, and that was alright. Fareeha expressed her desire to let their quiet moments be just that, a moment to step back and breathe, a moment of calm. Angela couldn't agree more, thankful that whenever the conversation turned serious and dark it was quickly broken by a joke or question.

It was such a blessing, their moments of calm. Some nights neither would speak, just go through the usual motions and curl up on the couch to watch whatever was playing. Some nights neither would stop speaking, interrupting each other to try and get thoughts or opinions out before they were forgotten.

Some nights it was like the other wasn't even there, that they were two individuals stuck in the hells that were their minds and memories. And some nights it was like they were the last two people on Earth, clinging together for comfort and warmth to chase away the whispers of the past.

Every night Fareeha sat a little closer to Angela. Every night Angela removed Fareeha's prosthetic legs. Every night they shared a blanket. Every night Angela found herself watching Fareeha and smiling without realizing what she was doing.

And every morning the two woke up tangled together on the couch. And every morning they returned to their rooms without speaking to get ready for the day.

Lena had taken it upon herself to bug the living shit out of Angela about it. “So you two spend the entire night together, eating sweets and watching movies, sharing a blanket, and just get up in the morning like it didn't even happened?”

“What's so horrible about it?” Angela asked.

“What's so horrible about it is that you're doing fuck all!” The shorter woman grabbed Angela's shoulders and lightly shook her, “Angie, what is the first thing everyone notices about Fareeha?”

Angela made a face and slowly answered, “She's tall...?”

“No no no! She's hot! She's got muscles, she's got charisma, she's got really nice tits! C'mon Angie, it's not brain surgery!” Lena waggled her eyebrows and smirked, “Or maybe you're just a really good actress.”

“Lena,” Angela carefully removed her hands and stepped back, “Fareeha is nice and she's my friend. And you're missing the glaringly obvious: I'm not gay.”

The ex-pilot scoffed, raising her eyebrows and grimacing. Angela frowned deeper at the face and rolled her eyes, stepping around Lena to walk away. From behind her she could hear the woman mocking her in a comically thick German accent. “Lena, I'm not gay! Lena, zhe sky izn't blue it'z purple and vater izn't vet!”

The pestering was endless. It didn't help that when she ate lunch with Torbjörn he would make comments of the similar caliber, much tamer comments, but still hinting at the same conclusion: you spend a lot of time together, so are you together?

Angela hadn't brought it up to Fareeha during their occasional vents of frustration for fear it would make things awkward. The last thing she wanted was for a good thing to turn sour. Especially after they had discussed how terrible they handled relationships in the past.

All of the men Angela had been with left her feeling wholly dissatisfied with just about everything. All of the men and women Fareeha had been with had abused her kindness and left her feeling, in her own words, 'emotionally constipated'. They both agreed there had been the one or two good relationships that didn't work out, but neither delved too deep into their love lives.

It was ironic, really. They could openly admit to how many people they've let die, how many times they've thought the world would be better off with them dead, but they drew the line at partners.

Jesse loved to burst into their conversations some nights to describe in excruciating detail his past experiences with men and women, which probably lead to the line being drawn. Angela didn't think she could ever hear certain words again without blushing deeply.

“Mercy, are you ready to move out?” Reinhardt asked over his shoulder.

The doctor finished bandaging a rather large gash on an officer's leg before picking the Caduceus staff up and nodding. The German man barked a harsh order for the Illios Police Force to stay back. No one seemed to have the courage to challenge the crusader or his hammer.

The two moved slowly in the dark, Reinhardt's energy barrier giving them just enough light to see the area immediately around them. “McCree, Pharah, update on the path?” Angela asked into her earpiece. She touched the side of her halo, four blue blips appearing in the holographic interface that lowered to her eyes.

“Left's clear, over.”

“No hostiles spotted to the right, over.”

The excavation site was dead ahead. There were a few work lights illuminating the site, some overturned or broken by gunfire. Bodies lay untouched, Talon soldiers and police alike. “Turret's up!” Torbjörn said.

“Move in on my count.” Reinhardt lowered his barrier, wielding his hammer before himself. Angela gripped her staff tighter, inhaling the scent of blood around her deeply and spreading her wings. “Now!” He bellowed, his rocket thrusters propelling him forward.

Angela flew in after him, raising her staff and engaging it's first command to unleash a torrent of nanites into the crusader. As soon as they touched the site gunfire erupted from all around them. The barrier was brought back up to block most of it, a few bullets pinging off Reinhardt's armor.

The doctor stood beside him to avoid as much gunfire as possible, two of the four blips on her screen approaching rapidly. “Got some friends comin' in hot to the left!” McCree announced.

Seconds later the man took a leap off some scaffolding and landed in a roll, revolver already raised and firing at the hostiles following him. “On your right!” Pharah called, Reinhardt swiveling instantly to block the impact of a rocket.

The rockets thundered into the ground, ripping screams from Talon soldiers and flinging torn limbs into the air in every which way. McCree glanced at the scene a gave a low whistle, “Nice shootin' there.”

A few soldiers rushed at them head on, and those that didn't get taken out by McCree's bullets were gone the instant Reinhardt swung his hammer. The sound of bodies impacting the weapon made a sickening sound. When he brought it back to raise his barrier Angela noted it was coated in blood.

A loud and reverberating gunshot followed by Pharah's pained cry turned Angela's attention to the sky. “Sniper, right side!” Another shot, a miss. “They're up on top of some ruins!”

“I'm on it!” Tracer cried.

“Pharah, land,” Angela kept trying to find the woman in the dark sky, “it's too risky for me to go up there if the sniper has your position.”

“Right behind you!” She answered over coms, landing less than gracefully seconds later. She held her left shoulder in pain and tossed a few plates of her suit away. “Armor piercing rounds.” She said gruffly, looking at the shredded plates in disgust.

Angela turned her beam to the woman, “Patching you up, just a few moments.” The golden light enveloped Pharah and Angela couldn't help but smirk at the awed look on her face.

“So this is what this feels like.” She wondered aloud.

“Don't get used to it, I'd like to not have to do this. The bullet will need to be removed later, but you should feel no pain.” Angela said, watching Pharah roll her shoulder and give her a curt nod. “Keep with McCree until we get conformation from Tracer about the sniper.”

“Yes ma'am.” Pharah said with a smirk before she aimed her rocket launcher and swiveled to fire off a few rounds, taking out a few soldiers trying to ambush them from behind.

Angela turned to view the two blips off in the distance, one turning slightly yellow. “Torbjörn, status report.”

“Just a few hostiles trying to get my turret.” He answered instantly, grunting before letting out a laugh, “Better to be the hammer than the nail!”

“Tracer? Update on the sniper?” Reinhardt asked, lowering his barrier again to fling a large scar of fire at a rather tightly packed group of soldiers.

Angela watched her blip vanish and reappear every few seconds, turning red instantly before vanishing and reappearing back to blue. “Tracer! What's going on?!”

“It's her!” Tracer growled in response, heaving a breath and adding, “That purple lady from Kings Row!” There was an echoed gunshot through Tracer's com and she laughed and yelled out, “Missed me, love!”

“Lemme know if you need backup,” McCree called out as he took a soldier's knee out, “I've gotta feelin' this is gonna get hairy real quick if she's here!”

Angela raised an eyebrow at the cowboy, “You know who she's talking about?”

McCree pulled something out of the underside of his holster and tossed it up into the air, “Flash bang incoming!” Angela turned her head just in time to miss the loud bang and crack of light, stunning a few soldier's who were trying to come down the ramp. “Yeah I know'er! She was part of the group that had me tied down back in the States, annoying as shit!”

There was a soft roaring in the distance that was gradually growing louder, the sounds of gunfire seeming quiet compared. Torbjörn cursed into the coms and practically yelled, “There's a whole fleet of'em coming around!”

“I see'em too!” Tracer added, “Big ships! One's got a big scar on the side of it!” McCree looked towards the dark sky in a slight panic.

“The one with the scar, is it on the front?” He asked quickly as he reloaded his revolver.

“Yeah, look's pretty gnarly—OI!” Tracer was cut off with a gasp like she had been hit hard. Her coms picked up a scuffle, like she had been taken to the ground.

Reinhardt's barrier had small cracks forming at it's edges and he tossed over his shoulder, “The barrier is failing! I must retract it and let it rebuild itself!”

“Not a good time to do that!” McCree growled, looking at Angela and stating darkly, “If who I think is on that ship is on it, we're in deep horse shit.” She raised an eyebrow at him and he looked around, “Do we have any idea what they're here for? Maybe we can take it before they get it.”

Pharah was hovering off the ground barely above Reinhardt's shield as she raised her wrist to fire a small rocket that propelled a few soldier's backwards. “We have no idea what their target is,” She called down to him, “we just know that we can't let them be here! Who's on that ship?”

“The Reaper.” He said grimly, leveling his revolver with a head and pulling the trigger. “The one who's been killing former Overwatch members. I was tracking him for a bounty and he came for me, him and that spider bitch.”

Chills raced down Angela's spin. The person she was the most worried about could be coming straight for them. She had read the reports of the deaths, and seen the pictures of what they looked like during autopsy.

There were barely any bodies left. All of the corpses had been obliterated. It looked like they had been through a woodchipper, only a few fingers still attached to what would be left of hands, only a few strings of muscle still clinging tightly to bones that were shattered beyond belief. They all looked like they had been decaying for months.

It was definitely motivation for her to not step too far out her line of work, to try and not draw attention to herself. But here she was, once again part of Overwatch, once again on a mission, and in the way of whatever he wanted. And in a bright and flashy angel suit. Honestly fuck this.

“We have a mission, and we must complete it. We were told of this operation for a reason, so we have to stop it.” Pharah declared, the others adding their agreements.

Reinhardt's shield had a rapidly forming crack right down the middle and he gripped his hammer tighter, “I can't hold it forever!”

“Let it down on my mark,” Pharah ordered as she reloaded her launcher and checked a remaining panel on the top of her shoulder, “we can't waste any more time! I'm going back in the air to try and slow their fleet!”

“No you are not!” Angela barked, glaring daggers at the woman and pulling her own pistol from it's holster, “The sniper is--”

“The sniper is busy dealing with Tracer and I trust her to take care of it! We aren't arguing over this, Mercy, I have to engage now or we might fall here!” She flicked her visor down and reached up to mute her coms, saying directly to Angela, “I'll be alright, trust me.”

With that she was gone, calling for Reinhard to drop his barrier. As soon as it was down Angela dove into a small alcove. She fired aimlessly and was surprised to hear some of her shots find their marks. Torbjörn yelled that their ground numbers were dwindling. Reinhardt swung his hammer forward and slammed it into the ground, the earth shattering before it and knocking Talon forces to the ground.

McCree was on the downed soldiers instantly, his revolver rapidly firing and landing headshot after headshot. The whole ordeal lasted only a few seconds but added a heaping pile of bodies to the collection around them. The sky above them was alight with rockets exploding, the loud and reverberating BOOMS of their contact with the ship shaking the ground.

“Gotta say, I'm pretty jealous of her,” McCree said with a chuckle, “but I suppose I don't like flying that much, never--” He was cut off by a loud TAK-TAK and his own shriek of pain. Angela turned in time to watch a clawed gauntlet grasp his cybernetic arm and pull it backwards, the metal bending as easily as rubber.

McCree was thrown to the ground, the dark figure behind him slamming a steel boot into his back and leaning towards the doctor. The moonlight cast a faint spotlight on the bone white, skeletal mask looking back at Angela. She stood paralyzed as a clawed hand reached forward and wrapped tightly around her neck, jerking her forward to painfully lean on the tips of her toes.

Reinhardt had his hammer raised, about to strike the figure when they lifted a shotgun and fired it into the crusader's side. He stumbled backwards, clutching his flank and losing his grip on his hammer. The hammer hit the ground with a resounding THUD and so followed it's wielder. Angela was shaking, tears beginning to form in her eyes from the smell of rotting flesh that emanated from the wraith before her. She was brought closer until she was bent nose to nose with The Reaper.

They stared back at each other in silence for what felt like hours, the screams of Torbjörn in Angela's coms lost to the blood roaring in her ears and the icy feeling in her limbs. The claws released her neck for a split second but caught her by the chin before she could fall forward, squeezing her face painfully but not enough to break the skin. She gasped for air but quickly closed her mouth, the smell of death so strong that she could taste it.

The Reaper spoke first in a harsh, grated voice. “Well well well, it's been a while, wouldn't you agree, Dr Ziegler?” He shook her slightly at her silence and leaned closer to growl in her face, “I'll give you more than you deserve and won't kill you where you stand just yet; I want to hear you plead for your pathetic, empty life.” A claw bore painfully into her lower lip, dragging at it roughly and breaking the skin.

She was shaken again but was only spurred into action by the shotgun that dug into the center of her chest. “W-who are you?” She could only whisper, her voice hoarse from fear and unable to hide it.

“You're asking the wrong questions, dear doctor.” The Reaper released her face and push her upright with his shotgun, leaving it at her chest and bringing a hand up to rest on the mask. “The question isn't who am I...but what have you made me into.” Angela's mind was racing at this, her stomach churning as The Reaper flicked a small corner of his mask up and began removing the whole thing.

Just before it could be removed, McCree rose up behind The Reaper and fired his revolver into his side. The Reaper howled in pain and harshly slapped Angela across the face as he went to the ground, claws tearing through the thin flesh of her face. His body dissipated into smoke and raced across the ground. The two watched in shock as the smoke rose up to reform back into The Reaper's cloaked form a few feet away, clenching and unclenching his clawed hands.

He glanced over his shoulder, mask still intact and said cryptically, “We'll meet again, and when we do I won't spare you any words, Goldilocks. You either, you damn ingrate.” Angela's stomach dropped out at the old nickname and The Reaper laughed at her reaction. His body slowly began to fade away until he was gone, his laugh carried away by the wind.

McCree winced as he stepped forward and gripped Angela's shoulder, “You alright?” She slowly nodded, half her face burning with pain and her lip steadily bleeding down her chin. Reinhardt's low groaning turning the two to look at him. “Help him first, I'll be fine with m'gimpy arm for now.” The cowboy said with a slight smile that vanishing into another wince as he tried to move his shoulder.

Angela had Reinhardt standing in a remarkable thirty seconds, his side still bleeding slightly under his shredded armor. “I don't want to hear an earful from you,” He waved her off as he leaned heavily onto his hammer, “I'll already be getting it from Torbjörn for wrecking my armor already. Speaking of, Torbjörn! How are things looking on your side?”

“The last are trying to retreat into my turret,” Torbjörn said, “all that looks to be left aside from a few stragglers are those ships.” Angela turned her gaze to the sky and watched Pharah's blip move further and further way and couldn't help the sense of dread filling her stomach. Tracer's blip was no longer moving.

“Tracer what is your status?” Angela asked in a panic. Her coms rustled and more gunfire could be heard over them.

There was a pain cry and Tracer yelped. Her blip had turned orange. Angela turned in time to watch Pharah's still blue blip vanish in a large ball of flames and fire. “Rocket barrage incoming!”

“Now there's a light show,” McCree said with a grin, the rockets and missiles illuminating the ship with the large scar he had been talking about. It began pulling away immediately, heading out towards the sea. “Looks like we sent them runnin'! This calls for a celebration!”

Angela was far from celebrating. Tracer wasn't responding and her blip was dangerously still. She opened her mouth to ask--

Crack

Gravity seemed to cease to be, all sound vanishing as Angela watched Pharah's red blip fall rapidly out of the sky. She was moving before realizing what she was doing, before the rational part of her brain could stop her from launching herself into the air.

Her wings spread and boosted her into the sky, her arms stretched out as far as possible as the blip grew bigger. Pharah's limp form was soon visible and Angela willed herself to move faster. She barely grabbed the woman's arm before she was immediately pulled into Pharah's downward spiral, momentum pushing them further out and away from land while sending them plummeting.

Angela managed to hold on long enough to gain enough speed to wrap her arms around Fareeha's form, ignoring the Raptora's painful edges and corners as she clung to the woman's back.

“Shit!

“Pharah! Mercy!”

“No!”

Angela could hear the voices in stereo, her coms painfully loud in her ears. “Come on,” She whispered to her suit, straining to keep her wings open against the harsh wind, “come on!” The synthetic muscle and tissue in her back was burning intensely, a knot beginning to form in the center of her shoulders. The pain ripped a yelp from her but she kept her wings open, feeling blood rolling down her chin from her lip.

The ocean they were rapidly approaching looked like thick, black blood to Angela. The water was choppy, debris from the ships floating along the surface and following the waves back to the cliff. There was no beach, no sand, just water that lead straight into stone.

She angled herself as best she could in an upright position and took a deep breath through the nose. Angela was in agony as she forced her wings to spread wider, catching air and pulling them backwards slightly and into a gentle glide. The knot in her back caused her to freeze up, her grip loosening on Fareeha's limp body and her vision blurring.

“No!” She gasped, her lungs stinging as she breathed. Her grip on Fareeha returned and the doctor could feel the muscles in her back tearing. Her head was pounding, instinct screaming at her to let the unconscious woman go, to end the torment. The sight of Fareeha's shattered visor, the sight of blood steadily flowing from her head, it was enough to keep Angela from acting upon those instincts. I am not losing anyone else, not now, not ever! I will not lose again! She thought in her head, her teeth grinding together and pain lessening with her new found will. Not her!

They hit the water harshly, but it was enough to save them from any severely broken bones. Angela knew she was badly bruised but ignored the pain by repeating her mantra to herself. Not her, not her, not her! The doctor struggled to pull Fareeha above water, the weight of her suit trying to pull her under. They finally crested the surface and Angela gasped for air, the soreness in her chest and back combined with the weight of the soldier in her arms threatening to pull her under again.

The waves pushed and pulled the two back and forth, taking them closer and closer to where land met sea. Angela couldn't help but curse at the rocks that rest in their path, managing to turn the two so that she would take the brunt force of them.

The first hit didn't hurt as much as she was anticipating but it still knocked the wind out of her. The way at which the Valkyrie suit's wings were sitting made it so that the painfully dug into their ports upon impact. Angela's gasp of pain lead to water rushing into her mouth and getting sucked into her lungs, the back of her throat burning as she tried to hack up the sea water.

The second hit came too soon for Angela to prepare for. The wings were shoved deeper into the ports, water sucked back into her airway, and this time she lost her hold on Fareeha. The woman vanished beneath the water's surface and Angela couldn't help her panic as she sank under to save her. Fareeha wasn't too far below, but Angela's limbs strained to keep hold of her and pull her up. She kicked with all her might, her lungs burning from the lack of oxygen and her eyes and lacerations stinging from the salt water.

A wave pushed them further apart and Angela struggled to turn to grab the woman again. Her arms reached out, about to grab onto the Raptora's wings when Angela was slammed into another rock. The ports gave way to the wings and they thrust into her back, ripping her skin in two and slashing her already torn muscles apart.

It felt like Angela had been struck by lightening. The pain consumed her, it filled her head to toe, it took her vision, her hearing – or was that the ocean? The ocean seemed so calm around her, so gentle the further she sank into it's warm embrace. Was it warm, or was she just chilled to the bone? She accepted the water filling her lungs, watching small bubbles that formed from her nostrils gracefully drift upwards.

It was so quiet, so calm. It was like the mornings she spent with Fareeha – Fareeha was beside her like she was those mornings. The woman would have looked so peaceful if not for the blood forming a crimson halo around her head in the water. She looked like she was sleeping, looked the same she had after those quiet mornings before she woke up and removed herself from Angela's chest.

Angela's chest felt warm now, like it was going to burn a hole straight through her. It should have been painful, but she felt so numb. It felt like when she was back in the garage, when she first encountered Mercy. She felt like she didn't feel, and that was okay. No one would mind if she rested, if she let her eyes close and let her mind wander.

Fareeha was with her, it would be okay. Fareeha was safe, Fareeha was warm. Fareeha was right beside her like she was when she came face to face with Mercy, like she was during those quiet mornings. Fareeha wouldn't leave her. And she wouldn't leave Fareeha. She would rest her eyes, embraced in Fareeha's warmth. She would rest and they would both wake in a few hours, together as they were when they fell asleep. With her... Angela's mind whispered for her as she let herself be held tightly by the ocean, as she sank further into the darkness.

It felt like thousands of hands were gripping her body, pulling her further down. Angela's whispers slowly became the whispers of those holding her, asking her again and again if she was breathing, if she deserved to ever breathe again. But she wasn't, and she wouldn't. And it was okay because Fareeha was with her.

The ghosts could take hold of her body and pull her further into their hold, they could rip into her flesh and tear her body apart. Mercy could descend upon her and remind her of all of the lives she took, could stare into her very soul with it's owlish eyes and consume her very soul, unravel her mind and leave her as empty as she deserved to be.

But it's okay...Fareeha is...Fareeha...I...

“Fareeha?” The door slowly creaked open, light sliding across the hardwood floor and revealing the small bundle of thick duvet resting beside the front door. Curled right next to the shoe rack, almost on the welcome mat, and clutching a small flashlight, she sat facing the door, not turning at the call of her name.

“Sweet pea?” Her father called again, kneeling beside her self-made den and pulling part of it back to reveal her. He raised an eyebrow at her with a smile and asked, “What are you doing out of bed, Reba? It's past eleven and you've got school in the morning.”

Fareeha glanced back at her father for only a moment before returning her gaze to the door, stating simply, “Mom isn't home yet.” Her father made noise of understanding and unwrapped the duvet further, slinging a corner around his shoulders and patting his leg. Fareeha moved to rest on him immediately, her flashlight blinding the two of them as she moved.

“If you're waiting for Mom, you'll be waiting for a while.” Her father said softly, “She's on an important mission with Uncle Jack and Uncle Gabe.”

Fareeha glanced up at her father with a perplexed look, “Mom's on a mission near the border of Spain and Portugal with Strike Commander Reyes and Second Commander Morrison to take back the ocean front from omnic forces. Suspected heavy push back from Titan units, newer models upgraded by the Ultimate Programs, or as the civies call them, God Programs. The mission should have end by thirteen hundred and her flight back should have landed by twenty-one hundred.”

Her father laughed, a rich sound that Fareeha felt in her chest. “You can remember all of this but you can't remember your ballet routine?” He laughed again, hugging her close and kissing the top of her head, “Never change, sweet pea.”

Fareeha made a face and groaned at the thought of her dance class, “I hate ballet. All of the other girls are weird.”

“Oh? How so?” Her father asked as he shifted slightly to lean against the wall.

She paused, trying to think of how to tell him what she felt without spilling all of the beans. “Everyone treats me different.” It wasn't a lie. They did treat her different. They would make fun of her hair beads, make fun of her strange accent, and everyone was shushed when talking about what the fun things their parents did with them. It was like they thought Fareeha couldn't understand the concept of having parents who were always present.

Her father sighed and nudged Fareeha to look at him. She turned, resting her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. He had scruff on his chin and jaw, his long hair pulled back hastily, almost falling out. His glasses rested low on his nose, enough to make him look like a wizened old man despite his young age.

“They just don't understand. Sometimes, people get mean towards things they don't understand, and they do and say things they don't really mean.”

“Is that why people are mean to the good omnics?” Fareeha asked softly, looking up at her father and awaiting his response.

He winced slightly and his brow furrowed, “I don't really know, sweet pea. It's hard to tell if a person is good or bad, and it's even harder to tell if an omnic is.” She frowned at this and her father continued, “But I believe that there are good omnics like there are good people. We see enough of the bad on TV not to hope that there's some good out there too.”

“Dad?” He hummed in response. “Are they good?” She motioned to the picture by the door of her mother and her comrades.

“Yes Fareeha, I think they are. Do you think they are good?” Fareeha paused, thinking hard about her answer.

“Well...I think that wars are bad. And that fighting in wars is bad too. But I don't think Mom's bad like the omnics are bad. But I also don't think she's...good?” She paused again and sat up, looking away and quietly admitting, “I wish she wouldn't fight in the war.”

Her father rested a hand on her shoulder and answered back in a similar tone, “I wish she didn't have to. But there are people and things in this world that...sometimes, people are...” He sighed and moved his glasses up to his forehead, looking into Fareeha's eyes with a strange look of longing on his face.

“Not every heart's the same, Fareeha. Sometimes the world is cruel to people, and that makes them sad. And sometimes people have so much sadness inside them that it turns to hurt and anger, and it makes them do cruel things in return.”

“Kind of like the girls in dance class?” Fareeha asked.

Her father chuckled and nodded, “Yeah, kind of like the girls in dance class.” He turned serious again and put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair. “But sometimes, that sadness doesn't turn to hurt or anger. Sometimes people stay sad and don't know how to be happy. That's what your mother is trying to fix, she's trying to show people how to be happy again by helping them.”

“I want to do that.” Fareeha said before repeating herself in a more confident voice, “I want to show people how to be happy. I don't want people to be sad, or hurt, or angry. I want everyone to be as happy as I am when Mom comes home! Or as happy as Uncle Gabe looks when Uncle Jack makes a joke! Or as happy as Mr. Reinhardt is all the time!”

Her father chuckled and looked down at her with a smile and watery eyes, “I hope you won't have to, that when you get big everyone will be as happy as you are. But don't forget, Fareeha, there are some people who only know how to be happy by hurting others.”

Fareeha wrapped her arms around her father's neck and clung to him tightly. “I won't hurt anyone, not ever. I'll be a hero someday, Dad, even better than Mom! I promise.”

“I don't doubt you, sweet pea. You're gonna change the world someday, and I'm going to be right here the whole time.”

“I wish Mom was here the whole time...” Fareeha's voice cracked, tears forming in her eyes.

Her father hugged her closer and asked softly, “She wishes she were too. Is there anything I can say to make you feel better?”

Fareeha let her tears slip down her cheeks as she answered, “She'll come back home, won't she?”

He tensed at this, his own voice wavering and barely there. “Of course, sweet pea. She loves you too much not to.”

Fareeha let her eyes close, let herself be held tightly. She didn't want to move, didn't want to leave. She never wanted to get up and out of the floor, and she never wanted to let go.

She gasped, her eyes snapping open to stare at a blurry blob of brown. Her ears felt stuffed, muting the voices yelling around her as she sat up quickly and turned to the side to vomit sea water. It burned horribly, her throat feeling like it would split in two by the time she had been reduced to spitting into the sand.

“-reeha?” She shook her head to try and clear her ears, warm water gushing out of one ear and granting her hearing once more. “Fareeha?” Jesse asked with a sniffle, and she turned to look at him.

He was a sight to see, hat off and hair wild. He had tears running down his face and snot in his mustache and beard. His arms immediately went around her and he sobbed out a few broken sentences into her head.

Fareeha pushed him away, slightly dizzy and uncomfortably sticky and cold. She then realized the top half of the Raptora suit had been ripped from her body, pieces of the armor laying around the two in the sand., the Caduceus staff a few feet away “W-what?” She asked hoarsely, struggling to speak with her scratched throat.

“You went down,” Jesse wiped at his face with his sleeve, “and you were just...gone. We couldn't find you n'I thought you was...” He sobbed again, his voice broken, “and Angie...”

Fareeha's eyes widened, her memory returning to her. She had been hit, she went down. A hand reached up to touch where the bullet hit her, her fingers meeting solid flesh and dried blood. It was healed but she could feel a scar across her temple that traveled into her hair.

“Where is she?” Fareeha asked, vaguely remembering her angelic form racing towards her before she passed out. Jesse began crying harder and Fareeha's stomach dropped out. “Jesse? Where is Angela?”

He glanced behind Fareeha and whispered, “They've been tryin' for a while...but she's just not...” Fareeha turned to gaze at the scene about a yard away.

Torbjörn's limb attachment had been thrown in the sand to the side, both hands pumping quickly onto Angela's chest. He tipped her head back, leaning forward to blow air into her mouth before returning to compressions. Reinhardt stood behind him cradling Lena in his arms, the crusader out of his armor and sopping wet. Angela lay unmoving.

Fareeha felt cold and numb. The Swiss woman's lips were blue, her skin an unhealthy pale. She wasn't moving. Neither was Fareeha.

Her world suddenly became only Angela's body and her own. Her ears weren't ringing, but something loud was booming far away as she stared. The explosions increased and she looked behind Angela to see a line where night became day.

Behind Angela looked warm, the sand looked more yellow, the explosions formed there. Behind Angela was Siwa. Behind Angela was Jalal.

He was the complete opposite of Angela. His body was dark, stained with blood, his lips were cracked from the heat. His eyes were open, only slightly, and he stared at her. His uniform was shredded, matching his flesh that was jutting out.

“It happened again.” She stated aloud. Her hands tightened painfully into fists, fingernails digging harsh crescents into her palm. “I did it again. I fucking did it again!” Tears were forming in Fareeha's eyes and she hunched over to rest her head in the sand.

Jesse gripped her shoulder and shook her, bringing her back to Illios and saying, “No, c'mon now, you can't blame yourself.” He sniffed and raised her to lean against him. His breathing hitched and he held her tighter and admitted, “You scared the shit outta me. I thought...” Jesse pulled back a little to look into Fareeha's eyes, snot welling in his nose again and more tears spilling down his cheeks. “I thought I lost m'lil sister.”

Fareeha hugged Jesse tightly, letting her own tears fall as her world came crashing down.

Is this how Angela feels when she says she doesn't deserve anything? It was a question and a thought that served her no good to ask, Angela was dead. She killed her like she killed Jalal. Angela told her to stay, told her no good would come of her fighting the Talon ships head-on. Jalal told her to go, told her no good would come of her as she was a selfish brute who didn't care about others.

But what was true now? Fareeha learned to care about others, to put aside the mission to take care of her own. That's what she was doing when she took to the skies. No, I did it for the mission. The realization hit, a chilling thought that she finally realized about herself.

She did it for the mission under the guise that if she were to die no one else would have to in her place. She was reckless because if anyone were to die, it should be her. Fareeha went back into the air hoping she would be shot down, hoping that she wouldn't have to spend another morning looking in the mirror and not seeing herself.

Who Fareeha was was a blurred line. Where did Ana Amari's only child start and the highly esteemed soldier begin? Were there even things in between, was she – could she – be anything more to anyone?

Overwatch told her that she was the next generation of heroes when she was younger. The army told her she was just another able body with a gun when she enlisted. Helix told her she was one of the greatest security chiefs they had when she returned from missions. Jalal told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world when he had first kissed her.

Jalal had made her feel like more than what she felt. He made her feel like an individual person, not a spare Ana Amari or a spare soldier or a spare security chief. When he died – when she killed him, she no longer felt like an individual. Fareeha could never say the same things he said herself and believe them, it all felt empty. Convincing herself she was worth anything other than to replace the fallen wasn't worth the effort and wasted time.

Fareeha accepted her fate. Accepted the fact that she'd never actually be Fareeha, that she'd always be the shadow of Ana Amari, legendary sniper, war hero, founder of Overwatch. She forced herself to conform to the shape of her mother, forced herself to carry herself to the higher standard, to the arrogance her mother had shown.

If her mother had been more than that it didn't matter. Ana had laughed in the face of danger, so must her daughter. Ana had boasted about her natural talent and prowess on the battlefield, so must her daughter. Ana had been a pillar of strength and never showed weakness, so must her daughter. Ana had died fighting, so must her daughter.

Fareeha was worthless unless she conformed. The chance to unravel her own fate, to find herself, had been lost to the years. She had been held to such a height that if she were to fall she would never rise again.

But Fareeha had fallen. When she lost Jalal, when she lost Okoro and Khalil, when she lost so many men due to her jadedness. And she was falling again because Angela was gone.

Angela made Fareeha stop seeing herself as her mother, made her feel like she had the right to be Fareeha and only Fareeha. Angela opened her heart and let her confess what she felt, Angela let her feel. Angela told her she was worth living for herself, told her that she was warm and safe and comforting.

Angela made Fareeha feel like she could stop acting and just live. Fareeha wanted to stop acting and just live. But how could she possibly live knowing that she causes so much pain? It would have been better if her mother had lived, if Fareeha had listened to the voice in her head that told her to eat lead.

Fareeha wouldn't be in so much pain right now if she wasn't alive. She wouldn't be in so much pain if Angela was still breathing.

She sobbed into Jesse's neck, clinging tightly to him and refusing to let go. It didn't seem real. I couldn't be real. Who was she suppose to talk to now, who was she suppose to eat sweets with and watch kids films with? Who was she suppose to care about now, who was she suppose to love?

Fareeha gasped at the thought, her chest constricting at her revelation. Did she love Angela? She loved how untamable her hair seemed to be. She loved how passionate she'd get when discussing travel. She loved how little wrinkles would form around her eyes when she smiled.

It didn't feel like the love she had felt in previous relationships. That sort of love was only for how physically satisfying her partners could be and the praise she received from them. That kind of love was hollow and had no ground to stand on, and that's why Fareeha never stayed. Her mother taught her that lesson well.

Angela was so easy to love, but not in any way Fareeha had loved before. Perhaps it had to do with how backwards their relationship had begun. Perhaps it had to do with how shattered they both were. There were endless possibilities, but they couldn't stop the conclusion she came to. Fareeha loved Angela for making her want to live.

But what was the point now? Fareeha became acutely aware at Jesse's Peacekeeper in it's holster. It was loaded, it was always loaded. She was faster than Jesse, it could be done in seconds. No, he's suffered enough. A soft voice whispered in her ear, Angela's voice, So have you. And you will continue to until you die.

The soldier detached herself from the cowboy and slowly rose to her feet, her body shaking from the chill she couldn't rid herself of. Fareeha watched Torbjörn try again and again, breathing air into Angela's lungs one last time.

He sat back, his expression eerily neutral. Lena held her bomber jacket out to him and he took it without looking at her. The jacket was gently spread over Angela's face and Torbjörn turned his back on the scene, walking a few paces down the beach. He didn't make it but just more few steps before he collapsed to his knees, hunched in the sand and unmoving.

Fareeha returned her gaze to Angela – to the body. It wasn't Angela. Angela was dead because of her.

Death shouldn't bother her, she's been surrounded by it since she was born. Fareeha was born in death and she has lived in death. The first time it staggered her, threw her into a mindless realm of unpassing time was when she received the news that her mother had been killed in action.

She knew deep down that her mother wouldn't want her to mourn, that she'd want her to continue forward and not look back. But Fareeha barely knew her mother and would never have the chance to.

It seemed like Fareeha knew Angela for a lifetime despite the short three months spent together. And despite being surrounded by friends, by family, Fareeha was alone once again. She had strayed away from faith long ago, but perhaps it was just God's will that she be alone for forever.

Maybe she deserved to be. She was always so angry for no reason, would become filled with rage over the smallest things and lash out at people. She lashed out to Angela more than once, so maybe this was the chain reaction.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past. She was the new Ana Amari, and she had to move on.

Her feet carried her to her discarded armor, collecting the scratched metal plates and tucking them under her arms. Fareeha picked up her helmet last and turned to Jesse. “The mission is over. We need to leave.” He stared up at her in confusion and disbelief.

The hurt on his face should have affected her, but Fareeha let herself be numb. When Jesse didn't move she left him, walking past him and away from the scene. Her rocket launcher wasn't among her things, probably lost to the sea. It was a shame, she would have loved to do nothing more than fire it at her own chest just so she could feel anything. Another shame that she'd have to wait to feel until they were back in Gibraltar where her combat knife await her in it's case, tucked under her bed.

It was a feeling returned to her, it didn't make her feel anything but ashamed of herself, but it was better than feeling like wood.

Fareeha stopped walking when Lena suddenly cried out. It wasn't a cry of pain or sorrow, but of surprise. Fareeha turned to look over her shoulder in time to watch the body slowly raise into a sitting position.

The jacket slid off, eyes slowly blinking and fingers gradually moving. A hand was raised to her nose and came away bloody, Angela's eyebrows narrowing at the sight. “Wh-what happened?” She asked slowly, her accent thick and her voice gravelly.

Fareeha stood still as everyone else surrounded the Swiss woman. She felt frozen to the spot as she watched the dead woman look around the group in confusion. Blue eyes met brown, and Fareeha could feel again. She could feel the guilt and shame inside her, but the relief she felt overpowered them in the moment. She collapsed to the ground, body shaking from more than the cold as she wailed into her hands.

She couldn't remember boarding the ORCA, couldn't remember who gave her a paper cup of hot tea, couldn't remember being swaddled like a baby in a thick blanket.

She could remember Angela's corpse laying in the sand now sitting beside her with a similar paper cup and thick blanket.

Angela's nose was still bleeding, tissues stuffed up her nostrils to try and staunch the flow. She looked exhausted, dark bags under her eyes and her face a little whiter, but she was breathing. She was here. Fareeha wasn't alone.

Fareeha wanted to ask how the hell Angela had suddenly risen from the dead but couldn't move her tongue. She felt horrible, her head pounding and throat sore from sea water and crying. Her entire body ached with every move and her stumps were cramping fiercely. She could barely sit up in the small booth seat the two were currently resting on, but it was alright as they were supporting each other.

Angela leaned against Fareeha's shoulder and Fareeha leaned against Angela's head. Reinhardt said it was best for them to stick together to try and conduct more heat but they would have been together despite it.

It would be just around three in Gibraltar if the clock above Angela's head was right. Fareeha pulled her arm out of her blanket and and carefully placed it around the blonde. Angela sighed and snuggled into the hold, her cold nose poking Fareeha in the neck.

“I was so scared.” Angela whispered, “I thought I lost you.”

Fareeha still couldn't bring herself to speak. Whether it was her exhaustion or her fear of confessing her feelings, she responded by pulling Angela closer and closing her eyes.

She was in pain, physically, mentally, emotionally. But she was alive. They were both alive. That made it worth the pain to Fareeha.

Their tea had been set on the table before them, one blanket being discarded in favor of one. Angela lay back on the seat, Fareeha following her and resting her head on the blonde's collarbone. She nearly rose at Angela's wince but was halted by a hand in her hair keeping her where she was. “It's alright. It's just my back, it's still repairing itself.” Angela softly said.

Fareeha narrowed her brows at the words. Repairing itself? It spurred more questions she was itching to have answered. But she still couldn't speak, was still too numb to make any noise. So Fareeha let Angela's fingers gently massage her scalp as she slowly drifted off. They were alive, they were safe, they were together.

There was nothing to be feared when Angela held Fareeha. Not her legacy, not Siwa, not death. There were so many emotions felt when Angela held Fareeha and it all culminated into one thought, one word.

Home.

“-so there I was, surrounded by three, no, four bandits.” Jesse held his fork up like he was looking down the sights of Peacekeeper and continued his story, “I told'em I'd give'em a chance to turn tail and turn themselves into to the local sheriff, but they weren't havin' it. Tried to act all tough and barred their teeth at me.”

Fareeha had her cheek against her fist, listening half-heartedly to the cowboy's tall-tale as she pushed a rather large chunk of chicken around her bowl of soup. Lena had already burned through four bowls of the stuff and had been eyeballing Fareeha's for a while, but she was thankfully distracted by Jesse.

Distraction was welcomed by everyone since Illios. Fareeha, for example, had distracted herself by spending the past week in the armory with Torbjörn arguing over how to repair the Raptora.

She was hellbent on repairing it herself with the small kit she took from Helix, but the Swede continuously insisted upon helping. Having to explain the difference between the high octane graphene primary layer and the carbon fiber under armor for what felt like the millionth time was highly grating on Fareeha's nerves. She would have thought he'd know all of this but he continued to ask the same questions over and over again.

When she would reach her boiling point with Torbjörn she would go to the gym to try and blow off steam. She was usually alone, thank god, but earlier her workout had been interrupted by Angela.

The doctor still hadn't fully explained herself for what the hell happened in Illios, always giving vague answers about the Valkyrie suit or the development of her nanites before whisking herself away to do something in her office. It made frustrated Fareeha to no end, but she kept reminding herself that no matter what had happened, it was a harsh thing Angela went through and shouldn't have to be pushed to talk about. That Fareeha knew from experience.

Angela entering the gym was a surprise to say the least, and Fareeha nearly dropped the weights she was lifting on her own foot when Angela walked around to get her attention. The admittance to herself that she felt something for the doctor intensified even more at that moment, and Fareeha kicked herself for not noticing the fact that she always felt like this.

Fareeha avoided Angela like the plague when it came to the gym solely because she couldn't stop looking at her. Angela always wore the same salmon coloured tank top that showed off the multitude of scars up and down her arms and shoulders as well as a few freckles. She always wore the same grey leggings that made Fareeha realized just how wide her hips and thighs were. But worst of all, Angela always wore thin rimmed, round glasses and had enough bobby pins to hijack a commercial airliner in a failed attempt to pin her bangs back.

In conclusion, Fareeha found Angela insanely adorable, so much so that upon first viewing she did drop a weight on her foot. She couldn't get enough of the look of the usually smartly dressed doctor and, although she would never in her life admit it, couldn't take her eyes off Angela as she did her workout. The first time Fareeha helped Angela with her form for squatting she thought she was going to pass out.

And so she decided for the sake of decency to work out whenever Angela wasn't. Fareeha had slapped herself plenty of times over how childish it was. She was a soldier, she was used to working out with other well-fit bodies and not feeling flustered. But upon further thought maybe well-fit was the key. Angela didn't have a body that was hard with muscles, which threw Fareeha for a loop.

So when Angela was suddenly in front of her in her usual work out clothing, Fareeha's mind began struggling to find a reason to leave. Angela motioned for her to take her earphones out and Fareeha obeyed, raising a questioning brow.

“Haven't seen you in here in a while! Well, I see you leaving occasionally.” She cleared her throat and motioned to weight bench, “I was wondering if you'd help me. It's, uh, been a while.”

Fareeha nodded and followed her to the bench, stopping and narrowing her brows. “Are you sure you should be bench pressing? Torbjörn told me that the Valkyrie suit's wings were stabbed into your back, you couldn't have fully healed in just a week even with nanites.”

Angela opened and closed her mouth and Fareeha folded her arms across her chest, “How are you even here?” She hesitated a moment before forcing herself to come out with it, “You died, Angela. So how are you alive right now?”

The Swiss woman lowered her gaze and sat on the bench, clasping her hands together and sighing. “A few years into my time in Overwatch I had a theory about nanites. They can't exist inside the body for long before they try and 'repair' what isn't broken and begin eating away at the flesh. That's why I developed them to decay themselves and be destroyed by white blood cells.”

Angela paused and rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if cold, still not meeting Fareeha's gaze. “My theory was this: what if I could find a way to merge a nanite with a white blood cell? That way instead of destroying flesh after healing it could assist in fighting off infection. The first few tests weren't as successful as I had hoped, but I needed results.”

She bit her lip and softly admitted, “I...may have jumped through a few hoops to achieve what I wanted. I won't go into the details of it, but in summary: I found a way to keep nanites in a body without decay and without fusing them. They're less sentient than normal nanites and they can't be used as actively because of this. It...takes them a while to 'warm up', but after a short period they are able to repair more than regular nanites.”

Fareeha's chest felt a little tighter at the knowledge and she slowly asked, “So you have nanites that live in your body all the time?” Angela nodded. “And they...resurrected you?”

“I wouldn't call it that!” Angela quickly said, “It's not that simple, there's an order to how they operate that's at least a mile long, but it's not like that!”

Fareeha made a face and couldn't help but laugh. “I'm sorry, but you were dead. Not breathing, gone. And then you're suddenly back to life, poof, no big deal? That's not being resurrected?”

Angela's voice was small as she asked, “Please don't call it that.” Fareeha frowned at this but didn't say anything. “I never intended for it to be like this. I just wanted to stop soldiers from coming back in body bags. I just wanted the nanites to be able to instantly heal wounds instead of having to be inserted directly via the Caduceus staff or other conductors.”

“The truth is, I don't know. I have no idea what this,” Angela articulated by holding her hands out in front of herself, “is. The only thing I know is that I've successfully Frankensteined myself and I don't know how the hell to fix it.” She laughed bitterly and formed fists, “Guess it's what I get, what a cruel but fitting punishment for playing God, huh?”

Fareeha felt guilty for asking but more so for upsetting the woman. “Angela, I'm sorry.” She moved to sit beside her on the bench, their thighs barely touching. It took her a moment to bring herself to confess, and when she did it all came out at once.

“I thought someone else I cared about died because I fucked up. When I came to on the beach and saw you lying there it felt like the whole world ended. I didn't know if I could go on, or where to go from there.”

Angela took Fareeha's hand and laced their fingers together, nodding for her to continue. “Angela I...” She trailed off, hesitant to say what she wanted to. Fareeha had said the words 'I love you' so many times to so many people that it didn't feel enough, like it wasn't special enough.

She didn't even know if this was what love was. Fareeha had rushed into so many relationships in a search to feel some form of closeness and Angela deserved more, deserved better. Yes, Fareeha felt love for Angela, but whether or not it was the same love her parents had – a love that vanished after time – or the love the children's movies sang about Fareeha didn't know.

So she told her in the most honest way she could. “I don't want to lose you.” Fareeha whispered, tightening their hand hold and looking into blue eyes, “I don't want to hurt you either, and I'm sorry if I pushed too much. Thank you for telling me, I see now how hard it was to.”

Angela smiled and sighed in relief, “I've never told anyone about it before. I think Torbjörn knows because he's a parent and what doesn't he know about me at this point?” She reached up to remove her glasses and sternly said, “I'm not going to lose or hurt you either, Fareeha. But you have to stop being so damn reckless. Would it kill you to listen to me when I tell you to stay put?”

“Guess we'll have to find out.” Fareeha said with a smirk, Angela shaking her head and laughing. They were so close, Fareeha noticed, inches apart. It would be so easy to close the distance and kiss her with the passion and emotion Fareeha was feeling right now. But that wasn't what Angela deserved, she decided, Angela deserved better.

“You look like you're thinking too much,” Angela squeezed her hand, bringing her out of her thoughts.

Fareeha couldn't help but turn the charm on and raise her eyebrows, “If thinking about you is too much then guilty as charged.” Angela covered her mouth to stifle her chortle, her eyes bugging out slightly as she snorted into her laugh. This caused her to laugh harder and snort a few more times, Fareeha grinning big.

“You snort!” Fareeha laughed in return and Angela quickly bat her on the shoulder and denied it furiously.

“If you tell anyone...” Angela began before laughing again and shaking her head, “oh I don't know what I'll do, but you'll regret it.”

The challenge spurred Fareeha on, curiosity to see the doctor do her worse leading to Fareeha reenacting it all to Jesse hours later. He appreciated it greatly, already creating four new jokes by the time he stopped laughing.

Which is why when Angela entered the rec room to get herself a bowl of soup, Fareeha nudged Jesse and nodded towards the doctor. He grinned and winked at her in understanding, halting his story to wave to the blonde. “Well, you're just the porcine I was looking for, Angie! C'mon and sit down here next to me, I promise I won't boar you to death!”

Fareeha had taken to biting her lip to keep herself from openly laughing, Lena raising an eyebrow but laughing cautiously. Angela only stared.

“What's the hold up?” Jesse asked, leaning across the table, “Don't tell me you're piggy about where you sit!” He sealed Fareeha's fate when he pushed his nose up and gave out a loud snort.

Angela's face went beet red and the cowboy laughed, wiping his eyes and waving his hands, “Wait, please God, wait just a second before you hog-tie me, I got more!”

Her death glare turned to Fareeha and it suddenly wasn't funny anymore to the Egyptian.

Angela walked past the table, pausing to lean down and whisper in Fareeha's ear. “I'm going to make you regret this, Fareeha Almas Amari.” Color drained from Fareeha's face and Angela took notice with a cheeky grin, “Uh oh, didn't think I'd abuse power and dig into your personal file, eh? I play dirty, something you probably should have known before you started this.”

She walked out of the room with a little wave and a smile that was pure evil, “Have a good lunch, Jesse, Lena, Reba.”

Jesse was on Fareeha instantly, “Reba? Reba?” She couldn't hide her blush if she tried.

Lena grabbed Jesse's arm tightly and wheezed out, “R-Reba McEntire!” The two were gone, tears forming in their eyes.

Fareeha pushed her soup around it's bowl and mumbled under her breath, “You mispronounce your own name once and your family never lets it go.”

“Wait, you mispronounced your own name?!” Jesse gasped, Fareeha quickly reeling back to try and explain herself.

“I was barely talking when it happened! I wasn't even two and I couldn't say 'Fareeha'! It's a hard name!”

The gunslinger shook his head and wiped his eyes, “Oh lord, I think I'm gonna puke. That's funnier then a cat with a 'tater chip bag on it's head.

Okay, so maybe I thought wrong. Fareeha thought to herself as she shoved Jesse roughly with a smile of her own, Maybe I don't love Angela after all...

As she ate her soup she couldn't help but smile to herself, remembering the way Angela said her full name. Despite being said as a threat, it sounded so lovely in that Swiss German accent. It was a lovely sound Fareeha would gladly accept ridicule for if it meant she could hear it again.

...but then again what the hell do I know?

#Pharmercy #Fareeha Amari #Angela Ziegler #Pharmercy Fic #Overwatch

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zucca101 · 7 years

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Response: The 2nd

I again ask of my viewers and followers NOT to attempt to seek this person out or cause them any inconvenience. This is my thing to tackle and had they not blocked me, I would be able to respond within the confines, but I felt it was neccesary to allow this debate to be in the public forum.

It's funny how you still try to worm your way out of having to accept that maybe, just maybe, you fucked up. Democrats aren't even fucking leftists, and never were; historically they were the more conservative party all around, over the course of the 1930s to the 1960s the parties' relative positions switched around, today they're liberals. Every other country in the world considers liberalism a right-wing ideology, at best a centrist one for a reason (hint: it has something to do with being vehemently pro-capitalist)

Incorrect. That is a pernicious and commonly held myth that does not hold up to scrutiny.

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Also, Sargon, left of center? Reads-the-headlines-and-nothing-else-of-the-articles-he-cites Sargon? Constantly complains about The Left™ like you do and constantly apes the same rhetoric coming from the far right Sargon? That Sargon? Yeah, no.

He is on the Left. He’s become disenfranchised with the Social Justice angle it’s adopted and the Islamophilia as well. And God only knows, there’s enough I disagree with him on to fill a book, but someone who actively challenged him and pored over his vids, found one thing Sargon got incorrect, and it was something he had already retracted.

I don’t agree with him on everything. But I trust him due to his intellectual integrity. Same with Teal Deer, same with the others I watch.

"And I CHALLENGE YOU to show me where I said that women should not have access to healthcare. Or even hinted at it." That's not even what I said, and you damn well know it. My implication was that you're in favor of restricting healthcare access to the poor, which guess what, if you're going to be in favor of repealing shit that makes healthcare more accessible to them, basic logic would dictate that's going to happen. You manage to go off on an entire tirade about abortion when what I was addressing was the supposed line of thought behind it.

Fair to say, but that’s not what I’m in favor of either. The Affordable Healthcare Act was like a shiny used car sold by a constantly smiling, charming salesman. It ran fine for the first stretch, but broke down after you got around the bend. Libertarian that I am, I believe such an act was foolish because it was nothing more than a scam by the insurance companies lining up to get all the business they could ever ask for because signing up for healthcare became COMPULSORY. Which is bullshit.

Also? I hate to be the one to give you the newsflash, but jobs aren't going to save society. We already work far more than we need to to keep things going, or even to afford a high living standard - most jobs that currently exist do because either it's marginally cheaper to severely underpay people for them rather than to automatize them, or otherwise only exist as an artifact of capitalism itself - many different corporations that require management, marketing that simply wouldn't exist under literally any other economic system.

I’d love to see citation for that which doesn’t reek of Socialist claptrap. Automation is progressing, to be sure, but progress is progress, right? That doesn’t mean there isn’t work to be had if you either look for it or try to find it outside of your comfort zones. I had to work at a Wal-Mart of all places, but I swallowed my pride and I did it. Didn’t enjoy it, but I did my job.

Between this and the ongoing trend towards atuomatization? Those jobs are going to disappear, and there aren't going to be new ones in sufficient numbers to avoid giant swathes of people in permanent unemployment. That's not me doomspeaking, that's a logical consequence of what's going on today.

It tickles me something fierce that you don’t actually address the automation. You think SOCIALISM would fix that? By making things so shitty that automation isn’t an option, perhaps. No, Socialism would cram everyone into a job and regardless of whether they want it or not, they MUST do that job.

By the way, speaking from years of first hand and second hand experience here: unemployed people don't actually sit on their asses all day, contrary to what you've been led to believe by people who have a vested interest in keeping everyone working for scraps.

Speaking from second hand experience myself, I’ve had friends and friends of friends who NEVER got real jobs and instead collected food stamps they bartered for room and board. I’ve known people who have chosen to panhandle and beg on the street rather than go to a job. (And to be fair, that’s non-taxable income…) So I’m afraid anecdotal evidence from either of us is not enough to conclusively prove this one.

Therefor…

http://www.epi.org/publication/missing-workers/

http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/03/07/employment-vs-unemployment-different-stories-from-the-jobs-numbers/

Jobs aren't the only way to contribute to society, most artists do work that can't support itself under capitalism (and that logically the artist themselves wouldn't be able to keep themselves fed on without at the very least some sort of social safety net), and if we only kept going with that art that proves to be profitable enough to support someone, thereby only appealing to the lowest common denominator?

And…. And you think COMMUNISM or SOCIALISM will let you art the way you want to? At least in Capitalism, an artist can make money for their work! Hell, the internet and Patreon has made it easier than ever for someone to make a living with their art or at least supplement their living. I know HUNDREDS of artists who balance art for its own sake, art for income and a normal job. And they’re not unique in that sense. Art enriches a culture, absolutely, but when it’s dependent on the government… then why would one go BACK to a normal job if they can make a period blood painting, throw it on the wall and demand money from the government? Art should be independent of governmental meddling.

And if you ask Joe Average if he would rather be COMPELLED by the government to pay forty bucks every month to contribute to art or fill his car’s gas tank, buy a few bags of groceries for his family or get used shoes at the Thrift Store, what do you think he’d do?

Art flourishes when free of meddling.

You’re an artist, yes? Suppose you got a check from the government for creating art… but suppose your art did not hold up to some arbitrary definition? It’s taxpayer money after all. So you would have to create art… but only as the government sees fit. Which is no different than making art by commission… except for the fact that under capitalism, you can create art as work, you can create art after working hours, you can create art just to make someone smile. You aren’t beholden.

I can tell you right away this world would be an immensely darker place for it, and all that precious inflation art would vanish overnight.

Heh, the one I had in mind at the top of my list when mentioning those hundreds of artists is a very prominent one. He works a daily job, he makes money with his art, and he makes art for its own sake.

Take a look at this picture…

https://zucca-xerfantes.deviantart.com/art/Berlin-Wall-piece-from-Reagan-Library-612126840

Riddle me this…

The side you see if colorful and full of art and vibrant colors and the other side is matte gray, untouched.

Take a WILD guess which side was the Commies’…

In addition to that, it's beyond unethical to force people who can't work to beg for scraps from charities that both A) impose their will on them (like the Salvation Army), and B) even if all perfectly good natured, wouldn't collectively have the resources to support everyone anyway, especially not when it's entirely within the state's means to give those people a decent standard of living.

Uh, I think I already said that I’m not against government assistance for those who are literally unable to work.

As for your examples, the Salvation Army’s policy is NOT to deny service to trans or homosexual people. A same sex couple can be permitted, but as separate individuals. I don’t hold to that part, but hey, their house, their rules, and they’re not turning them away outright. Now while it’s true that SOME SA people refuse service, that is not the organization’s policy. And considering they saved the life of an IRL trans friend of mine, I am STRONGLY disinclined to believe smear stories.

As for the second, See first paragraph in this section.

"Constantly pretend to…. universally bad…? WHAT….?" You know damn well what I was talking about. The constant "oh, Muslims throw gay people off of buildings all the time! You should be thankful!" takes? The kind of bullshit that you spout to propagate hate against them in the name of "protecting us" when you subsequently turn around and support people like Mike Pence who wishes we'd all vanish, one way or another? I see you, and your cutesy "but I have black friends" argument doesn't fucking work here.

If you can prove me wrong about how Islam as a whole feels about homosexual people and transsexual people, then I will apologize right now. Imams view the murder of homosexuals as A MERCY for fuck’s sake. That is some kind of bona fide evil. Yet for some reason, your fluffy Social Justice Totem Pole places a Death Cult’s feelings above YOUR RIGHT TO *LIVE* SO JUST EXCUSE THE SHIT OUT OF ME FOR CALLING IT OUT.

And supporting Mike Pence….??? I couldn’t give less of a crap about him if I tried. The dude is an advocate of conversion therapy, which does not work. Case closed. Frankly I think Trump picked him for the same reason Obama picked Biden. Assassination prevention! ‘You might kill me, but SERIOUSLY, look at THIS guy… you want HIM instead?’

Jokes aside, I don’t agree with Pence. If, God forbid, he became president, I’d support the office but if he started making life harder for the gay people for no reason, then I’d be fundamentally opposed.

Again, you know this, but damned if you’ll permit that to get in the way of a good strawman whoopin’, eh?

And I find it ASTONISHING that you lie to yourself that Pence is the one to be feared when there is nothing he can legally do to hurt you, but the Death Cult wants you to actually die and are SANCTIONED in such acts.

Pulse Nightclub ring a bell? Fifty innocent people murdered by a guy whose religion told him that his only salvation for his sins was to become a martyr.

By the way, you also don't get to decide who's actually trans and who isn't. Trans people detransition or don't bother transitioning for any number of reasons. Doesn't mean the person underneath isn't transgender, most of the time it's just because society is so fucking harsh against us that they decide living in the wrong body and being seen the wrong way by others is less painful than the outright hostility we can expect on a daily basis.

I’m speaking real here… I cannot possibly understand what it’s like to be Trans. I cannot appreciate the struggles that a trans person is forced to go through. A friend of mine lost her wife and her children because she transitioned. And she’s one of the most gentle and decent souls I’ve ever known.

But she is a real Transsexual. Not some idiot child enamored by the idea of being Transsexual. Not some teen who wants to piss off their parents, or some snowflake who wants to be that much more special. What they do is an INSULT to the Trans people who struggle with it. Who, as you have pointed out, have a ton of shit they have to put up with without their struggles being trivialized..

I’m not of the notion that Trans people have it easy because PC culture has elevated them above others (Except for the fanatical Death Cult that wants to kill them) or anything like that.

I disagree with that notion which is held by a large number of YouTube personalities I watch regularly.

However… in the same way I have nothing but contempt for idiotic children and childish adults who pretend to have Multiple Personality Disorder because they think it’s some kind of fun game where The Doctor and Loki play around in their head, I can’t stand the same kind of idiot children who think they can switch their gender like a toggle and to be SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME have a fantasy word to describe their nonexistent gender.

But oh no, I’M the scientific illiterate. >_>

As for "you don't have the right not to fuck a trans person" (lol), literally nobody is actually saying that - those takes are about dismissing the idea of having sex with someone who's trans out of hand, not saying no if the opportunity were to actually come up.

…

Honest question, you haven’t heard of Riley Dennis, have you? Very prominent Trans YouTuber who has numerous videos now shaming straight people for not wanting to get into a sexual relationship with a trans person.

Riley is of the mind that straight people don’t have a right to refuse, lest they be bigots. >_>

And if you think that’s an absurd thing to say, then bless you. We’re in agreement.

And if it were just Riley, that’d be one thing, but here on Tumblr and on Twitter, there are posts saying much the same, but not in the weasely, round-about way Riley did.

Do I think that’s the majority opinion? No.

But it is not a case of ‘Literally no on believes that’.

And if Christians have to be lumped in with wretches like the KKK and Westboro, well then... what’s good for the goose ought to suffice for the gander, hm?

As for where you're anti-science? Ho boy, where do I begin. Those hot anti-climate change takes of yours are a good start, dismissing everything that happens in that regard as "just the weather" when sea level rise, melting ice in the polar areas as a result of it, and year after year of hottest yearly average temperatures have not only been happening for at least the past century, but have also been accelerating more recently. I'd know, I literally live in one of the places directly affected by this. Most of this country is below sea level, we keep having to build up our dams and dunes even higher to avoid flooding the damn place like what happened back in 1953. To dismiss all that as "the weather" is beyond foolish.

I never said Climate Change isn’t real.

Nor have those I’ve reblogged.

The notion of manmade Global Warming is what is contested.

See, there was a smart way to go about spreading the message and a stupid way to go about it.

The stupid way was to let hypocritical hacks like Al Gore dominate the stage.

The smart way would’ve been to appeal to everyone’s common need to save money and how many green tech save water, electricity and gas bills.

But nope…. Shaming was WAY more fun and satisfying. And now it’s become politicized.

I’m a wildlife conservationist of a sensible variety. Sharks, whales, rhinos and cheetahs are being driven over a cliff and it needs to stop.

And there are more than a few Conservatives on the same boat. Michael Savage, radio host, for instance.

But stereotyping and shaming is SO MUCH MORE SATISFYING TO THE BASE URGE OF APPEASING ONE’S INNER RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION.

ISN’T IT?

"Capitalism gives everyone the same shot at living" is an even more ridiculous take if I ever saw one. Yes, I'm sure my disabled, mixed and poor ass has the exact same chances as Reginald who can simply ask daddy for money to start up any business he likes, or hell - just live off of that, put it all in stocks, hire some people to make sure his investments don't go to waste and be set for life! He doesn't even need to work! At all! No rich person does!

Step away from the Marxist teacher, amigo. They are NOT your friend…

You’re full of shit.

I’ll out and say it right here.

You are so full of shit on this one that your eyes are turning brown.

You’re just barfing up the same politics of envy nonsense that every single frakking Socialist hack barfs up.

“I can’t work because there’s some rich guy out there who has more stuff than I do!!!! HARUMPH!!!!!!!!” Do you hear yourself...?

Does the nature of your disability preclude you from doing ANY work? If so, then that is a case wherein you should be lent aid.

But if you have your hands… you can work. If you have your legs, you can work. If you have your eyes, you can work. If you have your wits, you can work. If you can’t find work, look harder. Or make your own. That’s what I did. I was destitute only seven years ago. And I’ve built myself up. And that was all done with clinical depression weighing me down like lead.

Self-determination? Ah yes, being forced to slave away at a minimum wage job because you simply can't get hired elsewhere for the rest of your life, or starving. That's self-determination in the same sense that having the choice between following orders and maybe be allowed to live, or don't and be killed when someone holds a gun to your head is. Venezuela, or any other socialist country in the world is/has been hardly perfect, but you know what's not helping?

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WORK AT A MINIMUM WAGE JOB FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

Sorry, sorry… you’re like the fiftieth person whose thrown that at me and it gets cringier every time I hear it… I apologize.

But seriously, if you think that min wage is for life, you’ve not made very good decisions.

You start at the bottom and work your way up. Just because you spend a few years flipping burgers doesn’t mean you’re stuck there!

Fuck… you can apprentice with a plumber and be making SIX FIGURES in FIVE YEARS!

I kid thee not!

Fascist protestors literally burning supplies that are already hard to get by. Action taken by the US to undermine pretty much any socialist country that has ever existed. As for more internal problems? Guess what, those can be improved upon. It's an economic system, not a religion.

Can be? Doubt it, but maybe.

Will be? No.

And as for being an economic system and not a religion…

That’s a mighty tall claim, considering the fact that Socialism tends to butt out religion and replace it with itself. Take China for example. All their rich culture, their ancient heritage, their majestic architecture, their thousands of years of history and artifacts…. FUCKING RUINED BY A LITTLE SHIT WITH HIS LITTLE RED BOOK.

The very basic premise you utterly fail to process here is that this shit is subject to constant rethinking and revision, something made impossible when some strongman figure decides to take power, no matter what side of the political spectrum they're on - that said, the right loves those far, far more than anyone left of center will, as a matter of basic principles that define either side.

Which is one of the fundamental flaws in Socialism and Communism. You can’t build off of that when the foundation is garbage. And how many MOUNTAINS OF CORPSES do you wish to produce before we ‘Get Socialism right’?

Thanks, but Capitalism has existed LONG before Socialism.

Otem from the Mountain People went to Trajk of the Plains People because the Plains People make masterful spears. He traded a basket, which the Mountain People make better than anyone, including the Plains People, for a spear. Both people are wealthier as a result.

And that also leads us to why I consider right-wingers universally shitty people: plainly speaking, they simply are.

And you call ME the bigot…?

It's at best ignorant, at worst astonishingly hypocritical as can be to act like you care about the poor, only to deliberately make their lives harder using the political apparatus in place.

You know that is not the motivation of capitalists. And if that’s what you think, then you are simply incorrect.

You can't say you care about groups of people, then vote for those who are all too happy to take their rights away.

I DO care and I disagree with the ban. While I find it iffy to put people who deal with what Trans people do into severely high-stress situations, if they believe they can hack it, I believe they have a right to stand proudly beside the other defenders of the country.

Actions speak louder than words, and actions that affect an entire country weigh far more heavily than those taken on an individual basis - giving money to individual homeless people simply doesn't counterbalance supporting the people who make sure they can't sleep anywhere by putting spikes out in public places.

Spikes out? It’s the LABOR PARTY in the UK who want to fine homeless people a thousand pounds for sleeping in public.

See my above points for further rebuttal. I’m not repeating myself.

Don't bother acting like I'm saying all this out of ignorance either - I've been there myself. I've had a right-wing phase, I only need to look back at my own past actions to see the hypocrisy that lies underneath.

I’m not going to say that everyone one the Right are Saints. You know that’s not my position. I also don’t think everyone on the Left are foolish. Fuck, I don’t even think the majority of them are bad people at all! I think they’re people whose hearts are generally in the right place, but feel rather than think. But you are, inversely, able to forgive EVERY sin of the Left while, and I quote, labeling every right-winger as universally bad people.

That is some FRIGHTENING SHIT right there, amigo. That you can de-humanize EVERYONE on the opposite political spectrum because you’re so high on your own moral superiority that you’ve willfully blinded yourself.

And while ignorance itself is forgivable, you've repeatedly shown not to care in the slightest for anything that would lead you to reconsider your ideas, nor do you have any interest in actually putting your money where your mouth is on the grander scale with just about anything you mentioned in your post.

HAH… if you only knew…

So yeah. Come back to me when you've learned to genuinely care about other people beyond those in your direct personal sphere.

So you’re moving the goalposts, huh?

I contested that I’m not the evil strawman you have created and now you’re saying ‘Well, you may care about the people around you, BUT WHAT ABOUT EVERYBODY ELSE?!’

Friendo… I can’t care about everybody else. Everybody else are adults, or will be someday. Then everybody else can care about everybody else. They’re my neighbors and I genuinely wish them well. I’ll help a stranger’s reasonable request just for the asking. But I am not Atlas. I cannot take on all the problems of the world. I can voice my opinion on how they should be dealt with, to be sure. Because I have that freedom.

I care for my country and fellow citizens, and I will vote according to how I believe they can best be helped. But it is *not* my responsibility to solve all of their problems for them.

Even if I could, I would not. Because it’s our problems and our struggles that make us grow.

The butterfly cannot fly if it doesn’t struggle its way out of the cocoon. A well meaning person may peel the cocoon away, but that dooms the butterfly to a flightless life.

Buddha said that life is a struggle. And he wasn’t wrong there.

But while we can help our friends, our neighbors and even strangers, that does not mean that it’s relative across the board.

Poverty in the West is a child asking his father why he’s crying as he weeps over a stack of bills on the table. Poverty in the third world is emaciated children with rice-bloated bellies.

Both are heartbreaking, but both are unique to their places of origin and therefore are not comparable.

You can lie to yourself all day about who I am, what my motivations are and what my heart is like.

But if you found out who I am, what I’m like, how I behave, then you may be willing to face down your other prejudice against an entire group of people you have frighteningly labeled as universally evil.

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