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santigarcia · 4 years

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we’ll meet again

a ww2 au santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader x frankie ‘catfish’ morales fic~

rating: m for smut; threesomes, some war violence

word count: 3.5k

summary: You’re in a relationship w/ Santi and Frankie and they both are drafted for the war; you anxiously await their return home.

a/n: ive been wanting to do a santi x reader x frankie fic for a while now, but i wanted to do something different w/ mine! just wasn’t sure how! until i got this ww2 idea~ so i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated

thank you @huliabitch for this aesthetic!!!!!

We’ll Meet Again

Santiago Garcia whistles a tune while he checks the mail. He’s on his lunch break from work and he decided to come home to see you. The mail is downstairs in the lobby of your apartment building. He fishes his keys out of his pocket still whistling the tune.

Frankie Morales is right behind him; he had the same idea to come see you at lunch during his break.

“You wanna get mine out too?” Frankie asks, Santi nods not turning his head. He knows Frankie’s voice.

He knows a lot more about Frankie than the average person should. These two men are in a relationship with you. The three of you share an apartment.

You’re up there waiting for them to come home right now, and both men have a spring in their step. Until Santi pulls out two identical envelopes from the mailbox. He doesn’t have to open it to know what it is. He hands Frankie his letter. Santi stands still, while Frankie tears open the letter, his eyes scanning the document, all the color leaving his face.

“We can’t tell her,” Santi holds his hand up, he’s calm as he tries to process this.

“She sure as fuck is going to notice that we’re gone! How are we going to keep this a secret?”

“No man, I mean we don’t tell her we got drafted yeah? We tell her we volunteered.”

“How is that better? That we chose to leave her?”

“Fuck I don’t know,” Santi sighs and brushes his hand over his face.

The light clack of heels on the floor turns their heads, and they are greeted with your smiling face. Your hair perfectly curled and red lipstick swept across your lips. Normally their tongues would wag at the sight of you, but there’s too much fear and uncertainty running through their minds.

“Hi boys,” you greet them with a smile, unaware of what news they hold in their hands and is just waiting on the tips of their tongues.

“Hey honey,” Santi greets you with a kiss to your cheek. He’s better at acting than Frankie.

When you turn to Frankie, you see the worried look on his brow, and the letter in his hand.

“What’s that?” you ask him, your voice catching in your throat. You know what it is, but you don’t want it to be true.

“Baby,” Santi brings the attention back to him. He takes a deep breath about to tell you when Frankie cuts him off.

“We volunteered.”

Santi gives him a look of surprise that he said it, but you don’t see it. You feel sick to your stomach.

“Both of you?” you reach for Santi to steady yourself; you feel dizzy. Frankie reaches for you to keep you upright. “When? When do you leave?”

“Next week.”

Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. You aren’t angry, you’re scared. The loves of your life are leaving for war. There’s a high chance they won’t come home.

You try to soak up as much of them as you can in the next week, but there’s an ever-present darkness over your lives. The next few days fly by, even amidst the fear and anxiety that fills your little apartment. Before you know it, you’re at the station saying goodbye to your boys.

Soldiers in uniform are everywhere, and many others like you are saying goodbye to their sweethearts, their sons, or their fathers. There’s a bitter feeling in the air, tears are on many faces.

“At least the last image I see of you boys is how handsome you both look in your uniforms,” you sniffle, trying to make light of this situation. You smooth your hand over Santi’s broad shoulders and straighten Frankie’s crooked tie.

The train whistle blows it’s the last call to board. They have to go.

“Santi,” you reach for him. His gorgeous eyes are sad, but his eyebrows lift when you call his name. Your hand rests on his chest over his heart. “Don’t be too reckless. Keep an eye on Frankie.” Your other hand cups his face, stubble already growing in from his shave this morning. You move your hand up to touch at his hair just above his ear, his uniform hat hiding his greying curls from you. “You’re so smart and brave, use that to your advantage. But stay out of trouble.” You kiss his cheek, then he kisses your forehead when he sees the tears in your eyes.

“Frankie,” you turn to him, your hand still on Santi’s chest. “Be brave. It’s ok to be scared. Don’t let Santi be stupid.” His lips quirk up in a smile, and you feel Santi’s chest when he chuckles. You touch Frankie’s face and kiss his cheek too. “Don’t shave off that mustache. Let your kindness shine through during this. You’re so much stronger than you know.” You let out a sob and he wraps you up tight in a hug. “I don’t want you to go,” you tell him.

Santi’s hand comes to rest on your back, and he gently pulls you from Frankie to hug you one last time.

When you look at their faces you smile through your tears seeing you left a lipstick stain on each of their cheeks. You reach in your purse for your handkerchief, but Santi grabs your wrist, “leave it.” He says with a soft wink.

They each give you one more kiss then they turn and board the train.

That first night is one of the worst. For so long you’ve had not one, but two men in your bed keeping you safe, keeping you company. Now this bed feels so empty and cold.

It isn’t easy for them either. It’s not until they sit down on the train that the gravity of the situation hits them both. It’s here where they meet with two brothers, Will and Benny. All these men here are in the same situation, leaving home behind to go to war.

Basic training is up first for the boys, and Frankie struggles. He throws up on the first day, Santi claps him on the back telling him it’ll be alright – and he doesn’t just mean his stomach.

Santi intends to keep his promise to look out for Frankie, he’s family.

The boys write to you as much as they can, even when they’re shipped out overseas. Their letters serve as a comfort for all three of you. For you it’s knowing they’re alive, for them it’s a chance to think about something else, something better – you.

Santi is formal in his letters, precise. His handwriting is neat. His words are comforting, romantic, and full of sexual things he’d like to do with you when he gets home. He tells you about what’s going on as much as he can and tells you funny stories about Frankie, he hopes will make you laugh. He tells you about how he and Frankie have nicknames now. How he’s Pope and Frankie is Catfish. He tells you that he looks at the photo you gave him often, wishing to hold you again.

You like to imagine what Santi looks like when he writes. Maybe he’s in a tank top, arms dirty from the mud. A cigarette hanging loose between his lips. It’s much better to think of the alternative, which in reality Santi is in the mud, but he’s cold. Writing to you from a dim flashlight, hearing the sounds of shells exploding in the distance.

Frankie writes the way he talks, it’s simple and sweet and direct. His handwriting is messy, and his letters bring you a different kind of comfort. He tells you that he’s got his eye on Santi. That he too looks at the picture you gave him. How much he misses your warmth, your laugh. How he wants to take you out dancing when he gets home. You can tell by the way he writes that he’s sad. But there’s a change in him too that brings you comfort; he’s finding his courage.

What he doesn’t tell you is the ridicule they’ve gotten for “fuckin’ the same broad.” When everyone was showing off photos of their girls, someone snatched your picture out of Frankie’s hand. In Frankie’s photo, you’re smiling bright – a smile just for him. In Santi’s photo, you’re blowing a kiss to him.

Frankie almost punched the guy for talking about how sweet your pussy must be for two men to want it. Santi had to bite his tongue as he pulled Frankie back.

When you write to the boys, you tell them what you’ve been up to. How holidays and birthdays are terrible without them home. How you are helping out with the cause in whatever way you can.

What you don’t tell them is the nightmares that plague your mind. Graphic depictions of their deaths. It’s hard enough to imagine one, but often times both of them die in your dreams.

The nightmares only seem to worsen when the letters become less and less frequent. You resort to other things to keep their memory alive while they’re gone.

The scent of Santi’s aftershave becomes a comfort. You hug Frankie’s pillow at night, so you don’t feel so lonely.

Your boys have no such comfort other than a small fading photograph and your letters sprayed with your perfume. Their lives are a living nightmare, and it continues to grow more hellish.

The worst of their nights at war is when boys reach a small German village, the enemy hiding in the homes of innocent villagers. It’s dark, all the lights in the town are out. The moon overhead, and the lights the soldiers have with them are the only way they can see.

Santi volunteers to take first watch.

During his walk of the perimeter, he peers around a corner and a grenade explodes. He wasn’t close enough for major shrapnel to hit him, but the force of the explosion sends his body hurling backwards. He slams into a brick wall like a ragdoll, his knees hit first. He falls to the ground hard, and it is chaos now around him, but he can barely hear it because his ears are ringing.

Frankie searches frantically for Santi, and his commanding officer Redfly, orders Frankie to stay at his position. But he doesn’t listen, he made a promise to you.

“Why don’t you just leave him eh Frankie?” he hears one of the other soldiers tease him. “The competition’s been wiped out!”

Frankie keeps looking, and finally in the early dawn he finds Santi in a heap in the mud and blood.

“The hell are you doing?” Santi groans when Frankie gets to him. Gunfire and explosions light up the morning sky around them. “Leave me man. My legs are shot.”

“I won’t leave you here,” Frankie shakes his head and leans down to pick up Santi.

“Fuck!” is all Santi can say as Frankie moves his body. “Wait, just wait. I can’t walk.”

“No shit,” Frankie almost laughs.

“I promised to keep you safe, now get out of here.”

“And I promised her I’d keep you from being stupid.”

“How’s that workin’ out for you?” Santi laughs and splutters up some blood.

Frankie leans down again and hurls Santi’s body over his shoulder. Fear and adrenaline are his only explanations for how he managed to do this.

The next thing Santi remembers is waking up in a medical tent. Both of his legs are bandaged and elevated, and he feels miserable. His ears still have a dull ringing in them. He has an awful headache, but at least his legs don’t hurt, and he can in fact feel his toes. He misses you. He wants you here. Fuck. He wants to hold your hand. For you to comb your fingers through his hair to help him calm down.

He takes in his surroundings. Men are in beds everywhere. Nurses are walking all about, checking on everyone. His best guess is he’s in the recovering area, but he can still hear muffled screams in a nearby tent of extreme trauma cases.

He feels sick to his stomach, images of war coming back to him. It’s then he sees Frankie is sitting next to him, his arm in a sling.

“What happened to you?” Santi rasps, his voice gone from not using it in a few days.

“I carried some idiot off the battlefield over my shoulder. Tore it to shit.”

“She’s not gonna be happy about this,” Santi laughs. He can only imagine your reaction, but he would love for you to fuss over him.

“We’re fuckin’ alive man. She’ll take us however we are.”

And Frankie’s exactly right. He stays with Santi until he heals. And soon after that – the war is over.

They get to come home.

You cry when you hear the news on the radio. So many lives lost, you mourn with those around you who won’t have their soldier coming home.

You’d gotten one letter from Frankie in the last few months, and one only one came you feared the worst. But in his letter, he details how Santi was hurt and doing well in recovery. You felt sick reading this letter, to be so far from those who you love when they are hurting is a pain you never experienced to this degree.

And you can’t even begin to imagine what they went through. It tugs at your heart.

The entire time they were gone, every time your phone rang – it filled you with dread. That this would be the phone call alerting you of one or both of their deaths. You never got that phone call.

But today, you’d get to hear their voices on the other end of your phone.

“Hello?” you answer, and you hear both of their voices pouring in through the phone. From what you can hear over their excited babble and your crying, they are in New York. They’re boarding a train and will be home to you tonight.

Santi’s holding the mouthpiece while he and Frankie talk into it. You wish you could see them.

“We love you, honey. We’ll be home before you know it!”

They don’t talk long because they have to board and the lines for the phones are packed full of people trying to get in contact with their families.

You hold your own phone mouthpiece to your chest after they hang up. You’re setting it on the hook to hang up when you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you move towards it to answer.

When you open the door, there they stand. Frankie and Santi. Shoulder to shoulder in their uniforms. Their bags at their feet. Santi slowly takes off his hat when he sees you, Frankie’s chest tightens. Your hand flies to your mouth and tears fall from your eyes as you leap into their arms. Your arms wrap around their necks and you cry there in the hallway, not caring who can hear you.

They both lean in to press kisses to your cheeks. Then Santi goes for your neck while Frankie whispers affections of love in your ear. You kiss both of them on the lips, smearing your lipstick all over their faces.

Even when they set you down and you pull them into your apartment by their ties, you still have tears falling down your cheeks.

In the soft light of the apartment, you take a good look at them. It’s the first time you’ve seen their faces in four years.

They look older. There’s a look in their eyes that makes you sad, it’s hidden but you know it’s what they’ve seen that haunts them. An unspeakable weight they carry. Santi’s hair has more grey than black. Frankie still has the mustache, and he stands taller.

“I wish I had known you sneaky boys were going to be home so fast! I would have made your favorites!”

“Baby, you’re our favorite,” Santi winks as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, shrugging his bag onto the floor.

Frankie quietly walks over to the record player and puts on a slow song. He takes off his hat and smooths down his hair, only to put it back on again. He reaches for your hand and the two of you start to sway to the music.

Santi has a soft smile on his face. Just happy to see you again. Happy to be home. It’s strange to be there all together again. How are you supposed to go on now? Do you all just pick up where you left off? There’s so much that’s been seen, pain that’s been felt.

All that you know right now is how good it feels to lean your head on Frankie’s chest. Frankie guides you over to Santi, and you reach out to weave your fingers into his hair.

“You going to dance Santi?” you lean down to kiss him.

“In a minute, he deserves this one.”

You look up at Frankie as you continue to sway.

“What does he mean by that?” you ask.

“Did he not tell you?” Santi lights a cigarette and places it between his lips, pocketing the lighter. “He saved my life. Threw me over his shoulder when I couldn’t walk.”

He sugarcoats the story, it’s still to raw to talk about.

“Why didn’t you tell me in your letter?”

“I was just keeping a promise,” Frankie smiles and leans down to kiss you.

“I’ll dance with you baby, but back in that bedroom.”

“Then what are we waiting for hmm?” you reach for Santi and tug Frankie back towards your shared bedroom.

There’s heat in their eyes, and an ache you’ve all been needing to fulfill. You take your time to undress each one. You want to touch him just to make sure he’s real.

While you undress Santi, his hooded eyes are full of delight. He’s been waiting for this for four years. There’s a smirk playing on his lips as you fumble with buttons out of excitement. You slap his hand away when he tries to help, only coaxing a chuckle from his lips.

You strip him down until he’s naked, only thing on him are his dog togs dangling around his neck. He goes to lay down on the bed while you work on Frankie.

His eyes are you on, but there’s a different kind of heat in his eyes. He shudders when your hand touches the skin on his chest. He groans into your lips when you pull him in for a kiss.

“Lay down, sweetheart,” Frankie rasps. You do as he tells you and you lay next to Santi.

Parting your legs, Frankie dives in to mouth at your heat, his mustache tickling your sensitive flesh. Santi takes this opportunity to angle himself so he can mouth at your breasts and neck and your lips. His hand on your forehead groaning into your lips and on your chest.

Frankie moves his tongue over your lazily, even after you’ve reached your high, he still works his tongue over you, enjoying the taste he’s been starved of.

When he’s through, Santi rolls back over and you crawl into his lap. You’re slick and ready for him, so you sink down on him. You both shudder to feel this, the warmth you’ve both been missing. Frankie stands near you, and you reach for him – grasping his hard length in your hand you stroke him lazily while Santi thrusts up in you. Frankie slides his hand down to rub at your sex.

Feeling both of them after going without for so long has you coming hard on Santi. You shake and Santi steadies you with his hands on your hips.

Your hand is still on Frankie, and he lets go before he meant to. He wanted to be inside you, but feeling you was too much for him and he’s coming all over your side.

A couple more thrusts from Santi and he’s tossing his head back coming hard in you. You lean forward to kiss his chin and capture his groan. Then you sit back up and lean up to kiss Frankie’s lips, his hand coming to cradle your jaw.

You clench once around Santi while he softens up, and he groans again. You giggle to tease him so, and he whispers, “that’s my girl.”

You spend the rest of the night like that. Naked and laying in between your two lovers. You kiss them as deeply as you can. Listening to them tell stories, and they listen to yours. Catching up on the four years missed, it feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s strange to feel whole now that they are home, but there’s something missing too. They are not the same men as before, but you’re not the same woman. The one thing that hasn’t changed after all this time – through war and sorrow is your love for each other.

tagging: @agentpike, @bisexual-space-slut, @blancatobarxoxo, @cosmicmando, @damndamer0n, @darksideofclarke, @feelmyroarrrr, @ghosttofcalum, @goldhoran, @himbopoes, @huliabitch, @ironman-iam, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @itspdameronthings, @ivars-heathen, @javihoney, @knittingqueen13, @limenlimon, @literatureandqueen, @maciiiofficial, @magicsuperheroes, @mandoplease, @marvel-dameron, @melanietrancy, @mitchi-c, @mylifeliterally, @pajamasecrets, @pascalplease, @pascalz, @perropascal, @phoenixhalliwell, @poesflygirl, @poeticandors, @punkpascal, @rewritingstars, @savagethewhale, @saved-fanfiction, @sgtbookybarnes, @shadow-assassin-blix, @stanningtoomanypeopleatonce, @stardust-galaxies, @the-bird-suit, @thehippiequilter, @thepjofanqueen, @this-cat-is-dea, @tintinwrites, @triggerhappyflygirl, @waatermelon-sugaar, @wakalas, @xremember-me-notx, @xxidontwikeitxx

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader x frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #my writing #I HOPE YALL LIKE THISSSS

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cometomecosette · 3 years

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“Look Down” and “The Robbery” (plus the end of the “Waltz of Treachery”), Walnut Street Theatre, 2008. Unknown Gavroche, Jeffrey Coon as Enjolras, Josh Young as Marius, Scott Greer as Thénardier, Dawn Spence as Mme. Thénardier, Christina DeCiccio as Éponine, Hugh Panaro as Jean Valjean, Julie Craig as Cosette, Paul Schoeffler as Javert.

This video shows a moment I remember reading about in reviews of this production: a creative and poignant way of conveying the time skip between Montfermeil and Paris. As Valjean and Young Cosette establish their father-daughter bond, Young Éponine comes out of the inn and looks on, holding her own doll that’s much shabbier than Cosette’s new one. Then the grown-up Cosette and Éponine appear, Cosette wearing an elegant dress in the same shade of gray as Young Cosette’s rags, Éponine in a tattered version of her fancy childhood dress, and the little girls both hand their dolls to their older selves, then exit. Not only is this an effective way to move forward in time, it also ensures that the audience knows who the grown-up Cosette and Éponine are and ensures that their past isn’t forgotten: their costumes become constant reminders of their childhoods.

The setting for “Look Down” seems more intimate and sparsely populated than in replica productions, and the set design is slightly prettier and more Romantic than John Napier’s stark brick slum walls, but the staging compensates with the grittiness of the beggars, several of whom are shown lying or crawling on the ground and some of whom are clearly disabled. There’s also a particularly strong sense of how misery makes people act like animals and turn on each other. There are exceptions, of course: we see Gavroche’s kindness when he gives the bag he’s been carrying (which presumably contains food or clothes he either stole or was given) to a severely crippled beggar man. But right away the poor man is mugged for that bag by two able-bodied beggars. The fight between the crazy old woman and the prostitute is also more brutal than usual, and in the background during “See our children fed, help us in our shame...” a man repeatedly kicks a woman on the ground for no good reason.

Gavroche is a bit generic, but still solid. He might have made a stronger impression if his face weren’t overwhelmed by his huge hat, though. Then again, I suppose it’s only realistic that his clothes don’t fit him perfectly.

Jeffrey and Josh both make strong, rich-voiced first impressions as Enjolras and Marius, even though the camera doesn’t show them during their first lines, favoring a view of the beggars instead. Josh is also excellent in Marius’s first interaction with Éponine: friendly and fond, but with a certain formality and with clear awkwardness when her teasing leans too close to flirting. Still, in this staging he leaps to her defense when he sees her mother roughing her up, and heartbreakingly, it’s in response to this that she orders him “Stay out of this!” It’s as if she’s used to being abused and would rather put up with it than have Marius risk his safety for her.

Christina’s Éponine also makes a fine first impression: scrappy and tomboyish, yet with the wistful yearning and girlish awkwardness behind her teasing facade made clear too.

It’s a nice touch when Marius is about to give Cosette back the apple he accidentally made her drop (for that matter, it’s a nice touch to show Valjean and Cosette handing out food to the poor), only for Valjean to establish his overprotection by snatching the apple from him and handing it to her himself. Apparently to him, even being handed back a dropped apple is too much contact for Cosette to have with a young man.

Scott and Dawn’s Thénardiers are both strong, with their lines’ traditional comedy downplayed in favor of nastiness and slime. Scott slightly flubs his first line, singing “You are all here, you know your place” instead of “Everyone here, you know your place” (not a big deal, but it does sound stilted and awkward), but is otherwise spot-on. Meanwhile, Dawn’s constant rough treatment of Éponine stands out. It’s evident that Éponine has become her mother’s punching bag now that she doesn’t have Cosette to vent her anger on anymore.

I’m surprised that the staging doesn’t have Marius rescue Cosette from Montparnasse’s clutches during the gang’s attack. Instead the poor girl is trapped in his grasp until Javert arrives. I’m sure Marius must have somehow been busy on the other side of the stage. I once read about a German production that had Marius be the one to go and get Javert; maybe this was the case here too, although the camera doesn’t show it.

Paul will never be my favorite Javert (nor will I ever fully dissociate him from the role of Captain Hook), but his stern, fierce voice and demeanor still make a strong impression.

Overall, an effective and creative take on the scene.

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khaoticallykat · 4 years

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◇The Prince and The Punk◇

Paring: College AU!Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: You and Ransom never seen eye to eye, during one class in high school you let him know how you really feel and from there it was pranks and bullying all on you. Until you finally went to college, forgetting all about Ransom until you happen to encounter him again, this time at his grandfather's, the famous novelist, Harlan Thrombey. With a research paper that needs to be done to make the grade, are you gonna put up with Ransom's shit?

Warnings: language, bullying.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: omgggg this is my first time actually formatting a story for Tumblr and I just hope y'all like it. There's gonna be smut but that's wayyy later and maybe in a mini chapter. Thanks for reading 💖

Chapter 1. The Writing Writer

~Flashback~

You drummed your finger along the desk, pissed off and annoyed as you watch Ransom Drysdale, yes, him. The richest kid in school and the biggest piece of shit you've ever laid your eyes on. He was actually an alright guy, for the most part, but you you see beyond his pretty blonde hair, blue eyes and fake smile. He was made to look like an angel, one of those sculptures you see in Italy. He was flirting with your friend as all three of you sat at a table in science class, he has a girlfriend but almost every girl he flirted with, including you, but you harshly turned that off.

"Aw come on Lexi, you're so smart, just help me out?" He blinked his ocean blue eyes at her, she giggled and smiled, about to slide her paper over to him until you grabbed her hand.

"Lexi, don't you think Ransom should have been paying attention to the lesson rather than making goo goo eyes at you?" You asked, gritting your teeth.

"Aw Y/n, I can help him out, it's no big deal." She smiled, you loved her, you really did but even she was falling into the spell of Ransom.

"Yeah Y/n. She doesn't mind, but yet," he looked over at you, it sparked more a hatred in you, "yet you, seem to really mind me? What is it? You like me don't you? Want me all to yourself?"

You sighed, giving him a deadpan expression, "I rather eat razors and then shit them out, you're shitty and annoying and a fake." His smile dropped, Lexi covered her mouth, either in shock or to stifle a laugh. "You act like you're such a king here, having everyone bend to your whim but who are you really? You're a trust fund playboy and I really hope you don't breed, we already have enough shitheads like you in the world."

Everyone in the room was looking at you, clearly you weren't aware of your tone, even the teacher looked shocked.

But Ransom, deep down he should have hated you, but instead, he laughed. He laughed so loud and hard that his was was beet red and tears came down.

"Wow," he chuckled, catching his breath, "fuck you."

From then senior year was filled with Ransom knocking books out of your hand, spilling various liquids on you, thankfully it was tea, water or coffee, he even went as far as cling wrapping your car before homecoming started. You paid him no mind though, you were really good at that, ignoring him and going on about your day, your mom always said that children act out when they want attention and that was one thing you would never give him. He noticed just how much you really didn't care for him, it made him angry, he spent almost every day finding something to inconvenience you and you just brushed him off like dust.

He cornered you in a back room in the photo lab one day after school, you were cleaning up and helping out when the Jock pushed you in a closet, closing the door behind him.

"Oh great. My favorite person." You rolled your eyes, "get out of my way, I have stuff to do."

"You're not going anywhere," He growled, he smelled of sweat and dirt, he must have came from training. "You and I need to talk."

You sighed, shifting in the tight space that Ransom took up, "well I'm listening, but hurry up you stink."

"You're really good at ignoring me, just wondering how and why?"

"You mean how haven't I giving in to your antics? Because you're a child, you act like one and I don't pay attention to boys that act like children," You heard him punch the wall next to you, "just let it go Hugh, sometimes you can't get all the girls to suck you off."

You smirked and ducked under his arm, opening the closet door to see Ransom's two friends, Sam and James sitting on the desk across from the closet. They made eye contact with and quickly looked away, it was clear that they were uncomfortable with the situation. You packed your bag and left, leaving Ransom in the closet to deal with the fact that you just called him by his first name.

"You alright in there man? What'd she do, spit on ya?" James called from the desk.

Sam got up and dragged him out, "come on, don't let some chick ruin the rest of your senior year, after this, we got college girls to look at."

"You're right," Ransom laughed, "I can't fucking wait."

~Present~

After high school, you never saw Ransom, he was basically out of sight, out of mind. College was rolling around and you picked your major of psychology, you were lucky that the town had a college and it was easy to get into. You spent your first few months taking the classes required and studying, your teacher reminded you that the final paper was due months from now, to write a report on a literary author of the time. They assigned everyone an author, when your name came up, you got the author, Harlan Thrombey. The last name rung a bell in your head, but you couldn't tell why. Leaving class you notice many people were in the college colors. Right, football season. You saw some sororities gathered in the parking lot cheering, you didn't want to be part of any of them. You were almost to your car when you remembered why the last name Thrombey sounded so familiar.

Ransom Drysdale was on the back of a pickup cheering and laughing with other guys in their football jerseys, he soon forgot about you after high school. But through his dark, gold rim glasses, he saw you, the same as ever, he was really shocked to see that you even stayed in town, you were really smart, not that he would admit it. Stepping off the back of the pick up, he made his way towards you, you were walking at a fast pace, trying to get to your car before he could catch up and torment you. Ransom saw you get in your little grey Volkswagen and slam the door, locking it behind you. The engine stalled a few times before it finally came to life. Ransom was just getting to your car when you quickly pulled out, almost hitting him. You paid no attention to the speed until you reached the first green light off campus. Taking a deep breath, you looked in your rear view and chuckled, it was childish, but you were glad to get away.

Thankfully it was Friday and you wouldn't see him until Monday, throwing your bag on the floor, you sat at your desk fuming. If all places, why does Ransom Drysdale have to be in the same college as you? You opened your laptop and began looking up Harlan Thrombey, he thankfully had an email, writing out who you were, the nature of your email and a few other things, you clicked the 'send' button and waited.

Later that evening while you were reading, your phone pinged, showing you that there was an email from Harlan. He wrote back that he would be glad to have you over to study his work for your research paper and asked if you could come over Saturday. Doing a small dance of happiness in your room, you replied that you'll be there at noon.

The next morning you wore something that would look rather business casual, most of your clothing was on the darker side so it was easier to match items and stopped in town at the local donut shop before heading to Harlan's. Pulling up you saw a white BMW, the kind that was vintage, it probably ran better than your car double checking your bag once more for your notebook, tablet and charger, you locked your car and walked up to the brick manor. The place was absolutely gorgeous as you took a moment to wonder what the inside would look like. Suddenly two blurs came running up to you barking and sniffing, one was a black lab and the other a German shepherd. They both sat down and looked at the box of donuts you were carrying.

"Sorry, I didn't get anything for you," you frowned, slowly backing towards the steps, "maybe next time."

You rung the doorbell and waited, the dogs followed you and waited by you patiently with their tails wagging. A young woman opened the door, she looked about your age with dark brown hair and bright eyes, "you must be y/n," she smiled, the dogs rushing in almost knocking her over, "Harlan told me you were coming, I'm his nurse, Marta." She lead you into the house which wasn't bare in any area, there were decorations on covering the walls, either with paintings, books, it some strange artifacts. You followed her to the library where you saw Harlan, all grey hair but eyes were full of life.

"Ah, you must be Y/n," he said, turning his attention away from a man that sat in a chair, facing away from you, "I was just talking to my grandson about you, how he should be doing his homework but instead, he's talking of football and girls."

"It's nice to meet you mr. Thrombey," you smiled, walking over to him, "I brought donuts."

The man in the chair stood up, "I know that voice," he turned around, same damn smirk on his face like it was permanent, "ah, of course it's you, my favorite person."

God damned Ransom Drysdale.

You looked like a deer in head lights, "what the hell are you doing here?" You asked, taking a step back.

"Visiting my grandpa?" He said, "bring those donuts over here, I'm starving."

You thought it was a sick joke, but you can see it, the tiny resemblance between Ransom and Harlan. But here you are, trapped in a house with you high school bully. He made his way over to you and opened the box, he was still the same, no respect for personal space.

"I saw you yesterday, but you left," he took one of the chocolate covered ones, "me and you got a lot of catching up to do."

#knives out #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #kat writes #TP&TP #The Prince and The Punk

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ifandomalot · 4 years

Text

This is Love. (1/3)

Summary: Steve is captured by hydra, they use you as a toy for him. A sick game they play. He can't help but notice how much you hate touch, or any kind of human interaction. When his team rescues him, he takes you with him and shows you what love is.

Warnings: unexpected pregnancy eventuality, kidnapping, blood, and unwanted sex by both parties? But it doesn't go to much into detail. But i dont know how to categorize it. This is dark but soft. Also my grammar mistakes.

Part 2 / Part 3 (coming soon)

Steve doesn't remember much, the aching pain against the roundest part of his skull was the only thought manageable. Shaky fingers running over the clumps of blood that matted his hair, stables fusing the gash closed. His eyes take in the room around him, no windows, the only light is small lamp that illuminates the small corner of the room by the bed he currently say up on. The walls are a dull gray, the floor matching, the cement seemed as it ran for miles. A door is on the far right, heavy duty, not even a super solider could break it down.

His tact suit is gone, a plain white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweat pants clad his body, no shoes just a tall pair of socks that bundle against ankles. The throbbing inside his skull seems like the worst of his worries as his eyes scan the room, no way out. The small camera in the corner follows his every move. "Whoever you are, you've made a mistake."

Thick arms across against his swollen chest in dominace, trying to assert some kind of fear into the situation. It's no use, no one is there or obviously cares enough to call a bluff. A small stack of books are next to the sink, fingers run down the ridged brindle of the book, noticing the german writing. Hydra.

Steve's face moves in frustration, body growing taller as he realizes the situation, hydra had finally managed to do it, they got him. A small growl rumbles deep inside the roughness of his chest, fist meeting the cement wall in anger, the blood didn't bother him, the pain non existent. He steps over the crumbled pieces of the wall before looking right into the camera. "If you think I'll stay here peacefully, you're mistaken. I will punch my way out of here."

His feet start towards the carving he made in the wall but peeks his head towards the door listening to the gliding of locks. He stands tall, expecting someone to send in some poor bastard that was meant to tell him to behave but would only meet death in the hands of him.

Much to his surprise, a female thrown into the room, falling next to his feet. Adrenline was too high, he couldn't think straight. His body telling him this was a trick but mind realizing how similarly dressed they were.She was here as a prisoner too.

"Are you okay?" Steve's voice is rough, making you flinch but scatter away from him as his hands reached out to help you up.

An unsettling feeling is ripped deep inside his stomach, bubbling red hot as he notices the darkness behind your eyes. Nothing was there, a shell of a human. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Avoiding eye contact at all cost, you pull your knees to your chest, head resting against the hard shell of knees. What did they do to this girl?

Steve's eyes run over the soft features, skin with no wrinkles, big doe eyes avoiding him. Cheeks so lively, warm with color and lips that just resembled youth. Hair was beautifully knotless, curtaining past your shoulders, small shoulders that formed into the valley of your breast, no older than 23.

He decides to keep his distance, but drops to his knees to size you. Hoping that with being eye level would make himself look less scary, dominating even. "What's your name?"

When she doesnt answer he sighs, "I'm Steve."

Before he gets a chance to speak again, a loud crackling echos the room, source the camera. "Do you like her steve? She's yours."

"Mine? What?" Eyes don't leave you, he doesn't speak for the camera, more like asking himself.

"We want to be friends with you Steve. Give us your blood and you can do whatever you want with her."

He notices how fast your chest begins to move, a small choked sound constricting from your throat. The voice the reason for the anxiousness, scaring you.

"Stop talking." Steve hisses, "i will never give you my blood and you're scaring her."

"Have it your way then." All of a sudden the small light is gone, the room is completely black, the clicking of the locks telling him someone is coming. The door hit the wall with a large thump, he swore it shook the room, he stands arms reaching out trying to get a hold of something, if something was there. A large arm reaches around his neck, before he could even react the sharp pain of a needle in his neck has him out cold.

The second time waking up was easier, his body still in full fight mode as he jumped up, trying to locate the danger. Quickly realizing it was gone, and he was alone once again. The days started to form into a week, he's given no food, forced to drink water from the leaking sink in the block room - it drives him crazy, drip, drip, drip. Stomach painfully twisting as a tray is slid from under the door- a small piece of bread, what looked like chicken broth and a banana, better then nothing at all. His mouth salivates at the salty smell of the warm soup filling his nose, almost dizzy from the lack of food. It must be his lucky day, a few hours later lunch is there too. A sandwich with an apple, they even have him a cup to drink his sink water out of.

Dinner isn't existent, but for once this whole week he is not weak, stomach not painfully squeezing inside of him. Hes not full, but satisfied. The echoing of foot steps followed by the shuffling of a shadow behind the door thinking its a late dinner but the locks unhinge, the woman revealed, two large men standing behind you as you walked in.

Steve eyes meet your face as the door is closed, your eyes avoid him at all costs. Hair perfectly flowly, features even softer than before, might even say a sight for sore eyes that have been staring at half understandable words on a page and cement walls. Except for once small detail, a countless amount of bruising ranging from small to big across your arms, most likely from the men roughing you up, grabbing harshly at the small girl.

"Hey are you okay?" He is surprised by the small squeak of a yes as you finally talk. "Why are you here?"

"I, ugh - don't know." Shakily you cross arms across the swells of your breast, a surivial instinct, protecting most vital organs. Steve chooses to ignore it, "what's your name?"

"Y/N." Its softly spoken, but a name that fits you very well. The soft patter of drops against the sink, the only sound filling the room as you finally meet his eyes. Beautiful ocean waves, big blue skies being the only words that come to mind. His features are hard bit form a devilishly handsome man, but eyes so soft reminding you of the beautiful things in life.

"Did they feed you? I have an apple left from earlier." The large red apple looks so small in his gigantic hand. You shake your head, "No, I'm okay."

"You can sit down. Do you know where we are?"

"No, I'm okay." The honest truth is men scared you, especially the largely built one who stood with so much strength that you backed away from him.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not like them."

"I just don't want you by me."

Steve nods in understanding, forehead creasing i though as his tongue runs over his lips as he looks around the room. "You can sit on the bed, I'm going to go over here."

Steve points to the opposite corner of the room, "I'm going to move now, you don't have to be scared." You want to thank him for the warning but bite your tongue and nod, making sure he reaches the other side of the room before routing yourself to the pathetic excuse of the bed.

"I see you're getting along." The voice rings from the camera as Steve's eyes squint in annoyance. He decides not to play in, his gaze burns against your skin. It wasn't in a way that was uncomfortable, but he wanted to test you, ask you questions you wouldn't answer.

"She's a gift for you steve, aren't you lonely? we want to be your friends." Steve scoffs, "last time i checked, friends don't lock each other in prisons."

"You can do whatever you want with her." The voice darkenly is suggestive with unlawful thoughts, a concept as dark as that doesn't even register in his mind.

"What does that even mean?"

"We want you to take her." Steve's forehead creases in confusion, fingers stretching lines across his forehead, but when met with the horrified look on your face realization hits him like a ton of bricks, crushing his chest. Stomach clenching as he feels sick, was this normal for you to do?

The captures realized Steve wasn't going to just give up his blood, he also wouldn't take what they gifted him. Steve Rogers was a man of a moral code, the best kind of man mixed with a gentleman, that would never hurt a lady but wouldn't ever allow one to die because of his hand either. "If you don't fuck her, we will kill her."

They will strip away every part that is good of him, take away every moral and goodness this man has, starting with taking away the fact that he has a choice on who he sleeps with. Steve's ocean blues meet yours in panic, chest tight, he couldn't breath at the suggestion.

"No."

"She will die, and it will be because of you. You could've saved her Steve." This isn't right, the giant pit in his stomach screaming in horror as the words leave your mouth, "it's okay steve."

Your welcoming this, accepting it is survival but he isn't standing for it. His eyes water, he feels sick, taking away the one sense of security you posses, your choice and willing accepting that is gone. "No. I am not doing that."

"You're doing to let me die?" No, he wasn't going to that either. "They're not lying, they will slit my throat the moment I walk out of here."

"You can't even look in my eyes let alone do this!" Feelings getting the best of him as the wall crumbles underneath his power, bloody knuckles spreading the redness across his face as he rubs it stressfully.

"You have 30 seconds Steven." The voice warns, threatening is more like it.

"It's okay, i know you won't hurt me." Your soft voice is what makes him really choke up, an angel that didnt deserve this. Steve's weight is on top of you, his hand pressed against the matress supporting most of it. A hand so shaky he can't even pull at the strings of your sweats so instead you pull them down revealing what should be your choice to him.

"I am so sorry." It was a choked sob filled with so much sadness, a gruff from the chest that made even your heart break for him right now. He closes his eyes, preventing the tears from falling but in a forced moment like this, couldn't find himself to find excitment, but the fact that this was going to be life or death out weighed his feelings.

It was a small kiss, a peck barely there against his clothed shoulder made him gasp, not expecting the comfort in this moment. You of all people, comforting him, a sobbing mess of a man while your innocence he was taking unwillingly. The wetness of his tears meeting your cheeks, sliding down as he pushes into you and with that his heart breaking.

It continued for days, over and over again they make him get to know every part of your body, he begs them to stop, you tell him its okay, that this is how it has to be, but he can't take it. Sleeping soundly he watches you, peacefully in a peaceful world unlike this one. You don't care much for his touch, but sleep is the one place you don't scower from it. Its hard not to be close, the twin matress making it nearly impossible to not touch. The dark blush of the bruising is starting to fade, hand softly rubbing over the skin as you breath heavily. Chest is moving with every breath, lips slightly parted, beautiful.

Warm against him, he is glad you can sleep. It's been days since he has, guilt eating him alive, which is exactly what they want. They will continue to make him disgrace you until he breaks and allows them to give him the blood, and willingly participates in their experiments. The loud sound of cement crumbling following loud booms makes him clutch you close to his chest, back facing the door to protect you at all costs. Your awake now, breathing heavily into the chest as the sound of bullets ripple from outside of the door he coos. "Its okay, its okay. I'll protect you."

Nothing else is said as the fight outside continues until it stops, you look up at him, looking for answers until eyes widen in fear as the locks of the door sound. They were coming back for you. Steve turns, pushing you behind him as he stands tall, a man ready to fight.

"Buck?" It's just above a whisper as a tall man, almost as big as him stands. A metal arm, long black hair that reaches his shoulders.

"Steve we got to go." The girl is only noticeable when he reaches around to grab your hand, Bucky notices the messy hair, dried lips and the dark bruising against your arms. "She's coming with us."

The sunlight hurts, you cover your eyes quickly as you almost stumble to your knees trying to keep up with the two large men as bullets wiz past. Steve's arms are lifting you by the waist, nudging you to get back up. The quinjet sits only feet away, a tall, dark man yelling incoherent sounds over the swooshing of the blades in the air. In seconds the metal of the floor is cold against bare feet, door closing, it was safe.

Taking a deep breath your eyes running over the tower of Steve as the jet takes off. Bucky can't help but notice the shortening of breath from the small girl, coldness of the metal arm making you jump away in shock, "are you okay?"

"n-no!"

"Buck, buck, don't." Steve reaches for him, taking the artificial touch from her. "She doesn't like being touched. "

You feel trapped in here, three large men making it suffocating in this tiny box, that some how seemed even more freeing than the one you've grown so used to despite being high in the clouds.

"Breathe sweetheart." Steve coos, sinking down to your size, arms reaching out but not quite touching. "Its just me, my touch is good."

His touch is filled with unwanting pleasure, a reminder of what was taken away from you but also a certain gentleness that made you feel safe and secure. You don't let him touch you but nod at his words, following the rythm of his breathing from the pattern of his chest.

"What the fuck happened there?" Bucky wanted to say what the fuck is wrong with you but noticed how uncomfortable you already were.

"I just need to sit down." Steve looked broken as well as he sat finally, still feet away from you. Hands rubbing over his face, as a small cry feel from his lips. Any other time being captured by enemy lines wouldn't even affect him, but he didn't feel like the same man, he was a disgusting excuse of one that fell victim to them, they might have not gotten his blood but did strip the one piece of him he held dearly: his moral code.

Bucky chest squeezes as his best friends sorrow, hand meeting his back, rubbing soft circles of comfort. You watch every second of it, this was bound to happen, you saw the change every time he was forced to touch you, the breaking away of his head, of what he stood for but most of wishing you could accept touch like that, comfort, but any man that touched you only brought pain, physically and in the cause mentally. The ride was quiet once Steve managed to stop crying, didn't dare to talk, the emotion still raw in his chest, afraid it would start again. Once on the ground, a group of people surround him, hugs, kisses to his cheeks. Once again you were envy of his acceptance, the thought making you sick. Steve showed you to a room, placing a pair of what looked like his clothes at the end of the freshly made bed. "You can lock the door when I leave if you'll feel safer." Nails nervously scratching the back of his neck, "You can shower, and if you need me I'm right across the hall, goodnight."

Steve wanted to talk, apologize for what he had done to you but didn't also thought the events of today were enough, you deserved a goodnights rest.

Steve's clothing hung loosely from wet skin, the sweats needed to be rolled, sweater reaching mid-thigh. Sleep did not come easy, noisy sounds of the busy city, honks, and whizzing cars, something you weren't used to being secluded for so long. Anxiety bubbling deep inside your chest, burning your skin. The constant fear that they would come back for you, take you away with just a taste of this freedom.

It was strange but you missed the security, the sense of being protected by him, a feeling you have never felt before. Quietly you enter his room, he's not sleeping just deep in thought as he stares at the ceiling, not noticing your entrance.

"Steve?" Rolling your hands nervously into sweater paws as looks at you with worry. "What's wrong?"

He's sitting up now, ready for anything, trying to figure out the emotions of your face you keep so guarded. "I can't sleep."

He lays back down, hand extending opening the covers to allow you in. Thankfully he doesn't try to touch you. Running over the defined features of his face, ocean eyes so soft. For the first time ever he looks relaxed despite the dark circles under his eyes, the ocean surrounded by a deep red of regret, disgust in himself. He offers a sweet smile, which you can't find yourself to return but try your best.

Closing your eyes feels nice, his breath in your ear, you feel safe as you slip into a world of peacefulness. But not before hearing, "I'm sorry. Sweet dreams sweetheart."

Note: if you want to be tagged in the next two parts, comment below! Part 2 comes with the reader learning to accept his touch and unexpected surprise.

#stever rogers imagine #steve x reader #steve rogers #chris evans imagine #chris evans #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction

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kaijuno · 5 years

Text

3 yrs ago today I was at my step sisters wedding. I was a bridesmaid and the wedding was supposed to be outside but it was storming so we relocated to this gorgeous old German theater (this was in Frankenmuth for my Michigan friends- an adorable little German town) and we wore toe-ankle-jewelry things instead of shoes and boy. Shit was wack.

Grandma is a preacher so she’s doing the ceremony. She’s grumpy because my sisters dress is black and white (it was v pretty, all white with a sort of sash across her chest with black lacey flowers covered with white mesh). The wedding was on a stage and it’s a small stage and I’m practically falling off to make room for the other bridesmaids and a goblin of a child yanks the hem of my dress and I nearly fall off the stage. I was helping my sister into her wedding dress and this fool. This woman wore POKEMON underwear to her WEDDING. Complete with a bra that had pokeballs for her boobs and it showed through the sash so we basically had to tape her tiddies up because she couldn’t wear the bra. A friend was doing makeup and shit and because my hair was too short to do much with she put those like press on gems in my hair and one fell on my shoulder and left a burn blister.

Oh man. Oh man though. My sisters step dad. This is going to get into “that happened” territory I feel like but if you know my family and how people get around weddings... my family was never the type to worry about looking trashy. Anyway, her bio moms husband is a total fucking prick. We’re cleaning up the venue and he’s just sitting his dumbass on the stage doing nothing. While the bridesmaids are rushing around barefoot in $700 dresses cleaning things and he’s just being a piece of shit and I knew my mom (my bio mom, my sisters step mom) was just itching to have a word with him after bride and groom leave.

So eventually bride and groom head off to the airport to go to Vegas, my mom is exausted and quips at cuntstain step father to get up and do shit because the bridesmaids shouldn’t have to be doing all the work and. He. Calls. My. Mom. A. Bitch.

Then he shoves her.

The room goes quiet because my mom is not the kind of bitch you fuck with. You do not disrespect her. He doesn’t seem to realize how royally he fucked up but I’m not about to let my poor mother punch this asshole into the next dimension. MY stepdad, my moms husband, takes her by the arm out to the front of the theater while cuntstain is dragged out back by my step brothers. My step brothers also hate this man. He was the man their bio mom cheated on their bio dad (my step dad) with.

Unfortunately for him, my step dad didn’t also drag my ass away from him because I follow my brothers out back as they lead cuntstain to the alley behind the theater and I’m also a bitch who doesn’t put up with being disrespected and I especially don’t put up with my mom being disrespected. My brothers knew this so they shove him until his back hits the brick wall and I stomp up to him, barefoot and in a $700 dress. I call him a cuntstain and tell him the only reason he’s even here is because his wife demanded it of my sister. I just unload on this prick because frankly he’s an asshole and we’re all super stressed and we hate him. He goes and shoves me to get back into the theater and my brothers shove him back and ain’t no bitch putting their hands on me like that and I just haul off and punch him in the jaw. While still barefoot and wearing a $700 dress. I don’t think I’ve ever punched something so hard before. I death glare him and turn and go back into the theater while I’m sure my brothers rough him up some more.

His jaw was bruised and he had scrapes on his hands and face from the brick wall. He left without saying another word.

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years

Text

All you have to be is here - Part 1 - Billy Hargrove

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who’s smile is phenomenal and who is way too nice to him.

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that.

Part 1 of ?

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please. Also It’s 2:30 am here so I’ll make a header image later after I’ve slept a little. K thanks.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don't have to hide, don't have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever's just for now We're on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

There’s a thing about waiting rooms, Billy thinks, where they try to make them look alive by putting everything up on the walls they can find. All the bullshit abstract paintings and clocks in weird shapes and bright color. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s a waiting room though, and people here aren’t happy.

The walls are the offest white Billy has ever seen and the sad thing is he’s fairly sure they deliberately chose this color. He can hear the ticking of the clock shaped like a daisy flower, hammering through the silence.

Everything here seems too much. The walls are too off-white. The clock is too loud. The paintings too bright. There’s people on the brochures and flyers that are so neatly placed on the table in the middle of the room. Those people stare at him with their shiny colgate smiles that are just a tiny bit too wide to be reassuring and end up looking more creepy than anything.

He really has to give it to them, they tried it here. Tried to make the place feel less sterile and more homely and warm. The seats in the waiting room are cushioned and comfortable and there’s music playing faintly in the background.

And yet this is still a waiting room and no one wants to be here.

A cough sounds from his right, followed by another one. It’s the 12th cough in the matter of 5 minutes. He’s counted. The man next to him looks about Neil’s age and he’s built like a tank. And he looks positively miserable.

In the corner of the room sits a girl who seems to be a little older than Billy. She has bright red hair pulled up in a crazy bun and she’s nervously fumbling around with a hair tie. Twirling it around a finger then twirling it back. Tangle, untangle, tangle, untangle.

“ Billy ? “

He looks up at the voice and his heart sinks all the way down to his stomach. I am not sick. I am not sick. I am not sick and I don’t need to be here.

But the facts are that he is here, he has to be. And waiting for him in the doorway of the waiting room is a doctor. A therapist. Dr. Ryland Kapelsky.

Who the fuck calls their kid Ryland ?

He’s got a thick bushy mustache and glasses that look two sizes too big for his tiny head. Everything about him seems far too comical. This has to be a caricature come to life, straight off the pages of a sunday newspaper.

This man, Billy is painfully aware, knows more about him than he wants him to know. He’s most definitely read his file. He surely knows this therapy session is court ordered.

And still, caricature man holds no judgement in his eyes.

“ Billy ? “ he asks again, now looking straight at Billy as if his deep brown eyes might look right into Billy’s soul, “ that’s you, right ? “ .

Billy nods and gets up “ yeah that’s me “.

Dr. Kapelsky has a firm handshake and Billy think that this guy is not one to bullshit. Which is quite tragic because bullshitting is something Billy absolutely excels in.

“ Nice to meet you, if you’d please follow me to my office “.

His voice is stern but not mean or angry. He seems professional enough which is a bit surprising compared to his comical look.

As they move down the hallway, more off-white walls left and right, Billy glances at the various plaques and certificates proudly displayed.

He wonders if there’s one for winning the caricature look-alike contest. Suppressing a chuckle he follows the man into a spacious office and sits down in yet another cushioned chair by a big oakwood desk.

Dr. Kapelsky closes the door before joining Billy by the desk. He sizes him up, tries to figure him out by just initial impression. Billy can tell. He’s probably trying to come up with a way to approach the situation, to get him to open up and spill all his deep and dark secrets and emotions.

Billy can see it all happening and yet all he can concentrate on, is the taxidermy racoon on the shelf in the corner of the room. Why the fuck did this comic-figure-looking guy have a taxidermy racoon in his office ?

“ So, Billy. Let us start with introductions. I am Dr. Ryland Kapelsky but you can call me Dr. K. It’s what most of my younger patients do.”

Billy hates this, not the guy but the attitude. He’s not going to win him over by pretending to be cool and down with the kids. He’s not a kid.

He’s not a patient either. Because he is not sick.

“ a’right. “

“ And you are ? “

“ Billy Hargrove, you know this. You’ve read the file. “

“ I did, indeed. “

“ So you know this is court ordered. I’m not here because I want to be or need this is any way. I have to be here or I’m going to juvie. That’s the only reason. Sorry to disappoint but we’re not gonna end up making daisy chains and talking about our feelings. “

“ I understand that you don’t want to be here “ Dr. K. says and slides the too-big glasses down his nose “, no one really does. I need you to understand though, that this is a chance for you more so than a punishment. “

That’s easy for him to say, Billy thinks, he’s the one getting a big ass paycheck.

“ I see you’ve also been assigned 60 days of community service. Is that correct ? “

“ Yes, sir. “

“ I was asked to suggest an institution I find suitable for you to work those days. One that I think will benefit you. “

“ Wait wait wait. What ? I thought I was gonna pick up trash at the side of the highway “.

“ Billy, “ Dr. K says and does that thing adults do where they look at you and sigh and pretend to care “ this is supposed to help you. It’s a chance. Picking up trash is not gonna do anything now, is it ? I want you to take something from this. “

Oh he has taken something from it. Don’t punch rich kids whose parents have the funds to get a good lawyer and press charges. No matter how deserving those rich kids are of a fist in their face.

“ Alright then, what’s the verdict, doc ? Where you gonna send me off to ? “

“ Well. There’s a place in Huckley, it’s a tiny town about a 30 minute drive from Hawkins. It’s called the Huckley home from troubled children and youth. There’s kids and teenagers from troubled homes who struggle in life. They’re all a bit younger than you. Most of them come from abusive homes. “

“ What are you saying, sir ? I’m not a troubled youth. I don’t need to attend some looney institute, bad enough I have to sit through this shit here.“

He doesn’t like this man insinuating stuff about Billy’s home life. He doesn’t know shit. No matter how many plaques and trophies and certificates. This man doesn’t know the first thing about Billy’s family. His home.

“ Oh no you’re supposed to work there. Help out in activities. Attend the group session and listen to the kids. Also, and I mean no offence, Billy. I only judge by what I am familiar with. By what I’ve learned over the years. I see your father was asked to accompany you to today’s appointment. He’s not here. “

“ I’m almost 18 my dad doesn’t need to be here. “

Truth is, Neil wouldn’t have come no matter what age Billy is. 8 or 18 it doesn’t make a difference. Neil laughed at him when the letter came. Then gave him a black eye to go with. His taunting words are still ringing through Billy’s ears.

“ Yes but we usually like the parents to be there. To asses the situation and to — “

“ Well he’s not here so can we drop it ? “

“ Sure. “

Billy can see him scribbling something into his notebook. Probably another assumption. It’s ridiculous, really. The fact that he has to sit here and let a complete stranger make up a story of what he thinks is going on in Billy’s life.

“ Look doc, I don’t need you to figure me out or anything like that. It’s bullshit anyway. All I need is for you to sign my notes every session for the next 8 weeks so the court knows I’ve been here and that’s about it, okay ? You get paid either way so it shouldn’t matter. “

“ This is my job, Billy. It always matters.”

“ Well this time it don’t. Now tell me about that troubled youth center thing so I can get that over and done with.”

- XXX -

The Huckley home from troubled children and youth stands at the end of a cul-de-sac with a little lake and a whole god damn forest behind it. There’s two other houses down the street but they’re all about 10 minute walk away from the big red brick building.

He takes one last puff from his cigarette before stomping it out on the floor and walking up the gravel driveway towards the big oak door.

There’s gold ornaments on the door handles and up and down the sides. He wonders if this is one of those fancy looney bins that rich parents send their kids to when they don’t wanna deal with them or can’t bother to bring them on their trip to Aspen.

The inside looks nothing like Billy has expected it to look. There’s wide big walkways and windows that let the sunlight stream through the halls. Every wall is plastered with drawings and macaroni picture frames and certificates that all hold little shiny star stickers.

It reminds him a little of his elementary school back home in California. His mom used to be a teacher there and even before he was old enough to visit the school himself, sometimes she took him with her to sit by her desk while she taught the kids a new letter or help her put the shiny stars onto an especially well done assignment.

But his mom is gone now and sticker stars don’t mean shit in the real world. He wonders if they ever really did. If so, he’d like to know when they stopped mattering.

“ Can I help you ? “ a voice speaks up from his right. There’s a girl there and she doesn’t seem to be much older than him. She’s wearing a white shirt that proudly displays the letters HHTCY. Ah great, uniforms.

She’s cute though, he has to admit that much.

“ Hi. I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove. I’m here for — uh community service “.

“ Oh! Oh yeah just let me — let me see if I can find someone to … “ she doesn’t finish the sentence, just hurries back towards the way she’s just come from.

Billy uses this time to look around the halls a little more. The certificates all seem to have been rewarded for different things. Exceptional Storyteller. Hide & Seek champion. Queen of hopscotch.

He wonders what certificate he’d get. Biggest disappointment ? Lousiest life ? Best hair ? Probably all of them.

“ Sooo, seems like Janet was supposed to show you around but she’s had a family emergency so she’s not here aaand that means I’ll show you around since literally anyone else is currently busy. “ the girl appears again, her mouth spitting out words a mile a minute.

“ I’m (Y/N) “ .

“ Billy. “

“ Hi, welcome to —”

“ Look sweetheart, I don’t need to whole spiel, okay ? I’m here on court order so just tell me where to go and what to do and let’s get this over with. “

She looks defeated for a moment which makes Billy feel a little bad about his harsh tone but really, the quicker he’s started the quicker he gets to leave. Once this is over he’s not gonna see this girl ever again, so who cares ?

“ Oh, alright. Well here’s a schedule that Janet made and a floorplan. I need to show you around before you get to actually do anything but I am scheduled to sit in on a group talk so I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. Now look, I get you don’t want to be here. Honestly I don’t give a shit about that. But these people, these kids, they are here because we care and because they need someone to care. Don’t be a dick in there. Don’t ruin this for them. If you do, I’m gonna kick your ass into the next dimension. Is that clear ? “

Billy is stunned. He doesn’t know who this girl is but it’s not the same one that he’s interacted with just minutes before. This one isn’t timid or sweet. She’s spunky and feisty and interesting and — kinda hot.

“ Whatever you say, ma’am”

“ Yeah, whatever I say. Now let’s go !”

Damn. What the hell has he gotten himself into here.

- XXX -

The room that the group talk is held in is big and airy with light colored walls and even more paintings. It’s not at all as small and cramped and sad as he had imagined it.

There’s a bunch of people here, about 6 or 7 kids who range from what Billy assumes can’t be much older than 6, to people who look to be around his age. Then there’s (Y/N) and a woman that had introduced herself to Billy as Dr. White, though all the kids seem to refer to her by her first name, Lydia.

Some of the kids are smiling, radiating with energy and joy while others hardly speak up and mostly keep their eyes focused on the floor. Though even those kids are always attentive, Billy notices. Always listening. Still a valid and active part of this conversation even when they don’t even speak a single word.

This whole talk is so different from what he expected it to be. There’s no pressure. No one is forced to do an emotional strip and lay bare all of their darkest secrets and innermost feelings. it’s mostly the kids talking about their day. The good and the bad. Things that scared them and things that gave them hope. Lydia seems genuinely interested in what they have to say too. (Y/N), Billy notices as his eyes keep drifting towards her, hold a warm smile on her face the entire time. And it’s not fake or overdone. It seems so genuine, so honest. He wonders if anyone has ever smiled at him like this.

“ Abby, you haven’t said anything yet. How was your day ? “ Lydia asks, looking at the girl across from her in the circle of chairs. Abby must be around 7 or 8 years old. She’s small and has a big mop of blond hair on her head. Her sweater seems a few sizes too big, she’s practically drowning in it. Billy isn’t sure he really wants to know her story. If she’s here, he’s sure it’s not a happy one.

“ It was — alright. Grandma and Grandpa came to visit. They took me to get ice cream, mom wasn’t here though. Not this time. They said next time she’d come. Maybe I get to see her for my birthday. “ she says the words with a sprinkle of hope, one Billy knows too well. A hope he has tried to hold onto for so many times in his own life. One that’s but a mere illusion. It’s a trick. It’s not real.

He hopes this little girl never has to find out about that. He hopes, sincerely hopes, that she gets to keep this hope in her heart for as long as humanly possible. Because losing it comes with pain and suffering and heartbreak. And this little girl doesn't deserve that.

“ So how would you rate your day from 1 to 10 ? “ Lydia asks.

“ Like a 7 maybe ? “

“ Are you asking me ? “ Lydia smiles at Abby.

“ A solid 7 “.

“ That’s good then. “

They’ve done this with all the kids that had wanted to share something, ask them to rate their day. Billy’s days are usually 4s sometimes when it’s a real good day their climb up to become a 6. Then there’s days, those when Neil is home, that are no better than a 2. Those ones come with at least a bruised cheek or a bloody nose and at worst with a broken rib.

“ So, I guess that’s it for today. Thank you guys for sharing your stories with us. Those of you to stay, please go get some lunch. Those that go home, I’ll see you next monday and I hope your week becomes a solid 10. “

Something in the way Lydia speaks, makes Billy feel a little more at easy. She has a softness to her words, like they’re made of cotton. His mom used to talk like that to her students. All gentle and kind and wonderful.

“ Hey you “ a hand waves up and down in front of Billy’s face “ let’s grab lunch then let me show you around. “

It takes a moment for Billy’s eyes to fully focus on the person in front of him, only to be met with (Y/N) who’s wearing a huge scowl on her face.

“ Huh ? “

“ I said let’s go eat. Oh and uh — thanks for not fucking this up. “

He doesn’t think behaving like a decent human being deserves any kind of thanks, he appreciates it anyway.

- XXX -

“ … and this is my office. Well technically it’s Janet’s office but she mostly does our paperwork and accounting and so she does that from home most of the time aaaand that means I get to use the office while she’s not here. Even though I’m only volunteering and I’m not supposed to have an office actually but uh — “

“ You talk a lot, don’t you ? “ Billy asks as a smirk pulls up the corner of his lip.

“ I’ve heard people say that, yeah. You on the other hand talk very little “ (Y/N) says before sitting down on the big oak desk.

“ Yeah well I don’t got nothing to say to you, babe. “

“ Ah man, you gotta stop with those pet names. “

“ Huh, and why’s that ? Does it make you nervous ? “ there it is, the smooth suave Hargrove charm that his mother always said was gonna cause her sleepless night and gray hair. He always scoffed at that, now he wishes he could see her with gray hair. Older and — alive.

“ Pretty much everything makes me nervous really but no, it’s just unprofessional. “

“ You’re a volunteer and I am here on court’s order. We’re hardly professionals. “

He can see a small smile threatening to cross her face, it’s so subtle he almost misses it. Almost.

“ What’s the deal with Abby ? “

“ huh ? “

“ The little girl. “

Something about this girl reminded Billy so much of himself when he was younger. Her whole demeanor was so familiar like he was looking into some kind of distorted mirror that allowed him to look into the past. He just had to know what her story was, even if it meant to feel the all too familiar pain.

“ I can’t tell you any specifics but well, her mom has — issues and her dad is not in the picture. She used to stay with her grandparents but they are getting older and feel like they can’t provide her with all the things she needs at this moment. So she stays here with us. “

“ Do all the kids ? “

“ Nah. Some of them stay here permanently. Some temporary. Some just come around certain days of the week. It really depends on their individual situation. We provide them with what they need even if it’s just a place to stay and some open ears. “

Billy wonders if things would’ve turned out different for him had he had someone who cared. Who was willing to listen. To his sadness and his anger and all the pent or emotions he had to keep inside for the longest fucking time.

“ Well good for them. “

“ Yeah. I hope it makes a difference. “

Billy smiles at her. He hopes it seems genuine, because it is.

“ Oh I’m sure it does. “

- XXX -

Billy is exhausted once he arrives home. (Y/N) took him around the entire building doing several different chores and tasks to make sure he got acquaintanced with everything that needed to be done. From tidying up the community lounge rooms to helping prepare food to paperwork. She made sure he saw and did it all at least once. And my god, this girl was thorough.

As he steps through the door, he can hear the scrapping of cutlery against the porcelain plates. They’re all sitting around the kitchen table like a perfect little family. Neil, Susan and Max. A sight for sore eyes, if he’s ever seen one. There’s no room for Billy on this table. There never really was.

Neil’s eye shoot up as his son enters the kitchen, a snarl makes its way onto his lips and the gross mustache twitches disgustingly. God, Billy can’t even put into words how much he detests his father.

“ Look who returned home. The prodigal son. My boy. Tell us Billy, how was community service ? Did you work real hard ? Did you make them proud ? “

The teasing is hardly hidden in his words. It’s ugly and taunting and Billy is sure those words are gonna ghost through his head for much much longer. If Neil could just shut up for once. Just once.

“ It was alright. Can I go to bed now ? “

“ Alright ? What kind of answer is that ? “ Neil snarls, taking another sip from his can of bud light. Susan and Max avert their eyes down towards their plates, nervously pushing their food across the tableware.

“ What do you want me to say, dad ? That is was good? It wasn’t, it was fucking exhausting ! That I’m sorry ? Well I’m not. The dude had it coming. I did a shit thing and now I’m suffering the consequences, what the fuck else do you want me to do ? “

He knows, as those words leave his lips, that he’s fucked up. Before he can even register what happens, a loud smash echoes through the room before. Then Billy feels the smooth surface of the fridge pressed against his back and Neil holds him by the face in a grip so tight, Billy is sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

“ Is that a way to talk to your father ? I give you everything you ungrateful little shit and this is how you thank me ? Grow up, Billy ! Start taking some god damn responsibility “

Smack.

He’s used to it by now. It stings a little less each time. He hates that it does. He hates that he gets used to this. From his dad of all people. The one who should be sheltering him from bad is the one bringing it upon him.

“ Do you hear me ? “

“ Yes sir ! “

Another smack. This time he can feel his lip split open. He’s used to that one too.

“ Excuse me ? What was that ? A little louder please. “

“ Yes, Sir !”

When Neil lets him go and sits back on the kitchen table, Billy carefully steps over the broken plate and hurries towards his room. The rage in his system says “slam the door” but he knows that would make things worse. So much worse.

Though he can’t help himself but punch the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. He loses count at some point but gets pulled back into reality when he notices a red sheen covering his knuckles.

As if a split lip wasn’t shitty enough he had to add bleeding knuckles and a bruised fist to it. Great.

The rage feels all consuming. Like it’s taking over everything and swallowing him whole. He needs to get out. Needs to get away for a moment. Out of this house where misery lives and anger seems to inhabit every corner, every wall. If he doesn’t get out now he’ll explode.

So he opens the window, quiet as a mouse, like he’s done so many times before and rushes towards the camaro. If Neil notices he’s gone, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later. It doesn’t matter right now. All that matter now is getting away. As far away as possible.

- XXX -

There’s a perpetual red glow in this 24h convenience store. It comes from the neon signs in the window that advertise hot dogs and cream soda. Billy thinks it gives the place a realy creepy vibe.

He fumbles around the freezer before taking out a popsicle package and holding it to his swollen knuckles. It’s soothing sure, but it’s uncomfortable holding that stupid box to his hand.

“ Have you never seen a movie before ? You gotta use frozen peas, man “

Recognizing the voice immediately, Billy turns to see (Y/N) stood next to him, a white grocery basket hanging from her arm as she holds out a packet of peas to him.

“ They properly take the shape of your hand. Works way better, trust me ! “

“ Oh yeah “ Billy replies, taking the peas from her hand and holding it to his injured. Goddamn she’s right. “ You some kind of secret nurse or something ? “

“ Not really but that’s common sense. “

“ Not something I can pride myself with apparently. “

And when she laughs at that, it’s like for a second his knuckles don’t hurt and he forgets about the dried blood on his lips.

“ Man, you just got ordered community service for punching someone. Thought you’d have learned. “

“ You should see the other guy “ Billy jokes. But really, it’s not funny. Not even close.

“ Yeah ? Big guy ? “

“ Huge. Made of drywall “

“ Huh. Did you win at least ? “

“ Ya betcha, baby. I always win “ and if only that was the truth.

“ Come on Rocky, lemme get some stuff to fix you up. “

It’s a few minutes later that Billy sits in the bed of her pick-up with (Y/N) standing between his legs, dabbing alcohol onto his lip and knuckles. If this wasn’t such a ridiculous situation it could even be a little romantic. With her so close to — certain regions of his body. Fucking hell Billy, get it together !

“ So uh — do you wanna talk about what happened ? “

“ Not really. “

“ You sure I could — “

“ Look (Y/N) I don’t have the best life at home, okay ? But that’s all you need to know. I’m not one of your kids that spill their heart and emotions out to you I just needed to get away from home, is that alright with you ?

“ That’s perfectly fine “.

He can almost feel how genuine her words are. She doesn’t judge or pry. And he is eternally grateful for that.

“ Why are you here so late anyway ? “

“ Had to get some groceries. We’re gonna pretend I didn’t just come here because I had a huge craving for ice cream, okay ? “

He scoffs. This girl is ridiculous. And something about that makes her incredibly charming.

“ So, I assume you don’t wanna go home tonight ? “

He doesn’t. If Neil has discovered him gone, he can’t show up home again tonight. Not under any circumstances.

“ Not really, no. “

“ I have a pretty comfortable couch. It’s big enough for you and it comes with an extra fluffy cuddle companion. “

“ What does that mean ? “

“ I have a cat. His name is Luke Skywhiskers and he’s fat and orange and very clingy. So if you don’t mind that — “ she shrugs her shoulders in a way that shouldn’t be nearly as cute as it is.

Billy isn’t particularly fond of cats, then again he’s never really had a lot to do with any cats. Never being allowed to have any pet because they’re “dirty” and “cost a shit ton of money” according to Neil, Billy was never given the chance to really bond with an animal.

But then again, everything was better than going home.

“ Sounds alright. “

“ Okay, cool. “

“ Thank you, (Y/N). “

“ It’s no problem. Just follow my car and I’ll see you at my place then “ (Y/N) says, pats his chest and gets into her car.

As Billy get into the Camaro and slumps down in the seat he wonders how his night managed to end like this. Bloodied and bruised and one the way to spend the night at a complete strangers house.

A stranger who’s shown him more kindness in the last 24 hours than his dad did in the last almsot 18 years.

Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it was a solid 5.

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic

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akinkbyanyothername · 5 years

Text

BTD Fanfic: Strade x Reader

Um, so I don’t really expect anyone to read this but, I wrote a shitty fanfic (~5000 words) about Strade and MC. It retells the BTD story focusing on an MC who is a huge brat but also scared of pain/death/blood. I do use a lot of dialogue from the game, especially when writing bloody scenes because I’m actually not that into blood, guts, and gore. I’ll probably put it on AO3 when I have the time to properly reread and add to it. But until then, *blows kiss into the void* this is for you~

The most important hole in this story is your mouth! So hopefully anyone can enjoy!

Kinks: Non-con, Blowjobs, Torture, Boot-Licking, Kidnapping, Drill, Light Bondage

You looked up at the wooden sign saying “The Braying Mule”. You could hardly believe you managed to drag yourself out to a bar, especially alone! You walked into the bar with a small feeling of pride that was instantaneously replaced with anxiety. You knew it wasn’t possible, but you were convinced this was the loudest place on earth; the laughter of the patrons mixed with the ringing in your ears was deafening. You stood near the entrance paralyzed, until you turned around, listening to your body’s overwhelming urge to run away. You were just about to exit when you felt a large, rough hand on your shoulder. Your whole body jumped as you let out a squeak of fear.

“Didn’t mean to scare you buddy!”

You turned around to look at the owner of the hand and cheerful voice. You couldn’t help but be drawn to his oddly endearing toothy smile.

“Oh no... it’s alright!” Your words were accompanied by the thoughts, “There I go... trying to be as polite as possible even though this guy fully touched me without asking.” You gave a sweet smile, continuing to follow your natural instinct to be likable and avoid conflict “I just startle easily, sorry!” You could’ve sworn his cheeks flushed after you said that, but the crappy bar lighting made it hard to tell for sure.

“Come sit down with me!” With his hand still on your shoulder, the man led you to a table with a couple empty beer mugs. “Sit right there. I’ll get you a beer, it’ll help you relax!” You barely had time to process before he sat you down on the chair and went off to the bar. You were definitely uncomfortable with a stranger being so pushy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stand up and leave. No, no, that would be too rude. Besides he was buying you a drink, you didn’t want to risk hurting his feelings. You could feel yourself getting frustrated with your inability to be assertive when you were overwhelmed, but before you knew it the man was back.

“Here, drink up!” He placed the beer in front of you as he sat across the table.

“Thanks so much!” You replied, matching his enthusiasm.

“So, what’s your name?”

“My name’s Alex!” You lied as you gave him another smile. You had rehearsed giving out a fake name to strangers and done it a handful of times, so it was almost automatic. “What’s yours?”

“So polite! Name’s Strade.”

You noticed him eyeing the beer he bought you and considering he just called you polite you felt the need to at least sip it. You tried to hide the disgust on your face as you took a gulp, god you hated beer.

“I’ve never heard the name Strade before, it’s cool!”

“It’s German!”

“Oh! A friend of mine is taking German classes right now! She told me the word for butterfly is schmetterling.” You felt a little dumb saying that so you took another swig of beer hoping to avoid sounding any more foolish.

“I’m impressed, few people know any German! I could teach you more.”

His last statement sounded suggestive somehow, but you were sure that couldn’t be right because you sounded like an idiot and no one would flirt with you. Suddenly you were very thankful for the beer. You drank more of it quickly trying to distract yourself from being flustered.

“Do you like it?” He asked raising a brow. He must’ve noticed your shift from barely touching it to chugging it.

“Yeah, it’s really good, thanks!” You lied again. Honestly the beer tasted like garbage, but you couldn’t say that, it would be too mean. Either way, you could feel yourself getting tipsy, so you told yourself you were thanking him for the distraction.

Suddenly an alarm on your phone went blaring, with the notification “STUDY!” attached to it. You let out another squeal as you scrambled to turn it off.

“SHIT THAT’S RIGHT! I HAVE A MIDTERM COMING UP NEXT WEEK!” You thought to yourself as you stood up.

“Sorry, Strade, I have to go study, I have a test next week! It was nice meeting you, and thanks for the beer again!” You were fully aware that you sounded like a total nerd, but school was really important and you didn’t want to risk your grades. Truth be told, you weren’t sure how you would’ve left Strade if you didn’t have an excuse.

“Ah, good luck on your test, have a good night, bud!”

You left the bar more relaxed than when you came in. It was later than you expected and you checked your phone to figure out which bus to take back to your place.

“Trying to get home?” You let out a full on scream as a familiar, but unexpected voice came up behind you.

You turned around to look at who it was, but as you did so your phone was knocked out of your hand.

“What the hell?!” Your instinct to be polite was overruled by a mixture of fear and anger.

Faster than you could process, Strade grabbed your shoulders and bashed you into the brick wall of the bar. His hand covered your mouth as you watched him stomp your phone. “Don’t worry, you can come home with me~” he purred into your ear. “...Are you going to come quietly? Or are you gonna make me work?”

This was so fucked up. You had come out to a bar ALREADY ANXIOUS OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND, but you pushed through because you told yourself “What’s the worst that could happen?” The realistic answer, according to your therapist, SHOULD have been, “I feel uncomfortable and leave”. But APPARENTLY that wasn’t the case. APPARENTLY the actual fucking answer is “I GET FUCKING KIDNAPPED!” As these thoughts raced through your mind you bit down on Strade’s hand, grinding your teeth with as much force as possible.

“Wow... Lebhaft! <3″ He mused dreamily.

You glared at Strade with as much hate as you could muster as he back handed you across the face. Hitting the ground, you felt a sort of heat rise up from your pelvis into your chest and manifest on your cheeks. “Who knew being hit could feel so good?” was what your body was saying but your mind was focused on “If this guy wants to kidnap me, I’m not gonna make it easy.” You looked up at him and let out a pained cough. You opened your mouth to start screaming, but you were winded by a heavy boot digging into your sternum. Instead of insults, a pained wheeze escaped your lips. With so much force, you swear it could have dislocated your shoulders, Strade grabbed your arms and zip tied your wrists together. You writhed viciously under his boot as you tried to escape, but it was to no avail. The only thing your struggling seemed to do was make him smile wider.

Effortlessly, Strade pulled you onto you’re your feet and shoved you into an expensive looking car. Feeling the air starting to return to your lungs you prepared once again to scream, but were muffled by a piece of duct tape being slapped onto your lips.

“Don’t make so much noise now.” He cooed, holding your chin up, forcing you to look into his eager eyes. “Save it for when we get back to my house” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek before he punched you in the jaw. Everything went black after that.

You woke up disoriented on the floor of a cold, dark room. “What the-? Where am I?” Were your immediate thoughts as you slowly started to regain consciousness. “WAIT IS THIS-!?” You violently jerked forward trying to stand up, but immediate regretted this as the tight ropes binding your wrists to a pole bit into your skin. Your words, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” came out as more an incoherent screech as you became acutely aware of the duct tape on your mouth. Fuck, why did your jaw hurt so much? Suddenly, you heard loud thumping coming from a set of stairs behind you.

“What’s this I hear?” The ominous words echoed in the darkness before you were blinded by the lights being switched on. “You’re already awake!”

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but once they did you were staring at the worst case scenario. Fueled by sheer hate you attempted to let out a slew of words that would have made the devil proud.

“Sorry what’s that buddy?” Strade asked before excitedly ripping the duct tape off your mouth. “You’re gonna have to speak up!”

“FUCKING PSYCHO!” You pushed passed the pain in your jaw to let out words that had been dying to escape. “WHERE AM I?”

“Don’t remember?” He asked almost innocently. “We were having a chat. And I thought to myself, I would love to get to know this person better. So I brought you home!”

He put a hand on top of your head, ruffled your hair then gave it a firm pull. A bolt of heat shot up into your chest again. Doing your best to ignore your body’s betrayal, you jolted forward. You tried to bite at his hand, knowing full well this would cause the ropes around your wrists to dig deeper, but you couldn’t just LET him treat you this way. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME YOU!”

He let out a pleased laugh. “You were so polite at the bar, but now you are so full of energy!” He licked his lips. “So many surprises… I can tell we’re going to have a lot of fun together.” You could feel your fear starting to grow as he said the word “fun”.

“Before we get started, you want something to eat? Drink?”

“What the hell?” You were so thrown by his offer, but it did make you hone in on your churning stomach. You hadn’t eaten much yesterday, and drinking a beer on an empty stomach might have been one of the many reasons you felt so nauseous today. However, as much as you might have wanted food, your pride wouldn’t let you admit it. “NO! I DON’T WANT ANYTHING FROM YOU!”

For whatever reason, your response made him more cheerful. “You’re so eager to start, so am I!”

Strade pulled out a large hunting knife and you couldn’t help but let out a terrified scream at the mere sight of it.

“Ah, Schatzi! You’re already screaming for me~<3”

You couldn’t think of a time when being easy to startle was THIS much of a curse. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Every word out of your mouth since you woke up was shrieked, but you would be damned if you didn’t put up a fight. As he started to approach, you wildly started kicking your legs, in an attempt to keep him way.

He paused for a moment to admire your futile actions, his face growing redder and redder. “Niedlich~” He leaned down and pressed the cold blade under your sleeve.

“W-What are you saying to me?” It was getting harder and harder to yell at him as the knife against your skin allowed your fear to override your anger. For whatever godforsaken reason, you suddenly remembered him offering to teach you German. You made the dumbest comment in human history as you tried to alleviate your terror, “This isn’t helping me learn German!”

Strade burst out into laughter, “BAHaha! Good one buddy!” You tried to forget about the knife as he jovially put his free hand on your shoulder. You felt proud of yourself for a moment, maybe you calmed him down? He rested there for a second, looking down into your eyes. You gazed back, searching for some semblance of humanity, but he simply smiled and shook his head, “Your clothing’s still in the way.” He began to forcefully cut off your clothes. You wanted to resist more, or at least make a snide remark, but feeling the blade occasionally graze your skin was enough to trigger your freeze response. It was only a matter of moments before you were there in your underwear, shivering.

Strade leaned back and took a good look at you. If you weren’t already naked, it would’ve been like him undressing you with his eyes, which honestly would have been preferable to him using a fucking knife. You wished his long stare only made you uncomfortable, but you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks starting to flush.

“ahhhhh~ You’re so…” He paused, searching for a word you REALLY didn’t want to know. “Unbroken.”

Yeah, you DEFINITELY didn’t want to know that. “W-What the hell? If any part of me WAS broken it would’ve been from you!” Your sass didn’t have its usual bite to it, but it was something.

Strade let out another laugh as he bent down to his knees, inches away from you. Terrified didn’t begin to describe how his presence made you feel. “Oh don’t worry...” He said rubbing his calloused fingers over your soft thigh. “I’m not going to leave you this way.” Goosebumps appeared on your skin as he continued to caress you. “We’re going to have a very intimate experience.” He licked his lips, “I can’t wait to hear more.”

“More what?!” flooded your head before he lowered the knife to your thigh. The cold metal against your skin was paralyzing, “THERE’S NO WA-!“ Your panicked thoughts were interrupted by the searing hot pain of the knife slowly dragging up your leg.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Your scream echoed throughout the basement as you broke out into tears. Your whole body writhed, trying to cope with the blinding agony. God, for someone who talked big, you sure did you have a low pain tolerance.

“You’re so sensitive” He panted. You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, but from what you could tell, he was getting excited. He held down your squirming leg, eyeing it for a second before raking the knife through you skin again. Another piercing howl left your mouth as you shook violently. You shut your eyes tight as tears continued to stream down your face.

“Ah… I’m getting too excited…” You heard him breath heavily. “Oh no… look how much you’re bleeding…”

Those mere words made you feel lightheaded, you had a horrible phobia of blood and you most certainly didn’t want to look. Strade must’ve picked up on this because before you knew it his fingers were prying your eyes open, “I said look!”

The room started to spin as you tried not to focus on the bright red blood spilling from your wounds. You had absolutely no words, just feelings of sheer horror.

“Mmm. You’re not gonna last like that.” If he wasn’t inches away from your face, you probably wouldn’t have understood him. “Would you-“, your hearing cut out, you really were about to faint. A hard slap against your face made your eyes shoot open and a moan escape you lips.

“What the hell was that?” you thought to yourself. Were you seriously turned on by that?

You could feel Strade’s hot breath on your stinging cheek. “Did you… like that?”

You instinctively looked away. “Of course not…” Your voice was so weak; you weren’t sure how convincing you sounded to him or yourself.

“You really shouldn’t lie.” he said, grabbing your hair and forcing you to meet his gaze. You felt everything, from your toes to your ears, heat up and you couldn’t believe it. Your body really was a filthy fucking traitor. “I’m not lying!” You insisted, this time with a little more pep. He just stared at you with his blushing cheeks, before standing up.

Your whole body tensed, terrified he was going back for the knife, but instead he reached for his zipper. The fact this was a relief to you was disturbing. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?” You screamed internally before externalizing a shrill, “NO!”

You tried to look away, but he grabbed your face. Before you could protest further, you noticed he was holding the knife in his other hand. A string of curse words flew through your mind. “Open up ~<3” Strade chimed as he pushed the knife into your mouth, facing the blade upwards. You reflectively opened your sore mouth wide with a whimper trying to avoid being cut. He shifted the knife to the side and stuffed the head of his cock in your mouth.

“I know you like to bite.” He flashed the marked-up hand you had ground down on when he was kidnapping you. You felt a twinge of victory before he grabbed the back of your head with it. He gave a hard thrust deep into your throat causing you to gag. He let out a satisfied groan. “Will you bite again?”

You wanted nothing more than to hurt him back, show him you weren’t helpless, but… your eyes shifted to the knife and you shuddered. You started feeling faint as you imagined the inside of your mouth getting sliced up by him. Noticing you were distracted, he shoved deeper inside of you causing you to be present with the ACTUAL fucked up scenario you were in. You made a sort of muffled scream as you felt your anger growing. How could you possibly win in this situation? It was so unfair! You shot Strade the dirtiest look you could manage and in return he gave you a smug grin as he withdrew the knife. He buried both his hands into your hair and slammed more vigorously. Tears started welling up in your eyes as you choked on his cock. God you felt pathetic. He looked down at you fondly, “Suck it, Schatzi~” An involuntary whine of fear and pleasure was the only noise you manage to make, why did you find him speaking German so… so… sexy!?

His rhythm was becoming steadier and you knew what that meant. You desperately struggled to pull away from him, but he kept ramming down your throat with more and more panting and grunting. Your pained, exhausted jaw and desire to spite him made you consider biting down again, but the image of a knife down your throat stopped you. “FUCK!” You screamed to yourself as he groaned, holding your head firmly against himself. The feeling of his warm cum sliding down the back of your throat made you sick. Tears steadily rolled down your cheeks as you felt like you were suffocating. He admired the view of you stuffed full of him, desperate for air before pulling out with a dreamy sigh. Immediately you coughed and sputtered up a mixture of saliva and semen on the cement floor. You were suddenly very aware that was the only thing you had eaten today.

“Ahhhh… you’re a lot of fun.” He crouched down to your eye-level. You flinched as he reached out to softly pet the side of your face. The gentle sensation flooded your body with warmth. Fuck, how much longer did your body intend to completely ignore sane reactions? You weren’t going to give in though. Through ragged breaths you managed, “D-Don’t… touch me…” Strade chuckled as he stood up and tousled your hair. “Why don’t you have a rest, hm?” With that he straightened up and thumped back up the stairs, leaving you in the dark.

As soon as he left, the pain from your leg demanded attention. You looked down, noticing that the blood hadn’t completely dried. It was so disgusting. “I’m going to kil-” You couldn’t fight the wooziness that washed over you. Your body slumped against the pole and your eyes closed, leaving your threat unfinished.

You were woken up abruptly by someone kicking your leg. The pain jolted you forward pulling you against your binds, “Wha… Ahh!” You slowly came back to your senses and realized where you were. So everything last night really wasn’t a horrible dream.

“Still sleeping?” Strade asked with a smile, looking you up and down. “Aren’t you looking chipper? You’re all fresh and ready for a new day!” You weren’t sure in which world your state would be considered fresh. “So, how about something to eat?” He bent down and waved some sort of energy bar in front of you.

You felt a surge of nausea overcome you, remembering the vile taste in your mouth from yesterday. You took a few deep breaths trying to calm yourself down. Honestly, food was a probably good idea, you were starving. But…You shifted your eyes from the bar to Strade; all the deep breathing in the world wouldn’t have quelled you hatred.

“No?” He asked, picking up on you animosity. “Suit yourself!” He unwrapped the bar and took a large bite. “Mmf- you know-“ He waved the bar. “I feel like we’re really getting to know each other.” He took another bite. “Hm. I know it hasn’t been long. But this sort of mmf…experience...it speeds things up.” He kept chewing and leaned closer to you. “It’s the adrenaline. You’re excited. I’m excited.” He leaned even closer. “We’re sharing something very… personal.” The way he delivered that last line made you incredibly nervous. “BAHaha! You look a little scared ~<3” You shot him a vicious glare, trying to mask your fear.

“Ahhhh! Haaa… I can tell how you’re feeling. You’re all tied up, on the floor. Some guy’s basement. And who knows what I’ll do to you? Helpless. Right?”

You wanted to shout “WRONG” but your voice escaped you, something about him seemed more sinister than yesterday.

“I’ll give you some control. What happens next is completely up to you!” He turned around to gather a few items form a nearby table. Your heart was racing wildly. “Here’s your choice. What’ll it be?” He held up a hammer in his left hand and a drill in his right. “Hammer or drill?”

Your breathing became sporadic and your eyes widened in fear. There was no way this was happening. This couldn’t be real could it? You blinked really hard a couple times to make sure this wasn’t just some fucked up nightmare. But there Strade was, holding up a fucking hammer and drill, waiting for you to decide… but there was no way that was going to happen. You weren’t going to let him win; you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction!

You could see his smile turn into a frown at your refusal, and fuck you knew that was bad new, but you did it. You managed to get that unnerving smile off his face! However, your victory was short lived. His grin returned as he stepped closer to you, “You don’t want to choose?” He rested his boot on your mangled thigh for barely a moment before grounding it down. You let out an ear piercing shriek as your cuts began to ooze blood again. Enjoying your voice, he continued to roll your leg under his foot.

“Can’t take it hm? The responsibility of choice…” He leaned down. You maintained furious eye-contact showing that you weren’t going to back down. “I suppose some people… Weren’t meant to have any control.”

Those word were the last straw. The absolute vitriol that had been building up inside of you since you woke up burst out. You spat directly onto his face and yelled, “GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!”

“Haha… haaaaa…” That fucking blush creeped back onto his cheeks as he stood up. He leered down at you, licking his lips, “You act so sour but…” he paused, turning around to the table with his tools. You could hear clinking and clanging as he searched for… something. He twisted back around, this time with the drill plugged in and a pair of pliers. “You weren’t like this at the bar…” he mused, crouching down close to you. You tried to steel your resolve, looking directly into his amber eyes. He stared back, unblinking as he set down the drill. You couldn’t help but recoil as he moved his free hand towards your face. He let out a satisfied sigh at your reaction.

He rubbed his thumb softly against your lower lip, but before you could even think to bite him, he abruptly grabbed your face. You let out a squeal of surprise. He squeezed his large hand together forcing your cheeks to dig into your teeth. With your mouth held open he inched the pliers closer and closer. You let out a whimper as you tried to pull back, but he held your head firmly in place. He clamped the pliers against the tip of your tongue; your whole body started to tremble. A pained cried filled the room as Strade yanked hard. He roughly pushed his dirty fingers all over the surface of your slippery tongue. It took everything you had not to heave at the revolting taste. “You’re so wet, Schatzi” he moaned playing with your spit.

You felt your heart skip a beat as he called you that name again; why did you like it so much? This was so beyond fucked up. You closed your eyes, trying to distance yourself from the situation. For a second, you thought it might have been working, but then you heard the sound of the drill whirring in the air. Your eyes bolted open as you desperately pulled against the pliers. You gagged as you shook you head from side to side, “NO!” He slowly lowered the tip to your tongue, teasing it. “NONONONONONO”, your protests had become nearly incoherent. He pressed the drill down, shredding a hole smack-dab in the middle of your tongue. The scream you let out was blood curdling. You didn’t even know you could make a noise that horrifying. Mucus mixed with your tears and blood trickled down the back of your throat. An inhuman gargling noise was all you could make as he detached the drill bit, leaving it in your mouth.

“Ahhhh…” Strade huffed. He dropped the pliers on the floor, he didn’t need them anymore. Your tongue wouldn’t fit back in this way. He lazily started to move the drill bit back and forth with his fingers causing blinding pain with each movement. “S-ST-HOP” Your words were almost as sloppy as the fluids dripping out of your mouth. He chuckled before ripping the metal out of your mouth. A strangled screech caused everything to bubble at the back of your throat. Your whole body convulsed uncontrollably from the torture. You couldn’t take much more of this, but… how could it possibly get worse? Your question was promptly answered as Strade stuffed the head of drill into your mouth. “THANK GOD HE REMOVED THE DRILL BIT!” was your first thought, your second was, “THIS FUCKING HURTS!” He roughly pushed it in and out of your mouth, aggravating your wound, before pushing down on the power button.

The vibrating sensation filling the back of your mouth was like a fucked up switch for your body. The whirring sounds flooding your ears brought a sort of comfort; the fact you couldn’t put together a coherent thought brought some semblance of peace. The thrusting of the drill against your bloody, slobbery tongue started to feel… good. Your eyes fluttered open and closed; you couldn’t help but whimper as it shoved deeper into your throat.

“There you are~” he purred, using his free hand to stroke your cheek. God why did his touch feel like a gift?

It wasn’t long before he replaced shoving the power tool down your throat with another, his own hard cock. Your head had already been thoroughly rattled by getting drilled, so you didn’t resist. You weren’t thinking anymore, just acting. You had been a bundle of nerves flipping from fight, flight, and freeze since you met Strade and it seemed your body had another impulse it wanted you to follow. You were doing your best to bring him pleasure: rubbing your cut-up tongue all over his shaft, making obscene moans of pleasure, and looking up at him with helpless eyes. He placed his hands in your hair, ensuring you kept up with his rhythm. He placed his boot between your legs to give you something to rub up against, as if to give you a reward. The both of you pushed up against each other in tandem, until he reached his climax. You could feel the inside of your mouth become even stickier. You tried to pull away, but Strade held you in place, “Swallow it.” He growled. Something about hearing the harsh command made you remember that this wasn’t your choice.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Your thoughts were definitely coming back online. The fluids in your mouth started to slowly spill out around his cock, falling onto his boot between your legs.

He must’ve been able to tell from the way your eyes changed from glazed to bright that you had regained some fight. He laughed as he reached down and plugged your nose. “Swallow.” He repeated, giving you no other choice. You really didn’t want this to be the way you died. Reluctantly you gulped down the semen, blood, saliva, and tears pooling in your mouth. It was so thick and pungent, how did you not notice that before? You felt mortified when you realized cum had been a consistent part of your diet for two days. It took all of your willpower not to retch.

Strade pulled out of your mouth, giving his typical toothy grin. You desperately gasp for air. “At least it’s ov-“, before you could finish your thought he abruptly stomped on you head. You bashed your face on the concrete and felt your nose start to bleed. “Clean it up.” He demanded shoving his dirty boot into your face. You were so disoriented from the impact that you hardly understood him. Your blurry vision started to focus on the filthy shoe in front of you. For fucks sakes you weren’t going to do this anymore!

“NO!” You screamed, but he didn’t seem to have much patience for you. He started to grind his other foot into the back of your skull. It hurt so much, everything hurt. You wondered if Strade still considered you unbroken; you shuddered at the possibility that he did. Was that what this was? A fucking test?

You tried to look up at him to give him a dirty look, but he wouldn’t allow it; he just kept you firmly planted next to his foot. This was so unfair and aggravating, because you could just feel his giddy eyes boring into you expectantly. You unwillingly placed your mangled tongue against the cold leather of his shoe. The pain made you hiss and retract. You felt pressure mounting against your head as well as his dirty shoe forcing itself against your closed lips. The slimy mixture started smearing onto your mouth and you opened up trying to prevent it from getting worse. The salty, metallic taste made you gag as he pushed his boot against your tongue. You felt so humiliated, was this your life now? Throat-fucking some psychopath and being rewarded for it with objectification and death threats? You seriously considered if this or death was better… you weren’t so sure.

You felt Strade ease up on your skull as you licked the remaining mess off his boots. Finally allowed to look up, you shot him a hateful stare. “Happy now?” is what you tried to say, but it came out as some sort of distorted version of that due to your fucked up tongue. He seemed to have no problem understanding you though, as he gently pet you head and smiled, “Very happy, Schatzi!”

#boyfriend to death #btd #strade #btd strade #strade btd #fanfic #bratd

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utterimmolation · 4 years

Text

AC: Syndicate/Captain America Drabble

He's a scrawny thing as they grow up. A heart full of courage and lungs barely strong enough to keep him going. Full of righteous fury and desperation, born of a premature birth and his father's distance.

"Fool," his sister murmurs, dabbing at his bloody lip and swollen eyes, souvenirs from yet another fight in another alley, goaded by another taunt. The light is dim, the stove barely works enough to heat the warm, medicinal milk she presses into his bruised, skinny hands, hand so like her own, yet far weaker.

On his worst days, he resents her healthy body. They were born at the same time, but she'd come first, perfectly healthy.

He came next, nearly dead and stealing his mother's life in a twisted exchange.

she is his twin though and no matter how much shakes her head clucks tongue at him full of that same righteous fury all who have been cast aside have. a woman in man world.> Look down at her at your peril, because her stringent refusal to exchange her pants for skirts mean she has a greater range of movement to kick you in the gnads and clock you in the face.

-----

Their father dies in the first war. Sort of.

He came home yes, but his mind, his soul had died, trampled in the trenches.

He doesn't drink, doesn't rage and rave like some other veterans do in the streets. He becomes quieter and quieter, and every tightening coil of rage and pain until he pops.

Jacob wonders if he was worse before they came to live with him in his small flat.

(Years, decades later, he discovers that yes, he was worse, and for all his faults, he was still just a man. A man who sent his children away, knowing he was a ticking bomb, knowing how volatile he could become, living in a neverending nightmare. A man, who tried to protect his children by sending them to his late wife's elderly parents, who sent money and medicine to try to prolong his in-laws lives.

A father who, when he could no longer deny the truth, fought his demons for the chance, for the right, to raise his children, and when he was on the brink of becoming them, fled, knowing they would chase him and leave those he loved safer.

Jacob Frye reads his father's letters and diaries, and finally, finally begins to forgive. He has too much regret already.)

Usually this rage will be released in an abrupt hurling of a book or a mug at a wall. Other times, is the sudden tightness of his voice as he excuses himself from the table, strides into his room, closes the door and punches the brick wall by his bed for hours. Occasionally it's him staying in bed for days on end, further stressing his poor daughter, who does what respectable jobs she can from sympathetic neighbors in order to try to keep both men in her life alive.

The final time Jacob ever sees it happen is the final time he sees his father.

He's taking out his temper, his inextinguishable rage from constantly being bedridden on his father. He's yelling himself hoarse, his beleaguered lungs straining more and more to provide his thin blood with oxygen and his father is winding up, tighter and tighter and he's ignoring the signs and--

Suddenly, Evie is on the floor, a large bruise already appearing on her face.

The room is silent. Ethan Frye's blank eyes begin to clear and slowly fill with horror as he looks from his hand to his daughter slowly getting up (never staying down, never), keeping herself between her other half and her sire.

Their father doesn't say a word. He slowly turns, shakily gathers his coat, his wallet and a bag, that he fills with a few clothes. He picks up his hat and slowly lurches out the door.

It closes with a quiet, definitive click.

-----

The twins are twenty years old and war has broken out once again.

The country is still raw from the last war. Buildings are still settling into their rebuilt frames and new brickwork to replace the ones that had lasted centuries, only to be blown to bits by falling bombs.

"I've been drafted," Evie breathed in his ear as they lay on next to each other on his ratty bed, listening to their neighbor's radio playing the latest patriotic tune hailing King and Country.

"...what?"

"Of a sort," she murmurs. "There was a woman at the library, a regular. It turns out she's been watching me for weeks. Said I make a good fit for British Intelligence." She smiles wryly. "Apparently the noble folk call it the 'Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare', so it's perfect for a woman."

Jacob laughs so hard he causes himself a coughing fit.

-----

Her being a woman is not the reason he stands in line at the draft office, clutching his papers. Evie can protect herself. But he can't stay in bed whilst there's the chance they send his other half (his better half, Evie would snark) somewhere that he can't follow.

They were meant to be side by side, forever. Poverty and sickness had never stopped them. The Frye Twins were indomitable together, be that scrapping up money or fighting whatever group of dog-kicking fools had earned Jacob's ire.

They deny him, of course. Even in a country seemingly determined to grab every warm body, they won't take his.

So he tries again. And again.

Evie knows of course. She doesn't approve. But she knows him like she knows herself and knows he needs this--she won't stop him.

-----

"Why do you try so hard to fight?" An old man with a German accent asks him after he's been scolded and threatened by yet another draft officer and been kicked out to the mocking chuckles and pitying looks of other, stronger men.

How can he explain the crushing fear of loneliness looming in the distance, the horror of a life of possible solitude when he's never been alone since conception? The fear that his twin may not come back, or worse, come back the same way their father did? The anger at his helplessness, the pride he feels for his sister, the longing for a destiny that he knows is greater than the one he forsees?

"Someone has to," is what he goes with instead.

The old man smiles.

-----

What Erkstine describes is fantastical, impossible, ridiculous and possibly deadly.

Jacob is immediately on board.

"This will hurt," Erkstine warns as they strap him into the coffin-like machine and eject him with pale blue chemicals.

-----

It really, really, really bloody hurts.

-----

He emerges a head taller than his twin and rippling with muscle. Men feel his chiseled chest and bulging biceps, murmuring to each other in awe.

She pushes her way to the front, ignoring caustic glares at her audacity. She clasps his arm and smirks mischievously. "Looks like you hit a growth spurt, brother."

His straightened and dazzling new teeth gleam in the spotlights of the lab. "Jealous, sister?"

"Hardly," she scoffs, trying to cover the glimmer of tears welling in her eyes at the sight of her healthy, happy alive sibling. "Muscles wither, dear brother, but I was still first."

"By four minutes! That doesn't even--"

Gunshots ring out.

-----

Erskine is dead, the formula to creating a thousand great knights is lost with him.

The higher-ups are furious. They debate his fate in front of him, acting as if he isn't even there. To him, he is a low-blood expensive pet project that they can never recreate. He has little to no formal training, comes from Whitechapel, of all places...he is socially worthless.

-----

On one hand, they give him a knighthood for his service to the Empire--Good job they seem to say. You didn't die the ethically dubious dangerous experiment in service to the country.

On the other hand, they dress him up in a cheap costume designed to look like a modern day knight, color it red, white and blue, and use him as a propaganda symbol. Sir Britain they call him, putting his cowled face on posters encouraging people to buy war bonds and sign up for service. He stars in commercials, gives pre-written speeches on the radio.

He hates it. He hates it even more when they fly him out near the front and have him pose with real troops, like his very presence will help fill empty stomachs and block bullets.

It's on one of these trips near occupied Poland that he hears more about the about the mysterious Hydra group, who murdered Erkstine, who controls the Nazis. He hears about whispers of another group that controls even them, one centuries old. He hears about how an entire regiment is captured by Nazis wielding futuristic, Asimov weapons.

He hears about the three ESO agents were with the regiment and how while one was found dead, the other two, a Polish man and an English woman, are missing, presumably captured.

He demands to know the woman's name, feeling the twisting in his gut that already knows. They hem and haw before they finally admit her identity.

Evie Frye.

-----

He doesn't know how to fly a plane.

Luckily, the angry Scottish mechanic, fired for having dared point out the head engineer was letting shoddy work go through, for speaking up despite being a woman, does.

"Names Agnes Macbean," she yells over the racket of the old two-seater's engine. "Ain't this a way to go out, eh? Sticking it to the Nazis!"

-----

It is embarrassingly easy to sneak into the Hydra base. He's so much faster and stronger than the average man now, and the brass knuckles certainly help.

Most of the men he finds imprisoned but Evie isn't with them.

Instead, he finds her in a lab straight out of a pulp novel, full of blinking lights and needles with strange chemicals.

(Nazis and military officers would say they decided to experiment with a version of the serum on her because it worked so well on Jacob, and genetically speaking, there was no one on earth as similar to him than his twin.

Jacob and the men who were imprisoned would say they used her first because it was she who rallied them into rousing chants of defiance, who, when backhanded by a sneering soldier, proceeded to blind him with her own spit blood, knee him in the groin, and headbutt him unconscious.)

She's only half-conscious when he pulls her from the chair, but she's still a crack shot and able to hold her own beside him as they fight through soldiers, elites, and a strange, powerful Hydra officer known only as Roth.

-----

Afterwards, the higher-ups give him training and his own elite squad. It's as much a punishment as it is a reward: he's no expert fighter, and his what he's allowed to pick isn't what's considered the cream of the crop.

To him, it's perfect.

He gets three ESO agents: Evie and two men: one, a Ned Wynert, is rumored to have run a corner of England's black market prior to the war breaking out. The other, Robert Topping is a fast-talking former bookie and carnie, with a penchant for ridiculous hats and getting through nearly any lock.

Agnes is brought on as the team's engineer and mother hen and she quickly gains some assistants in the form of former street urchins: a clumsy lad named Nigel and a sly, cunning young code-cracker named Clara.

They get a discharged soldier named Abberline, who is as honorable as he is resilient. A couple of brothers, Billy and Dennis Strum, children of Jamaican immigrants and expert riflemen. Durand Boucher, a beast of a Frenchman with delicate fingers and talent for explosions.

They're the diamonds in the rough, the unappreciated and overlooked. Some, jokingly, mockingly, call them the Knights of the Crooked Table.

Jacob Frye, Sir Britain himself, calls them his Rooks, to his sister's audible dismay.

Mission after mission, fight after fight, the Rooks succeed. Bases are raised, no-man lands taken. Sir Britain is a whirlwind on the battlegrounds, wielding pistols and knuckles, his arms covered in gauntlets made with a rare, unbreakable metal and painted with the flag of the Motherland. Evie is at his back, sometimes with her own pistol and throwing knives, other times crouched in a tree for days on end, guiding and clearing the way with her sniper rifle. Robert wears such bright clothing that he's practically invisible when he forgives them to sneak into enemy territory, Ned is able to self-talk and turn many a soldier with the promise of money for intelligence. Agnes can turn even military rations palatable, and hotwire Nazi trucks with a speed the belies her large frame. The brothers are crack shots at impossible distances, Durand, capable of turning nearly anything into a bomb. Abberline is a long-suffering sort who gets along swell with Evie, and has a poorly hidden soft-spot for Clara and Nigel.

They are an unstoppable team.

But Hydra grows ever more powerful. A man by the name Red Skull looms like a spector, guiding the war like one would a chess match. The elites of Nazi appear with incredible armor and weapon that are difficult to defeat, nearly impossible to reverse engineer, and glow an insidious gold.

Jacob is grim, but he isn't worried. He has his team, he has his fists. He has his twin. Everything else can be overcome.

-----

And then...there's the train.

The Hydra weapons. The elite soldiers guarding the dangerous cargo. Him nearly getting killed, only to be saved as Evie fires with unerring accuracy.

The golden beam nearly tearing the train in two, the force sending his sister tumbling out.

Trying to reach for her, straining as she dangles from the side of the train over the mountain pass--

The snap as the bar gives way.

And the sight of his sister, his twin, his other half, tumbling like an errant leaf into the snow, hundreds of feet below, becoming nothing more than a black dot, then disappearing altogether, like she never existed.

He doesn't remember if he screamed her name. He probably did.

(Honestly, he had probably stood there gaping in horror instead of doing something, instead of lunging after her, following after like he'd done all their lives. Like he should have done. Like it was supposed to be.

He thinks this because there are many moments where he should have said something, where he wants to scream...and doesn't, too overwhelmed, too broken:

The first time he woke up in a new century, taken from his frozen coffin by a mysterious Brotherhood.

The first time he realizes that everyone he knows is dead.

The time when he goes to the British History Museum and discovers monuments and exhibits to him...and only him. His friends, his family, his Rooks, his sister...regulated to footnotes.

And of course the moment that he fights a deadly assassin on a rooftop in the dead of night, one who killed a member of the Brotherhood he will call his own. An assassin just as strong and as fast as he. An assassin who goes by many monikers the world over, the bogeywoman of the Creed:

The Creed Killer. The Winter Huntress.

Well, no. That's a lie. He does say something.

In that moment where he fights this impossibly skilled assassin of assassins, when he struggles against the strength and tricks contained within her left, silver arm. When he knocks her mask off, and the face looking back at his is achingly familiar and as improbably young as his own, covered in a legion of freckles and holding artic blue eyes in a too blank face.

He does speak then.

"...Evie?"

"...who on earth is Evie?")

-----

The eventual battle with Roth, with Red Skull is a blur. He fights with that same raging fury in his heart, but he still feels...empty. Cold. Even seeing Roth try to harness the power of the mysterious golden artifact, only for it to overwhelm him and wreath him in ethereal flames draws only a grim satisfaction from him.

It's when he is behind the controls of the futuristic plane holding legions of bombs capable of turning all of America to ash that his thoughts crystallize with abrupt clarity.

One Frye died to the cold and ice. It's only fitting that the other should as well.

Or blazing fire, should the bombs go off on impact.

Either way, he'll be going home.

The water rushes in, the cabin shudders and he welcomes the piercing darkness with a smile on his face.

#Crossover #AC Syndicate #Marvel #Ubisoft #drabble #The Frye Twins #Evie Frye #Jacob Frye #Jacob becomes Sir Britain #Evie still becomes an assassin #sort of

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am-imagines · 5 years

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Legendary pt. 2.5 Morgan!Reader

This is the angst route, it wrecked me while writing it so I hope y’all enjoy it. You’re the ones that asked for this after all.

Warnings: Grief and light swearing. Italic paragraphs is from the broadcast. R can’t hear them but I thought it was a nice touch.

Legacy, what does it truly mean?

You’ve heard that word a thousand times over the last three years, but it erupted like a volcano when you touched land in Australia. They say you’re Alex Morgan’s legacy and it’s on your shoulders to keep the legend alive.

They don’t see -or care-, the side of you still grieving after losing the most important person in your life. They don’t see the anger or the pain. And honestly, you’re not surprised.

There are things that your mother left with you. She taught you how to work hard every single day. She taught you discipline, dedication, control and perseverance. But the passion you feel while on the field is only yours.

The fire burning in your eyes and the need to prove yourself drive you forward even when the match hasn’t started yet. You’re a chess player, and by the beginning of the game, you’ve ten steps ahead.

The National Anthem is loud and clear in your ears, but you take the moment to send a prayer to the heavens above with the only hope she can hear you. You ask her to watch over you on your first match in this World Cup and the nerves you felt on the tunnel, leave when you open your eyes again.

You said it before, USWNT number thirteen is your biggest inspiration but also your shield. She’s with you; always. And you can feel her presence as you take your place for kickoff.

“Come on, team! It’s showtime!” You shout.

You meet the eyes of each member of your team and you find the same fire that fuels you burning there. It’s time to prove to the world what you’re capable of.

“Number thirteen returns to the field for the USA and I’m sure everybody is waiting to see if she follows the steps of the great Alex Morgan. Only time will tell, and it’s time for the first 90 minutes on this World Cup for the dream team.”

You’re on the Group of Death, but there’s no fear within you. Germany is a challenge; one you’ve trained to tackle one minute at a time.

The kickout starts the match; you move flawlessly in your element. Passing the ball and filling the gaps the defense doesn’t notice. You are the bridge connection Harry Long to Press, then you’re at the front; pointed spears as you launch yourself to the attack.

It’s almost impossible to crack Germany’s defensive line. Not a single ball makes it through them for the first twenty-five minutes or so, but that doesn’t stop you.

It’s a constant pick and roll with Press and Long following your silent lead. An instruction from the bench and then O’Hara is there; joining the attack with sharp passes and precise plays. In that moment you show the world why you’re the best team.

You’re unstoppable; playing harder when Germany refuses to let you through. You play better and find their goalie as a brick wall. Still, there’s no time to give up, to stop and as the first time starts to wind down; you play faster.

A terrific pass from O’Hara opens the doors and Press doesn’t disappoint when she nutmegs a defense to clear the rest of the path. You follow even your muscles hurt; your lungs burn with the exertion as you push even more.

The goalie comes out to try and block press, and that’s exactly when she passes to you. With a solid contact, you send the ball straight into the net.

“That’s a goal! Oh, what an amazing goal from Y/N Morgan to open the score! An incredible play by the USA finished with a delightful shot. Buckle your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen! Morgan is back in the building, and she brought pure magic with her.”

You never really stop running and make it to Press in no time. Jumping into her arms you fist-bump the air as some other players join your celebration.

“Let’s fucking go!” You shout over the crowd.

The first goal for your team in the World Cup is yours, but you still have a million things to prove. Not just to the crowd cheering for you, or the ones following the match through their screens. You want to prove it to yourself; you want to earn every minute you play.

In your opinion, there’s no time to stop. Even when halftime arrives, you keep thinking about how to do things better once you go back.

One goal is not enough against a team like Germany. A single mistake here can cost you an important victory, and this is the match you’ve been waiting for the last three years. This is the even you’ve dreamed of all your life.

You’re insistent; nagging every player when they have the ball. You press, and press and press. You’ve run a marathon and if you’re exhausted, the adrenaline doesn’t let you tell.

Nothing can stop you as you make it to the box...except maybe an elbow to the face.

A penalty kick is called while your team protest earnestly for a red card.

You’re nailed and you can feel your mouth fill with blood when you hit the ground. Instead of waiting for the medical team, you go back to your feet and to the sideline where you promptly ask for a towel to clean your face after spitting out the blood. A sip of water and that’s all you need.

Harry Long is your designated player to take penalty kicks, but the blonde takes the ball and shoves it into your hands. There’s a delicious glint in her eyes that you’ve seen in Allie. Like mother like daughter, you think. Both of them could be Bond villains.

“Make them pay,” she says.

“I will.”

You put the ball down on the penalty spot, then take a couple of steps back; hands on your waist while the ref talks to the German goalie.

“This is a great chance for the U.S.A to extend the lead, will Morgan be able to score?”

This is a one-on-one battle where your biggest enemy is yourself.

Eleven meters separate you from your destiny; this is your chance to make an impression. This is your opportunity to start a career with a bang and make everyone see beyond your last name. You aren’t your mother, that much is true, but you’re something special too.

You face yourself with this penalty kick and all the doubts that appear when you’re about to give up. The truth is, you’re still fighting and you earned your spot on the USWNT despite the press assuming Rapinoe made you a favor.

Your last name has weight; it keeps you grounded for another second as your eyes focus solely on the ball. Your mind is set in a sole objective when the ref blows the whistle.

Your name carries a punch like lightning and you hit the ball with a thunderous strike.

“Goal for the USA! Morgan with her second goal of the match with only a few minutes to spare on this encounter. The dream of America is more alive than ever, and I’m sure this game feels like a dream to Y/N.”

Your demons are buried on the left corner; the same one where you sent the ball.

The pain behind your fierceness comes to the surface for a second, but you refuse to cry where everyone can see you. Instead, you point to the sky and dedicate the goal to your biggest hero. Wherever she is.

This is the beginning of a long road and you know the comparisons, talks about you and your mother won’t end with this match. The press will ask the same questions after the world cup and they will follow you as your professional career progresses.

You wish Alex Morgan could be there with you; to help you paddle through a sea of skepticism. It’s hard to do this on your own, but nothing has stopped you before.

For the last three years you’ve worked yourself to the limit without taking a break. Stopping is not an option because you’re not sure you have enough strength to keep going afterwards. Bottling up you feelings; all the hurt, the pain and anger, was your strategy. It’s worked so far.

You’ve trained and fought through every day in hopes your mom is proud of you.

When the match ends, you’re confident there’s nothing else you could have done on those 90 minutes.

Leaving the pitch is bittersweet because that’s where you feel closer to Alex; wearing her number and doing everything she taught you. But when you stop running the myriad of feelings catch up to you and every time it’s harder to keep them at bay.

When you make it to the locker room is when the exhaustion finally hits, but it’s not just the aftermath of the game. You’re tired of holding it all in.

You wish your mom could be there in that moment. She always knew what to say to comfort you. She always knew what to do when the world seemed to spin a little too fast for your liking. But there’s nothing she can say right now, because she isn’t there. She can’t. She won’t. And your broken heart bleeds more than ever before.

Pretending to forget doesn’t help. How could you ever forget her?

The pain shows in your eyes as you stare blankly at your locker. You’re frozen; overwhelmed, because she won’t call you after the game to congratulate you. She won’t be there to pick you up and take you home.

Sonnett forces you to turn around, to face her, before wrapping her arms around you. She holds you so tight that the walls you’ve built crumble around you. She makes you stop to a halt and the lack of inertia moving you forward shatters your resolution.

You break even when you try your hardest not to.

And oh how much you try; you grasp Emily’s shirt desperately as you try to keep the pieces together. It’s useless.

The first gasp coming from your lips brings your feelings to the surface; no barriers to hold them back this time, and the hurt you’ve tried to deny for so long comes barreling in. A strangled sob wrecks your body, so you let Sonnett hold you while the storm hits.

“She would be so proud of you, Y/N.”

Sonnet and Rapinoe share a small fraction of your pain.

You saw their reactions to the news from the safety of your room. You watched how their gazes showed the grief when they lost a friend.

Kelley had been your rock through the funeral, and yet you were made of stone. You stood like a statue; strong but immovable. Shock didn’t let you cry but time eroded your facade and the gentle breeze of Emily’s words turned the rock to dust.

“I miss her,” you whisper against her shoulder.

It’s true that the world cup brings you closer to your mother in many ways, but it doesn’t give you a moment to forget she’s gone. Even after three years, you don’t know how to deal with the empty space she left in your life. Nobody does.

So, you cry on Sonnett’s shoulder for what feels like hours and yet the team is still there when you finally pull back. Their eyes hold no pity or shame, they look at you with the same love and pride, and that helps you find your ground again.

They pick a piece of your shattered soul each and make it part of themselves.

Ali “Krash” Harris finds your courage. Janice O’Hara takes your determination. Harriette “Harry” Long goes for the perseverance and T. Press your hunger for victory. They have you covered and when you feel like caving on your way back to the hotel, they carry you through.

Alex P. Morgan is gone, but the people around you are family too.

With them by your side you’ll bring the fucking World Cup home.

For her. For you. For a new beginning.

#alex morgan imagine #uswnt imagine #BabyMorgan!reader #Morgan!Reader #Legendary #Next generation #angst route

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sidespromptblog · 5 years

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The Ghost

Summary: Logan is an average house spirit, he’s been dwelling in the place that he died for just about as long as he can remember, and that honestly isn’t much. Each day for him bleeds into the next, and his work just goes on and on as he keeps the failing building together with just his spirit alone. He has no idea why he tries to do such a thing, or even why he tries so hard when he can’t even recall his human life and the reason why he feels such a strong emotional connection to this place. He just doesn’t know why, and it drives him crazy sometimes. That's something that changes though, when three new tenants move into the home he's been occupying for as long as he can remember.

(Commission for @thedreamer240 )

There is a house at the end of old Cane Street. Its shutters are that were once pristine and freshly painted with a dazzling fresh coat of navy blue paint was falling apart, the shutters certainly wouldn’t make it past another rainy season, let alone a slight gust of wind. And the stairs leading up to the old house creaked ominously, as if the very spirit of the wind had infested the wood, moaning and howling with every step taken up to its incredibly ancient looking stain glass door. The golden paint on the outside of the house had chipped away, revealing a muted and faded looking white color underneath, the color of bones that were no longer hidden by the flesh of the living. Weeds clung to the side of the house, crawling upwards and defying gravity as they did, those very same weeds obscured the dirty grime covered windows ensuring that not a single soul could look inside.

Of course, that wasn’t necessarily the problem with this old house that was steadily falling apart as the years steadily wore it down. Brick by brick, as the very foundation of the house, sank into the muck and rubble surrounding it, bit by bit.

Not a single soul would touch the house, and not a single person alive would dare to enter it. Be it for renovations, or with the intent to live within the quarts that somehow kept themselves together. Some people claimed that the house was haunted, others said that it was the product of a mass cult activity that had gone on decades prior, while most just insisted that there wasn’t a spot of good luck to be found in that house. That no amount of good luck charms, dream catchers, or exorcisms could ever fix whatever on this green earth had happened in that house. Or to who it had happened to.

In a way they were entirely correct, no amount of tampering could ever fix what had gone wrong, but that was mostly because it didn’t need fixing.

Or so the spirit inhabiting thought so.

Logan opened his eyes to the sharp sound of a siren piercing the air just outside of his home, the world came back to him in distant waves. First, it was the sound, a very familiar sound if he stretched his mind far enough. The loud obnoxious beeping of a moving truck backing up into someplace, it was a sound that was hard to miss and downright impossible to forget even if he wanted to. The second thing that came back to him was the damp coldness of the air, a feeling that would have clung to his skin, if he had any, to begin with. He could sense it, the cold relentless bite of winter that permeated through the cracked spongy walls of his house, it was something that no amount of sheer willpower could fix, at least not in this afterlife. The third and final thing to come back was his sight, as everything came into focus with an almost startling clarity to it as he peered through the thick clumps of weeds that clung to the window facing the front yard.

It had been years since anyone had trespassed onto his home, but there was definitely no mistaking it. Not one single bit.

“Movers.” It was only one word, but it dripped with scorn from Logan’s lips as he caught just the slightest glimpse at the obnoxiously orange colored moving van. The backup lights were blarring as the sound of tires crunched the gravel not even five feet away from the porch, not only was there a moving van here...but the people who would be moving in had shown up as well. “Fantastic,” A wintery chill gripped Logan’s words as he hovered by the door, there was no use in attempting to leave, he had been there and tried everything that had come to mind. There was no use in trying to poke his head through the door, when an invisible barrier would stop him each and every time.

But it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try and listen to what these new...roommates were going to be like.

It took no time at all for the car engine to cut off, “Come on!” Almost immediately he wanted to bury his head under a mound of bricks at the bubbly cheery voice that sliced through the harsh winter wind like it was nothing. “Don’t you want to see what the new place looks like?” Just from the sounds of his footsteps alone, Logan could already picture the guy. Bouncing around with a gleeful near ecstatic look on his face as he gazed up at the house, grabbing the arms of his companions.

“The place looks like a dump…” There wasn’t a split second of hesitation in the gloomy sour filled answer, and somehow it made Logan’s none existent nerves burn like the sidewalk of a summer day. Whatever he said next didn’t even matter to Logan, as he stood there silently fuming as he glared at the door as it had been the one to steal his life from him. “But..sure Pat, lead the way. Come on Princey, you heard him. Let’s check out this...wonderful new home of ours.”

It was three sets of feet that clambered up the creaking steps that led to the old stain glass door that cast a shadow of vibrant oranges and yellows on the floorboards before Logan. And it still cast that same shadow as Logan thrusted his hand through the cold rusted metal of the doorknob just mere seconds before the key slotted into place and turned. His nonexistent nerves were burning, scorching all around him as his teeth ground against one another. Fury roared in his stomach, as static welled in his hand.

“How dare you trash talk my home!” The hiss of words escaped his teeth like the hissing and snapping steam from a screaming kettle, “This is my home! Not yours!”

With an abrupt jerk and snap the knob of the door broke off with such a brittle movement that it might as well have been made from nothing but saw dust, just as it was trying to be opened on the other side. Logan couldn’t exactly feel his face, but he was absolutely certain that a smirk crawled its way onto his lips as soon as he heard the startled cry from the other side of the door.

It was a smirk that didn’t last a second longer.

“Don’t worry about it Pat, I got it.” The voice that spoke up was different than the other two, just from his voice alone, he reminded Logan of one of those stage performers that would most often be at the center of attention taking up the star role. Perhaps it was the way that the words rolled off his tongue, or maybe it was just the way that he so gallantly as well as ruthlessly slammed his shoulder into the door making the ancient rusted hinges scream in protest. As a fine layer of dust rained down from the rafters as it happened again, and again.

The action alone made Logan feel as if someone had just sucker punched him in the gut, leaving his lungs gasping and clawing for the air around him. It made his insides ache, as he reached out for something, anything really to keep him steady. Except there was nothing, as the door was eventually forced open and the three men who had been standing outside strolled in as if they owned the place.

And within mere seconds, Logan felt his ghostly form go abruptly icy cold.

His entire body went completely still as his eyes locked onto the three very different forms of the men before him. One with wild russet colored curls and a tan so dark that it faintly reminded Logan of the German chocolate he’d sometimes let melt on his tongue during the winter time. He had the dark eyes to match as well, as he dusted off his shoulders, obviously the one who had knocked in the door as his dark caramel eyes surveyed the inside of the house. Caramel eyes that passed right over Logan as if he wasn’t even there. Then again there were so very few that could actually see him nowadays.

While the other one with deep raven black hair and stormy colored eyes, stood hunched over by the entrance. His eyes darted all over the place, like a startled rabbit that could sense the danger of a fox but couldn’t tell just where it was coming from. His grip remained ever tightened on his phone, and while he didn’t say anything his lips pulled down into a deep uncertain frown as he nudged the edge of the carpet with the tip of his sneaker. It was clear to hell and back that he didn’t like being there, even if he hadn’t said a word since entering Logan’s home.

Although the last one..with his bright golden colored locks and holly green eyes that glinted with a look of childlike wonder, he just bounced everywhere. A look of outright amazement reflecting in those eyes as he looked at anything and everything that was in sight.

They were all different in their own right, but even so, Logan stood there as frozen as a statue every second that he looked back at the three.

One of them… He barely had time to humor the words that ran through his mind as he stiffly watched them walk about his home. He couldn’t even choke the words out one by one, be because he was afraid of being heard or something else. One of them isn’t human… A threat..one of them is a threat! All at once the instincts slammed into him like a train that had run off the tracks, the shaking of his hands, the cold terror that had swept through him the very moment they had walked into his home, and...how he felt compelled to not move a single inch from where he stood.

One of the people before him was not human, and he WANTED THEM OUT.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #ghost!logan #ghost au #human au

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antifaintl · 5 years

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2018: A Timeline of Fascist And Bigoted Extremist Violence

(CONTENT WARNING FOR EXTREME RACIST LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE)

In keeping with our 2017 list of violence committed by bigots and fascists, we thought it smart to continue this year. The date of each incident noted and other details will yield the original media source(s) with some web searching. We will be updating this on the regular, so check back once in a while. Here’s hoping we have a much smaller and less-lethal list this year! January 1, 2018: Charles William Davis II - a black army veteran and gay man - is waiting for a ride home with his friend when six men start in with homophobic slurs before escalating to a full-on six-on-two assault. When Davis begins getting the upper hand, one of the men pulls a gun before a passerby scares them off. Davis suffers a broken nose and several lacerations; his friend spends the first few days of 2018 in an ICU. January 1, 2018: A shelter for unaccompanied refugee children in Spinetoli, Italy is destroyed by arsonists. January 2, 2018: 19-year-old student Blaze Bernstein is stabbed nearly two dozen times and then buried in a shallow grave in a park outside of Los Angeles. 20-year-old Samuel Woodward, a former classmate, is charged with the murder and makes statements indicating that Bernstein was murdered because of his sexual orientation. It’s later revealed that Woodward is a self-described “national socialist” and member of neo-nazi terrorist organization Atomwaffen Division.

January 3, 2018: Muslim restauranteur Abdul Basheer is randomly targeted by BJP extremists in Karnataka, India, who beat him to death in retaliation for the murder of a BJP activist hours earlier. Basheer’s murderers admit to membership in a Hindu extremist nationalist group. January 6, 2018: A black farm worker driving his employer’s tractor in South Africa was shot dead by a security guard in an unprovoked shooting described by the province’s agriculture minister as a hate crime.

January 9, 2018: After being vandalized repeatedly with swastikas and anti-Semitic graffiti the week before, a grocery store near Paris is set on fire by arsonists, causing extensive damage. January 10, 2018: Vicky Guiterrez, an immigrant and transgender woman, is killed when her LA apartment mysteriously is engulfed in flames. Her friends claim that the attack was hate-motivated. An autopsy determines that Guiterrez was stabbed to death and police charge Kevyn Ramirez with her murder. January 11, 2018: 31-year-old Aryan Nations gang member Ronnie Lucas Wilson is stopped for speeding in Knoxville, TN and opens fire on the police officer with a shotgun, seriously wounding him, before driving away. Lucas remains at large until being apprehended two days later. January 11, 2018: Believing that he is being followed, Alabama resident Lorenzo Freeman pulls into a parking lot where he is confronted by the driver of the other vehicle, who jumps out yelling racial slurs at Freeman, then pulls out a gun and fires at Freeman, killing him. January 12, 2018: Over 30 armed Casa Pound fascists attack people putting up anti-racist posters in Genova, Italy, stabbing one of them twice in the back. January 13, 2018: A meeting on Roma culture in a bar in Naples, Italy is disrupted when dozens of members of the racist group Forze Nuova crash the event, smashing up the bar and seriously injuring the woman who had organized the event. January 14, 2018: 44-year-old Manuel Lewis runs up to a table outside of a Tucson’s Starbucks where seven Muslim women are sitting and drinking coffee. Shouting Islamophobic slurs and curses at them, Lewis knocks two of the women down to the ground, flips their table end-over-over, and smashes one woman’s smartphone. A bystander stops Lewis from getting away and when police arrive to arrest Lewis, they found that his is carrying multiple knives. January 19, 2018: 37-year-old neo-nazi Jacob Albert Laskey, who had previously served a prison sentence for throwing swastika-engraved rocks through the windows of a synagogue during services and conspiring to murder a witness, stabs a 41-year-old man in a Creswell trailer park. January 19, 2018: After enduring years of harassment by Hindu extremists, the body of Christian pastor V. Gideon Periyasamy is found hanging from a rope in his hut in Chennai, India. January 20, 2018: As he was leaving the home of his date, 26-year-old Dashawn Horne is hit in the back of the head twice with an aluminum baseball bat by an 18-year-old assailant. As he laid bleeding and unconscious on the ground, the assailant said “this is what happens when you bring black people around here,” then struck him several more times with the baseball bat, then recorded himself yelling “Nigger” at Horne.

January 21, 2018: Fascists in Thessaloniki, Greece set fire to a historic building occupied by leftists, gutting it. January 23, 2018: A 25-year-old man makes several attempts to run over an Arab man sweeping the sidewalk in Beitar Illit after speaking with him and discovering he was Arab. The racist driver later confessed to several other attacks on Palestinians as well as vandalizing Palestinian-owned vehicles. January 24, 2018: A man approaches a student at Cupertino College yelling homophobic slurs. He punches the student in the face and then flees. January 25, 2018: A car belonging to an Arab men is torched in Jerusalem, with “Death to the Arabs” and other racist graffiti spray-painted on the wall next to it. January 26, 2018: After hearing someone calling for help, 58-year-old Thomas Williams leaves his Scottsdale, AZ apartment to investigate. He is immediately confronted by a Keaton Formica, a 30-year-old neighbor, who begins calling Williams a nigger and stabbing him. Williams is stabbed three times and manages to escape by rolling underneath a parked truck. January 26, 2018: when her Lyft driver stops to pick up a man outside of a gay bar in Miami Beach, 24-year-old Sherry Shelsey Moody becomes infuriated and begins screaming homophobic slurs at the new passenger, then stabbed him in the face with one of her high-heeled shoes, puncturing his forehead.

January 27, 2018: Two men in the bathroom of a Sacramento bar are physically assaulted by a man yelling homophobic slurs at them before fleeing. One man is injured so badly that he will likely lose one of his eyes. January 30, 2018: 59-year-old Jon Holte knocks on the door of a Latino family in Wisconsin and shoves the door in as they open it, forcing one man backwards and injuring him. Holte then falsely claims to be an ICE agent and undercover deputy sheriff there “because of all the illegals.” He is charged with several hate crimes.

January 31, 2018: Two teenagers randomly ambush and assault an eight-year-old Jewish boy while he is walking to a tutoring class in a Paris suburb. January-February 2018: Members of the “Aryan Circle” and “Aryan Brotherhood of Texas” kidnap a man they suspect ripped them off in a drug deal. They hold the man for several days, chopping off part of his index finger with a hatchet and trying to bludgeon him unconscious. They then order an associate to take the man to another location and murder him, but the man escapes. January-February 2018: 31-year-old Shane Sleeper makes a series of terrorist threats against several gay nightclubs in Chicago as well as the staff working there. He is charged with several misdemeanors which are later upgraded to a litany of terrorism, hate crime, and stalking charges. Sleeper was last arrested in 2015 for beating the owner of a gay nightclub in Atlanta. February 1, 2018: Ankit Saxena a 23-year-old Hindu photographer in West Dehli, India, is attacked by relatives of his Muslim girlfriend, who slit his throat, leaving him to bleed to death on the said of the road. February 3, 2018: 28-year-old white supremacist and failed candidate for the anti-immigrant Northern League party Luca Traini goes on a two-hour drive-by shooting spree, seriously wounding six African migrants. February 4, 2018: Four African migrants in Pavia, Italy are attacked by a group of two dozen neo-nazis. February 4, 2018: Transgender woman Celine Walker is shot to death in a Jacksonville hotel. February 4, 2018: The Hungarian Cultural Center in Uzhhorod, Ukraine is firebombed. Three weeks later, it is firebombed a second time. Police arrest Michal Prokopowicz, 28, along with two other Poles associated with fascist groups throughout Europe. At trial, Prokopowicz claims to have been acting on instructions from far-right German journalist and former AfD consultant Manuel Ochsenreiter. February 4, 2018: 32-year-old Izmir Koch asks a crowd of people outside of a Cincinnati restuarant whether any of them are Jewish. When a man answers in the affirmative, Koch runs up to him and punches him in the head, knocks him to the ground, and begins kicking him, along with some of his friends, fracturing the man’s eye socket.

February 6, 2018: 35-year-old transgender woman Tonya Harvey is shot dead in Buffalo, NY.

February 7, 2018: 36-year-old John Ross Niko is driving his truck through Keizer, Oregon when he spots a Latino man standing on the sidewalk. Niko jumps out of his truck and approaches the man, saying “why are you standing here? Go back to Mexico!” before punching him in the face. Niko had previously harassed the victim’s son and attempted to run him over. When placed under arrest, Niko protested that he had “been attacked by an illegal” who “does not speak English” and admitting to harassing the man’s son.

February 9, 2018: Reigning Mr. Gay Belgium winner Jaimie Deblieck is attacked from behind on the streets of his hometown of Roeselare by assailiants yelling “fucking homo!” as they stomped on him. February 9, 2018: Dalit law student Dilip Saroj is beaten to death by four men armed with clubs, bricks, and chairs after Saroj’s leg brushed against the leg of another man in a crowded restaurant in Allahbad, India.

February 10, 2018: A 19-year-old Muslim woman is speaking to a nurse in a Michigan hospital emergency room when 57-year-old John Deliz runs up behind her and punches her repeatedly in the head before he is subdued by hospital security. February 10, 2018: Portland tattoo shop owner Joseph “Dymond” Vinci - who has publicly proclaimed his support of both the extreme right Three Percenter and Patriot Prayer gangs - confronts a homeless man in the parking lot of his business. Vinci, who had bragged to neighbors about “beating the fuck out of” another homeless man three days prior, beats the man, 38-year-old Richard Hanley, with a metal police baton. When a stunned Hanley produces a steak knife, Vince drops the baton, draws a pistol, and shoots Hanley dead.

February 14, 2018: 19-year-old Nikolas Cruz walks into the high school he was expelled from with an assault rifle and murders 17 of his former classmates. Cruz was known to his former classmates for making frequent anti-semitic, homophobic, and xenophobic comments publicly and over Instagram and had previously threatened to murder antifa. His former classmates remember him wearing “really extreme” patriotic t-shirts and a MAGA hat and deriding Muslims as terrorists. He had carved swastikas into several of the spare magazines he was carrying for his AR-15 assault rifle. February 14, 2018: Declaring that “I hate turban people,” a man puts a gun in the face of Gurjeet Singh, a Sikh man, father and Uber driver. February 17, 2018: A 70-year old men enters a refugee shelter in Heilbronn, Germany armed with a knife and stabs three refugees, seriously wounding a 17-year-old Afghan refugee. February 17, 2018: While returning to their car after eating dinner at a Carmel, CA. restaurant, a Muslim family is nearly killed when Robert Budden attempts to run them down in his Porsche, hitting husband & father Amro Radwan. Budden then gets out of his car, insults Radwan, and then drives into him a second time. February 20, 2018: While waiting for a Nottingham bus, 18-year-old Egyptian engineering student Mariam Moustafa is set upon by a mob of six girls without any provocation. Moustafa dies from her injuries three weeks later February 22, 2018: A Sikh environmentalist waiting outside of British Parliament to speak to a politician is randomly attacked by a passing man, who attempts to pull off his turban while yelling “Muslim go home!” at him. February 23, 2018: An assailant fires several shots into the windows of Las Vegas’ only trans bar, seriously injuring a black trans woman inside. February 23, 2018: 45-year-old trans woman Phylicia Mitchell is shot in the chest outside of her Clevland, OH. home. She is found dead on her living room floor. February 25, 2018: Eight neo-nazis armed with iron bars storm a social center in Piraeus, Greece - injuring five people in the center - three seriously. February 25, 2018: 57-year-old Daniel Owen Kelley approaches a 19-year-old Latino flower vendor in Anaheim and berates him with racial slurs before kicking over his flower bucket and beating him with a metal cane. Kelley was previously convicted of a hate crime in 2015. February 25, 2018: A 21-year-old university student is dragged out of the Rust bar in Niagara Falls, NY by several employees who use brass knuckles to beat him until a passing police officer intervenes. The student was targeted for bringing his girlfriend, a black woman, into the bar. The attack left him with several broken facial bones and a concussion. Rust is owned by the wife of active white supremacist Todd A. Brio, who frequents the bar. March 2018 - 23-year-old Mark Conditt - a home-schooled Christian extremist and former member of a bizarre, militia-like organization for Christian extremist teens - builds seven parcel bombs and delivers them to black and Latino neighborhoods, killing two black men and severely injuring a black woman and a Latina woman, as well as three other unidentified victims. Conditt killed himself by detonating a bomb inside his own vehicle as a SWAT team approached him. Conditt had previously posted online statements against abortion and calling for homosexuality to be made illegal.

March 2, 2018: An teenager in Cardiff, Wales receives a life sentence for plotting a terror attack at a Justin Bieber concert in the name of ISIS/Daesh.

March 3, 2018: A 27-year-old Louisiana man smashes his truck into a convenience store and robs it at gunpoint, later confessing to police that he targeted the store because the owners were Muslim (the owners are actually Sikhs). March 3, 2018: The Spanish actor and polyglot Marius Makon enters a Madrid café where a patron calls him a “black piece of shit” before smashing him in the head twice with a beer bottle, cutting his head open. March 4, 2018: After MAGA hat-wearing “proud boy” bigots arrived at a left-wing bookstore at the University of California San Diego and threatened to burn the bookstore down, the bookstore was broken into, vandalized, and set on fire. March 5, 2018: 28-year-old Benjamin Morrow dies after blowing himself up in his apartment/armoury/bomb laboratory in Beaver Dam, WI. Among the debris, police recover several firearms, thousands of rounds of ammunition, body armour, masks, and white supremacist literature. The blast that killed Morrow was so powerful that twenty different fire departments responded and the entire apartment building had to be destroyed. March 6, 2018: Six members of a suspected neo-nazi terror cell in Attica, Greece are arrested on explosives and arson charges. March 6, 2018: A former US Army interpreter and Afghan refugee has to have his leg amputated after 68-year-old Perry George Nicolopoulos drove his car right at the refugee & his wife and three-year-old son. Nicolopoulos missed the former interpreter’s family but crushed his leg against another vehicle, then backed up and rammed him a second time. The interpreter’s leg is later amputated. March 10, 2018: 21-year-old self-professed white supremacist Shane Fletcher is arrested by police after they discover his plans to commit mass murder by driving a rented van through spectators at a medieval-style football match. Police also discover plans for making bombs and napalm and had previously told probation officers that he dreamt of carrying out a mass shooting at a mosque. March 13, 2018: Colorado resident William Ray Garcia begins screaming racial slurs at a black motorist in a vehicle two cars ahead of his because the black motorist looked at him. Garcia soon he begins pursuing the other vehicle, then rams it in an attempt to force it off the road. Police charge Garcia with criminal mischief, reckless endangerment, bias-motivated crimes, child abuse, second-degree assault and reckless driving.

March 14, 2018: Afro-Brazilian councilwoman Marielle Franco is assassinated, along with her driver, in Rio de Janeiro as she left an event when gunmen shoot her in the head four times. The 38-year-old member of the Socialism and Liberty Party (PSOL), spent her political career advocating for women, LGBTQ rights, and police accountability . March 16, 2018: 56-year-old Richard Gallegos pulls what appears to be a gun and points it at three people in a New Orleans neighbourhood, shouting, “I’m going to kill all you niggers!” Police later confiscate a BB gun and knife when they arrest him.

March 16, 2018: An 89-year-old Sikh man steps out of his car in a Calgary grocery store parking lot and is immediately set upon by an unidentified middle-aged white man who shoves him repeatedly until he falls to the ground, knocking the turban off his head and sustaining injuries to his hands and head. March 17, 2018: 52-year-old John Carothers pours lighter fluid over the head of 40-year-old Robert Miller before setting him on fire, killing Miller and burning down part of the Murfreesboro halfway house both were living in. From jail, Carothers wrote to a white supremacist group admitting to targeting Miller because he was black. March 22, 2018: A group of masked men wielding clubs and tasers storm into a classroom at Montpelier University in France and attack the students occupying it as part of a protest. The armed thugs - who are later identified as members of the fascist student group G.U.D. + sympathetic faculty - severely injure four people in the attack. Philippe Pétel, the university’s dean of law, had let the thugs in through a back door and cheered them on as they fractured student’s skulls, later claiming in an interview that the violent attack was necessary and that he was proud of the armed attackers. He is later compelled to resign. March 22, 2018: A neo-nazi terror group smashes their way into a community space for Afghan refugees in Athens, Greece, destroying computers and equipment before dousing it in petrol and setting it on fire. March 23, 2018: The body of 85-year-old Holocaust survivor Mireille Knoll is discovered in her apartment. Ms. Knoll had been beaten and stabbed to death and her apartment was set on fire. Police arrested two men - one of whom was previously convicted for the sexual assault of the daughter of Ms. Knoll’s domestic helper. Police believe Ms. Knoll was targeted because she was Jewish.

March 24, 2018: A gay couple on vacation in Mexico are confronted by a man as they walk through a Puerto Vallarta park holding hands. The man pulls out a gun and shoots one of the men, seriously injuring him. March 26, 2018: 28-year-old trans woman Amia Tyrae Berryman is shot to death in a motel room in Baton Rouge, LA. March 28, 2018: Sibtulla Rashidi, a sixteen-year-old sone of a Muslim imam in West Bangal, India, is abducted by a mob of Hindu extremists and beaten to death.

March 29, 2018: After being warned by upper-caste villagers to sell his horse because Dalits “are not allowed to ride horses,” 21-year-old Pradeep Rathod is found murdered, his murdered horse beside him, in Gujarat state, India

March 30, 2018: An international student from India waiting for an Ottawa city bus after work is approached by two white men in their 20s who attack him, drag him to the ground, and rip the turban off of his head while yelling racist slurs at him. March 31, 2018: 21-year-old CJ Salmon viciously attacks a gay man outside of a bar, knocking the man and a woman standing beside him to the ground and punching him repeatedly in the face, after the man spoke to a group of people Salmon was walking with. April 2, 2018: A Dalit youth is shot to death by Gujjars during escalating ethnic tension in Shobhapur, India April 3, 2018: A Muslim woman on her way to class at a Kansas City community college is confronted by a man who makes an Islamophobic comment, then punches her in the face, sending her tumbling down a flight of stairs. April 5, 2018: A 25-year-old Muslim woman driving to her Houston home from her nursing job is nearly sideswiped by a truck. When she gets out to inspect her vehicle, the truck U-turns and two white men jump out and confront her, yelling “Oh my God, it’s a raghead,” “It’s an fucking raghead,” “sand nigger” and other derogatory terms. As the woman tries to get back in her vehicle, one of them men pulls out a knife and stabs her. April 5, 2018: A gay man visiting Rome is robbed at knifepoint by four neo-nazis who beat him so severely he is rushed to the nearest hospital by ambulance. April 8, 2018: A gay couple are attacked by four men calling them homophobic slurs after Miami’s gay pride parade. April 8, 2018: Three men attack a gay couple in Washington, D.C. while shouting homophobic slurs at them. One man was beaten unconscious and both were hospitalized with serious injuries. April 12, 2018: Two arsonists attempt to set a mosque in Nablus, West Bank on fire after spraypainting racist slogans on it in Hebrew. April 12, 2018: 14-year-old Brennan Walker gets lost making his way to school and knocks on the door of a home to ask for directions. When the woman who answers the door sees that Walker is black, she calls her husband, who rushes to the door with a gun and shoots at Walker, missing him. Walker manages to flee without being shot as the woman asks her husband (as recorded by their own security system) “Why did “these people” choose my house?” Retired Detroit firefighter Jeffrey Ziegler is charged with Assault with Intent to Murder; and Felony Firearms. April 12, 2018: Police search the home of 19-year-old Jakub Zak, a supporter of the neo-nazi group Patriot Front (which splintered from the organization Charlottesville terrorist James Alex Fields Jr. belonged to), recovering five semi-automatic pistols Zak had illegally acquired, as well as ammunition. April 13, 2018: Several attendees at a party in Delaware turn on a 23-year-old man at the party, making homophobic remarks about him before physically assaulting him, breaking his leg. April 13, 2018: Three men and two women randomly attack a Hasidic Jewish man walking down the street, beating him bloody. April 14, 2018: A gang of 20 men confront four Polish immigrants walking to catch a bus in Hull, UK after they overhear them speaking Polish. The mob throw bottles at the four, then chase the men back down the street until catching one, who they kick and beat with a nail-studded wooden board, hospitalizing him. April 15, 2018: Shouting “who you eyeballing, nigger?,” 34-year-old Maurice Diggins and 27-year-old Dusty Leo jump out of their pickup truck in a Biddeford, ME 7-11 parking lot and smash a black man in the head, breaking his jaw and knocking him to the ground. As the man got to his feet and ran away, the men shouted at him “go on, run nigger!” then chased after him in their truck. Both are charged with aggravated assault and hate crimes. April 16, 2018: Police in Vernon Hills, IL. search the home of 19-year-old Patriot Front supporter Jakub Zak and seize several rifles, handguns, and parts designed to convert firearms into fully-automatic machine guns. April 16, 2018: Christians leaving a church in Pakistan are fired upon by masked gunmen on motorcycles. Two are killed and four others injured. Daesh claims responsibility for the attack. April 17, 2018: 26-year-old Nicholas Rose is arrested by Orange Country police after his own family turns him in for plotting to murder prominent Jewish community members in the area. Police recover ammunition, a “kill list” of local Jewish leaders as well as a written plan titled “Killing My First Jew” and a variety of anti-Semitic literature. Police believe that Rose was also planning to commit terrorist acts against local Greek and Russian Orthodox churches because he believe them to be “sympathetic to the Jewish cause.” April 18, 2018: A 23-year-man racially abuses and physically assaults two racialized women on a street in Manchester, injuring both of them. He goes on to assault three other people before passerby apprehend and hold him until police arrive. April 20, 2018: A man wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat began verbally abusing a 24-year-old Mexican man on the NYC subway with racial slurs, claiming that he’s “taking American jobs.” When the Mexican man gets off at the next stop, the abusive man follows him and assaults him on the platform, then pushes him onto the subway tracks before fleeing. April 20, 2018: A neo-nazi gang in Kiev wielding tear gas canisters, knives, and firearms attack an encampment of homeless Roma, injuring several and then setting fire to their camp in what was described as a pogrom. April 21, 2018: 40-year-old Jeremiah Greenwood throws rocks at the parked car of a Colorado couple, then proceeds to knocking their mailbox off their post. When the couple come outside to investigate the commotion, Greenwood begins yelling racial slurs about their immigration status, pulls a knife, and tried to stab them. The couple revealed to the arresting officers that Greenwood had targeted them for racial abuse in the past. April 21, 2018: 40-year-old James Vincent purchases some ice cream at a store in Flatbush, NY. Then, upon leaving the store, he spots a 52-year-old Jewish man leaving a synagogue. Vincent yells “you fucking Jew!” at the man, then follows him, yelling anti-Semitic slurs at him until deciding to repeatedly punch the man and strangle him. Vincent has been charged with hate crimes. April 22, 2018: 29-year-old Travis Jeffrey Reinking - a self-proclaimed “sovereign citizen” and purveyor of anti-Semitic conspiracy theories who hurled racial slurs at shoppers in a Publix supermarket the week prior, walks into a Tennessee Waffle House with an assault rifle, killing three black patrons and one Latino patron. April 22, 2018: A transgender Afghan woman living in Shewa, Pakistan, is attacked by a group of armed men, who beat her before shooting her dead. April 23, 2018: 25-year-old Alek Minassian - an extremist misogynist that had published facebook posts declaring an “incel rebellion” and praising misogynist & mass murderer Elliot Rodger - drives a rented van down the sidewalk of a busy Toronto street, killing ten people and injuring thirteen others. April 26, 2018: Screaming that his is going to “kill you black bastards,” 49-year-old Christopher Jones points a pistol at two boys, aged ten and sixteen, then chases them down an alley and into their garden in an unprovoked attack. Jones is sentenced to four years in prison. April 26, 2018: A 28-year-old lieutenant in the German army is arrested after police discover his fingerprints match those on a loaded pistol planted in a public bathroom in a Vienna airport. The police investigation uncovers the soldier’s plot to falsely claim refugee status in Germany using a fake identity and then commit a series of assassinations and terror attacks, which he hoped would be blamed on refugees. April 28, 2018: When a Hasidic rabbi says good morning to him while passing him on a street in Brooklyn, 40-year-old James Vincent responds with a litany of anti-Semitic slurs and death threats. Vincent then beats the rabbi to the ground, fracturing his ribs, and strangles him. Vincent has been previously arrested for hate crimes. April 29, 2018: A gay couple in Sydney are pursued by a man screaming homophobic insults at them. The man soon attacked the couple, breaking the arm of one of them so severely he required surgery and the insertion of supportive pins. April 29, 2018: Two journalists in Fretterode, Germany are spotted by neo-nazis who chase them down and smash up their car. The journalists are stabbed and beaten with a large wrench. Two 24-year-old neo-nazis have been charged with assault and robbery. April 29, 2018: Two Jewish university students are walking home when two other students begin taunting them with shouted comments like “fuck the Jews!” The pair are pursued by the anti-Semites, who assault them at the door of their home.

May 1, 2018: A 30-year-old Muslim woman is beaten unconscious in front of her four children in a McDonald’s in Liverpool. Her attacker mocked her accent, told her to “go back to your own country,” and attempted to rip the hijab off of her head before beating her unconscious. May 1, 2018: 80-year-old Fredric Allan Shinerock decided to jump out of his car and criticize the parking of a young black woman at a university parking lot by yelling at her, “You don’t belong (unintelligible)! Go back to South LA! Shut your fucking ugly, nigger mouth. You’re a nigger!” When the women took strong exception to the racist abuse, Shinerock punched her and attempted to kick her repeatedly. Shinerock was charged with misdemeanor battery, with the event being investigated by police as a hate crime. May 1, 2018: A 22-year-old Jewish rabbinical student walking home in Brooklyn, NY is assaulted by two men who target him because he was speaking in Hebrew on his cell phone. Darren Morgan, 20 and Justin George, 19 are charged with a hate crime for the assault.

May 3, 2018: While talking on the phone to his son, a 28-year-old Syrian refugee in Edinburgh is confronted by assailants demanding to know “why are you still here? Why are you not back in your country?” before stabbing him six times. Shabaz Ali, the victim, is left permanently disabled by the attack; his assailant, 18-year-old Sean Gorman, receives a seven-year prison sentence.

May 5, 2018: Sonya King, a 5-foot-tall Muslim woman working as a food delivery driver, drops a meal off at 54-year-old Rick Painter’s home. Painter proceeds to strangle her with her own niqab. When Painter does not respond to her pleas and continues choking her, King fights for her life, gouging Painter in the eye and stabbing him with her car keys until she is able to flee. May 5, 2018: Florida man Dustin Hughes, whose facebook profile picture was an image of him with a confederate flag and the slogan “heritage not hate,” repeatedly phoned a local mosque threatening to blow it up and murder all the worshippers there. At 4:06pm that day, he also left a voice message, in which he said “You fucking Muslim piece of shit. I planted a bomb in your temple; I’m gonna blow your fucking temple up, you fucking Muslim piece of shit. Where you guys have your sanctuary and worship Allah, I’m gonna blow that motherfucker up. l have a detonator, l’m gonna cause that motherfucker to go off, you guys are all gonna be up in flames after l’m done with you! You guys wanna come here and cause mayhem to America, well, I’m gonna cause mayhem to your religion ‘cause your religion is nothing but lies. Lies, lies, lies from the Devil! Where’s Allah now?” Hughes has been charged with hate crimes and pleads guilty in June. May 5, 2018: A 38-year-old gay woman leaving a nightclub in Co. Tyrone, Ireland is confronted by a 17-year-old boy who assaults her then uses a cordless drill to drill a hole in her skull, leaving her gravely injured. May 6, 2018: A fourteen-year-old boy leaving a Queens yeshiva is approached by a man who calls him “Jew boy” and then punches him in the face. May 6, 2018: Two men jump out of a car outside of a popular gay nightclub in east London and begin punching and kicking clubgoers. They run back to their car and return with two bottles full of acid, which they spray indiscriminately on clubgoers, seriously injuring three men in their teens and twenties.

May 7, 2018: Natasha and Shala Fross, two 26-year-old sisters, attack a Latina woman as she stands in front of her Colorado home, discussing home renovations with a neighbor, dragging her by her hair as they shouted racist slurs at her. The two sisters are charged with a hate crime.

May 10, 2018: A high school student and his mom are driving down the highway when a pickup truck tries to run them off the road, screaming “get out of our country, you niggers!” at them. The truck succeeds in running them off the road and then the truck’s five passengers jump out and smash the car up with baseball bats, sticks, and (apparently) a frying pan. May 11, 2018: A 19-year-old woman standing with friends outside a gay club in Dorset, England, tries to avoid an escalating confrontation with a man who accosted them by steering her friends away. The man, Martin Keith Stephens, responds by grabbing her by the hair and throwing her against a wall after threatening to kill her. Stephens also told the victim that if he spent “even a day in jail, she would pay for it.” May 12, 2018: 55-year-old Vincent Joseph O'Sullivan is arrested by police in Guerneville, CA after twice stealing the local chamber of commerce’s rainbow flag and then escalating to threatening to detonate a pipe bomb in a town grocery store in a plot to kill and injure many of the LGBTQ+ tourists that flock there for vacation. May 12, 2018: A Sikh man and father of six is shot and killed as he sits in his car. 20-year-old Broderick Malik Jones Roberts is charged with two counts of felony murder. May 13, 2018: A 36-year-old father and Pakistani migrant is set upon by five thugs in Athens, Greece near a police station. The attackers knock him to the ground, punching him and kicking him in the head. May 13, 2018: 36-year-old trans man Nino Fortson is shot dead in the street in Atlanta, GA. May 14, 2018: A gang of six neo-nazis kidnap 13-year-old Zavion Parker from his school bus stop. Parker, who is black, is forced into a truck and then taken to an abandoned building where he is beaten and robbed. HIs assailants use his cell phone to send text messages to his mother threatening to hang him. He manages to escape and a passerby in a car rescues him and calls police, who continue to investigate. May 14, 2018: A 35-year-old man driving in Virginia is forced to stop when a pickup truck cuts him off and slams on the brakes. As the driver of the truck yells at him “you don’t belong here!” and “Go back to your own country!” the passenger jumps out, pulls the man out of his vehicle and assaults him. The man is able to escape and drives away, with the pickup truck in pursuit. He manages to call police, who identify and arrest 56-year-old Jimmy Lynn Greer and his 25-year-old Dustin David Greer on hate crime charges. May 16, 2018: While enjoying a walk in the French countryside, a Muslim couple and their three children encounter a racist woman shouting racial slurs at them. The racist woman then fetches her husband, who fires a shotgun at the family but misses them. May 17, 2018: 25-year-old Shai Jevan Lewis walks down a street in Sydney, Australia, randomly punching and kicking Asians he encounters, including multiple women and a 70-year-old man. Several of his victims sustain facial injuries and Lewis is charged with seven counts of assault and grievous bodily harm.

May 18, 2018: Two Muslim men in Madhya Pradesh, India are attacked by a HIndu mob who accused them of transporting beef. One man is beaten to death by the mob while the other man is beaten into a coma.

May 19, 2018: A mosque located in a converted apartment in a residential apartment building in Hässelholm, Sweden is broken into and set on fire. Five families are forced to evacuate their adjoining apartments during the blaze, which completely guts the mosque. May 19, 2018: Yiannis Boutaris, the 75-year-old mayor of Thessaloniki, Greece, is met with an angry mob of Golden Dawn supporters as he tries to attend an event commemorating the mass murder of Greeks in the early 1900s. Upon his arrival, Boutaris receives jeers about his association with LGBTQ+ and Jewish people, then is pelted with rocks and bottles, knocking him to the ground where he is kicked as he lies on the pavement. Boutaris is hospitalized for multiple injuries.

May 19, 2018: A Latino woman buying strawberries at a Turlock, CA. fruit stand is approached by a white man who calls her several racist slurs then punches her in the face. May 20, 2018: A gay couple in Edinburgh, Scotland are brutally beaten outside of a nightclub for holding hands. May 20, 2018: 40-year-old Mukesh Vaniya, a Dalit ragpicker in Surendranagar, India, is attacked by the owner of a factory and four associates. They tie Vaniya to the outside of the factory and film themselves taking turns whipping him to death, leaving his body lying on the ground for his wife to find. May 23, 2018: 43-year-old Vincent Teunissen, an ex-soldier and member of the extremist Islamophobe terror group “Anti Terror Brigade Special Forces,” is arrested after police raid his parent’s home in Lingewaard, Netherlands where he lives and seize evidence of his intention to launch a terrorist attack against Muslims. May 25, 2018: 33-year-old trans woman Roxana Hernández flees violence in Honduras only to be beaten to death while in ICE custody in New Mexico. May 26, 2018: Fascists in Dresden, Germany attack a refugee shelter at 4AM, pelting it with rocks and bottles and attempting to set it on fire while its residents huddled in fear. May 26, 2018: A gay couple in Denver, Colorado are approached by a man yelling homophobic slurs at them. The man stabs both men repeatedly as they try to flee. May 26, 2018: After participating in a xenophobic rally in Aix-en-Provence, France, five members of the white supremacist Social Bastion group go on to randomly assault two racialized motorists passing by them. May 26, 2018: When two foreign women are confronted by a man screaming racial abuse at them in the streets of Bratislava, Slovakia, their Filipino companion comes to their aid. He is beaten to death by the racist. May 27, 2018: 40-year-old Robert Kelly, an off-duty Colorado cop, approaches a black man on the street and begins abusing him with racial slurs, then punches him several times in the face. Kelly is later arrested and charged with assault and hate crimes and pleads guilty to disorderly conduct in a plea deal.

May 29, 2018: After covering a school in Newport, Wales with nazi graffiti two days prior, a 23-year-old man returns to set the building on fire and is arrested.

June 1, 2018: 38-year-old trans woman Antash'a English is murdered in a drive-by shooting in Jacksonville, FL.

June 2, 2018: Two gay man run for their lives after being set upon by a homophobic mob of around 20 people chasing them after the Salt Lake City Pride festivities. They flee into a nearby café where the shopkeeper, coming to the aid of the two men, is thrown by the mob back into the door so hard it breaks the hinges and punched multiple times. The shopkeeper fights back and manages to keep the homophobes out of the café. June 2, 2018: While out collecting scrap metal in an abandoned building, three migrant farm workers are shot at by Antonio Pontoriero in Calabria, Italy, who kills 29-year-old trade unionist Soumaila Sacko. June 3, 2018: a 39-year-old woman walking to a bus stop in Bolton, UK with her two young daughters and teenaged son encounters a man who hurls racial insults at them. When her son objects, the man attacks him. The woman intervenes and is beaten unconscious. She remains in critical condition in the hospital. June 3, 2018: 56-year-old Joseph Minor approaches his neighbour in the parking lot of their Daytona, Florida apartment complex, calling him a “nigger,” and telling him that he hates him and that “his days are numbered.” When his neighbour retreats into his apartment, Minor sets his car on fire. June 3, 2018: A 25-year-old man walking through Queens, NY is chased by two men yelling homophobic slurs, who knock him down from behind and beat him. June 4, 2018: Two men drive through a Romani encampment in Amfissa, Greece, firing a shotgun through the window of their truck and killing a 13-year-old Romani girl. June 5, 2018: Around 4AM, arsonists set fire to both a mosque and a Sikh temple in Leeds. Firefighters are able to extinguish both blazes before significant damage occurs. June 5, 2018: A 14-year-old black boy is getting off his school bus in North Brookfield, MA. Two masked men yelling racist slurs at him drive by in a Jeep and throw a hatchet at him, barely missing his head. June 5, 2018: A mob of at least ten masked neo-nazis break into the AZ Kim Hubert center in Salzwedel, Germany. They head immediately to the 2nd floor and attack people sleeping there with axes, clubs, and pepper spray while also trashing the center before making their escape. June 7, 2018: Former members of the neo-nazi Azov Battalion, armed with axes and sledgehammers, attack a Roma encampment in Kiev, Ukraine, driving the occupants out while livestreaming the whole incident. Ukraine police watch but fail to intervene. June 9, 2018: Two gay men in St. Petersburg, Russia for the World Cup are attacked by homophobes, leaving one of them with a broken jaw and serious brain injuries. June 9, 2018: Two gay men in Oakland, CA’s gay district are bludgeoned from behind with an iron bar, then punched, kicked, and dragged by an unknown assailant in two separate, unprovoked attacks. One of the victims has to undergo reconstructive surgery to repair the damage to his jaw and cheekbone.

June 14, 2018: Three men in a car fire a compressed air pistol at two refugee boys walking on the sidewalk, hitting and injuring one.

June 16, 2018: The only mosque in Edson, Canada is set on fire by an arsonist caught on videotape armed with a jerry can, arriving just hours after worshippers departed. June 17, 2018: Wielding a 10-inch kitchen knife, a 47-year-old woman chases Jewish schoolchildren around a North London neighbourhood screaming “I want to kill all you Jews!” She is apprehended by volunteers in a local Orthodox Jewish neighbourhood watch program and then arrested by police on hate crime charges.

June 17, 2018: While waiting for some pedestrians to cross the street in Cagliari, Italy, a Dominican youth on a motor scooter is ambushed and chased by three assailants shouting racist abuse at him, then beating him so badly that he is hospitalized. June 18, 2018: 39-year-old trans woman Diamond Stephens is shot to death in Meridian, MS. June 18, 2018: Two Muslim men are attacked by a Hindu mob incensed over rumours that the two had slaughtered a cow. One of the men is beaten to death.

June 20, 2018: 10-year-old Anthony Avalos dies after enduring five days of torture by his mother and step-father after telling them that he “liked boys.” Although his mother told Lancaster, CA. police that he had died after “falling down stairs,” Anthony’s eight-year-old sister revealed that after his step-father picked him up and dropped him on his head “about ten times,” Anthony went to sleep and never woke up.

June 20, 2018: A 20-year-old immigrant from Mali and owner of a successful restaurant is walking home from work in Naples, Italy when a passenger in a passing car fires a shotgun at him, wounding him. June 23, 2018: a mob of right-wing extremists armed with knives and clubs attack a Roma encampment outside of Lviv, Ukraine around midnight, murdering a 24-year-old Roma man and injuring four others, including a ten-year-old boy. June 23, 2018: Two men lob a bomb at a home in Philadelphia that serves as a safe refuge for transgender people. June 23, 2018: Racist homophobes in Thessaloniki, Greece, separating a mixed-race gay couple from the rest of the crowd at the town’s Pride parade and throw them both into the sea. Later that evening, a 17-ear-old Pakistani migrant is beaten by four men in an assault captured on CCTV. June 24, 2018: Police arrest ten members of an Islamophobic terrorist cell, seize firearms and uncover an explosives factory in a series of raids across France. The majority of arrestees are police officers or members of the French military. June 24, 2018: A 21-year-old woman of Colombian descent is attacked at a bus stop by a security guard who beat her to the ground and punched her repeatedly in the face while yelling racist abuse at her. June 24, 2018: 24-year-old trans woman Cathalina Christina James is shot to death in a Jacksonville motel. She is the 3rd trans woman murdered in the Florida city this year. June 24, 2018: 54-year-old transgender woman Keisha Wells is found shot to death in the parking lot of a Cleveland, OH. apartment complex. She is the second trans woman murdered in Cleveland this year. June 29, 2018: While returning from a visit with his mom in Renfrewshire, Scotland, 21-year-old Blair Wilson is subjected to homophobic verbal abuse by a complete stranger, who then crosses the street to beat him bloody. June 30, 2018: 30-year-old Timmy Kinner stabs nine people at a birthday party for a three-year-old refugee in Boise, Idaho. The three-year-old dies from her injuries; all other victims were also refugees from Syria, Iraq, and Ethiopia; five others were also children. June 30, 2018: 25-year-old Joshua Daniel Miller. a member of a “Three percent” militia, shoots 23-year-old Eddie Heahcoe after an argument, killing him.

June 30, 2018: 32-year-old Adam Kraus pulls up beside a car containing an African-American couple waving a handgun and yelling racial slurs at them. Kraus then threatens to murder the driver and hang him from a tree. Kraus is charged with felony ethnic intimidation, making terroristic threats, and other charges. July 2, 2018: When asked to move to the smoking area of a London pub, two men and a woman berate the pub staff with homophobic verbal abuse before viciously assaulting them, breaking several bones. July 4, 2018: A 19-year-old Muslim woman walking in Anderlues, Belgium is confronted by two men, who block her path, call her a “filthy Arab,” tear her hijab and her shirt off, knock her to the ground, and carve a cross into her torso. July 4, 2018: 92-year-old Rodolfo Rodriguez is beaten to the ground and smashed in the face with a brick by five assailants in Los Angeles who shouted racial slurs and told him to “go back to his country” while punching and kicking him. Rodriguez suffers multiple broken bones and contusions from the attack. July 6, 2018: Missouri neo-nazi Ronald Kidwell is charged with a hate crime after admitting to police that he stabbed Meshon Cooper-Williams to death and then stuffed her body into a trash can.

July 7, 2018: A black man walks into the pool room of a Pennsylvania bar where he is confronted and assaulted by eight members of the neo-nazi “Keystone United” gang.

July 8, 2018: A Jewish man is attacked by a mob of ten people in Berlin, who beat him to the ground and continue punching and kicking him until passers-by intervene. July 10, 2018: A 41-year-old Bidjara man and veteran is stabbed to death behind a Moreton Bay, Australia 7-Eleven. Police have issued an arrest warrant for the neo-nazi alleged to have committed the murder. July 11, 2018: A 52-year-old First Nations man is hospitalized after being discovered badly injured on Water Street in Thunder Bay, Canada by unknown assailants in what officials are describing as a hate crime.

July 11, 2018: Two Nigerian migrants waiting for a bus outside of a migrant support center are shot by a passenger in a passing car with an air pistol. Both are injured. July 12, 2018: Acting on a tip, Miami police arrest 72-year-old Walter Edward Stolper as he is in the act of burning down the 15-storey, 400-unit condo building he lives in. Stolper, who had just received an eviction notice, had told a witness he was going to burn down the building “with all the fucking Jews.” Police recovered dozens of jerry cans filled with gasoline, other arson materials, as well as book extolling nazi ideology and swastikas. July 12, 2018: A Muslim food vendor in Manhattan is grabbed from behind by an attacker while he was working at his food cart and then dragged him out into the street, where the attacker began hitting him while yelling anti-Muslim slurs. Hassane Elbaz says the man had been harassing him for several days prior to the attack. July 13, 2018: Abu Sheikh, a Muslim man is walking home from his mosque in Saksatoon, Canada when a truck swerves on to the sidewalk in an attempt to run him over. The driver then gets out of the truck and throws bricks at the windows of Sheikh’s home. July 14, 2018: A 26-year-old Latino man is confronted by two white men outside of a Georgia bar while his is waiting for a ride service. The men racially abuse him, accuse him of being a member of “the cartel,” and then stab him. July 15, 2018: A Muslim couple returning to their car from a family picnic in Mississauga, Canada are confronted by two men walking by, who call them terrorists and “fucking Arabs.” The two men then attack the couple, beating both of them in front of their two young daughters. 39-year-old Muhammed Abu Marzouk suffers a severe brain injury and several facial fractures and undergoes multiple life-saving surgeries. Janis Corhamzic, 19, and Adem Corhamzic, 27, are being investigated on hate charges. July 16, 2018: In a Leeds courtroom, 19-year-old Jack Coulson, pleads guilty to terror offenses after being discovered with a pipe bomb and bomb-making manuals. Coulson, who likes to cosplay as a nazi and is an admitted member of the banned National Action white supremacist terror group,had previously praised the murderer of UK MP Jo Cos as a “hero.” July 16, 2018: A photojournalist is attacked in the street in Barcelona by a fascist shouting “viva Franco!” at him. The photojournalist suffers multiple facial injuries and is treated at a primary care facility.

July 17, 2018: A man walks into a quiet bakery in Heilbronn, Germany and fires six shots from a pistol at the cashier, a hijab-wearing Muslim woman before running away in an attack eerily similar to those carried out by the racist NSU terror group. Fortunately, the pistol appears to have been loaded with blanks. July 18, 2018: Two Chicago men are charged with a hate crime after punching and stabbing a 19-year-old relative because she was dating a Muslim man.

July 18, 2018: A Roma infant is shot in the back by a compressed air rifle as her mother cradles her in her arms in Rome, Italy. The infant has to undergo surgery to have the projectile taken out of her back. July 19, 2018: 27-year-old trans woman Sasha Garden is found beaten to death in an apartment in Orlando, FL. This same day, 30-year-old queer drag performer Jessie Sumlar is stabbed to death in the doorway of their Jacksonville apartment. July 20, 2018: Two AfD supporters assault a trade unionist from behind in Hanau-Steinheim, strangling him unconscious. The trade unionist is hospitalized with a traumatic brain injury and other injuries resulting from the assault. The two attackers are charged with serious assault.

July 20, 2018: Two fifteen-year-old boys in Yorkshire, England known for espousing extremist right-wing ideology receive lengthy prison sentences for their elaborate plot to build explosives, murder an acquaintance’s father, steal shotguns, and execute a mass shooting and bombing at their school. July 20, 2018: Rakbar Khan, a 31-year-old Muslim man in Rajasthan, India, is beaten to death by Hindu extremists. July 20, 2018: Khetaram Bheel, a 22-year-old Dalit man, is abducted by his landlady’s family, who are Muslim. Accused of being romantically involved with the landlay’s daughter, Bheel’s abductors shatter every bone in both of his legs and then throw him in to a sewage pond to die.

July 21, 2018: 25-year-old Chad Merrill intervenes when another man begins calling another regular at a York, Pennsylvania bar “nigger” and other racial slurs. The racist bar patron, 24-year-old James Saylor, responds by pulling a pistol and shooting Merrill in the chest, killing him. July 21, 2018: Two young Polish men getting of a bus in Edinburgh, Scotland are confronted by a racist mob of at least ten people, who attack them, hospitalizing one of the pair with serious injuries to his face, head, and arms.

July 22, 2018: Faisal Hussain goes on a shooting rampage on a popular street in Toronto, Canada, killing two girls and injuring 13 others before dying in a shootout with police. During the subsequent investigation, police discover illegal high-capacity rifle magazines, cocaine, a copy of Mein Kampf, articles are incel terrorists Elliot Rodger and Alek Minassian, and Alex Jones/Infowars DVDs in Hussain’s room in his family’s home.

July 23, 2018: While attending a community block party, the mayor of Burien, Washington is attacked from behind and beaten to the ground by a man making derogatory comments about the mayor’s Latino ethinicty. July 23, 2018: 29-year-old Doenton A. Rogers begins making insulting and homophobic remarks to a transgender woman at a Detroit gas station. Following the woman into the station, Rogers pulls out a gun and shoots her, shooting her in the shoulder after a struggle for the weapon. He now faces hate crime charges. July 23, 2018: Bristol police visit the home of 37-year-old Matthew Glynn - known to his coworkers for his racist, homophobic, and rightwing extremist views, which he regularly shared on social media - and discover more than 6kg of explosives contained in 23 different improvised explosive devices, along with bomb-making materials and a collection of over 200 knives. In December Glynn is sentenced to five years in prison. July 24, 2018: A 61-year-old woman waiting for a bus is stabbed in the face by a man wielding a kitchen knife and screaming anti-semitic slogans. July 25, 2018: A pack of 15-20 neo-nazis armed with knives and clubs attack migrants sleeping in a park in Thessaloniki, Greece, injuring four people, two seriously. July 25, 2018: Hooded fascists from the misogynist Social Patriotes gang attack a march for women’s reproductive rights in Santiago, Chile by throwing animal blood at the marchers and later stabbing four women and a security guard. July 26, 2018: A man on a bicycle approaches a woman walking in downtown Portland with her friends. The man makes disparaging remarks about the woman’s sexual orientation, then punches her in the face several times and rides off. Police charge 38-year-old Timothy Walsh with a hate crime. July 26, 2018: A 19-year-old Senegalese man in Partinico, Italy, is greeted with racist slurs as he stands outside of a bar. Then he is beaten in the streets by five men who injure him so badly that he is hospitalized for a week. Two cousins, Gioacchino Bono, 34, and Lorenzo Rigano, 37 are arrested for the assault.

July 26, 2018: Two people run up to a migrant from Guinea in Caserta, Italy and shoot him in the face with a compressed air pistol, injuring him. July 27, 2018: A 33-year-old migrant working on scaffolding in front of the town hall in Vicenza, Italy is shot in the leg by a 40-year-old man firing from a condominium balcony nearby. The resulting injury is bad enough to require the migrant worker to be hospitalized for a week. Meanwhile that same day, at a migrant support centre in Caserta, an asylum seeker is shot in the face at close range by a compressed air pistol, with his assailant an an accomplice running off without capture. July 28, 2018: A Senegalese waiter working in a Sicily bar is attacked at his work by a group of seven men in Sicily, who punch and kick him while calling him a “dirty Negro” and demanding he go back to his country.

July 28, 2018: Two foreign citizens driving in Aprilia, Italy are spotted by local residents and chased. Two local men catch up to them and attack them, beating a 43-year-old Moroccan man to death.

July 28, 2018: A Montréal couple taking down stickers of the racist gang Atlante Québec are attacked by three members of the gang. July 29, 2018: 35-year-old Sandra Alexander approaches an 18-year-old girl waiting a bus stop in Brampton, Canada and begins to yell racial slurs at her and threaten to light her on fire. When a Muslim bystander attempts to intervene, Alexander attacks her, attempting to tear off her hijab. A third woman is also subjected to racial and physical abuse by Alexander before Alexander is arrested at the scene and charged with assault with a weapon, uttering threats, and is being investigated for additional hate crime charges. July 29, 2018: a gang of fascists injured six people in a park in Manresa, Spain after the six hung a Catalonian flag. July 30, 2018: A group of men in a red Renault Clio attempt to run over a group of racialized youth chatting in a park in Beaune, France. They fail, but hurl racial abuse and threats at the youth. Three hours later two men return in a different car, produce a shotgun, and fire into the group, injuring six. July 31, 2018: A Sikh man doing volunteer work putting up election signs for Republican candidates in Modesto, California is attacked by two masked men who beat him while yelling “go back to your country!” and then spray-painted a neo-nazi Celtic cross symbol and “go back to your country!” on his truck. August 2018: Nasir Naso, a transgender woman in Pehsawar, Pakistan, is kidnapped by her landlord and one other man, who torture her before shooting her to death and dumping her body in a sack.

August 3, 2018: A 32-year-old Senegalese immigrant is shot repeatedly by two assailants on a motor scooter in Napoli, Italy. He suffers wounds to his leg but survives. August 4, 2018: A dozen masked goons barge into Bookmarks, the UK’s largest socialist bookshop, just before closing and ransack it before fleeing. August 4, 2018: A 21-year-old Pakistani student studying at the University of Newcastle in Australia is driving to the school library when a group of nine people stop his car and surround it. A woman reaches through his passenger window to grab his cell phone as a man pulls open his door screaming “go back to your country! You don’t belong here!” The student is then beaten by the mob, (at least one of whom uses brass knuckles) and is injured so badly he requires surgery.

August 4, 2018: 22-year-old Allen Loftis assaults three men he suspects are gay at a nightclub in Springfield, Missouri and is charged with hate crimes after confessing to police that he did it because “he didn’t care for gays.” August 6, 2018: 71-year-old Sahib Singh Natt is out for a morning walk in Menteca, California when two men wearing hoods approach him, kicking him the stomach, knocking him to the ground, then repeatedly kick him in the stomach and head before spitting on him and fleeing the area. August 6, 2018: Two gay men in Ghent, Belgium are attacked by and bludgeoned by assailants with a metal pipe in an assault being described as homophobic. Both are hospitalized as a result of the attack. August 8, 2018: German authorities document over 700 attacks on refugees or refugee shelters in the first half of 2018. The attacks injure 120 people. August 11, 2018: Police arrest a member of Sweden’s neo-nazi terror gang Nordic Resistance Movement after finding evidence he was plotting to murder two mainstream media journalists. Police seized a home-made shotgun, ammunition, silencers, and photographs of the journalists’ homes. Last year, NRM members were convicted of a series of bombings of refugee shelters in Sweden. August 11, 2018: Toronto police stop a car carrying two men. Upon searching the car, the police discover stolen firearms, more than a dozen knives, cocaine, methamphetamine, and other illegal drugs, and nazi paraphernalia.

August 13, 2018: A middle school in Oklahoma is shut down after area parents post public threats to mutilate, stab, and murder a 12-year-old transgender student.

August 13, 2018: Dutch police arrest a member of the extremist terror group “Anti Terror Brigade Special Forces” and seize an illegal firearm from him after he goes online to declare his intention of carrying out a terror attack against Muslims. August 16, 2018: Scottish Defence League member and ardent white supremacist Peter Morgan is convicted of terror offences and sentenced to 12 years in prison after police confiscate bomb-making materials, terrorist training manuals, white supremacist propaganda, and drug paraphernalia found in his Edinburgh apartment August 18, 2018: Hundreds of xenophobes in Pacaraima, Brazil attack and destroy makeshift camps housing Venezuelan refugees, forcing 1200 refugees to flee for their lives from the rampaging mob.

August 18, 2018: 27-year-old Uber driver Max Lin is assaulted by a passenger in Melbourne, who calls him an “Asian loser,” disparages his English, tells him to “go back to where you fucking came from,” then punches him in the face and steals his phone.

August 19, 2018: Three men in a pickup truck drive through a campsite at an Oregon country music festival waving a large Confederate flag. When an 18-year-old black man voices his displeasure, one of the three jumps out of the truck and hits him several times, injuring him badly enough to require hospitalization. August 19, 2018: A 34-year-old transgender woman leaving a Charleston, SC nightclub is confronted by a man shouting transphobic slurs at her. The man kicks the trangender woman’s sister in the stomach and then punches the transgender woman in the head, knocking her unconscious. 34-year-old Christopher Lamar Price is charged in the attack.

August 21, 2018: Sanjay Kumar, a Dalit man in Haryana, India, is murdered by three Muslim men who objected to his marriage to a Muslim relative of theirs. August 23, 2018: A racist mob attacks an Ahmadi mosque in Faisalabad, Pakistan, burning it to the ground. In addition, six Ahamdis are shot and injured in the attack. August 26, 2018: A lesbian couple are viciously assaulted by a homophobic mob on a downtown street in Calgary, Canada. August 26, 2018: 33-year-old neo-nazi JR Wilson steals a bottle of wine from a New Orleans gas station and then immediately starts yelling racial slurs at a black man in the parking lot. Wilson knocks the man to the ground and then punches and kicks him in the head until he is rendered unconscious. When police arrive, Wilson brags to them about his swastika tattoo and alludes to planning to attack more black people in the future. August 26, 2018: 32-year-old Christian extremist and misogynist Timothy Hernandez stabs his girlfriend to death and then beheads her in front of their 3-year-old daughter. Hernandez confesses to police, saying he murdered 27-year-old Vanessa Cons because “women who did not follow God’s word would be struck down” and that “she would not repent.” August 27, 2018: A mob armed with rocks and iron bars attack Chemnitz, Germany’s only Jewish restaurant. The owner is injured by a thrown rock as the mob shouts at him to “leave Germany, you Jew!” August 28, 2018: Joshua Castillo approaches a 63-year-old woman as she gets off of a bus in downtown Portland. Shouting “you fucking dyke, I’m going to kill your ass!” at her, Castillo produces a knife but is arrested by police in the area. August 28, 2018: An arsonist sets fire to a Sikh temple in Leith, Scotland, causing extensive damage.

August 30, 2018: Vontashia Bell, an 18-year-old trans woman in Shreveport, LA., is shot dead in the street. August 30, 2018: 24-year-old trans woman Dejanay Stanton is found shot to death in a Chicago alley. September 1, 2018: A man in Albany, NY is beaten unconscious by another man shouting anti-gay slurs. One of the victim’s ears is ripped off in the attack. 37-year-old Hubert Dabbs, who has a prior conviction for an armed assault in 2014, is charged with attempted murder and a hate crime. September 8, 2018: At least ten neo-nazis armed with baseball bats and axe handles storm a leftist bar in Salzwedel, Germany, smashing it up and attacking patrons before fleeing in vehicles. A 17-year-old by is injured in the attack and police only manage to arrest one suspect. September 8, 2018: A mob shouting “heil Hitler!” and “foreigners out!” attack an ice cream parlor in Wiesloch, Germany, throwing chairs and tables at patrons smashing a bottle over a man’s head. September 1, 2018: A 30-year-old Nigerian immigrant in Bagheria, Italy is kicked and beaten in front of an ice cream parlor. September 1, 2018: Two young refugees are chased through the streets of Chemnitz, Germany by seven masked assailants, who catch up to one of them and beat him.

September 2, 2018: A passenger on a bus in Turin, Italy is attacked by two men after coming to the defence of a black passenger the two men had been subjecting to racist taunts. September 3, 2018: A 16-year-old student from Tunisia is beaten to the ground in Raffadali, Italy by an assailant yelling at him to “go back to his country,” sustaining injuries that hospitalize him for five days. September 3, 2018: 45-year-old Dalit leader Sardar Singh Jatav is ambushed by three upper-caste men in Thati, India. Two of the men pin him to the ground while the third man methodically carves his scalp off of his head, seriously injuring him. After recovering in the hospital, Jatav reported the crime to police, who initially refused to accept the complaint and as of this writing have failed to arrest the three perpetrators, all of whom Jatav knows and identified by name and address. September 5, 2018: Shantee Tucker, a 30-year-old trans woman, is shot in the back and left to die on the shoulder of a highway in Philadelphia, PA. September 6, 2018: A trans woman in Sahwal, Pakistan is kidnapped by four men who attempt to rape her. When she resists, they set her on fire and let her burn to death while they record it on video.

September 8, 2018: Londonn Moore, a black trans woman in North Port, Florida, is shot to death and dumped in the street. September 14, 2018: 60-year-old Robert Ray approaches a 19-year-old woman in a store in Gonzales, Louisiana and tells her to “go back to Mexico.” When the woman’s mother tells him that “was not a nice thing to say,” Ray pushes her to the floor and then hits the woman’s father with his fist and a boot. September 15, 2018: A South Asian family flee their home in Kent, England after a gang sets it on fire. Police investigate the arson as a hate crime.

September 16, 2018: Two gay men wearing t-shirts from a popular gay sports league are approached by four men and a woman on the street in Washington, DC. The five begin yelling homophobic slurs and assault both men, knocking one unconscious and injuring both men - one badly enough to require intervention at a local ER. It is the sixth attack in DC so far this year where the victims were attacked by people shouting homophobic slurs at them. September 19, 2018: After arguing with worshippers outside of a North London mosque and making Islamophobic remarks, a group of people get in a car and then drive it through the worshippers, injuring three of them, before speeding off. September 19, 2018: 40-year-old Alexander Carballido forces his way into the Miami home of a gay man, who he forces to strip at gunpoint and threatens him with death, saying that “all gay men should be dead” before robbing him and fleeing. When police catch up to Carballido the next day, he opens fire on them with an AK-47 and is shot to death in the resulting firefight.

September 19, 2018: After enduring weeks of racist taunts and harassment on a job site in Cape Breton, Canada, 21-year-old construction worker Nhlanhla Dlamini is confronted by one of his harassers, who points a nail gun at him and fires, hitting him in the back as he flees. Dlamini suffers a collapsed lung from the wound and undergoes emergency surgery, remaining in hospital for four days.

September 20, 2018: Police in Kent, England arrest two 15-year-old boys on suspicion of plotting a right-wing extremist terror attack. September 23, 2018: An unidentified man approaches two gay men in Brooklyn. Yelling homophobic slurs at them, he attacks both men, knocking them unconscious and breaking bones.

September 26, 2018: A 15-year-old student in Pensacola, Florida is attacked by a classmate, who berates him with a slew of homophobic slurs as he punches and kicks him, leaving the student with a broken nose and damage to his eye socket.

September 26, 2018: 55-year-old Joseph Magnuson stops African-American FedEx driver Timothy Warren as Warren is finishing his route with his truck. Witnesses hear Magnuson screaming at Warren about his driving, calling him a “fucking nigger” several times before throwing a drink at Warren and trying to punch him in the face. Warren dodges the punch and swings back at Magnuson once, knocking Magnuson to the pavement where he dies as a result preexisting medical conditions. Prosecutors, deciding that Warren was clearly acting in self-defense against a racist attack, choose not to press any charges. September 27, 2018: Four white supremacists attack a Democratic Socialists of America meeting at a Louisville bar, pepper-spraying attendees and bar staff alike. When police arrive, they refuse to intervene or search the attackers, allowing them to go free without charges.

September 28, 2018: German police arrest six men accused of belonging to the terrorist group “Revolution Chemnitz” on charges related to the armed assaults of foreigners on September 14th and plotting terror attacks.

September 28, 2018: Three neo-nazis confront a journalist in Naumberg, Germany in a grocery store parking lot as he gets into his car. When the journalists confronts them, he is stabbed in the stomach by the seig-heiling bigots.

September 28, 2018: A 48-year-old black man is randomly attacked by up to 50 racist football hooligans in Sofia, Bulgaria. He is kicked to the ground and kicked and beaten unconscious. At the hospital, he is diagnosed with a concussion, broken jaw, and broken teeth. September 28, 2018: As a gay couple board a public train in Vancouver, a passenger kicks one of them and berates both with homophobic slurs, then punches the other member of the couple in the face before fleeing the train. September 29, 2018: Two men in Berlin stop a passerby and ask if he’s “a Jew.” When the man responds by asking them why they would want to know that, both men attack him, then flee the scene in a taxi.

September 30, 2018: 25-year-old Vitali Safarov - a Jewish/Yazidi man working for an anti-hate NGO in Tblisi, Georgia - is stabbed to death by three neo-nazis in a café after they began racially abusing him.

October 2, 2018: An arsonist lights a can of gasoline on fire in the third-floor hallway of a Toronto hotel hosting refugee families. The hotel had previously been targeted in a video by a self-described “nationalist” social media group “dedicated to exposing the idiocy of the Left.” (sic). October 3, 2018: 31-year-old trans woman Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier is stabbed to death and her body is dumped behind an abandoned building.

October 4, 2018: 48-year-old Boulder man Jeffrey Karol Bonczyk approaches a racialized woman on the street and yells at her to “go back to China.” When the woman tells Bonczyk that she’s Native, Bonczyk replies by saying “I’m the Viking! I’m the first one here! I’m the white one!” before knocking her to the ground and kicking her repeatedly. Bonczyk was previously convicted for felony assault, criminal mischief, harassment, and other crimes. October 7, 2018: 68-year-old Taylor Reginald Rosario da Costa is speaking with his brother and his cousin in a bar in Salvador, Brazil about the elections. Their conversation is interrupted by 36-year-old fascist supporter Paulo Sérgio Ferreira de Santana, who interrupts the conversation and starts an argument with the three. de Santana leaves, but rushes back five minutes later armed with a knife and stabs da Costa to death. October 7, 2018: The body of Regina Denise Brown, a 53-year-old trans woman, is found in her burning South Carolina home. Coroners determine that she was beaten to death. October 11, 2018: A car carrying AfD supporters and leaders in Regensburg, Germany drives by a counter-demonstration against the racist party. The driver leans out of the car and fires two shots at the demonstrators. Luckily, none are injured. October 14, 2018: A 62-year-old Orthodox Jewish man walking to his Brooklyn synagogue is attacked by a 37-year-old man who jumps out of his car, chases him, knocks him to the road and repeatedly beats him. When another elderly Jewish man attempts to intervene, the assailant chases him off and continues beating his first victim.

October 14, 2018: More then a dozen uniformed Proud Boys members attack two protestors outside of a Republican Party event in New York City, repeatedly smashing their heads into the pavement while calling them “faggots” and “bitches.” NYPD officers look on but refuse to intervene or arrest the attackers.

October 15, 2018: A teenager wielding a stick chases an older Orthodox Jewish man down the street in Brooklyn, smashing him in the head and shoulders with the stick until it breaks.

October 16, 2018: South Dakota resident and right-wing extremist Mark Einerwold is arrested when police raid his home on burglary charges and find an improvised explosive device, illegal weapons, and bomb-making materials. Hilariously, the police at first identify Einerwold as “antifa,” prompting his brother to vociferously deny the label, explaining that his brother hated “antifa” and pointing reporters to years of extreme-right social media posts made by his brother. October 16, 2018: After receiving anonymous threatens calling her a “dirty Jewish cow,” and warning that she is being watched, the home of a politician in Lund, Sweden is set on fire by arsonists in the middle of the night, completely destroying it. This is the second arson attack on a Jewish person’s home in Lund this year. October 18, 2018: While over 50 Filipino worshippers huddled inside, attackers launched a volley of molotov cocktails at Seattle’s Iglesias Ni Cristo church.| October 18, 2018: After threatening to murder New Jersey resident Koebere Bull and her three biracial “monkey children,” 20-year-old Dylan Jarrell was stopped by Kentucky state troopers as he left his house with “hundreds of rounds of ammunition and a detailed plan of attack on two school districts - Anderson County Schools and Shelby County Public Schools.” October 19, 2018: 29-year-old Colorado Springs resident Sean Scappaticci decides to tell the Uber driver giving him a ride him that he was going to kill him because he “hated brown people.” After making repeated threats, the Uber driver stops and car and runs for his life, with Scappaticci giving chase. When police arrive on-scene, Scappaticci continues making threats to “kill all brown people” and fights with the cops. October 20, 2018: As he returns from his daughter’s home in Bihar, India, 80-year-old Muslim man Zainul Ansari is attacked by Hindu extremists, who beat him to the ground, drag him through the streets, and then set him on fire, burning him to death. October 21, 2018: After unsuccessfully attempting to gain access to the predominantly black First Baptist Church, 51-year-old Gregory Allan Bush walks into a Kroger grocery store in Louisville, Kentucky where he shoots 69-year-old Maurice Stallard and 67-year-old Vickie Jones repeatedly, murdering both of them. Both Jones are Stallard are black. An armed eye witness who came face-to-face with Bush immediately afterwards reports Bush saying to him “Don’t shoot me. I won’t shoot you. Whites don’t shoot whites.“ October 21, 2018: After a former houseguest leaks photos of him with his partner, a gay immigrant from Cameroon living in Seattle is attacked and assaulted by two men in the parking lot of his apartment, injuring his knees and ears as they yelled homophobic slurs at him. Days later, the man’s mother is assaulted in Cameroon and her house destroyed October 22, 2018: “22-year old Dinesh Kumar barged into the home of one of his neighbours in a remote village in Tamil Nadu’s Salem district and chopped off the head of a 14-year-old girl as her mother watched in horror. He then carried the severed head to his own home before tossing it out on the road.” Kumar is from an upper-caste family while his victim was Dalit. The victim’s family allege that Kumar had been sexually harassing the girl and yelling casteist slurs at her and her family. October 25, 2018: Mohammad Azeem, an eight-year-old Muslim student at a South Dehli madrassa, is beaten to death by a mob of local teenagers. October 26, 2018: After sending a dozen mail bombs to targets linked to the Democrats, 56-year-old Cesar Sayoc - an ardent and vocal Trump supporter, is arrested as the MAGA bomber. October 26, 2018: An arsonist sets fire to the home of a Muslim family in Highland Park, MI. while the family are asleep inside. The father of the family wakes up in time to put out the fire. Two days later, the arsonist returns and firebombs the home, forcing the family to jump out of a second-storey window to save their lives. Their home is completely destroyed in the blaze. October 27, 2018: 46-year-old extreme-right anti-Semite and gun collector Robert Bowers walks into the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh, screams “All Jews must die!,” and begins shooting. Eleven people are killed and six others injured before Bowers surrenders after making several anti-Semitic statements during his rampage.

October 27, 2018: A transgender woman riding a train in Calgary, Canada is subjected to transphobic verbal abuse by an unknown man, who then punches her in the face before fleeing the train. October 29, 2018: Police raid the home of 41-year-old Thorton Heath resident Steven Bishop, seizing bomb-making instructions and materials. Bishop, facing various terrorism charges, pleads guilty in 2019 to plotting to bomb Morden Mosque.

November 1, 2018: After speaking with a 66-year-old Jewish woman in Cambridge, MA. about a property, 62-year-old Jarrett Harris follows her down the street yelling at her to “shut the fuck up Jew bitch!” before pushing her and attempting to choke her while using more anti-Semitic curses. Harris now faces hate crime charges. November 1, 2018: Two men traveling on Italy’s Roma-Lido train spend their trip seig heiling, singing fascist songs, and making loud racist insults before turing their attention to a fellow passenger from India, who they both assault. When a woman on the train attempts to intervene, they beat her to the floor. November 1, 2018: 15-year-old “Kekistan” and Donald Trump fan Gregory Ramos ends an argument with his mother about his school grades by strangling her to death. Ramos then calls on two friends to help him bury his mother under a fire pit and stage a break-in to cover up the murder. November 2, 2018: Arsonists set fire to seven Brooklyn synagogues and Jewish schools overnight, in addition to spray-painting “Kill All Jews” inside a synagogue. November 2, 2018: 40-year-old Scott Beierle walks into a Tallahassee, FL. yoga studio and opens fire, killing two women and injuring four others before turning the gun on himself. Beierlie was a far-right extremist and self-proclaimed misogynist and “incel” who railed against women, black people, and immigrants in a series of online videos and songs. November 3, 2018: Four teenagers launch a metal pole through the window of a Brooklyn synagogue as members were praying inside. November 6, 2018: Six far-right extremists are arrested across France and charged with plotting to assassinate French president Emmanuel Macron. November 6, 2018: Two neo-nazis in Skyttorpsvägen, Sweden attempt to beat an anti-fascist to death with crowbars. The anti-fascist manages to fight both of them off and escape.

November 6, 2018: A man is arrested in Los Angeles after ripping the wig off of the head of an Orthodox Jewish woman. It was the third time he had attacked an Orthodox Jewish woman in such a fashion. November 8, 2018: Three African American men and one Latino man walk into a Chicago 7-11 only to be met with a slew of racial slurs from the store clerk, 32-year-old Ranferi Basilio. Basilio chases the men outside the store, then produces a knife and chases them away from their own car, slashing the car’s tires. November 10, 2018: German police uncover a terror plot involving a secret terror cell consisting of over 200 elite German soldiers who planned to assassinate German politicians and leaders of refugee support groups. November 11, 2018: Four Orthodox Jewish boys are walking in their Toronto neighborhood when a group of nine teenagers confront them yelling anti-Semitic slurs before punching and kicking them. November 15, 2018: 61-year-old Indian immigrant Sunil Edla is confronted by a teenaged boy outside of his New Jersey home and shot dead in what is being described as a hate crime. November 15, 2018: During a drug trafficking sting operation against white supremacist gangs “The Unforgiven” and “United Aryan Brotherhood” in Florida, police seize over 100 firearms, several pipe bombs, and a rocket launcher, in addition to several pounds of meth amphetamine and fentanyl. Thirty-nine individuals are charged as a result. November 16, 2018: Former captain of the Wales rugby and out gay man Gareth Thomas is physically attacked by a homophobe in his hometown of Cardiff, Wales, leaving him with multiple cuts and bruises to his face. November 18, 2018: A march for trans rights in Kiev, Ukraine is attacked by 30 transphobes and the police. Activists and journalists are punched and pepper-sprayed by far-right transphobes while the police haul trans activists away. November 19, 2018: 55-year-old Lloyd Edward Johnson begins harassing and antagonizing four Black Muslim teenaged girls as they order food in a McDonald’s in a Minneapolis, MN. suburb. When the girls respond, Johnson pulls out a gun and threatens them with it. Johnson is later arrested and charged with second-degree assault.

November 19, 2018: Arsonists set fire to palestra Valerio Verbano - a popular public gym in a leftist neighborhood in Rome named after a 19-year-old antifascisti murdered by fascists in 1980. The blaze causes extensive damage. November 23, 2018: 32-year-old Mohamed Mohamed Abdi yells anti-semitic slurs towards two Jewish men as he drives by then in Los Angeles before doing a U-turn and trying to run over them twice before crashing his car. Abdi is charged with hate crimes. November 25, 2018: A Donegal, Ireland hotel that was set to host refugees is set on fire by arsonists, nearly killing the owner and his daughter.

November 25, 2018: After arguing in a café in Lefkimmi, Greece with 63-year-old Albanian national Petrit Zifle, a Golden Dawn activist guns him down with a shotgun, throwing his body in a ditch and confessing to the crime after being arrested by police. November 26, 2018: 37-year-old Balitmore resident and trans woman Tydi Dansbury is shot to death in the street.

November 27, 2018: Yelling “I fucking hate Mexicans,” “I’m here to kill a Mexican,” and asking if the proprietors of the Lopez tire shop in Salt Lake City, UT were “part of the Mexican mafia,” 50-year-old Alan Dale Covington smashes a five-foot metal pole into the face of 18-year-old Luis Gustavo Lopez, knocking him unconscious, then attacked Jose Lopez, Luis’ father, as he tried to help his son. Luis was hospitalized with serious injuries for several days. November 27, 2018: After leaving a kosher restaurant in Brooklyn, a 16-year-old Jewish boy is confronted by a mob of about twenty teenagers, who beat him while chanting “Kill the Jew.” The boy is injured so badly that he is hospitalized for over a week. November 29, 2018: A gay couple in Las Vegas are followed home from work by two men - one of them a homophobic co-worker, who proceed to punch, kick, and stab the couple while calling them homophobic slurs. November 29, 2018: In a completely unprovoked assault, 22-year-old Dylan Reynolds and 24-year-old Michael Walters chase a black woman out of a Louisiana Wal-Mart, yelling “nigger!” at her and chasing her through the parking lot before launching a shopping cart at her vehicle as she fled. Both men face hate crime charges. November 30, 2018: As he leaves a Brooklyn synagogue, a 33-year-old Hasidic Jewish man is punched in the head from behind in an unprovoked attack. November 30, 2018: A 20-year-old woman is confronted in the New York subway system by a man yelling homophobic slurs at her. As she walks away, the man punches her in the back of the head and shoves her to the ground, breaking her spine in the process. December 2, 2018: Winchester, VA. resident Robin Anne Coffman yells at a black family walking by her house, calling them “niggers” and threatening to shoot them before brandishing a shotgun. December 6, 2018: Three young men are arrested in various locations in the UK on suspicion of terrorist activities due to their involvement in a nazi terror gang called Sonnenkrieg Division. December 6, 2018: Three men accuse a Roma woman of pickpocketing on a Rome subway station. They pull her hair and punch her repeatedly in the face. When her three-year-old daughter cries out, they throw the child to the ground. December 7, 2018: An arsonist sets fire to a Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall in Lacey, WA., gutting it. This is the sixth attack against Jehovah’s Witness buildings in the country this year.

December 7, 2018: FBI agents posing as ISIS operatives arrest 21-year-old Ohio resident Damon Joseph after selling him two inoperable assault rifles he told them he would use to commit a mass shooting at a synagogue. Around the same time, police arrested Elizabeth Lecron and Vincent Armstrong - two fellow Ohio residents with neo-nazi ties who they allege had purchased bomb-making materials and were planning to bomb a pipeline in Georgia. December 7, 2018: 23-year-old engineering student Rohan Sharma and his sister Amrita Sharma are assaulted in their home by their own neighbours after enduring weeks of verbal racist abuse from them, leaving Sharma with a broken nose and various contusions.

December 7, 2018: 35-year-old trans woman Keanna Mattel is found shot to death in her Detroit neighbourhood. December 8, 2018: At least nine members of the Hammerskins, in Washington state to commemorate the death of a white supremacist terrorist and murderer, show up at a bar in Lynwood, WA. and almost immediately attack the African-American DJ, who is hospitalized due to the injuries he sustains in the attack. Police charge at least six of the attackers with hate crimes. December 9, 2018: Jessica Fowler, 31, and Amber Harrell, 38 encounter a trans woman in the bathroom of a Raleigh, North Carolina bar and proceed to restrain her and sexually assault her. Both Fowler and Harris now face sexual battery and kidnapping charges. December 9, 2018: Police arrest 20-year-old Monroe, WA. resident Dakota Reed - a self-professed KKK member - who had posted extensively online about plans to commit a mass shooting targeting Jews. Police seized a dozen firearms along with white supremacist literature from Reed. When a detective asked Reed why he had targeted Jews, Reed replied “I’ve been around some Jews in my life. There’s a community here in Washington. They’ve done things as far as to — um. Maybe it wasn’t too personal, but I’ve had them lie to me, I’ve had them, um, I guess, well, this one probably wasn’t their fault, but I’ve had girls like them over me. I’ve, uh, what was the other one?” Before remembering that someone who happened to be Jewish had allegedly gotten him fired from a job once. December 12, 2018: A 32-year-old transgender woman is beaten to death by four men in Klang, Malaysia. December 15, 2018: A Warsaw man of Turkish descent is attacked on a public bus by football hooligans who taunt him with racist insults as they assault him. Police initially refuse to take any action but begin investigating after it is reported in the media. December 17, 2018: A black woman riding the subway in Rome with her infant daughter is subjected to racist abuse by a man on the train, who then slaps the woman, spits in her face, kicks her stroller, and punches two other passengers who attempt to intervene. Police take the man off the subway at the next stop but do not arrest him. December 18, 2018: 60-year-old Portland resident Michael T. Amatullo greets his eight-year-old African-American neighbor by shouting racist slurs at him while the boy is taking out the trash. When the boy’s 14-year-old brother comes out of the house to investigate the shouting, Amatullo produces a butcher knife and threatens to stab both boys, prompting them to run and hide under a staircase while they call 911.

December 20, 2018: 24-year-old Brandon Troy Higgs allows his dog to walk over a freshly-laid cement driveway in Reistertwon, MD. as a pretext to start a fight with two African American construction workers, who we calls "boy” and tells them to “go back to Africa.” Higgs leaves and then returns to verbally abuse the construction workers some more before drawing a pistol. The two workers wrestle the gun away from Higgs, but not before Higgs shoots one of them in the leg. Higgs now faces attempted murder & hate crime charges. December 23, 2018: While waiting behind an African-American mother and her two children in line at a Wichita, KS. grocery store check-out, 31-year-old Trace Riff decides to kick the mother’s 1-year-old son in the back with his cowboy boot, knocking him face-first on the floor. While bystanders subdued him, Riff went on a screaming tirade, calling the mother and her children “niggers” and loudly declaring that he was a white supremacist.

#antifa international #antifa #antifascist #antifascism #anti-semitism #homophobia #transphobia #terrorism #terrorist #fascist #fascism #extreme right #violence

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