which is how jack ryan & the redhaired musical warrior doctor & her bold daughter & all their various doppelgangers got tangled into the mythos from the start , incl but not limited to richard sharpe & patrick harper & teresa moreno
but that isnt the all if it by long leagues
bc one of the stars of ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE REVOLUTION was rod steiger
who played the corsican emperor of france in that great russian WATERLOO i sometimes rant abt in the twists of this maze
against none but christopher plummer - & theres the trek connection going far back before it ever happened , b4 gates mcfadden played a redhaired doctor whose place was filled by anne archer as the badass lady fighting her doppelganger in a clash of empires in the sequel to RED OCTOBER
i saw the chain but not its first link -not being a westerns fan nor a film scholar nor critic
but i see how a n 18th c british supernatural novel abt italian nobles FITS into a GUERNICA-referencing story of the spanish civil war by a contemporary mexican dramatist now
it is fixfic / fulfillment fic of INTERESTING TIMES
remember i identified the butterfly-shape of the mask as closest to a type of butterfly found in n & central america aka FRITILLARY back in sept last yr
“See the wings, slightly more ragged than those of the common fritillary. In reality, thanks to the fractal nature of the universe, this means that those ragged edges are infinite—in the same way that the edge of any rugged coastline, when measured to the ultimate microscopic level, is infinitely long—or, if not infinite, then at least so close to it that Infinity can be seen on a clear day. And therefore, if their edges are infinitely long, the wings must logically be infinitely big.
They may look about the right size for a butterfly’s wings, but that’s only because human beings have always preferred common sense to logic.
The Quantum Weather Butterfly (Papilio tempestae) is an undistinguished yellow color, although the Mandelbrot patterns on the wings are of considerable interest. Its outstanding feature is its ability to create weather…”
bc this is also where GREEN AS THE COLOR OF HOPE & DANGER & PROMISE THAT MAY BE FULFILLED BYTHE LADY– FITS INTO THE MONOMYTH , SEAMLESSLY BETWEEN DISCWORLD AND DEL TOROS PERSONAL COLOR HERALDRY
its in WIZARD OF OZ of course which he has cited as a major influence on his work
but first there was the ‘green spectacles’ & deceptive decaying green & illusory gold of the poem “VERDE EMBELESO” by the 17th c lesbian poet known as “the phoenix of mexico” that i have ranted so much abt bc that same poem has the phrase “EYES IN MY HANDS” as a metaphor for skepticism , & bc del toro used her poem INCENDIO as a heartwrenching bit of dialogue in DEVILS BACKBONE | EL ESPINAZO DEL DIABLO along w a highly relevant chunk of tennysons IN MEMORIAM to be repeated in HELLBOY 2 : THE GOLDEN ARMY
which yes isnt just a “take that’ to the trend of carelessly transmitting the worst aspects of the old pulps as seen in comics & films & games , but specifically engages w THE MUMMY 3: TOMB OF THE DRAGON EMPEROR
& now after finally rereadin INTERESTING TIMES long after i shld have, i realize that M3 was def stealin-wo-understanding from pratchett – looting , in fact , w a snickering giggle in their sleeves abt tomb robbing , bc everyone involved in writing & directing that movie is assholes
–its been noted here b4 that my major failing is overlooking the obv bc HEY ITS SO OBV , OBV NOBODY WLD GO THERE but then after putting the two & the two & the two of the vampires VAMPIRES YAH & the lamp of poison / FISH SHAPED LAMPS WE GOT EM & the fasces AXE & STICKS in FEET OF CLAY tog
( 8 are the sides of the bagua , the mirror of divination on which the moon-toad sits , guarding gold –& this is not irrelevant either )
not only did i see where gough & millar got their plot elements of sacred jewels in temples combined w the resograph , i mean earthquake weathervane used as a magic gadget to raise a "red army” of terra cotta golems , i mean ghost soldiers , to be fought by ray harryhausens army of dragons-teeth warriors from JASON & THE ARGONAUTS which yes cohen & the rest of the silver horde discuss in INTERESTING TIMES
but i understood the HOW of how guillermo flipped everything abt via the magical handmirror & turned HK into AM
ok i was already gettin there bc “We own all your helmets, we own all your shoes” any more these days sounds like yes china rather than the west , except that the only bit of mass manufacturing weve held on to was our military stuffs in a rare bit of prudence-over-profit ( which has backfired from humanistic perspectives bc we are kinda stuck bein war merchants & profiteers now …)
but i hadn’t quite put the bit where YET-AGAIN-WHITEWASHING-GODSDAMMIT SKY1 CASTING SEAN ASTIN AS TWOFLOWER CREATED THE HINGE ON WHICH TO TURN IT AROUND
or the axle of the wheel rather SEE ALSO THE TAO TEH CHING
but if twoflower is anglo-american in the film version then (obv ) ankh-morpork must be on the counterweight continent , QED
& i wrote off the sky1 adaptations back when the casting was announced so i had not even realized that jeremy irons AKA THE WICKED BROTHER in disneys HAMLET was vetinari in that COLOR OF MAGIC but there are all my meta links to BRIDESHEAD REVISITED and THE PROFESSIONAL | LEON confirmed via LION KING & jean reno voicing & thus RONIN & SHARPES RIFLES via so many degrees of sean bean
& yes sir terry is in on the game & has been for a long while now – @ least since UNSEEN ACADEMICALS
bc he set up the serves perfectly for PACIFIC RIM starting there w bioengineered monster supersoldiers who 'reboot’ after bein killed
whose role as cannon fodder is proven via necromancy through a bit of skull from a battlefield , & magitech that is operated by a lawful evil (ish) wizard w a skull ring & his skeletal partner
trains have finally come in their roundworld form to the disc – but they were there earlier , in FIFTH ELEPHANT as a wagon train too
& in SNUFF there is a boat train
not only that there is a classic train-roof-chase-fight straight from a century of action films
but that is nothing
i reread SNUFF this past week too
there are SOMANYSPECIFICTHINGS THAT TIE INTO THE DEL TORO MONOMYTH and esp which bounce back & confirm PANS LABYRINTH | EL LABERINTO DEL FAUNO as NIGHT WATCH elseworlds darkfic but also lock into the bondverse / batverse / bprd-&-bladeverse connections - names , & functions , & heraldic symbols THE CROCODILE THE SCOTS (WANNABE) DRAGONRIDER THE LINKING OF THE OLD AMERICAN SLAVE TRADE & GENOCIDE W THE 20TH EUROPEAN GENOCIDE & SLAVE LABOR VIA TOBACCO
yeah
that is exactly what i have been tapping & chipping @ for all these months I DIDNT SEE IT WHEN I READ THE BOOK BC I HADNT SEEN “PANS LABYRINTH” & when i first watched LABERINTO i didnt understand that VIDAL IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE VIMES WHO DID KILL SYBIL , AS THE HISTORY MONKS OBLIQUELY WARNED WOULD HAPPEN , IF VIMES DIDNT GET A LESSON IN GOOD COMMUNAL POLICING FROM JOHN PEEL , I MEAN KEEL , IN “NIGHT WATCH”
for obv reasons NIGHT WATCH w its themes of societal apathy to authoritarian wrongdoing , the militarization of the police , & eventual flareup to repeat the cycle again as victor hugo described so long ago , has been much heavily on my mind of late
but that isnt the only place nor the first place pratchett talked abt it
“This is where people have learned to do what they’re told…The Empire’s got something worse than whips all right. It’s got obedience. Whips in the soul. They obey anyone who tells them what to do. Freedom just means being told what to do by someone different…”
fyeah its a dark WATCH fic , just as it is a bright WATCHMEN fic –just as GUARDS! GUARDS! was a bright WATCHMEN fixfic , & so too is INTERESTING TIMES , agn w a too-clever ambitious junior faking an overwhelming enemy – dragon , or rebellion , or invasion – that turns out to be realer than planned–
bc there IS hope in LABERINTO , the lawless lawman realizing that he is defeated & choosing not to destroy the future w him , surrendering his son & accepting his own execution & so the possibility of a new world to come in time
& the ending scn , w his scarred face , the dread captain embodies that SAM-AS-BATMAN-AND-GORDON-BUT-ALSO-JOKER-AND-TWOFACE paradox that is the darkness within vimes which he fights & recognizes in his worst adversaries, which was strongly brought out w carcer in NIGHT WATCH & even moreso w the gleeful willing killer of the protofascist House of Rust
but the tying of vimes to the dangers of fascism isnt something that guillermo came up w & terry only retconned in OH HELLS NO
in FEET OF CLAY we are told that the coat of arms of old stoneface vimes –the ankh morpork incarnation of the regicide cromwell & there is yr stuart connection w prince nuadha as bonnie prince charlie in HELLBOY 2 –is a combo of grapevines ( close enf of a pun for heraldry ) & a marble bust for his nickname SEE ALSO : PALE MAN goes w the transformation of lord damaskinos to apparent marble and the dead king balor to crumbling literal stone
“But the King did not even get a trial.”
“No willing judge could be found,” said Vimes.
“Except you…that is, your ancestor…”
“Well? Someone had to do it. Some monsters should not walk under the living sky.”
Dragon found the page he had been looking for and turned the book around. “This was his escutcheon,” he said.
Vimes looked down at the familiar sign of the morpork owl perched on an ankh. It was atop a shield divided into four quarters, with a symbol in each quarter. “What’s this crown with a dagger through it?”
“Oh, a traditional symbol, ah-ha. Indicates his role as defender of the crown.”
“Really? And the bunch of rods with an axe in it?” He pointed.
“A fasces. Symbolizes that he is…was an officer of the law. And the axe was an interesting harbinger of things to come, yes? But axes, I’m afraid, solve nothing.”
Vimes stared at the third quarter. It contained a painting of what seemed to be a marble bust.
“Symbolizing his nickname, ‘Old Stoneface’,” said Dragon helpfully. “He asked that some reference be made. Sometimes heraldry is nothing more than the art of punning.”
“And this last one? A bunch of grapes? Bit of a boozer, was he?” said Vimes sourly.
but in SNUFF vimes himself becomes – temporarily – a king
king over the water in fact
( which means that all my meta links & mirrorversions & conjectures are locking firmly into place & selfwelding like the links of the golden army control crown , bc not only do we get the stuart & thus tudor & plantagenet links to the del toro verse via discworld , but also that PR is a “take that’ to THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND too )
& yes sir terry has deliberately & overtly identified sam vimes w Death there , to the obv point that even the lspace wiki has noticed the parallels w REAPER MAN
in fact vimes IS the avatar of the bearer of the scythe WHICH IS ALSO AN ATTRIBUTE OF PAPA LEGBA who makes no other appearance in it & i m pretty sure that is the first time its true of a DW book –
ah
ahah
no
Death isnt there in the 1st tiffany aching book either
tiffany aching , who guards the crossroads of timespace in her backyard
tiffany aching who must become a hive-mind demonic entity in her second quest , to save it as much as the world
by teaching it mortality (also abt evolution )
and who must become (for a time) a goddess in her third ordeal , to teach the god of winter how to be human - which means dying as well , at least for a time
yes – the darkhaired darkeyed shepherdess cheesemaker BLESSED BE apprentice witch in the sensible boots & hardwearing blue who doesnt like smug blond princes who swan abt expecting everything handed to them just for showing up –
& INTERESTING TIMES flat out says that retcon is how myth works , @ least in the discworld universe – that the future changes the past , in cyclical history
& the first great agatean ruler , w the helmet-&-glove-&-boot controlled golem army , who unified the empire , whose name was ONE SUN MIRROR
is presented to us via rincewind as an ARTHURIAN figure in an ensorcelled funeral boat on a hidden lake , a ruler quondam et futuram –et aeternam as well
& there is a little girl , a war orphan , in INTERESTING TIMES , who loses her stuffed rabbit – but is protected by valiant older sisters-by-found-family
& there is a highly symbolic cute dog which is also a weapon
which yes fits into why BLUE hair to symbolize a spider , or an assassin ( & yes that is in SNUFF & in the process ties DISCWORLD to the MCU – and to australia yet agn , which along w valkyries & the venerable bede (x) appeared back in INTERESTING TIMES … . the history monks working overtime to keep it all aligned ! )
bc its not just anyblue
it is very def a DELPHINIUM blue –& that is another tale for the telling & ties american atrocity & monsters to hapsburg ones in history , as surely as riverboat pilots & downriver to a city that is also paris just as much as ankh morpork ever was , but also thus as much new orleans as genua is
( this is another post of its own but i can tell you it is no coincidence that anguas 1st given name is what it is , nor the name that she chooses to go by , & it is connected to the jaeger armor design on which i have spent a fair amt of pixels discussing / speculating as well – bc the universal horror canon is as much part of the bedrock of the disc as the cthulhu mythos )
bc everything was discworld all along after all , & it is all laid out for us in the very first page of the book
which guillermo read far more attentively than any other of us fans of both authors –
This is where the gods play games with the lives of men, on a board which is at one and the same time a simple playing area and the whole world.
And Fate always wins.
Fate always wins. Most of the gods throw dice but Fate plays chess, and you don’t find out until too late that he’s been using two queens all along.
Fate wins. At least, so it is claimed. Whatever happens, they say afterwards, it must have been Fate.
Gods can take any form, but the one aspect of themselves they cannot change is their eyes, which show their nature. The eyes of Fate are hardly eyes at all—just dark holes into an infinity speckled with what may be stars or, there again, may be other things.
He blinked them, smiled at his fellow players in the smug way winners do just before they become winners, and said: “I accuse the High Priest of the Green Robe in the library with the double-handed axe.”
And he won.
He beamed at them.
“No one likeh a poor winner,” grumbled Offler the Crocodile God, through his fangs.
“It seems that I am favoring myself today,” said Fate. “Anyone fancy something else?”
The gods shrugged.
“Mad Kings?” said Fate pleasantly. “Star-Crossed Lovers?”
“I think we’ve lost the rules for that one,” said Blind Io, chief of the gods.
“Or Tempest-Wrecked Mariners?”
“You always win,” said Io.
“Floods and Droughts?” said Fate. “That’s an easy one.”
A shadow fell across the gaming table. The gods looked up.
“Ah,” said Fate.
“Let a game begin,” said the Lady.
There was always an argument about whether the newcomer was a goddess at all. Certainly no one ever got anywhere by worshipping her, and she tended to turn up only where she was least expected, such as now. And people who trusted in her seldom survived. Any temples built to her would surely be struck by lightning. Better to juggle axes on a tightrope than say her name. Just call her the waitress in the Last Chance saloon.
She was generally referred to as the Lady, and her eyes were green; not as the eyes of humans are green, but emerald green from edge to edge. It was said to be her favorite color.
“Ah,” said Fate again. “And what game will it be?”
She sat down opposite him. The watching gods looked sidelong at one another. This looked interesting. These two were ancient enemies.
“How about…” she paused, “…Mighty Empires?”
“Oh, I hate that one,” said Offler, breaking the sudden silence. “Everyone dief at the end.”
“Yes,” said Fate, “I believe they do.” He nodded at the Lady, and in much the same voice as professional gamblers say “Aces high?” said, “The Fall of Great Houses? Destinies of Nations Hanging by a Thread?”
“Certainly,” she said.
“Oh, good.” Fate waved a hand across the board. The Discworld appeared.
“And where shall we play?” he said.
“The Counterweight Continent,” said the Lady. “Where five noble families have fought one another for centuries.”
“Really? Which families are these?” said Io. He had little involvement with individual humans. He generally looked after thunder and lightning, so from his point of view the only purpose of humanity was to get wet or, in occasional cases, charred.
“The Hongs, the Sungs, the Tangs, the McSweeneys and the Fangs.”
“Them? I didn’t know they were noble,” said Io.
“They’re all very rich and have had millions of people butchered or tortured to death merely for reasons of expediency and pride,” said the Lady.
The watching gods nodded solemnly. That was certainly noble behavior. That was exactly what they would have done.
“McFweeneyf?” said Offler.
“Very old established family,” said Fate.
“Oh.”
“And they wrestle one another for the Empire,” said Fate. “Very good. Which will you be?”
The Lady looked at the history stretched out in front of them.
“The Hongs are the most powerful. Even as we speak, they have taken yet more cities,” she said. “I see they are fated to win.”
“So, no doubt, you’ll pick a weaker family.”
Fate waved his hand again. The playing pieces appeared, and started to move around the board as if they had a life of their own, which was of course the case.
“But,” he said, “we shall play without dice. I don’t trust you with dice. You throw them where I can’t see them. We will play with steel, and tactics, and politics, and war.”
The Lady nodded.
Fate looked across at his opponent.
“And your move?” he said.
She smiled. “I’ve already made it.”
He looked down. “But I don’t see your pieces on the board.”
“They’re not on the board yet,” she said.
She opened her hand.
There was something black and yellow on her palm. She blew on it, and it unfolded its wings.
It was a butterfly.
Fate always wins…
At least, when people stick to the rules.
FLOODS & DROUGHTS PPL FLOODS & DROUGHTS REMEMBER WHAT I SAID ABT THE HORSE-SACRIFICES OF JAPAN & HOW THEY DIFFER FROM THE INDO-EUROPEAN ONES AS DESCRIBED IN CELTIC HISTORIES & THE GOLDEN BOUGH & MARY RENAULT???
A WHITE HORSE OR A BLACK HORSE , DEPENDING ON WHICH PATTERN NEEDED TO BE BROKEN TO SAVE THE HARVEST –
( it goes w the whole kaiju-as-personifications-of-natural-disaster thing & global climate change … . )
asdfjkl; also SHIPWRECKED MARINERS STAR-CROSSED LOVERS MAD KINGS its all the freaking shakespeare themes tog when you incl the FALL OF MIGHTY EMPIRES argh ok & there is the 'westerns’ theme slipped in there
later we will def get a discworld homage to DARK CRYSTAL & thats where the complicated chain that runs from lord hongs barking dog to the golden army-as-garthim to lord shens cannon in KFP2 to the failed drift test by way of a double-back to Torrecastro ( also no coincidence that SNUFF is full of jane austen refs as much as TEMERAIRE ones ) and IT ISNT A RANDOM HODGEPODGE OR MISHMASH OF SYMBOLS
bc what these bards are trying to tell us , all the travelling players of la resistance , is simply this
ALL EMPIRES ARE ONE , IN THE END
WE ARE FIGHTING THE SAME BLOODSUCKING ENEMY WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN FIGHTING
& THE ENEMY , AS ALWAYS , IS US ( NOT "THEM” , IT NEVER WAS “THEM” BC THEYRE US TOO )
& thus the kite in the lightning to power the golems ( hang singly if we dont hang together ! ! ! )
but the story is the true weapon
as granny weatherwax knew all along , & tiffany aching figured out on her own , the narratives are the greatest weapons bc they motivate the armies no less than the mobs w the pitchforks
convince ppl that theyre not just cannon fodder regarded as interchangeable clones by their masters but ELITE SUPERSOLDIERS
or else convince them that freedom , & change , & a new universe
arepossiblethings
& worth fighting for
even if it SEEMS like a death
& means symbolically dying if yr identity is entirely wound up in yr past but still that is better than literally dying in the revolution – oh & there is a bastille in INTERESTING TIMES too btw , back to DEVILS BACKBONE & the COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO no less than dickens – also a fave of sir terry no less than guillermo
also im pretty sure that ramin djawadi that other heretic wizard sneaked in a Variation on the HILL STREET BLUES theme in the opening chords of the main title & that is why the offcenter rest in the underlying beat has been driving me crazy long after i figured out THE INVISIBLE TRAINS in the soundtrack which HELL YES THEY ARE HUGE IN DISCWORLD but i cant even any more bc too much
FYI ALSO NOBODY SEEMS TO HAVE RECOGNIZED THE MOTTO ON THE SHIELD
its psalm 120 | 121 dependin on which numbering system
AD MONTES OCULUS LEVAVI on the upper scroll means TO THE MOUNTAINS [MY] EYES I LIFT UP
which is a heraldic rearrangement of “levavi oculos meos in montes unde veniet auxilium meum” in the vulgate latin which as translated by the jesuit order who taught ( if not entirely what they mean to ) the young guillermo del toro to elizabethan era english goes “I have lifted up my eyes to the mountains, from whence help shall come to me” (x)
altho the spelling of it as “oculus” rather than “oculos” is curious & may have a significance beyond it bein an artifact of spelling in Olde – oculus is “an eye” singular , in latin but when spelled w two Os is plural in a specific case as in the above verse , but also means a little round window ( that looks like an eye ) so this may be a double entendre w the windows = the eyes of the house
also fyi this latin version of the scriptures was originally done by st jerome
who is the saint associated w , you may recall , a lion patronus
the lower scrolls motto is MORS VINCIT OMNIA which hardly needs translating but = DEATH CONQUERS ALL
this hi res wallpaper of the sculpted gate crest is nice (x) but the silkscreen version (x) on this official legendary swag notebook is easier to read – i havent deciphered the rest of the imagery beyond the obvious overarching skull symbol bc none of the pics are clear enf yet & this may be starting red herrings but there maybe two rampant beasts – ?bears? lions? - opposed w a flying bird –? raven? –in the shield proper , or not
but one thing is certain ,its the same mask hanging over the gate of the namesake LABERINTO
which echoed the mouth-of-truth symbol in the repaired menhir earlier
& the jaws-of-fate symbols in the “three caskets” sequence later
& which was the mirror of the mask formed by the windows of the arch in DEVILS BACKBONE
just as the lion-guarded caskets by the pale mans fireside were the mirror of the safe hidden by the stove in ESPINAZO , & the jaws-of-truth scn in BLADE 2
& which wld be echoed immediately thereafter in HELLBOY 1 ( along w so many other elements )
& now the gate / boca del inferno theme returns
& with it entire new layers of symbolism on all levels
but what it will be we can only guess
but jessica chastain tweeted a note abt green bein the color of hope ( ! ! ! )
& it sounds like they were LARPin it this time
& charlie h is so tuned in to del toros storytelling now , he wrote his own chara sheet for backstory & got to use almost all of it unchanged
& everyone got input on the editing process
& they filmed in toronto so they cld get as many of the same crew as had worked w them on PR as possible
SO YES THIS IS ANOTHER LINK IN THE MONOMYTH & WILL ILLUMINATE BACKWARDS AS MUCH AS IT IS ILLUMINATED BY THE PAST CHAPTERS
& like Esme & Magrat & Tiffany is associated w bees
the other world is supposedly science fictional but in fact is pure fairyland w animal-people
incl a werewolf supersoldier “legionary” played by the lead of that whitewashed travesty of EAGLE OF THE NINTH not fassbender the other one
who self-identifies as a dog
& his mentor Richard Sharpe / Eddard Stark / Stinger Apini a bee-man
get it - BE(EM)AN
a pune or play on words
but BEE + WOLF = BEOWULF aka BEAR
so yah i said the disarming of Leatherback signalled PACIFIC RIM as BEOWULF fixfic
i wasnt the only one to catch that
but then theres the fact that her evil rivals are all IMMORTAL VAMPIRE ARISTOCRATS FROM SPACE im not the only one to catch that w early reviews invoking Countess Bathory even
& their decor isnt just SPACE MEDIEVAL GOTHIC (right out of the Daz Poser models catalog) its lighted & set to look like EL LABERINTO DEL FAUNO
which makes the reviewers comments about tatum as resembling a muscular mister tumnus super funny
but while the OZ connection is right out there w the wachowskis talkin it up - & mila kunis playin one of the Wicked Witches across from the 1st SPIDERMAN movies Green Goblin Jr aka Harry Osbourne (get it-OSbourne = OZ another pune or play on words for director raimi tryin the name magic thing this time)
it doesnt make sense bc unlike what the wachowskis say its DOROTHY who learns & grows in her quest to fill the shoes of accidental heroic savior w deliberate actions out of her early “meekness” ALSO CALLED BACK TO IN THE OPENING OF ESPINAZO DEL DIABLO by facing a powerful tyrant & fighting to save her friends then insisting on true answers and honest dealing from another powerful leader
Ulysses on the other hand is only older & sadder when he gets home after losing all his crew to Poseidons revenge over them defeatin his son the cyclops -but still the same person when he left Ithaca
but it does confirm my belief that PACIFIC RIM is also TROY fixfic
as much as it like LABERINTO was VENDETTA & STAR WARS saga fixfic
bc the rly critical prior role for kunis
even more than as a witch misguided into villainy & greenness by her evil sister
is as natalie portmans doppelganger in BLACK SWAN
if the direct ripoffs of multiple of Queen Amidalas costumes wasnt clue enf
still im glad to see im not the only one who saw the swan imagery in PACIFIC RIM & tied it all tog
even if the wachowskis are just mockin it all by makin THEIR princess a ttl helpless Damsel to be rescued by rugged white guys in a/ biology=destiny Chosen One pure Disneyfied fairy tale
theres a clincher in the use of the name Abrasax for the vampire royal family
if all the other stuff (plus more i havent even touched like celtic knot & neck tattoos & an Anglo-Russian lost princess w the name of the All-father NOT anastasia which = natasha & MEANS “reborn”, lost wings = ALLEGORY OF THE CHARIOT) wasnt enf
bc thats an old mediterranean gnostic name of the deity and-or an archangelic chimera guardian spirit
& ive been sayin for a long time that the del toro monomyth is Discworld AU or rather multiverse fanfic
but ive been sayin even longer that its neoplatonic gnostic heretical syncretist mystery-miracle plays w a slew of populist /humanist principles as grounding
vs the whole “born elite” destiny thing
which is true of pratchett as well
& its nice to have that confirmed w another salvo that also confirms my Wizards War w visual mirrors theory
guardian angels that are insect ppl lol sad thing is this COULD have been good if they hadnt tried to impose a reactionary narrative on it WE WANT OUR PRINCESSES TO BE THE HEROES TOO NOWDAYS!!!
cannot WAIT for CRIMSON PEAK to see the retort to this & 50 SHADES
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Intimidating sexual tension, brief suicidal ideation
The torture seemed to go on forever. There was no end in sight. No one to help you. No one who even knew where you were. There was only you and the white-hot agony that was so much worse than simple pain. It threaded down into your thoughts, wrenched at your memories, conflagrated your hopes and dreams and left them as piles of ash.
You still didn’t understand what they had done to you. Even as you were dragged back into your cell and dumped on the concrete floor like a garbage sack, you couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. It felt like someone had taken your brain out of your skull, mashed it in their hands like dough, and shoved it back in.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
You awoke with a start, limbs jerking as you opened your eyes to find a bare concrete ceiling above you. While remaining completely still, you took quick stock of yourself: you were tired, thirsty, cold, and your upper right arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Slowly and with great care, you sat up and panned your head to assess your new situation.
You were in a small room of some kind, an isolation cell by the looks of it. A single bulb behind a cage illuminated your stark surroundings. There was barely anything in the way of furnishings, a combination sink/toilet, a thin sleeping mat, and a door made up its entirety. It was steel and had a small square window in the top.
The more you examined the cell, the more convinced you were that you were in an actual prison or some kind of correctional facility. The air was stale, chilly, and carried a sour hint of mold.
You looked down at your arm and winced. You had been stripped of your vest and long-sleeve shirt, leaving you only in your black tank and tac pants. You could see the wound clearly, a nasty gash tacky with dried blood, and while the wound itself had clotted it was clear it had been left untreated.
There was no way to tell how much time had gone by—nor if you were still in New York. You weren’t hungry and your thirst wasn’t enough to convince you that more than a couple of hours had passed. But you had no doubt that HQ would be looking for you by now.
You had reasonable expectations when it came to your chance of survival. Whoever had taken you had also divested you of your radio and cell phone. If they were smart, they would have done so at the scene before taking you away.
No, not they. Him. He was the one who had taken you. The assassin with the metal arm.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Relocate the Kartal family from their house in the Hamptons to a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house. Simple. You had run the scenario a hundred times with other members of your team.
It should have been simple. That’s what you told yourself as you hid Mrs. Kartal and her son behind a rusted tractor, wiping Mr. Kartal’s blood out of your eyes and checking to see how much ammo was left in your P226. You had already run out of magazines for the Glock, spent in vain to try and stop the man who had attacked your convoy.
Not a squad. Not an enemy raid. Your entire team had been killed and the primary escort target had had his brains blown out inches away from your face.
I love how much you love this first chapter, especially because it was from a dream. This entire first chapter is nearly beat for best from a dream I had. And that dream inspired the rest of the story. Even now, I wonder how I wrote all of this the way I did. It still doesn’t seem like I did it
Thank you again, my dear You are giving me the strength and confidence I need to keep going. Keep wanting to try and create. So thank you for that
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
That was all you got. A single cry. A blazing muscle spasm ripped through your body and clenched your chest so tightly you couldn’t breathe, stealing your voice.
You scrabbled at the covers, pushing your head back into the pillow as another shockwave hit your spine. To say it hurt was laughable. It was beyond agony. It was a full-body muscle cramp combined with the feeling of being struck by lightning.
You clenched your teeth to try to breathe, but your chest was frozen and your lungs remained resolutely still.
Somewhere in the distance you heard the doorknob rattle followed by a loud pounding.
You looked out of the corner of your peripheral vision just in time to see the door slam open. Bits of wood split from the frame, but the assassin didn’t slow until he reached your bedside. He leaned over you, his pale blue eyes almost luminescent in the moonlight from the window, his brows dark and furious.
You choked out a noise of fear, staring up at him as panic slammed into your chest and made your heart thunder like a galloping racehorse.
“Breathe.”
His touch was surprisingly gentle as he tipped back your head, holding his palms to either side of your jaw. You couldn’t see him at this angle, but you couldn’t see much of anything. Your vision was beginning to fade.
i love how you write love. instinctual knowing. it is truth. and seeing it between two deeply damaged people - him, from a specific pain he’s known for decades; her, from that same pain she’s only recently just met - it just adds to the depth of it all.
her pain is so vivid - blazing muscle spasm ripped through your body, clenched your chest, you couldn’t breathe - shockwave - feeling of being struck by lightning -
and for her to be somewhat brought back down to earth by him. by his concern. a rattling doorknob and loud pounding. door slams open - bits of wood split from the frame - he leaned over you, his pale blue eyes almost luminescent in the moonlight from the window, his brows dark and furious -
“breathe” - his touch was surprisingly gentle as he tipped back your head, holding his palms to either side of your jaw. “relax. breathe. it’ll pass.” from experience. + “no. look at me.” flat, distant. “look at me, agent williams.” + auditory hallucination, byproduct of a dying brain. + “please open your eyes.” his voice was taut like a wire. sounded afraid. “that’s it,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper. thumb brushed across your cheekbone. “just look at me. and breathe.”
it’s like i can’t say anything here!! you said it all. it’s how she wants him to stay, you know? it’s how he stays. how he anticipates her aftershocks.
this part has always remained one of my biggest favorites, i could recall it without reading: “what did they do to me?” you asked in a small voice. + “nothing that won’t heal,” was his only answer, said into your hair as he pressed his lips against your crown. “i promise.”
the symbol … made something crack within you. it spread like a spider’s web, splintering and crumbling throughout your heart until it finally burst like an ill-maintained dam. seeing them outside of that place, with all these unspoken touches, acting on the instinct to comfort … there is like, devastation in the roots their love grows from.howling.
these touches are taking me the fuck out. a hand moved to the back of your head and his fingers laced through your hair. + it was soothing, safe, and gave you silent permission to finally grieve. + burying your face into his chest and he pulled you in tighter.
comforting and familiar smells in your line of work, but on him, they were alluring and inviting. and it’s also how you write love without saying it. like??
and how pretty is this: closing your eyes, exhausted beyond your ability to resist, you let the tide take you to safe and distant shores.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Brief body horror, discussions of sexual assault, victims of trauma coping in unhealthy ways, intrusive thoughts, psychological trauma (this chapter is a little intense so please take care)
Your first order of business was even more urgent than sleep or food: you desperately needed a hot shower.
When you locked yourself in the bathroom you realized you had forgotten to bring in the first aid kit. After the awkward, uncomfortable conversation you’d just had with the assassin, you decided to search the medicine cabinet instead of venturing back to the living room. Call it cowardice, but you were too exhausted to try and brave the sad look in his blue eyes.
Fortunately enough, you found some bandages in the cabinet that would work for what you needed. You thankfully had brought in a new change of clothing, pilfered from the chest of drawers in the bedroom. Grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, a pair of white socks, and white cotton underwear. Boring but utilitarian. It was the closest thing you could find to sleepwear, and it was definitely warmer than the rags had been wearing.
Your old clothing was so soiled with sweat and blood you didn’t think it would ever come out. That was fine with you—you’d never be able to look at those items of clothing again without remembering.
i like how you carry what happened to her post-escape. i like how you go into detail the physical aftermath - those burns, her hair falling out.jesus.
or, cruel voice inside her head, maybe she wants to trust him because he’s someone worth trusting. >:[ maybe. it’s because it’s love and you should shut the fuck up, forever.
okay, but A jerking awake from a violent nightmare, devastated at the thought of B getting hurt in the process?? we deserve this.
his expression so baffled it was almost endearing.+ those goddamn eyes of his, they seemed even more doe-y and bluer than usual, and jesus, when had they gotten so soft? +domesticity seemed to fit him like a goddamn glove. bucky as a stay at home husband, headcannon confirmed.
and the hot cocoa-unsure and a little bit lost - and how you bring this up again in the interlude-
it reminded you of your own childhood. the parts of it that weren’t terrible, anyway. what kind of life did she have?
“why are you being so kind to me?” ohhmymmgododdddd.because she loves you?? duh??
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Blood, wound care
Word Count: 6.4k
0017 EST, January 12th, 2014
You guided the assassin to the couch after having felt along the wall for the light switch and flicking it on. You tried your best to lower him onto the cushions as gently as possible and not dump him like a sack of potatoes, no matter how tired your arms were. It was difficult; with his tactical suit and the metal arm you guessed he weighed at 250 pounds. Most likely more.
“Easy,” you said when he braced his metal fingers on the edge of the cushions and pain flashed across his face.
He met your eye, that same look of edgy wariness you had seen a few times was there very much still in place. You got the sense he was assessing you, taking your measure, but then his gaze quickly shifted away. His stare went blank and he seemed to sink within himself. Something was going on in there, something you couldn’t see or perhaps even guess at.
Unfortunately, you didn’t have the luxury of keeping your distance, so all you could do was hope he didn’t do to you what he had done to his former allies.
aand we’re back to knowing what time it is. we’re about to re-enter the real world, baby, with our newly acquired existentialism and ptsd from being kidnapped & tortured. >:3
god, i love this trope of a weary, battle-worn A suspiciously allowing B to take care of them. oh my god, inject that into my veins to cure my depression, please. SSRIs? never heard of them. ♀️
look, there’s a lot of things going on. they just barely escaped imprisonment, they’re being hunted down by hydra, poor bucket beans is bleeding out from multiple bullet wounds, they’re going to have to address the weight of what happened at that facility and it’s not going to be particularly easy, but - he unzipped them, and without warning, pulled his pants down his hips. he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH
bucky, roughly grabbing her by the neckline of her jacket, glaring and growling: take them out reader:
you were irritated. even a little scared. you were also undeniably turned on.
this hurts: “i think … they did this to me?” he raised his eyes to meet yours, a pained expression that was disturbing to see. he looked like a lost soul in the wilderness. “i can’t remember,” he added, his eyes trailing down to stare near your shoulder again.
he had dug himself under your skin and seemed intent on staying there. a sister realization bucky had come to grips with, that there was something in her that was in him. i love the parallel, you know?
this, this, this: he was staring at you again, and you were alarmed to see he was on the verge of tears. his voice was soft and edged in horror as he stammered, “you … how can you try to defend my actions? after … after what i did to you?” + when you looked back at him, his eyes were no longer as glassy but his expression was so sad it was almost sweet.
i mean, that is just … perfection, isn’t it? on the verge of tears, voice soft and edged in horror, after … after what i did to you, expression so sad it was almost sweet. oh, god.
she wants to touch him so bad her hand reaches for him without conscious, intentional thought. ♀️ yeah, you’re in love, idiots. you dummies.
✨ a summary of their relationship so far:✨
bucky: *glares at reader* reader: *glares back harder*
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
A blood-curdling scream rent the air, and the plastic cup slipped from your fingertips.
Adrenaline surged through your chest, your body gripping onto raw instinct, wanting to run from the horrific sound. Your training was too ingrained to let you to succumb to that animal terror, so instead of panicking, you switched to crisis mode.
When the sound of gunfire erupted, you dashed to the sink and crouched behind it, making yourself a smaller target. Searching around desperately for anything in reach you could use as a weapon. There was nothing except for your shoelaces. They could be turned into a garrote in a pinch, but you probably needed your boots on your feet more than you needed a weapon.
There was nothing to do but wait. Wait and listen to the screams and gunfire, growing closer, louder, with each second. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. found you? Possibly. But as a general rule, STRIKE didn’t do rescue missions for their operatives. If an agent was captured by the enemy, especially a hostile government, they knew not to expect a risky extraction.
Plus, there usually wasn’t this much screaming when STRIKE raided a compound. Your team used precise infiltrative methods, opting for speed and stealth, not turning the mission into a bloodbath.
Andbloodbath is exactly the word you would use to describe what was happening outside your cell.
you do characterization so well, i’m in tears over it.
like how she immediately starts to work after hearing screaming and gunshots. your training was too ingrained to let you succumb to that animal terror.
i love reading her calculate, assess, strategize. you show so much of how she doesn’t allow herself to be in her body with her emotions, rather somewhat outside of it, operating mechanically.
and how the chaos does nothingto inspire hope in her? she thinks whatever is happening isn’t happening for her, because there usually wasn’t this much screaming when strike raided a compound.
and i like how you detail the desolate, beat-up compound. abandoned,with overhead fluorescent lights dead or dying. spooky. like they’re something dead that has to be hidden, operating in the dark.☺
and … the goreof the scene where she stumbles across corpses. not people, not bodies, corpses. oh my fuck, you write horror so well. i shouldn’t be surprised pikachu about it, i am always in awe of the obvious care and attention that is so easy to see in your work. i know i will walk away holding my heart in my hands after reading anything you post. and branded had some, shall we say, grimmoments.
gunshot wounds, blunt-force trauma, caved-in chests, shattered limbs, bloody concave skulls, one practically torn in half, pulled apart like it had been caught in the claws of a bear.
i love this: the centerpiece of the room was unavoidable, your eye drawn to it like a dread magnet. the chair looked sinister, the metal device above it a hovering, hollow black beetle. it looked no less innocuous than before, and possibly looked even more haunting with the bodies strewn before it.
i also like the element of her not knowing who or even what he is, referring to him as the assassin in her head, not knowing his history, that he’s been a prisoner just as much as she has, only for much, muchlonger.
i like this element of her not knowing that he’s a prisoner just as much as she is. and now that they’re both out of their cells, bucky and the reader are saving each other now, repeatedly, instinctively.
and those hints she keeps getting that something is just not right here. killing a member of her team, born and raised in the cornfields of iowa, not in uniform.
butthis:the assassin was trying to limp his way toward you, his metal hand braced against the hood for support. just like that, the stony wall around your heart crumbled, just a little, and you walked up to him and ducked under his normal arm. without a word, he wrapped it across your shoulders and allowed you to help take the burden of his weight. i’m biting my fist. i’m screaming into my pillow.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Violence, major Winter Soldier feels
Voices, distant, but drawing nearer, roused you from your dreamless sleep. You had a sense you hadn’t been asleep for very long, a half hour maybe, judging by the state of your exhaustion, but you were still surprised to see the assassin hadn’t moved. And neither had his hand.
It remained nestled under the back of your head, warm and solid. You opened your eyes slowly, the world coming into focus a little bit at a time; when it did your eyes snapped immediately to his face. He was watching you even now, expression immutable but comforting in a way. He was becoming a familiar fixture, something for your mind to hold onto.
People crave consistency, Rumlow had told you when describing the psychological effects of imprisonment. It gave them a sense of control and security.
no, cause you capture the utter bitchinessof alexander pierce really well. this could have happened in the movie: “didn’t see the—“ the man cut off abruptly, seemingly speechless. his voice wasn’t smooth and calm anymore. “were you born this incompetent or did you have to work at it? no, don’t answer that,” with how real it seems.
right now, this is my favorite chapter. so are all of the other ones, too. i love, love, love how you take the point of view into bucky’s head.
this part here, intrigues me: what she would eventually become for him, he hadn’t cared. oh?if hydra made plans for her that involved him? so be it.oh??
god i love how she immediately stands out to him. and quite literally, too. she is immediately is registered as different from the rest in his brain. and i love everything for that.
he had felt seen. - so when i was like, huh. wondered where it all started for him. it started here. immediately. …she went limp in his hands. he was more careful with her after that. + he was careful not to hurt her again, but with time even that desire became something else. a wish to make her comfortable, to tend to her wounds and body, and after that it had become a deep need of things he didn’t understand.
in the back of his mind he could hear the screams she had made sitting where he was now. he had listened to them. continued hearing them long after they had stopped. … they had reached down into a place he didn’t know existed and tugged at things he didn’t realize were there.
she piqued his curiosity, her anger had sparked a flame.-even now he could feel the fire of her glare, remembered how it threatened to burn him whenever it was directed his way.
and how he wonders if he might taste her on the rubber mouthpiece. she was sweet and heady. a forbidden well he had pulled from. he would be punished if they found out, he knew that. but he didn’t care. he wanted her more than he feared them.
just to be near her … it felt precipitous. he was on the edge of something.
jesus, jesus: he saw her reaching toward him, touching his jaw, crumbling a barrier that he hadn’t known was there. he held onto that soft expression on her face, remembered the way her fingers felt in his hair. refused to let it slip away.he breathed in her scent and felt her fire in his ribcage. + she’s mine. he wouldn’t let them take her from him.
there was no space for him to exist, not even in his own mind. what little he could take for himself had been in brief, stolen moments. moments with here where he felt something other than empty cold.
the orders may have come from within instead of without, but he would not stop until the objective was complete.
there’s so many lines here. i love all of these parts.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Violence, torture and psychological terror
The door didn’t open until hours later, startling you from a light doze. You almost rolled over, expecting to find the assassin had returned, but no. There were too many footsteps. Voices in German telling you to get up and turn around.
German?
You didn’t respond, though you understood what they were saying well enough. You remained perfectly still, your muscles relaxed and liquid. You could hear them step closer, this time calling out to you in heavily-accented English.
“Stand up. Face the wall.”
You continued to ignore them. Another voice, German again, stated you might be sick. Maybe even be dead.
When one of them touched your arm, you remained limp and unmoving, breathing shallow and slow. Playing possum worked, and one of them lifted you up and dragged you onto your feet, slapping you hard across the face.
You mumbled something intelligible and the man drew nearer, his hot breath on your face. He moved so close that when you slammed your forehead against his, he could do nothing to stop it from happening.
jeeeezzzzus. this one hurts. not gonna lie, this one hurts.
i love how you describe action. does that make sense? i just love how you make things move. it feels real, everything feels gritty and desperate. it sounds like you know how to fight.
all of it vanished as … your being screamed to be allowed to live. + that engulfing, red-hot betrayal. ☝
what’s particularly scary about those treatments is that it eviserates all senses of perception. of herself, where she’s at, time, reality.
and back to what i said earlier, about how he sees something of himself in her, how it’s something he wants to protect. there is such sad goodness in that, man. what the hell.
i love you because you are me, slyvia path. + listen, how your heart beats inside me, wisława szymborska + accept the part of me that is you, alejandra pizarnik.
he always stills & freezes at her touch. + he was a bastard. a heartless, cold, murderous bastard. but he was all that you had.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Mild dubcon, compartmentalization, smut, so much smut
You hadn’t felt someone’s mouth on your neck in a long time, but the sensation was unmistakable even if it was extremely soft. Feather-light and punctuated by tickling puffs of air as he exhaled. Pressing down more firmly, his lips mouthed at your skin.
You couldn’t stop the shiver that reverberated up your spine and you couldn’t hide the goosebumps that covered your arms. His grip had slackened on your wrist and shoulder, but he only moved closer as evident by the body heat you now felt inches away.
When his teeth lightly catch the bottom of your earlobe, your knees nearly buckled as your legs jellified. Shame heated your cheeks, not just for what he was doing, or how you couldn’t deny how good it felt, but by how easily he undid you. Made you malleable and docile and downright goddamn submissive.
It wasn’t you. This wasn’t you. You had to stop this, had to get out before you let this insanity go any further. You had sworn you would fight this time. You promised it wouldn’t happen again. You promised.
in my unhinged era now thanks to this chapter. each time i think i’ve found a new favorite chapter for this story, i move onto the next chapter and i’m like, huh. no, this one’s my favorite. hang on, now this one’s my favorite. but if my heart is sized the way it is to accept multiple forms of love in all kinds of ways, maybe they truly are all my favorite. after all, why not? i deserve it.
the way he graduates to putting his mouth on her. how she is made malleable and docile and downright goddamn submissive.
and then he freezes when she fists at his hair: his mouth next to your ear was the only reason you were able to catch the quiet noise he made. it was soft, almost a whimper.
and then you do this: he looked debauched as he stared up at you, on his knees, his lips pressed against your thigh as he mouthed upward. + he shivers and sighs + he was on his knees, worshipful. brb, howling into the night real quick.
and the resolute, resigned, steadfast way she compartmentalizes at the end. this pack it up + close the lid tight + this one goes too, put it away. she is an agent, through and through, dutifully following what rumlow has taught her as her mentor.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
The harsh walls of your cell were growing smaller, the surface so stark it hurt your eyes to stare for too long. The quiet pressed against your eardrums like an invisible pressure, becoming so unbearable that you would scrape the bottom of your boots against the floor just to break the deafening silence.
You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to acknowledge that his visit—and what he had done to you during it—had eased your torment and made the suffering more bearable. At least, for a short amount of time. Was this some new kind of torture? Give you a respite from the terror and isolation only to make it that much worse when you were left alone?
If that was the case, it was working. Your muscles were tensed into coils and you could feel your heartbeat pounding your chest, thumping like a caged rabbit. You wanted to get up and pace to burn the excess energy, but the part of you that still held onto Rumlow’s teachings told you to wait. Conserve energy, rest, and prepare. Always be prepared.
But the hypervigilance was wearing on you too. As you sat slumped against the wall, your mind began to wander, treading dangerous ground as it desperately searched for something to latch on to. If the assassin was acting under orders, at least you knew where you stood with him. He was your tormentor and you were the imprisoned. He would break you down eventually, using your need for comfort as a weapon against you.
But, what if… what if he was acting alone? If he had come to your cell of his own volition, acting on no authority but his own, that was even more dangerous. It made him unpredictable. Someone with a hidden agenda.
this horror, dread, and violence all pair a little too comfortably for this will they, won’t they thing going on. it makes everything so much moreromantic.
your humanity was a joke in this place; the punchline an unmarked shallow grave. that isart.☝
jesus. i thought the description of him as a cold, merciless, feral beast, as death itself was too much, but this? his stance tensed and withdrawn, he looked like a downtrodden dog who had been beaten one too many times. it somehow pains me more. i ache greatly, deeply.
it’s like he acts more humanthe longer he spends time with her. do you think he would furrow his brows before her, in his day to day?
the way his eyes widen in surprise when she grabs him by his gear. god.there’s something so cute about that. he is taken off guard when she manhandles him roughly.
for how imposing and terrifying he is, i love how softyou make him when it comes to being touched. how he eyes her hand like a weapon, gripping her shoulders more tightly until it almost hurts, trembling fingers and uneven breathing. wary, to confused, to uneasy. dear god.
and the way you purposefully give him a more human description when she unmasks him. gentle, handsome, sorrowful eyes, something soft and sadly sweet.
heartbreakingis a perfect descriptor for this: most startling of all was when his eyes became unfocused, half-lidded, and almost fluttered shut as he actually leaned into your touch. the sadness he is cloaked in: marveling at the way he couldn’t seem to get enough. as if he craved it. needed it. + when your thumb stroked lightly across his cheekbone, he gave a noticeable shiver.
and then: his lips. his LIPS.
my baby is about to become a fully fledged person. he was born out of his skin because of her.god.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
The next time you opened your eyes, you had the sense you hadn’t slept for a full night. Regardless, you felt… better. Your fever had broken, your arm no longer throbbed, and you were alert and clear-headed.
The assassin hadn’t injected you with anything harmful. He had given you a shot of antibiotics.
You pressed your lips tight together as your eyes burned again, shame creeping through you at the pathetic reaction. He had been instructed to keep you alive, that was all. It didn’t mean anything, and it certainly didn’t make up for all of your dead teammates. It didn’t erase Mr. Kartal’s grisly death, or the fact the assassin had brought you here in the first place.
But… his actions didn’t make sense, either. The lab coats had been more than happy to let your wound rot. Or had that been a hallucination? A combination of fever and pain and narcotics? Sometimes you wondered if the torture in and of itself wasn’t a delusion. Nothing in that room felt real.
this chapter makes me want to cackle and rub my hands together. i am going to become the joker, but only for good reasons.
i want so much to know what is going on inside his head. what was the first moment something in him shifted for her? is there conscious thought behind his actions or does he move by instinct? why does he only ever come to her with some sort of disguise?
it was time. the passage of it was like a constant pressure on your thumbnails and eyeballs. it kept you suspended above a pit of vipers. it held you down on a bed of nails. there was no respite to be found from the constant, innumerable seconds that drew out your misery like the grim note of a funeral dirge.
so in response to that fucking masterpiece right there, i found this from a brandedcomment:
knowing what comes later, her prayers and borderline worship of rumlow is particularlysad. they share so much history that she instinctively knows he’s looking for her.
and there’s no way i can come up with anything coherent to say about what happens next.
how he wordlessly says to her, i’m going to stand here until you eat. there is something inthat, there is something tothat. this one quote here: i love you. i want us both to eat well. [from our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks.]
and the way he speaks to her through touch, and the violence and rage she throws back at him. fuck your food and fuck your medicine and fuck your fake-fucking-compassion.
what is he thinking? what is he thinking? for all his rage, all his tragedy, he initiates these touches. what is happening in his mind as he brushes his thumb over her neck? she goes to move, but he tightens his grip on her to keep her in place. what is he thinking?
the peaceful surrender in this: you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, surrendering to the sensations and forgetting where you were. nothing mattered aside from his fingers that were stroking life back into you after you had consigned yourself to a painful, lonely death.
god, i think the world of this. i think the world of you.
he really went to see her, tried to get her to eat by refusing to leave, held her fighting body against his, made her come, and left. what a fucking dork.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
The second time the men come to your cell, your struggles were far weaker than before. You had a suspicion as to why, and it was confirmed by the lab coats as they began to pump drugs into the IV catheter in your hand.
“She has a fever of one-hundred and two.”
“Irrelevant. She’s nearly ready for the procedure.”
“Will she survive it if that wound festers?”
“If the procedure succeeds, she will be able to survive more than that. Proceed.”
“Hail HYDRA.”
The words washed over you without meaning; the narcotics had already hit your bloodstream, and you floated in the euphoria before the pain began, shooting lightning into your skull and down into the roots of your very being.
When next you opened your eyes you were back in your cell, lying on the mat with the echoes of screams in your ears. You couldn’t remember how you got there, and you weren’t sure if the memory of screams were yours or the remnants of a bad dream.
Seeing as how your life had become a nightmare, maybe the answer didn’t matter.
this quiet, unrelenting horror! this inevitability of death and the abandonment of hope!
she’s clinical even in the way she analyzes her deteriorating mental state, like it’s not happening to her.
and the way hydra is good if she lives or succumbs to infection. the way they don’t care if she’s particularly healthy enough to withstand their treatments.
how she falls apart with this: when next you opened your eyes you were back in your cell, lying on the matt with the echoes of screams in your ears. you couldn’t remember how you got there, and you weren’t sure if the memory of screams were yours or the remnants of a bad dream. god, that’s terrifying.
she’s like, not this fucking freak with the metal arm. what are you gonna do, touch my cheek again? breathe unevenly at me? storm out of the room like a moody teenager?
i’m weak for that trope where A hesitantly reaches out for B like they’re reaching towards a feral animal. it’s so romantic.
and he visciously stabs her with a needle in return! god, there’s not understanding social cues, and then there’s brutally jamming a syringe into someone’s thigh.
you knew the signs of mental deteriorating from isolation and torture. you should have seen it coming, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. and yes, maybe a small arrogant part of you had thought you were tough enough to resist the effects of such abuse.
the talent that you have … many thoughts … not all of them coherent … but … they’re all an outpour of love.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Intimidating sexual tension, brief suicidal ideation
The torture seemed to go on forever. There was no end in sight. No one to help you. No one who even knew where you were. There was only you and the white-hot agony that was so much worse than simple pain. It threaded down into your thoughts, wrenched at your memories, conflagrated your hopes and dreams and left them as piles of ash.
You still didn’t understand what they had done to you. Even as you were dragged back into your cell and dumped on the concrete floor like a garbage sack, you couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. It felt like someone had taken your brain out of your skull, mashed it in their hands like dough, and shoved it back in.
it was only you and the white-hot agony. it threaded down into your thoughts, wrenched at your memories, conflagrated your hopes and dreams and left them as piles of ash.whew.
you still didn’t understand what they had done to you. even as you were dragged back into your cell and dumped on the concrete floor like a garbage sack, you couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. it felt like someone had taken your brain out of your skull, mashed it in their hands like dough, and shoved it back in. oh … god. i can’t tell you how pretty that is to me. how perfect.
jesus. i’m not kidding you. every line in this reads like poetry.
you had caught a glimpse of him as they dragged you; he had been watching from the shadows, face obscured by darkness rather than a mask. you could remember seeing his eyes, cold and colorless in the pale light. it was exactly how you imagined the face of death would look like. okay, let’s pause here and re-assess, okay? watching from the shadows, a mask for him all the same. my god. eyes cold + colorless in the pale light. exactly how you imagined the face of death. okay. god.GOD.and also, what if he actually was though? like what if he actually like … was death, you know? like wouldn’t that be so crazy?
look, i’m not done, okay? because you have to know what you did: and yet, when you had passed him in the corridor, you remembered doing … something. what was it? you had said something to him. pled with him. begged. “please…” i love how this is tinged with terror and agony. it’s how her brain is already falling apart. her recall is already damaged. it’s quietly devastating.
even how she comes to the conclusion that shield has a gigantic fucking rat infestation, that’s terrifying. how! do! you! do! this! how is there such purpose for everything! you weave in all kinds of horror elements. i don’t know, i feel like there’s subtleties differentiating terror, fear, and dread. and you bring them in at different times, to different extents, and often all at once. god. i’m shaking my fist, but it’s not out of anger.
and here comes death himself. boy, i fucking tell ya. how she immediatelyis seized by fear. the way you write him in this scene. goggles gone, you wondered if they might have been better than seeing those cold eyes back at you; bordered by black paint, the blue of his irises almost feral, the mask contributing to the impression of a muzzled beast.
god. DAMN. i’m biting my fist. i’m crying my eyes out. i’m writing a will. you need to know. you needto know. a muzzled beast … the way she thinks maybe the eye piece was less terrifying .. black paint around his eyes … looking almost feral … oh.
it was the eyes that made your insides churn with dread. that fear, that terror, that dread, how absolute they all are.
his fucking silenceis … divine.
no, ‘cause he just … he stroked her cheek. he just stroked her cheek. he just … he lightly grazed the path of her tears. as in … where she cried. he just traced it with his fingertips. shockingly gentle, almost tender. + his breathing, a moment ago stable and methodical, was now uneven. strained. it even hitched when you turned your head enough to meet his eye. and that’s when you saw the second startling thing. his pupils were blown large and black … like they actually saw you.
he just … gently, perhaps tenderly … strokes her cheek, in the path of her tears. his breathing goes uneven, strained, and has the good goddamn audacitytohitch. all because she looks him in the eye. and then she sees his pupils are dilated. no. no. because there’s no way a cheek graze ((that followed the path of her tears, might i remind you)) is taking me out like this. ain’t no way. no.
i need to talk about this or else i will burst. i know later he comes in to treat her wounds, and um, do other stuff, but this here? he walks in. she’s only able to get a good kick in before he overpowers her, like she’s an ant trying to fight off the boot of a god. he holds her still … touches her cheek, tracing the path of her tears. breathes unevenly, hitching when she eventually meets his gaze. his pupils dilated with desire, with want. and then he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
he … sees something of himself in her? like, he’s spent all this time being tortured, rearranged, and reassembled, alone. and there she is, being dragged down the same path he was forced on. only he is aware and he knows. he has had no instinct to show true, genuine, non-robotic emotion until her.until this, until now. he knows what that pain feels like and wants to comfort her through it. ugh. ugh. UGH!what hozier song is this?!
reading how he stared at her and touched her, it feels frozen. like everything in the story stops. all those hydra nazis freeze in place. there’s so much gravity, momentum, to that small movement. and how after he slams the door shut, he touches where he touched her. like.
the way you covered this trope - something among the lines of, character A kisses character B’s cheek or something like that and then leaves, and B brings their hand to the place where A touched them. my fucking god.
even the way he storms out of the room is so much to me.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
You awoke with a start, limbs jerking as you opened your eyes to find a bare concrete ceiling above you. While remaining completely still, you took quick stock of yourself: you were tired, thirsty, cold, and your upper right arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Slowly and with great care, you sat up and panned your head to assess your new situation.
You were in a small room of some kind, an isolation cell by the looks of it. A single bulb behind a cage illuminated your stark surroundings. There was barely anything in the way of furnishings, a combination sink/toilet, a thin sleeping mat, and a door made up its entirety. It was steel and had a small square window in the top.
The more you examined the cell, the more convinced you were that you were in an actual prison or some kind of correctional facility. The air was stale, chilly, and carried a sour hint of mold.
You looked down at your arm and winced. You had been stripped of your vest and long-sleeve shirt, leaving you only in your black tank and tac pants. You could see the wound clearly, a nasty gash tacky with dried blood, and while the wound itself had clotted it was clear it had been left untreated.
There was no way to tell how much time had gone by—nor if you were still in New York. You weren’t hungry and your thirst wasn’t enough to convince you that more than a couple of hours had passed. But you had no doubt that HQ would be looking for you by now.
You had reasonable expectations when it came to your chance of survival. Whoever had taken you had also divested you of your radio and cell phone. If they were smart, they would have done so at the scene before taking you away.
No, not they. Him. He was the one who had taken you. The assassin with the metal arm.
i don’t know how many times i can say that i love how you write without it sounding less meaningful each time. but i just truly, truly fucking love how you write. i love every last thing about it. i love how sheassesses.
the utter horrorof this: there were, however, only two reasons he would have spared your life: to pry you for information, or for a hostage exchange. and shield didn’t negotiate with terrorists. every agent going into the field knew that. it was expected that if you were caught behind enemy lines and you couldn’t be extracted, you kept your mouth shut until the bitter end. the last chapter, how i said you write with such knowing. you’re so good with language. and i think that’s why this story, and all of your work, feels so immersive.
look at all these spy words: a bare concrete ceiling; a small room of some kind; a single bulb to illuminate it; bare furnishings; you could see the wound clearly, a nasty gash tacky with dried blood, and while the wound itself had clotted it was clear it had been left untreated; no way to tell how much time had gone by, but the way she deduces from the lack of hunger & thirst it had been no longer than a couple hours; HQ; the winter chill that pervaded the room; caught behind enemy lines; extracted; keep your mouth shut until the bitter end; the way her mind immediately goes into strategizing mode each time she opens her eyes.
shield had access to every sort of intelligence available on the planet. satellite with various imaging filters. access to highway cams. the vehicles themselves would have sent an automatic distress signal as soon as they had been damaged. no doubt your SO would use every resource available to find you. i’m telling you, i’m there right now.
god, and she immediatelykicks ass, disoriented, injured, and all. i get the image of bloodied, gritted teeth. surviving out of spite. fueled by rage.
and truly, if i picked out every last detail that i loved, i would straight up fucking quote this entire chapter ((and all chapters)) word by word. i’m trying not to do that, but you make it hard. i love how you describe this: they pulled you along at a brutal pace, led down corridor after corridor, leading you somewhere else. everything here screams death and inevitability, blankness and nothingness.
this torture room - how you write it the way she analyzes it - matter of factly, seriously - how she clocks item by item manually, on autopilot - each description is infused withhorror. it’s scary. it’s gothic.
this is something else entirely: but the centerpiece of the room was a particular chair. it had restraints along the arm and leg rests, but what drew your eye was the machine behind it. there was a mismatched headpiece hanging above it, its proportions large enough to fit around a human head. just looking at it made you shiver. [just reading this makes Me shiver.] +it was only a piece of metal, but it looked predatory. and hungry.
it was only a piece of metal, but it looked predatory. and hungry. my god. that is such poetry to me, man. it looked predatory. hungry.
you pressed your lips together, not allowing them to tremble as your heart beat frantically in your chest. you tried to remember as many details of their faces as you could on the off-chance you survive long enough for a debriefing. my god. my god. mygod. it is as i said, everything here, infused with horror. not allowing them to tremble. tried to remember as many details of their faces as you could. the off-chance you survived long enough for a debriefing. god. ghostly, how haunting that feels.
am i, like … notsupposed to fixate on this?: then the screaming started. and it took some time, drowning as you were in a haze of electric agony, to realize that the screaming was your own. i mean, holy effing shit, dude. you’ve gotta be kidding me. ain’t no way, man. ain’t no way. jesus.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Relocate the Kartal family from their house in the Hamptons to a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house. Simple. You had run the scenario a hundred times with other members of your team.
It should have been simple. That’s what you told yourself as you hid Mrs. Kartal and her son behind a rusted tractor, wiping Mr. Kartal’s blood out of your eyes and checking to see how much ammo was left in your P226. You had already run out of magazines for the Glock, spent in vain to try and stop the man who had attacked your convoy.
Not a squad. Not an enemy raid. Your entire team had been killed and the primary escort target had had his brains blown out inches away from your face.
i have loved this story for a very, very long time. i’ve thought of it often. i’ve replayed it out in my head before i go to sleep. i have theorized, i have analyzed the text like a bible. i have sat down so many times to write out my love for this story. i’m a criminal for taking so long. i just worry that i won’t be able to convey it all, you know? you have shared something so precious i feel paralyzed that i can’t give you anything worth giving in return.
it’s like you have superpowers. i don’t know what it is. for this story specifically, i get such main character vibes. a strong lead in an indie movie with bits of blood, horror, and action thrown in. jesus, the way you write this. i’m watching an action movie.
the format in which you date it, begin with a straightforward op, relocate the kartal family. everything is backed and organized into neat little boxes. it’s so straightforward it’s practically clinical. it does so much to show the reader’s needfor control - emotionally, professionally. it is how she doesn’tlose her mind and how she stays alive. you always, always speak and write with such purpose. my love.
i am always thrilled to read in-depth, plot-driven pieces like this. the way the author speaks with such knowing,suchtruth.if you told me you were a survivalist or had personal knowledge of guns or weaponry, i would believe you, easily. that would make so much sense in my mind. i can see it in your work, the way in which you write this. i feel so there. i feel imbeddedinto the story. i feel swept off my feet, with how you write.
even though things are very fast paced and everything is quickly, immediately dissolving into unmanageable chaos, you handle it with such even pace. i just feel like everything is so perfect. you have the exact amount of detail needed. you don’t weigh anything down with unnecessary wording, but at the same time you don’t use too little detail. god, it’s like it’s effortless of you. i think that’s so beautiful.
i love how there’s so many things at once. the undercurrent of horrorand the way it bleeds into all the action. the immediate intrigue. oh, your superiors lied to you?oh,we contacted the fbi and not you? shield is notwhat i think it is?
i love this detail of the reader rising to her feet after running out of ammo. that is bad bitch behavior, and we stan. and the way this man does the same thing. ♀️
i don’t know why, i don’t know how to explain it for the life of me, but the way he mirrorsher action is taking me the fuck out.
and so is he braced his rifle against his shoulder and strode toward you as if he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. his stride, the broad set of his shoulders, the way he swaggered that was almost graceful - it was a powerful sort of confidence -
i am eating my fist. like?? i knowwe’re talking about the murder strut. it’s been a lifetime since that godforsaken movie and i still die every time he does it.
oh,oh,andthis:his metal plated arm reflected in the sunlight with a deadly sort of beauty, like the gleam of light on a knife. he was death personified. a deadly sort of beauty, like the gleam of light on a knife. death personified. ☝
his dark goggles giving him the impression of some kind of insectoid alien bearing down on you, inhuman and merciless. you write this so fucking well. and i know this is besides the point, but like? what if he was though??
you shut your eyes. you couldn’t bear to look at him a moment longer. jesus, you give such weight to this. i love that. i love how it reads the way it plays out in her mind. slowly, surreally. a nightmare-scape, choking in dread and inevitability.
here you were, shutting your eyes like a child waiting for the monster under the bed to vanish. oh, man. i tell ya, i tell ya.
the way she fears death and survival equally.
i’ve read this more times than i will ever know. i’ve loved it each time. i’m sorry i take so long. i hope you’re okay. ❤
