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sysmedsaresexist · 8 months ago

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The Big "Is RAMCOA Antisemitic?" Debunk Post

Because I have to stay relevant, here we go

Let's start with a little speech. A bit of positivity.

You know, there is something good to said about this RAMCOA antisemitism discourse. The majority don't seem to be falling for it at all, and many are becoming more educated about the panic, RAMCOA/OEA and its history (the good and the bad) than ever before

RAMCOA/OEA a very real issue that deserves awareness and advocacy, and so far, I've noticed a massive surge in members of the community researching the ISSTD and the OEA sig's work.

It has brought antisemitism into light in a way that hasn't really been talked about on a large scale in system communities, and most don't know ever existed. Many, genuinely, had no idea that the satanic panic was antisemitic in these ways, and it's putting a lot of pieces together and adding a lot of context that'll help us grow and be better people going forward.

It's been really nice seeing such a positive shift to open, educational conversations, with people genuinely wanting to know the truth and unlearn harmful associations.

SAS stands with RAMCOA and OEA survivors.

So let's get into it.

SRA and The Memory Wars, lasting results

SRA started with Michelle Remembers, a book, in 1980. It resulted in thousands of unsubstantiated claims of abuse, daycare hysteria, set CDD research and OEA abuse back decades, affected millions, and to this day conjures images of cloaked figures sacrificing children.

The ISSTD was formed in 1984, amid the panic, with the goal of quickly developing an effective treatment and documenting the disorder as thoroughly as possible. Many mistakes were made. Clinicians aren't immune to societal panics, and lessons were learned the hard way.

I think an important distinction that many have forgotten is that the ISSTD's principal controversy isn't SRA. SRA didn't start or end with the ISSTD.

While the “Satanic Panic” played out in courts and in mass media, the ISSTD entered “The Memory Wars”, and it's this that they're most controversial for. False, implanted, and fostered memories weren't solely related to SRA. It was used to discredit all types of abuse and violence and is still used to this day to silence victims.

By the 1990s, therapists were being sued, licenses were being revoked, and members were fleeing the ISSTD. The False Memory Syndrome Foundation wouldn't be created for another couple of years, but that doesn't mean its founding members weren't already wreaking havoc.

The FMSF would be created in 1992, and their bigger and better attacks on therapists were brutal and persistent. The legal battles would be especially effective at causing therapists to refuse to work with victims of abuse.

Research on ritual abuse, CDDs, and repressed memories came to a grinding halt.

The Satanic Panic eventually fell into relative silence by 1995, but false memories lived on, loud and cruel.

The FMSF would eventually begin to write college textbooks for the next generation of clinicians. It would survive until 2019.

The ISSTD is still trying to regain its membership. It's only recently that they reached 1500, the highest since 1993.

Antisemitism, blood libel, and the satanic panic

If you're confused about how everything is related, I'm going to make it very simple so you grasp the basic idea.

This is not a history lesson.

Blood Libel, or ritual murder, is the idea that Jewish people sacrificed Christian children in religious rituals. Cloaked figures performing rituals and killing children and animals. The same thing you picture when you think of Satanists and rituals.

For those who recognize the connection (racists), this fuels their sentiments and creates a language for them to speak to each other.

It is true, a basic fact, that for many people, Satanists are anyone who doesn't worship the Christian god. Including and especially Jewish people.

SRA and RAMCOA

Depending on who you ask, the connection is either that:

MYTH: the ISSTD originally called their RAMCOA sig (Special Interest Group) the SRA sig. FACT: The RAMCOA sig, one of twelve ISSTD sigs, was created in 2008. There was never any kind of satanic ritual abuse group or association within the ISSTD.

FACT: Ritual abuse, the RA in RAMCOA, still has ties to SRA and brings to mind everything from the panic. ALSO FACT: That's why the ISSTD has renamed it to the OEA sig.

Hopefully we're all on the same page now.

Who's Grey Faction?

Grey Faction is a group of the TST (The Satanic Temple) and is closely related to the FMSF. While the FMSF generally attacked all types of abuse, GF, being related to Satanism, is focused on recovered memories and the (still alive) satanic panic. They believe that all reports of false memories supports satanic panic conspiracy theories. They continue the FMSF's work.

How did we get here?

Well, TST and GF are on reddit. Syscringe is on reddit. And now syscringe is here.

This is what syscringe bot says every time RAMCOA is brought up.

That link goes to Grey Faction.

So is RAMCOA Antisemitic?

Kind of yeah. It was a really good move of the ISSTD to change the name to OEA sig. They talk about the association on their website and stated they wanted to get away from that. No one won the satanic panic. Ritual abuse is real, but its history is tainted.

The discourse around RAMCOA isn't about helping Jewish people. At least, not for the people pushing the false connection that the ISSTD started and continues to maintain the panic to this day.

It's about discrediting the ISSTD and the trauma theory. It's about silencing victims, even Jewish survivors.

It's about ignoring that the ISSTD is making moves in the right direction.

It's about continuing the idea that false memories exist and that trauma memories can't be trusted or taken at face value. It's about downplaying the depravity of abusers and the lengths they'll go to.

I want to finish this post with a letter from a very dear friend. It's not a mod on this blog, simply someone wishing to stay anonymous.

Uplift Jewish Voices

Hello, I’m Noam, an ethnic and religious Jew. I face antisemitism on the daily and deal with having DID. I am not a RAMCOA survivor, but I have a number of friends who are. Today I’m here to talk about the recent discourse going around regarding whether claiming to have RAMCOA experiences is inherently antisemitic. TLDR: no.

Let’s start with understanding why people think this. The term ritual abuse originated from the term satanic ritual abuse and is often associated with the satanic panic. The satanic panic in the 80s and 90s was extreme and yes, did involve a lot of antisemitic conspiracy theories. People would suggest certain symbols or music or groups of people (often vague, or calling it a nationwide conspiracy) were “brainwashing” these “good Christian children” into satanic practices or straying from rigid Christianity. Jews are often stereotyped as Satanic, controlling things, and murdering and cannibalizing children/babies.

Ritual abuse nowadays is often still associated with Satanic cults, but it has a much broader and less accusatory definition in medical/therapeutic spaces. Per Schröder et al. (2018), “ritual abuse occurs when a religious, political, or spiritual authority uses its position of power and the sovereignty to interpret the respective belief system to manipulate and dominate its followers.” Some examples include repeated forced creation of CSEM, religious and other types of cults (yes, including satanic, but also Christian and other religions), and being forced to abuse others (Schröder et al., 2018). Trafficking is also a type of organized abuse. We know these types of abuses happen. But given the history of RA as a term and the harm claims of SRA caused, how does one determine whether something is a conspiracy theory or actual trauma someone experienced?

This page by the European Commission does a good job of talking about identifying conspiracy theories and the harm they do. I won’t recount the whole thing, but here are some basic things they state conspiracy theories have in common: a secret plot, a group of conspirators, unfounded/unreliable evidence, suggesting everything is connected, dividing the world into good people and bad people, and scapegoating certain groups (“Identifying Conspiracy Theories,” 2020).

What makes (many) stories of RAMCOA different from antisemitic conspiracy theories? I’m glad you asked!

• The secret plot in conspiracy theories often involves a large group of people in on some secret changing something about the world or identifying a secret thing that must have happened to lead to unfortunate current events. RAMCOA tends to stem from people or organizations working on a much smaller scale, and the things they are doing mostly affect the person/people experiencing this abuse. Abusers may try to instill in victims a sense that they control a lot about the world and the events that happen within it, but they don’t.

• A big question I like to ask people who spout conspiracy theories is “who is they (the group of conspirators)?” If they is some generic big bad, the government, “elites” (see the AJC’s Translate Hate Glossary section titled “cosmopolitan elite”), or vague and unknown, it’s usually a dogwhistle for Jews. The person themselves may not realize this, but perhaps they never looked further into the evidence behind these accusations and who those being accused are. RAMCOA perpetrators are not vague to their victims. They often have familial ties or other close relationships with them that allow the abusers to gain their victims’ trust (Schröder et al. 2018). The things they do to abuse people and the methods they use are not vague or mysterious actions to achieve an end. There are specific actions and tactics that cults and authority figures use for RAMCOA.

• Whether evidence is unfounded is a harder thing to distinguish, since many survivors of RAMCOA cope using dissociation or have an amount of dissociative amnesia around traumatic events (Shröder 2018). The Europe Commission suggests three main things to check for in regards to evidence about a claim. Who is the author and why are they writing this? Is the source reliable/reputable? Is the tone and style “balanced and fair or sensationalist and one-dimensional?” (“Identifying Conspiracy Theories,” 2020). I also like to think about, especially with regards to abuse survivors, if this is a conspiracy theory, why are they telling me the things they’re telling me? Most RAMCOA survivors I’ve met avoid talking about their trauma and are more focused on figuring out if what they experienced is real and how to heal from it. They are not trying to convince me of something; they are just sharing their story and looking for support.

• RAMCOA victims I’ve talked to, particularly those with DID, also have a more complex view of their abusers or are trying to come to terms with all the bad things someone they admired, trusted, and/or loved did. Conspiracy theorists tend to separate people into conspirators or innocents. There is no middle ground. Healing for a lot of abuse victims involves realizing that good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things; the world is not black and white.

• Scapegoating often involves generalizing and demonizing certain people or groups of people. I find a lack of seeing these “others” as human or wanting anything other than a single, unified goal. It also tends to involve assumptions much more than any personal experience. Anyone with even the slightest connection to a certain ideology is evil. RAMCOA often involves many victims, many of whom understand that other people involved with the organization that hurt them are also victims or have been scared or brainwashed into further perpetuating abuse.

• Also, while satanic panic was largely about going against Christianity, many religious cults are associated with particular sects or communities within Christianity, and they use certain ideologies within the group to deter people from leaving or reporting abuse. Perpetrators claim some sort of punishment or betrayal will be involved in these actions.

Anyways, I want to put emphasis on healing in RAMCOA survivors, where many of the points and purposes of conspiracy theories are antithetical to such a process. People should be allowed to find support, community, and reliable resources about what they have gone through (if it is physically/mentally safe for them to do so). Please do not insist that these traumas aren’t real on the basis of antisemitism from the satanic panic. The survivors I’ve met who talk about parts of their trauma are working hard to come to terms with it themselves and how to cope, and while they may be angry and upset towards their abusers, they do not try to insist to me how evil a group is and that there is a need to take direct action against them. They are just trying to survive.

Now, ritual abuse as a term and the history of its use is something I think needs more discussion. I would love to see more research about how the term evolved within medical/therapeutic spaces and how much of a connection the current definition and use has to antisemitism. But regardless of what we end up calling these types of abuses, there are real examples of them and people who have empirical evidence that they have been through such experiences.

Furthermore, I have a problem with a lot of the claims of antisemitism in relation to RAMCOA coming from goyim (AKA non-Jews). You are not the authority on antisemitism. You do not get to claim to defend us while not speaking to us about the topic. There is so much antisemitism going around, but I find so few people willing to listen to Jews when we talk about the struggles we face. (The SAS mods are an example of exceptions to this. I appreciate the amount I’ve been able to talk to them and how open and supportive they are. I love y’all.) Encouraging hate and disbelief is not helpful to us. What’s helpful is doing your research and learning about how to recognize and combat antisemitism. Take your energy where it’s needed, thank you.

European Commission. (2020, August 12). Identifying conspiracy theories. European Commission. <https://commission.europa.eu/strategy-and-policy/coronavirus-response/fighting-disinformation/identifying-conspiracy-theories_en>

Gerke, J., Fegert, J., Rassenhofer, M., & Fegert, J. M. (2024). Organized sexualized and ritual violence: Results from two representative German samples. Child Abuse & Neglect, 152, 106792. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chiabu.2024.106792

#tw #ramcoa #cdd history #debunk #syscringe and Grey faction sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G #not syscourse #pro syscourse conversation #sas stands with ramcoa and OEA survivors #I'm fucking exhausted goddamn

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maukree · 5 months ago

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Masterpost with all parts Yay, here we are. Part 2 of my *not quite Civil War (616)—The Messiest Divorce in Superhero History specifically (or Civil War, which is mostly actual Civil War just for this part, with very little winteriron)—where everything gets dark, painful, and incredibly shippable for so many ships. Not gonna lie, the whole point of these posts is for me to catch up before I start working on my MTH fill for the 616-canon-heavy winteriron fic, and also to have a convenient resource to link to if MCU-only fans actually choose to read it and want to know what happened in canon versus what is complete bullshit for my writing pleasure. That said—this event is a goldmine for all kinds of ships. So I’ve snagged the juiciest bits for your reading (and thirsting) pleasure because every ship is valid, and I don’t discriminate. (Though, I have my favorites, so they’re gonna stand out.) Now—Tumblr has a 30-image limit per post, and I am not about to split Civil War into multiple parts here, so there is a lot of ground to cover in this. There will be more parts after this, so you get one post for Civil War specially, with as much crammed into it as I can, laid out as simply as possible—for me, and hopefully for you too. P.S. While my cover image lists the overall timeline and which series I discuss in terms of winteriron, Civil War and this part here hits the fan right smack in the middle of Captain America and The Invincible Iron Man (they each get a few issues inside), but there’s a lot of other crap happening too elsewhere. I’m not about to unpack every superhero’s massive tie-in series here in equal detail, but I will mention others before the first BIG fight and how they pertain to Tony, Bucky, Steve and Peter—because, obviously, that’s who we’re here for, and Peter is in the middle... 'cause he is kind of important here. If you want the full, issue-by-issue breakdown of every tie-in, crossover, and emotional kick in the nuts that happened, and you didn’t like the five-hour video I sent you to in Part 1, Marvel’s got you covered with their Complete Guide to the Civil War Event (or which order to read it at, which I am following here, sort of.) *visuals are after each arc/issue covered. Fair warning: this has a lot of food for irondad or starker, but this is canon, so just deal with it. K, click that Read More button, and let’s goooo into “holy shit, why are they like this?”

If you read this part you will know where Tony, Bucky and Steve are just after 616 Civil War is won by one side.

What triggered Civil War for real / Was used as an excuse for registration? Basically, the U.S. government has been side-eyeing caped vigilantes for years—tolerating their sometimes helpful, sometimes catastrophic crime-fighting because, well, they weren’t technically employees. Things had been escalating for a while, but the final straw was when a group of young, reality-TV-era superheroes (The New Warriors) tried to do their thing, and—shocker—it went terribly. Some guy called Nitro (not part of the New Warriors, just a villain doing villain things) exploded next to an elementary school during a fight with that chirpy young group, killing over 600 people, including a lot of kids. There was a national outrage, and nothing gets the government’s attention quite like untrained superhumans causing massive collateral damage in broad daylight that people complain about. Suddenly, Congress, the media, and your grandma had an opinion on whether superheroes should be running around unchecked, which has resulted in the Superhuman Registration Act (SRA or, sometimes SHRA)—which most people are probably more familiar with from the X-Men movies and whatnot (where it was basically “Mutants, go register”), or as the comic book equivalent of the Sokovia Accords in the MCU. The SRA demanded that all superheroes:

Reveal their identities.

Undergo training.

Operate under official oversight.

Which… totally sounded reasonable to some people. But only some people. Sure, about half of the superhero community saw it as necessary law and order, but the other half saw it as the death of personal freedom. And that is how this Marvel Civil War came about in the comics. (They did have a second one waaaay later, but I am not getting into that.) The easy comparison with MCU here is:

Team Pro-Registration (led by Tony).

Team Anti-Registration (led by Steve).

Where it gets VERY different:

It has very little (nothing, but he's around) to do with Bucky.

It's long.

A lot of people are involved.

Fighters on each side die.

It gets twisted and very much downhill from here as far as Tony's bromance with Steve goes (or on the up, depends on how much you like your angst). And, yes, there is a possibility some of the characters would've remained alive (but, like, a lot of Marvel characters die and come back even more often in the comic books) if Tony and Steve had just fucked it out, honestly. The Amazing Spider-Man (1999): Mr. Parker Goes to Washington (#529-531) (Not actually released in 1999—the series itself started in 1999. Marvel’s way of naming shit and constantly renaming it will break your head, I swear.) This specific three-parter covers Tony dragging Peter into the most emotional relationship drama to ever drama. For clarity (and because I think I’m too funny and can’t resist commenting along), while Civil War is gearing up, Tony starts making deeply emotional decisions under the guise of strategy, and his first move is to recruit Peter and make sure he is on his side. Because obviously, if you’re about to start a massively controversial government-backed superhero initiative, the first person you want in your corner is the kid with no money, another tragic backstory, the worst luck in the history of caped crusading, but a very good sense of right and wrong. At this point in the timeline, Peter is living with Tony in the Avenger's tower, Tony is already acting like his chaotic billionaire stepdad while Peter is hitting it off with the Avengers on the daily. For real, Peter even calls him “Dad” once or twice, although mostly, he calls him “boss” and, what, do you know, he is actually his intern. MJ is staying with Peter, but you can ignore that. So what actually happens here relevant to Civil War beginnings: Tony takes Peter to Washington, D.C., where he’s testifying before Congress about superhero accountability. While in D.C., Tony gives Peter a new version of the Iron Spider suit (like two days after another new version ’cause he can’t stop spoiling him or, like, gearing him up for war or something, idk...) and starts laying the groundwork for making him his right-hand. There are a lot of father/son vibes, mentor/protégé vibes, and if you’re reading this through a Starker lens, well—Tony spends a lot of time complimenting Peter, and putting a hell of a lot of emotional weight on his presence.

Fact: Tony genuinely cares about Peter in here (not looking at it through starker lens right now, trying to think winteriron long game here), but he’s also desperate for allies as the political pressure builds. Because Peter is not just a good boy for Tony but good in general, he is clearly conflicted from the beginning about the government stepping in to control superheroes, but Tony reassures him that it’s the right thing to do and that he is actually working on stalling it and making sure it stays under control (he is being hella shady). Peter also trusts Tony implicitly (big mistake, buddy), and because this is the road to Civil War and not just Fun Congressional Trips With Tony and Pete, we also get some early signs of how badly this is going to go for everyone involved. So, Peter backs Tony up (as Peter, hiding his identity and later as Spider-Man, refusing to reveal his identity at the meeting), showing loyalty to Tony despite his own lingering doubts. This whole arc is really about Tony starting to make moves to secure the Pro-Registration side, and Peter—bless him—doesn’t fully grasp what he’s getting into yet. This is an awesome arc to read for anyone who likes Tony and Peter in any capacity, but it’s so clear that Tony doesn’t just care about Peter here—he needs him. He is also the guy who will, very soon, break Peter’s heart, and it’s very gutting. Like, they kick the whole event off with this, and you can feel your heart bleed in advance. Why this Matters for Civil War: Tony starts Civil War with Peter at his side, which will make it all the more painful when it inevitably falls apart. Peter’s trust in Tony is absolute at this point, and that will change—violently. Tony also secretly hires a bad guy to attack them in D.C. to make a point, and this should really be one of the many signs on how seriously Tony's starting here from the very beginning.

In Fantastic Four #536-537, Thor’s hammer crash-lands on Earth. This is a big deal because, at this point, Thor is 'not around', but everyone is trying to get their hands on his nutcracker. Naturally, Doctor Doom shows up, because if something cool falls from the sky, he’s contractually obligated to try and steal it. The reason the hammer is important is because Reed Richards is around for this, so while he’s not fully immersed in Civil War beginnings yet, he’s about to be. Also, Thor and his hammer specifically play a massive part in Civil War (stick a pin in that mental note). Doom doesn’t get the hammer, obviously, it just chills there because nobody can lift it. Following the Fantastic Four issues (but also technically happening before them—just go with it), we have New Avengers: Illuminati (2006) #1, which is basically a bunch of rich, powerful men sitting in a room and making decisions that will screw over everyone else. This issue gives us the Illuminati’s response to the SRA, aka a lot of self-important posturing. The Illuminati (Tony, Reed Richards, Namor, Doctor Strange, Black Bolt, and Charles Xavier) gather to discuss how this whole registration thing is about to go down. And—shocker—they do not agree. Everyone except Reed and Tony, who tend to agree on more things than people give them credit for, thinks that the SRA is a massive disaster waiting to happen. T'Challa is there too, and while he loves being complemented on how pretty his country is, he still tells them to fuck off. Politely. Namor flips off Tony too and nearly drowns him. It's a cool action sequence. So, nothing too exciting, but good to know. That said, this is side content I don’t personally care about, but will splash in here and there for basic understanding as needed, and not spend image limit on it (unless it extra cool).

Civil War (2006) #1 This is where things aren’t just leading to the breakup of Tony and Steve—this is where everything fully hits the fan. I’ve already covered the tragedy and the public outrage/last trigger for SRA, but let’s talk about a lovely parallel happening in the aftermath. During the funeral for the folks who died, Tony gets spit on. A grieving mother blames him personally for the deaths of all those children, since he's kinda bankrolling Avengers and stuff, and while Tony was not even remotely involved in this paticular Nitro-exploding and killing kids mess—just the cleanup—he takes it HARD. (Yeah, remember how badly he took everything in the movies? It's worse in the comics, and the woman is aggressive about it.) And regardless of whether it’s comic books or movies, if there’s one thing Tony cannot handle, it’s being told that his inaction led to innocent people dying. This is where his shady, kind-of-sorta “leaning” into supporting registration cements itself into a full send. Unfortunately for both sides of this war, Fury is nowhere to be found to smack some sense into people, because he pissed off the U.S. government (again) and is currently persona non grata. So instead, Maria Hill is running S.H.I.E.L.D, calls in Steve for a little chat, while a bunch of other heroes are off in various places having their “Should we let the government own our asses?” powwows. Hill, naturally, expects Steve to be the poster boy for the Superhuman Registration Act, because, you know, Captain America = America, right? Big mistake. Huge. I don’t know if it’s the way she talks to him in her “I’m in charge now, shut up and do what I say” tone, or the fact that she basically says, “Hey, so here’s the deal—there’s a new law coming down. You’re going to help us enforce it, and we’re going to use S.H.I.E.L.D. to make sure every superhero signs up. Cool? Cool.” Either way, Steve's response is HELL NO. Hill, in her usual charming manner, reacts to being blown off by trying to arrest him. Which is hilarious. Steve then proceeds to beat the crap out of some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, escape the Helicarrier, and go underground. But not to hang out with Fury who pops up at a later stage. Just underground, officially becoming the face of the Anti-Registration movement. Now, I’m probably not being fair to Hill (I actually do like her), but I am also Switzerland when it comes to comic book Civil War (and MCU Civil War), because both Tony and Steve are being absolute fucking idiots about literally everything in either canon. Frankly, Bucky is the only smart one when this takes place, and mostly 'cause he’s nowhere to be seen yet after ghosting Steve in London. He’s out there somewhere, probably drinking whiskey in a safe house, brooding about his past crimes, cleaning his guns, and for now busy NOT giving a single fuck about what's going on. While the love of his life that he hasn’t met yet (reminder: this is a winteriron timeline) is going out of his way to become the most hated man in the superhero community. Sad.

She-Hulk (2005) #8 is mostly a pointless tie-in to Civil War in the context of what I am trying to do here, but we do get a peek at Tony’s methods and how he’s running his “Collect ’Em All” campaign for Pro-Registration allies. Jennifer Walters (She-Hulk), has a bunch of things going on somewhat related to the main event, but the only one you need to know here is that Tony makes an appearance to give her information she needs for a case she is working on—“for free, not asking for anything, no strings attached” of course (which, lol, sure, Tony). This is a good look at how Tony operates. He’s not exactly strong-arming people right away, but you’d have to be blind not to pick up on the “Pick a side or get picked for one” vibes. In general, his methods vary through the Civil War, but you have to give it to him, he is very creative and approaches each person in a wickedly unique way. Crafty. He's crafty. In Wolverine (2003) #42, Logan is seen catching some heat and getting the “You’re not welcome here anymore” treatment from randoms, demonstrating how the baseline folks are reacting to what’s going on (although, when does he not get this heat, honestly?). He gets into a few debates with fellow supers about how the SRA is giving Nazi vibes, all while side-eyeing the Sentinel parked outside the X-Mansion pretending to be a lawn ornament and suspecting it’s not actually there for their “safety”. Wolverine isn’t my favorite in general, but he slaps in this, because instead of sitting around and yapping about whose side he’s on, he’s one of the few people actually making sense and decides that Nitro—the asshole who kickstarted this and exploded all over the place, killing all the people—hasn’t been rolled over by an avenging tank yet and it should probably be done. Right? The man has a point. Avengers. Tony tells him to drop it because “we have bigger problems”, but Logan is like “Yeah, nah” and sets off on a mission to gut Nitro with a fork (or, well, six of them), since someone here has priorities and actually takes being an Avenger (which he has been for a few months only tbh) seriously. I am not gonna talk about Wolverine much after this, so feel free to hunt down his issues on your own.

Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #532 This is one of my favorite issues, honestly, because this is the moment Tony asks Peter for everything, and Peter realizes what his loyalty to Tony actually means. In short, they visit the White House together (Tony brings him along to all the cool places, as you can see), and Peter’s life as he knows it gets irreversibly fed. This issue is a massive turning point because Tony wants a lot. And I mean, a lot. Up until this point, every time Spider-Man’s identity has been revealed, it’s been because a villain unmasked him—never voluntarily. But now, with the SRA officially getting signed by the president, the rules are clear: If you don’t register, you and your entire family become fugitives. Your assets will be confiscated, your safety will be gone, your life will be over, etc. AND if you do sign up, you might also have to snitch on others and hunt them down. Like… tough. Very tough. Tony, being the dramatic bastard that he is, casually admits to the President that he is Iron Man right there in the Oval Office, while Peter is completely missing this historic moment because he’s looking for a bathroom, checking out Secret Service agents, and admiring priceless art. (I respect his priorities.) Then comes the Big Ask. Tony wants Peter to do the same—to stand beside him and publicly reveal that he is Spider-Man to the world. Peter, reasonably, is not down for this plan at all initially, but Tony, ever the master manipulator with a heart, leaves Peter with a choice. (Sort of. Which is really no choice at all, if you think about it, since, if Peter refuses, his entire life crumbles.) MJ and Aunt May (especially May) help him process the decision, and while they ultimately support him, Peter himself is still torn right up until the last second. Even when he’s about to go to Tony with a YES, he still considers running. He even makes the arrangements to run, but doesn’t. The issue ends with Tony and Peter standing side by side at a podium, about to make this announcement. This issue slaps for both irondad and starker, honestly.

Civil War: Front Line (2006) #1 While superheroes are busy picking sides, Front Line follows the journalists stuck in the middle, trying to cover this mess—specifically Ben Urich (Daily Bugle, professional shit-stirrer) and Sally Floyd (indie journalist, professional snarker). The two of them are trying to make sense of the SRA fallout, tracking how the government is spinning the Stamford disaster (all those dead kids). In the same issue, Speedball—one of the good guys who accidentally got a school full of kids blown up when he was fighting Nitro—gets arrested, which is awkward as hell and also the first time on the page where someone flashes their S.H.I.E.L.D. badge to start arrests, signaling that things are starting to get really serious. Speedball has a VERY bad time after his arrest and is often used to remind us all that the places where supers who didn't fall in line go are not a spa. At all. Since this is essentially a press room issue, it ends with the reveal of Tony’s identity—that same press conference where we last left him with Peter. And LOL, DUDE, you do not begin this shit with “Hello. I am Tony Stark, and I am an alcoholic.” This. Is. What. He. Says. YES. While Peter is next to him, shaking in his boots and waiting for his very private life get gutted into pieces to support Tony's agenda.

Civil War (2006) #2 Following the first arrest, things are properly rolling downhill now. More arrests, the first betrayals, and the first real punches are about to happen. Tony, still fully committed to the government’s golden boy arc, is working with S.H.I.E.L.D. to form his superhero task force to hunt down the noncompliant capes. Steve has been AWOL since flipping off Hill but there is a resistance going on. I mean… it sounds good, right? For now, Tony looks like a total dick, and Steve is the hero. As a note, however, Tony is not being a complete blind asshole here, and does struggle with hoping they are doing the right thing just before SRA officially becomes law. Because comics don’t release in a neat timeline, the end of this issue is also where we get some lovely art of Peter unmasking during that press conference (the art shifts between comics, enjoy it and deal with it).

At this point, Civil War is fully spiraling, and the “oh shit, this is getting worse” moments are stacking up. In Thunderbolts (2006) #103, Tony and his team sign up the Thunderbolts—a group of villains-turned-government-enforcers (not to be confused with the MCU version, and no, Bucky is not here yet). And what is their job is to hunt down villain holdouts and then recruiting them to hunt down more holdouts. Yes, the plan is literally “let’s get criminals to enforce the law.” Things are just getting plain weird and scary and in Civil War: Front Line (2006) #2, the press and civilians are starting to get real nervous about how Tony is taking down people who used to be on the side of good with very little prejudice for not complying. Essentially, the whole “this is about protecting people” argument is starting to look flimsy AF when actual normal people are watching buildings collapse and their heroes get thrown into Superhero Guantanamo. Nobody is having a good time at this stage, but, to lighten the mood, Peter gets fired from the Daily Bugle via headline: “YOU’RE FIRED!”

New Avengers (2004) #21 is where we properly get into Steve’s headspace, and IT IS HILARIOUS. This issue is basically Steve being alone and sad after flipping off Maria Hill and instantly regretting everything, including his own existence. He angsts for most of it, because of course he does, and at some point, Bucky makes a 0.5-second flashback appearance, because it wouldn’t be a Steve issue if he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself and reminiscing about people he’s lost. The vibe here is “I should draw my feelings or write a book” (multiple panels on him trying to do that), but instead of actually dealing with his trauma of being a fugitive, which he is very upset about, he just… keeps brooding. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. sends Dum Dum Dugan to bring Steve in, and that’s when the paranoia kicks in. Suddenly, Steve is feeling betrayal from all angles (fair), and even Falcon catches some suspicion, even though they are best buds in this, since Bucky is out there gallivanting somewhere, not getting involved yet. After Steve and Falcon reunite, they set off on a noble quest titled: “Let’s Make Civil War About Peter Parker, Because He’s the First Pick for Everyone.” They gently stalk Peter to see if he’d be down to join Team Cap, but they are very late. Steve is devastated, because Peter once called him cute, and now Peter is already firmly on Tony’s side, kinda-sorta-but-actually-yes. And if that wasn’t enough betrayal for one issue, Hank Pym tries to help S.H.I.E.L.D. to arrest Cap, which really just solidifies the whole “Steve is having the worst week of his life” situation. Maybe if Steve had actually talked to Peter instead of stalking him, Peter would have called him cute again, and Civil War would have ended right there, since our sunshine babydoll can make everyone see light. But alas.

As you probably picked up on already, Peter is right smack in the middle of this, as mentioned about 10,000 times. In Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #533, they fully cover how much his life went to absolute shit after that press conference. It wasn’t just getting fired. Everyone wants a piece of him now. Some people want to kill him, a lot of people want to fuck him, and the internet is absolutely losing its collective mind. (For real—his unmasking breaks the internet, including the porn sites. FACTS.) At the same time, Peter is deeply uneasy about everything, and Tony is “comforting” him while simultaneously sharpening his betrayal knife. The same knife where Tony does not ASK Peter if he wants to be part of his superhero-hunting strike force and instead, he just signs him up publicly without permission. Peter, already on his WTF is going on subplot, doesn’t even get time to process any of this properly before Tony cranks the drama to 11, piling on on top of his little 'favor' to reveal his identity and says: “Hold my beer, meet your new teammates, and get ready—because the dying is about to fucking start tomorrow.” Whelp.

Things don’t actually escalate to full-on hero-on-hero-we-give-a-crap-about murder aka THE BIG WTF MOMENT just yet (patience), but people are getting hurt just for trying to not pick a side, and crime is skyrocketing because, shockingly, when heroes are too busy planning on punching each other, villains thrive. In Fantastic Four (1998) #538 Johnny is in a coma because a mob beat him within an inch of his life just for existing as a super, the Fantastic Four are already crumbling and even Reed’s own family thinks he’s being a dick. (And they are correct.) He is so firmly on Tony’s side that it’s almost embarrassing, and I suspect some consensual touching is involved to be this stupidly on board with Tony, but I digress here too, since I don’t even know if this is a ship. There’s some setup happening for later events, but we’re not going Mariana Trench deep here, so let’s move on. Oh, someone does pick up Thor’s hammer. I wonder who that is. Over in Civil War: Front Line (2006) #3, the press is still deep in the trenches, and there is a lot of talking happening. Everyone is talking. Some folks are being interviewed. Nobody is doing shit. It's getting... boring. It's also getting very confusing.

BUT.

We are FINALLY, at least in this ‘brief’ (ah, who the fuck am I kidding here) recap, at the stage where I am mentally prepared to talk about The Great Civil War Standoff (aka, Please, Just Start Punching Already) and promptly skip to HOLY FUCK NOT THIS MUCH PUNCHING, boooooys, what are you doing??? (I rock myself in the corner.) As mentioned, the whole thing sorta stalls while each side is staring at each other with deep, unspoken yearning, waiting for the BIG fight, while smaller fights start breaking out all over the place. And because event comics are an actual nightmare, I am going to stop talking about the tie-ins here. I’ve set the scene, now just assume there’s a TON of random skirmishes happening, Cap and Spider-Man have already thrown hands (yo, this pretends to be a winteriron timeline, go look for your shippy business elsewhere, I am hungry), a bunch of unimportant extras are getting hurt or worse, and at this point, it’s just Tony vs. Steve and their twisted moral compasses playing an extremely violent game of chicken. I know, I know—I am taking a big skip after I just dropped an obscene amount of lore on you. But listen. Event tie-ins, and I cannot state it enough, are so messy and out of order while… being in order, sorta. You get to one good bit, and then Marvel chucks another 2,000 issues between you and the next good bit, and suddenly, you’re sitting there, waiting for the cliffhanger to be explained while trying to remember why the hell you should care what Quicksilver was doing five minutes before it happened and why you can’t just skip ahead to the yummy shit. Headache material, honestly. So, anyway. The scene has been set. Yay. Civil War is in progress. What we know now and what I am desperately trying to remember here:

Bucky is still in the wind.

Steve’s resistance is being annoying and resisting, but occasionally making sense, gaining traction, and also getting innocent people hurt left and right.

Tony is entering his “I am a very scary man” era and is also getting people hurt left and right, both physically and emotionally.

Peter is still with Tony but is having a minor existential crisis every five minutes on the account of emotional hurt, and barely any other Marvel issue in this timeline doesn't have an opinion on why he is still with Tony, is he sucking his dick or what, 'thought he was the good guy'/'ah yeah, this is why Tony needed him', etc.

The X-Men are staying out of it, mostly, because they’ve seen this movie before.

Deadpool and Cable, as well as about a gazillion other supers, have their own shit going on, but I refuse to get into that.

The Thunderbolts are being shady, surprise surprise, and they only get an honorable mention here ‘cause I’ve mentioned them earlier to demonstrate Tony’s spiral into being not just a bit of an asshole but very much an asshole.

Reed is so into Tony that he’s about to do something crazy. (I don’t even know if the touching is consensual at this point, since he is absolutely whipped by Tony, and it stinks of Stockholm syndrome.) So, now that we have decided on where we are and had a cup of tea/smoke, let’s have a look at the actual Civil War issues as they proceed, Captain America Civil War issues and Iron Man issues, skip a bunch of other important shit after, but ultimately, get to where we need to be before Part 3 of me posting (some other day) because I want to talk about Tony and Bucky and not about Civil War.

Civil War (2006) #3 Alright, we are finally here, because Civil War #3 is where shit gets real. Tony, being the tactical genius and emotionally constipated mess that he is, decides that it’s time to spring a trap on Team Cap. He and his Pro-Reg team set up a fake distress call because Steve is Steve, and if there’s even the slightest chance someone needs saving, he’s gonna show up. Boom. Steve does, of course, and Steve and his Underground Resistance walk straight into it. This finally gives us the most tense superhero standoff so far, with S.H.I.E.L.D. hovering overhead, a ton of supers on both sides locked, loaded, and ready to throw hands, and Peter right in the middle, not knowing how the fuck he got stuck with this lot. Tony, to his credit, tries to be the adult here. He actually reaches out, extends an olive branch, and tries to talk some sense into Steve before this escalates into full-out war (okay, okay, he tells him to chill the fuck out and comply, in slightly different words, but there is an actual amnesty Tony has worked out if Steve goes willingly, so he did try). Steve, being the absolute icon of stubbornness that he is, nods. Agrees to talk, at least. And immediately tries to take Tony down using some sneaky tech. Which gives us Tony vs. Steve, and it is GLORIOUS. These two beat the absolute crap out of each other, while everyone else on their respective teams also starts brawling (dozens/hundreds), with caped bodies flying, punches being thrown, and Peter still mostly blinking, but also fighting, while being upset that he failed to mediate between his two extremely stupid super dads and is not enjoying the whole “exhausted child of divorce” role they’ve been trying to pin on him. The fight between Tony and Steve is brutal, but Tony actually has an edge, since he’s Extremis-enhanced, a tech genius, years ahead in strategy, bla-bla-bla—so Steve is struggling. It goes on for a while, this fight, and then, the cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers. Because Thor (codename “Lightning”—this is important) shows up to backup Team Tony. Which shouldn’t be a big deal, right? We suspected it, since hammer and all, but... christ.

Civil War #4 is where we go from “Oh shit” to “OH FUCK NO.” The Thor that shows up at the end of Civil War #3 is not… actually Thor? Only in comic books, folks, since he’s a clone that Tony, Reed, and Hank Pym cooked up in a lab. While Team Cap is a bit shook, (they take Thor being a god of thunder seriously, he’s also been presumed dead for ages), Tony is trying to get Steve to give up, but Steve is having none of it. It seems largely (ha!) in favor of Team Tony right now, until Goliath (a massive giant person, can shrink down, used to be buddies with Thor, actually) shows up for Team Cap and Thor… kills the fuck out of his nice buddy, making everyone, Tony included, freeze in a “what the actual fuck just happened?” terror, since innocents getting hurt and extras getting hurt are sorta… whatever, but this is one of their own, technically, biting it. Team Cap calls for a retreat, very shook, and Reed’s Sue Storm is the first important superhero to straight-up bail on the Pro-Registration side right this moment because she is DONE with this bullshit and with Reed, who has been such an asshole to Fantastic Four, honestly—not giving a crap about Johnny being in a coma and possibly (at the very least emotionally) cheating on her with Tony. Sue is so done that she shields Team Cap long enough for them to get away, and after the fight writes Reed a dramatic “I’m leaving you, please feed yourself, there’s oily fish” note, and takes Johnny (who is no longer in a coma, yay!) with her to fight the good fight, or a fight, as long as it's not on Reed's side. And on both sides, folks on the sideline are starting to really question leadership and what kind of fight it really is. Peter is actually asking, “Wait… are we the baddies?” having massive doubts about Tony, and Steve doesn’t seem to give a shit how many of his friends get hurt, and it’s all very fucking gutting and not even a little funny. In general, this looks bad for both Steve and Tony, because Steve is throwing his side against Tony’s like cannon fodder and doesn’t seem to listen to anyone’s opinions on the fact that amnesty is at least worth discussing at this point, and Tony is after causing massive (ha!) death with a faulty clone, so a lot of superheroes are—if not outright bailing and changing sides now—at least considering it. Tony actually pays for Goliath’s funeral, since he was a cool guy and didn’t shrink down after dying. Had to buy him a massive amount of plots because, well… giant. Has a gutting interaction with his widow that tries to remind him what Tony is doing this for to begin with. For me this is a very important issue for Tony's character in this. He pays for Goliath’s funeral, because that’s who Tony is—he genuinely does care. But instead of acknowledging that this is the moment to stop, to rethink, to pull back, he keeps going, because, sadly, caring doesn’t stop him from marching forward and getting deeper and deeper into this.

Captain America (2004) #22 – The One Where Steve Gets Laid (and Sharon Gets Therapy for related reasons)

While Tony and Steve are busy emotionally wrecking each other on a public stage, we take a brief (very) detour into the mess that is Steve Rogers’ love life. Hill, who has been on a power trip ever since Fury went underground, decides that since Steve is still out there resisting like a stubborn bastard, someone needs to bring him in. And who better than his kinda-ex, kinda-current, definitely-in-love-with-him S.H.I.E.L.D. agent girlfriend?

Sharon is not thrilled because she’s really not here for the double standards. Like, Tony liaises (👀) with half of the superhero community, according to her, and the better half of S.H.I.E.L.D and nobody gives him shit, but the moment she has a little love crisis and starts questioning where her loyalty actually lies, suddenly, it’s a whole thing.

But fine. Mission accepted.

Sharon sets out to “bring Steve in”—by which I mean she tracks him down, immediately bangs him, and then quotes dead presidents at him in the post-coital glow. And because it's also Steve's love language, he also starts quoting dead presidents back. (If you’ve ever wondered what Steve’s pillow talk is like, now you know.)

Now, in case you were still wondering whether Sharon is truly down bad for Steve, let’s talk about how she sabotaged her own mission by giving the strike team (cape-killers) the wrong address. On purpose. So she could a) bang Steve and b) display her undying passion for those dead president quotes.

And this is why Sharon is in therapy. Because, as it turns out, this is how S.H.I.E.L.D. traditionally deals with traitors.

For those who remember what I talked about in Part 1 of this pre-civil war, here is something: Red Skull and Lukin are still out there, watching all of this unfold like it’s their personal Netflix binge, and they are THRIVING. They love that the heroes who should be stopping them are too busy punching each other instead. And because they are absolute dickheads, they are also actively manipulating Sharon’s emotions to make her feelings for Steve even stronger.

(Which explains the banging. Though, let’s be honest—she was into it.)

Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #535 (and half of the next Spider-Man-specific issue, sorta) – The One Where Tony Officially Breaks Peter’s Heart (And Ours) Alright, kids, this is it, and you should be thankful I made you crack a smile over dead presidents (hopefully), because this is crying-level shit.

This is where Peter starts realizing that maybe, just maybe, signing up with Tony was a colossal fucking mistake— and not just sorta feeling it.

Tony, still deeply entrenched in his “I Am the Government Now” phase, still has a soft spot for Peter (awww, tragic) and when Peter demands to see where the prisoners he is bringing in and not loving it are kept, Tony decides that it’s time to give Peter the full tour of the Negative Zone prison (a very dodgy place, tbh).

And our science nerd, all-around good guy, man with a conscience—takes one look at the absolute nightmare Tony has built and goes, “Wait. What the actual fuck is this? You can't be serious.” Tony: “Oh, yeah, this? This is where we’re locking up heroes who don’t register. Indefinitely. Without trial. In a literal alternate dimension, so no lawyer can ever get them out.” Peter, blinking hard, possibly resisting the urge to throw up: “…Excuse me?” Peter tries to confront Tony about it, he does, but very quickly catches on that Tony is not above implying he can do the same to him. Which is… whelp.

The whole conversation goes something like this, if you want a slightly longer version (see visuals for the full one): Peter: “Hey, Tony, quick question—what the fuck?” Tony: “Ah, Peter, my boy, don’t worry about it, this is for the greater good.” Peter: “The greater good? Again, what the fuck?” Tony: “You’re being dramatic.” Peter: “Am I? Am I though?” Tony: “Peter…” Peter: “Dad?” (happens) Tony promptly tries to ship Peter off on some other business to get him to cool off, but Peter is finally on board with the fact that this man has cracked, and he no longer feels safe around him. He doesn't even trusts MJ and Aunt May with Tony anymore (threats have been made) and tries to take them and go on the run. And then… He and Tony end up exchanging punches. God, it’s so bad and upsetting, you have no idea. I have no jokes for this, and ship it, don’t ship it, but this is the ultimate betrayal on Tony’s part. Peter is falling apart after, barely escaping, not knowing where to go, and Tony… is also feeling heartbroken, equally as gutted. I’m gonna leave this here for now, since we need to go into some other issues before we continue with this plotline. But you get me, yes? I need tissues when I think about this.

Captain America (2004) #23 - BUCKY!

Alright, everyone, take a deep breath. We are finally getting to the Bucky part of this winteriron timeline.

Bucky is officially entering the chat, and he is looking DAMN FINE while doing it, got a new hair-dew + arm and everything. He also has a lot of feelings while breaking into a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility to pull some spy shit for Fury, because of course he is, and I am devastated I am running out of image limit here soon.

He’s absolutely judging Steve for leading a resistance movement and somehow not inviting him... and sorta doing it the way he's doing it.

He’s also side-eyeing Tony for being a government stooge, even though that’s neither here nor there, since they don’t actually know each other at all (yet), but awareness is awareness, and it still doesn’t stop him from forming an opinion.

Bucky is, in fact, just generally pissed. And sexy. Always sexy. But the best part—and why Bucky really should be shaking hands with Peter here (another shoutout to winterspider)—is that Bucky is watching Steve and Tony’s breakup in real-time and judging both of them.

His basic thoughts on the matter boil down to “Wow, I left you two alone for five minutes, and this is what happens?” since while Steve and Tony are out here making Civil War everyone’s problem, Bucky is off-screen, forced into being hot and competent, actually doing something productive by hunting real villains.

He has zero actual desire to get involved in the war itself, though he does seem to be more pro-Steve, obviously, and is way more concerned about Red Skull and Lukin than he is about whatever the hell Steve and Tony are doing.

Speaking of villains, Red Skull, who we find out is using Doom’s tech but not actually working with him, is under the impression that the whole Civil War was his big, evil, successful plan. (It wasn’t, everyone contributed, but let’s humor him.)

On the slightly more angsty side—because Bucky never misses an opportunity for angst, picked it up from Steve—he does blame himself a little bit for Civil War, since some of the shit he did when he first got defrosted was cited as part of the long-ass list of “Why the SRA Needs to Exist.” Not that he’s spiraling over it, but he’s self-aware enough to recognize he helped fuel the fire. But mostly, he’s doing what Bucky kicks ass at—being hot in shadows, judging everyone, avoiding Steve’s nonsense, avoiding Tony’s nonsense, and handling actual problems. God, I want his babies.

Civil War (2006) #5

Where we swing back to Tony being a massive dick about almost everything—except for the fact that he loves Peter, one way or another.

At this point, they are sorta in the process of arguing/fighting (there is some timeline overlap), Peter is trying to run away from him, and when S.H.I.E.L.D. is about to take it too far, Tony absolutely panics because he cannot see Peter hurt.

But Peter is now technically a fugitive, and Tony’s side has recruited some deeply unhinged people, so it’s open season on Spidey, with very specific instructions that Peter is to be brought in alive and unharmed—no matter what.

That would have been great… except Peter is now running on pure panic and heartbreak, immediately realizes he is completely fucked, ends up in a stinky sewer, and gets his ass kicked into next week.

He almost dies but gets saved by Punisher of all people, who promptly brings him to Steve and the Resistance (where Sue and Johnny are pretending to be a married couple for a mission, which is weird—let’s not talk about it).

Meanwhile, Tony is spiraling. Again.

His entire strategy is falling apart, Sue Storm has already dumped Reed over this bullshit war, Steve is still out there leading his resistance, and now his own protégé—his son in all but name—has turned against him.

Tony is visibly wrecked over Peter’s defection, but since he has the emotional processing skills of a brick, he just channels all that heartbreak into “fine, let’s get Daredevil arrested next” energy, which he does—for which he is given a piece of silver and called Judas. (Brutal.)

That’s not to say Tony doesn’t care. He very clearly does, and this issue makes it obvious that he still sees Peter as a kid who needs protection, even when Peter himself doesn’t want it. But his way of showing it is, unfortunately, locking up Peter’s friends in a pocket dimension and putting a hit out on him (technically), so, uh… yeah.

Meanwhile, Steve is also getting more extreme, starting to questionably recruit people he normally wouldn’t, and letting Punisher into his little rebellion. (Which is definitely going to end well. Totally.) He is also over the moon Peter is on his side now and announces it to the others while... Peter is still unconscious. Now tell me both Steve and Tony are not simply fighting here over who gets to read him a bedtime story? Come on.

The Invincible Iron Man (2004) #13 & Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #536: (Tony’s Possible Career Change & Peter’s “Fuck You” Tour)

Alright, so The Invincible Iron Man (2004) #13 is technically Tony’s first solo Civil War issue, but fuck all actually happens.

It’s mostly a lot of “Tony, what the fuck are we doing?” meetings, brooding with some old friends, chatting to Happy while being deeply unhappy, and simultaneously spiraling, yet still, and committing war crimes in the name of national security. (Multitasking, sure.)

But one major thing does happen here, and while it’s just an offer at this point, it’s HUGE:

They start floating the idea of Tony taking over as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

At this point, S.H.I.E.L.D. is still running itself into the ground under Maria Hill’s special brand of leadership, but someone suggests that maybe, just maybe, the guy who is single-handedly running the actual show anyway should just be in charge of the whole thing.

And while that doesn’t happen just yet, it changes EVERYTHING for what happens post-Civil War. When it finally comes, is going to be a game-changer for his relationship with Bucky later on. (Yes, we are keeping our winteriron priorities straight, thank you.)

So, while this is happening and I am yawning 'cause Tony's first issue is so fucking underwhelming, in the Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #536, we pick up from Peter’s dramatic escape and near-death sewer experience, and things are finally coming to a head.

Peter, now officially 100% done with Tony’s bullshit, does something that could not be a bigger middle finger if he tried.

He digs out his old, classic Spider-Man suit (because fuck the Iron Spider, fuck you, Tony, I called you Dad unironically, you were my family, WTF), goes on national TV, and gives a full speech dragging the entire SRA, the Civil War, and Tony himself.

And as a helpful reminder here… Peter is not a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” in these comic books—he is a fucking legend, a bright, shining beacon of good for so many people (while still a menace to others, of course), and what he says actually matters.

For all of my shippy jokes and the subtext, there is a real reason why both sides want him. And it’s not just because he’s hella adorable and can kick things really hard.

When he talks, people listen. And when he does start talking, he absolutely obliterates the SRA, calls it unconstitutional, publicly calls out the people supporting it, and tells the world that he refuses to be part of it anymore. Tony loses his shit.

Okay, okay, some food for thought here, for once not related to ships I see everywhere (I have a sick mind and you are somehow still reading this, so don't ask me what's wrong with me and I will not ask you what's wrong with you).

Now, before anyone grabs their pitchforks, this is not me defending Tony’s actions (man makes a LOT of mistakes, obviously), but it is also worth remembering that he’s not a total monster here. He genuinely believes that what he’s doing is necessary, and unlike in the MCU where it’s all “let’s get a leash because one building blew up and we might have destroyed a country” the 616 version of Tony actually has a more thought-out (if deeply flawed) reason for being on the Pro-Reg side.

So, what is Tony trying to sell people on here?

Superheroes need to be trained. The trigger event for the SRA was a bunch of untrained, reality-TV-era heroes going up against a villain way out of their league, and as a result, a school full of children exploded. From Tony’s perspective, this was preventable. If these heroes had been properly trained, those kids (and some other people, but I mostly say kids, this is me not being nitty-gritty accurate about everything) wouldn’t be dead. This is not entirely wrong, but his method of fixing it is basically turning superheroes into government employees and locking up anyone who doesn’t comply, which is… less great.

The public has lost trust in superheroes. And Tony, unlike Steve, actually cares about public perception, comes with his brand and all. He sees this as a way to restore faith in the superhero community by offering transparency and accountability. The problem is obviously the way it’s being enforced is, again, deeply flawed and increasingly authoritarian.

The alternative, in his mind, is worse. He is absolutely cracked as far as Peter is concerned (fair), but here’s where Tony’s futurist brain actually screws him over—because he is not wrong when he says that if the superheroes don’t regulate themselves, the government will do it for them, and it’ll be worse. He thinks he’s getting ahead of the inevitable, but instead of negotiating and making sure the law is fair, he enforces it like an actual jackbooted stormtrooper.

So yeah, Tony is still a mess, and he’s still doing a lot of fucked-up things, but his core reasoning isn’t as evil as some people paint it in here and maybe even not as bad as I paint it overall in this recap.

He truly thinks he’s saving lives and making the world safer. He’s just doing it in the most morally questionable, emotionally compromised way possible, and at some point, even he knows it’s spiraling. That doesn’t excuse the Negative Zone prison or bounty hunting his own allies, engaging in shady business and, Jesus Fuck, cloning Thor, but it does explain why he started down this path in the first place. Tony is also on the side of the law and, for the most part, public opinion here (mostly, since actual normal public is scared AF right now). The problem is, the law isn’t always right, and Tony, in all his genius, somehow keeps forgetting that.

Now let’s hop over to Steve (“Oh No, Babe, What Are You Doing?” should be the title of his entire movement) and talk about how his ideals are great but his execution is a trainwreck. Look, Steve is not wrong—but he’s also not right in the way he thinks he is. And the biggest issue with Steve in Civil War is that his entire approach boils down to “Fuck No.” That’s it. No. No compromise. No alternative plan. Just hardcore, unwavering, freedom-loving NO. Steve’s Core Beliefs in Civil War:

"This is about freedom." Steve believes heroes should have the right to make their own choices about when and how they act, and he fundamentally rejects the idea that they should be forced to register. (Fair point, buddy, but maybe think of a Plan B? No? Cool, cool.)

"If the government can force us to do this, what’s next?” Steve has read a history book before and is fully aware that government overreach never stops at just one bad idea. And considering how mutants have already been treated (X-men and mutants are a very persecuted group here), he is not about to wait around and find out what comes next.

“I will not be controlled.” Instead of seeing if there’s a way to meet halfway or at least slow things down, Steve immediately goes, “Fuck this,” ditches his government job, and starts an underground resistance movement.

Which brings us to Steve’s biggest flaw in Civil War. Where Steve Screws Up:

Steve doesn’t even TRY to negotiate. Tony, for all his shady billionaire manipulation tactics, at least pretended to be open to discussion. Steve refused outright. Instead of using his influence to propose a better system when he still absolutely can, he straight-up vanishes into the night like Batman with extra patriotism.

His resistance is a mess. Unlike Tony, who is (somewhat) organizing a structured system, Steve’s team is basically “whoever wants to punch the government in the face” with no real plan beyond “resist.” He takes Punisher in, for crying out loud. There are no rules, no real discussions about alternatives, and no clear path forward with Steve's movement at all. This means his resistance is a bunch of scared, desperate heroes who are putting civilians in danger while trying to evade capture and kinda... all want to go home.

He is willing to let people get hurt for his cause. People are getting hurt left and right, not just his own team but also civilians caught in the crossfire. Instead of adapting or trying to find a smarter way forward, Steve just keeps doubling down, because this man went all-in on a bad bet and refuses to walk away from the table.

He does not listen. To anyone. A lot of people would have been on his side if he had actually tried to talk about a solution instead of running headfirst into a guerrilla war. Even when his own people start to question him, he digs his heels in and refuses to budge. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on is basic response to any "Emm... dude?"

Steve vs. Tony: The Real Tragedy

Steve sees Tony as a sellout, Tony sees Steve as reckless and the reality here is that they’re both kind of right.

Steve is fighting for freedom, but his method is chaotic and ultimately very dangerous. Tony is trying to prevent chaos, but his method is authoritarian, ruthless, and deeply problematic. And this is why Civil War is what it is. And why it is a lot more fun than the MCU one, if you properly get into it. At the end of the day, comic book Civil War isn’t just about laws and the SRA—it’s about two men who genuinely believe they’re doing the right thing, both completely incapable of seeing the middle ground. And, well… it all ends in disaster, obviously.

Captain America (2004) #24: In which Steve takes a page out of Bucky's book and punches the right people (for, like, 5 whole seconds) for a change. Finally! A break from all the Civil War emotional trauma to remind us that, yeah, Steve is a hero first, war criminal second. I am gonna guess it’s because we’re getting close to the finish line here (you are nearly free, yay!), so they just had to show Steve fighting someone other than his own friends for once. Progress. For… reasons.

He’s still knee-deep in Civil War Resistance mode, but he remembers for one night that there are actual bad guys in the world and focuses on a real threat: Hydra. (Or Hydra-adjacent assholes. And explosions. Lots of explosions.)

So, in this quick issue, Steve teams up with Sharon, who is now secretly working with Fury (who is still underground being an off-brand James Bond with a cigar budget, doing his own resistance thing much better), and together, they take on some good ol’ Hydra goons. Well, Steve takes on Hydra goons by blowing them up (probably killing them, but let’s just say “off-screen unconsciousness” for the sake of the PG-13 rating), and Sharon rolls in with her flying car to rescue him from S.H.I.E.L.D.

And, oh yeah, Red Skull is still lurking in the background, thriving on the fact that the Civil War is keeping everyone too distracted to stop him. He’s over here cackling like a Scooby-Doo villain, making sure Steve and Tony stay too busy ruining each other’s lives to notice he’s playing puppet master behind the scenes. (Smart move, honestly. Props to him for being the one guy who actually planned his shit out properly.)

Look, the details might be fuzzy (it’s getting late for me here), but the core takeaway is this: Cap is actually being Captain America again for an entire issue—stopping real threats, foiling evil plans, and protecting people instead of just yeeting his side at Tony’s.

The Invincible Iron Man (2004) #14

A good Tony issue following a good Steve issue… I wonder why that is. Not a good issue in the sense that Tony’s thriving—oh no, this man is drowning in consequences—but good in the sense that we finally get a proper deep dive into the emotional wreckage that is Tony Stark, destroyer of friendships, king of bad decisions, and certified government tool (actual fucking tool, honestly, but I love him and he can have Bucky’s babies, though I am not into mpreg).

This issue is actually packed.

Happy is dying in a hospital bed, Steve is still actively resisting arrest, Peter is on a fugitive road trip, and Sue Storm is ready to rip Tony’s head off for ruining her marriage. The government is still offering him more power, because sure, let’s give the stressed-out man on the verge of a breakdown full control over the most powerful intelligence agency on Earth.

Anyhow… not to go into too much detail here, but Tony cannot resist one last chance to talk things out with Steve and arranges a stadium meeting with Cap. You might think, “Oh, good, they’re going to try reasoning with each other like adults!” HAHAHA, NOPE.

The meeting lasts about five seconds before it devolves into a fight, which Steve… starts again. The emotional tension is through the roof, Peter is there too (aww, hurts), and they’re not just fighting over the SRA, they’re fighting over their entire broken relationship. If someone played “It’s Time to Go” by Taylor Swift over this sequence, it would fit perfectly.

Though Tony actually mostly fights with Peter here and still manages to pay him a compliment in the process, giving us hope that not all is lost, which we desperately need. But overall, the whole thing is still a disaster. Life is fully kicking Tony's ass from all directions, the temptation to drown it in whiskey is creeping back in, he is considering hitting the bottle, and… Tony is at a crossroads. He’s losing everyone who ever mattered to him, his side is looking increasingly shady, and the weight of everything is crashing down on him. We actually get some raw, human, vulnerable Tony, instead of just “mustache-twirling villain” Tony. So yeah, finally, a good Tony issue.

In case you were wondering, Peter is in fact fully on team Cap now, not just for the stadium fight, and in the Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #537 still has his morals intact (bless him), and this issue is about reinforcing that.

So, Steve—who is now basically Peter’s new/old father figure, 'sits' him down and hits him with the big speech.

And, my GOD, does he deliver it.

He drops one of the most iconic Captain America monologues in all of comic book history:

“Doesn’t matter what the press says. Doesn’t matter what the politicians or the mob say. Doesn’t matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: the requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences.”

And you just know this wrecks Peter emotionally, because this is exactly the kind of moral backbone that made him idolize heroes in the first place. This is the moment where Peter fully solidifies his stance. He’s not just on Team Cap because he got burned by Tony—he believes in what Steve is saying. Tony is having an emotional crisis over Peter leaving, which I completely understand, and... Peter also throws some flirty one-liners at the Cap, since our babe can't help it.

Civil War (2006) #6 and we are at maximum endgame (ugh, still hurts) mode now.

At this point in the war, neither side is even pretending to be civil despite moments of personal growth, slash remembering who they are, and both Steve and Tony have fully committed to their respective roles as Head of the Underground Resistance (Steve) and CEO of Government Overreach Inc. (Tony).

We start off with Tony and Reed in full villain arc, sipping coffee and talking about how crime rates are dropping (I have no idea how, since all the superheroes are busy beating the shit out of each other instead of fighting crime, but never mind me), and immediately move on to the Punisher deciding today is the day for homicide.

He sneaks into the Baxter Building (as one does) to steal information on “Number 42” which is not Tony’s latest suit model but instead the name for his prison in the Negative Zone where they’re throwing unregistered heroes indefinitely and that caused Peter and Tony to block each other on Facebook.

Totally normal, non-dystopian behavior, nothing to see here.

Sue Storm is out here making power moves too, pulling up to Atlantis and trying to convince Namor to get off his fishy ass and help Team Cap. Namor, in true “I am too sexy to care” fashion, basically shrugs and says, “Surface problems? Sounds like a you problem,” before dramatically flipping his cape and walking away. (Sue, girl, I admire the effort and only mention it, cause you are one of the very few truly likable characters in this Event.)

Back at Team Cap’s HQ, Steve unveils his master plan: an all-out raid on the Negative Zone prison to free their captured allies. The team is hyped, ready for action—until Punisher casually murders two villains in cold blood right in front of everyone because they dared to ask if they could help. Steve, who may be a war criminal but still has standards, absolutely loses it and beats the hell out of Frank before throwing him out of the rebellion.

Tony on his end is having an emotional meeting with Miriam Sharpe (aka, “Tony’s #1 Fan Who Also Made Him Feel Like Shit at That Funeral”). He throws some cash at a pretty garden with angels for the dead kids, she thanks him for all his hard work but also makes it clear that, yeah, this war is costing him everything. (Gee, thanks for the reminder, Miriam, I’m sure Tony didn’t notice he’s lost literally all of his friends by now.)

The issue ends with Steve pulling a classic Uno Reverse Card on Tony. The Pro-Reg forces think they’re about to stomp the rebellion once and for all, but—surprise, bitches!—Team Cap knew there was a mole in their ranks (Ragnarök, I’m looking at you, you Dollar Store Thor knockoff), and they had Hulkling impersonate Hank Pym to sneak in and free all the captured heroes before the fight even starts. So, yeah. Big-ass battle incoming, and I can nearly go to sleep.

Civil War (2006) #7 You’ve made it! (I low-key question if anyone actually did make it this far, but I am very into this now, so…)

This is the big one. The final battle. The moment where all this superhero divorce drama comes to a head, and oh my God, it is so much.

So, after about a million issues of emotional devastation, betrayal, and Peter collecting father figures like infinity stones, we finally get the massive all-out brawl between Team Cap and Team Tony. And when I say massive, I mean half the Marvel Universe is throwing hands in the middle of New York City. Superpowered beings are crashing through buildings, explosions are going off everywhere, and don't ask me why they thought “protecting civilians” and “obliterating the city” were compatible ideas.

Steve and Tony really do go at it like two exes who just found out they were sleeping with the same person (Peter, doll, what are you doing? Kidding, kidding).

Steve is beating the absolute shit out of Tony, and Tony—who is running on the fumes of guilt and exhaustion—lets him.

Because Tony is ready to die. That’s right. Tony, who has been holding onto control like his life depends on it (because it literally does), just gives up, drops the metaphorical gloves, and basically tells Steve: “Go ahead, finish it.”

And Steve almost does.

(Not to draw parallels here, but Bucky tried to pull the same move with him and proceed with murder-kill when he was brainwashed. What's Steve's excuse here?)

Like, Steve almost wins. The Resistance might not have, but Steve does. He is seconds away from beating Tony to actual death in the middle of the nightmare they’ve caused—but then. Civilians. Regular-ass, non-superpowered, completely terrified people tackle Steve to the ground.

They’re not protecting Tony (maybe a little, it's up for debate, see the panels)—they’re stopping Steve. Because holy shit, Steve. Look at what you’ve done. Steve does. Look. And finally sees it.

The destruction, the sheer chaos, the city that’s half in ruins because of this war. He sees the fear in their eyes and realizes that this isn’t about freedom anymore. He’s lost the plot. They’ve all kind of lost the plot, and someone has to give up, and he will not let Tony beat him to it.

So, Steve. Fucking. Stops.

He takes off his mask, drops his shield, and says, “It’s over.” He turns himself in. He turns Steve Rogers in specifically, essentially following the law, and Team Cap officially loses the war.

At the end of this, Tony—bruised, in desperate need of a good fuck (hey, Bucky, where you at?), and still internally monologuing about how the fuck his life turned into this—is appointed Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. And this is how, after so many words, christ, the Civil War officially, techically ends, and the winteriron timeline can properly begin. Happy tears, I am crying happy tears right now.

So, Part 3 of this ‘brief’ (lol) timeline is coming ASAP, and it does deliver on some juicy Bucky and Tony interactions—actual on-page moments, not just me connecting the angst dots with wishful thinking, promise.

And if you’re thinking things might slow down now—oh, my sweet summer child. We are only just getting to the fun part, since Captain America essentially becomes Bucky’s comic book. The stakes are different, the players have shifted, but Tony and Bucky finally start existing in the same space.

If Civil War was crazy, what happens next is the part where we go off the rails entirely in the best possible way.

To confirm, where we are:

Bucky is in the wind but possibly smoking cigars with Fury.

Bad guys who were ignored for this Event do have some plotty evil planned.

Tony is in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he still has to keep hunting down anti-registration supers.

Steve is alive and in jail. For now.

And Peter—oh God, I have to mention this, because I must, and this just further confirms that some of the editors were shipping Peter with someone other than MJ.

So, Peter is an absolute disaster, thanks for asking. And if you know comic books and reading this just to laugh at me getting shit wrong and are wondering, “Wow, does she about to mention One More Day?”—yes. Yes, I am. And I don’t want to talk about it. But I will, just for a second.

One More Day (2007) is Marvel committing a crime against humanity.

It’s a four-issue arc where Marvel editorial decided Peter was too happy and needed to suffer more, so they erased his marriage to MJ from existence. (Ah, yeah, he was married to her this whole time, in case I didn’t mention it, but I was too busy pushing Starker on people if the winteriron angle didn’t work out.)

Basically, after Civil War, Peter’s life goes to absolute hell. He unmasked, so every villain with a grudge is coming for him, Kingpin puts out a hit, and Aunt May gets shot.

Peter, being the absolute hero of a man that he is, tries everything to save her. He begs Tony for help (doesn’t work). He tries to make a deal with Doctor Strange (doesn’t work). And just when it looks like May is going to die, the literal devil (Mephisto) shows up and is like, “Hey, Pete, what if I saved your aunt, but in exchange, I erased your marriage to MJ from existence so you two never got married and will never be happy together?”

And Peter and MJ actually say yes. BOOM. Years of character development and one of Marvel’s most iconic relationships is GONE, conveniently removing all that pesky guilt when Peter flirts with older men.

So, Aunt May lives, but now Peter and MJ were never married, and no one remembers he unmasked during Civil War. The comic book fandom hates it. The writers regret it. Everyone pretends it didn’t happen. Marvel did make a movie about this though, kinda. Also kidding. But for real, it’s one of the most infamous and universally despised retcons in Marvel history.

And on that cheerful and very nerdy note, thank you for reading.

Masterpost with all parts

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henke-penke · 6 months ago

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Until Death.

Tumblr exclusive prequel to There's Something Off About Heather ! I highly suggest you read that before this one, because the best way to experience that oneshot is if you know as little about it as possible, and this oneshot spoils the whole mystery part imo.

To the people who have read the first oneshot, enjoy :> !

(If there are any spelling mistakes in this no there aren't)

Content Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of murder and violence. Morality being thrown out the window. Slight possessiveness (it's nothing crazy, just a line here and there alluding to it, but it's there). I may or may not have gone a bit too hard on framing murder as romantic, but this is horror so it is what it is.

“Sometimes I wish they were dead.”

Alejandro didn't mean it. Never ever would he wish harm upon his family. It was a slip of the tongue, occurring one night when his emotions had gotten the best of him. When the stress had gotten too much to bear.

Neither Heather nor Noah had said anything about it. Just held their partner through his turmoil in gentle hands reserved only for each other.

It was a slip of the tongue.

Yet it lingered in the back of their minds.

During every dinner party they attended out of nothing but polite obligation. Every time they read their demeaning letters and forced themselves to write back.

It would forever remain unknown who made the first move: who gave that final push. But soon enough, a plan was made. One they prepared for over the better part of a year. Memorizing routines and creaking floorboards. Marking trails in the forest surrounding the Burromuerto mansion under the guise of getting fresh air. Getting their hands on the axe José, Alejandro’s brother, had been gifted years prior.

In the middle of the night, May 5th, 1941, they arrived at the mansion. Veiled in darkness, wearing gloves and strangers’ shoes to obscure their trails.

They entered the house with no problems, and snuck up to the second floor where Sr. and Sra Burromuerto were fast asleep. Unaware of the retribution to come.

Alejandro held José’s axe aloft and stared down at the still form of his father. So peaceful, so harmless. Like an innocent man. It filled Alejandro with unbridled rage.

The axe came down to bury itself deep in the man's abdomen. He awoke with a pained gasp far too late. Alejandro dislodged the axe and struck again and again. Falling into the familiar rhythm of chopping wood for the fireplace.

Blood splattered about, staining the bedsheets and Alejandro's face. His mother awoke at some point, screaming in terror as she tried to escape. But Heather and Noah blocked her path. They held her down while Alejandro wrapped wire around her neck and pulled it tighter and tighter. It cut through her skin, her muscles, her veins. Turning desperate gasps for air into thick gargling as blood flooded her throat.

There was resentment in her eyes— searing through the panic of her life being forced away. The eyes staring back down at her did so in absolute hatred and without remorse.

With the world two lives poorer, they began to clean up whatever tracks they had left and then set the stage. The perfect framing of José Burromuerto— an impatient and greedy man, who thought he could get away with speeding up the process of gaining his share of the family fortune. Who snuck in through the backdoor, murdered his parents, and buried his axe out in the forest.

Unfortunately for him, he forgot to rid the imprint of his boots on the carpet. Forgot that he left the spare house keys his mother had entrusted him with at the scene of the crime.

As they intended, José was arrested for the murder of Sr. and Sra Burromuerto less than a week later. And as an added bonus, he was given the death penalty. They took the news with feigned devastation, Alejandro shedding crocodile tears. An award-winning performance that left the audience none the wiser as they sang their sympathies.

And maybe they should've stopped there, but they didn't.

It was three months after the death of his parents when Alejandro surprised Noah and Heather with intricate bouquets of roses— and an unconscious body in the basement of their house. He was gifted gleeful smiles and kisses in return, and then they got to work.

Heather slammed a hammer against ankles and wrists— splitting skin and cracking bones. Noah twisted the knife each time he buried it in the flesh, scraping at the insides. And wielding his own axe, Alejandro dismembered the body.

It was a near bloodbath. They could afford to be messy, to be less organized. There was no plan; just a body and pent-up grievances with having to play nice. Never had they expected it to be so liberating to let go of decency and politeness, and be truly horrible.

There was also something so undeniable about the sight of their partners covered in somebody else's blood. A sight meant only for them— a reminder of just how dangerous they were. And how until death, and beyond that evermore, they’d never allow harm to befall their lovers.

Not to mention how absolutely divine they looked in red.

So they continued, treating it as any other date activity. Candle-lit dinners and a body in the basement. Strolls through the park and a victim to hunt.

Sometimes they did it slowly; Pulled out teeth one by one, injected poisons to watch death make its agonizing claim.

Sometimes they did it quickly; A bullet through the brain, a knife across the throat.

Some were picked at random, simply for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Others were targeted with reason, simply for being unpleasant to either one of them.

Some they brutalized beyond recognition. Others they left as though untouched.

There was never a pattern to string the deaths together, leaving the police in disarray as they tried to wrap their heads around the cases piling up. They paid little mind to them, they didn’t matter. Not in the slightest. Not when their crimes were so intoxicatingly dreamy.

Gentle hands caressing blood-stained cheeks after bashing someone’s head in. The softest gazes watching grim acts play out. Passionate kisses shared over fresh corpses.

It was the same love that had always been there, as strong as it’d been before— just felt through a new avenue. One meant just for them. One where anyone else would be horrified and call them monsters.

Alejandro couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone viewing his loves as monsters. If anyone did, best it be kept to themselves lest they fall victim.

On July 23rd, 1945, they stood surrounded by the mangled remains of some poor saps hanging from the trees. Purposefully so, to taunt the police and give the townsfolk the scare of their lives. That was when Alejandro— still covered in blood and viscera— removed his gloves and got on one knee. Presenting Noah and Heather the rings made special for them.

He knew the answer before he’d even finished his question, and he was overjoyed. They all were. Though of course, someone had to sour it.

So was it really a surprise, that when Heather's father went on a critical tangent— questioning how anyone could love his daughter, the thought crossed their minds;

I wish you were dead.

#historical accuracy may vary in this #anyways there's something wrong about all of them <3 #total drama #alenoaheather #fanfiction #alenoaheather 1940s serial killer au #tried to keep with the style of the original oneshot where it's told from an outsiders perspective #so it's kinda omnipotent 3rd person but not fully

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srovtl · 7 months ago

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(in here, a magic that connects hearts) Faust SSR Card Story Translation

Translator note: This, and all the fifth anniversary card stories, reference each character’s affection story (which can be read here) and I recommend reading them beforehand.

also thanks for Sra and nor from twitter for providing me with the raws

Don't go easy, but let your heart be at ease - Episode 1

Akira: (Faust wasn't in his room. Is he out somewhere?)

It's been a while since I started living at the magic manor.

I was going around asking everyone for interviews again, hoping to add to the contents of the sage's manual.

Faust: Sage. We're back.

Figaro: Hello, Master Sage.

Akira: Welcome back. So both of you were out?

Figaro: Yeah, we went to a store I'm familiar with.

Akira: There are all kinds of flowers in this basket. They're beautiful.

Faust: They're all rare varieties. I'm planning to use them in the next class.

Faust: For example, this blue bud is for Shino. It's a flower that is sensitive to people's gazes, and if you stare at it for five minutes, the bud will open.

Figaro: But if you look away for even a second, it won't bloom, even if you wait five minutes. It's perfect for training your patience.

Figaro: The blue flower next to it was for Heathcliff, right? It scatters pollen irregularly and makes you sleepy.

Faust: The more sensitive you are, the more sleepy you will be. I hope this will help him practice using magic to defend himself instantly.

Akira: Wow, they were chosen to suit each individual's personality. Interesting.

Akira: Then, is this bushy grass that looks like a cat toy for Nero?

Faust: Yes. We talked about this plant in detail in the last lesson. This is to make sure he actually reviewed it.

Figaro: It's like a surprise test. I'm looking forward to seeing Nero's reaction.

Faust: I wonder. He's not the type to review things frequently, but he has a good memory.

Faust: Well, if he can't do it, Heath will probably help him.

Akira: ……Huh? Now that I look closely, there's another purple flower. Who did you prepare this for?

Faust, Figaro: ………

Faust: .....It's for me.

Figaro: The student is our Faust, and the special lecturer is me, Doctor Figaro.

Akira: What! Figaro and Faust are teaching together?

Faust: You don't need to be so surprised.

Figaro: Teachers need to work hard together too. Or we might get overtaken by the younger kids in no time.

Blinking rapidly, I looked at the two people before me.

Akira: (...I cant believe a day like this would come. I never imagined it when I came to the magic manor.)

Days living under the same roof. Days working on the same missions.

All those experiences must have changed something in them, little by little. Now I can feel that with my very eyes, and my cheeks relax.

Faust: What is it, Sage? It seems like you have something to say.

Akira: No, it's nothing! …Wait, I completely forgot that I had something to ask of you Faust.

Faust: Me?

Akira: Yes. Actually, I'd like to write about you all again in the Sage's manual.

Figaro: Master Sage's re-interviewing each of us. I had a talk with them the other day.

Akira: So, would you mind giving me some of your time soon, Faust?

Faust: If that's the case, I'm free after this. If you'd like, we can talk in my room.

Don't go easy, but let your heart be at ease - Episode 2

We immediately headed to Faust's room, and found Lennox standing at the door.

Lennox: Lord Faust, Master Sage. Hello.

Faust: What's the matter, Lennox? Do you need something?

Lennox: Lord Faust, I wanted to give this to you.

Faust: A candle...

Faust: I was just about to buy another candle for my amulet, since I was running low on it.

Akira: Really? What a coincidence.

Faust: Lennox, why did you give this to me?

Lennox: I thought it was about time you would need one.

Lennox: I accompanied you when you went to buy the same thing before, didn't I? It's been some time since then so…

Lennox: Besides, you've been busy lately, Lord Faust, so I thought you might not have time to go and buy it yourself...

Akira: Is that so...? As expected of Lennox, you really pay attention to the people around you.

Lennox: No, it's not that serious.

Faust: ……..

Faust stared at Lennox for a while with his violet eyes.

Then he takes a faint breath, lowers his eyebrows and smiles.

Faust: Really… I just can't hide anything from you.

The voice he speaks is endlessly soft, and gives the impression of a definite passage of time.

His gaze, shifted to the candle, is still gentle. Surely memories of the past are shining deep in those violet eyes.

Faust: There's no need for you to go that far.

Lennox: I'm sorry for doing something unnecessary.

Faust: I don't mean it like that…..

Faust: Hmm? Haven't we had this conversation before?

Lennox: I think we did...?

Faust: ...Haha. Anyway, you helped me out. Thank you, Leno.

Lennox: No. If I was of help to you, nothing makes me happier.

Their mutual consideration, their trust and respect for each other were all indicative of their attitude. It naturally warmed my heart.

Akira: (Faust and Lennox have helped each other out so many times like this.)

Akira: (I'm sure it will continue to be the same from now on…)

Don't go easy, but let your heart be at ease - Episode 3

When I entered the room, Faust put the paper bag he was carrying on the desk and waved his finger.

A chair floated through the air and was presented in front of me.

Faust: Sit down. I'll make some tea now.

Akira: Thank you! Hm? Is this the same tea from our last interview?

Faust: Yes, it is. You have a good memory. Now then…

Faust handed me the cup and sat down opposite me.

Faust: You can start right away. Where should I start?

His fingers were clasped together just like that time.

It showed his seriousness, and I thought it was a beautiful, elegant sight.

Akira: May I ask you about all sorts of things that have happened since we met?

Akira: If there is anything hard to say you don't have to—-

Faust: ……..

Faust's eyebrows twitch, and I involuntarily gasp.

Then I straighten my back and reword what I had said earlier.

Akira: ...I might be asking some questions that are hard to answer. I'd be happy if you could answer as much as you can.

Faust: Heh.

Faust: You've gotten a lot tougher. That's right, there's no need to go easy on me.

Akira: (Hahaha. ...Even though his words are harsh, it feels like he's praising me by saying "well done.")

I don't know how nervous I had been, but I noticed that my shoulders had suddenly relaxed.

After that, I asked him the questions I'd prepared, one by one.

Faust answered sincerely and carefully, carefully choosing his words. The pages were filled with information about him.

Akira: Thank you for answering so many questions, Faust. This is my last question...

Akira: ...This may be difficult for you to answer. But, please let me know.

Faust: ………What is it?

Akira: Faust…….

Akira: You like cats, don't you?

Faust: Huh?

Akira: During the first interview, you stubbornly denied it, but this time I'd really like to ask you about it!

Faust: ……Pff, Hahaha.

Faust: You really are, above my imagination.

Akira: R-Really...?

Faust: Well, never mind. To answer your previous question… Well, I don't hate cats.

Akira: You wouldn't say you like them, would you?

Faust: I'm a curse worker, after all. That kind of thing doesn't look good on me.

Faust shook his head with a smile on his face, and I remembered when we first met.

Akira: (Come to think of it, last time he said "There's nothing in particular" that he likes...)

If only one day he could tell me something that he would say he likes without hesitation.

what a joyous thing that would be.

But that's why I want us to get to know each other little by little, without rushing.

Feeling that he has a much softer air about him than when we first met... I gently put my pen down.

I can only say because it’s now - Card Episode

Akira: Faust, thank you for taking the time for the interview!

Akira: Also, this is something I've been asking everyone...

Akira: Is there anything you can talk about because it is now?

Faust: Because it is now...? That's a difficult question.

Faust: ……

Akira: (He's really thinking about it seriously. Ah, he looked at me...)

Faust: I wear that hat sometimes.

Akira: ......That hat?

Akira: Wait, what? You mean that wool one?

Faust: Yes. The one you bought me as a souvenir when you went to the central city.

Faust: ......you gave it to me yourself why are you so surprised.

Akira: Haha, sorry. I've never seen you wearing it before, so I was surprised.

Akira: I'm so happy that you actually use it. Thank you for letting me know!

Faust: Don't mention it. I would feel uncomfortable if I didn't say anything about it.

Akira: (You're so serious, Faust...) (But I really love that about you)

Homescreen Voiceline

Hearts change with time. Even if we exchange a promise, can our hearts stay the same forever? I won't believe it. What about you, Sage?

#mhyktl #mahoutsukai no yakusoku #mahoyaku #mhyk #card episode and homescreen line is also included #figaro garcia #lennox ram #faust lavinia

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ussgallifrey · 1 year ago

Text

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 30

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, death, depictions of dead bodies, dialogue taken directly from Captain America: Civil War and the Marvel Civil War comic, language, political discourse, violence.

✦ Word Count: 5.8k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: I'm in my torturing Steve hours with this one. For any fans of the Civil War comic, you'll notice how I tried to incorporate Nitro's death with Rumlow's. Fun fact, I wrote a good portion of the action sequence with "MMMBop" by Hansen on repeat because my kid was obsessively playing it for half the afternoon. I like to think of it as a testament to my writing abilities with that knowledge in hand.

[Master List]

Sea salt stings at his cheeks as the bay's lapping waves crest and shatter against the observation deck's rocky outcrop. Squinting against the sliver of sunlight that dares to peak between the heavy-hanging gray clouds overhead, Steve can almost make out the vague shape of the Statue of Liberty between the haze of fog.

It wasn’t often that he found himself this far south of the Compound on his own accord. But, with the heaviness of the SRA looming over the team, the day out had been a much-needed break from political talk in the lounge.

Natasha’s red hair whips against the side of his shoulder as she lingers beside him, her eyes moving from every person who dares enter the public space. Always calculating the threat assessment for any given situation.

This had been the condition; having the two of them there.

Steve watches as Wanda shoves at Pietro’s arm as he hogs the observation telescope for himself. The two teenagers had been desperate for a day away from their seclusionary residence and even Tony had been easily convinced to allow this little getaway, considering everything else going on around them.

They all knew this could be the last little outing out for the twins.

One day only, limited contact with the public, casual clothes, and simple disguises to keep them protected.

The boy’s signature white hair is tucked away under the cloth of a gray beanie, while Wanda’s red-tinged eyes are hidden by a pair of sunglasses. Steve has his own sunglasses snagged on the collar of his shirt as he pulls back the cap on his head to itch at his hair.

At least these two were enjoying themselves, having a day out in the city. Hell, even Steve had found himself smiling more than he had in the past two days.

The Battery was one of the final stops on their touristy trip.

They had gotten ice cream at Central Park, wandering between the garden flower paths of the more secluded sections of the park. Natasha even let them have their moment in the middle of Times Square. And now, with pretzels and hotdogs in hand, they took their time looking out across the bay.

Steve had never seen Ellis Island so close up before. It was strange, knowing how much time had passed for him when his own mother had gone through the inspection process there after six weeks aboard a ship from Belfast. His connection to his past life seemed to slip through his fingers as each day passed, burning that existence further and further behind him.

“So, you’re actually going to do it.”

Natsasha’s green eyes are dulled slightly by the gloomy sky, but they’re fully sharp and fixed on his face.

Drawing his arms from the metal railing, he tucks his hands away into the pockets of his leather coat. Even he found it strange that the weather had been so abysmal for June.

“Figured it was about time,” he admits on a quivering breath.

While the sibling pair had been across the pathway, getting themselves something to eat from a vendor cart, he had revealed his plan to Nat.

It had been… wearing on Steve for the past day and a half. One too many near-misses and broken chances. He had had enough of it. And even if it made the great Captain America shudder, the supersoldier was finally preparing himself to tell you exactly how he felt.

The perfect moment would never exist for the two of you - not when danger lurked around every corner. Not when the passage of legislation looking to strip away their right to do their job effectively was just a few days away.

No, he had waited and kept his head buried in the sand long enough. It was beyond time.

And even if he laid it all bare to you and you didn’t… couldn’t reciprocate, then at least Steve knew that he had put himself out there. Kept it from swallowing him whole.

You had been so close yesterday on the deck. Your lips a lingering breath away, your chest heaving beneath his own. Everything he felt - everything he loved about you was within his grasp if he could just get over that initial fear and say something. Do anything.

Nat nods, focusing her gaze on the twins for a minute before she asks, “When did she say she’s coming back?”

Easing back on his heels, feeling a flush of heat racing for his cheeks and a smile breaking across his lips, he answers, “Tonight.”

She knocks her fist into his arm, “I’m proud of you, lover boy. So… you got some big thing planned for it or are you just going to get her alone and do a big confessional from the heart? Kinda seems like your style, big spur-of-the-moment speeches and all.”

“Well, I - ”

Steve’s cut off by the shockwave explosion that ripples across the city skyline. The ground under his feet quakes as he grabs hold of Natasha and drags her down low.

“You two, over here!” Nat calls to the twins.

Pietro has a protective arm over Wanda as they jog over.

“What was that?” the girl questions, eyes wide as she takes in the equally shocked and nervous patrons around them.

Steve rises to his feet, looking back at the city behind them. Smoke radiates up into the air from the general vicinity of the financial district, just a few blocks north of the Battery.

“Okay, you need to get these two out of here,” Natasha directs, heading up the path. “I’ll get SHIELD on the line and - ”

“No, no. We are staying here, thank you,” Pietro barks, dragging his hat from his head - exposing his striking white hair.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. It could be… a gas explosion or something,” Steve looks toward Natasha, trying to gather her thoughts on the matter.

It didn’t sound like a gas explosion.

Sirens are ringing out in the distance. And even from here, Steve can hear the screams for help beginning to echo across the streets.

Wanda stands directly in front of him, her glasses pulled into her hand, “People could be hurt.”

With his hands on his hips, he glances from the twins to Natasha, and then up toward the billowing plumes of dark smoke tangling between the skyscrapers like a serpent.

“Steve, we need to move.”

“Okay,” he announces, clapping Wanda’s shoulder tightly with his palm. “But you stay close and you stay out of trouble. We’re going to aid the emergency crews, but that’s it for you two.”

She nods, her expression seeming to note the severity of his tone as she looks over at her brother, “Fair enough.”

“Let’s go,” Steve calls, ignoring the Widow’s less-than-pleased look as he runs past her.

The beige sand is warm beneath the soles of your bare feet as you dangle your legs over the edge of the white plastic lounge chair. Near the water, the breeze is just cool enough that you can ignore the stifling heat of the island’s humidity.

A splash of clear liquid makes its way into your glass. Droplets of Asgardian liquor cling to the yellow, blue, and pink paper umbrella adorning the top of your drink.

“Thank you,” you schmooze as you raise your mojito toward the God of Thunder.

Thor nods in return as he crosses his bare legs over the chair beside yours. He’s wearing a pair of plain swimming trunks and a fabulous floral print shirt, which he leaves unbuttoned. His hair is sun-bleached, wild around his shoulders, as he tips his head back. The plastic sunglasses protect his eyes from the sun and a dab of hastily applied sunscreen protects his nose from burning.

“Yeah, this ain’t too bad.”

You hum in agreement as you turn to look at Bruce.

On the other side of your beach chair, the good scientist is more appropriately covered for the harsh sunlight as he rests under the shade of a large umbrella. Sipping his pineapple concoction with ease, a floppy tan hat on his head, white Crocs on his feet.

This wasn’t exactly where you had envisioned the man to go after Sokovia, but you suppose it made perfect sense.

Bruce had been all across the northern hemisphere, Russia, and the Middle East during his time on the run from Ross and the SOCC. You knew about his lengthy time in Brazil and his short stay in Mexico. Of course, after Harlem, he had moved around along the Indian subcontinent. But Kuto was definitely a new destination for him.

Just north of New Zealand, in an archipelago of islands, New Caledonia was an ideal hideout for the scientist and his companion, the God of Thunder.

Most people here turned an eye to the two tourists and crime was largely different than the alien invasions and HYDRA outbreaks that the US found itself dealing with. Here, he could truly relax.

Thor had only joined him recently, after having enough of life at the Compound. From what you understood, after Sokovia and his admittance that he and the good lady Jane had separated, he had chosen to take a sabbatical in Australia. He told you of his ventures into Midgardian life - securing a roommate and an apartment in the city.

However, as you suspected, Thor was not suited for day-to-day living in the human realm.

You had managed to keep Bruce’s location under wraps from outside sources and, while you did keep in correspondence through Pallas so as not to leak his whereabouts to people who could access phone records, you rarely took the time to actually visit him.

That was one thing you found yourself grateful for, however. After Sokovia, after moving into the Compound with the rest of the team, Tony informed you that during JARVIS’s take-down of Ultron from the web, he had also gone ahead and removed that pesky little formula as well. Fury’s formula - that eventually went on to Pierce and HYDRA - the one that successfully tracked your comings and goings.

Now, you were free to travel without fear of being discovered by people like Ross. This is how you found yourself on a beach resort on a Sunday in the middle of June, sipping fruity cocktails mixed with a healthy dose of Asgardian liquor.

The Promethean flame seems to surge in the locket as you rub the pendant between your fingers. You had yet to take it off; too concerned with your brother’s warning to risk it. But even here, as you watch the ebb and flow of the crystalline blue waves against the sandy shore, you feel that sensation at the back of your mind. Worming its way in further, burrowing down into your cortex.

“So…” you begin, sipping another bit of your drink up through the straw. “What have you heard from the US?”

Bruce tilts his head your way, knocking his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose, “Like that Registration Act stuff or the questionable candidacy stuff?”

“The SRA.”

He hums in reply, folding his hands over his belly as he looks out at the ocean water.

“I try to keep my stress levels to a minimum these days, ‘Thena.”

You can feel the radiating heat of Thor’s eyes upon you as you sit up, twisting in your seat to address Banner directly.

“Even I have concerns over it, Bruce.”

“Think I’m pretty well-off over here.”

Lowering your head, you stare at the smooth grains of sand that rest between your toes.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure… if Ross is at the controls.”

That gets his attention as Bruce stalls, clutching his hands together into loose fists. Sitting up, he swivels his body to face you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ross came right to the Compound and basically laid it out like it was already set in stone to us yesterday. I’m sure there’s more to it than what he tried to sell. And I’m very sure that Tony’s going to try and fight it with everything he’s got. But…”

Your eyes meet his worried ones and without having to finish your thought, he gives a jerky nod.

“Guess paradise isn’t the best hiding spot after all.”

“Never is.”

It’s at that moment that Thor announces he is starving and the three of you head up the beach to the resort.

Blue wooden plank walls wrap around the interior of the building, while open-faced window frames extend around the side facing the water. The floor is made of a cream-colored linoleum and two large fans circulate warm air overhead. In the corner of the room, a small wall-mounted TV rests, playing a game show of some kind.

Before you, two well-topped poke bowls rest within a sea of platters and bowls.

Thor grins as he slurps up the meat of yet another lobster claw, while you mull over the contents of your own food. The waitstaff was kind, though they all seemed to do quite the doubletake whenever they passed by your table. To be fair, you were the only occupants of the restaurant.

Not many people came to the southern hemisphere in the winter, you supposed.

“Have we ever told you, Banner,” Thor begins, sucking the butter from his fingers. “Of our shared battles?”

The scientist nods, swallowing his food before answering, “Once or twice, right? Battle of Heaven and all that stuff that seems vaguely sacrilege.”

You snort in agreeance, fixing Thor with a look, “We don’t discuss that, to be clear.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I was merely suggesting a topic of conversation to lighten the mood.”

“Involving blood, decapitation, death, and Odin’s vengeance against the Judeo-Christian pantheon, correct?”

“Well,” he coughs into his fist before swiping up another lobster claw to eat, allowing the topic to die a merciful death in exchange for more food.

The silence simmers as the mechanical whir of the fans fills the gaps for you. You can hear the sizzle of the fryer in the kitchen and you can smell the aromatic wafts of seafood and fresh-caught delights. The late morning sun bathes the room in warmth, making sweat bead up along your hairline as you take another sip of your room-temp drink.

“So… we gonna talk about it?”

Your brow rises in Bruce’s direction, “Talk about what exactly?”

“Ross; the bill.”

“Not much to add,” you admit as you push together another spoonful of radishes, edamame, and chicken. “He tried to intimidate the team. There’s a good chance it’ll pass through Congress and then Tony plans to persuade Ellis in the other direction.”

Giving the scientist a shrug, you bring another bite to your lips.

“And everyone’s on the same page with it?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Tony wanted to hold a meeting with the press to tell Congress to quote-on-quote suck it, but Pepper talked him out of it this morning. I think even Steve was in favor of that particular stunt.”

“Jesus,” Bruce chuckles.

You share a smile with the man before you add, “I mean, in all honesty, even if the thing gets passed on, it’ll take a while to implement. And, on top of that, it only affects acts taking place on US soil, so… in theory… if the team were to relocate…”

“Ahh,” he beams.

“Exactly,” you nod. “And, you’re technically not part of the team right now since you’re on vacation, as it were. And, hey, the two of us - ” you gesture between yourself and Thor with the curve of your spoon, “ - we’re always going to be exempt from human law, so… there’s that.”

“You know whoever lines the pockets gets the final say.”

With a wry look, you add, “Maybe we should get Tony to start offering up company shares and we’ll get a different outcome.”

Bruce’s smile, however, begins to wane.

You give a questioning hum.

“It’s just… well, let’s be real. This ain’t gonna be the last of it. And… I kinda had my fill of living on the run for a decade.”

Before you can remedy his train of thought, Thor interrupts.

“Then come with me. Back to Asgard. We would be welcomed amongst the halls of warriors, my friend.”

“I don’t know about that, man. I mean - ”

But as Bruce goes to decline the offer, your eyes happen to travel over to the TV.

You’re up and out of your seat, with a screech of plastic chair legs across the linoleum, before the men even register it. Your eyes are glued to the screen as a breaking news bulletin takes over the previous game show.

“Hey, what - ”

“My Lady?”

All you can utter is, “Oh my god,” as a whirlwind of fire encapsulates the camera footage.

You easily translate the news anchors' words as you spin around, capturing the worried and distraught looks of your friends.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Bruce mutters.

“Should we - ” Thor begins to suggest, his posture already straightening up to his full height as he gestures between the three of you with his index finger.

“No,” you immediately reject, your chest heaving as you capture sight of a familiar supersoldier on the screen and was that…? With a shake of your head, you implore your friends:

“You… you need to leave. Yeah, you need to get out of Dodge.”

Thor’s brow furrows, “I don’t understand, what is Dodge?”

“She means,” Bruce supplements for you as he pushes Thor backward with his hands upon the God’s chest, reaching down into his wallet to toss a handful of bills onto the table. “That we need to disappear for a while, buddy.”

“To Asgard then.”

“Uh, no - ”

“Yes, actually,” you return, fists shaking at your sides. “You need to get off planet and I can get you to Olympus or he can take you to Asgard, but you need to be gone, now, Bruce.”

“Come on. ‘Thena. I can manage myself here, I know how to disappear in plain sight.”

But you’re shaking your head, body physically tremoring, “I don’t think that’s enough this time.”

That seems to settle the gaunt reality for Bruce as his face pales.

Thor wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders as he holds his other hand aloft - awaiting Mjolnir.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say, catching the terrified look on the scientist’s face as you try to convince yourself of your own words.

The hammer soars past your face, landing in Thor’s hand as he offers you a tilt of his chin, “My Lady.”

You’re gone in a flash of bright shockwave-like light, the island resort’s restaurant fading around you in an instance.

When you appear outside of the residence building at the Compound, the world around you is silent.

Eerily silent outside of the occasional chirp of a grasshopper looming in the fresh-cut grass. The sky is a swath of darkness and twinkling starlight, purple hues along the deep horizon. The building itself is alight as you reorient yourself.

It’s too quiet.

Walking toward the entrance, then moving to a jog, you rush toward the doors - toward the team. God, why weren’t you called?

Why had no one called you?

That camera footage showed morning light, hours had passed between then and now and no one had called you.

But as your pace slows, as you near the golden-hued entrance, you notice the odd outline resting beside the building. One step after the other, you peer into the shadows. First, you note the height, then the curve of a face haloed by the moonlight.

“Steve?”

The figure turns, and even in the low light of the midnight hour, you can see the darkness around his usually vibrant eyes.

“Hey,” he croaks.

Taking a step toward him, you nod. “Hey.”

He glances away, sniffing indignantly.

Your own expression drops as you move toward your friend, feet teetering on the edge of the ornate landscaping, staring up at his shadowed face. He tries to conceal it from you, tilting his head up to look at the sky above, but you know. Of course, you know.

Another step forward and you wrap your arms tight around his middle, dragging him into your embrace.

Steve huffs out a breath as he balances on his toes before he relents and allows himself to be dragged, nearly collapsing in your arms as he tucks his face into your shoulder.

You can feel the shaky breaths he sucks in through his mouth as he burrows further into your hold. All you can do is tighten your arms, rubbing the expanse of his rigid back with your palms. Unwelcoming smoke clouds his body, besides hints of metal and the all too familiar scent of blood.

Something wet and warm dots your shoulder, but you don’t comment on it as one hand moves up to the soft crop of his hair. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you rub soothing circles into the blonde locks.

“Talk to me, Rogers,” you murmur into the warm skin of his neck. “What happened?”

His arms tighten around your shoulders as he exhales a quivering breath. You can feel the blood racing through his veins as your lips hover in the space beside his head. Something is murmured into the safety of your body, but it’s too gentle for even your ears to catch it.

As your hand stalls in his hair, you ask, “What was that?”

It takes a second, but then you hear it.

“I messed up.”

In hindsight, Steve should have listened to Natasha. Wanda and Pietro should have been sent away. He should have -

Wall Street was blocked off by fire engines by the time they arrived on the scene, with a scattering of armed officers stationed behind two squad cars.

Steve had gone over to get the details down with the officer in charge while Natasha kept the twins from wandering.

There was an explosion in a lower-floor building further up the block. An office suite just across from the Chase Bank plaza. They were already in the process of securing the area and evacuating adjacent buildings, but Steve’s attention fell to a group of men dragging another man into the middle of the street toward a black SUV.

He hadn’t even thought, just jumped the hood of the car and took off running.

Because he knew that one - the one with the metal mask over his face.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” Rumlow hollered, voice permanently shot from the damage he suffered in D.C., “Just can’t keep your patriotic nose out of things.”

“It’s a bad habit,” he agrees as he braces himself, staring down at the quivering man held in Rumlow’s hand.

He has a cloth bag over his head and a gun to his temple to keep him from doing anything too hasty. Suit and tie, overweight, could be any pencil pusher, but he had had to be special enough for Rumlow to take interest in him. Around the man, five armed guards stand ready. Black clothes, simple tactical gear, anonymous, but clearly well-paid.

Smoke is still surging out of the office building to their right, but the structure seems intact - no risk of immediate collapse or civilian casualty.

“Agh!” Rumlow grits as red mists encapsulate his hand - twisting his wrist back, making the gun fall.

Steve jumps up, kicking the guard to his left in the face before grabbing the rifle from his hands - snapping it in half. Pietro zooms past, shoving his hand into another guard’s face - the same technique that Steve had taught him, now in action.

“Get out of here,” he orders.

“Why?” the teen barks back as he spins so quickly around the third and fourth guards that they get pushed together in a tangle of limbs.

“Because there might be civilians trapped up there who need help,” he calls out as the fifth guard fires on him.

Steve has to duck and roll to the side, finding a barrier behind a folded metal street sign.

Not willing to risk never being allowed back out in the field, the boy zooms past - knocking the guard who had been firing at Steve on his ass - before disappearing into the office building.

Natasha surges up and over him, landing on top of the guard - using a wire to encircle the man’s neck.

“Get the hostage!” she barks.

Steve’s up and on his feet, charging at Rumlow just a beat later as Wanda’s powers fade and the masked criminal scrambles for his gun. The supersoldier leaps on top of the man, shielding the victim as a bullet surges into his right flank. He grits his teeth as the white-hot pain temporarily stifles his senses.

“This wasn’t meant for you, Rogers,” Rumlow bites. “But I think they’ll understand.”

Steve twists himself and the man away, rolling him in Wanda’s direction - who quickly secures the man in a shield of red energy.

The supersoldier kicks his foot into Rumlow’s hand, knocking the gun back, but he just shoves Steve away.

“Come on!”

Rumlow smacks his helmeted head into Steve’s before uppercutting him, knocking him back into a street lamp - making it bend from his weight. When he regains his footing, the other man is already coming for him. His punches are large and bulky as they aim for the supersoldier’s head, so Steve keeps himself low, keeping his arms inward, aiming for Rumlow’s torso.

“This is for dropping a building on my face,” he snarks before twisting a knife out of a sheath and attempting to stab Steve in the eye.

He ducks away at the last second, kicking Rumlow in the stomach as he rolls under the groaning man. When he spins around, trying to now throw the knife, Steve leaps up and slams the heel of his boot into the helmet - managing to shove him back into an abandoned car.

Rumlow rolls up onto his knees as Steve stalks closer. The supersoldier clutches hold of the man’s helmet, tossing it to the side - taking in the mangled burn scars that climb up Rumlow’s face and hairline.

He gives Steve a wolfish grin.

“Who sent you?” he questions; voice seething.

From behind Rumlow, he can see Natasha securing the other five guards up as Wanda releases the man from her mist - helping to remove the bag from his head. He recognizes that face, where the hell does he recognize that face from?

“You know he knew you.”

His gaze travels back down to Rumlow.

“Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky,” he bites out.

Steve grasps hold of his tactical gear, tugging him up as he searches his eyes - desperation clouding his features as the hint of a long-followed trail is brought back to the surface.

“What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there - ”

Hope, a sick and worrying thing, clings to his chest as the words sink in.

“He got all weepy about it,” Rumlow breathes out, a half-smile gnarled by twisting pink burn scars. “Till they put his brain back in a blender. He - ”

But before he can finish his sentence, a wisp of bluish-white light comes surging past as Pietro slams the man’s body into the curb. Hovering triumphantly over the criminal.

“Hey!” Steve calls. “You need to get out of here.”

“Not so tough now, are you?” the boy grins, hands on his waist as he stares down at Rumlow.

The man slouches against the curb, looking up at the enhanced teenager with a ragged breath.

“So, you’re one-half of the wonder kids Strucker’s been going on about - ”

“What was that?” Pietro questions, alarm raising as he zeroes in.

Wanda draws near, her hands misting red.

“Oh, yeah,” Rumlow grins, lounging out now as he glances over at Steve, “Wondering who my boss was, right, Pretty Boy? Yeah, you did a real bang-up job torturing a dead guy - ” he fixes Wanda with a look.

“Don’t - ” Steve warns as the teenagers draw closer.

“Fucking useless little bitch can’t even tell when her captor’s not in the room. Jesus Christ, you know how to pick them, huh, Rog- ”

Rumlow lets out a horrific scream as his arms twist backward.

“Wanda!”

“No, let him finish,” Pietro slams a foot into Rumlow’s chest.

But the teens won’t listen as Wanda creeps closer, her eyes turning nearly black as her rage climbs higher. Natasha grabs onto the girl - tugging her back as Wanda screams out. She doesn’t turn her powers on the Widow, thank god, but they barely fizzle from Rumlow.

The man, slack-jawed, stares up at Pietro.

“What you got, kid?”

“I’m going to kill you,” the boy bites out.

Steve clutches Pietro’s arm, tugging him back, “That’s enough.”

“Hah, rich talk,” Rumlow grimaces as he steps back onto the sidewalk, his legs shaking. “Fact is, I’m not one of your bargain basement losers.”

A gun is unholstered before Steve can even react, a bullet landing in the previously masked man’s head. He collapses to the ground, blood pooling around his dome as his unblinking eyes stare out in horror.

“NO!” Wanda screams, trying to entrap Rumlow with her powers once again.

His eyes land on Steve. His thumb twitches in his fist.

“You’re playing with the big boys now.”

Fire engulfs him as the trigger is set.

Steve slams Pietro to the ground as Natasha calls out to Wanda, but the girl can’t hear it as she panics, tears pooling in her eyes as she tries to lift the bubble of flame higher and higher, and then -

It smashes into the building next to the plaza, fire blazing through several floors before it’s tossed in the opposite direction, into the office building that had just been evacuated, and then -

Flames engulf the entire block into a raging inferno.

In the stock-still horror of the aftermath, Wanda had collapsed to the ground - body shaking as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. When Steve managed to clamber to his feet, Pietro took one step back - shaking his head, muttering to himself - and then he was gone.

They had spent the entire day, afternoon, and evening down in the remnants of Wall Street.

The buildings were smoldering ash by the time the main fires were finally extinguished sometime around 11:30 PM. The firefighters would still be battling the rest of the blaze well into the next morning.

Sam and the others arrived just after the news broke. Someone, he thinks it was Tony, took Wanda back to the Compound. At one point, as they assisted the FDNY in search and recovery - using his strength to lift broken beams and concrete - Pallas had arrived.

And as much as Steve wanted to - needed to - call you, the more pressing issue was the missing teenage mutant. So, when the owl fluttered down to his shoulder and pecked at the bits of ash and debris in his hair, he had asked him to go look for Pietro. Someone had to look for and locate him before anything worse happened.

It was too much of a risk to not have eyes on him.

In total, several businesses were now destroyed. The bank had suffered such heavy damage that it would have to undergo major repairs to ever function again. Federal Hall had been blasted in half. The offices of the Consulate General of Slovenia and the Consulate General of Sokovia had been ablaze. A Baptist church at the eastern end of the block had its front wall caved in.

And worst of all…

The International Academy for Gifted Youths had taken the final brunt of Rumlow’s explosion.

The bodies of the elementary-aged children were entirely unrecognizable from the smoldering remains of the building itself.

It hadn’t been evacuated in the initial efforts as the fire department deemed it safe; located at the end of the block, with a clear alley between them and the office building of Rumlow’s initial attack.

Steve had managed to find a girl, her body was blackened and still smoldering when he broke through a barrier of bricks. He had scooped her up and carried her out, eyes wide and red as he searched for someone, anyone, to help him.

He was useless here, he didn’t know what to do.

Captain America saved people.

He didn’t, he didn’t -

He can still feel her brittle body in his hands. Can still smell the burnt flesh and hair and clothes and death. So much avoidable death at his hands.

He was the leader and today… today he made such a series of terrible calls that… god, he doesn’t even know what.

Steve, standing a good distance away from you now, refusing to meet your eye, lets out yet another shuddering breath.

“Are they safe?” your voice is tender, unshakeable in comparison to the broken supersoldier.

“Wanda’s down with Nat. Pietro… we found him, halfway to Chicago. He’s in his room, but… no one’s been... You know he…” he swallows the lump in his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “He blames himself.”

“He’s a child,” you coo, stepping forward. “He shouldn’t have to brunt the weight of a terrible tragedy.”

Your hand, warm and careful, slinks its way around Steve’s wrist, tugging down until his gaze drops to your face.

“Nor should you.”

He snorts, “Come on, you know that’s not true. I was the one in charge, I made that call today to have them there.”

“Is every tragedy your sole responsibility then?”

Steve tugs away from your hold, taking a few steps out into the lawn. Hands poised on his hips as he watches the fluttering dance of the lightning bugs in the meadow.

“You should have called me,” you say, words urgent and pleading.

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t have the paper. And we were all too… busy. I had to send Pallas.”

Steve feels your presence on his left side before your fingers sweep against his own.

“There are things called phones, Steven.”

Gritting his teeth, he wonders why you just didn’t get it.

“Sorry, ‘Thena. Was a little preoccupied.”

“Hey,” you counter, moving in front of him - grabbing hold of the back of his neck so he’s physically forced to look you in the eyes which are searching his own gaze. “None of that. We’re a team, Steve. If I had been there today… we could have shared the weight of this guilt together.”

His lips gape as he struggles to form a reply.

“We do this together. That’s our purpose in this world. Every victory, every failure: together. Not… Captain America taking on another needless weight to his already heavy burden.”

His torrential orbs search your face, trying to find the cracks in your reasoning. But, as always, you are solid in that facet.

“Fuck, come here,” you sigh, frown easing as you tug him back into a tight embrace.

Steve bows into it, surrounding you with his arms as he buries his head into the beach-warm strands of your hair. With the world spinning madly around the two of you, the supersoldier, the man, finds solace in your steadfast presence.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

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postmoderntongues · 5 months ago

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I will forever stand by as somebody who knew him in a previous life from having similar interests in a small web community that i do not believe that by the end of his life Soren Hayes was fully cognitively aware that his narrative was fabricated and theres a real possibility that he was being manipulated by a charlatan 80's satanic panic style false-memory implanting psychosis validating abusive unprofessional therapist who actively exacerbated his condition and deepened his gap from fact and what was his brain's honest perception of reality at that point. Behavior that we have evidence that is considered shocking now was considered common and unremarkable in 4chan-dominant autistic oldweb late 00s emo edgelord culture. While a lot of their references and elements of their narrative have been traced back to media including 90s indie cult horror, guro manga, bandshipping MCR yaoi fanfiction (which got dark) SRA testimonies, and creepypasta and even potentially some writing that I showed them at the time based on my own intrusive thoughts and a lifelong paranoid delusion. it is not unheard of or even uncommon for people with psychosis to have delusions related to media they've consumed at some point especially when you throw in autistic special interest levels of fandom. I also believe something really bad DID happen to soren. At one point theres a post with a line of photos going through the years as a child and in two of the young photos maybe around age 9 or 10 which was the age that the most obvious fabrications/exaggerations in the narrative happened. Between two of the pictures something just changes in his eyes or facial expression. Given my own history with mental illness, I was around a similar age when the frequency and intensity of my violent intrusive thoughts and antisocial fantasies began to disrupt my everyday functioning in a way that i not only could no longer deny but was having trouble hiding and beginning to face social ostracization for voicing these thoughts and also first faced exclusion for being neurodivergent although I didn't have the medical or sociological language to describe it.

Weirdly relevant to our participation in the MCR fandom, Soren and I were also close enough in age that he likely carried some degree of cultural trauma from 9/11. living less than an hour outside NYC i remember the event being very traumatic including believing for days that my father had died because he had a mental breakdown and didnt contact anybody and just started helping pull bodies out and my mom made us kids all go in the basement and drink boiled water from a spackle bucket and shit/piss in another spackle bucket and eat room temperature canned food and pray very loudly and sincerely for a little under 72 hours, and im not sure if it's related to that age in my development or in part triggered by that trauma but within a year I started almost all of my self destructive behaviors from SH to Purging to household substance abuse. I also had an odd response when the event was explained to me that hinted at foreshadowing my cluster B diagnosis in adulthood; I was very upset that the terrorists died in the plane crash and suffered the same amount as the American passengers did and didn't survive so their punishment and suffering could be worse than what they caused "my people" (worth mentioning that my father is and especially at the time was an out and proud white supremist with public ties to racist organizations within my community especially in the cultural surge in racism against Muslims and middle eastern and west asian people who a few weeks after 9/11 showed me grainy low quality video footage of a clitoridectomies being preformed on a little girl, explained what id seen, and told me that the people who did 9/11 who we were going to war with were going to do that to me if we didn't win the war and make it illegal for me to go to school (which was my refuge from a household with a severely mentally ill alcoholic criminal parent) and stop me from reading or writing ever again so I couldn't fall for tricks pretending we can all be friends because thats what they will do to me if I don't possibly even personally kill them first when the time comes. My brother regularly downloaded and a few times even included me in viewing war gore on websites like Ogrish and Rotten.

For a long time all non-child specific age-contained content on the internet was held only and often not even to the strictest most technical definition of free speech law and assumed to be fair game for adult content with no content warning. This was before monetized social media when anonymity existed even between burner accounts (its was a very common lonely millennial autistic middle schooler pastime to larp dramatic mary sue OCs on gaiaonline and AIM chatrooms. My best friend from my teens even once created a fake cute emo boy with photos of Alex Evans, dated me over AIM including pretty serious plans to run away together, and then killed the character off in a dramatic car accident along with his twin sister who were an Americanized ripoff of Hansel and Gretel from the anime Black Lagoon in a convoluted attempt to get me to admit that I was neither straight nor cis) and nothing was cleaned up for advertisers and unless a community became a hub of obvious in the open illegal activity very few website owners wanted to shell out the costs of a moderation team. There were pro-suicide forums, NAMBLA had an early internet presence with their propaganda as did hate groups like the Westboro Baptist Church and hundreds of flavors of white cishet male supremacy, Ive mentioned 4chan which at its height was actually quite mainstream, early fetlife which myself and lots of other minors I knew were active on and was for a long time the only transgender-specific community larger than a few dozen regular members that had a space for just FtM people where most trans-related forums were dominated by selfie-obsessed transwomen, livejournal and eventually early tumblr pro-ED anti-recovery anti-harm-reduction communities, recipes for chemical weapons and bomb-building instructions, the rise in the normalization of hybristophilia and violent sexual practices once considered niche like BDSM (everybody into something weird could suddenly connect with a relatively large community of people into the same thing for the first time and the social validation within these communities emboldened predators and exhibitionists) the rapid escalation of taboo content in internet porn, the subculture surrounding shock videos, the availability of films like Salo or August Underground or gunea Pig or cannibal Holoaust that big chains like Walmart and blockbuster refused to carry or distribute. Like the way my parents talk about the normalization of psychedelic drugs growing up in the 60's and my grandpa talked about spending his childhood playing in the woods for 12+ hours a day and how awesome it was to have that much freedom as a child compared to what he saw me have after the child abduction panic of the late 80's/early 90s driven by cases like Adam Walsh and Johnbenet Remsey and Etan Patz in addition to the increased frequency of reporting of both abductions and severe accidental injury due to local and 24 hour TV news needing to fill the air and being used as a tool to raise awareness in missing person's cases and sensational court trials. Like yeah he saw one of his friends drown in a creek in elementary school but he wasn't part of a generation of indoor cats like I was. That's how it was with obscenity laws in the 00s. If you hit your teens after 2010 you missed out on a completely different cyberspace culture.

Being autistic I doubt he had an entirely positive social experience as peers became more aware of his symptoms. As an autistic kid i always felt and still to some degree feel more comfortable existing in cyberspace where not only are interactions easier for me to process given I have both an auditory processing disability and a speech impediment but especially in the days of the oldweb there was a majority ND population especially among heavy users who did most of their socializing virtually. being able to abandon your identity at any time with little to no consequences after a major soial faux pas and rejoin a community with a fresh slate, having complete control to the information other community members were able to gather on you, and I think most importantly for a lot of AFAB teens especially those of us who struggled with gender dysphoria or body dysmorphia or the impossible photoshopped beauty standards of the 00s that was so severe that the body positivity movement originally caught on as a response to how insanely body-negative beauty culture had become, it being normal to not do face reveals or let anybody know your physical appearance at the time and often not even announce that you were female (which immediately drew both public socially acceptable sexual harassment from the males in the community and accusations of something called GOTIS or Girl On The internet Syndrome popularized when a user named Augucat revealed herself to be female and made a sex joke but was later found to be a normal looking slightly chubby girl instead of a victoria secret model and was driven off the internet).

This community was also extremely hostile to trauma survivors, one infamous example involved the mass cyberbullying of an 11 year old Dhavie Vanity SA victim who is now a trans man but at the time was known by the name Jesse Slaughter escalating into his father slapping him while on camera for continuing to use the internet and him being taken into state custody for the crime of telling the truth about his assault by the celebrity to an online drama community. These claims were later proven to have been true but references to the incident including lines such as "you dun goofed" "cyber police" and "ill pop a glock in your moth and make a brain slushie" are such commonly referenced pieces of early meme culture that a lot of people making the reference today don't know the dark orogin, similar to the use of the phrase "Mods are asleep, post sinks" and its variations. Audio clips from the original video posted on a YRYL thread on /b/ are even fairly popular samples unused in millennial EDM music that ive personally heard dropped in clubs and raves enough to consider its use cliche.

If you think tumblr users behave badly with anon privileges it didn't hold a candle to what behavior was considered unremarkable on not only 4chan but eventually anonymous message websites like formspring or the fact that exhibitionism on anonymous/random video chat platforms like Chatroulette were so common that it was the major cliche cultural reference joke about such websites. Cybersex and explicit roleplay and minors trading explicit pictures for in-game currency was commonplace even on what were considered to be reputable well-moderated teen-appropriate websites like gaiaonline.com and a lot of people adopted a dont ask dont tell attitude toward sexual interaction with suspected/alleged minors. I started participating in this activity in 4th grade when my website of choice became gaiaonline instead of the strictly moderated and fairly advanced filtered Neopets. Like I said behavior that is shocking today was unremarkable and often even encouraged in oldweb spaces.

Soren likely did not feel safe telling the truth about whatever trauma he did experience, at least not as himself (females discovered to have any physical flaw were deemed liars because "i wouldnt fuck her if she let me" and ones considered physically attractive were told that they invited or consented to their assault by not making themselves unattractive to potential predators). Tori Amos became a meme for her song "me and a gun". Everybody into horror was talking about A Serbian Film and Maichan's Daily Life. Googling the word "rape" was as likely to get you a porn video as it was to get you a news article or crisis hotline. The word itself was a punchline and colloquial metaphor for any act of violation, dominance, or extortion from winning a video game to getting ripped off by an unscrupulous auto mechanic. This did not create an environment where survivors felt comfortable identifying ourselves or even in many cases understanding that we'd been victimized at all. Frat house gang rapes of girls with alcohol poisoning and supposed confessions of incest and pictures of female children wearing bathing suits or Halloween costumes or warm-weather fashions with sexually explicit captions became the bread and butter of websites like Motherless.

A lot of people's brothers and brother's friends went off to war and came back all fucked up and lot of them became opiate addicts or committed suicide. Kids who were around a certain stage in development when this massive cultural trauma took place are likely to display similar symptoms, which lead to the emo subculture and the commodification and glorification of mental illness as an identity and severity and medical confirmation of debilitating symptoms was social currency and earned you clout within emo subculture. From the timeline of photos they gave, the event that caused the visible signs of traumatized body language could have potentially in theory been 9/11 especially since as an Indian person he would have likely faced anti-Muslimism racism or at least bullying from racist whites who can't tell the difference between Eastern ethnicities. He had a very obvious complex about his race and often complained about gender-trenders, cosplay/fandom communities, and aesthetic tropes associated with white/Eurocentric supremacy and on top of that he was adopted as an infant and likely subject to some degree of neglect in early infancy if he was a toddler or almost that old when he was adopted by a rich white family which in a white supremacist society comes with all sorts of psychological complications and power dynamics.

Just statistically, its unlikely that by the age of 17 when what became the narrative was first recorded to have surfaced, about a year or two after I fell out of contact with him, he had not experienced some adverse sexual event in his life. IDK if it was online grooming or a random violent attack by a stranger but Soren painting "The Bad Guys" with the same sinister anonymity as the SRA panic painted satanists or qanon weirdos paint "the Elite" which leads me to believe he likely knew the person that encroached upon him and had some sort of relationship or implicit trust that was violated by this incident and wished the crime had been committed by a morally unambiguous stranger. he tells in the original narrative what he WISHES happened instead. he wishes hed been a tall thin white grunge model who met patriarchal feminine beauty standards who people would not only believe and sympathize with but possibly even martyr or eroticize, and also that the trauma was more physically extreme and sensationalistic to justify the severity of his symptoms which impaired his day to day functioning and provide an explanation less stigmatized in online circles of the time than PTSD or verbal autism without significant IQ deficit.

it is also necessary to understand that a lot of female parahelia is the misinterpretation of a physical defense mechanism. Unlike male sexual arousal where the body prepares to penetrate, female physical arousal response mainly exists to reduce the potential harm that can be caused to the mucus membrane during penetration. Thoughts of violent penetration often produce a stronger physical arousal response not because the female desires it but to protect the body from the possible harm it could cause. Purity culture especially in religious communities also creates a disconnect where women commonly develop "rape fantasies' to indulge the fantasy of experiencing sex without being at fault or losing standing within the community or potential value as a future wife. Romance/Dating/hookup/Party culture is also just heavily rooted in not just the normalization of using physical forces to get sex but to coerce or influence the state of consent with things like money or substances or the implicit cultural threat that you MIGHT respond violently if she refuses so she may as well negotiate or even the promise of emotional labor. Females even when we are not abused are aware of sex and the fact that people want to sexually abuse us to some degree or another even if we dont have the specific vocabulary for it from the time we are sentient. That in and of itself is fucking traumatizing. We grow up knowing of it as something horrible that males want to do to us. Then in our teens we are suddenly expected to change our view of sex from a lifelong association with violence to an act of intimacy and romance and also a precious finite resource that we must distribute strategically. A lot of ND people, myself included, have a hard time disconnecting sex from violence and re-assigning it the context it is supposed to take on in our teens and as a result associate feelings of anxiety or pain with arousal or develop inappropriate responses to violence.

From both his posts and our conversations, I think there is a good chance that like me Soren had some degree of OCD and experienced violent intrusive thoughts. Contrary to popular belief, enjoying or responding positively to an antisocial intrusive thought is not what separates it from a fantasy and a lot of people with severe OCD's brains cope by responding positively to all intense thoughts and stimuli indiscriminately. Desensitization to violence is also a common but little discussed OCD symptom which I suspect is why all the descriptions are so over the top, he's thinking of things that hes not desensitized to and still considers shocking which by 17 had escalated to splatterpunk territory but this theory would also explain the escalation between the first and final narrative.

Another reason autistics struggle to form a healthy sexuality is because we tend to be developmentally immature in an emotional and social sense. In American culture, your mid to late teens are supposed to include certain milestones and there's a lot of shame around not meeting them; driving, your first part time job, high school graduation and moving away from home for college, certain intensity of friendships and romantic relationships, substance experimentation, pop culture bildungsroman staples, crisis like most people's first peer death, disordered eating, bullying/peer abuse, very special episode type stuff that he really ruminates on. he wants to have lived these milestones but his only references for them are fiction. He wants to have been in such intense love that he can never love again and therefor will never have to explain his romantic struggles. He wants to have not only had a normal adolescent sex life but to have been sexually experienced so much earlier than his peers that his "advancement" in terms of experience would in and of itself be shocking enough to shut down and discussion of the topic where he didn't feel he could control the narrative.

His use of hard drugs is debatable since he did have funding and basic knowledge of Tor and substances like club drugs and controlled substance prescription medication with recreational abuse potential were easily available through the mail and as somebody who didn't party socially I wouldn't be surprised if he had some experience with opiates (not IV tar and her use of slang was regionally and anachronistically inconsistent so i don't believe she ran in those social circles). he also had a record of being prescribed both adderal (pharmaceutical meth) and benzos and mostly lived in blue states with easier access to weed but i don't believe he ever habitually used let alone was addicted to street drugs or socialized with other hard drug users in person with any regularity. I don't think its impossible that on occasion he sold his pills to other nerdy kids. if he did struggle with substances they were prescription and he claimed to be on street drugs for more shock/clout/to further the charade of having what he considers to be interesting life experiences. I don't think he got 'tar" in a gum packet through airport security, maybe his boomer parents were lucky enough to score an indefinite opiate prescription back when those were still a thing and he sometimes swiped their pills for a buzz. Like I said his knowledge of Silk Road and it's convenience and ease of use for a while makes it not impossible that he tried street drugs but IMHO less likely than abusing his prescriptions.

SingitForDanny and catfishing with Ashton Drew's photos and the beginnings of the character of a girlfriend who committed suicide and left him a note which he posted on his blog faceclaimed with some red haired girl who was NOT ginger who i have never seen in another context were the lies he was telling when I knew him personally along with (like myself) open participation in anti-recovery SH and Ed communities that was NOT a LARP i don't even think those two things were that exaggerated. Compulsive lying is not uncommon in trauma survivors. Again hes telling how he wishes it was; he's all alone not because he struggles socially but because all his friends who were the closest people ever died tragic trendy topical deaths.

I strongly believe that from the escalation of the narrative and his tying his identity to this character that he built but unlike every time before this time the web had advanced enough to where most people knew how to reverse search an image and identities were no longer as disposable as they once were. it was the truth because it had to be the truth because the social implications of being exposed in this kind of a lie to his entire social circle was more than his brain could cope with. It was easier to believe about himself that he was experiencing a recovered memories Sybil Dorsett situation from unspeakable trauma than that he lied about something that horrible. Often compulsive lying, a highly stigmatized symptom, is a phenomenon beyond the person's control. it is not calculated or a moral choice and usually serves no practical purpose beyond a momentary immediate dopamine reward and temporary increase in intensity of attention from the person he is attempting to socialize with but does not know how to form a more intense connection with appropriately. In males this usually manifests as aggression and instigating fights because a negative social interaction is still a social interaction and provoking and receiving a negative reaction is safer and more predictable than attempting to provoke a positive reaction and the attempt being rejected. In females it often manifests as compulsive lying or dramatizing of minor events and other symptoms that define whats currently known as HPD (a lesser-diagnosed cluster B disorder).

If hes not a survivor it could also be part of the compulsive part of the theorized OCD which I struggled with as a pre-teen and overcame by forming a pattern of real behavior so shocking and self destructive that i had enough real crazy things to overshare about and didn't need to make them up after my social standing was compromised by a reputation for making shit up. Still today I have a real problem with lying by omission because I've had enormous shameful secrets since Ive been sentient. I also don't think compulsive lying is even totally developmental inappropriate boundary testing behavior and being autistic and not forced into learning socialization for survival through the public school system he just might not have grown out of it. my father never socially or emotionally developed past whats typical for a 8-12 year old child. I maxed out at 14-16. Some autistic people function on the level of an infant or small child. But if the lying was an OCD compulsion and not poorly socialized overly-sheltered autistic arrested development that comes with SO MUCH shame and self blame and stigma and carries such a heavy moral assignment and is still so poorly understood as a phenomenon. Why was he having all these sick thoughts and inappropriate responses and unable to stop insisting these things were true unless maybe they were and he was really remembering buried memories. it makes as much sense as "your brain is doing it because it is malfunctioning and chronically ill and you lost a genetic lottery and theres no real reason or satisfying explanation for why you are experiencing these life-ruining symptoms other than fuck you".

I believe he was severely mentally ill, had made serious attempts on his life although probably fewer than he claimed but had absolutely spent extensive portions of time especially during his formative social years institutionalized in a community where his severe symptoms were more socially acceptable. I also believe his delusions were encouraged by Ellen Lector whose website has at points contained some suspect-sounding articles or conferences. I do not believe he was fabricating his claims of DID, i think he was in the beginning of the current pop medical trend of slapping the DID label on autistic people with rapidly-fluctuating ability levels if we have A comorbid PTSD/CPTSD/Cluster B diagnosis and any cognitive disability related to struggles with memory or attention/alertness. Schizophrenia was over diagnosed in the 60s, ADHD was over diagnosed in the 00s, autism was over diagnosed in the 2010s, there was a female cluster b swell in the last decade, gender dysphoria had become the first rout of diagnostic investigation when addressing pediatric mental illness which Im not totally personally convinced isnt a sugar coating for a eugenics movement to steralyze the mentally ill as children, now the trend is DID. diagnostic fads move through the mental health world just like diet fads do with physical health communities where every other week eggs are going to either save or kill you. These therapists are encouraging psychotic patients to "get to know the cast of their headspace" by indulging fully in these masks as different beings with in a religious sense different souls in one body. Similar to a lot of modern theories about gender dysphoria being caused by a soul being "in the wrong body" this approach to mental health first and foremost insists that diagnostic science officially validate ad recognize the religious concept of a soul or spirit. They now insist indulging it fully is the only way to achieve 'headspace integration" like DID is the vines from harry Potter that strangle you when you wiggle.

Basically in conclusion Im convinced that, by the time he died, Soren was no longer LARPing or lying but believed his version of reality and that there's a plausible medical explanation for his seemingly inexplicable behavior. If King Or Cooper Or Sotos or Welsh or Burgess or Woolf or Ketchum or Plath had access to the oldweb as a teenager they might have behaved similarly (King infamously sold violent stories about his classmates as a kid, which I also did but for free post-columbine so I got suspended and had to talk to cops and then a court-ordered therapist). Soren's poetry and taste in media shows creativity and some sense of understanding art and it is a tragedy that his symptoms became terminal before he was able to settle into a healthy career as an artist. He was also a pretty nice kid in general when I knew him. We need to do better as a society for people with severe and/or stigmatized symptoms than was done for Soren. His symptoms were enabled/neglected at best and potentially exacerbated by a psychologically abusive therapist. Watching the record of it unfolding and his deterioration between the time I knew him and his death is medically fascinating in the same way that gore is but it shouldn't be any funnier than pictures of late stage cancer patients.

#soren hayes #lolcow #mental illness #ugly symptoms #ocd #autism #oldweb #emo #mcr #9/11

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srasdoesthings · 1 year ago

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＊✿❀Day 6: Fantasy AU❀✿＊

･ﾟﾟ･:.｡..｡.:ﾟ::✼✿

Rei and Eichi being in false dichotomies rattles in my head so so mach. Might be the wrong term but I just legit blank out whenever I see them sfjds. So for this AU and piece, I based it on Slay the Princess!! The whole change and stasis, how two seemingly opposing concepts are in essence bound together for all eternity, large ethereal beings embodying the make up of reality dancing around each other and mad in love-

Anyways :33 another blurb thingy under the cut! I find deities and myths in videogames very interesting so might as well spit it all into something for the girls🔥🔥🔥 This was beta-ed and heavily proofread by another fello femstars discord member: Cordelia!! (@kanameows) Big big thanks to her, he's really helped me straighten this out and fix up the wording to make it sound less modern nsdkjff

Sorry for rambling dhsnfkmas enjoy the short read^^

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

From the beginning of time, two great entities watched over the earth. The Greatest of the greats, the highest of the high. They were gods, deities. They ruled over concepts, embodies them. Eichi and Rei.

Despite all the worship, reverence, and adoration of the people, though, no one truly knew what dominion these gods ruled over. Years, centuries, and milleniums of myths and legends passed down from generation to generation, tainted by the interpretations of those spreading their story. Small details mutate and are discarded over time.

These different spins on their myths go as follows:

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Eichi was the God of Good and Rei was the Demon to be defeated. Eichi was born of light and she drove away the darkness that followed Rei like a shroud.

Eichi brought wonderful things such as the spring and summer, warm and bright; cheery.

Rei is followed by Autumn and Winter, windy and cold --biting at the senses, numbing everything.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Eichi was the God of Life. All living things are her subjects, each and every one blessed by her power.

Rei was the God of Death, who brings rest to the weary, comfort to the tormented, and punishment to the sinners.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Eichi was a God who strived to keep the world perfect. A tyrant creator who destroys all that mar her perfect vision.

Rei was a kind god that accepted the strange and unwanted into her arms, soothing their broken souls.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Eichi was an evil god. An evil god surrounded by wonderful things. An evil god who makes sure she's surrounded by wonderful things. She creates new flowers to hide those that wither in her hands; brought forth life to erase the dying.

Rei was a pitiful god framed by her as evil. She mourned, cried for those she has hurt; unable to protect, only able to take them under her large black wings, singing melodies of solace.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

At least, those were what the myths say...

But myths are products of human culture, unable to comprehend those above them. In truth:

Eichi is the God of Change; of growth and decay; of revolution and corruption. She is the passing of seasons. She is improvement and she is the loss of progress. All encompassing and always there.

Rei is the God of Stasis. The moment, an ending, and the time spend lingering in it. She is of long nights with loved ones where time holds no meaning and she is minutes stretched to hours in agony. All encompassing and always there.

There is no winner or loser, no right or wrong, and know good or bad. They are merely forces of nature, the absolute truth of the world, and the gears that turn reality. They are simply change and stasis. Simply Eichi and Rei.

･ﾟﾟ･:.｡..｡.:ﾟ::✼✿

#i love how i rendered it like UGHHH this is def gonna be how im gonna render my stuff from now on #Dont mind that the flowers are not fully rendered shhhh #I feel like the blurb thing is a little confusing but snfjkf sowwy #sras makes things ☆#sras drawing stuff☆#sras write write writes ✩#rei sakuma #enstars rei #reichi #reiei #enstars eichi #eichi tenshouin #ensemble stars #enstars #femstarsweek2024 #femstars #WOMEN MAKING OUT 🔥🔥🔥 ☆

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a-smokebreath-system · 5 days ago

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Yoyoyo welcome to our introoooo

We're Ash!! We a polyfragmented ramcoa system. We like smothering smokebreaths from how to train your dragon.

Roll up roll up for boundaries

Um yeah pro endos? Fuck off. We want nothing to do with you lot.

Anti endos and other ramcoa and sra victims? Please please please please hi welcome.

(We are Eli at the time of writing this intro)

#actually did #actually dissociative #anti endo #anti endogenic #did community #did osdd #did #did system #dissociative identity disorder #dissociative system

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skylermadness · 9 months ago

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Materia Gains (Heidegger TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: June 23, 2024)

Original Description:

My half of a trade with Catolyst! His half can be found here: DeviantArt / FuAffinity. Truthfully I've been wanting to write a Heidegger TF for a long time. Ever since I first played Final Fantasy 7 Remake, actually! I even had a relatively lengthy concept for one that I ended up not writing. Although I did end up retooling a lot of systems from it for this story! Mainly having it involve a materia trigger since, honestly, materia is the easiest trigger concept imaginable. I've seen about three different Final Fantasy 7 TFs involving materia and one of those I wrote like two years ago. But also I find it extremely fun! Although I should perhaps take a stab at using non-green materia some day. I'm going on a tangent though. This was a really fun story to write though. I feel like I handled age progression descriptions a lot better this time around than I usually do! I'm also really proud of the mental changes and corruption for this one. It feels like I haven't done a good corruption story since the Roquefort one from last year. All-in-all, super satisfied with how this worked out! I'm also very happy with how Catolyst's art for this trade turned out as well~ Makes me realize how many times I've gotten one-eyed old men as part of trades with him. I wonder if this'll be kept up in future trades... Anyway, thanks Catolyst for this trade opportunity! It's always a pleasure to work with you, and I look forward to doing so again in the future!

The ticking of a clock echoed ominously within the confines of the waiting room that Cato was currently in. For a good chunk of the past half hour he had found his gaze constantly flicking between the time display on his phone, and the aforementioned clock. The email said that his interview was scheduled at twelve o’clock precisely. And it was currently eleven fifty-seven.

Three minutes…

He hoped that the actual interview room wasn't as bad as this room. The polished wooden walls and red carpeting had given the waiting room an elegant look, but it added a certain level of ominousness that he wasn't very fond of. The massive, presumably locked double-door that was positioned to the wall opposite of him also gave this place a certain vibe he couldn't pinpoint. One that was professional, but in an off-putting kind of way. The only compliment he could give was that the seats were comfortable to sit on.

Two minutes now…

Cato’s stomach was still in knots from the stress he was experiencing. He admittedly still wasn't too sure what this interview had fully entailed. The company’s name on the job finder site was relatively vague with it just being titled ‘SRA Industrial Incorporation’. The listing was also for a position in the public relations sector. Nowadays that probably just meant running some kind of social media account for the company or something. Such a thing has never seemed like the most riveting of jobs, but if it paid well then he didn't really mind. But the overall vagueness of the situation didn't really give him much hope for anything.

He checked the time again. One minute now. Damn.

He then resumed his thoughts. This place didn't seem to be that bad at least. The tower the company was situated in seemed pretty nice, and the furnishing within it was at the very least comforting. So while Cato didn't really know the specifics of what he might be getting himself into, what's the worst that could-

His internal spiraling is broken when the room’s massive door opens. Stepping out of it was a woman with blonde hair tied up in a French twist, and wearing a dark red satin dress. She only gave Cato a single glance before coldly stating, “The President will be seeing you now.”

Cato just watched as the lady walked back through the doorway, taking a few seconds to fully register what was going on. He was having an interview with the company president? Do companies tend to even do that!? He then shook his head to break himself out of another spiral. He'd rather not start looking like he's staring off into space when he knows he might be in the eyesight of the people who're interviewing him.

Standing up, Cato begins walking towards and into the room. Despite his earlier hopes, the interview room was effectively equally (if not more) stress-inducing than the waiting room he was previously in. The room was somewhat lengthy, which he reasoned was to fit the relatively long rectangular table that he could only equate to being like one of those large meeting tables in movies. He had counted about eight chairs surrounding the table, three being on each of the longer sides while there was one per short side. However despite the daunting seat count there were only two other people here besides him.

One of those two people was the woman, who had now taken a seat in one of the chairs on the table’s long side that was furthest from the entrance. Meanwhile the other person had been sitting in a seat that was both directly opposite to the entrance and the actual furthest distance away from it. This person seemed to be an older-looking man with thinning blonde hair and a mustache, who was wearing a dark red suit. The man was also staring right at Cato as he was inspecting the room, a rather intimidating glare tangible on their face.

Cato had quickly taken note of the fact he was being glared at, which was more than just mildly uncomfortable for him. So he just sat down in the chair on the table’s short end that was closest to the doorway. Then, with an awkward wave and a smile directed towards the other man, he said a simple, “Hi?”

A silence befell the room for a few seconds as the man (the president of this company, Cato presumed) broke his gaze to look at a few papers he had in front of him. “So I take it you're-” he paused to squint at the paper, “-Cato?”

Cato nodded. “Yep,” he responded. He tried to keep his focus on the other man’s eyes to maintain eye contact but every so often his gaze would flick around the room for a second or two out of nervousness. It didn't help that his thoughts rapidly drifted during these pauses. Between the man’s suit and that lady’s dress, mixed with the sheer elegance of the rooms of the building, he had a feeling he came here a little underdressed. A flannel shirt and jeans did not make for a good business fit…

“Hmm,” the rumble of a hum in the president’s throat really echoed through the room. “So what made you think you'd be a good fit for our Public Safety position?”

Cato blinked a few times. Public safety? He could've sworn the listing said public relations. “Uhh, well-”

“Especially since your credentials don't really align with the job you applied yourself for,” the suited man outright stated. Although there was a strange lack of frustration in his voice.

“A-admittedly, I thought the listing said something else,” Cato started to explain, nervously tugging at the collar of his shirt as he spoke.

“And that was?”

“Public relations…”

A stiff silence entered the room after he admitted that. The woman and the president looked at each other, seemingly having some kind of mutual conversation in the silence somehow. Then with the passing of a few seconds the president restored eye contact with Cato.

“A very easy mistake to make,” he started. He set the papers flat onto the table again. “Not unnoticeable though. I'm sure you're probably wondering by now why we'd even consider you despite your clear lack of expertise in this field.”

Cato raised a brow. The thought didn't really cross his mind until now thanks to the stress, but now that it was said out loud…

“I like to consider myself a generous man,” the president continued. An odd smile was now gracing his previously unfeeling face. “Not many get a chance to reach the interview process here at SRA Industrial Inc., even less with such a clear difference in interests to what we need.”

Cato watched as the man promptly plunged a hand into the jacket of his suit. He rummaged around in there for a few seconds before pulling out what looked to be a green, crystalline orb. “That's why I'd want to offer some… on the job training for you,” he then put the orb on the table. “Mainly because I see great potential in you, Cato.”

Cato was already feeling a bit confused at this proposition. “Well, my field of knowledge hasn't really been in public safety, so that would probably require a lot of training…”

“You'd be surprised at how often that happens here at SRA. Even I had no knowledge of handling a business once, but that didn't stop me from… getting taught and building this company from the ground up.”

He then flicked his hand, the action propelling the green sphere across the table and towards Cato. The sound of stone rolling across wood reverberated through the air as it traveled before it conveniently slowed to a halt at Cato’s end of the table.

Cato just eyed the object, feelings of curiosity and suspicion forming in the man’s mind. “Uh, what is this exactly?”

All the president did was smile and give a single, cryptic response. “Consider it a little… gift from me.”

He then stood up from his seat. “Now, we'll give you some time alone to consider our proposition. Although I can promise you that doing so would be very beneficial for you. So think long and hard about this…”

He then looks at the woman, who herself was starting to leave her seat. The two nod to each other before taking their leave, exiting through a door that was located at the side of the room. Cato watched as the duo exited the room, sighing in relief once the door fully shut behind them.

“Ugh, that was weird…” he muttered to himself as his gaze wandered towards the strange sphere the president had rolled towards him. The dim green glow mixed with various shades of spiraling green was oddly satisfying to stare at. Now if only he knew what this thing even was.

He picked up the orb. Despite its appearance it was oddly light. Furthermore it seemed to glow brighter from his touch. “Weird gift. Come to think of it, it's really weird to give me anything even though he hasn't hired me yet…”

Cato then sat back in his seat and began to idly futz around with the orb in his hand. He wasn't sure what to think about in regards to anything about this interview. He'd rather have gotten a rejection email instead of this. But then again they are offering him genuine training to fit whatever needs they require of him in regards to public security. Although he does wonder what kind of company this is that it requires a sector for public security of all things.

“What did I get myself into,” Cato said with another sigh.

A few more seconds pass with the man continuing to casually shift the orb between hands. A part of him expects the duo of executives to walk through that door to get his answer, but nothing really happens. That is until he makes a fumble that causes the weird crystal to slip out from its cycle in his hands. It quickly dropped onto the ground with a hard thunk!

“Shit-” Cato immediately got up from his seat to pick up the orb. Luckily it just dropped onto the ground right next to his chair, so he didn't have to go searching under the table for it.

“Please don't be cracked, please don't be cracked,” he panickedly repeated, rolling the glassy crystal around in both of his hands to inspect for any breaks or bruises. On the plus side there hadn't seemed to be any judging by a few seconds of inspection. Those few seconds of inspection proved something else however. The orb seemed to be glowing brighter, and a green aura was coming off it and seemingly surrounding his hands.

“Uhhh, what the…?”

With each second longer the aura seemed to last, the more a strange sensation entered Cato’s hands. A rising pressure that overtook them both. A feeling that resulted in something very, very strange…

The most evident manifestation of this strangeness was a building pressure in both his hands. The feeling of pressure increase seemed to cause a physical change in growth within each hand, both steadily getting larger as the gem’s aura stayed prevalent. Each passing second making both hands stretch out wider, lengthier. Even making them a bit thicker by granting them a more meaty appearance. This had also resulted in his fingers developing a bit of chunkiness to them as they too thickened, alongside seemingly lengthening to fit with the new proportions of his hands.

The size of his hands didn't seem to be the only thing changing either. A rougher texture had started to settle within the skin. This was more noticeable in the back of each hand as this roughness set in, which was accentuated by the sparse growth of black hairs in the region. The front of his hands weren't left unchanged either as the once soft skin of his palms hardened the longer they held onto the glowing orb. They still remained skin, but it was a bit whiter and weathered with calluses. Both of these alterations combined seemed to prove a certain aging effect was setting into Cato’s body by this weird crystal.

Or, at least, he thought it was the crystal’s doing. So in the sudden panic that was forming from watching his hands rapidly age in front of him he dropped the orb back onto the ground. Another thunk echoed off the walls of the meeting room as the green sphere hit the ground.

Cato didn't care about the object anymore. He just looked at his hands, his older, rougher-skinned hands, and his jaw clenched in worried anticipation. He was waiting for some kind of sign the changes would be reversed now that he wasn't holding whatever that object was anymore. “Come on, I dropped that thing so you have no reason to look like this anymore!”

The green glow of the glassy crystal continued to persist however. And even on the ground the mist-like aura of it seemed to stretch out and towards Cato, thick and translucent tendrils of green circling themselves around the man. Whatever he did earlier seemed to have activated something in it, and it had no intention of stopping.

So all he could do was let out a frustrated, “Damn it!” as he watched the furthest ends of his shirt sleeves begin to fill out while a mixture of pressure and heat enveloped his forearms. An indicator that the changes had evidently begun to move beyond the confines of his hands.

The primary manifestation of these changes was a sudden growth in musculature within the region. Cato was a typically skinny guy, but that was becoming quickly contrasted as his extensor muscles thickened. This had resulted in the fabric of his shirt sleeves to steadily strain over the bulking ends of his limbs. Roughening skin rubbing up against the soft material, crevices of his newly forming muscles indenting into the patterned red of it with ease.

His upper arms weren't immune to this either. The skin across both limbs would continue to age upwards, accompanied by a thickening layer of arm hair that had taken on a deep black tone instead of his usual blonde coloration. Beneath it all his muscle mass would continue to burgeon, presumed years of workout being added to his form in mere seconds. Biceps and triceps both heated up and swelled in conjunction with each other. His deltoids began thickening soon after which resulted in a roundness developing within his shoulders. As both these changes grew in prevalence it further added to the heavy strain that his shirt was undergoing, alongside adding some pressure in his undershirt now that everything reached the upper half of his limbs. So many crevices and indents that represented the divides in muscle groups, all continuously etching into the fabric as his arms developed a definition that they didn't have prior. It wasn't a surprise that just a few seconds after his arms stopped bulking up, the sheer disparity between their new and old sizes would cause a few tears to form at the seams of his flannel’s sleeves.

The sound of fabric ripping pierced the air. Cato’s attention ended up being drawn to the newly formed rippage, his eyes focusing on a tear over his bulkier bicep. Although the cyan of his undershirt’s sleeve was visible so he couldn't see if his skin had changed beneath it. Judging by the mild itching on his arms though he had a feeling it was. Come to think of it, his chest was also kind of itchy too.

With that realization, a groan of frustration escaped Cato’s throat as his gaze left his arms and moved over to his chest. “What the heck is that orb thing even doing to me!?”

The answer was pretty obvious considering the rapid increase in mass the man was accumulating. With his focus on his chest now he could see just how much it the transformative aura was causing it to push and swell forward. Size greatly accumulating within the region as heat continuously spiraled around his core. In just mere seconds the relatively flat and undefined nature of his chest was altered by the rapid gain in musculature. The front of his shirt pushed out bit by bit as his pectorals swelled and thickened. Soon the upper buttons of his shirt strained against their eyelets, the two forming slabs of raw meat just increasing the pressure his burgeoning size was putting on his attire.

But then after a few more seconds something else started to accumulate on Cato’s chest. Some more size was added to the now larger region. However this size wasn't from another gain in muscle. Instead it seemed to be from fat. A layer of fat blanketed his pecs, the once raw and hard beefiness getting a bit softer as a result. Although it still seemed to retain a significant level of definition as both pectorals would take on an appearance more aptly describable as soft slabs of meat now. Though the addition to their size from the fat had resulted in the pressure in his flannel’s placket coming to some semblance of an apex as the top-most button broke, followed by the one beneath it.

Concurrent with the changes in their chest were those in the torso’s lower half. His belly churned and bubbled, the muscles in that area altering and developing to grant the region definition. What little fat there was around his stomach was pushed away for a moment as abdominal muscles slotted out sequentially. Top-most, middle, then bottom-most, pushing out like shelves on an off-balanced drawer. Combined they would give Cato a solid six-pack that pressed up against his undershirt, indenting into the cyan fabric of it with ease, while simultaneously pulling against the buttons of their shirt like their pecs had been doing.

The strain in their shirt buttons yet again increased exponentially as the changes in their abdomen continued. Adipose would yet again rush across his newly manifested muscles, raw definition seemingly smoothing out as fat continuously formed within the region. It didn't even stop at the natural amount that Cato had prior as more and more fat continued to get added to his stomach region. Larger it swelled, pushing up against his shirt buttons more as the thickening belly steadily pushed up his undershirt. Then one by one each button broke their associated, if not straight up snapping off his shirt, as the pressure from his fattening belly finally pushed them beyond their limits.

“Mmf, thought this was just gonna be… gettin’ buff,” Cato commented as he held his stomach. His jaw remained clenched as he eyed the musclegut he seemed to possess now. His undershirt had rode up it a bit, seemingly now bordering where it could cross above his navel. It also seemed his fatter body was getting perfectly outlined by the cyan t-shirt as his chest and stomach pressed up against the fabric of it. His gaze had also been privy to what seemed to be a bush of thick, black hairs trailing up the midline of his gut.

The hair would run beneath his shirt of course. A treasure trail of hair rushing upwards to touch the forest of fuzz that overtook his chest. A thick, bearish body would be an accurate description of the form he had been rapidly adopting. Especially considering the sensation of strength that seemed to course throughout his newly developed musculature.

His initial panic was steadily dying down as those sensations of strength and bodily warmth amplified. “I still don't know what the fuck this orb’s doing to me but-” a tingle catches in his throat and he stops to cough. “-it feels kind of good…”

He blinked a few times. His voice sounded off in the other half of that statement. It sounded a bit deeper than it had usually been. A little bit more aged than it used to be. “Of course it'd start changing that too…”

It was still hard to fully accept what was going on though. These changes were weird, this whole situation was weird. Was the weird spherical crystal supposed to do this? Did that guy even know this was going to happen? Was this supposed to convince him to work for them?

“Who am I even becoming…?” he asked himself verbally. It feels like this was just aging him up more than anything, but that seemed mildly implausible considering the black hairs that rapidly covered his body. Perhaps this is what that president guy meant when he said on the job training?

“Urgh, that bastard has a lot to answer for once he gets back!” Cato said to himself in frustration. Although after the statement was spoken aloud he realized how uncharacteristically aggressive that sounded of him. Placing a hand at the side of his head he tells himself, “That was… weird…”

The crystal's aura only grew stronger, and Cato couldn't deny the mild buzz entering his brain as the green glow intensified. A strange fog in the back of it ever so slowly billows forward and around. And with it comes this strange sensation of brutishness that was steadily implanting itself into Cato’s personality.

“…might be right though. Fucking changing me like this against my will.”

Cato’s gaze wandered away from his gut and onto the ground. His eyes focused on the glowing green sphere, gaze lingering. There was a sensation of resentment towards it that was welling up within him, one that coincided with a conflicting feeling of empowerment. He should hate this, but he also loves the way his body is turning out.

The conflicts in desire and personality clashed in his mind, although Cato’s face didn't seem to show it much save for a tightening in his jaw and a low, almost growl-like groan coming out of his throat. He tried to ignore it for the time being though, and instead just idly nudged the green orb with a foot. “This is a lot of trouble you're giving me here. This better be worth it…”

He would be lying if he said there wasn't a small fragment of something in the back of his mind telling him it will.

Of course, as he knocked his foot into the object he was given a proper view of what seemed to be some bulging within his shoes. The brown leather of the toecap seeming to have garnered a level of bumpiness that it did not have prior. Guess his changes hadn't stopped during all this introspection.

And assumption would be a correct one as all while Cato was thinking about the ramifications of the transformation, things had moved beneath his waist and started to properly layer onto the lower half of his body. The newfound broadness of his body that came from both the muscle and the fat resulted in the diameter of his waist increasing a bit and putting some stress onto the waistband of his jeans. This pressure had manifested most prominently at the button holding the fly of his pants shut. Although due to his wider waist and the weight of his gut it didn't take long for that button to break as well.

Meanwhile the increase in muscle mass has finally become apparent in his legs. Both thighs were rapidly thickening, hamstrings and quadriceps burgeoning to the point that the new thickness had already begun breaking the seams of his legwear. This allowed a few hairs to poke out from the tears, proving that the sprouting of follicles had been rushing down his legs as well. It seemed as though the changes in his legs were not unlike those that happened to his arms earlier.

The lower half of his legs were quick to follow. Once the transformation jumped past his knees, the hairiness seemed to increase quite drastically while his calf muscles bulged outwards. Bulkier and rounder, everything indenting into the denim while simultaneously splitting it apart. All the while the concurrent sensations of burning heat and raw strength continuously spiraled and practically coiled around his legs like it had to the rest of his body. It was strange, it was mildly overwhelming, and it was… stimulating, in a way.

Last had been his feet. More black hairs continued to sprout across the top of them as yet again a substantial amount of weathering seemed to overlay his skin. The size of both feet increased as the width and length stretched larger, and the overall thickness of them was in the process of increasing as well. All of this combined caused his footwear to rapidly become ill-fitting. Sides of each foot digging into the insides of his boots, heels pressing into the back, bridge straining against the tongue and strings that held it shut. Then there had been his toes, steadily getting chunkier as well while squeezing up against the topcap of what he was wearing.

“And here I thought I looked unprofessional before…” Cato muttered at the sight of his ready-to-burst shoes, alongside his generally ripped up clothing. He had also made a mental note about his voice changing still. Deepening still while developing a layer of huskiness to it that it didn't have before. It almost sounded like it had been aging alongside him.

Then again, he needs all that age and experience…

Cato blinked in confusion at the thought. He was also still clutching the side of his head. “Urgh, head’s feelin’ foggy still-”

His attention had been drawn away from the lower half of his body. This resulted in his focus not being there once his now larger feet broke apart his shoes. The toecap peeled away from the soles as his now lengthier appendages pushed forward and were freed from their confines.

Although by now things were finally starting to creep up his neck as well. The region thickened a bit to better fit his new proportions. Internally things had shifted a bit more, vocal cords settling into their alterations with the intention of making the deep and aged huskiness of his voice permanent.

“Grrugh, this isn't… right…?” Cato expressed to himself. The statement felt wrong though. Denying this felt wrong. How could this intense feeling of… of power feel wrong. That thought only made Cato groan some more as he now held both sides of his head with his hands.

Meanwhile his head had also been in the process of transforming. One of the most prominent portions of this transformation had been in his facial hair. The beard and mustache he had usually sported deepened from their usual blonde to a dark black. Hairs grew down the sides of his mouth in order to join the two portions of facial hair together. Meanwhile the surface area of his face that was bearded seemed to grow with the thick growth of hairs running across his jawline. This would cause the density to become quite substantial as well with his beard continuing to attain a level of bushiness that would fit his more bearish body. Furthermore, it seemed the initial spikiness that had carried over from his old facial hair would get smoothed over as his new beard combed itself into a neater, more well-kept style.

Concurrent with his facial hair alterations were the shifts in his facial structure. As hairs sprouted across and overtook his jawline it pressured and restructured into a broader and rounder shaping. This came with the rest of his skull broadening as well. The attributes of his face would end up heavily altering as this occurred. A straightness entering into his nasal bridge while a roundness encompassed the ala and apex of it. His ears pulled back a bit so as to not stick out the sides of his head too much. And while the structuring of his eyes didn't alter too heavily, his eyebrows took on a shade of black while the ends neatened to a point and the overall shape of them became more of a high arch instead of straight. However the most drastic of these changes had been what happened to his skin.

Heavy amounts of weathering embedded within it, practically darkening it a little bit as it did so. Years of age settled into the once young man’s face with him rapidly leaving his 20s for his 30s, then 40s. More and more age settling in with deep laugh lines etching around his mouth and various wrinkles forming to continue doing away with what smoothness his face once had. 40s would move onto 50s, eye bags would form beneath his eyes while a scar slashed into his right eye. By this point it would also seem like the new texture of his skin was more leathery than anything else. Although the aging would stop here with Cato having taken on the appearance of a man in his really late-50s.

Of course this would also mean the rest of his hair had to change to fit. More and more brightness continued to fade from it all as a wave of black overtook each and every follicle. Furthermore there had even been faint streaks of gray running through his hair and beard as well, seemingly added during the rapid progression of age. As this occurred the stylization of his hair seemed to shift heavily. While it retained its thickness, the messy and unkempt spikiness of it was dispelled. Instead it would all comb into a much neater, straighter, swept-back style. One that accentuated a more professional appearance in the man than what he had before.

“Fuckin’ hell-” the now much-older man yelled in frustration. His physical transformation had slipped his mind at this point as the mental components were reaching a level of prominence that were noticeable. That level of anger that was practically uncharacteristic for Cato was enveloping him as his brain wallowed in conflict that he couldn't just casually ignore. Everything was becoming so contradictory.

His brain was just being overridden with thoughts and memories and desires that weren't his. And in truth he couldn't even tell what he was anymore! His mind tried in futility to hold onto the portions of identity that were the self that came in here, but the longer that damned orb continued to keep its misty tendrils on him the more things continued to slip. The menacing, brutal anger and frustration overtook his former, calmer personality. Niceties were melted down into a distinct lack of care and understanding for anyone but himself. In general it would seem like he was experiencing a corruption of greed and an attainment of a lust for power in mere seconds. It was overwhelming.

So all the man could do was groan again before saying, “Get out of my head!” It's questionable which part of himself was urging the other to leave though. There was too much of an imbalance in his mentality, one that was rapidly being corrected by the magic of the green crystal. And considering that rising temperament and arrogance it was already clear which of the two dueling personalities was winning…

The effect of the transformation still hadn't come to an end physically however. His clothes were still ill-fitting for someone of his position and that was something that had to be corrected. Splotches of black rapidly enveloped the cyan of his undershirt as the material seemed to thicken just a bit. As this occurred a split seemed to form in the middle of it as fastened buttons materialized up and down the middle of the clothing article. All the while the sleeves seemed to lengthen to cover the entirety of both arms. There had also been the shirt’s neck that grew as well, rising upwards around his own neck before folding downwards to create a shirt collar. The t-shirt had seemingly morphed into a dress shirt. A change in formality that was accentuated by the manifestation of a red tie that snaked beneath the collar.

Similar shifts had occurred in his jeans and boots. The blue denim shifted drastically as black washed into it as well, the hard material restructuring into a material more fitting for formalwear. Rips and tears would easily fix themselves as well while their size increased to fit the man’s wider stance and thicker legs. So much so that the muscularity would no longer be prominent through the material. Meanwhile the rough texture of his boots smoothed over, brown shifting into black as a sleek leather look overtook them. Yet again would the strange effect of the crystal also end up fixing and refitting his footwear while also causing the strings to sink into the material to be replaced by new ones on the growing top line.

All of these changes in clothing paled in comparison to the part of his attire that ended up undergoing the most drastic transformation though… his flannel. Red patterning rapidly faded as a dark green completely enveloped it all. Rips and tears and improper sizing were all fixed in mere moments as the once soft material thickened and practically roughened a bit. The shirt’s split moved closer to the middle of his body, seemingly ready to refasten itself, meanwhile the hem of his shirt steadily inched downwards bit by bit. The cuffs of both sleeves lengthened a bit as yellow accents circled the end of them, alongside the formation of three golden cufflinks on each sleeve. The collar of his flannel seemed to lengthen by just enough that it could graze his face, meanwhile the shirt’s split folded a bit to gain a lapel. The rightward segment of the split also seemed to gain a thick yellow accent that had a series of black buttons lining it in two columns. These allowed it to fasten itself over the leftward segment. Although both segments seemed to gain belt-like additions that could also be fastened to these buttons but seemed to remain not. Although an actual belt seemed to material over the shifting attire and around his waist. It was made of black leather and buckled with a golden diamond-shaped buckle. The hem of his ‘shirt’ continued to lengthen beneath the belt, rapidly doing so until it was just short of his thighs. It would seem his flannel shirt had fully morphed into a military tunic.

With his clothing shifted, the physical aspect of his changes came to an end. And considering the fact the blue coloration of his eyes was rapidly shifting to a brown it would seem the mental aspects had been slowing down as well. The once foreign thoughts were rapidly becoming a mainstay as what was his former self was being pushed out by this new identity. Memories and confirmations of who he is now overlayed, if not almost fully replacing, what existed of his old life.

His grunts and groans slowed as his frustrated holding of the sides of his head ended. Both hands slipped down to his sides as he blinked. The man, Heidegger, let out a deep sigh, then let out a hearty laugh. “GYAHAHA!! That was quite the scuffle!”

His gaze then went down to the green orb on the floor. Bending down, he picked it up and analyzed it. “Didn't know Materia could do somethin’ like that. Impressive…”

“So I take it you won out over that man, Heidegger?”

Heidegger stood back up and turned towards the source of the voice. Coming out of a door at the room’s back was President Shinra, with Scarlet arriving not long after.

“Yup,” Heidegger idly bounced the ball of Transform materia in his hand. “Rather easy too, despite him putting up a bit of resistance.”

“They always seem to,” the President responded as he took his seat again. “Of course those with weaker wills succumb to the influence of that materia one way or another. Speaking of, hand it over. I don't need you breaking our one way to reform this company.”

Heidegger rolled his eyes before placing the orb on the table and nudging it towards the company president. “Reform the company, eh?”

Shinra nodded. “Exactly. Since my arrival here I've made it paramount to re-establish the Shinra Power Company, alongside our respective positions in the social hierarchy.”

“Interesting,” Heidegger smirked. His heavy footsteps could be heard as he made his way to the one unoccupied seat closest to the president, which had also been the one positioned opposite to Scarlet. Although he had purposely been ignoring her this whole time-

“Well, you know with how loyal I am to you that I'd be very happy to help with this endeavor,” Heidegger eyed Shinra with a cruel smile. Part of him was already hoping that they'd be able to reform Shinra’s military sect. Doing so might even make procuring victims relatively easier.

“Now then, might I suggest something to you?”

#character tf #tf #transformation #human tf #muscle growth tf #weight gain tf #age progression tf #male transformation

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dukeofankh · 7 months ago

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Fully there does need to be better (or any) community for male leftists but tbh in order for it to be at all effective men need to be the ones leading it. Like there happens to be a good SRA chapter near me (I've heard not all chapters are great but idk) and a bunch of the guys from the chapter do camping trips and hikes and stuff that aren't just for sra members and it's great. but it's the whole idea of bottom-up vs top-down organizing where there isn't going to be a nebulous 'someone else' who starts these things so it's got to be up to the men who feel isolated to start organizing for themselves. Unfortunately tho it seems like so many men don't know how to organize and the isolation builds a defeatist attitude where they aren't willing to just go try shit? obviously there's no easy answer but I guess I just want to say that community is out there for people if they're willing to look for it and put in work to make it.

Well, I'm not sure which of my posts recently this is in response to, but I did say in at least one of them a long list of things that I have attempted to do to get involved with stuff, and how I'm not some hyper isolated incel dude who's just sitting in my room staring at a wall and grumbling that someone hasn't broken into my house and forced me into community yet. I am gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you didn't read that one.*

I am not saying that we should all give into despair and that no men out there are happy and integrated into loving communities. And I do agree that men need to be a large part of the leadership of movements like this. I just don't think that this complaint is nearly as much of a "wah wah we want women to fix us for us" as is commonly believed.

You've told me straightforwardly that you have joined a local organization doing the exact sort of thing that I am talking about. That is amazing! Good for you. The Socialist Rifle Association probably wouldn't be my jam personally, but that's really kind of besides the point because I am not American. Like, we don't want to drift into Bean Soup thinking but we do also have to recognize that your lived experience in this area is not actually a rebuttal to mine. It is, in fact, a reinforcement of it.

Like, you looked for, and found, an organization of peers and mentors who wanted to give you community and support. What I want you to consider is that I have also looked, and I have not found that. Like, I have actively looked for organizations and meetups for lefty guys where I live, and I have found bupkis.

Now, you can then take the argument further, as many people do if they are fully dedicated to shunting all systemic issues harming men back onto those men and ask "well, why haven't you organized one yourself yet?". That's certainly the implication of your ask even if I don't think you'd really want to be lumped in with that sentiment.

But here's the thing, I am not gonna respect that question because it's asking me to do something you didn't have to do. Reaching out to existing groups and making the effort of going to things and meeting new people is hard in and of itself, but its a fundamentally different prospect to creating a new community from scratch. You did have to do the first, and I'm proud of you for buckling down and doing that. But you didn't have to do the second, and frankly, I think it's perfectly reasonable to feel betrayed and let down for the fact that these young men have been failed by their communities. Are those communities also men? Yeah, for sure. Never said they weren't. I do have a totally different set of resentments about Radfem ideology driving men out of queer/feminist spaces, because I was looking for this community there until it became clear that the writing was on the wall and I started looking for community with progressive men, this is a fully secondary sense of anger about the failure of that search among those men.

The sense of betrayal over the fact that the entire left wing ecosphere is terrified of men, worried for them, jawing constantly about how they're getting radicalized, but also doing absolutely fuck all about it and just demanding that they just...do it all themselves? That is perfectly legitimate.

You start by saying "there does need to be better (or any) community for men" then shift to saying "Isolated men need to create community for themselves" before shifting again to saying "that community is already out there, and that other men could find that if they were just willing to look."

Like, men absolutely should look. The fact I couldn't find any doesn't mean that other men in other places and with different identities and needs won't, but, with kindness, stop sucking your own dick. Your experiences are not universal. The existence of a socialist organization in your area that you found and enjoy is not a result of you trying harder. It's a result of other people trying harder to help you.

*if you did see that one, and ignored that part to send me this ask anonymously anyway, consider yourself rebuked. I have rebuked you.

#me writing stuff

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spanishskulduggery · 2 years ago

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I know there are only two contractions in Spanish but what about contracted abbreviations, words you wouldn't pronounce contracted but would write them that way? For example, "cont'd" for "continued"?

There are plenty of abbreviations in Spanish like BBAA (bellas artes = fine arts), or RRHH (recursos humanos = human resources/HR)

Others are like etc for etcétera, vs for versus

Or PD which is PS in letters - literally posdata or postdata for "postscript"

Some that I've seen are like núm. for número, pág. for página, vol. for volumen or p. ej. as por ejemplo

You may also see dcho/a for derecho/a "right", and izq. / izdo/a / izqdo/a for izquierdo/a for "left"

Two others to know:

a.e.c -> antes de la era común = "BCE" or "before the common era" or BC

e.c. -> era común = "common era" or "AD"

Really common are the abbreviations for ordinal numbers

1er -> primer = first 1ero/a -> primero/a = first

2do/a -> segundo/a = second

3er -> tercer = third 3ero/a -> tercero/a = third

4to/a -> cuarto/a = fourth

5to/a -> quinto/a = fifth

6to/a -> sexto/a = sixth

7mo/a -> séptimo/a = seventh

8vo/a -> octavo/a = eighth

9no/a -> noveno/a = ninth

10mo -> décimo/a = tenth

These are the equivalents of using 1st, 2nd, 3rd etc. in English. You'll also sometimes see symbols that are like a tiny floating O or A to depict gender, they'll look sort of like the symbol for degrees

Most commonly it's for terms of address like Vd. / vmd = Vuestra Merced [Your Worship/Lordship/Ladyship], though this is older Spanish

Ud. = Usted Uds. = Ustedes

D. = Don = "Mr." Dña. = Doña = Mrs.

Sr. = Señor = Mr. Sra. = Señora = Mrs. / Ma'am Srta. = Señorita = Miss

Dr. = Doctor Dra. = Doctora = [female] Doctor

And you get some that are abbreviations that can become their own words like las mates is short for las matemáticas so las mates is "math" rather than "mathematics"... or profe is a common way to address teachers in a friendly way like "teach"

Other common ones you might see are the ones for countries like EEUU is los Estados Unidos or "United States", or sometimes la RD for la República Dominicana for "Dominican Republic" or P. Rico is Puerto Rico but there are lots of country abbreviations especially for mailing purposes

This is also not talking about terms of address for military

Abreviaturas | Diccionario panhispánico de dudas (rae.es)

#asks #spanish #learning spanish #langblr #language #la gramatica #learn spanish

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 11 months ago

Text

next mundane horror thing i write is John Halo does paperwork, john halo wrangles emails no one responds to, john halo submits SRAs and progress notes and makes phone calls and does work in the community in flash flood warnings.

John Halo shows up for IIH session soaked to the bone with his stupid lanyard and legal pad and talks quietly with a kid and does crafts for 3 hours and then climbs into the warthog he illegally parked outside and drives off to do more notes after taking a curb like a champ

projection

#< has not readjusted to a 40hr work week. is handling this 10hr day well #crab text

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lovergirletters · 2 months ago

Text

lilian stacy’s boy(best)friend

—chapter four: sponsorship, cookies, puzzles

The weeks passed by, growing closer each day to the student council president election. Students of all grades, mostly from tenth grade to eleventh, began acknowledging the gossiped candidates; there were eleven. Ordered from the alphabets and classes, those were:

Alessandro Penchant from Class 10-3

Ali Malik from Class 10-3

Tori-Anne Whitlock from Class 10-7

Atlas Westwood from Class 11-1

Darren Robin Flitz from Class 11-2

Itsuki Tanaka from Class 11-2

Moira Plum from Class 11-2

Jayden Hart from Class 11-3

Xander Cameron from Class 11-4

Ezra McAllister from Class 11-6

Finnegan Gray Jenkins from Class 11-7

The election itself had steps that must be faced by the soon-to-be candidates. First, essays. The candidates that had registered themself would be ordered to attend the scheduled essay writing. They would be provided with topics to write about. Sneak peeks said that it was related to current global events.

There were two kinds of people handling these, though. The organized, prepared ones and the carefree let-it-flow people, relying on pure on-spot opinions. All three ten graders were on the first side. Sure thing, as juniors they realized their place and it would be seen as arrogance if they didn’t put much effort into this, especially with upperclassmen rivals.

For eleventh graders, Itsuki, Moira, Xander, Ezra, and Finnegan were the ones who were actually fully educated on what to write. They practiced and researched on possible topics from last year.

And the effortless ones were only Atlas and Darren. But lazy geniuses do exist. It was unknown, what were their secrets to be this relaxed yet achieved everything anyways.

But essays weren’t totally it. The same day would be the sacred interview session, too, by the student council’s superiors, who were the current prez themself, vice, secretaries, and treasurers. This was often viewed as the nightmare of all Crawford’s event’s interview histories. It wasn’t the current prez that acted beastly during it, it was usually the treasurers and secretaries. Moreover, the SRA (student representative assembly) often stands in a typical high school’s bully stance against the wall, arms folded, silently burning the candidate’s back with their made-up meanie stares.

The student council superiors, sometimes with the counselor’s approval, would pick the best ones from the essays and interviews. There were many aspects in which they valued the people from that were poured into their writings; for the interview it was the confidence, spoken answers, and attitudes.

The “second” step was basically getting your gang to support you. The selected candidates had time to gather and seek support from anyone in school, students, obviously. Exchange students were also allowed to participate.

However, exclusively for the current student council superiors and SRA, they weren’t allowed to take part. They were allowed to vote, though. These supporters would be on their champ’s back, voting for them, obviously. These supporters would prepare fun decorations, costumes, and jargons for the parade.

And pray tell, what parade?

The last step was the oration day, yet often referred as the election day itself. There, the candidates would give their speech; a chance to prove and ensure all the three graders their worth. The supporters took great part in cheering the atmosphere here. They would form a parade-like to be enjoyed for the ones who didn’t join the supporting teams, smoothly coaxing them to vote their man, too.

This annual event was everyone’s favorite, even for twelfth graders; they would close their dusty books for a day and hop into the parade, though usually not participating in the supporting teams. The jolly atmosphere made the stern-toned election more laid back and enjoyable.

In fact, years ago Crawford used to have a debate session among the candidates right when the speeches were delivered. It was close enough to be called opportunities for them to critique one another. It was not uncommon to question one’s work plans in a covered unpleasant tone, as long as they didn’t cut the other mid speech.

It used to be the spiciest part of the event that everyone would get their popcorn right away. However, the teachers had decided to remove this since it always ended up in personal matters and nearly caused fights for the ones provoked, which could lead them into detention instead.

Ezra had prepared himself as it was now about time for the essays. He had registered by filling up a form. “We got your back, buddy,” said Austin supportively, “don’t even think about the team. We’ve got everything handy!”

Ezra smiled, his folded arms stayed in place, “Thanks, gang. You’re all just the best.” The plastic chair creaked as he leaned his back more. He was just over the moon, seeing how excited his boys were. For them, they would absolutely love to participate in such a maddening parade. Besides, they actually felt thankful for having an Ezra among them, the earliest to be successful in the future, they would say. An honor.

“Good luck, Ezra,” Mrs. Eve smiled, her fingers busy peeling an orange. “The essay's topic never leaked, no?” Ezra shook his head, “Yes, Mrs. It’s still like a surprise.”

Knock, knock, knock!

Exact three knocks hastily interrupted the conversation. As the door opened, three girls emerged at once. “Mrs. Eve, we’re sorry we’re late!” squealed Mimi.

“It’s alright, my dears,” the middle-aged woman replied. She munched on the peeled orange and stood up. The girls were still collecting their breaths. Probably running all the way from Crawford to the studying space wasn’t a good idea, though it was close.

The boys took the chance. It was unknown who’s idea at first, but they, except Ezra, began to laugh ferociously and commanded Austin, who sat right next to Ezra, to leave the seat immediately. There were three empty adjacent seats, meant for the girls. Austin grinned as he hurried to exchange seats to one of the empties, leaving beside Ezra nonoccupied.

Ezra’s brow raised. The girls froze for a moment. One must be exiled. But they absolutely knew what all this meant.

Nat grinned. Mimi forced a small smile. One particular girl.

“Now,” announced Colt. “Why don’t you sit next to Ezra, Lilian?” At once, other boys clapped their hands as they yelled, “Yoo!”

Ezra’s eyes widened, still folding his arms while leaning to the plastic chair. He saw Lilian’s face turn red. Nat nudged on her violently multiple times. The navy haired girl gasped, “Oh, my…! Lilian, come there!”

“Oh, hahaha,” came a light chuckle from Ezra. He managed to be chill about this. So that she didn’t feel ashamed.

But instead Lilian stepped in, making her way next to him without Ezra seeing it coming. She sat perfectly. The blonde boy quickly tidied his area on the long table.

He was nervous and so was her. The boys, Nat, even Mrs. Eve hyped them up. “My, my… so this is it, you two?” said the woman. Ezra chuckled, hiding the loud thumping inside his chest.

He then turned to her, “Lucky me.”

Others stopped their teasing to give the two some space. Nat and Mimi then sat on the two remaining chairs, beside Austin. The navy haired girl was still giggling.

Nobody had noticed Mimi’s lack of involvement in supporting the two, since everyone addressed it to her slowness. As the praying before the lesson finished, Mimi took her cutesy notes and Chemistry book. She was rather quiet, but nobody noticed it since she had always been so. Not even Nat next to her; she was busy taking pictures secretly of the soon-to-be lovebirds.

The lesson began. Everyone paid attention to Mrs. Eve’s explanation about addition, elimination, and substitution reactions. Her voice accompanied by squeaks of markers against the glass board and students that took turns to read the book.

Lilian scented a fragrance she had never found before. It smelt masculine and a bit of tempting. Sure thing it was Ezra’s next to her. “Why didn’t I notice this before when I interviewed him?”

“Lilian?”

The girl jumped as Mrs. Eve called out her name. “Yes, Mrs.?” “It’s now your turn to read.”

The girl went frantic. “Damn it,” she cursed herself. Despite Mrs. Eve’s kindness, she could at once snap her attitude. She didn’t mind pupils who came in late, yet she resented them who didn’t pay attention. She took it as a disrespect.

Ezra’s hand motioned quietly on the opened page, swiftly moving the book towards her. She caught the hint. However, she stuttered still from her panic, “One of… the examples of addition reaction was… oh, could happen on alkene… was… 1-propene plus hydrochloric acid.”

She batted her breath as the sentence finished. Mrs. Eve stood still, her face still studying on the same book she held to her chest. “OK,” she responded. There was a hint of indifference in her tone, meaning Lilian’s lack of attention had annoyed her.

Lilian’s heart was about to burst. She lowered her head, afraid that Mrs. Eve would be mad at her. But she didn’t—hadn’t, actually.

“Ezra, continue.”

But a painful silence pierced the room. Lilian slowly turned to Ezra, her eyes wide. She found him checking on his nails, not paying attention to the tutor’s stern order. “What are you doing?” she thought to herself, as if he could hear it. Ezra getting into trouble as well was the least she wanted.

“Ezra.”

Still no response, only Mrs. Eve’s marker squeaking. Quickly, Lilian grasped his bicep in urgency. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt his calloused palm instead on her slim fingers. Gently, he removed them from his upper arm before Mrs. Eve’s voice rose at once.

“EZRA MCALLISTER!”

She snapped. Her voice echoing, even could be heard from outside the room. He had gotten on her nerves completely. Lifting his head, Ezra pretended to just snap out of his daydream. “Oh?” he mumbled, “pardon me, Mrs.?”

The middle-aged woman’s eyes widened dangerously. Other boys and girls didn’t dare to move their sight away from their books. Mrs. Eve still shut her mouth, glaring angrily at the boy, with him returning a respectful eye contact.

“Bold of you dreaming of becoming a leader when you behave this way,” came a hard, stern voice of the woman. “Somebody was talking. She was talking to you and you dared to have the guts not to listen, not to pay attention, leaving her ignored. Is that respectful, McAllister?”

Before Ezra opened his mouth, Mrs. Eve added, “Answer.” Ezra nodded, responding, “No. It’s not respectful, Mrs. Eve.” “Then why in the world did you do it anyways?”

“You shall never be a good student council president, McAllister,” threatened the tutor, “not even one.”

Lilian held her breath, feeling her heart racing for the seconds. The atmosphere got very intense as the tutor hit the nail on the head, regarding Ezra’s dreams. Lilian bit her rosy lip, feeling an innumerable amount of guilt as she realized Ezra was protecting her.

He showed her the page that must be read. Since she still messed things up, he pretended not to pay attention until Mrs. Eve got terribly upset, so that his faults would cover hers.

And it worked. The woman’s rage was all centered around him. She had completely forgotten Lilian’s mistakes, which started this all.

“I apologize, Mrs. Eve,” Ezra said respectfully. “I made a mistake and I regretted not paying attention to your lesson.” He continued, “I understand what I’ve done wrong. I will never repeat such manners ever again, Mrs. Eve. And I apologize, too, to my friends, your lesson got stuck in my recklessness.”

There was a silence before Mrs. Eve let out an acceptance sigh. “I chose to believe your words, Ezra,” she said sternly, but somehow a little softer than before. The lesson continued normally. The rest of the boys and girls exhaled in silence, feeling relieved.

Lilian didn’t dare to miss any single word of Mrs. Eve for the second time. However, she couldn’t shake the urge to apologize to Ezra. With extra carefulness, she wrote with her lovely maroon pen her sorry on her Chemistry book, right next to an example of substitution reaction. Exactly how Ezra did before, she moved her book slowly towards him.

“sorry for getting you in trouble :(

and thank you for covering me up…. i’m sorry…”

He, holding a violet pen, was surprised to see the note. Ezra smiled as he took his pencil instead and wrote in his horrible handwriting just under Lilian’s. He then gently returned it back to her with the same gesture.

“you dont have to think about it okay? it’s all good! :D”

Lilian’s heart clenched and so did Mimi for two contrasting reasons. There was a fact that nobody had noticed but the silver haired girl herself. Ever since her “big” interaction with Ezra, Mimi started to get on with common sense. Her dumbness never meant she was actually an idiot, though. She had good marks on most subjects, except PE.

Her “dumb” behavior was projected in slowness in catching jokes, understanding a topic, and mostly reading situations. It all sounded harmless, but these actually made people in school fear, in other words, respect her less, even though they found her funny.

But she only caught herself being “funny”, which she thought had the same meaning as Nat and other social girls type of funny, while it actually meant for being the ridiculous kind of funny. Mimi, a scaredy girl that had always wanted to be one of the social butterflies, concluded that there was no need for her to fix her rather negative personality to be acknowledged. The girl, thinking her traits were at use, started entertaining this behavior.

She didn’t even try to change to be a better person and continued living life in the name of an innocent and meek scared-looking girl. However, it all went to a punch in the gut when a situation threatened to turn out awkward like when she was left alone with Ezra. She, all this time unintentionally succumbing inside her shell, safe and soundly, out of a sudden forced to come out of it.

Terrifying it was.

But the sunshine boy made it all easy. He didn’t mind her being afraid of him, even didn’t notice her ridiculous traits kicked in, such as when she jumped hearing his stomach grumble, which Ezra actually noticed but hid it. He didn’t feel uncomfortable in return of her making the vibe so.

His kindness slowly made Mimi realize that there was no need of caging herself in being friends. It was true her scaredy was the reason all this time, but it could be changed. In fact, right now, she was working on it. She started to speak up, even though nobody had noticed it yet. Like when she apologized to Mrs. Eve for her, Nat, and Lilian being late to course this late evening. Like when she joined in playing along with Nat, forcing Lilian to name their Chemistry group.

But it also meant realizing her crush had fallen for her darling best friend. If only her slowness was still present at the time, maybe her heart wouldn’t clench so tight, seeing him smiling like for nobody but Lilian, just now as Ezra returned Lilian’s book. Mimi could only sit there, her hands up to her stuffy chest as she questioned how the world turned out.

Why couldn’t she just crush on him blindfolded?

——✩——

Ezra couldn’t help but smile all way the History lesson with Mr. Jones. How could he not? Lilian had baked him cookies!

It was both a thank you and an apology gift she made herself, pouring all her heart on it. Ezra kept stealing glances at the cutesy, small plastic bag, tied up with dark red ribbon. In it were five tempting rough cookies.

Something also caught Ezra’s attention; a separate card that Lilian handed him along with the cookies. “I couldn’t find a hole puncher at my home… so here…” It was a plain, white textured card, written with maroon inked pen.

“these five cookies have penta words

solve these penta clues to find out.

1. Fluorine + Uranium + Nitrogen

2. Sulphur + Iodine + T + Titanium + Nitrogen + G

3. Nitrogen + reversed Xenon + T

4. 2

5. remove Lilian, Thorium, & L from CH3 + Oxygen + Uranium

**all diatomics go single”

Ezra could hardly restrain himself from solving the Chemistry themed puzzles in good old Mr. Jones’ History class. He wouldn’t want the precious snack to end up in the man’s teacher desk, confiscated. So he stayed patient and waited until lunch break came.

“McAllister!”

Ezra nearly jumped. How many times he got called out this week? “Yes, Sir?” he asked politely. Ezra thought the naturally angry-looking man caught him smiling and was about to scold.

But Mr. Jones wasn’t. Next to him was a staff member that worked as one of the school's administrators. “You have been instructed to visit the headmaster’s office.”

Ezra’s dark blonde brow furrowed. “Alright, Sir. Thank you.” He rose from his seat and followed the staff member even though he had known his school very well already for sure. As they arrived, the staff member knocked on the oak door and opened it for him.

Inside, there was the headmaster, sitting on his leather chair, and another man sitting on the sofa. The thin man wore dark blue suits, his hair was brunette. Behind him were two muscular men in compression shirts.

“What?” Ezra began seeing stars in his vision. “I know I skipped Music last Tuesday, but I didn’t know it was that deep?”

“Good morning, Mr. Folks,” the blonde boy greeted, nodding to the two, “Sir.” “Good morning. Sit down, please, McAllister,” replied the headmaster.

Ezra sat on the sofa, in front of the brunette man. He was smiling and nodding in respect, so Ezra returned it the same. “This is Ezra McAllister, Mr. Beckham.” “Vincent, please,” came a chuckle from the brunette man. “Alright,” smiled the headmaster, “and McAllister, this is Mr. Vincent.”

Ezra smiled again, handshaking the man. “Nice to meet you, Sir.” “Nice to meet you,” smiled the man with his teeth.

“McAllister, Mr. Vincent is the new chief executive officer of Nexus Corporation,” said the headmaster. Ezra’s eyes widened. “Nexus Corp.?” he thought with great enthusiasm.

Nexus Corporation was the highest selling, most advanced technology company in the world at the time. It had one of the most luxurious buildings that volunteered in emitting mesmerizing city lights. Impregnable billboards that stood near roads were their product. Even almost every Crawford’s facility, such as TVs, screen projectors, vending machines, and smart boards had the brand NX, the company’s.

But the electronics were just a snippet of it. The wealthy company took major parts in science technologies. Recent news reported that they just hired brilliant researchers and scientists for an upcoming project. It remained unknown what it was.

“Mr. Vincent, I, and other responsible teachers had signed a little cooperation regarding the impending student council president election. Teachers said that it is time for the school to give in more in the election, since it’s the students’ favorite events, right? We thought a more touch in technology would be a great idea,” explained the headmaster. “So, there would be a big screen while the candidates, including you, McAllister, give speeches. Like shows in the TV, right?” “Nexus Corporation would lend it to us.”

“And by coincidence… Mr. Vincent also wishes to see you, McAllister,” continued the headmaster.

Ezra could barely believe his ears. The new CEO of the best company in the world wanted to meet him? He himself? This was insane!

Mr. Vincent smiled. “How are you doing, McAllister?” “With respect, I’m doing very well, Mr. Vincent.”

“Well,” the man began as he took the opportunity to light his cigarette. “You are—may I, Sir?” The headmaster responded, “Sure. No smoke detectors in my office.” The man cupped around the flame and sucked on the tobacco roll. The headmaster added, “Please have your conversation while I pick my call.” The oak door gritted as he left with a vibrating phone.

“You are applying for the student council president, Kid?” Ezra nodded quickly. “Yes, Sir.” The boy wondered what could come after out of the smoke exhaling mouth.

Mr. Vincent smiled wide. “The title suits you well. An award winning student, perfect scores, popular… feels like you’re born for that, doesn't it?” Ezra wasn’t the kind of guy that would say “yes” to those remarks. He had no idea how Mr. Vincent knew things about his scores and popularity, though.

“Well, the thing that made me call you was,” said Mr. Vincent as he blew another wave of smoke. “I saw your paper, Ezra. And I see that you have talents in Science. A very much talents.”

Ezra’s brows raised. Paper? One of the “bodyguards” handed their boss a tablet, an NX, of course. Mr. Vincent showed the screen to the boy. It showed a scientific paper he once wrote in tenth grade about time dilation. The topic was ahead of his grade, since it was the twelfth graders’ Physics lesson.

That time, he submitted it to a renowned research competition. Even though he didn’t win it, not even in the runner ups, the paper remained still in the competition site’s archives. It was accessible to anyone accessing the internet.

“This is what I call groundbreaking, McAllister. I know, I know, you’re not creating any theories here, you’re basically just re-explaining it with a simpler language, providing the Galileo and Lorentz formulas, graphs comparison, and illustration to better understand Michelson-Morley Experiment. I know you’re not winning awards in the comp. with this either.”

“But it explains a lot about your competence. Do you have interests in Physics?” “I do, Sir,” replied Ezra with enthusiasm. The boy was truly flattered by the details the man mentioned. “I see,” hummed the man. “So that means you believe in time travels? Parallel universes? Like in those—action, science fiction movies?” Came a delighted chuckle from the boy, “Yes, yes, all of them, Sir.”

“Well, we do too, Ezra,” he said, “and I’m afraid to say that you’re the right person to take part in it.”

“Pardon?”

Ezra leaned forward, still couldn’t catch the meaning.

“Have you heard that our company is hiring researchers and scientists?” At once, Ezra took the hint. “But, with respect, I’m no researcher, nor scientist, Mr. Vincent.” He didn’t even win that paper with time dilation as the topic. Why would Mr. Vincent saw him worthy enough?

“I see your talents with my very eyes myself,” coaxed the man. “It shan’t go to waste.” Ezra’s mind raced for a moment. This was sudden, but big opportunities came in surprise, right? This might be the perfect chance for him to pour all his interests in Physics and Science all this time. He could be very successful by working for Nexus Corp. and having Mr. Vincent to fully acknowledge his competence.

Moreover, imagine if he actually made it to invent time travel? Sounds imaginary and childish, but maybe he could, with Nexus Corporation. Maybe there were more things that could be brought to reality, no longer something I believed to be possible.

Even so, a part of him refused this promising offer. Ezra loved Physics, but he only took it as a side interest; it didn’t mean he wanted to be a Physicist in the future. He had always aimed for Medicine and he couldn’t change that dream just now.

With a polite smile, Ezra refused the offer. “Why?” asked Mr. Vincent, a mix of surprise and disappointment. “McAllister, right now, there are thousands of actual scientists, real researchers on the company’s hotline, begging for that position and you just spurned it away?”

“I apologize, Mr. Vincent.”

“Alright—what do you want in return?” he insisted, “you—you’re applying for the president, right? Alright, I’ll help you. I’ll be your sponsor. The Nexus Corporation will be your sponsor.”

Ezra’s eyes widened slightly.

“If you agree, we can help you to get prepared for the election. We can hire a team to film you handing beggars food, like a campaign. Just imagine you’re JFK and we’re your Democratic Party. Yeah, like that!”

Seeing Ezra’s unwavering smile, Mr. Vincent insisted, “Or simply win. Yes, we’ll just—win you instantly. I’ll speak to Mr. Folks and other teachers. They would at once obey it, unlike how you’re behaving now.”

Ezra was taken aback and refused once more the offer, this time firmly. There was no way he would accept that! It was nepotism. He couldn’t just—have a whole—the biggest technology company in the world on his back while the other candidates had a mere jolly parade!

Ezra left the headmaster’s office with a contented sigh. He made a big decision today. Sure thing, still, it was an honor to be offered a position in such influential company.

Wait, the lunch break had begun?

Ezra sprinted towards his classroom, avoiding juniors in the hallway. His hair swayed as he slid to Class 6. “I still got five minutes.”

Just as he was about to touch Lilian’s cookies bag, out of a sudden, out of nowhere, Mr. Jones called out for him, yet again. “McAllister!” the bald man growled. Ezra lolled his head backwards. What now?

“Where were you, delinquent?” Ezra’s jaw dropped. “Delinquent?”

“I was at the headmaster’s office!” he exclaimed softly. “You sent me there!” “Stop playing games!”

Ezra bit his tongue as the usual, good old Mr. Jones’ scolding unfolded, “You must’ve wandered around the canteen, you can’t fool me! A visit shan’t be that long. What could’ve made you stay in the office that long? Like you got a job there?”

The foreshadowing was a little bit too good that he actually thought Mr. Jones was playing with him.

“No more excuses,” roared the bald man. A pile of papers was burdened to the blonde boy’s arms. “Now I send you to bring these unused papers to the storeroom.”

Ezra sighed quietly, so inaudible that the mad teacher couldn’t catch it. He glanced in puppy eyes to Lilian’s precious bundle of gift as he heard the class bell. He sprinted again towards the storeroom, not wanting another scolding session with the next teacher. “What a day!”

——✩——

“Alright, let’s see…”

Ezra was nestled safe and sound, now in his bedroom. In front of him was Lilian’s bag of cookies, still untouched, with its big, dark red ribbon flapping. He studied the card. Once more, it was written:

“these five cookies have penta words

solve these penta clues to find out.

1. Fluorine + Uranium + Nitrogen

2. Sulphur + Iodine + T + Titanium + Nitrogen + G

3. Nitrogen + reversed Xenon + T

4. 2

5. remove Lilian, Thorium, & L from CH3 + Oxygen + Uranium

**all diatomics go single”

“Five cookies have five words… so each has one,” he murmured. “First one, F, U, N2?” he wondered. “Oh, it’s actually N because diatomics go single?” came a chuckle. Lilian’s funny at times.

“So, fun it is,” he murmured as he wrote the answer. He began seeing the pattern now. “Alright, so the second one… S, I, T, Ti, N, G.” His terrible handwriting traced his spoken words. “Reversed Xenon? Xe… Ex? N, Ex, T.”

He wasn’t even aware of the solved words, being too focused on the fun riddle. “Uhm, ‘to’?” Then, he came to the last one.

“Remove Lilian?”

He ruffled his hair as he tried to come up with an idea. “Is it supposed to be her initials? Lilian Stacy, Ls? Or Ll?” Violet pen scribbled on the white loose leaf.

“Methyl… Thorium is Th, L—” his eyes sparkled as an idea sprang upon him, “Oh, you mean, me! So, it’s remove me, Th, and L… Leaving Y.”

Then, he read out loud the completed puzzles in wonders.

“Fun.Sitting.Next.To.You…Oh, fun sitting next to you!” he cried. His cheeks felt hurt from smiling.

“Yeah, it’s fun sitting next to you too, Lilian.”

His heart ached from joy. “Damn.” The thin, long fingers covered half of his blushing face as he gazed once more at the card. “If you keep on being like this I might have to knock on your door and confess my feelings right away.”

A laugh followed. Oh, how he had fallen for her. His eyes then darted at the ribboned bundle. He couldn’t forget the cookies, the main joy.

Pulling the ribbon, a delicious aroma of the bakings pleased his nostrils. He took one out of five. For a second, he gazed upon it, reluctant to munch and consume it. But Lilian wouldn’t like her hard work to become a mere muse, displayed in his room.

So he ate the whole piece. But then, he paused, his eyes wide to the walls. He swallowed.

“Oh, it’s spicy?”

But that made it way more of a chef’s kiss. He ate one, one, one, and the last one. It was tasty, no joke!

“She’s silly,” he thought as he licked his fingers.

“I shall ask her to bake more of these when we’re dating!”

——✩——

★ read the next chapter here!

★ read the previous chapter here!

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