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evita-shelby · 2 years

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Mrs. Nelson

In which Eva never sails to England and instead marries Irish American Gangster, Jack Nelson

Taglist: @whitejuliana1204 @zablife

Gif by @retromafia

Tw: cheating, racism, some minor violence, blood and a miscarriage

January 1919

“He has more whores than you have shoes.” That had been Tiago’s warning when they looked over the man who’d shown up to court her. “I don’t think he’ll make you happy.”

Still even with the warning she’s promptly married to John Patrick ‘Jack’ Nelson in a wedding big enough to end up on every tabloid from Maine to Cancun.

MILLIONAIRE JACK NELSON MARRIES MEXICAN HEIRESS

He’s loyal until the honeymoon is over. She is the only one he wants until some Hollywood actress opens her legs for him at a club he owns.

“He won’t change, men like him never do.” Her niece, Gina, tells her as they drink their sorrows away.

It wasn’t comforting to hear, but this was her future.

“Liar!” she screams as she throws the lovely porcelain vase at his head. He ducks and she crumples to the floor like wilting flower.

Because after five months of marriage the stares, the slurs, the cheating and his lying mouth have her tearing at the seams.

Joseph Nelson is born six months after that.

And her boy is perfect. Hair dark like hers and eyes like his father’s. Ten little fingers and ten little toes.

Jack is especially attentive to her, gave in to her every whim, spoiled her with everything money could buy, but its not enough for her.

No, no matter how many times he says it, it won’t make it true.

And he knows.

----

They move to Boston, to a quaint house in the country where she rules the neighborhood as its most senior lady.

It was by the coast, beautiful colonial thing with an aura of mystery and quiet mysticism that just fits for her.

Little Joe is now three and is the big brother to Jack jr and his twin sister, Rosemary. American names for American children.

Eva had been adamant about giving birth in a hospital. She would’ve died like Feli had with Rosemary still in her.

Her husband had been over the moon, seeing twin children as a proof of his manliness.

“Rosie’s going to be as beautiful as her mother one day.” He had said as he kissed their daughter’s little head.

“I love you.” He says it so sweetly and tenderly that Eva finds herself believing it.

But that doesn’t stop him from fucking his secretary behind her back.

----

They have a house in Washington D.C.

Its beautiful, spacious and with a ballroom for her to host parties that are the talk of town.

Joseph is six, Jack Jr and Rosie are two and once again Eva is pregnant.

“Every time I see you, you’re pregnant.” Gina laughs, her eyes getting that dreamy look as she thinks about the English gangster up in New York.

Michael Gray, nice young man, his mother is also a witch and his cousin is the Jack Nelson of England. An alliance with them will be good.

“If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up with one of your own soon, kid.” Eva warns her playfully.

“I’d name him Lawrence after daddy, if it’s a girl I’ll name her Elizabeth Eve.” The blonde proclaims.

And she does, in 1930 Lawrence Gray is born right on that couch they laughed at four years before.

“Evie, sweetheart, I don’t think I’ve loved you more than I love you now.” Jack says, drunk on pain and booze as she cleans him up and stitched the cut on his arm.

He says this as if she doesn’t know he got in a fight for fucking a rival gangster’s wife.

----

Its 1929 when the world comes crashing down.

They stay safe because Eva has a husband who believes her. The Shelbys fare better too because Gina hadn’t needed too much to get Michael to listen to her.

Kitty was born in 1926, Eunice in 1927. Looked like twins until you saw Kitty had Eva’s freckles and Eunice had Jack’s light coloring.

“Lawrence Andrew Gray.” Gina says when Eva tells him she’s having a boy.

Gina will have a new cousin too. Two actually.

Twins again.

Patricia and Robert. Two peas in a pod.

“No more babies, Jack. I swear I’ll tear my own womb out if you don’t tell the fucking doctor to tie or cut or burn my tubes.” She tells him. She never wants to be pregnant again.

Its fun for him because all he sees is her big belly as they fuck, her tits full of milk and the beautiful children they make.

But its agony for her. The births never get easier.

“I love you, Evie, but that’s a sin against god.” Her husband says reminding her who she married.

Plenty of Catholics get fixed, but her man won’t let her end this torture. God forbid she even suggests a vasectomy again.

---

Annie doesn’t make it.

1932 she wakes up on New Year's Day in a pool of her own blood.

“You did this to me!” its cruel and hurts him something fierce.

Eva was his perfect wife, always available to him, always patient and always forgiving.

When she saw her dead baby come out of her like it rather be dead than be with them, something inside her changed.

It had been his fault.

Jack couldn’t keep in his pants even if his life depended on it. If it wasn’t the revolving door of whores he kept in his offices, it was some actress, singer or model.

Last night she had almost done it.

Last night she’d found him with Gloria Swanson and left her with her hand stamped on her pretty face.

Eva had shouted in Spanish, English and even in Nahuatl.

This time she cries as they wait for the doctor.

He holds her and cries with her.

“I’m sorry, my sweet girl, I’m sorry I killed our baby.” He lies so much sometimes his witch can’t believe the truth.

---

1934, January.

He hasn’t strayed since that night.

Jack seems like a different person. These days. Always considerate, always making sure she’s happy.

But she keeps waiting for the shell to go bang.

And she thinks it will when she tells him she’s pregnant again.

But it doesn’t. And when he tells her he’s going to London for business and he’s sorry he won’t be there for Teddy’s birth, she feels her fists clench.

Edward Nelson will be her last. After this the doctor will tie her tubes while her husband is away.

She’s planned for it and he won’t ever know.

“I’ll come home, and we’ll stay in Boston until Teddy is old enough to travel. We’ll go to London, Paris, Dublin, Madrid, and that place in the Canary Islands you love so much.” He promised before he left.

“Don’t worry ,Mrs. Nelson, I’ll take good care of him.” His secretary says and Eva already knows she’ll be trouble.

“I’ll make sure Janet learns the rules, Evie. Take care, kiss Lawrence for me.” Gina hugged her goodbye.

Teddy is three months old when his father meets him. He’s beautiful like all their babies are, but he feels more precious to her because he’s her last.

“Shelby lost a daughter when I was in London. Didn’t even care how much it had hurt his wife, so he fucked Lady Hitler not even two days after he burned her little body.” He looks at their baby boy pensive he holds him after she’s fed him.

The nannies could do that, but there’s something so special of taking care of their own baby like they did with the rest.

“I won’t ever hurt you again, Evie.” I don’t want you to leave me like Shelby’s wife did, he says with his eyes.

“I love you, Jack, I’m so glad you’re home.” She smiles and leans on his shoulder.

Fifteen years and eight children later, she’s finally made an honest man out of him.

#eva smith shelby #eva smith nelson #jack nelson #jack nelson x oc #gina gray #gina nelson

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aimoosh-blog · 3 years

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BERSERK: A MASTERSTROKE IN VIOLENCE

Berserk is a series that is both influential and overlooked. This might sound pretentious to fans of the gory medieval anime, but hear me out. Despite having a long-running manga which was originally released back in the ‘90's, after two anime series, a trilogy of movies and various video game adaptations, Berserk still remains somewhat niche and obscure.

The series is known for its gruesome imagery and I would strongly advise that if you've experienced abuse or are easily affected by violent and distressing material, that this series simply isn't for you. However, it's this cycle of violence that makes Berserk so compelling.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and the Soulsborne series doesn't shy away from this. Hidetaka Miyazaki has openly discussed how Berserk inspired games like Dark Souls and Bloodborne and you don't have to look far to find Berserk's influence spread throughout the Souls series.

But when you think of your favourite hefty sword-wielding himbo, I'm sure Guts isn't the first to spring to mind. Before we get into the debate of who wore it better, let's talk about Berserk's creator.

The most distinct and memorable aspect of Berserk is the apparent pleasure the series takes with relishing visceral imagery which is brought to life by Kentaro Miura. Berserk's first volume was released in 1990 when Miura was twenty-two years old. At this point in his life, Miura was already experienced within the industry after having written his first manga at the age of ten and eventually self-publishing in 1982.

With his experience and indisputable style, Miura's abhorrent rendition of the numerous satanic beasts and mythological creatures that populate the bloodthirsty world of Berserk, are both horrifying and captivating. The series manages to succeed in simultaneously being horrendously violent and strikingly beautiful. This parallel is prominent throughout the story and feeds the reader/viewer with a morbid curiosity.

The first and most obvious juxtaposition can be found in Guts' and Griffith's appearance. If you put Berserk in front of a newbie, they would most likely assume that the androgynous Griffith was the series’ main hero.

With his petite frame, feminine features, and charismatic charm, he certainly looks the part of a typical anime protagonist. Especially when set side by side with Guts who's hulking physique, stoic disposition, and hardened exterior is a stark contrast to the Hawk of Light. But scratch the surface and you'd find something entirely different.

Once you pull back the curtain and look beyond his angelic façade, you'd uncover Griffith's selfish, almost sociopathic personality which is accompanied with an unyielding ambition to stop at nothing until he achieves his dream. In contrast, Guts’ intimidating appearance and seemingly aloof attitude are a front concealing a lonely and tormented individual.

Shrouded by death, Guts was born from the corpse of his executed mother and eventually discovered by a group of mercenaries, who find the infant beneath a hanging tree covered in blood and entrails. The baby is presumed to be dead until he begins to cry, to which prostitute Shisu immediately rushes to comfort the child and is permitted to keep the newborn by leader Gambino. The baby is given the name Guts after the gory manner in which he was found. However, many members of the group are unsettled by Guts’ arrival and consider it a bad omen.

Shisu had been deemed mad following her miscarriage and quickly became attached to Guts as a result. The pair seemed destined to meet but their happiness is tragically short-lived as three years later, Guts’ adoptive mother contracts the plague and dies while Guts watches over her. Unfortunately Shisu’s death only strengthens rumors about Guts’ reputation as a source of bad luck.

Guts promptly begins practicing swordsmanship and joins Gambino on the battlefield in an effort to gain approval. However, one night while Guts is sleeping in his tent, fellow sellsword Donovan, sneaks in and forces himself on the young boy. Guts later lures his abuser away and forces his sword down Donovan’s throat, killing him. No longer feeling safe, Guts begins to sleep clutching his sword.

Guts’ relationship with Gambino rapidly deteriorates following Shisu’s death. Gambino resents Guts for the subsequent loss of his leg and fixates on the misfortune that seems to have followed the boy. Gambino soon begins to verbally and physically abuse Guts, and consequently makes an attempt on Guts’ life. It’s in this moment that Gambino confesses that he had sold Guts to Donovan for the night.

Horrified by this revelation, Guts is forced to kill his paternal figure in an act of self-defence and is hunted down by Gambino's men. After narrowly escaping with his life and defending himself against a pack of wolves, Guts eventually falls unconscious. The cycle begins again as he is discovered and enlisted by a separate mercenary group where he becomes a child soldier.

After surviving battlefield to battlefield, Guts eventually crosses paths with the Band of the Hawk. Impressed by his skills, leader Griffith, openly expresses that he is eager for Guts to join the Band of the Hawk. Guts agrees to this proposal but only if Griffith defeats him in a duel. Much to Guts’ disgust, he is defeated and begrudgingly joins the new group of mercenaries. But soon finds himself at home among his companions within the Band of the Hawk and is swiftly promoted to Captain of the Raiders.

It is clear that Guts is conflicted in the first arc of the story. After years of coping with isolation and abuse, he is torn between carving his own path or sticking with the Band of the Hawk. It's safe to say that whether you read the manga or watch the anime, the series doesn't sugar-coat the trauma Guts is forced to endure. But despite everything, Guts still carries on and it’s his mental fortitude that makes him such a sympathetic character.

But after forming strong friendships and concealing an unrequited love, it's Guts' decision to leave the Band of the Hawk and break free of Griffith's control that ultimately leads to The Band of the Hawk's downfall.

Amidst this complicated bromance you have Casca. A seasoned warrior who commands the respect of The Band of the Hawk and is Griffiths right hand – that is until Guts steals the spotlight. This setup may sound like a clichéd love triangle but Casca plays a crucial role in Berserk. Without her, Guts would've likely given up following the aftermath of the eclipse. She is the driving force in the story, feeding Guts' lust for revenge.

If you're considering checking out Berserk, I can highly recommend the manga as the best way to consume the series, as you are able to see Miura hone his craft over the years and create some truly remarkable panels. Another benefit is that with over 300 chapters, you'll have more than enough content to keep you occupied. But if that's not your style you have a few options to choose from.

The Golden Age Arc Film Trilogy concisely summaries the first narrative arc, if you want to get up to speed quickly. The larger budget in the subsequent movies allows for less 3D animation and more stunning hand-drawn sequences. However, if you have the time and patience for it, the 1997 adaptation spares no details and has an alluring nostalgic 90's aesthetic, if you can forgive it being a little rough around the edges.

Whichever version you decide to pick if you still can't get enough, I would advise saving the 2016 Berserk anime for last. Not only because it takes place after the first arc and follows the aftermath of the eclipse, but fans of the series have openly criticised this version's cheap animation style that fails to do justice to Miura’s concepts.

As previously mentioned, Berserk is unashamed in its cruelty and some might say the series renowned violence is needlessly excessive. Although this may seem off-putting, Berserk also has it's softer moments. It's in these more subdued scenes that you're drawn deeper into the fascinating narrative.

If asked how best to describe the series, I would say that it's the love child of Japanese horror artist, Junji Ito and fantasy author, George R. R. Martin. The medieval-fantasy setting allows for breath-taking architecture and scenery which often resembles Salvador Dali's surrealist paintings, but inhabited with monsters from Hieronymus Bosch's famous works such as The Harrowing of Hell. It's this contrast that makes Berserk so bewitching, in the thick of all the violence, gore, and carnage, you have a tragic story bursting with drama, rivalry, betrayal, lost love, and most importantly, revenge.

But if The Last of Us Part 2 taught us anything about seeking revenge, it is that it comes at a high price. However, the story remains largely unfinished with the current hiatus and recent chapter having been released as far back as 2019, it's uncertain when we'll see how this revenge story will play out. Nevertheless much like the A Song of Fire and Ice series, having no ending has its positives...

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seattlites · 3 years

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╰ ❛ 💉 — › miguel gomez. cis man. he/him. . ╯ have you met diego rivera yet ? this thirty-seven year old aries has been living in the seattle area for one week. he makes a living as a firefighter, which is best suited for their brave, honest, arrogant, and short-headed personality.

trigger warnings: gang violence, death, miscarriage, stillbirth, infant loss, divorce

diego was the only son of mariana and antonio rivera, born in april 6th in a cold spring of chicago. his father and his uncle carlos had come together to america, leaving their lives and family behind in prospect of a better life for the families they would once have. their dreams came true and both men had beautiful families, living not far from each other.

unlike his uncle, diego’s parents had settled down in a problematic neighbourhood of chicago. they closed their eyes to the things going on outside the house, saving up to move so diego wouldn’t be dragged down to a life that they had worked hard to escape from. but when diego was six years old, his parents were collateral damage in a gang dispute, killing them before diego came back from school.

he only realized what was happening when his stay at tio carlos and tia gloria’s became permanent and he didn’t go back home. nor did his parents come back.

the riveras lived next door to the donovans, in a far better suburban neighbourhood than diego was used to. the kid next door, tommy donovan, would quickly become his best friend and his cousins (camila was older and rafael was just one when he moved in with them) quickly became like his siblings. the younger cousin, isabella, would be born when he was 14.

tommy and diego would follow tommy’s dad into the firehouse a lot of time and they made a promise to become firefighters after graduation of high school. diego got in with flying colours, going on working his way up on truck.

in high school, diego met the girl that would become the love of his life. sofia garcia was a petite brunette that didn’t care that diego was a football layer but after much courting and banter, she agreed to go out with him. the two sweethearts would go on being the IT couple. they would get married after her college graduation.

for years, their life was picture perfect. shortly after their wedding, tommy would meet bev and the four would become great friends, doing everything together. sofia went on doing a masters and their plan was to focus on their careers before starting a family, something both wanted. when diego decided to do the lieutenancy test, beverly kingston died. the death of a dear friend and his best friend’s wife took a toll on everyone.

shortly after tommy left chicago and the two once brothers started to lose contact. diego tried to push through the wall tommy had raised with the distance but it was difficult when it was just one sided.

at 29 years old, diego finally passed the lieutenancy exam and after being stationed in a new house, it was time to think about the future again.

a year after, sofia was pregnant and it was probably the happiest diego had ever been. they were going to have a baby boy, little ben in honor of bev, and the life they had always dreamed of was starting to form before their eyes. except close to her third trimester, their worlds completely crumbled before them. sofia would suffer an unexplained early stillbirth, meaning she would have to give birth to a dead baby.

the lack of explanation and not knowing what had caused or who drove sofia into a depression that diego tried to help but had his hands tied. after a year of trying to work through their loss, sofia asked for the divorce. at first, diego didn’t want to give it to her. he had married her until death did them part, but eventually he resigned and give her what she wanted. once the papers were finalized, sofia left for the east coast.

diego still tried to stay in chicago but everything reminded him of her and the future they had lost. soon enough, he would understand his best friend more than he thought he could ever possible do. diego would move to los angeles not long after.

during the five years he was in california, diego slowly healed from his trauma. after a couple of years, he found his way back to chicago, visiting his family for the holidays. he was getting back to the person he used to be, but there was still something missing.

a few months ago, he moved again, this time up north to seattle on a leadership training program that would lead him to stay. shortly after, tommy moved there as well and it felt like it was fate. the two brothers reunited and worked their issues the last two months.

right now, diego moved to station 19, where he is the truck lieutenant. and apparently everyone from their past is coming to the city so maybe fate is real and maybe this is their time to shine again.

#* diego rivera : headcanon.#death tw #miscarriage tw #stillbirth tw #divorce tw #gang violence tw #infant loss tw #newintros

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scarlettrose0 · 3 years

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Disclaimer:

This is to people who claim to be Christian and pro-choice. It’ s impossible to pro-choice and Christian. If your atheist, chances are you’ll find this article bonkers, not that it necessarily matters the target audience aren‘t atheists, although I do believe everyone should read the Bible once, this article was specifically for the proving what the Bible says about abortion.

Abortion for Incest: "Fathers shall not be put to death for their children, nor shall the children be put to death for their fathers; a person shall be put to death for his own sin." –Deuteronomy 24:16

Once a person sees that the Bible clearly teaches that it is wrong to kill a child for the crime of his or her father, that frees the person to get beyond the cliché and look more closely at the actual result of abortion for incest. Because it is wrong to kill the child for the crime of the father, there are other terrible consequences, including that abortion for rape and incest emboldens those criminals and increases such crimes against women. Abortion for incest is cruel, as for example, Planned Parenthood clinics systematically refuse to comply with mandatory reporting of child rape. Abortionists then cover up the crime of incest. Often, they actually send the victim back home to her rapist. And even worse, they often send her home with her rapist, the same criminal who brought her to the clinic to dispose of the "evidence" and help him get away with his crime. Abortion for incest actually emboldens a criminal to rape his young relative and then tempts him to repeat his crime, and is not compassionate because it kills a baby and increases the woman's suffering.

Abortion for Rape: Do not "do evil that good may come." –Romans 3:8 "The soul who sins shall die. The son shall not bear the guilt of the father, nor the father bear the guilt of the son… the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself." –God, Ezekiel 18:20

Of course incest is a particular kind of rape, and the same scriptural teaching, here as spoken by God Himself, condemns all such punishment of the child for the crime of the father. This principle as recorded by the Hebrew prophet Ezekiel explains that a good man would love and protect the baby, but instead many lawyers and others will treat the rapist with respect and protect him, but kill the baby. See also Sherri's Storyand Colorado RTL's Amendment 62 Talking Points.

The Mosaic Law in the Bible treats each person as an individual. This contrasts starkly with mankind's other ancient laws. For example the Code of Hammurabi had a law regarding when a man assaulted a pregnant woman. Then: "If the woman die, his [own] daughter shall be put to death." -Hammurabi 210

And if a house collapsed, then: "If it kill the son of the owner [then] the son of that builder shall be put to death." -Hammurabi 230

And if a businessman beats to death a debtor, who is without exception another man's son, then: "If he was a free-born man, [then] the son of the merchant shall be put to death." -Hammurabi 116

The Baby in the Womb is Called a Child: "Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son." –Mat. 1:23 "Rebekah his wife conceived [and] the children [Jacob and Esau, the most famous twins in history] struggled together within her." –Moses, Genesis 25:22 "Behold, you shall conceive and bear a son [Samson]. Now drink no wine or similar drink… for the child shall be a Nazirite to God from the womb…" –Judges 13:7 "...a woman with child [then] gives birth..." Exodus 21:22 "He will also be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb. And... the babe [little Johnnie] leaped in her womb…" –Luke 1:15, 41 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you…" –Jeremiah 1:5

📷The New Testament refers to Jesus in the womb as a "child". The Bible also indicates that Mary had a normal gestation period while carrying Jesus. (See Luke 2:1-6and 1:56-57.) The Lord's body was developing within his mother for a full nine months showing that Jesus began His earthly human life as a tiny embryo, a single cell. So not only scientifically, but more importantly, in God's eyes, human life begins at conception. Many centuries before the Incarnation, the most famous twins in the history of the world, Jacob and Esau, fraternal twins, are called "children" in the Scriptures while they are in the womb. And of course, to this day, twins grab hold of one another in the womb, and unborn children suck their thumbs, play with their toes, sleep, dream, and even learn the melodies of songs, and their own mother's voice. Regarding God's command to the woman who later bore Samson, to not drink wine, her "child" would be a Nazirite "from the womb," for a Nazirite is a person who, among other things, does not drink alcohol. Modern child-welfare laws in 18 states (AZ, CA, FL, IL, IN, IA, MD, MA, MI, MN, NV, OK, RI, SC, TX, UT, VA, WI) recognize that a pregnant mother who drinks alcohol not only can harm her child, but can inflict him or her with fetal alcohol syndrome. Also, fetal thirst helps regulate the amount of amniotic fluid in the womb. Excess amniotic fluid, called hydramnios (or polyhydramnios) affects 2% of pregnancies and can be somewhat alleviated by fetal swallowing (and eventual expelling) of amniotic fluid, which swallowing can be increased by injecting into the womb an artificial hunger stimulator (peptide) or even by the mother eating sweets. Thus the Bible's six references to the embryo and fetus as a babe or a child includes four that refer to five individual children specifically named (Jesus, Jacob, Esau, Samson, John) and the others referring to all unborn children. (See also below, Biblical Fetology.)

Crime of Killing the Innocent: "Do not kill the innocent." –Exodus 23:7 "Cursed is the one who takes a bribe to slay an innocent person." -Deut. 27:25 "On your skirts is found the blood of the lives of the poor innocents. I have not found it by secret search, but plainly… Yet you say, 'Because I am innocent, Surely His anger shall turn from me.' Behold [says God], I will plead My case against you, because you say, 'I have not sinned.'" –Jer. 2:34-35 "Your eyes and your heart are for nothing but your covetousness, for shedding innocent blood, and practicing oppression and violence." –Jer. 22:17 "For they have committed adultery, and blood is on their hands… and even sacrificed their sons…" –Ezekiel 23:37 …that no man might make his son or his daughter pass through the fire to Molech. –2 Kings 23:10 "You shall not murder." –God, Exodus 20:13 "Jesus said, 'You shall not murder...'" –God, Matthew 18:18

The intentional killing of the innocent is murder. Abortionists refer to the unborn children they kill as tissue and tumors, and many "conservative" politicians refer to the babies they support killing as "exceptions." But God didn't care about all the fruit Eve did not eat; nor did He mention all the women David did not violate; nor list the children whom Herod did not kill. God looks at the exceptions. He calls them children, who are made in His image and likeness. Because abortion is a public venture, except for those individually forgiven by God through faith in Jesus Christ, there is a corporate guilt for the shedding of innocent blood, with the curse pronounced by God in Deuteronomy undoubtedly applying to the abortionist, who gets money to kill the innocent, as well as to "pro-choice" judges and politicians who serve the child-killing industry.

Crime of Killing the Unborn is Murder: "If men fight, and hurt a woman with child, so that she gives birth prematurely, yet no harm follows, he shall surely be punished accordingly as the woman's husband imposes on him; and he shall pay as the judges determine. But if any harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe." –Exodus 21:22-25

Exodus 21:22 is the first fetal homicide law and concerns the child harmed during a separate assault. Pro-abortion theologians wrongly interpret this passage to refer to miscarriage, and only if the woman also dies is the penalty then life for life. But the passage distinguishes between the baby who survives the assault and the baby who dies. The meaning turns on whether the woman has a miscarriage or gives birth prematurely. And the Hebrew verb used is NOT that for miscarriage. Therefore the passage imposes only a fine on the criminal who accidentally causes a premature birth, but the punishment is life for life if the baby then dies. This shows that God equated the life of the unborn with that of the born, and abortion with murder. This passage, like Exodus 21:33-36, 22:5-6, and others, teaches that those who cause injury are responsible for their actions, even if the harm was unintentional. Therefore, this passage is the biblical model for any principled Unborn Victims of Crime Act. However, if the harm to the unborn in Exodus 21:22 spoke only of miscarriage, the teaching would then support legalized abortion by valuing the life of a fetus only with a fine, and only if the mother later died, would her death require taking the criminal's life. But note the word used to describe the consequence of the crime described in Exodus 21:22, "If men fight, and hurt a woman with child, so that she gives birth prematurely," the Hebrew word for miscarriage, shaw-kole, is NOT used. If the baby came out dead, a monetary fine would indicate a less than human value for the life of the fetus. (And that is exactly how the pagan Code of Hammurabi, section 209, undervalued a child.) However, because Exodus 21:22 says premature birth, and not miscarriage, the passage does not support a right to kill an unborn child, as contended by many who mistranslate this text. Rather, the text values the unborn child's life equal to that of any other person. The author Moses (Mat. 12:26) mentions the idea of a baby coming out of the womb twice within three chapters. In Exodus 23:26, he uses the Hebrew word for miscarriage, speaking of barrenness and shaw-kole(miscarriage). But the word at Exodus 21:22 is yaw-tsaw, which means to come out, come forth, bring forth, and has no connotation of death but in fact the opposite. The Hebrew Scriptures use yaw-tsaw 1,043 times beginning with Genesis 1:24 where God said, “Let the earth bring forth the living creature…” In Genesis and Exodus alone Moses uses this word about 150 times such as in Genesis 25 describing the births of twins Jacob and Esau. Thus the Mosaic law requires the criminal to pay financial restitution to a woman unintentionally injured by a criminal if she "gives birth prematurely." But then if that living being dies (i.e., the baby, soul, nephesh, which Hebrew word is always feminine, e.g., Lev. 19:8; Ps. 11:1) the text then applies the full Hebrew idiom which means that the punishment should fit the crime. If there is harm beyond a premature birth, and the unborn child dies, then the punishment is "life for life."

The Fetus Has Feelings: [While both women were with child, Elizabeth said to Mary] "As soon as the voice of your greeting sounded in my ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy." –Luke 1:44

As is common in Scripture, the Bible here refers to the fetus as a baby (brephos) and does not use non-human or non-personhood terms. In Greek: Ἐλισάβετ [Elizabeth] said that, τὸ βρέφος [transliteration brephos, babe, infant] ἐσκίρτησεν [leaped] ἐν τῇ κοιλίᾳ mοu [in my womb]. Thus the baby, who would be named John, experienced the emotion of joy when Mary, being pregnant with the incarnate Jesus, entered Elizabeth's home.

#prolife #prochoice #abortion #still would be prolife even if I wasn’t religious #just saying #part 1

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bohemian-rhapsody-slash · 4 years

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I Belong to You Forever- Timeline

I’ve set out below a basic timeline of the IBTYF verse which I hope is more helpful than confusing! It’s by no means comprehensive but it captures just a few key dates in the lives of the central characters.

July 1940- Birth of Richard Starkey, aka Ringo Starr (Dom)

October 1940- Birth of John Winston Lennon (Dom)

June 1942- Birth of James Paul McCartney (sub)

February 1943- Birth of George Harrison (Dom)

September 1946- Birth of Farrokh Bulsara, aka Freddie Mercury (Dom)

July 1947- Birth of Brian Harold May (Dom)

July 1949- Birth of Roger Meddows Taylor (sub)

August 1951- Birth of John Richard Deacon (sub)

February 1958- Formation of The Beatles

August 1961- Ringo Starr joins The Beatles

February 1962- John Lennon claims Paul McCartney

March 1962- The Beatles sign their first recording contract with a record label

February 1963- Ringo Starr and George Harrison begin a secret relationship

April 1963- Julian John Lennon (Dom), oldest son of John and Paul Lennon, is born

August 1963- Ringo Starr and George Harrison come out to their band mates

November 1963- Ray Foster founds Foster Records and signs The Beatles

May 1965- Birth of Eric Brian Harrison (sub), son of George Harrison and Ringo Starr. Publicly the baby is referred to as George’s nephew.

July 1967- Same-status relationships become legal in the UK

October 1967- Birth of Eleanor Alice Lennon (Dom), daughter of John and Paul Lennon

April 1968 and November 1968- George Harrison suffers two miscarriages in one year

April 1969- George Harrison and Ringo Starr come out publically and reveal that Eric is their son

September 1969- The Beatles split

November 1969- Birth of Louise Elsie Harrison (Dom), daughter of George Harrison and Ringo Starr

July 1970- Formation of Queen

March 1971- John Deacon joins Queen

July 1972- Birth of Michael James Lennon (sub), youngest son of John and Paul Lennon

November 1972- Freddie Mercury claims John Deacon and Brian May claims Roger Taylor, before Queen sign their first recording contract with Foster Records

June 1975- Birth of Andrew Henry Mercury (Dom), oldest son of Freddie and John Mercury

August 1977- Birth of Liam Harold May (Dom), oldest son of Brian and Roger May

June 1978- Birth of George Thomas Mercury (sub), middle son of Freddie and John Mercury

January 1979- Birth of Sophie Clare May (Dom), oldest daughter of Brian and Roger May

December 1980- John Lennon is assassinated

April 1981- Birth of James Alexander May (sub), youngest son of Brian and Roger May

September 1983- Birth of Nathan Arthur Mercury (Dom), youngest son of Freddie and John Mercury

March 1984- George Harrison and Ringo Starr separate

October 1984- Birth of Charlotte Jane May (Dom), youngest daughter of Brian and Roger May

December 1984- George Harrison and Ringo Starr reconcile

September 1988- George Harrison and Ringo Starr are jointly treated for substance abuse after an incident in their home

August 1990- Julian Lennon claims Eric Harrison

November 1991- Freddie Mercury dies of cancer. John Mercury and his children move into the May household after Brian May becomes John’s nominated Dom.

April 1992- Queen launches The Mercury Cancer Trust

September 1995- John Mercury suffers a miscarriage after falling pregnant with Brian May’s baby

December 1999- George Harrison is stabbed by an intruder at home and saved by Ringo Starr

November 2001- George Harrison dies of cancer

April 2002- Ringo Starr launches the Foundation for George, a charity that funds and supports projects relating to advancing social welfare in diverse areas such as cancer, substance abuse, homelessness, domestic violence, and the welfare of Dom mothers. He also works closely with The Mercury Cancer Trust.

June 2003- Andrew Mercury claims James May

October 2004- Nathan Mercury claims Henry Jones

November 2004- Birth of Charlie Lewis Mercury (Dom), son of Andrew and James Mercury

November 2004- Same-status couples can enter into a legal partnership

February 2006- Birth of Amy Anne Mercury (sub), daughter of Andrew and Janes Mercury

September 2007- Toshiro Kaji claims George Mercury

December 2012- Nathan Mercury unclaims Henry Mercury

August 2013- Nathan Mercury comes out as gay

September 2015- Nathan Mercury enters into a legal partnership with Chris Sutton

May 2017- Birth of Freddie Brian Sutton (Dom), son of Chris and Nathan Sutton

October 2018- Release of Bohemian Rhapsody

May 2019- Birth of Jason Joseph Mazzello (Dom), oldest son of Rami Malek and Joe Mazzello

October 2019- Rami Malek claims Joe Mazzello

July 2019- Birth of Mary Elizabeth Sutton (sub), daughter of Chris and Nathan Sutton

July 2021- Birth of Daniel John and Sara Mary Malek (subs), twin children of Rami and Joe Malek

September 2021- Ray Foster is found guilty for his involvement in John Lennon’s death, as well as a string of sexual harassment and assault cases. Andrew Mercury leads the prosecution.

#mpreg #i belong to you forever #IBTYF timeline #tw miscarriage

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telltheworld-phff · 4 years

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Part II, chapter I: Althorp

Pain.

That’s all she could feel.

The sort of pain that would irradiate from her body and made her wonder if anyone could see it, as its force was undeniably present.

She felt nothing but pain.

She could deal with the soreness on her body. It felt as if she had run a marathon.

She could also deal with the heavy cramps that she was feeling ever since she woke up. As if she needed any reminder of what had just happened. She hadn’t asked for any medication to relieve her pain because she wanted to feel it. She wanted to be punished for what she had done.

What she couldn’t deal with was the emotional pain that had destroyed her and its relentless waves that kept shaking every single thought that crossed her mind. The waves were like a tsunami that with its violence and fast approach took away and destroyed everything it touched and she was drowning. Completely and willingly.

The waves made her remember everything that had happened a few hours ago.

The waves brought an emotional pain that shattered her dreams and hopes and wishes. Mocking her, showing the failure she had been. This earth-shattering feeling turned her world, mind, life and body upside down. She didn’t even have more tears to cry as they had dried somewhere in the middle of the night.

She was alone as she had wanted to be and surrounded only by sounds. Sound of the machine she was hooked to, sounds of the clock that showed her that time was going to pass whether or not she was ready for it, the sirens of the ambulances coming in and out of the emergency ward and the cries of a new baby that was born just down the corridor from her room. She longed to have had the chance to at least listen to her child cry. To have carried her pregnancy to term and to taste the happiness this new mom was probably feeling at the moment. And yet, here she was. Empty-handed, alone, bleeding and miserable.

She wanted to get up and run, possibly hide from everyone. Should she had the strength for it, she would have. But she could barely move a finger, let alone run.

She placed one hand on her belly. The same one she caressed the growing baby just the morning before, praying with all her might and force that everyone was lying to her. Wishing this all was a very bad joke, a tasteless prank. Everyone must be wrong.

But deep inside she knew it was true.

She knew that her body had been giving signs and she didn’t pay attention to it. She worked and travelled as if she wasn’t growing a tiny human inside her and now, funny enough, she really wasn’t anymore.

Maybe it would be for the best? If she couldn’t take proper care of a baby inside her, what would happen once the baby was born?

She would be better off alone and childless as she couldn’t bear to be responsible for anyone else’s death. She took a deep breath and felt every muscle hurt, her head was about to explode. She knew she couldn't speak as she had yelled until she scarred all of her vocal cords.

Her hands and arms were purple and swollen as she had tried to unhook herself from the blood transfer bag a nurse had hooked her to close to 2 in the morning. Her hair was in knots and her hospital gown was still bloodied.

Another proof of her failure and another brutal reminder that she had just lost her child.

She had lost her everything. She had lost her will to live because nothing else made sense anymore. Her unborn baby had become the centre of her life, her strength, her reason and her motivation.

Well, not really – her malicious mind reminded her, - if this baby was that important you wouldn’t have let it die. You didn’t even fight for it, you simply passed out and almost bled yourself to death.

Pathetic.

She would never know if the baby was a boy or a girl. She would never know if he or she would have her green eyes or Harry’s blue. If its complexion would be pale as Harry, chocolate as hers or a nice mix in the between. She didn’t know if he or she would be ginger. Could she even have a ginger baby?

She wouldn’t know its face. If it would have dimples, curly or straight hair. If it’d have the unmistakable Windsor genes or it’d be a Nogueira through and through. She wouldn’t know how is it like to feel the baby moving inside her. She wouldn’t know how labour would be or if she’d chicken out from the pain and ask for a c-section straight away. She wouldn’t know if she’d be able to breastfeed – if she’d like it or if she’d prefer to buy formulas.

She wouldn’t make her mum a grandmother.

And she wouldn’t give her man a child. The child he was expecting and dreaming about. The child he had built plans for. The child he was searching for a house to transform into a home for them.

The child he was willing to give up his title for.

Everything she got now was pain and shame and guilt and grief.

Why was it happening to her? Was she that bad of a person that this would be some sort of payback?

What makes you so important that you can’t go through something like this? Her evil-filled mind asked her.

She heard footsteps on the corridor and saw her door opening. Agnes was there, smiling. The pain she felt blinded her from seeing the truth in Agnes’ eyes. She was devastated. She knew that miscarriages were a common thing between women, but she hated every time it happened to one of her patients. With Carol, it seemed she had lost her grandchild such was the esteem she held for the brunette in front of her.

She took a tentative step towards the bed and Carol noticed it was way past nine in the morning. She had been awake the whole night.

“Good morning, Carolina.” Agnes asked, getting her file and reading the notes the other nurses had written. “How are you physically feeling?” she worded her question carefully.

Carol didn’t respond. She kept staring at the clock. Fixated on it. Hearing its tic, toc. It was comforting to know that time wouldn’t wait for her to get her shit together. And time was the only thing that she wanted now.

She would give everything she had for a moment in time to stop before she lost her child. She would give everything to have more time with the baby that even though was unplanned wasn’t not even by a single second unwanted.

She wanted to rewind time and do things differently and save her baby.

She always heard that mothers fight for their children and if need be, even give their lives for them. That was what Carol wanted to do. Be a mother to this child. Give her life in exchange for his or hers. She knew Harry would take good care of their baby even if she wasn’t around.

“Carolina?” Agnes called her, firmer this time. Carol had shut her out and not even remembered that she was in the room. She didn’t blink, she just stared at the damn clock and knew that it was laughing at her expense.

“I need you to please talk to me.” Agnes said, sitting by her side on the bed.

Carol didn’t move. She couldn’t, she was paralysed watching the clock.

“I know what you must be feeling...” Agnes said.

There it was. Pity and sympathy. Two things Carol didn’t need at that moment.

“And I want you to know that I did everything that I could to save your baby.” the doctor said, grabbing one of Carol’s hands gently.

Did she really? Her brain asked.

“I want you to tell me what you want.” Agnes tried again and Carol almost laughed. She wanted her child. Alive and well. There was nothing anyone could possibly give her at the moment that would make her feel better.

“I will give you space, then.” Agnes sighed. “A nurse will come to help you take a shower and change clothes.” she got up and stared at the girl she treated like a daughter. She seemed like a shell of the woman she once was. Staring at the clock and shutting everyone out. Agnes gently left the room and took a deep breath. She could only hope that Carol would bounce back from this. If she kept giving herself into the pain for too long, she wouldn’t make it.

(…)

Harry had spent the night awake. He sat by the window of his living room with a bottle of scotch beside him. He stared at the entrance of his house for the whole night and saw when the sun rose. He had drunk half of the bottle by that time and was irritated that it didn’t give him a buzz nor lessened the pain. He thought about compartmentalising it and go out and about on his day, as he had two engagements to be at but he knew he couldn’t do it. He wanted to feel the pain and go through it while it all was still fresh. If he bottled up everything it was bound to come back exploding in the future. He also knew that Carol wouldn’t forgive him if she saw that he was smiling for the cameras and hugging kids mere hours after theirs had died.

If she speaks to you again. His mind remembered.

He had been hurt by Carol’s outburst the night before. He tried to understand where she was coming from, but he didn’t think that she’d kick him out of the room that way. He had called the hospital and Agnes informed him Carol wasn’t speaking to anyone, or eating. She had tried to rip off the IVs from her arms and hands in the middle of the night.

He took a deep breath and texted Edward to let him know that he wanted all his engagements of that damn week cancelled and rescheduled. He also wanted to reschedule all engagements that had children involved for the upcoming months as farther away as possible. He couldn’t bear to be around children when his hadn’t made it.

Agnes had talked to him after they left Carol’s room and she was confident that Carol’s case fell under the more frequently than expected, she didn’t believe Carol had any sort of condition that would make things harder to have a child in the future. Miscarriage is something very common and sometimes it might be related to other complicating issues, but in other cases, it's simply nature being faithful to its course of only the strongest and most adaptable survives.

Edward replied asking lots of questions as to why those changes were needed and Harry simply ignored him. He wouldn’t come back to work until he felt at least a little bit better.

If you feel better at any point.

He felt like a black cloud was above his head numbing his senses and at the same time swallowing him whole.

He got up and went to his room without really thinking or registering what he was doing. He took a shower, got dressed and dried the tears that kept coming every time he thought about what had happened. He had drunk the night before trying to erase from his mind the scene of the woman of his life bleeding and losing their child.

What if he had asked her to go to Kensington, where Gerard and Martha would have kept an eye on her? What if he hadn’t offered to accompany his grandmother to the engagement, therefore, arriving earlier at her place? Why didn’t she tell him anything about blood pressure problems and migraines?

He knew that “what ifs” wouldn’t bring him any closer to changing the outcome of the events. And decided he needed to keep himself busy. Getting his car keys and without letting anyone from his security team know, he drove outside Kensington Palace straight to Carol’s apartment. He let himself in and he dreaded entering her bedroom but he knew he had to get things done and if her reaction last night was any indicator, she wouldn’t deal well if she saw all that blood.

He emailed her boss letting him know that she was in the hospital and that she would keep him posted. He grabbed all the sheets and duvet, almost ripping them off the mattress with rage and threw them inside the washing machine. He cleaned the floor, the furniture and searched inch by inch of the apartment for any spot of blood. When he found none, he made her bed with new sheets and packed her an overnight bag.

He then drove straight to the back entrance of St. Mary’s, getting out of the car and ignoring all the calls on his phone. Edward, Bill, his father… he didn’t really want to talk to anyone right now.

He went straight to the private wing where half a floor had been cleared after Harry was made aware someone had just given birth a few doors down the corridor from Carol’s room. He immediately demanded they were transferred to another wing.

He knocked on her door and opened it to find only a shadow of the woman he once had met.

She had her hair wet, soft curls forming around her face. She was half-sitting on the hospital bed and she was staring at a fixed point on the wall above the door. Harry closed the door after coming in and left the bag on the chair by the bed.

“Hey...” he said approaching her. She didn’t even move or acknowledge his presence. “I brought you a change of clothes and a few personal items. I emailed your boss saying that you’re at the hospital and that we will keep him posted.”

He waited for a reply but didn’t receive one. He tried to caress her head but she dodged his hand. Just another pain to feel. He saw she didn’t touch breakfast and that it was laying on the table across from them.

“Do you want any help to eat?” Harry tried again, looking at her. She didn’t look or talk to him. He noticed that she was staring at a clock and one could cut the tension inside that room with a knife.

“Carol, please…. Talk to me. We need to communicate to be able to grieve properly.” Harry said, sitting on the bed. “I haven’t slept the other night and for what I heard, neither have you.”

Tic, toc. Tic, toc. Tic, toc.

Only the sound of the clock could be heard there.

“Carol? I know what you’re feeling, but please, let me know what I can do to help.”

“Nothing.” her voice was cracked and hoarse and only above a whisper. But that was progress.

“I know I can’t bring our child back...” he started.

“All I want is time to go back.” She replied, looking at the clock and Harry was starting to feel irritated by that damn thing.

“I’m sorry about what happened.” Harry said, trying to grab her hand but she fiercely snatched it out from his hold.

“Don’t touch me. Why is everyone touching me now? Why is everyone bothering me with empty words of sympathy and promises when no one knows what really happened and no one can fucking give me time.” She said and he struggled to hear her well and understand what she was saying.

Both Agnes and him had stayed just outside Carol’s door for more than an hour listening to her screams, almost entering the room again every now and then to try and calm her but deciding against it.

“At least you’re talking now.” Harry said, looking at her. She looked frail and broken. Just like he was.

“I told you to get out. Just leave me the fuck alone.” She finally looked at him and he saw so much pain and hatred in her gaze that his heart broke into a million pieces yet again.

“If that’s what you want.” he got up and opened the door. “I will be back tomorrow.” he said leaving the room.

“Don’t bother” she replied not sure if he heard her.

He did.

(…)

Once inside his car, he thought about going back home to try and sleep a bit but his heart wanted him elsewhere. He wanted to grieve with Carol. He wanted her support to go through this and he wanted to support her as well.

He knew that she had taken the heavier blow on this, as she was the one carrying the baby, but she should also know that he was hurt. He was scared of losing both of them. If she was up to it, they’d start trying to have another child as soon as possible. And he knew that any child he could have with her or anyone else would never replace the one they lost.

His life had gained so much more meaning and purpose when he knew he had to be a role model for someone. That he’d get to parent his child and make him or her the best version of him and Carol together.

He just kept driving and trying to calm his shattered heart. He didn’t know where he was going or how he was driving. He turned off his phone. He didn’t want to see anybody. He didn’t want to talk to anybody. He just wanted his child alive and well.

He was startled when he recognised the black iron gates of the property. He had driven for an hour and a half without noticing where he was headed but it somehow made sense. He knew who he needed the most at the moment and unfortunately, she also wasn’t around to embrace him and promise that everything would be OK.

The guards promptly opened the gates and greeted him. For the first time, he didn’t reply and simply kept driving until he reached the stables on the background of the imposing Estate. He killed the engine and got off his car and walked the long gravel path until he approached the lake.

It was a sunny day and he put his shades on. He walked and was taken by emotion when he was right in front of it. He opened the shed, took out the small boat and pushed it until it was on the water, getting in and rowing his way to the island in the middle of the oval lake. He got out of the boat and when on land, his knees almost gave away and with trembling lips and heavy tears he approached the centre of the island where he could see, engraved in marble, the words “Loving mother”.

“Mummy,” Harry said, kneeling before her grave. “I’ve failed mummy. I couldn’t protect the people that I love and now I’ve lost them.”

He cried. Each tear made his body tremble and his lips quiver. He out-poured all the emotions held inside feeling safe to do so in that place. Feeling safe that his heart had unconsciously brought him where his mum was eternally resting.

“How do I make this pain go again, Mummy?” he cleaned his face with his palm. “It hurts so fucking much. I’ve lost my child. Your grandchild. And I think I’ve lost my girl too.”

The peaceful scenery only made it worse to balance the turmoil inside Harry’s heart and mind.

“I need you here with me.” he whispered. “But you’ve also been taken away from me too soon. Why?”

He cried his tears and his sobs were cutting through his body and shaking it. He thought he would never be able to recover from this. Never. He was a different man and now he had nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“I don’t think I can get through this.” Harry said, looking at Diana’s grave and embracing his bent knees.

He stayed there the whole afternoon. If his uncle and cousins knew that he was there, thankfully no one approached the oval island. He cried and opened his heart to his mother, knowing that she’d listen to him. Knowing that she’d be taking care of him.

When the sun began to set he knew it was time to come back.

“Mummy, could you please take care of my baby with you in heaven? I don’t know if its a boy or a girl but I don’t care. Please tell him or her that we love him so much it hurts and we wish things could’ve been different. I don’t know how his mother and I will survive this searing pain.”

Harry cleaned the tears again and spoke just above a whisper.

“We did our very best but unfortunately that wasn’t God’s wish for us. Please cuddle our child in your arms the way you did with me and Wills. Love on him as you did on us. Both of you are greatly missed. And I love you both with all my being. I know that my baby is now with his grandmother and nothing bad can happen if he’s under your watch. I love you, mummy. And I love you, baby.”

#phff #part II #chapter 1 #Whenyoutelltheworldyou'remine #princeharryff #princeharryfanfic #princeharryfanfiction #britishroyal #british royal family #brf #fanfiction

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kimjongdaely · 5 years

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Eternal [Chapter 4]

Vampire!AU

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, sexual situations, abortion/miscarriage

Summary: You’re not sure how to deal with your current situation. Your owner, Byun Baekhyun, isn’t helping with the stress. But what happens when you find a risky solution that might just solve all your problems?

Prologue [M]│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5 │Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11 │Chapter 12│Chapter 13

You feel sick. The world spinning and your vision blurring as you try to see—or unsee—the sight before you.

His name falls from your lips involuntarily, heavy and pained. “Baekhyun?”

Your voice makes him turn, lips releasing the girls’ and twisting into a confused frown. The Tainted girl still has her arms around him, tight and possessive and you feel a crush of envy.

“Thorn?” His voice is thick with surprise and anger. His eyes glance up at Sehun, darkening. “What are you doing here? Who gave you permission?”

“Sorry, she wanted to find you—” Sehun starts, but Baekhyun cuts him off sharply, though you can’t hear what he said. Your head is spinning and you wobble on your legs, shaking your head vigorously to rid of the sight burned into your mind.

“I-I need to go.” You tell Sehun urgently, turning away and trying to push past the crowd. “Please.”

A hand grabs your wrist, squeezing painfully and you recognize the icy burn. You tug, trying to pull away as your eyes begin to well up with tears. “Thorn, listen to me—”

“No!” You scream at the top of your lungs, flailing your arms to get rid of him. His touch burns, burns so much you begin to sob. You don’t want him to touch you, not after he touched someone else. “Let go of me! Let go—”

Nausea hits you, as well as a sharp, stabbing pain. You gasp, clutching at your stomach as the pain grows worse, making you double over.

“Thorn?” Baekhyun’s tone has changed to worry, gripping your elbows to keep you from collapsing. “What’s wrong?”

You find it hard to speak as the pain cripples you, your sight flashing white. “B-Baek—”

You lose your strength, and the world fades away.

Baekhyun’s figure is the first thing you see when you wake up. He leans against the wall beside your bed.

And he does not look happy.

You groan as you shift, your mind a blur and your body still feeling limp. For several moments you don’t recall what had happened, or why Baekhyun looks so pissed.

Then he speaks, his tone harsh and cold. “How long have you known?”

You freeze, eyes widening in horror as realization hits you like a train, knocking the air out of your lungs as you struggle to answer. “O-Only a few weeks.”

“A few weeks.” He repeats, voice low. You can feel the anger rolling off of him, potent and stifling and it makes you shrink back. “And when were you planning on telling me?”

You purse your lips, not answering. He chuckles darkly, already knowing the answer.

Clutching your stomach, a wave of panic hits you as you remember. “I-Is it alright? It didn’t—”

“It’s still alive.” He spits out, venomous as if just simply referring to it makes him sick. “But not for long.”

Your blood runs cold, a bigger wave of panic choking you as your eyes sting with tears at the thought.

“Baekhyun please.” You beg, hugging your stomach so dearly. “Please don’t hurt it. Please let me keep it.”

“No.” His reply is curt, no hesitation whatsoever. His eyes are hard. “You will abort it.”

“No!” You scream, crawling towards him to grab onto his shirt tightly. “Please, please!” You’re sobbing now, wailing. “I can’t lose this child! It’s the only family I have. Please don’t take it away from me.”

“I don’t care!” He thunders out, making you flinch at the ferocity of his voice. “I don’t care what you want! It can’t be born, period.”

“Baekhyun.” You shake your head, weeping so terribly. “I beg you. I won’t do anything on my own again. I’ll obey you completely. I’ll come to your every beck and call. Please, please let me keep it.”

His eyes flash, and he grips your throat, pushing you back and making you choke. “You should be doing those things regardless.” He lets go, clenching his jaw tightly. “My word is final. Abort. It.”

He leaves, and you lay crying your heart out for your unborn child.

“What did you say to her?” Yixing asks Baekhyun pointedly, eyes narrowing on him.

Baekhyun glances as his brother, holding in the urge to hiss at him. “I told her to abort the thing, what else?”

“She hasn’t stopped crying.” Yixing says, tone taut. “Or rather, she has, but she looks like she’s dead. She won’t eat or drink anything. She’ll die like this.”

“Whatever.” Baekhyun scoffs, pushing past his brother through the hallway but Yixing blocks him again, eyes glaring, his authority showing.

“Baekhyun.” He starts slowly, patiently. “Listen to me. Last time she was insanely close to having a miscarriage. Killing the baby will kill her too. And at this rate both of them will really die. Is this what you want?”

“I’ll just get another Pet then.” He mumbles, trying to push past again to no avail.

“You’re lying.” Yixing says with a sigh. “Come on, I know you better than that, Baek. Dae has already been giving me a hell of a headache—don’t add to it.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Baekhyun snaps. “You’re leaving anyways! It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t matter anymore?” Yixing growls, pushing Baekhyun back. “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I don’t care! I’m not like you, apparently. I can’t act like I’m a heartless bastard. And it turns out neither can you.”

“Shut up.” Baekhyun hisses, anger rolling off of him. “You’re wrong.”

“The truth is you don’t want her to die.” Yixing pushes on, ignoring the threatening aura Baekhyun is giving off. “You want her to abort the baby because you know it’ll kill her to give birth.”

Baekhyun takes a shaky breath, hands clenching into fists. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.” Yixing says confidently. “Why do you lie? Why do you act like nothing affects you, that you care about nothing?” Yixing’s tone softens, “Acting like this won’t change anything.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, beginning to pace because he can’t stand this conversation any longer. He hates it, the way his brothers can so easily see past him—especially Yixing. He hates it when they look at him like that, so filled with pity and sympathy.

He’s simply not like them. He doesn’t feel anymore. All those years of being alive, at what cost? Grueling through time, passing day after day with no goal or reason to live.

Why does it matter? Why does anything matter?

Why should he care if it’s all going to go away anyways?

“Shut up.” He seethes again.

Shut up.

He doesn’t care.

just

doesn’t

care.

Not anymore.

You feel drained. You haven’t eaten in two days, and you don’t have an appetite. For your baby, you should eat but then again, what’s the point?

Baekhyun is going to take it away from you anyways.

You stroke your stomach, trying hard to feel the baby in your body. It’s still too small. You wish you could feel it move, could feel its heartbeat but you shake away those thoughts because if you could, you would feel even more guilty to kill it.

If it dies now, it’ll be like it never existed in the first place.

It’ll hurt less.

But it still hurts.

So much.

You let out a quiet sob again, but no tears come. You’ve cried yourself dry, have exhausted yourself. You wish you could just die like this, along with your precious child.

The door opens.

You recognize the footsteps, and you feel dread fill you.

“Heard you haven’t been eating.”

You stay silent.

“Suit yourself. Starve for all I care.” His tone is so casual, so painful to listen to. “As you know, Yixing is leaving soon. So I’ll get a doctor from town to perform the abortion—”

“No.” You whisper, and it’s enough to make him pause.

“No?” He repeats, a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Do you really think you have a choice in this?”

“If you want it dead so badly,” you hiss out, “then we will die together. Leave me alone.”

Baekhyun grabs your arm, pulling you up painfully, making you yelp. Your legs are weak, and they give way immediately. “You stupid human.” He growls out before he chuckles. “Did I give you permission to die? Until I give you permission, only the baby dies.”

“No!” You struggle against him, but he’s so strong and you’re so weak. You claw at him, meeting skin and drawing blood. “I won’t let you! I won’t let you take my baby from me!”

You can see the patience drain from his eyes, annoyance replacing it. He roars, voice booming and frustrated. “Why? Why do you want this thing so much? It’s a monster! An abomination! It isn’t suppose to exist!”

You slap him.

He stands there, stunned. His hold on you loosens, and you stumble back onto the bed, heaving. You hug your stomach protectively from him, its own father. You didn’t know you still had tears, but they sting your eyes again, your voice trembling with emotion when you speak. “I want this child because it’s yours, Baekhyun! It’s ours! Why can’t you understand?”

He blinks, confusion overwhelming his features as he says honestly, “I don’t understand.”

You breathe out, feeling unwell from the exertion. “It’s because I love you, Baekhyun. I want this child because of that.”

You hold your breath, waiting for his response. Whatever it is, it can’t be much worse than wanting to kill your child.

His eyes turn cold, emotionless, betraying nothing.

“You love me?” He repeats it like it’s a foreign language, like he’s never heard of such a thing before. He laughs, an empty laugh that echoes throughout your soul. “What a joke.”

“I’m not joking.” You whisper. “Baekhyun, I love you.”

“Liar.” He seethes, shaking his head. “Even after all I’ve done? Don’t lie, human.”

“It’s not a lie.” You feel your heart crack. “Please believe me.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you’re lying or not. It doesn’t matter what you think or want or feel. I’m the one in charge here. And I have already decided.”

He turns, his back cold and unwelcoming, looking so distant. “Starve yourself for all I care. I can replace you anytime.”

The room is once again drowned in darkness. A tear falls down your cheek as you whisper into the silence, “Liar.”

Previous Chapter│ Next Chapter

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ofregiums · 5 years

Text

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the king of hungary, DOMINYKAS VANCURA, has arrived. being thirty-one years old, he is currently on the throne. many around the court call him the insurgent by virtue of him being perspicacious and captivating, while also being ruthless and aggressive. —played by max irons

— THE BASICS

full name: dominykas leandro vancura date of birth: july 26th age: thirty-one star sign: leo profession: king of hungary ( canon ), hedge fun manager mi6 operative ( modern ) loyalty: hungary, house vancura, entente alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: estp spoken languages: hungarian ( first ), english ( fluent ), spanish ( fluent ), french ( fluent ), mandarin ( fluent ), russian ( advanced ), italian ( advanced ), lithuanian ( intermediate ), polish ( intermediate ), hindustani ( intermediate ), arabic ( beginner ) mother’s name: gabriella vancura father’s name: richárd vancura ( deceased ) siblings, if any: pál vancura ( older, deceased in canon ), aurélia vancura ( younger ), adelaida & angéla vancura ( younger, identical twins ), dániel vancura ( younger ) children: laima vaisvila ( aged five ) height: 6′2″ hair colour: dark brown. eye colour: blue-grey.

— CANON VERSE

first off, let me start off by saying that dom can be the wOOOoooooOoooRST. what’s his damage, heather ? well, it’s not his family. his family was super loving and supportive and he grew up loving all of his siblings and such. never rly had the responsibilities of being king so he fucked around a lot as a teenager, partaking in hedonistic behavior bc why not ?

fell like fucking head over heels madly in love at the age of seventeen to a lithuanian duke’s daughter and shit, nothing else mattered. she was his polar opposite like a goddamn ray of sunshine but she made him want to clean up his act in a way that he never though possible. he !!! fucking !!! loved !!! her !!!

yep, loved. bc he can’t be happy, duh. they got married at the age of eighteen, things were fucking great. she tempered him down and reminded him that there was good that no one else saw. about two years into their marriage, the two discovered that tiesa was pregnant. but the war was brewing and he felt like he needed to fight and that all sorta stressed his wife out a lot. she has a miscarriage due to it.

that was the first knife to the heart. dom grew resentful and numb to his emotions. he detached from his family and was a far harsher and colder man. lacking a purpose, he went off to fight in the war. witnessing those horrors really fucked him up and added another knife to the heart.

he had a partner in crime in the war, a total ride or die. this was probably the only guy that could coax a smile out of dom lately. so obviously that meant he couldn’t live. he was killed saving dom. that traumatized the hell out of him.

coming back from the war, dom was no longer the boy he’d once been. he’d become a man, and that man was more akin to something horrible. he delved headfirst in hedonism to drown the pain and clutched to anything that could make him feel – if there was anything at all.

then, his father who he LOVED was murdered by prussia. ( clearly, i’m saying fuck dom rights )

the final straw for him ? losing tiesa. after the glorious news of hearing that she was pregnant again, the two thought this would be the new fresh chapter in their book together. she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that they named laima. but as quickly as happiness returned to dom, it was taken away -- tiesa lost too much blood during the birth and didn’t even survive to see her beautiful creation. in absolute anguish, dom plucked all the knives of trauma that had once pierced his heart and declared that he no longer had one -- save for his affection for his sister and child.

coveted the throne from his older brother, but really it’s just something to fixate on so he didn’t delve too much into his own fucked up head. he was angry that his brother refused to attack prussia for their sins against their father. considered his brother a weak leader and fully convinced himself that he would be better. (spoiler alert: he wouldn’t.)

he got the chance to make that selfish, horrendous dream into a reality when the vancura family traveled to bern for the peace talks. one night, pirates stormed the castle taking lives and innocence left to right. dom seized his opportunity and stabbed his brother in the midst of the attacks. as he died, dom promised to exact revenge on prussia for their father. when guards came around, he pretended that it was the pirates that had done the deed. oh no ! long live king dominykas, i guess.

dom is hurting and in return, he wishes for everyone else to hurt. and if that meant lighting himself on fire and burning all the bridges on the way, so fucking be it. he’s vindictive and charming like a fucking snake, and he’s just as venomous.

anyways that’s my trash son. if you’re hot, he’ll flirt. if you piss him off, he becomes a scary mass of rage. terrible temper smh.

prussia, he’s coming for you hoes.

— MODERN VERSE

born the second oldest of the vancura children, dominykas didn’t have as heavy of a responsibility on his shoulders as his older brother did. honestly, he liked it that way. he had no desire in being controlled or even having a hand in his family’s business – banking. his great grandfather created the company and soon, the ambition turned it into an empire.

while his parents had met as children in hungary, they migrated to london once they eloped for a better chance in life. dom has only been back a handful of times in his life to visit family. he hasn’t been gone by his own will since the age of sixteen and doesn’t plan on doing so.

instead of worrying about the family name, dom enjoyed being the pretty hedonistic rich boy that got everything he wanted and did everything he pleased. was the peak definition of a fuckboi growing up and was very proud of it.

didn’t really want to further his education. while he was naturally intelligent, he never had the desire to just learn for learning’s sake. but not attending university was a non-starter when it came to his strict father. he was handed pamphlets of high-end schools and was forced to make a choice. he decided on oxford university, since he had zero desire to leave england.

that ended up being the right choice because: a.) he met his best friend florian & b.) he met tiesa. she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life and the moment dom tried to use his usual disingenuous charm on her, she shut him the fuck down. holy shit, he needed it. and the reason that she called him out on his bullshit was exactly the reason he fell in love with her. after much back and forth throughout their studies, she agreed to go out with him and they started dating very soon after.

near the end of his university experience, dom was approached by a “hedge fund firm” for an internship. upon the interview process, he learned that it was in fact a cover for the secret intelligence service. they wanted to hire him as an operational officer. dom, a known thrill seeker, thought it would be fun.

keeping his lives separate proved to be difficult, especially with how things were going with tiesa. they fought a lot about him being secretive and it placed a strain on their relationship. things grew doubly complicated when tiesa announced that she was pregnant. dom asked her to marry him instantly, not wanting this to be a decision that severed their ties. they had an elopement, much to his family’s dismay, and a few months later – laima was born.

if he thought he understand love before, fuck it only grew tenfold. all he knew was that he loved his wife and his daughter and he would do all he could to protect them. ironic, considering the nature of his job.

upon graduation, the secret intelligence service offered him a lucrative new position – in the field as an operative. it sort of felt like something out a movie but this was a cold reality that would change dominykas’ life for the worst.

collecting information, by means or torture or even worse methods, wore on the man. but he couldn’t just back out of his agreement. he was in for life and that was a decision he would have to learn to accept. except, dom was a stubborn man. so, he tried to get away. packed up tiesa and laima and booked a trip to the states. he was willing to trade secrets to the cia for protection.

the day they were supposed to leave, he found tiesa shot through the head in their kitchen. laima was wailing in her nursery. the official news was that it was a botched bulgary. but dominykas knew, he fucking knew. it was them. and he had no choice but to continue to work for them. for laima’s safety.

his mind spiraled into darkness and paranoia after his wife’s death. he didn’t know who he could or couldn’t trust. could it have been one of his siblings who betrayed him ? a friend from his dining club ? truth be told, the only person that he trusted throughout this all was florian but even his best friend could not salvage the shell of the person he’d become after losing tiesa.

now, dom bitterly continues to work for the service, no longer batting an eye at the the violence and schemes of it all.

drinks a lot more than he used to. too much, actually.

no longer attempted to be there for laima as he should be. truthfully, he sees too much of tiesa in her and the reminder threatens to take him off the deep end.

#( * introductions. )#( * rich kid asshole ; paint me as a villain | dominykas vancura. )

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faveficarchive · 5 years

Text

Fire and Ice: Part 2 & 3

By Friction

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: In this uberfic, Danielle (Gabrielle) is robbed by a mysterious woman, and as a result, discovers a lot of new things about herself.

CW: There’s straight up DV and attempted sexual assault in this story, just as a head’s up.

When Danielle arrived at work their was a message for her from Liz, the editor of the women’s section. She could barely contain her excitement as she made her way to her office. As she approached the door, Liz motioned her in.

"Dear, I’m so sorry to hear about the robbery. I’m glad you weren’t hurt."

"It wasn’t bad really, just a little excitement."

"Do the police have any leads on the robber yet?"

"No, I don’t think so. When I stopped this morning to give them a statement, they didn’t mention anything."

"I’m sure you’re tired of the whole thing." Liz paused and smiled. "I have some news that should make your day. I like your idea for the battered women’s story."

"Really?" Danielle brightened.

"Yes. It’s a fresh approach on an old topic. The idea of following up on a story done five years ago to see how the shelter’s program may have changed these women’s lives is intriguing. It’s a good human interest piece. I’m giving you the go ahead to do a small three part series."

"That’s great! Thank you."

"This is your chance. I want part one on my desk by next Tuesday."

Danielle’s thought’s were racing. This was the crack in the door she had been waiting for. If she could make this series a success, she would be given the opportunity to do more writing.

She hurried back to her desk to contact Elaine, the director of the Domestic Violence Program. When she had first arrived in town, she had made an appointment to see Elaine to discuss her idea. They hit it off immediately and quickly became friends. Elaine was a rather petite woman with long curly hair. What she lacked in stature she made up for in her serious no nonsense demeanor. Having been abused herself she was the perfect role model to guide these women into safer lives. Danielle dialed excitedly. She could hardly wait to tell her friend the good news.

"Hi, Elaine."

"Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. I read the paper. Are you okay?"

"I couldn’t be better. Listen, I’ll tell you all about that later." She paused unable to keep the excitement from her voice. "You aren’t going to believe this, but I got the go ahead for the series we discussed."

"That’s terrific! I thought you had something there."

"Have you had any luck setting up a meeting?"

"Yes, of the 35 woman who were in the program when the last story was written, nine agreed to be interviewed by you this evening at the center."

"That’s great."

"Danielle, I assured these women that their identifies would be kept confidential. I can’t stress how important that is."

"I understand. Elaine, thanks for your help with this."

"You bet, I think it can be a positive thing for the center." From Elaine’s first meeting with the young woman, she was touched by her need to help others. Danielle was genuinely interested in the program and enthusiastic in her desire to inspire battered women to seek help. Elaine felt that printing the stories of women who had been successful in turning their lives around could only encourage others.

"Okay, I’ll see you tonight then."

"And Danielle, tonight I want to hear all about this robbery thing."

Danielle was still smiling when she hung up the phone.

***

Elaine walked Danielle to the small conference room and stepped up to the podium in the front of the room to introduce her. Danielle glanced at the nine rather anxious women seated before her and touched Elaine’s arm, stopping her introduction.

"I’m sorry Elaine, I don’t mean to interrupt but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind." She spoke to the women before her. "Is there some place more comfortable we can sit and talk? A lounge or kitchen maybe? I don’t know about the rest of you but I would love a cup of coffee."

Elaine lead them to the kitchen, where they all gathered around the large table. Danielle sat on the counter facing the others. "My name is Danielle Stafford, Elaine has probably explained why I wanted to meet you here. I was hoping you would be willing to share your stories."

"Aren’t you going to tape us or something?"

Danielle smiled. "I don’t use a recorder. I like things informal. Besides, I have a knack for remembering details. Ever since I was a child I loved hearing people talk about their lives. I’d like to keep this casual if it’s okay with all of you." There was a perceptible shift in the room as the women relaxed.

A woman with short red hair spoke up. "Why do you want to hear our stories? None of us are important."

"I think everyone has a story to tell. But in addition to that, all of you are in a unique position. You have faced difficult times and made it through them. I believe that other women in similar positions might find hope for themselves in your stories. My intention is to reach out to them and show them there’s a way out."

"What about confidentiality?" a tall, willowy woman asked. "Some of us are worried that our husbands might track us down."

A woman with short cropped dark hair interrupted. "I come back to the shelter to help out when I can. I know Danielle. She spends a lot of time here. I trust her."

"Thanks Spike, I don’t intend to use any names and I will keep details from the stories that would disclose too much. I’ll give each of you the opportunity to look over what I’ve written before it’s printed. If there is anything you object to or are uncomfortable with, I’ll change it."

"That sounds fair enough." A woman with long blonde hair commented. The other women nodded in agreement.

"Great, I’d love to hear your stories. Anyone feel comfortable starting things off?"

The dark-haired woman spoke. "I think Ann should start." She turned to face a plain looking woman with straight brown hair. "If you feel up to it?

Ann looked up shyly and cleared her throat. Her hands trembled as she clutched them in her lap. She nodded.

"My name is Ann. I got married when I was sixteen. There were nine children in my family. My leaving meant one less mouth to feed so my folks didn’t care. My husband was in training to be a police officer and I felt pretty lucky that a man in such an important position would marry me. The men he worked with really liked him. His friends nicknamed him ‘ice’ because he never lost his temper, at least not around them. What they didn’t know was that he saved up all his anger for me."

"Anyway, that lucky feeling I had didn’t last long. In the fifteen years I was married to him I lost track of the number of times I was knocked unconscious. He hit me nearly every day. Any problem at work was reason enough to come home and beat the tar out of me. My nose has been broken so many times I forget what it used to look like." She shook her head in frustration, "But I stayed with him."

"I had four miscarriages. I think my body was worn out from all the beatings. Probably had a lot of bruises inside too. After I lost those four babies, my husband decided he wanted one for real and the beatings lessened. I ended up giving birth to the son he wanted."

"I was happy during those months when I was carrying my son. It was the most peaceful time I’d known in my marriage. I thought the baby was my salvation. But, shortly after his birth the beatings started up again. I didn’t mind so much cause I had Josh. He was the sweetest little boy, so shy..." she paused and looked down at her hands. The woman to her right lightly touched her shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts."

"One time, not long after Josh turned seven, my husband had to take me to the hospital. I was broke up pretty good that time. I’m sure I should have gone to the hospital for a lot of the injuries I had over the years, but it was hard to explain to the doctors how I got that way, so most times I suffered alone at home."

"This time when I peed, I could see red. I knew it was bad. The doctors said it was good I came in. They had to sew me up inside. My husband told them I took a bad fall and, since he was a police officer, they believed him."

"I knew I came close to dying and after I got home I began to think about my son and what would become of him if something happened to me. After a while I worked up the courage to ask my parents for help. My father didn’t believe me. He said I should stop complaining and count my blessings, my husband was a good provider and they didn’t grow on trees. My mother, who had always born her suffering privately, thought I should do the same."

"It was five months after my parents turned me and Josh away that I got the worst beating of my life. He came home one night drunk and mean. I think I would be dead, but Josh stepped between us to protect me. I’ll never forget his small body twisted in a heap on the floor. The doctors told me he died instantly. Those few minutes play over and over in slow motion in my head. Six years later and I still see them."

The room fell completely quite as if they shared a common memory. Although her face and voice showed no trace of emotion, Danielle could see the loss reflected deeply in her eyes: a pain so great that she would forever be marked by it.

"Even though my husband didn’t mean to hurt Josh, he meant to hit me, he ended up going to jail for it. I can only hope he will be there a good long time." She took a deep breath. "Anyway that’s how I found my way here. I remember how strange it seemed to go to bed without pain and wake up without new bruises."

"At first I almost missed it. That must sound funny to you, but for nearly fifteen years the pain was there, proof that I had survived another day, reminding me I had to be careful not to set him off." She sighed at the irony.

"This place saved me. They got me the medical help I needed and kept me safe. It’s been five years, I’ve been on my own. I have a job working as a clerk in the county morgue. I don’t like being around people much, so the work suits me. It’s quiet and kinda peaceful."

There was an awkward silence. An attractive woman with brown hair tied in a pony tail spoke up. The shorter redheaded woman next to her was holding her hand. "God, we all knew how to pick ‘em didn’t we?" The women laughed in agreement.

"By the way, my name is Nikki." She looked at Danielle. "Our stories are similar except for a few different twists here and there. All of us..." She waved her arm to indicated everyone in the room. "we are the fortunate ones, we survived. Many women don’t." She looked lovingly at the woman seated beside her. "Kate and I met here. We both had feelings for women from the earliest time we could remember but we got trapped in loveless, abusive marriages trying to fit in and be ‘normal.’ Whatever that is." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, after several years of being close friends we realized that we loved each other. We’ve been together as a couple for over two years. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been."

Her partner nodded and squeezed her hand. "We went to school to become Emergency Medical Technicians. In fact, we work for the same ambulance company, usually on the same shift. The job’s different everyday. We like that. Both of us are kind of adventurous. But the best part of our work is being able to help people when they need it most."

"I think everyone here would agree that Elaine deserves the credit for giving us a second chance in life. She works hard helping women like us. Your story should really focus on her and the good she does." Everyone voiced their agreement. The bond these women shared was tangible. Danielle could almost feel the aura that surrounded them. It was a wonderful thing.

The brassy young woman with the spiky hair and vibrant eyes chimed in. "For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Tara, but my friends call me Spike." She ran her hand through her shortly cropped hair for clarification and smiled. "I used to be a hooker. I was in an abusive relationship with my pimp, but only for three years. So I was luckier than some. But like the rest, I never knew what was going to set him off. I blamed myself, thought it was my fault. I wonder to this day why I stayed as long as I did. But you know, in spite of it all, I cared for him. After a bad attack he would be so attentive and loving. At times it seemed almost worth the beating."

Several of the women nodded in understanding.

"You see, they break you down over time. It’s not only physical. There is mental abuse too. Anyway I’m a survivor, thanks to the support of Elaine and the women from the shelter. Believe it or not, I’m a stunt woman in television now. I figured I been thrown around enough that it seemed right up my alley." The women laughed softly.

"Yep, life experience gave me most of the training I needed." She smiled wryly. "The best part is that now, they pay me for it - and pretty well I might add."

Rachel, the long-haired blonde sitting on the end was the next to speak. "Yeah, it’s ironic the path life leads us down. I was completely dependent on my husband. My life revolved around him. Leaving was the farthest thing from my mind.

The neighbors used to call the cops when they heard him ranting. When the police came, they never did anything. So after I got my life straightened around. I decided to become a cop."

"I found my own power. The kind that comes from deep inside. There were so many times I prayed for someone to be there to help me. In the end, I had to take that first step myself. The rest would not have been possible without Elaine. I want to make a difference, like she has. I want to help women like me. And the best part is, I think I have. At least I’ve tried."

"Although I’m new on the force, I make an effort to see that the police are more aware of the problems abused women face and why they are reluctant to press charges and ask for help. I try to stop by the center on a regular basis to encourage the new women. When they first get here they are so down on themselves. All the good feelings have been beaten out of them."

"I know Danielle too. She’s a good friend. I wanted to be interviewed, the story is a good idea. Battered women need to see that there’s still hope."

Danielle smiled, "Every now and then we all need to be reminded of that."

They talked until late. Each woman elaborating on her tale. Danielle listened intently to their stories. They were compelling and often heartbreaking. She was amazed by their strength and courage. They had found their places in life and were making their unique contribution. If only she could find hers.

***

Danielle stirred, her mind deep in the throws of a dream. She was in the park. Looking for the lovers that she had become obsessed with. They were not there. She walked to the tree and ran her fingers against the rough bark. A soft sound behind her made her turn. It was him, the thief. His face covered by the mask. He took a step toward her, raising a gloved finger to his lips. Her heart raced as he came closer, leaving only a few inches between them.

Strong hands settled firmly on her waist, easing her back against the tree. His eyes met hers, silently questioning. She placed her hands over his and guided them down over the curve of her hips. She moaned as she felt the cool fabric of her skirt caress her skin as he lifted it. Her heart hammered. She prayed he wouldn’t stop. She slipped her hands under his leather jacket and froze as they came in contact with the gently sloping curve of breasts. Her eyes snapped open.

It took her some time to fall back asleep.

A loud crash woke her the second time, something breaking. It was followed by a male voice raised in anger. It sounded like her neighbors were fighting. So much for the joys of apartment living. She tried to block out his angry voice. She was ready to grab for a pillow to cover her ears when she heard a woman’s scream, followed by a loud bang. Something was wrong. She picked up the phone and called the police.

The ranting continued. She quickly dressed in sweats and went to the door of their apartment. She could hear a muffled voice through the door.

"You bitch, what did I tell you about staying out of my things!"

A woman’s voice pleaded in the background. "Not the stomach... please." There was a sickening crack.

Danielle knocked loudly. It became quiet and she heard footsteps approach. A very handsome man opened the door. She was rather taken back by his appearance. The expression on his face was so casual that she felt she had made a mistake.

"Yes?" His voice was calm. His look questioning.

"I heard... screaming, I was concerned that someone might be hurt."

"Oh that, I’m sorry. We must have had the television too loud. I apologize."

"Of course, I’m sorry I bothered you." Danielle’s face colored. Embarrassed for jumping to a rash conclusion. She guessed it wasn’t too surprising since she had spent the evening listening to stories of abuse.

She was about to leave when she noticed blood spattered on the front of his shirt. Danielle tried to keep a neutral expression on her face. Her mind searched for a way to stall him until the police arrived. "I live across the hall." She put her hand out in greeting. "Danielle Stafford." He took it awkwardly.

"Drake Morrison". His hands were cold, clammy, not nearly as composed as his face.

"It’s nice to meet you ." He smiled warmly. His voice was so charming compared to the raging she had heard moments before that it caused a chill to run through her.

"I promise we’ll keep the noise down in the future." He began to close the door when she heard a low groan and a terrible wet coughing sound. She held her hand out stopping the door and looked at him questioningly.

"My wife’s got a cold. Bad time of year for that kind of thing."

"I’ve had some first aid training. Maybe I could take a look at her?"

"Thanks but that’s not really necessary, she’s seeing our family doctor." A small cry for help came from behind him.

His expression hardened and he glanced over his shoulder. Danielle pushed past him. About ten feet in front of her she saw a woman sprawled on the kitchen floor. She hurried toward her and nearly slipped in a pool of blood. Danielle had never seen a face so savagely brutalized. She knelt on the other side of the woman, careful not to turn her back to him. She watched him cautiously as he approached. His face stricken.

"She fell."

The terrified woman whimpered like a wounded animal. Danielle laid her hand lightly on the woman’s shoulder, in an attempt to calm her. The comment didn’t even rate an answer. Her contempt for this man rose like bile. "You can tell it to the police. They’ll be here any minute."

His mouth opened in confusion. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. Then without a word he turned and headed into another room.

The woman grabbed Danielle’s hand. "He’s going for his gun... he’s going to kill us." Another violent cough brought up blood. Danielle had no reason to doubt her. She pulled the woman to her feet and struggled toward her apartment. They made it into the hall before he caught up to them.

Danielle leaned the woman against her door and stepped in front of her protectively. "Don’t make things worse for yourself. Put the gun down."

"You should have minded your own business, bitch!" The change in his expression was terrifying. Like Jekyll and Hyde. Danielle tried to keep her composure. She had to buy them time.

"Your right, I have a real problem that way. But this can still be fixed." She paused gauging his reaction. "When the police come we can say she fell down the steps. That would explain the noises I heard. I know you didn’t mean to hurt her. She knows that too." She could see that he was considering her words. She just needed time.

A car backfired outside. He spun around to look, startled by the noise, when he turned back to face them, Danielle drove the palm of her hand into his nose. The gun flew from his hand and rattled down the stairs. He buckled and clutched his nose painfully. She used her momentary advantage to push the woman through the door to her apartment, locking it behind her.

The man pounded so violently that Danielle feared the door would give in. She grabbed for the phone and dialed 911. They calmly assured her help was coming. Danielle hung up the phone and shoved a chair under the door knob. Slipping her arm around the trembling woman’s back she moved her to the couch. The woman looked about eight months pregnant. As Danielle watched a trickle of blood run down the inside of the woman’s thigh, she silently prayed the police and ambulance would arrive in time to save the woman and her child.

In the distance she could hear the sirens approach. She took the woman’s hand in her own. "Hold on, it’s going to be all right. Help is coming."

***

Alex finished dinner and settled in for the evening. She sat by the fire, curling her legs underneath her, she paged to the next journal entry.

7/9

Faceless women with raven hair haunt my dreams. My obsession has prompted me to do something that had previously never occurred to me: I decided to go to a lesbian bar.

I fretted for an hour over what to wear, finally deciding on black jeans and a T-shirt. The club I picked was a small smoky little place. I stopped at the bar to get and drink and found a seat in the back where I could watch without attracting attention.

It wasn’t much different from other bars I had been in, with the exception that there were only women there. I watched them as they danced, talked, held hands, and kissed. Many of the women were very attractive, but I felt nothing. I finished my drink intending to leave, when a tall woman walked by me, headed toward the bar.

I inhaled and my head reeled. The scent of her leather jacket sent a rush of excitement through me. I watched her take a seat at the bar. My eyes were riveted to her back. With a shake of her head, her dark hair cascaded down her back. My heart skipped a beat. I watched with interest as she shifted in her seat, amazed at the sensations I was experiencing. My entire body tingled. She stood, her hips swaying as she pulled money out of her pocket to pay for the shot.

A pleasant fluttering in my abdomen nearly caused me to gasp out loud. My arm were covered with goose bumps. I gently ran my finger over them, thrilling at the sensation. When I looked up she was gone. A panic swept over me as I quickly scanned the room. I caught sight of her heading for the door. She was leaving.

Without thinking, I jumped up and hurried after her. Just as she was about to exit I reached out, grazing her lightly on the shoulder. When she turned to face me, my heart fell. She looked at me puzzled. I lamely apologized and told her she looked like someone I used to know. As I heard my own words, I felt that somehow they were true.

She was nice, but I left the bar alone. Unfortunately, I still felt nothing. I had no desire to be with her in a sexual way.

I am more desperately lonely than before. I could deal with the fact that I might be a lesbian. What truly depresses me is the fact that no one of either sex holds any attraction for me. I’m confused. But, these occasional bursts of sensation leave me hopeful. I feel I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. It’s both exciting and frightening.

7/10

Mother called today to remind me about the medallion. She wanted to make sure my uncle remembered to give it to me next week on my birthday. It surprises me how much this tradition means to her considering how strained her relationship was with my grandmother. She never got over the hurt and embarrassment of her mother leaving my grandfather for a woman. She felt abandoned and could never understand how my grandmother could put a mysterious woman before her own child.

I never knew my grandmother. She died before I was born. Mother never talked about her. I understood even at a very young age that the subject was not to be brought up. My mother only discussed her with me one time and it was very brief. The day my grandfather died I found her in the backyard burning stacks of papers. Her face was wet with tears. In a fit of anger she had burned the letters my grandmother had written to her throughout the years.

I never understood the magnitude of this loss until I was older. Now, I would give anything to have those letters. A sense of my heritage has always been important to me. I have recorded my thoughts since I was a child. Writing is a life line. I find solace in it no matter how alone I feel. It’s sad that we never knew each other; somehow I feel connected to her. I think her thirst for adventure is in my blood.

Of grandmother’s belongings, mother kept only two: the leather journal I have used since childhood, and the medallion. As the eldest daughter, the medallion will pass to me on my twenty-third birthday as it did to my mother before me. Mother never wore it that I knew of, but family is very important to her. I think the medallion represents a link to her mother. I will treasure it.

Alex set the journal down. The enormity of what she had taken from this young woman flooded over her. She knew somehow she had to set things right.

The ringing of the phone interrupted her thoughts and she moved across the room to answer. It was Sal.

"Thought you might be interested in the late news on channel seven tonight."

She clicked on her set. Danielle appeared on the screen. Alex watched intently as the cameras panned first to the woman on the stretcher and then to the concerned face of Danielle Stafford. At the corner of the screen she could see a man being directed into the squad car. She recognized the look in his eyes and knew immediately that Danielle was in trouble.

"Sal, I need you to do a favor for me."

He was surprised by the request. In all the years he’s known her, Alex had never asked anything of him. "Sure Alex, what can I do?"

"I have a package I need to have delivered to this Danielle Stafford at the newspaper on Monday. I can’t have any connection to it. If I drop it by tomorrow morning, can you find someone reliable to handle it?"

"It shouldn’t be a problem."

"Make sure the delivery person can’t be traced."

"Okay..." He hesitated. "Alex, tell me it’s not a bomb."

"That’s hardly my style." She smiled and shook her head. "And besides, what makes you think I’d trust you with a bomb?"

He laughed "I had to ask."

"Sal thanks, I owe you one."

After hanging up, Alex couldn’t get the young woman off her mind. She sensed danger and she was rarely wrong about these things. She could think of a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t get involved but none of them mattered. The instant she had sensed trouble her mind had been made up. She had a few days before she needed to leave town, enough time to follow this woman and make sure everything was okay.

***

The next evening, after visiting the hospital, Danielle went for a long walk. Her mind was swimming. In the past few days she had experienced more excitement and danger than she had her entire life, but it still left her wanting.

She walked through the park, stopping by the tree where she had seen the two women. Her fingers brushed the rough bark. She leaned against it, closing her eyes. Her mind flashed back to her dream. She could feel the strong hands moving down her hips, the warm breath against her neck. When she opened her eyes the fantasy faded. She felt empty, alone.

Danielle headed back to her apartment, taking a shortcut through a rather deserted neighborhood. Gradually she became aware of someone behind her and increased her pace. The footfalls behind her quickened, matching her own. She tried to calm her racing heart, sure her imagination was getting the best of her.

As she turned the corner, she stopped to listen. It was quiet. She took a relieved breath and was about to continue home, when a hand grabbed her from behind, pulling her into a dark alley. He pushed her roughly into the corner.

It was the Drake, the wife beater, and he had two friends with him. She looked around quickly for a way to escape. There was very little gap between the men. She was effectively trapped in the corner.

"You never should have interfered in my life, bitch." A coldness settled in the pit of her stomach. His confidence surged as he sensed her fear. He smiled menacingly.

"Go ahead, scream." He taunted her. His voice filled with hate. "No one will hear you." She tried to break past him but one of the men caught her and threw her back against the wall.

"I’m going to teach you to mind your own business." He glanced back at his friend.

"Joe, watch the entrance." The heavy set man turned and walked toward the street. That left two. She knew this might be her only chance. She had to act quickly.

As Drake reached out to grab her, she struck out hitting his bruised nose. He stepped back wincing in pain. But, before she could run, the other man punched her hard in the face. Her head snapped back and hit the brick wall. She reeled from the blow.

The wife beater wiped a trickle of blood from his nose. His eyes filled with rage. He swung at her face but she managed to dodge the blow. She tried once again to get past him but he threw her back, punching her savagely in the stomach. She doubled over with pain. Taking advantage of her weakened state, he grabbed her hair and forced upright. He hit her several times in the face, splitting her lip. She fought to stay on her feet but her legs were too wobbly to hold her up and she slumped to the ground.

"Grab her hands."

The large man pinned her hands above her head, while Drake positioned himself between her legs. "You’re going to pay for that."

Danielle struggled to free herself, but the man above her was too strong. She felt Drake’s hands slide under her skirt, pushing it up and knew he meant to rape her. She kicked wildly with her feet as he tore at her underpants. When she cried out for help, he punched her repeatedly.

Pain flooded her body, draining the strength from her limbs. She lay helpless, praying for unconsciousness.

Her vulnerability excited him. He unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants. His callused hands grabbed her thighs and forced her legs farther apart. "Here it comes bitch."

He leaned forward preparing to thrust into her, when a loud thud behind them prompted him to turn. "Joe?"

A tall figure illuminated by the street light, walked slowly toward them. He squinted, struggling in the dim light to see who approached. It was a woman.

"Joe can’t answer you, I broke his jaw." Something about her manner and confidence unnerved him. He stood up quickly, haphazardly zipping his pants.

Alex glanced at the man holding Danielle. "Let her go... NOW!"

He released Danielle and rushed Alex. She threw a round house kick to his chest knocking him to the ground. He came at her again. This time, she stepped to the side and grabbed his arm, twisting, while jerking it upward, neatly dislocating his shoulder. He dropped to the ground screaming in pain. A single punch to the temple knocked him unconscious.

Drake looked at her fearfully, not sure what he was up against. It was one on one and he didn’t like his odds. She turned to face him. He saw her face for the first time and his blood ran cold. She was smiling.

"Your fun is over. And mine is about to begin." She moved in deliberately slow, giving him time to think about his predicament. He back up fearfully, but quickly ran out of space.

"Looks like your luck just ran out." She grabbed him by the neck and pressed him viciously to the wall. He looked at her in horror as he felt his feet leave the ground. She lifted him like a rag doll. Slowly he felt her grip tighten, shutting off his air.

Disoriented and in a great deal of pain, Danielle could think of nothing but escape. She began a torturously slow crawl toward the street. As she got closer her eyes focused on the back of the tall woman strangling her attacker. The gurgling sounds he made as he gasped for air sickened her.

"You are a dead man." Alex snapped, her voice filled with menace. His feet flailed helplessly as he struggled for breath. His face was flush, an ugly purple color.

"Wait, please." Danielle tried to get up but her legs failed her. "We need to call the police." She pleaded as she crumpled back to the ground in pain.

The tall woman eased her grip, sliding him down the wall, back on his feet. His lungs burned as he took in desperately needed air. He looked into her eyes. The coldness he saw there terrified him. He prayed the girl would go for the police. Alex grabbed his crotch and twisted savagely. He released an agonizing cry as the pain tore through him in an excruciating wave. He feared he was seriously injured.

"No police" She growled.

The words sent a chill through him. Her face was poised only inches from his, her expression feral. He tried to turn his head away, but she grabbed his face and glared at him. His fear doubled when he saw the predatory look in her eyes. Understanding he was the prey, his body shook uncontrollably.

"I take care of my own problems. No loop holes. No juries."

There was something in the tone of the woman’s voice. Danielle knew without a doubt that she intended to kill him. She spoke again. Her voice weak and filled with pain. "Please don’t do it... not for me."

Alex paused and breathed deeply. She leaned into his ear and for one chilling moment he thought she might bite it off. Instead she tightened her grip on his neck and whispered. "If I ever lay eyes on you again or hear that you’ve come within a hundred miles of her, I will kill you... slowly."

She glared at him. He nodded, tears streaming down his face. "If anything happens to her, I’m coming after you." Her knee ground into his groin and he nearly passed out from the pain. She released him, letting him collapse to the ground, his pants soiled by his own blood and urine.

Danielle clutched her stomach, and tried to rise. Alex went to her side and gently picked her up, carrying her out of the alley. Danielle squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach spasmed and ripples of pain rolled through her. "I’m going to be sick..."

Alex eased her to the ground and held back her hair as the she vomited, her bruised muscles clenching painfully. Alex untucked her own shirt and used it to wipe the young woman’s mouth.

"Easy... it’s okay." She held her, speaking softly. Her soothing voice had a wonderfully calming effect. Danielle’s body relaxed in response. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at the face of the woman who had saved her. A gasp escaped her lips.

Alex misunderstood her reaction. She tightened her hold on the young woman, cradling her in her arms. "I won’t let anyone hurt you."

Danielle knew without question that this was the one, the soul she sought. Fate had brought them together. She stared into Alex’s blue eyes and prayed she wasn’t hallucinating. "Are you real? Am I dreaming?"

Alex smiled softly. "I’m real." Danielle closed her eyes as a wave of pain rolled through her. Alex gently pushed her hair from her face, taking a quick inventory of the damage. The young woman grimaced in pain as Alex ran her hand over the bruised ribs. Her injuries didn’t seem life-threatening but she was reluctant to take unnecessary chances.

"I’m going to take you to the hospital."

"No, please." Danielle knew if her family found out it would be impossible to convince them she would be safe remaining in the city. She tried to get up but dizziness toppled her back into Alex’s protective arms.

"Do you live near here?"

Danielle could not make out her words, but she listened, finding comfort in the steady voice. Finally, the picture was complete: the voice, the hair, the eyes. The last thought to cross Danielle’s mind before she lost consciousness was leather, the biting scent of leather. She knew she was safe. A weariness descended on her and she gave into it without a struggle.

Alex made the decision to respect the woman’s wishes. She would take her home with her and they could talk more about it in the morning. She carried Danielle to her car and settled her gently into the passenger seat, buckling her safety belt. Danielle was in a world of hurt, even in unconsciousness her body reacted to every bump in the road. Alex drove carefully trying to spare her discomfort. Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of Alex’s cabin.

She carried the young woman in and laid her on the waterbed. Alex used a damp wash cloth to wipe the dried blood from Danielle’s face. She took great care not cause her further pain. When she had finished she allowed herself the luxury of lightly running her fingers through her soft blonde hair.

Danielle’s lashes flickered and her eyes opened. Her body ached. As the horrors of the night flooded over her once again, her stomach rebelled. She raised her hand weakly to her mouth. Alex carried her into the bathroom, where Danielle dropped to her knees. She retched into the toilet, her stomach long ago empty. Alex knelt beside her, an arm supporting her shoulders and gently wiped her face with a cool cloth.

Danielle went limp in Alex’s arms and the tears came. "God if you hadn’t come..." She cried for her helplessness, her vulnerability. For the first time, she had an idea of what the women at the shelter had faced. "I... I need a shower."

The sight of the battered young woman broke her heart. "Are you strong enough to stand?" Danielle nodded. Alex started the water and went to get some clean towels.

When she returned Danielle was in the shower. Alex set the robe, towels and toothbrush down and left, gently closing the door behind her. Much later Danielle emerged from the bathroom. She staggered, exhausted from her efforts. Alex carefully lifted her and carried her to bed. When she pulled the covers over her, Danielle grimaced. Every breath, every movement tormented her bruised ribs. She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to cry out.

"I’m going to give you something for the pain."

Alex removed a medical kit from the closet. She pulled out a hypodermic and quickly unwrapped it from its packaging. She inserted the needle into a small vial. Carefully eyeing the dosage, she pulled back the covers and injected the Demerol into the fleshy part of Danielle’s hip. "This will ease your discomfort and help you sleep." She gently tucked her in. "I’ll be in the next room, if you need anything just call." Alex stood to leave.

"Please..." Danielle reached out, imploringly. "Can you stay with me for a while?"

Alex pulled a chair next to bed and took the young woman’s hand. Danielle squeezed tightly and closed her eyes. In a few minutes the pain eased. She felt marvelously lightheaded, as if she were floating. She curled on her side facing Alex. Her eyes flickered open not quiet fixing on anything. She pulled Alex’s hand under her cheek and inhaled deeply.

Just before sleep claimed the young woman, Alex heard her whisper "I always knew you would find me."

She seemed so frail. It was all Alex could do to look at her bruised face. If she had only gotten there a few minutes sooner, but she had lost Danielle in the park when a drunk delayed her. Alex wished suddenly that she had killed all three men. They were monsters. Her anger began to surge but dissipated when she felt the woman’s warm cheek snuggle against her fingers.

Normally nothing would have prevented her from taking their worthless lives. Alex thought of the young woman’s appeal for mercy on her assailant’s behalf. She had glimpsed something she hadn’t believed existed, something she had long ago stopped fantasizing about: forgiveness. A calmness enveloped her.

She took a deep breath, allowing her body to relax. Why did this feel so right? The need to protect this young woman was almost instinctive. She watched over Danielle for a long time, until, at last, she too fell asleep.

Part 3

Danielle awoke the next morning disoriented. Memories of last night, came flooding back. Her body ached from the beating she had received, confirming that it hadn’t been a dream. She looked in wonder at the woman asleep in the chair beside her. She was the most attractive woman Danielle had ever seen. It was as if this dark beauty had stepped out of her dreams. A warrior sent to protect her, she fantasized. A calm washed over her, when she thought of this woman staying with her the entire night, insuring her well-being. She had never felt so safe, so protected.

Her muscles complained, stiff from being stationary. She needed to shift her position, but hesitated, not wanting to awaken the woman. As if sensing her thoughts, Alex opened her eyes. Danielle was momentarily stunned by the blue she saw there.

"How are you feeling?" Alex asked.

The sound of the woman’s voice was like a balm to her soul. He mind went blank for an instant. The troubled expression on the woman’s face brought Danielle back to her senses. "I’m better. I...I don’t know how to thank you."

"I was just in the right place at the right time."

"I don’t even know your name."

"There wasn’t much time for formal introductions last night." She smiled warmly. "Alex. Alex Lord."

"Danielle Stafford."

Alex gently pulled her hand from under the young woman’s cheek. Danielle flushed with embarrassment. It had felt so natural against her skin that she hadn’t realized she was still holding it.

Alex smiled. Flexing her fingers, "I’ll need these if I’m going to fix breakfast."

Danielle’s stomach perked up at the mention of food. It felt abysmally empty. When Alex went to the kitchen, Danielle gingerly made her way to the bathroom. She was shocked when she looked in the mirror. Her nose was swollen and both of her eyes were back and blue. She opened the robe and winced at the ugly bruises on her abdomen and ribs. It could have been a lot worse. She had been incredibly fortunate.

Enticed by the aroma of chicken soup. She made her way to the kitchen. "Mmm, something smells wonderful."

"Chicken soup out of a can. I’m sorry, but I’m not much of a cook." Alex apologized, placing a bowl in front of the woman.

"This is great, thanks." Danielle began eating with a fervor that warmed Alex’s heart. It was clear she relished every bite. Alex passed her the bread and watched while she finished the entire pot of soup and half a loaf of bread.

"Good to see you have an appetite." She was fascinated by the way Danielle’s eyes sparkled when she smiled.

"I’m always able to eat, believe me." Danielle commented, flashing her beautiful smile again.

"Yes, I see." Alex lifted a brow playfully. There was something completely disarming about the young woman’s demeanor. Alex found herself looking at her longer than was appropriate. She stood up and began cleaning the dishes.

Danielle stretched cautiously. Amazed how much better she felt. "That miracle drug you gave me last night really helped. Are you a doctor?"

Alex hesitated. "Not really, I hope you’re not going to turn me in for practicing without a license."

"Are you kidding? It would have been a rough night without your help." Danielle shivered involuntarily as she thought how close she had come to being raped. "Where did you learn to fight like that?

"It’s just something I picked up." Alex replied and tried to shift the direction of the conversation. "Why were you walking alone in that part of town?"

Danielle blushed. There was no way she could explain the park thing. "It’s a long story. But this wasn’t a random attack, he knew me. I called the police the night before last when he nearly beat his wife to death." She frowned. "I can’t believe he’s out walking the streets already."

"If it’s any consolation, he won’t be walking that well this morning." Alex smiled, rather pleased with the vision.

"I found that the police aren’t very effective in dealing with these situations." Danielle was puzzled by her friends reluctance to get the police involved, but after all Alex had done to help her she didn’t press it.

"It’s hard to understand what drives a person to such violence. I went to see his wife at the hospital last night, she’s in pretty bad shape. They had to deliver the baby early and weren’t sure if the child would make it. It’s so tragic. What a way to come into the world."

Alex couldn’t meet her gaze. "Violence is all some people understand, they don’t have any good in them. One way or another this baby is better off without that kind of father, believe me."

"I don’t agree. Everyone has good in them, deep down. Even he deserves a second chance, an opportunity to get help."

Alex decided not to argue the point and wondered if she needed to believe just a little of what Danielle had said. "It’s sunny outside. Feel like having a cup of coffee on the porch?"

They sat out on the deck that wrapped around the back of the house. It had a magnificent view of small lake only a hundred yards off.

Danielle sat back in the wicker chair, letting the sun warm her achy muscles. "This is a wonderful place you have."

"Thanks, actually I’m only renting. I won’t be staying much longer."

Danielle tensed at the news. "You’re moving?"

"Yeah, I never stay in one place very long. I get restless."

Danielle tried not to let her anxiousness show and changed the subject. "What do you do for a living?"

Alex hadn’t prepared herself for a conversation with the woman. She used an old standby. "I just got out of the service. I’m between jobs."

"That must be where you learned to handle yourself so well, huh?"

Alex nodded. Uncomfortable with the lie. She stood, attempting to divert the focus of the conversation. "I’m about ready for a refill. Can I get you one?" Alex walked inside, effectively avoiding further questions.

***

Detective Sands rushed into Bowin’s office and tossed a file on his desk He looked up to find her grinning ear to ear.

"We got a break on the Palanos robbery." His eyes brightened with interest.

"We really got lucky on this one. The guys in vice picked up some rich boy on drug charges. Turns out his father is a jeweler. In an effort to save his sorry-ass son, he offered information on a recent robbery. He agreed to give the name of a fence who sold him the items, if the charges were dropped against he and his son."

"Who’s the fence"

"Our old friend Sal."

"Call Judge Brennen, let’s get a search warrant."

Marisa winked and handed Bowin the warrant. "I thought you were going to say that."

He smiled outright. "What would I do without you?"

"Beats me."

"Let’s go get him."

***

Alex rummaged through her clothing looking for something that would fit Danielle. The best she could do was a T-shirt and pair of sweats. She also grabbed a pair of underwear. Danielle was sitting on the couch, staring into the fire. She looked up when Alex came into the room.

"I think I’ve managed to find some clothes for you. They are no a fashion statement but they should do for the trip home."

Danielle was quiet. The idea of going home to her empty apartment right next door to her attacker frightened her. Alex noticed the change in the young woman and sat beside her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I... It’s just the thought of going home... He’s my neighbor."

Alex cursed herself for being insensitive to the young woman’s fear. The pained expression on Danielle’s face made her want to take the young woman into her arms and comfort her but she held back. "I’m sorry, I should have thought... I... you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you need to."

"I don’t want to be a bother... I’ve been too much trouble already. I just..."

"You haven’t been any trouble..." Alex tried to think of something to say that would make Danielle feel better. "I have enjoyed your company. It’s been nice having someone around to talk to."

Danielle glanced at her hopefully. "Really?"

"Yes, I’d like it if you stayed." Alex realized with some surprise that she truly meant it.

"Thanks... if I could just stay the weekend?"

"As long as you want." Alex watched the young woman visibly relax. "I have one condition though. I want you to get these underclothes on so that I can take a look at your bruises. I want to make sure you’re healing properly." Danielle heart swelled at Alex’s concern.

She beamed. "I’ll get changed."

While Danielle was in the bathroom dressing, Alex went to the bedroom to retrieve a jar of homemade salve from her medical bag.

"Okay doc... I’m ready."

Alex smiled. "Hop on the bed and lie down."

Danielle did as she asked, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. Alex sat beside her and examined the bruises on her face. The swelling had gone down from this morning, but she still looked as if she was the loser in a boxing match.

"I’m going to put a little salve on the cuts and bruises. The pressure may hurt a little, but the salve itself is painless." Alex dipped her finger in the jar and began to apply the ointment with gentle strokes.

Danielle closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain. She was sore, there was no getting around it. But, the physical discomfort was forgotten as she became acutely aware of the softness of Alex’s fingers and the tenderness in her touch.

She opened her eyes. Alex was leaning over her, blue eyes focused on the task. Her fingers were so attentive that it brought to mind the intimacy of a lover’s caress. Danielle felt the surface of her skin heat.

Her glance dropped to Alex’s mouth. Her full lips were parted slightly. She wondered if they could possibly feel as soft as they looked. Danielle wanted to know. She felt an urge to press her lips to Alex’s and fought to suppress it, but she couldn’t help thinking about what lay beyond her lips. What would this amazing woman taste like? Her body was melting under Alex’s touch. It tingled all over. She stiffened, afraid she would not be able to control the sensations building inside her.

Alex pulled back. "I’m sorry...did I hurt you?"

"Just a little," Danielle lied. "But it’s okay."

"I’m done with your face, I’m going to take a look at your ribs and stomach. Ready?" Danielle nodded.

Alex’s hand hesitated momentarily at the tie of Danielle’s robe. She flashed back to the robbery and forced her mind to clear. Her finger trembled slightly when she causally attempted to open the front. As she looked down at Danielle’s slender form, her eyes lingered on the firm, well proportioned body. Alex gently ran her fingers over the ribs. Although Danielle was terribly bruised, the skin was not broken. She slowly began to cover each bruise with the medicine.

Danielle clenched her teeth to stifle a moan. Her body was alive with sensation. She could feel her nipples harden against her bra, so sensitized that the material felt coarse against them. The muscles of her lower abdomen tightened and she felt a warm moisture building between her legs. She could not believe what was she was experiencing. Was this what other people felt? It was incredible. She glanced quickly at Alex, praying she hadn’t noticed. Alex was focused on her task.

Danielle had never in her life felt anything so wonderful. Her skin burned everywhere Alex touched. With each stroke her arousal increased. She felt a spasm between her legs and held her breath, terrified her body would betray her feelings.

Alex felt Danielle flinch and assumed she was in pain. She tried to hurry along. At last, she finished. When she removed her hand, Danielle’s body trembled. Alex quickly closed her robe.

"You’re going to be fine. Nothing’s broken. You’re healing well. I want you to apply this salve twice a day until the bruises begin to fade." She handed her the jar.

Alex noticed the oddest look on the young woman’s face. She let it pass without comment. Danielle had been through a lot in the past few days. It had taken it’s toll. Danielle needed rest and time to allow her body to heal. Alex stood up reluctantly.

"You should try to get some sleep. I’m afraid I don’t have much in the house to eat. I’m going out to get groceries. I thought I’d pick up Chinese food for dinner… if you like it."

"Sounds great!"

"Okay then, I’ll be back in a little while." Alex closed the door quietly behind her.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Danielle released an audible sigh. Her body hummed with a new found energy. The physical excitement pulsing through her was intoxicating. She pulled the comforter over herself and let her hand slide under the elastic of her underpants. Her inquisitive fingers slid lightly across her sex. She withdrew them from the slippery wetness and curled up on her side. A single tear hit the pillow. Alex had just awoken her.

***

When Alex returned she noted the subtle aroma of incense. Danielle had also set the table and started a fire. Suddenly the cabin felt like a home to her. Not since she was a child had she come home to find someone waiting for her. It reminded her how alone she had been and it hurt to realize that soon she would be alone again. Danielle would return to her life, as she would. She squared her shoulders and went to the kitchen. She found Danielle there, brewing a pot of coffee.

"I thought you were going to get some rest?" Alex questioned.

"I did sleep for a little while... I had a nightmare and..."

Alex put down the groceries and turned to face the young woman. "You don’t have to worry about him hurting you. I know his kind. He’s a coward. You’ll never see him again. In fact I doubt he’ll return to his apartment."

Danielle hugged herself rubbing her hands along her arms in an attempt to rid herself of the chill that enveloped her. "I hope you’re right. Just thinking about going home makes me nervous."

"I would never take you back there, if I thought it weren’t safe." Alex spoke with more emotion than she had intended. She felt the heat rise to her face and shifted uncomfortably.

"Anyway, I hope you’re hungry. There’s a lot of food here."

Danielle smiled, relieved to have something else to focus on. "I’m always hungry."

After they put the groceries away, they sat down to eat. Alex handed the young woman a pair of chopsticks.

Danielle had never used them before and watched Alex for a few bites before giving it a try. After a few attempts, she was successful at grabbing a pea pod and lifted it carefully. It was almost to her mouth when the sticks separated, sending it flying toward Alex who gracefully snagged it in mid air with her own chopsticks. Danielle looked at her in amazement.

"Wow, you’re really good with those!"

Alex winked. "Just one of those unusual skills I’ve picked up." Danielle looked regretfully at her empty sticks. Alex smiled and held the morsel out for her to eat. Danielle opened her mouth in grateful acceptance. As Alex slid the chopsticks from Danielle’s lips, their eyes met. Danielle felt the spark between them and glanced down.

"Maybe I should get you a fork." Alex said clearing her throat.

"No, I want to give this a chance. Let me try again."

Alex walked up behind her and leaned down. She placed her hand over Danielle’s molding her fingers into the proper position. "It’s just a matter of applying the correct amount of pressure."

Her hair draped down, tickling the young woman’s neck. Danielle felt Alex’s breath against her skin and realized if she turned her head, their lips would nearly touch. She felt a rush of heat and fought to stay concentrated on her task. With Alex steadying her fingers, she made it all the way to her mouth.

"See? Nothing to it." Alex released her hand and sat back down. "Now, try it on your own."

Danielle looked reluctantly at her friend. "Something tells me this is going to be the longest meal in history." Alex smiled.

Danielle poked at her food and tried to sound casual. "So you said you were leaving soon. Where are you moving?"

Alex hesitated momentarily. "I’m trying to decide between a couple of places." She quickly changed the focus of the conversation. "It depends on what I decide to do career wise. What about you? What do you do?"

Danielle had finally gotten the hang of eating with the strange instruments and hurried to finish a mouthful. "I work at the Sentinel."

"A reporter, huh?"

"Well, not yet. I’ve been stuck writing obituaries for the past six months, but I just got the go ahead to do my first article." Danielle paused thoughtfully. "I really don’t think of myself as a writer. I’m more of a storyteller. People’s lives and adventures fascinate me. My whole life I’ve been intrigued by exciting and dangerous tales."

Alex watched Danielle with interest. She enjoyed the animated way she spoke, using her hands and body with great flourish. "It’s good they’re finally giving you a chance."

"Yeah, this is a big break for me."

"So, what’s the story about?"

"Battered women who have survived and turned their lives around. I hope that victims of abuse who read it find comfort in hearing how others have escaped and gone on to happier lives. Maybe they’ll be encouraged to do the same."

"You like helping people." Alex stated.

"Well, yes. These women are so brave. They have triumphed over such adversity. Their stories really touched me."

Alex got up to pour coffee. "So do I get a preview of the article?"

Danielle’s face lit up. "Sure."

They sat by the fire while Danielle spoke about the women’s lives. Alex was moved. But it wasn’t just their stories that captivated her but the skill with which Danielle related them. She had a wonderful ability to bring their experiences to life. Alex felt like she was watching their stories unfold. She found herself touched by the tragedy and inspired by their courage. Alex could visualize the women, feel their pain and appreciate their achievements.

Much later that evening, Danielle finished, nearly breathless. Her face was flushed with excitement. "I’m sorry, I really ran on."

"Don’t apologize. You were wonderful. You really have a gift."

Danielle blushed, flattered. "A gift of gab maybe." She smiled.

"I think these women are fortunate to have you telling their stories. It’s great that you’ve found your niche."

Danielle had a talent for drawing people out, getting them to talk about themselves. But, so far she’d been unsuccessful with Alex. Whenever she tried, Alex became uncomfortable and changed the flow of the conversation.

"Have you found yours?" Danielle questioned.

Alex smiled cynically. "I’ve found what I’m good at. I’m just not happy doing it anymore." She stood anxiously. Danielle could almost feel the walls go up.

"I’ve kept you up long enough. You need your rest. I’ll grab a blanket and sleep on the couch."

"I don’t want to kick you out of your bed again tonight. I can sleep on the couch."

"No, I insist. I end up falling asleep on the couch most nights anyway."

"Okay, goodnight Alex." She turned, a little reluctant to face her dreams."

"Danielle if you have a nightmare and need to talk... I’m a light sleeper."

*****

Alex awoke in the middle of the night. An unfamiliar noise alerted her senses. Someone was in the room. Slowly her eyes adjusted and she looked about warily.

Danielle lay on the floor beside her, curled up in a blanket.

Alex whispered, not wanting to startle her. "Are you all right?"

Danielle rolled over to face her. "I’m sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Is everything okay?" Alex asked.

"I had another nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you... I just wanted to be close to... someone. I’m such a coward."

"You are anything but a coward." Alex reached down to give her a hand up. "Come on, I think we would both sleep better in bed."

Danielle felt relief wash over her and she looked up gratefully. The unexpected tenderness of Alex’s expression touched her heart. Their eyes met, and Danielle felt that pleasant flutter again. She glanced away nervously.

Alex noticed her anxiety "You don’t snore, do you?" Alex teased.

"Err, no. At least I don’t think so..." She relaxed a little and decided to play along. "I hope you aren’t one of those people who steal all the covers."

Alex started toward the bedroom. "I’ve never had any complaints."

Danielle didn’t doubt that for a minute. She smiled to herself and followed.

They settled in quietly. The memories of her attackers were the furthest thing from Danielle’s mind as she lay beside the older woman. She felt safe.

"Thanks."

Alex was on her side facing the door, an ingrained safety precaution. She turned to Danielle, and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind the young woman’s ear. "Get some sleep. Everything’s going to be all right."

Danielle knew it was true; she never felt better. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In no time she was fast asleep.

*****

It was a beautiful sunny day. They rowed across the lake to a favorite spot of Alex’s to have a picnic lunch that Danielle had spent the morning preparing. After pulling the boat ashore, they hiked into the woods for several miles. It had been well worth the walk. The view when they broke through the woods into the clearing took Danielle’s breath away. The sun streamed down giving the area a magical feel.

It was a pleasant afternoon. Danielle spent most of the time chatting non-stop while Alex listened.

She had tried to draw her friend out on a couple of occasions but Alex seemed content to let Danielle monopolize the conversation. She found the stories about Danielle’s childhood experiences fascinating. Danielle’s youth had been so different from her own.

Alex began packing up the remnants of their picnic lunch while Danielle sat back enjoying the feel of the refreshing breeze against her skin. She had never been more content and didn’t want to come down from this natural high. The time she had spent with Alex the last two days had been wonderful.

She stood and stretched in the warm sunlight, taking in her surroundings with a child-like awe. Catching a glimpse of color to her right, she walked toward it.

"Wild flowers!"

Alex watched with amusement, as Danielle ran her fingers over the brightly colored petals and took in their sweet scent. She was amazed how the smallest things gave Danielle pleasure. The young woman saw only the good in things, approaching life with a naive wonder. It was a fragile quality and Alex found herself wanting to shield her from anything that would corrupt it.

Danielle sat on a log, reveling in the beauty around her. She was so distracted that she didn’t notice four fox pups emerge from a burrow near the end of the fallen tree. They ran playfully toward her. She gasped in surprise.

"Alex, look..."

Alex got to her feet and scanned the tree line cautiously, sure the mother was nearby. "Danielle, get up and back away slowly."

Danielle looked up and smiled. One pup playfully nipped at her shoelace, pulling her attention from Alex. Danielle laughed and gently ran her fingers through it’s coat. "He’s so soft."

Alex started to repeat her warning, but it was too late. The vixen broke through the woods and headed toward Danielle. There was not enough time to position herself between Danielle and the mother. Alex looked around quickly for something she could use as a weapon. She eyed a good sized rock and bent to pick it up.

Danielle noticed the mother’s approach and looked toward Alex. When her eyes settled on the crude weapon in Alex’s hand, her stomach lurched. She understood what her friend meant to do.

Alex gauged the distance, taking the weight of the rock into consideration. She watched the vixen anxiously, her muscles taut, ready to react. If the fox made a move to attack Danielle, she felt fairly confident she could hit it.

"Wait!"

Danielle slowly stood up. She took a small step backward. But, the pups followed her playfully biting at her sneakers. The mother was only about twenty feet from Danielle now, weaving back and forth, watching her intently.

Danielle sat down, eyeing the worried mother. She slid her sneakers off and began playing with the pups. The vixen got within ten feet and stopped. Her attention fully focused on the young woman.

Danielle could not contain a laugh as one aggressive pup pulled the shoe from her grasp and proudly pranced off to present the prize to it’s mother. The vixen sniffed the shoe and laid down, cautiously watching the scene.

Alex looked on in disbelief. Three of the pups were frolicking around Danielle and the fourth was snuggled up against her leg. "Alex." Danielle waved her arm, encouraging her friend to come closer.

Alex approached slowly, never taking her eyes off the mother. As she neared, the vixen sat up warily. The tall woman’s body was tense, ready to react. Danielle smiled up at her and reached out, lightly brushing the fingers that clutched the jagged weapon. The young woman’s touch melted her tension away. Danielle eased the rock from her grasp and laid it down, replacing it with the warmth of her hand. She gently pulled Alex’s arm, urging her to sit.

As soon as Alex was at their level, the pups were all over her, sniffing and prodding. Danielle held her hand, squeezing comfortingly, then she placed it on the pup at her side. "Feel how soft. Aren’t they beautiful?" The orange pups had black ears and feet. Their bellies were white and their tails were long and bushy. Their eyes were alert, cat like.

Alex ran her fingers through the plush fur, acutely aware of the hand that lay over hers. As Danielle’s fingers stroked the soft fur, her palm caressed the back of Alex’s hand. Alex sunk her fingers into the thick fur and quietly relished the innocent contact.

Danielle didn’t seem to notice. Her attention was focused on the playful pups. Alex allowed herself the luxury of extending her gaze at her young friend. She was entranced by the way Danielle’s nose crinkled when she smiled and her eyes sparkled when she laughed. Alex thought for one moment about lifting the soft fingers to her lips and quickly closed her eyes.

Suddenly the energetic pups bounded onto her lap, pushing her backward. Danielle was startled by the soft sounds coming from her friend. It struck her that it was the first time she had heard Alex laugh. It was magical.

Danielle looked down at the happy woman, normally so stoic and controlled, and her heart swelled. The pups were having a field day. One had a hold of the laces of Alex’s top, another was licking at her neck, while yet another was engaged with her in a tug of war for Danielle’s sneaker.

The sun reflected off her dazzling blue eyes and suddenly Danielle was lost in them. Without thought, she moved her hand to Alex’s face, her fingers lifting the stray strands of dark hair from her moist lips. Their eyes met and Danielle began to lean down.

There was a sharp bark. Danielle pulled back and Alex sat up quickly. The father was at the edge of the woods calling. The family quickly ran to him, disappearing into the woods. Danielle’s heart was pounding furiously. She meant to kiss Alex and had nearly done it.

Alex smiled and looked at her. "That was amazing."

Danielle heart stopped for one instant, then realized they were thinking different things. Alex hadn’t even noticed her clumsy advance.

Danielle shrugged and tried to recover. "Animals like me." She winked. "You aren’t the only one with unusual skills." She effectively masked her disappointment with humor.

"Apparently not." Alex grinned.

Danielle glanced at Alex’s dark top sprinkled with red fur. She innocently wiped the hair off, accidentally brushing Alex’s breast. Suddenly aware of the intimacy of her action she pulled back. "I... err... they got hair all over you."

Alex’s nipple hardened from the brief contact. She stood up awkwardly and brushed off her clothes. A torrent of unfamiliar emotions flooded through her. "Yeah... ah... it’s getting late. We should finish packing up and go back."

"Sure, if you want." Danielle said sadly.

They picked up their things in awkward silence. Danielle was angry with herself for ruining the moment. Had Alex thought she was making a pass? She hadn’t meant anything by the casual touch, but even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew her lack of courage had been the only thing to keep her from doing more. Her fingers tingled, remembering the brief contact. She felt miserable and risked a glance at Alex who seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Danielle got up to search for her sneakers.

Alex watched Danielle walk away and grimaced. She didn’t think Danielle had noticed her react to her touch but she wasn’t sure. Alex was confused by the excitement coursing through her body. Her friends action had been innocent, she had no doubt about that, but for a split second she had considered pushing the young woman back on the grass and ...

What was happening to her? She knew she had to get a grip on her emotions. She cared about Danielle far to much to lead her on when nothing could come of it. The thought saddened her. She looked up to see Danielle return shoeless and tried to act casual.

"No luck, huh?"

"Nope." Danielle shrugged. "They were kind of old anyway." She looked hesitantly in the direction of the lake. The idea of tromping through the woods in her stocking feet didn’t appeal to her.

Alex hesitated only a moment. "I’ll give you a lift."

Danielle looked at her curiously. Alex smiled. "Come on, I’ll carry you."

"You...you mean like a piggy back ride?"

"Yeah, didn’t you ever do that when you were a kid?"

"Sure, it’s just... well I’m quite a bit heavier now. I don’t want to hurt you."

Alex’s face broke into a playful smile. "I think I can handle the strain."

Danielle couldn’t help but laugh. "All right, you asked for it."

Alex positioned herself in front of a large rock. "You’ll have to carry the basket. I’ll hold your legs." Danielle stepped up and wrapped her free arm around Alex’s neck. Her legs slid easily around the taller woman’s waist. Firm arms locked around her thighs, securing her in place. They were a perfect fit.

True to her word Alex carried her effortlessly and much sooner than Danielle would have liked, they were back at the boat. The trip across the lake back to the cabin was a quiet one. Both women had a lot on their minds. The weekend was over. It was time for Danielle to return home.

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #author: friction #femslash #fanfiction #mature

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Scarab #4

Is this child porn? I hope this isn't child porn. I bet it's not child porn because this is a fetus.

Apparently this is why Marty was so bloody. He beat an old woman to death. Or to miscarriage.

Marty claims the old woman wouldn't stop screaming so he had to beat her. But why wouldn't she stop screaming? Was Marty raping her? Probably. As I mentioned before, Marty believes the women of this town deserve physical violence. Although he ended last issue screaming, "Look what it did to me," which doesn't make any sense in this context. Maybe he just means Pan drove him crazy by not allowing him to kill himself? So this violence is Pan's fault and not part of Marty's toxic masculinity? Marty goes on to explain the entire story to Scarab so that the reader isn't confused anymore. All the men in town were castrated by Pan who then pissed in their mouths. And afterward, either due to visions of heavenly glory or the ripest of all embarrassments, they marched into the sea and killed themselves. Except Marty had a broken leg so he didn't get to experience the beauty and wonder of castration followed by ritual suicide. But earlier this evening, he glimpsed Pan and came in his pants. I think the "Look what it did to me" while opening his pants before Scarab was to demonstrate he'd lost his balls. Then he beat the old woman to death because she couldn't stop screaming after seeing his mutilated manhood. So now Scarab feels like he needs to put things to right although it seems like the women of Whitehaven are happy with how things are going. And the men are dead so what do they care if somebody destroys Pan? I guess this is why I'm not a superhero because my first reaction to seeing dozens of naked women engaged in a passionate orgy is to think, "Things look good here! I guess I'll be off! After staring an inordinately long time. You know, to just top off the wank bank."

Meanwhile, this pornographer happens upon the scene and decides to join in. Little does he realize, it's Pan's fetuses who are in control. He's fucking the fetuses!

Scarab seeps into the ground to confront Pan and to nobody's surprise, Pan threatens to fuck his arse off when they finally meet. This is another reason why I'm not a superhero or Jesus Christ. Because I can't resist temptation. If I were Jesus Christ, Kazantzakis's The Last Temptation of Christ could probably still have been called that. But, just to clarify, it would also have been The First Temptation of Christ. Satan would have been, "Look. Knock this shit off for a handful of Fizz candy and a Snickers bar?" And I would have been all, "Ooh! Fizz!" Scarab punches Pan and Pan responds by saying, "Hey man! Why so violent?! Sheesh. Let's be civil. Come inside my lair and let's talk. Watch out for the puddles of semen. Don't touch those socks. I apologize for the stench."

Pan reveals his real name and exposes himself for the vanilla sex monster he really is.

Why would Pan joyfully claim he's the missionary position?! At least be "The Beast Whose Penis Looks Like a Backwards Woman So I Can Stare Straight Up Her Butthole as We Fuck!" It turns out Pan is dying. Probably because he only fucks in one the worst position. Scarab can't convince Pan not to die so Pan dies. Some hero. After Pan dies, the women of the town begin realizing they don't want to be pregnant with a smell goat god's disgusting progeny so they begin to perform abortions on themselves or scream until they miscarry or simply go insane. Pan told Scarab that Eleanor will be taking care of his children. I don't know if he meant because they're all going to be killed now or because they'll be born into the Net or any number of other stupid reasons I can come up with through my terrible ability to speculate. The pornographer turns out to be Sidney Sometimes, the Fortean publisher, who I completely forgot about because I read that section of this comic book yesterday. Maybe he'll become the Scarab's lead on weird things to investigate. The issue ends with one more revelation: the "it" in Marty's "Look what it did to me" was indeed impregnation. I'm not going to rule out the castration as well but that wasn't ever explicit. So Marty wanders off to ignore what's going to happen when he gives birth because it certainly won't be a lot of fun finding out. Scarab #4 Rating: C. I think Pan fucked up this entire town just to get a few more months of life. I can respect that. People act horrified at the thought of bathing in baby's blood to stay eternally young but, I mean, seriously, if that were an actual option, we'd find out a whole lot of people were way less concerned about the welfare of infants.

#Scarab #John Smith #Scot Eaton #Vertigo #DC Comics #DC

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josiemaxinegallows · 5 years

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LIFE BEGINS AT CUM Sermon #1 of the SUNDAY SATANISM series by Josie M. Gallows

Life begins at cum. Cum doesn’t have a heartbeat but it can travel. Cum is alive. When a cumshot is killed we call it “spermicide.” When an egg dies that’s called “ovicide.”

The abortion debate is a moral stopwatch. When is life alive? Choose your philosophy. The intrepid sperm is alive. The egg, also. Both have potential to become Bible believing patriots. Inshallah. Certain extremists take these factoids deadly serious. The anti-masturbators of the past are the great-grandpappies of today’s anti-abortion sharia.

Zygotes and blastocysts are living. But they’re unthinking. Devoid of personality. No stake in the world of human affairs. No history, with thousands of man hours invested. Unlike the mother, the fetus is alive but has no life that can be halted, delayed, or destroyed. Nobody relies on the unwanted fetus. The fetal heartbeat can’t be heartbroken. It knows nothing about itself. The fetus is the most innocent thing in all the world, because it’s a non-person.

Pregnancy effects the woman more than abortion effects the unborn. Abortion isn’t a care free decision but the scales have been miscalibrated. Intentionally.

It’s political theater. The Christians who rule value the cumshot more than the woman. They legitimize their rule by appealing to ignorant sentimentality. Observe the very same men, and their dutiful wives, dispassionate towards every other example of innocent life. It’s assured these men are unsympathetic to strange fetuses. They bother because of theater, simple and plain. Their own misogynistic superstition plays a role, and takes its toll, but whatever the motivation, the damage is the same.

Dysfunctional Christian strongholds such as Georgia and Alabama are threatening the state’s violence against women who might need an abortion. I’m sure, the Mega Churches blame loose moral values for the “murder of babies.” They indict everything but Christianity for the sorry state of family values. But they don’t get off the hook. Christianity is the loose moral value.

The state of family life is botched by religions like Christianity. The church is why the proletariat struggles to find its footing. Place your hopes and your values in the unreal and a barren harvest is a sure thing. The Satanic Age can’t be faulted. The church can be blamed for Girls Gone Stupid. I blame the peer pressure of good Christian morality for every teenage girl who stunts her future by the wretchedly sentimental act of becoming a teen mom, in this day and age; if she has any choice. Chances are, she doesn’t have a choice. I don’t blame sexual promiscuity.

Without the church, abortion and dysfunction wouldn’t occur at the rate they do. If the Satanic Age, an age of meaningful liberty, were allowed to flourish and take its final shape – and sooner rather than later, it will – only the most necessary of abortions would take place. Anton LaVey himself commented on this in Satan Speaks!, where he suggested compulsory sterilization. Read for yourself, The Third Side: The Uncomfortable Alternative, pages 30-31. With everything we’ve learned since then, perhaps it’s time to elaborate.

The Christian types have resisted, corrupted, or destroyed efforts to create a more responsible public, better fit for parenting and less likely to abort. The Christian resists education as a natural predator, because it challenges the primacy of The Holy Bible as the sole source of public wisdom. But it’s sexual education he truly rails against. Private neurosis becomes a civilization wide crisis.

As much as possible, the public’s kept in the dark about their own bodies, practically bereft of deeper knowledge about birth control and relationships. Resistance is met with an unhinged freak-out, each and every time. Ignorance, not family, is the public institution.

Forthcoming generations will be deprived of choice through sheer ignorance. The mutation is already taking hold. What good is a public, today, where only the therapist and the educator are compelled to learn about child psychology and child education? This is a profound loss to the species because Mega Church Christians are hysterical, in need of a 72-hour psych hold, that gays might be included, that women wouldn’t be beasts of burden by default. The unreality of porn is the greatest source of sex ed for boys. Good going, Jesus.

There is a gaping hole where adult values have been effectively sledge hammered out of the wall between order and chaos. The most basic of instruction is morally troubled. The young won’t learn the folkways and traditions that made life effective in the old world. The third world can do more with less. The western kiddo is deprived, because the girl might be oppressed and the boy might be sissified by wearing an apron. They aren’t taught to cook, clean, build, organize, mend, hunt, or study for anything but a standardized test. They don’t learn to grow, preserve, take inventory, or balance an account. They certainly won’t learn to be effective parents, parents on purpose, able to delegate roles, and capable of discipline without abuse. Their own parents won’t be around to teach these things in full because, thanks to Protestant austerity, both parents are entrenched in the workforce. Seeing as the churches on every street corner don’t pay their taxes, to subsidize the results of their own fuck-up failures, it wouldn’t be affordable to institute these solutions anyway. Let me make it Satanically clear, the zygote has little to look forward to.

Let’s no longer pretend Christian hyperbole isn’t to blame, please and thank you. It’s time to skewer the bastards. They’ve had US Surgeon Generals fired in disgrace for trying to turn the tide. It’s not hypothetical. Our botched republics are at least one part theocracy, right now. Each of us have a vested interest in dismantling Christendom.

The Christian man can’t get a clue. After millennia of accrued evidence that hormones are stronger than scripture, he persists in his delusional pipe-dream that abstinence will save the soul of the nation. Of the 2 billion odd Christians, the majority of them are Catholic. The Catholic is well known to teach the poor, destitute, or insane, to forego contraceptives. The missionaries of Christ are plague rats who journey to regions frequented by famine, drought, and genocide. In their wake, they leave behind the building blocks of ignorance. Be fruitful and multiply, and should the babes die of dehydration, God bless. If abortion is murder, are missionaries enacting crimes against humanity? If we’re talking results, let’s talk negligent manslaughter. Can we try the Pope in Nuremberg? Every Mega Church pastor, too? And why not? Lately, they love the idea of threatening us with the state’s violence. Tit for fucking tat.

I suspect the degeneracy and misery they sow is coincidentally of great benefit to Christendom. If a child is born with his hands outstretched for alms then he’s a vassal to whoever controls the collection plate. The destitute and dysfunctional are most in need of the mad hope of spiritual religion. The more dysfunction at play the better, with less help to go around the desperation can only deepen, creating ever more loyal subservience. This is why the junkie, the convict, and the lunatic, are often the most devout believers. Look to the worst human settlements and you’ll find the most religion. It sure looks that way. It’s coincidental, but all the same.

Christian men don’t lead. They force. They penalize. Ironically, it’s not we Satanists who love a human sacrifice. It’s the Christian type, the Muslim type, who make burnt offerings of suffering women and children. The stench is pleasing to the nostrils of Allah. Here’s a secret: killing a woman isn’t necessary to sacrifice her to God. Remember that.

We do need a program of family planning. A real institution. A revolution of prevention would provide all the family values we’d ever need. What do we get instead? Pale face sharia.

The frauen of the church want the children of rape born into this world. The morally unsatisfied Christian man wants a mother’s trauma relived at every milestone of development. Allahu Ackbar. Children of incest would skinny dip in our gene pool, protecting and defending the purity of southern heritage. Christians want their own nightmarish conjuring of “family values, with no compromise and no revision. The Handmaid’s Tale feels less like speculative fiction and more like a plausible threat under the right working conditions. Christian family values reduce women into beasts of burden. Breeding stock. If it means killing our mothers, sisters, and daughters, then praise be. They would rescind the right to terminate a high risk pregnancy. In Jesus name, hands to the sky. A family should lose its matriarch for the sake of one doomed pregnancy.

The mother’s heartbeat is a chicken heart, to the Christian – she exists for her eggs. Her own heartbeat is a petty concern. Her body is meant to warm the nest and receive the cock. Nothing more. Thy Kingdom Cum.

By the sign of the cross, the bodies of women are livestock to be tortured, not respected. Should her fetus be nonviable, this Peckerwood Caliphate would have her carry the miscarriage to term, wrecking her mental and physical health in the process. If an accident should happen, should contraceptives fail, should a bright and talented woman be impregnated against her will, the saints would have her follow through. Carry the mistake to the very bitter end. Nevermind the repercussions to herself, to her family, or to her society. God is good. “Live with your mistakes,” she’s told. “Take responsibility.” Yet abortion is often the most responsible choice possible.

Under His Eye, a profoundly deformed fetus would be denied a merciful death in the comfort of the womb. The family home would become a hospice care for the irreparably broken. Christians fancy using adjectives like “unnatural” and “abomination.” Their tongues can’t taste the irony. There couldn’t be a more apt description of permissive, degenerate behavior, than rooting for the legally required birth of genetic tragedies. And yet, they’d deny women, at every opportunity, to choose health over deformity, to choose success over pointless drudgery. Foundering horses get more mercy at the hands of the farmer.

Since these Christians can’t send us to hell themselves, they seem bent on making the Earth as miserable as possible. And with what they’re pushing, they’re getting the job done as best they can.

What might be the Satanic alternative? The third side? “Of course, whenever an issue becomes more important than a solution, don’t expect to stumble over a third side.” Dok LaVey was right. And I don’t suspect any real solution, proposed by any Satanist, stands a chance of becoming the mainstream institution. Flying the banner of Satan over an issue would probably be detrimental, anyway. Though what could we do, individually, to fight back?

We need to knock the crucifix off the flag pole. We need education, to start with. Miseducation is the church’s lifeblood. With so much agitation about the pay of teachers, there’s not much talk about the usefulness of what they’re allowed to teach. The program must be fixed, from K to 12, from Associates to Bachelors. If the public infrastructure is rendered obsolete by moral trouble, then rational, secular, wealthy individuals with a stake in the future, might consider building an alternative – freely available. Perhaps. A revival of classic education and training, strengthened by the lessons we’ve learned in the last century, could be useful. Sex ed, and what comes after birth, would have its place.

Up next, accountability. I know it sounds feminist – and I know that puts it in the bargain bin of ideology for a great many of this “congregation” – but men aren’t taking nearly responsibility they could. The burdens of sexuality and care of the young still fall, mainly, to women. Should we stay 2,000 years backwards, also?

If not, it’s time to talk about the vasectomy. The vasectomy is the most effective, lowest risk, cost effective, least detrimental form of birth control on the market. It has no effect on hormones. It poses no risk of blood clot or mood instability. The vas differens, the small tube that makes ejaculate fertile, provides around 2% of the total volume in a cumshot. If a spectator were genuflecting for her facial, she could never tell the difference. It’s reliable and reversible. Some 80% of American men are circumcised so there should be no squeamishness involved here. Unlike circumcision, the vasectomy doesn’t decrease sexual pleasure. It’s not outwardly visible.

If it’s such a man’s world, where’s the man’s choice in conception?

How many parasitic industries would collapse in a generation were the vasectomy as common as the circumcision? If the vasectomy were incentivized, normalized, and subsidized as the responsible choice it is, Christianity would spring another leak in its gas tank. And we could start to say “Good riddance.” Where Satan is no longer an effective spook to lure in the masses, abortion picks up the slack. Take away abortion and we deprive the church of its holocaust propaganda.

The courts would lose their cut of the child support racket. Ghettos would flourish. With more to go around, and less waste, what would become of the welfare state? And in turn, the nanny state?

Schools would no longer be overcrowded brainwash laundromats, where thanks to inherited hardship we still separate our whites from our colors. Missionaries could dig wells while doctors without borders could perform vasectomies. The global population could start to shrink, reduced to only the most wanted, most loved, best cared for generations of children.

Tract housing wouldn’t scar the earth and wildlife could return, ecosystems restored. With so much concern for global warming and the clear cutting of rain forests, isn’t any sensible environmental policy one that reduces the human population and human consumption together? With so many human rights violations, wouldn’t a smaller, better educated, better prepared generation, be less susceptible to tyranny? By virtue of there being fewer people, each person would matter all the more. That sounds like pro-life to me.

Is my speculation so far fetched? Could the proliferation of schooling and the all-but-compulsory vasectomy get so much accomplished? Look to their absence. Look to a Christian Nation, as forced as it is. Look everywhere ignorance and theocracy hold hands.

The outrage will have its way. A woman’s choice vs. a woman’s jail time. And for all the sorrow caused by unplanned, unmitigated, uneducated parenthood, solutions will go ignored. Remember this, the uncomfortable third side is so uncomfortable because nobody gets to feel like a messiah, and somebody has to do an honest day’s work.

HAIL SATAN! Josie Maxine Gallows Kali Yuga

Disclaimer: the views expressed here are not THE Satanic view on abortion. But they are MY Satanic views on abortion. Cross-posted from my official website. Want more? Become a member of The Kali Yuga by subscribing to my content on PATREON. www.patreon.com/josiemaxinegallows

#abortion #satanism #feminism

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berniesrevolution · 6 years

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IN THESE TIMES

Isabel discovered she was pregnant May 14. She and her husband, Jack (names changed because of his undocumented status), had been trying to start a family for years. They had a miscarriage in 2015. In 2016, their baby girl died an hour and a half after being born premature. Given the past complications, this new pregnancy was a huge deal. But Isabel wasn’t able to tell Jack in person.

He was one of 32 workers seized during a May 9 raid at the Midwest Precast Concrete facility (MPC) in Mt. Pleasant. It was the largest Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raid in the state since 2008, when 900 agents blitzed a meatpacking plant in Postville and put a tenth of the small town’s population in jail.

Isabel’s stepfather, also an MPC employee, went out for lunch that day, narrowly avoiding arrest. He returned to find a deserted plant—uneaten plates of food, cars left in the parking lot.

When Isabel called Jack to tell him about the pregnancy, he was being held in an ICEcontracted detention facility in Wisconsin. He was overjoyed; he’d been using the time to think of baby names “for whenever we do have a kid.”

But Jack was also worried. He didn’t know whether he’d be present for his child’s birth, still in detention, or deported.

Then Isabel received a call from the Eastern Iowa Community Bond Project (EICBP), part of a wave of new groups that bail out detained immigrants. They wanted to help.

EICBP posted Jack’s bond on June 18, and he’s now home with Isabel. His immigration hearing is scheduled for 2019. He could still be deported to El Salvador, where gang violence and the state crackdown on organized crime (carried out with U.S. support) cause many civilian causalities. Still, Jack will be present for the birth of their child, which Isabel considers a blessing.

“If the outcome is not favorable, at least they’ve had time to sort out family affairs,” says Natalia Espina, a co-founder of EICBP.

When EICBP started in January 2017, it was one of two immigration bond funds in the nation. Since its scrappy, grassroots beginning, the small, volunteerrun organization has raised over $80,000 to free a total of 21 immigrants, 13 of whom are undocumented workers seized during the May 9 raid. Today, EICBP is one of 15 active immigration bond projects in 12 states and one of 37 members of the National Bond Fund Network.

For most detained immigrants, securing a bond is the only way to live outside detention while the federal government decides whether to deport them, a process that averages 700 days. There is no federal limit on how long an immigrant can be held without trial.

(Continue Reading)

#politics #the left #in these times #iowa #immigration #mass deportation #deportation machine #ICE #abolish ICE

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theklancecollection · 6 years

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Hi! Do you know any pregnant Keith fics?

Hey there Anon!

I managed to find a few. I hope you like them. :)

A Galra Blessing - TheRedPaladin101

Word Count: 16, 264

Summary: “Keith, it appears that you are expecting.”

Keith blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again. “Excuse me? Kolivan, I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s literally impossible.”

Rating: M; minor violence, implied sexual content

Baby Blue - orphan_account

Word Count: 2, 362

Summary: In which the functions of secondary sex dynamics aren’t universal.

Rating: R; explicit sex, alien biology

The Baby Blues - JustSomeGirl92

Word Count: 16, 575

Summary: Keith finds out the hard way that his Galra genes allow him to carry a baby. He never intended to get pregnant with Lance's child in the middle of an intergalactic war. Now he must face his toughest decision yet.

Rating: R; mentions of abortion, miscarriage, smut, drunken sex, alcohol, mentions of violence

Soft As Pink - Methoxyethane

Word Count: 19, 360

Summary: What, no, Lance's life wasn't stressful! Just because he had a horny Galran husband deadset on a mission to conceive and a FREAKIN' SPACE WAR they were still in the thick of, that didn't have to to be anything anyone got stressed out about! Now, once Keith actually succeeds in getting pregnant? That's when things were gonna get REALLY stressful.

Rating: R; smut

Love Heals All Wounds - yaoikazowie

Word Count: 27, 013

Summary: When a mission goes terribly wrong, Keith is captured and raped by the Galra. Together with support from the team, and Lance-- who has a healing touch-- Keith attempts to recover. But everything changes when he finds out he is pregnant. Can he trust in Lance to help him through this?

___Just a warning:Brief depiction of rape at the beginningMale Pregnancy

Rating: R; smut, rape

The War Rages On - HandsintheStars

Word Count: 78, 330

Summary: They fell in love because of the war around them.

Because of his Galra background, Keith was able to get pregnant, so he and Lance tried for a baby.

The first baby died from a Galra attackThe second baby died from another Galra attackNot wanting to lose anymore, Keith and Lance decided to give up.What happens when Keith finds out he's pregnant again with a third child? Will this one die too?

Is it worth getting excited over when both of them know that this same war that brought them together was going to keep getting their babies killed? They work hard to protect this one this time.

Rating: R; miscarriages, still born babies, suicide attempt, child bearing

#klancecollection answers #klance fic recs #Anonymous

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