chapter 90 vash

Unwanted Mental Breakdown

So I work as a cashier now a days. They obviously taught me the important things on the first day, but somethings you can only teach when it happens. Like what to do when you get different types of checks. Some you give back to the customer, some you keep. Well when this nice lady had given me her check my machine kind of ate it. It seems to be fine when I opened it, but apparently it caused it to skip the prompt that tells me whether to keep or release the check. So my assumption was to release. I have learned today that I was wrong. The lady’s bill was around $90 and I had two choices. Try and pay it in full, or they can take a part of my check. I was obviously upset and distract by this. But what else am I meant to do? So I just say take it from my check. And I thought that was it. Well my brain thought not. Of course I dwelled over it, who wouldn’t? But it seems my brain thought I was under reacting. So trying to stop the tears and that gross sad face. I was doing okay. It was a hot day so I passed off the tears as sweat for as long as I could. Until the fucking dam broke. I have no idea what was coming over me. Now was not the time brain! I'm still at work! My only thought is that being in a rush where I didn’t have a second to even think to myself didn’t aid me in my emotional distress. In fact it may have been why it happened. I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t hold it in any longer as I tried to punch in the barcode for eggs since it got scratched off and the machine wouldn’t read it. She kept asking me if I was alright and if I need a minute but I honestly just wanted to ignore it. I felt the outbreak was unnecessary but I couldn’t make it stop. What makes me feel worse is her kid even felt bad for me and asked if I needed a hug. I honestly didn’t but… I don’t know I guess I wanted to make her feel like she helped? I’m not sure what I was thinking, I just wanted to stop feeling like I was humiliating myself. My co-worker noticed me and just told me to take a minute in the bathroom. So I did, there I continued the fit. Feeling stupid, idiotic and humiliated. I kept the lights off and just sat on the floor, crying and hiccupping. I called my fiancé I desperately needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand and someone I felt comfortable telling this. He was also at work so again, feels bad man. He picked up asking what’s wrong. (I never really call him if I’m at work.) I was hiccupping trying to tell him what happened. And he got extremely worried. Saying how he’ll be there in five minutes and how he’s going to take his break. Deep down I guess I did want the comfort but surface wise I felt it would have made me feel stupider. It did help though. I told him about it and he was trying to say how it would be okay. So there I am him and myself trying to calm me down. And here comes my co-worker who tries to tell me, in the nicest way possible, that I am needed upfront. and there I go back upfront with puffy red eyes and a reddened face helping check people out. Then I see my boss come walk up next to me and I just know she's going to try and ask me if I am okay for try and make me feel better. Which won't make me feel better at all. In fact it will make me feel worse, because two things may happen. 1. It reminds me of what made me sad 2. It reminds me of how I couldn't fight my own emotions. Both with just bring the emotions back and make me feel worse. And something about the way she said what she did. Both her tone and the words she chose. Just made me feel like she was being condescending. Almost in a demeaning my feelings kind of way. Whether I was really feeling that way or not. It just irked me. She then said that I was weirdly sensitive. Then that things she thinks would upset me don't upset me and things she won't think upset me upset me. What was I meant to say to this? Honestly?? She said something else and I don't know what compelled me to say this maybe I was more talking to myself.

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 3

Day late but here you go! Thank you to @acourtofcouture​ for beta-ing and putting up with me!

Chapter Masterlist

The six hour flight left Nesta well rested and refreshed as she checked into her hotel. She texted Jacob to check in and make sure none of his equipment had gotten lost on the flight. Having arrived a day earlier, he had been lurking around paddocks in hopes of capturing any drama on film.

He assured her everything had made it safely and informed her there were rumors flying about transmission troubles with the McLaren team. Nesta told him to keep an eye on it and unpacked her suitcase.

Nesta had just sat down when her phone rang. It was Tomas. Sighing, she decided she couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Tomas,” She answered coldly.

“About damn time you picked up the phone,” He replied, remorseless. He wasn’t earning himself any points. “What room are you in?”

She frowned. “How do you know if I’m even in Baku?”

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out flight numbers.” Interesting, he was keeping tabs on her.

“I don’t want to-”

“I said what room?”

Nesta sank back in the plush chair. Truthfully, she did want to see him, if only to determine what he had to say for himself. She couldn’t let go of the hope that somehow this was all a simple misunderstanding.

“Fourteen twelve,” She told him, instantly regretting it.

She heard him shuffling on the other end. “Five minutes.”

A knock on her door sounded a few minutes later, and she let Tomas in. “I saw the story.”

“Obviously,” Nesta scoffed, crossing her arms. Tomas reached for her but she stepped away. His eyes went bright with anger. She would not make this easy for him.

“I tried calling you.”

“I am aware.” Nesta picked at her nails to hide her trembling, trying to appear utterly nonplussed. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes.”

Nesta froze. Ever so slowly, her gaze slid to Tomas. Back straight, chin jutting out, staring down his nose at her. He still showed no sign of regret, nothing that would indicate he made a mistake.

“Why?” She rasped, fighting back tears. Tomas was not worth it.

He shrugged. “Because I wanted to. You and I are just fucking anyways. What does it matter?”

Nesta recoiled, blinking. “I can’t do this.” She had grossly miscalculated their entire relationship. Her palms began to sweat, her breathing increasing to a fever pitch. She pressed a hand to her chest, praying that the pressure would prevent her glass heart from shattering. Instead, it pushed the shards further into her lungs, making each breath ragged.

“Get out,” She whispered. Tomas scoffed, stepping forward.

“Nesta-”

“Out!” She repeated, more forcefully. She only needed to hold herself together for a few more seconds until he was out the door, then she could crumble.

Tomas’ face twisted. “Fine. I’ll see you at the paddock tomorrow anyway, I’m sure.”

Nesta let out a choked sob as soon as the door slammed shut. Her resolve broke, the dam inside of her punched through. Tears flowed freely down her face as she fell to her knees. She shouldn’t have loved him. 

Before they had met, she knew he was nothing but a heartbreaker. He went through women the way a drunk went through a bottle of liquor. Tomas viewed women in the same way as well; objects to be used until they were no more than empty shells and then discarded.

Nesta let the grief crash against her for a handful of minutes before she realized how useless it was. Tomas would never love her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was capable of feeling such an emotion at all. There was no use letting him affect her.

Gathering her strength, Nesta stood. She looked at the sorry image in the mirror, taking in the red eyes, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the disheveled hair. She wouldn’t let a man crush her. She had made it this far by blinding herself to the sneers and derogatory comments thrown at her. Why couldn’t she do the same to get over Tomas?

But as she climbed into bed, she realized how flawed that mentality was.

**********

Sunday’s race kept Nesta busy. Lucien and Azriel collided in lap three, causing a safety car and ultimately leading to the pair of them being unable to finish the race. Nesta had seen it on a television hanging in the Mercedes garage, the entire team letting out a collective shout when Vanserra didn’t yield to Azriel in the 90 degree turn and the Red Bull tangled with the Mercedes. Both cars were a mess of broken carbon fiber and snapped suspension bits.

Nesta managed to corner Azriel and get a few heated words out of him, a rare bit of annoyance showing through his usual calm. “Vanserra should have cut into the corner more sharply. He was way off the racing line.”

“Some people would say that you should have backed off and yielded the position to him,” Nesta added, hoping to get him worked up further. “What are your thoughts on that?”

Azriel glared at the camera, addressing anyone who dared think the incident had been his fault. “If you’re not allowed to defend, what’s racing about, then?”

Azriel turned on his heel and belined back to the garage. Jacob lowered the camera and turned to Nesta to ask, “You don’t actually believe it was Azriel’s fault, do you?”

“Of course not.” Nesta’s attention returned to the monitors and she grimaced. The racing incident had allowed Tomas to move up into first. Cassian was only a second behind, but struggling to overtake. At least she no longer had to be invested in Tomas holding his position. She couldn’t care less if he won or not.

In the end, it was Tomas taking home top points for Red Bull, Cassian bringing home 18 for Mercedes and Varian with a handful for McLaren spraying the champagne on the podium. Red Bull’s one stop strategy meant that when Cassian dipped into the pits on lap 38 for a fresh set of soft compound tires and one of the wheel nuts got stuck, Tomas was the clear winner. Cassian had no way to make up the 10 second deficit. The 25 points Tomas’ first place finish awarded him allowed him to slip past Cassian and snag the championship lead. 

And gods, was he smug about it.

Nesta told herself she didn’t care when Tomas sauntered into the press pen, his self-satisfied smile directed at her as he sat. Cassian and Varian filed in moments later, each silent as they took their seats. The room paused, Cassian’s hazel eyes flicking to where she sat front row. Everyone was waiting…. For her.

But her mind was blank. Not a single race related question surfaced. Nesta panicked, clenching a fist hard enough to feel her nails bite her palm. After a few beats of silence, the roar of the other reporters filled her head.

They had been waiting for her to ask something - anything - and she couldn’t come up with a single damned thing to say.

Jacob nudged her side. “You good?”

Nesta was too lost in the tangled web of thoughts to reply. This had all been a game to Tomas; his attitude now told her that. He had used her to gain favor with other teams and build a solid reputation with fans. After all, what better way to gain positive media attention than to have the sport’s most infamous writer in your bed?

She managed to keep her face carefully blank until the end of the conference. She didn’t say a word to Jacob as he packed up, shooting her confused glances all the while. The walls of the room pushed in on her, chest becoming tight. Standing on shaky legs, she fled down the hall, finding an abandoned alcove far from the cacophony of noise.

Chest heaving, Nesta tried to sort through her revelation. Tomas had used her. He had never intended to let this drag out. Those pictures had likely been a calculated move on his end, intended to spear her heart. Maybe breaking her had been his plan all along. He seemed to enjoy her emptiness, judging by the way he kept glancing at her during the conference. 

Her phone vibrated. Against her better judgement, she checked it. It was only Jacob, asking where she was. She only texted back to say that she was fine before gathering herself. She couldn’t just crumble in a hallway where anyone could see her.

She had just began to head towards the exit when someone jogged behind her. “Hey!”

“Not now Cassian,” Nesta said, annoyance evident. How did he always manage to find her when she wanted to be left alone? It was like he had some kind of sixth sense, focused directly on her.

“Hold on,” He said, fingers brushing her arm. The touch froze her, muscles coiling. It had only been a brief moment, but the surprise of it was enough to disarm her. “You okay? You didn’t say a word at the conference.”

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “Why do you care?”

He did not flinch. Most would have. “Because I’m a decent person, believe it or not.” She searched his face for any sign of insincerity. She couldn’t find any; his hazel eyes held only honeyed truths.  

Nesta’s laugh was cruel, hot tears threatening to fall. “Right. Sure you are. Suddenly you feel like caring about how I feel instead of fucking with me. How about you leave me to my misery, Cassian? No need to rub it in.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t want to see the look on his face, whether it was anger or smug satisfaction, or something else entirely. 

Nesta managed to make it out and call a taxi to take her back to the hotel. She was silent the entire ride, not bothering with half-hearted small talk. Collapsing on the bed, she didn’t bother changing. She queued up a cheesy comedy film, one that was full of stupid jokes that were funny when it first came out, but not relevant in the present day.

Halfway through, Nesta grew bored and checked her phone. There was a text from an unknown number.

You okay? You never answered me.

"What the fuck," Nesta mumbled, rereading the message. How had Cassian gotten her number? 

Fine, was all she said back. She didn't know why she even bothered responding. Maybe it was because he had seemed genuinely concerned in that hallway and she felt slightly guilty for blowing him off.

I can buy you a drink if you come down to the hotel bar

Fuck off and leave me alone

Gladly.

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh and texted Jacob.

You gave him my number didn't you?

Jacob's response was only an emoji of a nervous smile.

"Little fucker," She mumbled, tossing her phone aside. She'd throttle him tomorrow on the plane. Right now, she was too hungry to send a snarky reply. If she slipped out the back, she could grab a burger without having to chance running into Cassian at the bar.

Grabbing a sweater - the desert got cold at night, she'd learned that the hard way - she made the trek down the fourteen flights of stairs, trying to piece together her life.

By the time she made it to a fast food shop, she was exhausted. She inhaled her meal in minutes, lounging in the dingy booth. She looked at her phone for what felt like the thousandth time, disappointed when there wasn’t so much as a text from Tomas.

She got up from the booth, tossed her trash in the bin and walked out. She took the long way back to the hotel, purposely winding through the streets. Why did she care if Tomas hadn’t texted her? It was her own fault that she had let herself fall for him in the first place. She knew it had been a horrible idea, and yet she had allowed herself to let him gain a place of importance in her life. They’d agreed on no feelings, and yet here she was. 

By the time she made it back to her hotel room, Nesta was exhausted. It took her three tries to fit the electronic key in the reader, and she used her full weight to shoulder the obscenely heavy door open. 

She didn’t bother with the lights, simply slipping out of her shoes and throwing her jacket in the general direction of the closet. She wanted to sleep; maybe that would reset her mind so she could feel less broken tomorrow.

“Hey-”

“Fuck!” Nesta jumped at the voice, fumbling for the lightswitch, heart in her throat. She squinted when warm light filled the room, shoulders relaxing when she saw who it was. Tomas, standing awkwardly by the desk, roses and a small box in his hands. Despite herself, hope bloomed.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, unmoving.

Setting down the bouquet, Tomas stepped forward to hand her the box. “I came to apologize. I know I missed your birthday and that I’m a shitty person. But if you open that, I think you’ll see…”

He trailed off, nodding to the present she now held. She opened the hinged black velvet, revealing a small diamond necklace. It was delicate, nothing flashy, but enough to make a statement. Nesta glanced up at him, heart warring with her head.

“Do you think showering me with pretty things will make me take you back, after what you said?”

“I think it’ll help, when paired with the fact that I-” He swallowed, trying and failing to hide his grimace. “I love you.”

Any and all sane thoughts left her head upon hearing those three precious words. Gods, she had dreamed of this moment for months. He’d only waited to tell her because it was clearly hard for him to say. But now that he’d admitted it, she could teach him how to love.

Nesta laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Tomas. I always have.”

His hands rest on her back, not returning her fervor but she didn’t care. “Now will you take me back?”

The short answer was yes, absolutely. There was nothing she wanted more in the world than to wrap herself up in him and get lost. But her head knew that she needed to lay out a defense.

“Only if you promise we can make this real. If we can be together. Which means no more stunts for the cameras. I can’t keep writing about it like it’s nothing.”

Tomas tensed against her. “Fine. I can do that.”

The weight on Nesta’s chest eased. She let him lay her back on the bed, ripping at his clothes. She only let him pull away long enough for him to whisper, “I can’t stay the night.”

@aphoeni @planet-faerie  @nina-zcnik @darlinminds @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland–memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @toastedroastedburnt @swankii-art-teacher @illyrianshadowhunter @bakingandbooks3 @maastrash​ @candid-confetti​ @flamingveritas​ @silentquartz​ @suckmykawaiidesu​ @18moneytoad​ @frosted-crackers​ @maybekindasortaace @lysandra-tiara9 @rowaelinismyotp​ @jlinez

Reflections - Project Widow Soldier Part 2

I don’t know if I’ll be posting much of my own content again until after the New year so if you don’t hear from m until then, hope you all have a Merry Christmas (Or whichever holiday you prefer to celebrate!) and I’ll see you in the New Year! Also, I don’t think I’ll be continuing this any further as I have no more headcanons for it but I hope you enjoy this anyway.

Part 1

Anyway on with the story!:

Marinette sat in the lounge of the Avengers tower, eyes closed and for once almost completely relaxed. Friday was playing a mix of Christmas music that had everything from Peter Hollens, Pentatonix and Lindsey Stirling to Frank Sinatra and co. Currently, it was 'Grown-up Christmas List' by Evynne Hollens and its wording was making her reflect on the past few months.

When the Avengers had found out she existed she had been worried that she would be dragged away from the life she had made for herself in Paris completely. She had been extremely when Tony had walked into her class and dealt with Lila, Alya and Ms Bustier as it took all the pressure she had been feeling from dealing with those three herself off of her. The fall out from that had been extremely swift with Ms Bustier being replaced by a Ms Pargeter, who was not only a good teacher but made history much more enjoyable! The class had gone back treating her the way they always had before Lila had taken over and while she didn't care all that much about their opinions it was nice to be able to walk through the halls without people trying to trip her. She was also grateful as she hadn't expected them to support her wish to stay with the Dupain-Cheng's nor had she expected them to stick around long enough to help with the Hawkmoth problem. 

That had been interesting to be part of. Not long after they had arrived in France, there had been an Akuma attack that had forced Master Fu to name her as the guardian. Due to this, she knew she wouldn't be able to leave Paris until Hawkmoth was dealt with, and if she was honest with herself, she wanted a true holiday! This led to her asking the Avengers for help, which they were all too willing to provide. When she wasn't working on her hacking skills with Tony to get into the police video archives, she was sparring with Natasha and Bucky to make sure she hadn't lost her skills there. She had gone over her weapons training with Hawkeye too and was pleased to see that despite not actively using her skills she hadn't lost any of them.

They had had their first break when they had noticed that there were no camera's around the Agreste Mansion and gone backtracking to find out why. Seeing the number of bribes the man had paid to various people to make sure the area remained camera free was staggering, to say the least! The next step was to hack all of the computers in the mansion. She knew that Adrian had missed several classes due to photoshoots and she also knew that all the computers in his home were linked so it was simple to slip a program onto a flash drive that would bypass all of Mr Agreste's firewalls and give them unlimited access to all his computers without having to bother about hacking them. Tony had seen the logic in that as it saved time, even if it did require him to have some patience.

Some of the things they had found on those computers, when combined with the police records had been enough to convince everyone that Mr Agreste or Nathalie was Hawkmoth. When Mayura was added to the mix they were almost 100% sure. To be safe, Marinette had lent her mother the fox miraculous to case out the mansion without it being traced back to any of the avengers. Natasha had named herself Kuma Lisa* and her colouring when transformed was a dark red that could easily be mistaken for black. She had almost no white on her and as a result, she tended to vanish into the shadows which was perfect for her spying activities. When she had seen the huge butterfly window and even more damming, the corrupted butterflies that left from it, they knew they had been right. They also knew they would have to be careful as some of the purchases they had seen through the computers had included military-grade hardware and weapons.

With all the evidence they had, Marinette knew she had to bring Adrian in so that he didn't receive a shock during the battle. She had had to think hard about how to break the news to him and eventually decided to slip him a note to meet her at the Grand Paris where she could reveal herself as Ladybug and the Avengers could back up what she was saying. He hadn't taken it well but in the end, he had lowered his head in defeated acceptance. He had then asked what would become of him when his father was arrested and had been shocked when Tony had offered to adopt him. Tony knew of his love of physics and chemistry and had wanted to nurture it though he knew he would need to get Adrian into councilling so that he didn't end up the same way he had. When Adrian had found out about Marinette was adopted her had been more than willing to accept Tony's offer though he was shocked when he found out who her birth parents were.

With the help of her parents and the rest of the Avengers, the battle had gone smoothly. They had Kuma Lisa had waited out of sight near the opening of Hawkmoth's lair and had alerted them as soon as it had opened. With Kaalki's help, the whole team had been on-site within seconds. Hawkmoth had tried to fight back as had Mayura but he just didn't have the skill to go against the Avengers and Ladybug at the same time, especially as for the first time ever, Ladybug had not held back. The fight had been brutally one-sided from the start and within 10min of everyone arriving the fight was over. Chat Noir had been tasked with getting all the hard copies of anything Miraculous related from inside the mansion along with Bruce as they had wanted to spare Adrian from having to fight his father and they hadn't wanted to risk the hulk becoming Akuma bait. 

The fallout all over Paris with Hawkmoth gone was interesting, to say the least. The government had to hire extra psychologists to deal with everyone trying to get used to being able to show their emotions again without fear, yet not knowing how due to having to keep everything suppressed for years. It became a common sight to see adults floundering to situations that they should have normally been able to handle. The mayor had been outed as had several police officials for corruption, new people had been brought in to help and the UN had offered to help out the same way they normally would in war-torn countries in order to help Paris recover.

By the time term had ended she had been glad to get away from her classmates and go on tour with Jagged. She had taken the miracle box with her but had sent all the scrolls and books with Tony to be stored in her room at the Avengers tower. They were in one of her lock boxes for now but she knew they needed to get everything away from Paris as a precaution.

The month she spent travelling was liberating in Marinette's opinion. Sure she had checked every new area for any lost miraculi as Tikki had advised her to but she had also taken the chance to observe what worked the best design-wise for stage vs videos and even event situations. This had led to several wardrobe additions for Jagged and Penny as well as for herself when she found herself dragged on stage to either help translate what Jagged was saying or to sing with him after he caught her singing Halestorm's Amen while she was working on his next stage outfit. The first time he had pulled her on stage for a duet, it had been an instant sensation and from then on it became a regular thing for his concerts. She always insisted on a mask though, she had destroyed her Hydra records but she'd rather err on the side of caution, just in case!

Once her month with Jagged was up she'd headed to New York and met up with the Avengers and with Adrian, who had taken to living in the tower like a duck to water. She had been surprised to find that Tony had given her a whole floor, rather than just a room but apparently each of the Avengers had their own floor too so she just shrugged it off. She had jumped back into her normal training routine now that she wasn't travelling and had enjoyed those first few spars against her parents immensely. It was during one of the no-holds-barred all-out two on one spars they held every so often that Adrian had walked in and been stunned by how fast and hard they were fighting. When they had called an end to it he'd asked how much she had been holding back during their time as Ladybug and Chat Noir. His disappointment when she said that she hadn't used 90% of her skills had almost been tangible but he had understood why she'd done it after she'd explained her reasoning.

They had settled into a sort of sibling relationship soon after that as she tried to teach him moves that would work for him and he tried to learn how to cook from her. It had gotten to the stage that they were banned from the main kitchens due to the number of flour fights they'd had. Somehow they had ended up making sure they had a least one day a week set aside for anime and they had worked their way through SAO, Akagami no Shirayukihime, Seiken-Tsukai-no-World-Break and Isekai Cheat Magician within a week before they decided they needed to slow down. The only downside to watching Anime was that Marinette had picked up the language to the point she no longer needed the subtitles and he still needed them much to his disgust. Especially as she hadn't known any Japanese at all when they started.

She had been at the tower for three weeks when she met Peter Parker for the first time. She had just finished her work out and was leaving the gym area when he'd arrived and had been highly annoyed with Tony, thinking he'd adopted her like Tony kept trying to do with him. She'd laughed but hadn't corrected him and simply carried on her way. The second time they met was when she'd made breakfast for everyone as it had been her turn to do so as one of the few who could without burning down the kitchen. They'd spoke for a while this time and found they enjoyed each other's company. By the time her summer had ended they had become close friends and she was looking forward to seeing if any more would happen. She'd had to go back to Paris for the new school year but Adrian had decided to enrol in a school in NY instead of going back to Paris as he had too many bad memories there. Marinette didn't blame him at all for that.

School hadn't changed all that much when she returned for the new term. There were the same faces, the same subjects even though they had new topics within them and for the most part there were the same teachers. She hadn't held back as much as she had in previous years, blaming her time at the tower for her slightly more advanced knowledge. She was still bored though and although she had missed Tom and Sabine when she had been away from them she had looked forward to coming back to America again. Especially as things with Peter seemed to be getting more interesting.

Marinette was startled out of her memories by several of the Avengers walking into the room.  

“All good there malen'kaya oshibka?” Bucky asked. (Little bug) “Yeah, I'm alright zhuzhzhaniye.” She replied (buzz kill) “Just thinking about how crazy everything has been since you all dropped into my life.” “You wouldn't change it for the world and you know it Bug,” Adrian said even as he settled on the floor in front of her. “True,” she admitted quietly “I'm just glad I have somewhere I can be me, you know what I mean?” Adrian nodded as did most of the Avengers. “Enough with the heavy thoughts, people. It's Christmas! That means presents and getting drunk and possibly eating too much!” Tony said effectively interrupting her thought process again. Jarvis changed the song to 'December Song' and by seemingly mutual agreement the ones sitting closest to the tree started to pass round the presents that had amassed underneath it. The rest of the day was spent enjoying their time together and living in the present. They knew that should anything threaten any of them, they would face it together.

*(Kuma Lisa is a fox from Bulgarian folklore and Russian folklore who usually plays the role of the trickster. Kuma Lisa is encountered with another character known as Kumcho Vulcho - a wolf which is opposite to her and very often suffers from her tricks.)

@northernbluetongue; @liamnl; @vivilakitty

Anti-Racist Uprising Infiltrated by Extreme-Right Hooligans The city of Minneapolis is where it all began. It is where the last drop fell on the surface of a proverbial overflowing lake, causing the dam to burst, consequently starting to destroy the foundations of the empire. A death of just one single man can, under certain dreadful circumstances, put into motion the entire avalanche of events. It can smash the whole regime into pieces. It can fully rewrite history, and even change the identity of a nation. It can… although it not always does. George Floyd’s death became a spark. The city of Minneapolis is where the murder occurred, and where the ethnic minorities rose in rage. But it is also where white extreme right-wing criminals, and some even say, entire regime, perpetrated the uprising, kidnapped what could have become a true revolution and began choking legitimate rebellion by a stained duvet of nihilism and confusion. Here, we will not speculate. We will not point fingers at “deep state” or some multi-billionaire families, and to what extent they have been involved. Let others do this if they know details. But this time, I simply came to listen. And to pass to the world what I discovered first hand and what I was told. This time I simply went to Franklin Avenue and Lake Street, both in Minneapolis. I spoke to Native American people there. To those who joined forces with the African-American community during those dangerous days after May 25, 2020. To people who dared to defend their neighborhoods against brutality against white gangs, which came to loot, infiltrate, and derail the most powerful uprising in the United States in modern history. *** Bob Rice is a Native American owner of Pow Wow Grounds, a local entrepreneur, and a ‘community protection organizer.’ His legendary café is located on Franklin Avenue. During the COVID-19 pandemic, it has been reduced, for the time being, to a takeaway business, but even as such, it is enormously popular among the Native Americans, as well as others. At the back of the cafe is huge storage, full of food. Everyone hungry, in need of help, can simply come here and take whatever he or she needs. We grab some freshly brewed coffee from the shop and take it out to the public benches outside. Bob Rice then begins his story: “There has been police brutality for a very long time, against people of color. Not only talking about Minneapolis but in all these other places, since the 1991 Rodney King incident. Things were boiling and building up – leading to a big blow up.” “And all this discrimination did not start here; it came centuries ago from Europe.” “After the George Floyd murder, I wanted to show solidarity. Native Americans were experiencing an even higher degree of persecution than Black people. We had to stand together. I went down to the site of the murder of George Floyd, in order to support protests.” For a while, we talked about the mass media in the United States, an official and even some ‘independent one,’ and how it quickly and violently turned against the left, as well as against those who have been daring to expose endemic racism in the United States. But soon, we returned to the events that took place here, in May and June. “I noticed the presence of strange elements right from the start. I was watching guys breaking windows. At about 6 am, the morning after, I traveled down to South Minneapolis. There were piles of rocks in front of the rioters. Flash hand grenades. I kept on moving around the areas and kept on seeing rocks. I noticed the Minneapolis Umbrella Man, dressed all in black, with mask and black umbrella and black hammer smashing things – at the end being stopped by black guys. People were walking out of the store with car parts, and I thought, “why stealing those things”? These guys didn’t seem to be as part of the protest. I started moving and going away from the area, thinking that these guys would burn down stores and places soon. I even called up my insurance company the following morning to see if my policy covers civil unrest. That night they burned a lot of stores – auto stores, liquor stores, all types of businesses. I thought that if we do not do something ourselves to protect our neighborhoods, they will burn down all of our areas, too.” “From what I saw, I couldn’t tell you who these guys were, but they were not from here. So, we put up our protection zone calling out people on Facebook. We became the Headquarters of protection of Native American businesses and nonprofit organizations, as well as banks, shops, investment properties, etc. all belonging to the Native American community around here. I noticed there were Caucasian people, driving cars very slowly with no license plates, yelling racial slurs out of the windows. We formed a human shield, chain, along Franklin Avenue, to protect ourselves and our people. At a high point, about 300 people were protecting the area all night long for about eight days in a row. It had to be done, because here we had people from all over, including Wisconsin, descending on us – we had white supremacist group Proud Boys here. They arrived wearing masks. We had young white kids – 16 and 17 years old – coming from Wisconsin, looting liquor stores. We caught them. Obviously, they came out here because they thought it was an exciting thing to do. They didn’t even know where they were – this area is very dangerous with drug dealing and gang violence at night. Lucky, they got caught by us.” And the coverage? I wanted to know whether these events, in the heart of Native American neighborhoods, were described in depth by media reports. Bob Rice replied readily: There was no media reporting on these matters – mass media blamed everything on the Black Lives Matter movement. When liquor stores and tobacco shops were on fire, no police or fire trucks were around. Then the National Guard took over – using tear gas. Mr. Rice sighed, still in disbelief: Just incredible how our so-called President has done all the mess going and even made it worse! *** Robert Pilot, Native Roots Radio host, drove me for days all around the cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, explaining what really took place on both Franklin Avenue and Lake Street. But before, we visited provisory, impromptu monument, where the murder of George Floyd took place. There were flowers, graffiti, works of art; there was grief, and there was solidarity. Native American people clearly supported the plight of the African-Americans. The area was safe; it was well organized. People of all races came here to pay tribute to the murdered man, and centuries of atrocious history of the United States. As we drove, Robert Pilot explained: “Native American neighborhoods armed themselves after the Floyd murder. But not only that: economic hardships ensued after the murder; food banks have come up. The Pow Wow Grounds used to be a food distribution deport but ended up becoming a food bank for anyone to donate and get what they need. Protesters were everywhere; the young generation got fed up. So different from other murders. The last straw was the murder of George Floyd. Four years earlier, in 2016, Philando Castile, an African American man, got murdered by police. He had worked in a school cafeteria. His murder was broadcast live on Facebook. It was a buildup. 10,000 people protested on 38th Street and Chicago in Minneapolis – the site of the murder of George Floyd. Combination of racial and overall frustration.” We drove by burned stores, services, gas stations. Everything was resembling a war zone, and in a way, it was. If you are there, things are extremely raw, emotional. It is not like analyzing things from a distance from the comfort of one’s home. Robert continued explaining, as we drove by block after block of the Middle East-style combat destruction: “There is a small percentage of African American people as compared to White Americans. We need allies, too. We have to support each other. Signs everywhere in my neighborhood, ‘Black Lives Matter.’” “Some young white people have woken up. They see the truth. The opinion of the masses is moving to the left; they are feeling fed up with what is happening around them and what it is that the country is doing to the world because of oil. What is interesting is that there is a protest every single day, which is something new and mind-blowing. The media is misreporting, minimizing the enormity and magnitude of protests, CNN, MSNBC, etc.” Robert Pilot is not only a radio host, but he is also a teacher: “White teachers are still teaching history; they are teaching it to black and Native American kids! Political standing of my students – a few are engaged, but definitely not all. Perhaps 10 percent of people are engaged and doing the work for 90 percent. The white guilt now and then… But many of us feel: You should stand behind us and with us but not in front of us. Revolution is happening in that sense. Everything is changing since protests are happening.” Not everyone likes the changes; definitely not everyone. The establishment is fighting back, trying to survive, in its existing, horrid form. Robert Pilot concludes: “Generally, Black and Native Americans are together, supportive of each other. It is symbolic that the Native American movement started on Franklin Avenue, where protests began in 1968. We would never burn down our own stores like grocery stores and hospitals. Why should we? But we had to mobilize and stop members of the KKK and Proud Boys type of guys.” *** We drive some 100 miles north, in order to meet Ms. Emma Needham – a young Native American activist. Emma was kind enough to bring traditional medicine from her area. We met halfway at the Sand Prairie Wildlife Management Area. Before our encounter, along the highway, we are surrounded by true ‘Americana’: endless open spaces, half-empty highways, more than 100 car-long cargo train pulled by two monstrous engines, while pushed by yet another one. We pass by St. Cloud Correctional Facility – an ancient-looking prison that bears the resemblance of some massive medieval English mansion surrounded by an elaborate system of barbed wires and watchtowers. MI734854 In one of the towns along the road, there is a big makeshift market selling posters, T-shirts, and other memorabilia, all related to the current President. It is called Trump Shop. Big banners are shouting at passing cars: “Trump, Make America Great Again,” “Trump 2020 – No More Bullshit,” and “God, Guns & Guts Made America. Let’s Keep All Three”. Emma is a storyteller, a writer. She is an intelligent, outspoken, sincere, and passionate person: “Where we were, we did not see a lot of white men with masks attacking, but what we did see were two young white kids, around 16, from Wisconsin, looting a liquor store which was run by Native Americans.” “I stayed over Friday and Saturday nights around the Indian American Cultural Center in Minneapolis. On Friday night, within half a mile to a mile in all directors, we could see and hear the riots and looting. There were gunshots, helicopters hovering all around us. But nobody came to rescue us.” “On Saturday night, we could see white people on Jeeps, waving flags, cruising around the neighborhood. “The white kids from Wisconsin were there, it appeared to me, opportunistic grabbing whatever was available.” “Majority of those who came to protest and loot were outsiders, not from the neighborhoods. It does not make sense for people in Minneapolis to burn down and loot stores they rely on.” I wanted to know whether the Native Americans and African-Americans were helping each other in that difficult hour? Emma did not hesitate: “There was big solidarity between Black people and Native American people; there was empathy.” “It has been lifelong degradation for many of us growing up poor and severely marginalized in reservations, but we had never seen anything like this, so close to what resembled a war. Those of us who were down in North Minneapolis those nights – Friday and Saturday – could not find words to describe what was happening. But we had a strong sense that what has been happening to us, Native Americans was happening to Black Americans, too – 400 years of surviving in a system of oppression. Enough is enough! Shared horrors – same for both groups!” I asked whether everything changed, and this is a new beginning for the nation? As many, Emma did not sound overly optimistic: “A black American female artist once said, ‘I love my white friends, but I don’t trust you because I know when the time comes, you need to choose your skin color. You count on the freedom and safety which you have. Whether you make that conscious decision or not, it will be there for you.’” *** On my behalf, Robert Pilot asked Brett Buckner, his fellow radio host, and an African American activist, whether he could confirm that the majority of rioters were whites and not from the community. He replied: “I would say so. Based on police reports and accounts from the community members, most of the damage was done by outsiders. Unfortunately, their actions will cause our community pain for years and even decades to come.” *** Before I finished writing this report, “Umbrella man” got ‘identified.’ On July 29, 2020, Daily Mail wrote: “Masked “Umbrella Man” who was seen smashing windows of Minneapolis AutoZone that was later burned to the ground during George Floyd protests is identified as ‘Hells Angels gang member with ties to white supremacist group’… The Star Tribune reported the 32-year-old man has links to Aryan Cowboy Brotherhood, a white supremacist gang based in Minnesota and Kentucky.” He was one of many, but the most notorious one. Looking at his photos when in action, he was bearing a striking resemblance to ‘ninja’ looking rioters – right-wing hooligans – who were unleashed in order to bring chaos to Hong Kong, people who have been supported and financed by Western governments. I know, because I work in Hong Kong, since the beginning of the riots. Coincidence? And if not: who really ‘inspired’ whom? *** Before I left Minneapolis, Robert Pilot and his wife Wendy interviewed me on their Native Roots Radio. What was supposed to be just 30 minutes appearance ended up being a one-hour event. They showed me their city and their state, sharing sincere feelings and hopes, unveiling suffering of both African American and Native American communities. This time, I traveled to the United States in order to listen. But I was also asked to talk, and so I did. During the interview, I took them to several parts of the world, where black people still suffer enormously, due to Western imperialism and corporate greed. The world where Native people of Latin America, Canada, as well as other parts of the Planet, are brutally humiliated, robbed of everything, even murdered by millions. We were complimenting each other. Our knowledge was. I am glad I came to Minnesota. I am thankful that I could witness history in the making. I am also delighted that I observed solidarity between the African American and Native American people. For centuries, both went through hell, through agony. Now, they were awakening. Minnesota is where the latest and very important chapter of American history began. But I also went to Washington, D.C., Baltimore, New York City, Massachusetts. I witnessed protests, anger, despair. But there was also hope. Hope, despite tear gas and riot police, lockdowns, despite mismanaged COVID-19 and increasing poverty rates. Something was ending, something unsavory and brutal. Whether this could be considered a new beginning was still too early to tell. In Minnesota, I chose to see events through the eyes of Native Americans, people who were here ‘forever,’ to whom this land used to belong. People who were exterminated by the “new America,” by European migrants, in a genocide that claimed roughly 90% of the native lives. These were people who were robbed of their culture and their riches. I am glad; I am proud that I chose this angle. True peace, true reconciliation can only come after history as well as reality are fully understood, never through denial. Now, both African Americans and Native Americans are speaking, and the world is listening. It has to listen. At least this is already progress. These two groups are forming a powerful alliance of victims. But also, an alliance of those who are determined to make sure that history never repeats itself.

90s!Penny x Reader, angst and fluff drabble

i’ve been feeling pretty bad lately and i kind of took it out on this fic, enjoy!

reader is 18+ btw, i think i made that apparent but just in case. also tw for depression i think

"Whats wrong, kid?" Pennywise asks without looking up from his book--The Iliad, last week it was Hamlet--as you sulk into the lair one night later than usual. You scuff your shoes against the wet cement. You hate that Penny can tell how you’re feeling without even looking at you.

"I'm not a kid," you mumble pathetically, equally not meeting the clown’s eyes. 

Penny chuckles derisively, red lip reaching his cheek. "Ah yes, that would be the reason I've kept you around so long." He ashes his cigar with a tap of his finger before taking another drag.

You continue into the room--cool and damp, but significantly more inviting than it had been; there’s a mattress with mountains of blankets and pillows in the center of the room, a few battery-operated lamps here and there (something you fought long and hard with Pennywise over) and curtains hung where windows would be, giving the illusion of home sweet home. Whatever that was. You’d also somehow procured an old armchair from the dumpster behind a Goodwill, stained plaid and ripped with stuffing spilling out. Pennywise had adopted it, and took to lounging in it after particularly long or boring days, sometimes with you curled up in his lap, occasionally looking at you fondly over the top of his reading glasses (that he did not need). It was almost domestic at times.

Your destination was the mattress; you climbed under the blankets where it was warm and safe, wrapping yourself in as many as you could before breathing became difficult. You could feel Pennywise’s stare follow you as you rolled around, but continued to say nothing. You just needed quiet for a moment.

After a long silence, Penny sighed--you hate that sigh. You feel burdensome, useless. You peek out of the blankets to see the clown, still seated but arched eyebrow on full display, calling your bluff. After a short but intense staredown, he sighs again and puts down his paperback, hiking up the legs of his boxers when he stands and pads over to you on the floor, crouching to just above your eye-level. You know he’s waiting for you to say something, to start the conversation about feelings and emotions and everything else Pennywise understands to exist but cannot feel or relate to. You give a sigh of your own. 

Suddenly you feel soft material on your chin and find yourself looking up at Penny, chin pinched lightly between a thumb and forefinger. "What's the matter, babydoll?”

You want to insult the clown. “Fuck you, sewer rat,” or “leave me alone, you eldritch abortion”. You’ve been coming up with a lot of cruel things that swirl in your head as of late. Nothing feels good anymore, nothing makes you happy or sad, only angry. Everything feels dark around the edges and your head hurts, and the unusual sight of Pennywise’s concerned brow and tight lips pursed together breaks the dam that has been holding back all of it.

“I hate this!” you lashed out, pulling away from him, “I hate you, I hate this fucking hole in the ground, I hate sneaking around, and I hate that I have nowhere but here to go, and you don’t even care!” You’re openly sobbing, roughly wiping your cheeks with the heels of your hands as your rant echoes off the sewer walls. The headache pounds onward like a proud drummer boy. You take a deep breath, whisper: “And I hate myself the most.”

You hate the silence too. But before too long, you feel yourself being cradled in strong arms, thick legs caging yours under the blankets and your head nestling into the crook of Penny’s neck. You continue to cry even as Penny shushes you, holding you close and smoothing a gloved hand over your hair.

“I dunno what to say, kid,” Penny’s chest rumbles with the sound.

“Then don’t say anything.”

It takes half an hour of gentle stroking, humming, and butterfly kisses before your tears dry up, having soaked the front of Penny’s once-white tank top. Your sniffles are the only noise, save for the scuttling of rats and the occasional draft of air.

“I don’t hate you.”

“I know, peach-pit.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

You wring your fingers in Penny’s shirt and drift off to sleep, lulled by the humming of the clown.

THE SITGES Film Festival- Happy Samhain 2020 REVIEWS, VOL. II by Lucas Avram Cavazos

For starters, a couple of docs that skirt socio-cultural issues but are right up this critic’s alley…history. The Quiet Revolution: State, Society and the Canadian Horror Film looks at just how social and political tensions of the 60s and 70s within North America differed between the US and Canadian territories, and that aided in the creation of on-fleek horror film traditions from then until the present day in Canada but obviously beyond, as well. Think Montreal in those times and know that it bred a revolution in French-language cinema. Throw in filmmakers like David Cronenberg, whose son won Best Film this year at Sitges 2020, and we start to see that the difference between US horror and Canadian horror has distinctly been shaped by the differences in the state from which they are helmed. Nice touch with bountiful shards of film clip examples to illustrate for dorks like myself. ###-1/2

Be Water tells the story of Bruce Lee but in such an unexpected treasure kind-of-way, as so much unseen and long time not-seen footage of Bruce and his family makes the film rife with historical depictions. I never knew that he was a kid actor star for Asian cinema devotees across the globe AND that he was born in San Francisco. The documentary title is derived from one of Lee’s core philosophical beliefs and it must be clearly stated that water being fluid as it is, smooth and crystalline as it is and yet hard as anything else, capable of breaking down dams, walls and even presidencies. Superb and informative if not definitive. ####

Ahhh Becky…such a lauded name these days with Beyonce fans and the like…Telling the tragic story of lil Becky (young horror film maven Lulu Wilson) who, after losing her mother a year or so before, is doted on by her loving father (US comic actor Joel McHale) who, one day, takes her away for a respite to a) continue the healing process in nature; b) assure her they will keep their country home; and c) let her know that his now girlfriend is about to become her new mommy…with lil brother in tow. Insert a common theme in the US (the world?) right now and white supremacism rears its scary-ass head in the name of some scary, escaped convicts (led by chunky-and-charming King of Queens star Kevin James) and the hit gets real...really quickly. The unexpected force? Tween kween Becky and her boiling pre-teen angst/anger. Chil’! This film gives good thrills! ###-1/2 (now premiering on Movistar+)

There was a moment whilst screening Catalan director Lluis Danes’ interesting La Vampira de Barcelona where I felt a sense of deja vu, a sense that I was back in the 90s watching an intriguing arthouse film documenting a little remembered piece of history. At times it felt like a mix between a low-budget Age of Innocence mixed with a sincere element of Ferrara’s The Addiction. Detailing the story of Enriqeta Marti i Ripollés, known as the Vampire of the Raval or Vampire of Barcelona as the film title suggests, it has nothing to do with blood sucking and much more to do with the fact that she had connections in high places and made deals that provided children for the sexual pleasures of men amongst the rankings of high society. This spanned over years and allegedly claimed the lives of over a dozen pre-adolescent children. Some researchers have disputed this claim and deemed her merely a mental case, but this film takes the necessary steps to analyse the documented case. Winner of the Audience Award for Best Film at this years’s festival, the film opens in local cinemas on the 20/11/20. ###-1/2

Spree was a superb piece of celluloid to screen for this year’s Sitges film festival and is yet another social reflection of how the demented realm of youngsters without scruples but plenty of social media contact make for a bleak AF future. The movie tells the story of Kurt Kunkle (Stranger Thing’s Joe Keery) who is beyond obsessed with social media stardom and concocts a way to attain that by attempting to coerce a kid he used to babysit (and who is now a social media influencer) to aid him grab more live stream viewers. But what ends up happening is a slow, maddening yet funny descent into a psychopathic spree of death or near-deaths that border on all-too-real yet achingly not-real tidbits of modern reality, especially for this under 20! Superb as a thought piece, creepy thrill ride and post-modern drama. The film is now streaming on some international Amazon Prime platforms but should also see an indie cine release by early next year. ####

The Old Man: The Movie was so much fun to screen! It was like going into the millennium-style, sardonic and sarcastic humour that I so gravitate to and spinning it through an Estonian milk to butter churn. Helmed by Estonian filmmakers Mikk Magi and Oskar Lehemaa, this animated (personal fave) film goes off telling the fabled Estonian story of how cows explode and wreak havoc when doing so if they are not milked every day or so! Apparently, this tale is told to kids in Estonia and is brought to life with the story of farmer/milkman, Grandpa, whose three grandkids come to visit for the summer, only to learn a valuable lesson or two when their trusted dairy cow goes missing. What ensues is such a silly laugh riot, and yet it also touches on human emotions and fantasy at the sane time and in such a wonderfully unique way. Though released in its native Estonia late last year, it is still hard to come by and I’m grateful to have screened it this year! ####

While I was screening Polish director Lech Majewski’s latest odd offering called Valley of the Gods, it was hard not to feel an overwhelming feeling of otherworldliness. The feeling of deja vu was too true, with a tinged air of Lynch mixed with the opulent director’s-eye of Sorrentino and a dash of Kubrick-style art-rendered-reality...even that might only start to begin to explain this piece. Telling the story of a man’s breakdown due to love’s labour lost, we follow John Ecas (Josh Hartnett) trying to break free from his sadness by immersing himself into the work of a man who is an old trillionaire (John Malkovich) and documenting his life story. What enraptures the audience (if they’re able to be, that is) is how director Majewski captures the odd reality of the original US-Americans, native American tribesmen like the Navajo here, set against the realities of modern USA. Unexplainable in a way, this film either grows on you or you walk the hell away wondering, ‘WTF!’ the film opens in local cinemas on the 20/11/20. ###-1/2

When a fantastical-horror film piece is also doubling as a social-environmental thought piece that can make you laugh, you’re probably onto something interesting. That is what I kept feeling was going to occur and lo and behold, it did as I watched the new film Slaxx. Helmed by experimental Montreal film director Elza Kephart, we get the truth behind the realities of fast fashion by large corp clothiers, like Zara/H&M and yes, even YOU Bennetton…your ads are a smokescreen for the clothes maker you used to be…and I no longer can buy in the outlets, although I do find it harder than heck from time to tie not to break down and load up on canvas shoes…yet I digress. In this film, when go-getter Libby gets a post working for a fast fashion retailer, she is pumped and ready to learn, burn and chuuuuurn out sales, mostly as the ‘new season’ jeans’ are about to go on sale, but there just happens to be a twist. These ‘slacks’ are out for blood…why, you ask? Assuredly, this over the top concept come straight to us with a complete tongue-in-cheek manner but highlighting the fact that the slacks’ design came courtesy of/at the expense of a wee cotton-picking lass in the depths of India who was accidentally killed during a horrid machine snafu, says a lot. A personal favourite of mine this year. ###-1/2