#I was once called a you know what for reading a book about WWII

[candy-ac3]

Remembering how I’m 5th grade our history teacher let us do a PowerPoint presentation on literally any historical person (when I say any I mean any) and so I decided to do mine on Mr didn’t get into art school and hated Jews, and younger me explaining how he was an awful person and what his history was like, and when I was done my teacher made a small joke that was like “well they better let you into art school”

Tbh I don’t know what was worst, a 5th grader explaining the guy behind WWII to a bunch of other 5th graders, the fact that the teacher was cool with it, or that the teacher even made a joke

[bittersweetresilience]

i got another of those fic author self rec asks a month or two ago and i didn't know what to do with it at the time so now i'm using it as an excuse to share fic meta about soulmate au.

lose it in the morning

i love having a recurring item come up in the beginning and the end of a story with a different meaning or light. in orbital departure, it's the dress. in dead air, it's the books. in lose it in the morning, it's the shoes.

so we start with adrien tripping over his untied laces. he's a bit ditzy. he's the carefree older runaway from home type twin in the graham de vanily lineage. he has his shoes on because he wants to be active and moving and free but he isn't fully prepared for what that means. laces not done up.

but émilie wants to protect him and keep him in the bubble of her love. that's her whole thing. that's what most of the fic is about. so by the time she's worked her magic, we return to the shoes, set neatly by the bed. émilie took them off him because he's safe at home and she doesn't want him running around, and she was careful doing it, too. but she knows there will be a time when he puts the shoes on again because that's just the way he is. so she ties his laces for him. insulating him from the possibility of the fall. and speaking of...

dead air

what do you know, félix is reading a book in this one and its name is the fall. brief interlude where i talk about félix and camus. there's something that grips me so much with félix and absurdity and meaning in meaninglessness and antifascism, of course. l'étranger, la peste, le mythe de sisyphe... yes. all of this.

la chute specifically is a series of monologues by someone who calls himself a judge-penitent and spends his time talking to strangers about how his life went downhill. it's a confessional but also a reflection on society post wwii, in parallel with the fall from grace in the garden of eden, and it explores themes of justice, social class, existence, and suffering. circles of amsterdam and he's in the seediest ring. the main character contrasts his fascination for feeling above other people with his trifling present reality. félix moment.

back to dead air. the two main literary references are this book and metamorphosis, which moonie could write entire essays about, it's so on the nose. monstrousness and alienation and miscommunication and all that. but with the fall, what i meant to implicate was that by making the realization of monstrousness, adrien would be on the precipice of something life altering, as félix once was. so we start with the fall as the set up, and then clarify what the precipice is: metamorphosis. monsterhood.

by the end of the story, félix has recontextualized his relationship with adrien, and they're joking about adding adrien's antics to félix's essay on metamorphosis. but what we end the story on, what félix focuses on at the close, is the fall again... because even though adrien is adding to the depths of his struggle, which félix already finished last week, what félix is thinking about is what this means for adrien's precipice and his impending fall.

orbital departure

i've already rambled a bit about émilie as a manipulator in this post but i could go on about her as a foil to félix for days. as i told autumn, both she and félix want to protect adrien and go about it in misguided ways. for émilie, it's a ring. for félix, it's a secret.

their conversation in orbital departure is theoretically about félix's abuse, but really, it's all about adrien. and félix is fine with this, because he loves adrien, and émilie is thinking of adrien, and félix trusts his aunt. but right from the beginning he subconsciously wishes émilie would be thinking of and wanting to protect him too. and part of it is mixed up with how she and his mother have the same face. so that's what brings us to our central image, the dress.

émilie's dress is impressionistic and painting-like and light and free and happy. it's a visual representation of who and where she is in her life and his. it distinguishes her from amélie. noticing that is, in a way, comforting. moreso the more uncomfortable félix feels.

félix is touch starved, and émilie touches him the same way amélie cradles his face.

this is my favorite line from this fic and it gives me feelings i can't put into words. just kidding. i will. félix is a child who was forced to grow up too quickly, so what he means here is that he's a scientist because he's advanced enough in his education to be one. but to the reader, he just sounds like a kid with an idea of a dream job. he doesn't have any context for what émilie is trying to say. he hasn't yet been shaped into the person he is in the show, someone who claws for knowledge and power and control. he's at a disadvantage and doesn't even register this because he's a child who implicitly believes in émilie. a scientist is the best hypothesis he can come up with for what she means. and émilie agrees with him, but turns it around and describes him as the project instead of the person, as if that's what he said in the first place. a joke that only she's in on, that she's telling to herself.

i have thoughts about félix being called clever all his life. it's the gifted child complex. it's the manipulation. and émilie saying he's a gift. well. in more ways than one, he sure is.

when émilie takes félix's arm at the end of the fic, she is literally and metaphorically allowing him to share her burdens. but it's phrased as though she is letting him do it, rather than leading him to. throughout the fic, she fashions herself for the conclusions she wants to see.

makes you think about her silly, untimely dizzy spell.

follow up meta.

[sapphic-luthor]

different anon here but does your gf have any good lesbian media/book recs (since she read so many lesbian books in such a short amount of time lol)!!

gf said, and i quote,

“i’m going to take the rest of the day off to work on this list”

so without further ado, here is her short list of recs copied straight from her (and with my own comments in italics for the ones i know):

Okay! So here’s my book recommendations.

- Fingersmith by Sarah Waters. Loved this book, love all Sarah’s books (haven’t read the non-gay one though, sorry not sorry). Sarah is a great one for the twists and I enjoyed this one so much that I actually recommended the book to my mam and she also loved it. The story is gay + set in the 19th century + lady/handmaiden trope so what’s not to like. Also really recommend. For related media, there’s a BBC miniseries based off of it, and a film by Park Chan-wook called The Handmaiden, which is honest to god one of the best films ever made. It is harrowing, but it is brilliant.

- Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters. Again, gay + set in the 19th century. Explores the queer scene in Victorian London to its full extent. A real page turner. GREAT fun, a little dark at points, but good and raunchy.

- The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters. Gay + 1920s + yearning + tense + murder + dramatic. My recommendation when it comes to Sarah’s books is to give them time. Do not put them down because I promise you they will get GOOD.  Slowburn of slowburns. Gorgeous.

- Affinity by Sarah Waters. Gay + Victorian prison + disgraced spiritualist. Compared to the other three this one is actually a little bit… boring? You’re kinda waiting for something to happen for a long time but WHEN IT DOES boy is it worth it. And that part that’s worth waiting for actually made me want to read it again.

- The Night Watch by Sarah Waters. This was a bit like Affinity for me in that I was waiting for it to pick up a bit but once again, Sarah did not disappoint and I finished it wanting to read it again. The story is told backwards through third-person narrative, takes place in 1940s London during and after WWII and follows ‘Kay, Helen and Julia, three lesbians; Viv, a straight woman; and Duncan, her brother, whose sexuality is ambiguous.’

- One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston. This was my favourite book of 2021 because I read it as a baby gay and it’s set in modern times and is so full of life and found family and fun but also considers life for gay people in the 1970s and things that they didn’t often get to experience (loudly, at least). It tugged at my heart this one. For the “sort by top kudos” “filter for fluff” fanfic reader. Not really my style.

- This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. This is the most beautiful book I’ve ever read. As Madeline Miller said, ‘this book has it all: treachery and love, lyricism and gritty action, existential crisis and space-opera scope, not to mention time travelling superagents.’ This story is truly gorgeous. Unbelievable. Not even words to describe how good this one in. Possibly my favourite read of all time.

- Afterlove by Tanya Byrne. This book made me cry! In…a good way? I’m not sure. But I enjoyed it. Set in modern day when MC dies and joins ‘a clan of fierce girl reapers who take the souls of the city’s dead to await their fate’ but can’t forget her first love who she’ll do anything to see again. This one just tugged at my heart a lot.

- Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon. Epic fantasy. Dragons. Follows many characters in GoT style so it requires A LOT of focus. This isn’t a light read but it’s very good (and a prequel is coming out in 2023). IF YOU LIKE FANTASY AT ALL READ THIS ONE IMMEDIATELY.

- Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden. Okay this one will definitely not be the most well-written book you’ve ever read buuuuut there’s something VERY precious about it. It follows the relationship between two 17-year-old girls, Annie and Liza, in New York. As far as I know, when this book was published in 1982, it became the first YA novel ever to depict a main character’s same-sex relationship in a positive light. (In the 90s copies of this book were burned on the steps of a school in Kansas and there was a whole court case about it).

- Gideon the Ninth, Harrow the Ninth and Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. Oh these are great. I was about 100 pages in to the first two before I could grasp what was going on but the story is intriguing, the characters are great, there’s good humour, and the world is fascinating. The first one, Gideon, is almost like Hunger Games meets Cluedo. I’d highly recommend these and I can’t wait until my gf reads them so I can talk to her about them.

- Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour. This one is a nice, light read. MC is interning as a set designer so I found this aspect of it really interesting actually. Has some mystery, some gay love, so like why not read it.

- Matrix by Lauren Groff. ‘Born from a long line of female warriors and crusaders, and cast out from the royal court, Marie is sent to become the prioress of an abbey.’ This is a bit of a dreary, grey read (probably due to the setting and period, think Wuthering Heights), but there was something about it that fascinated me and kept drawing me back in.

- The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth. Lesbian rom-com set in modern Ireland. Very light, easy read (with some serious topics too).

- Not my Problem by Ciara Smyth. Again, a very light and easy read for the most part, with a touch on some heavier issues. Quite funny too!

- Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo. Set in 1950s America and tells the story of Lily Hu, a teenage daughter of Chinese immigrants as she begins to explore her sexuality. This time period was really interesting and the incorporation of Chinese culture into the story was something I hadn’t read before.

[marnz]

hello friend!! i was wondering since you both read and write a lot if you had any recs for books that are narrated by death?

also! how is your original novel writing going? you posted a snippet to tumblr once of the opening scene i think and i still think about it because your writing was so descriptive and lush

friend!! please accept my apologies in this delayed answering, your message was so kind that every time I thought about it I got overwhelmed 🥰

Okay books narrated by death! The only one I’ve read is The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and it is gorgeous, I was so obsessed with it as a kid however it is about wwii in germany so ymmv.

however! I did some research and Mort by Terry Pratchett comes highly recommended (it is part of discworld). I enjoy Pratchett, he’s very fun. Death is also a big character in the Sandman Comics by N*il G*iman. I do not enjoy G*iman but ymmv!

I also am duty bound to recommend In the Woods by Tana French, a gorgeous, atmospheric murder mystery that is deeply spooky and unsettling. Death is not the narrator…but I do believe it is a character (many many interpretations!)

I feel quite bad sending you away with like 3 recs so here’s what I’ve been reading

- Exordia by Seth Dickinson - I’m not done with this yet but so far it’s like, what if every sci fi first contact military propaganda action movie…got lost and ended up being about the moral quandary of the trolley problem, Kurdistan, pink noise, and prime numbers? what if an author who hates imperialism and loves math decided to write a book length call out of Barack Obama’s drone warfare program with body horror? what if you were a cringe fail elder millennial in nyc that rescued a sexy alien with 8 snake heads instead of only one and every time you physically touched it was a sex scene? And this made the savior of the world? this book is for: homestuck fans, people who were in tragic situationships with their wife and their bestie, pilots, people who like their sci fi hard

- Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin - okay if you haven’t read this stop everything and read it immediately. This book is for: tragedy lovers!!!! Gay people!!!!! Francophiles. Marxists. People who were into the social network rpf in 2013 and read that one fanfic where Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg get cast in a Giovanni’s Room adaption and finally fuck. Anyway. Earlier this year (or possibly last year?) I read a memoir about toxic masculinity and how it demands emotional alienation of the self and I was like “okay. I mean. Obviously?” And buddy. Baldwin says more about this topic in chapter one than that author did in his whole book. And it’s sooooooooooo beautiful god like every paragraph has a life ending sentence.

- the Great Believers by Rebecca Makkai - the year is 1985 and the location is Boystown, the Chicago gayborhood. Our hero? Yale, art lover, is trying to pull off an insane deal at work and survive the devastation of the AIDs epidemic. But actually the year is 2015 and our heroine is Fiona, Yale’s best friend, who travels to Paris to track down her estranged daughter and then her emotional repression stops working! I know this book sounds devastating and it REALLY is, like at one point I was sobbing so hard my husband got really worried and I was like, no, it’s all good, thumbs up! But ALSO this book is very funny and very joyful. This book is for: people who love to laugh. People who love to cry. Art lovers. People who love emotionally messy families.

- I Have Some Questions For You by Rebecca Makkai - a film studies professor & podcaster returns to her elite high school boarding school 20 years after graduating and find herself getting sucked into investigating the murder of her junior year roommate, who was murdered senior year and is now the internet’s favorite cold case. Please note this book is a response to #MeToo. This book is for: people who love True Crime but are also critical of it. People who love twitter drama. People who were losers in high school. People who devotedly at watch YouTube essays. Hot divorcées. Angry women.

I have also read a lot of excellent non fiction, the Murderbot diaries (just read themmmmm! Worth it), the entire Kate Daniels series (again.), the new SJM book, and some mid to bad books.

[ohsoulymoons]

Call me Compos Mentis

Chris thought my hair was wig on the first the day and told me to catch one of them brats and I end up with my hair in flames by said Chris to bring "brats out to play" then told me stop quoting him again. I have read glasses I out on at times and mostly when I can't listen well.

Scary Girl had to chop my hair to help me out which is what I am thankful for more. We both hiss at Chris behind the scenes

I only got here because they said they need better cooks and I know how to bake and make Mexican food from scratch, so my dumbass said why not.

I am from Texas so I am always in my cowgirl boots, or mentioning it, and to piss anyone off I will sing the anthem of USA and Texas state flag.

I keep telling Chris everyone knows his hair is a wig therefore why he burns my hair.

I wear a mask because I want to be little emo and if I get annoyed, I cover my whole face to nap anywhere. You will find me ability to sleep anywhere conflicting and not enough sleep I start to think the government knows my sins causing me to work overtime and try do everything at once.

My backpack has snacks, spare water bottles, survival books, silly mini games, to old school magazines, fireproof blanket, my tarot cards, throwing knives, and birdseeds. My little pack is a mini safety aid kid on me all times and waterproof.

Will use dog collar if needed for self-defense and I keep teaching Emma, Pryia, Axel, and Scary Girl laws of Texas and how to makeshift weapons first with just a pen or pencil!

I wear layers for makeshift bandages because my dad told me about his dreams of world domination and now, I am like I rather the zombies than my father in my old age. The pink shirt is just Geoff and Brody hugging happily. Black bandana on my leg just in case someone else wants to use for any reason.

Horribly quiet out fear anyone hating me and tends to scary people because I disappear or appear anywhere when needed.

Chef got mad at me because my fun facts of WWII or Texas history is making Chris happier than he uses them in challenges therefor I must shut up about them. I nod and understand but now Chris won't shut up about me telling him more someday.

I do Chris's eyebrows and eye makeup... I don't like the job his eyes are soulless, and he thinks fun mock my accent. (I use a funky fake Texan accent for shit and giggles it's too late to talk normal)

I am queer I scream if someone asks rudely but asked nicely, I giggle out I am SHE/HER/THEM BISEXUAL DEMIGOD DEMISEXUAL.

Has a lot of allergies and has shit load allergy pill bottles hidden places other interns can use too.

I will bark on command to scare others of if you ask me to create a distraction or just doing hog calls or bird calls.

I will be friends will anyone, but I am really slow so you gotta tell things twice sometimes.

I sleep talk, fight, and yell sometimes.

Huge Courtney and Duncan fan that's why my outfits are questionable or end up ripped up because I want everything perfect to make Courtney proud by memory and I end looking messier than Duncan could somehow.

I told Priya to poke them eyes out to anyone that annoys her because I believe in her! Chris had to tell stop telling Pryia and Damein to stop telling them these things! I only do it because want them to have success when their comebacks aren't well said and it's total drama?

[smythologies]

Adaptability of Mythology

When I took my first dedicated mythology class, my professor would talk a great deal about the “adaptability” of mythological practices and cultures, and how they grew and changed over time. At first, I didn’t really know what he was saying or really believed him, but then I started looking deeper and realized the truth behind what he said.

Take our media. Our books, movies, video games, etc., that are based in mythology. They’re filled with the romanticism and mystique of superheroes and caped crusaders. You can see it in their actions, in their mannerisms, in their personalities and backstories and, most of all, their powers. It’s not immediately visible, but once you see it, it’s hard to unsee.

For example, take the Rick Riordan books. In Greco-Roman or Nordic myth, demigods never really had special powers. In fact, most demigods in Nordic myth didn’t really have any powers, while in Greco-Roman myths, the powers of demigods and heroes tended to just be superhuman characteristics like speed, strength, intellect, etc., and almost never really relating to the domain of the demigod’s divine parents. Of course, in both Greco-Roman and Nordic myths there were exceptions, but the general case was as I described above.

But in Rick Riordan’s books, as well as other media, they all have powers based off the domain of the divine parent. When you consider superheroes, doing this actually makes a lot of sense. See, arguably, the biggest part of superheroes are their powers and mystique, and more specifically, the “genetic” component of that. Powers and mystique are passed down through generations, like Superman and his sons, or Batman and his Robins. The same thing happens with these books and media based of mythology, in which the powers and mystique of the specific gods are being passed down to their children in this way, giving them specific powers based off their divine ancestor.  

You may wonder why superheroes, but I feel the answer becomes apparent when you look at the history of the West. After WWI, superheroes became incredibly popular. They were used a lot during the Great Depression, they were used as a recruitment tactic by the US and Allied Forces during WWII, they were used after WWII as a method to show just how amazing capitalist countries were, etc.

Even in more modern times, superheroes have still played a big role, despite people who read comics being called “nerds” and ridiculed for a good 20+ years, from the 80s onwards. They’ve just become a huge part of our culture, no matter what anyone says, for better or for worse. Hell, even kids who have never once picked up a comic-book obsess over superheroes like Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, etc. Thus, I don’t think it’s any coincidence that we choose to reshape mythology in this way.

Sorry for the long-winded and maybe difficult to understand rant, just thought it’s really interesting. Have a great day y’all!

[vergess]

Genuinely do not understand how people are so oblivious to the fact that antisemitism is a huge and increasing problem, like.. if you follow the news in literally any format there are stories all the time about hate crimes and Kanye and Whoopi and SO MANY people that agree with them. It's so obvious and people still think antisemitism ended with WWII I really do not understand this, or why people are mad at you for pointing it out when they claim not to be antisemites??? If someone is defending or denying antisemitism.. that's called being an antisemite yall this isn't complicated

Well, you see!

There are some Jewish readers in the discord server. And presumably some of them must also have contributed to the collaborative list of trigger warnings. And as we all know, a list of trigger warnings constitutes a complete critical discussion of antisemitism.

Therefore, any Jewish readers who, for example, are uncomfortable with the total radio silence from the broader Letters from Watson fandom here on tumblr WRT antisemitic stereotyping in the text is just going into hysterics. We're either too stupid too read, demanding that the text be dumbed down enough for our malformed "baby-bird" brains

Or we're demanding the poor white gentiles re-write their entire literary canon in our image.

By suggesting that maybe... in a book club... a coomunity venture... taking place publically... on a public platform such a tumblr... perhaps... tumblr users might seek to contextualize the work... communally????

Oh god, you know? I was going to keep trying. I really was. I was going to keep linking to each stupid little example of the overwhelmingly toxic antisemitism oozing off almost every stupid response to that post.

But what's the fucking point?

I can't just keep pointing to them screaming the most brazen and absurd antisemitic nonsense.

I mean for fuck's sakes, they're out here saying that it's a harassment campaign targetting the goddamned substack, when it consists whole fucking cloth of one 20 year old woman pointing out that she was rather shocked by a pretty egregiously shocking bit of racism

And me being like, "Yeah m8, that sure was fucked up!"

While so far no less than 3 dozen anons and 9 completely non-anonymous goddamned individuals decide to be weird about it!!!

Holy shit, people are out here saying "The Jews Want To Censor The Letters From Watson Substack" now, because one person said it might be nice if, perhaps, it was considered to make some community commentary more prominent maybe.

But heaven fucking forfend a Jew speak politely in a public space. God, no. That's making Unreasonable Labour Demands Of Poor, Innocent Fucking Gentiles.

I just.

I really feel bad for the OP, more than anything else. Imagine using tumblr once a month, you read Sherlock Holmes for the first time, pop an off the cuff little jumblr post like that, close the app...

And then...

Oh boy.

It's not gonna be a nice notes page com February, no it is not.

[gogandmagog]

What's your favorite vignette or chapter from TBAQ?

(My beaten and battered copy; this book groans audible complaints at me when I pick it up.)

Just one? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I’ve been thinking about this since you asked it, and am still scrambling for a decent answer. I think I had an easier time ranking the Blythe kids. This whole book is so 🤌🏻, it’s total art. Someone, somewhere, maybe it was on goodreads, once essentially said that TBAQ is so good for Anne fans, because it’s like getting to spend a whole day with someone (someone you dearly loved) that passed away many years ago. And I think that totally rings true but ALSO, how often is it that readers get such thorough insight into the ‘ever after’ part of the ‘happily,’ where we see war (+ it’s aftermath of wreckage) and sorrow and death try to poke holes of darkness into joy, and then witness a whole family persist bravely into life together, with their aching memories. In the second part of TBAQ, the Blythes (Baker-Meredith-Fords) demonstrate what it is to carry on, even with such sharp wounds of the heart. They’re resilient. We see laughing, we see crying, we see guilt, and we see the embrace of what was inevitable. All this NOT EVEN beginning to mention the humanity and comedy and peculiarities of the Four Winds community around them (we’ve got ghost stories, grudges, canon pyjama references, various character crushes on both Doctor and Mrs Blythe, as well as their daughters, people annoyed with the Blythe’s influence, illegitimate children, middle life marriages), that Montgomery writes so well it’s visceral. TBAQ was my gateway drug into other Montgomery books, and it made me actually ashamed that I hadn’t read anything else of hers before that, because it was a discredit to her that I hadn’t.

I’m going to cheat a little and pick;

1. A HAPPY FAVORITE;

Anne was a million years ahead of her time with this poignant and true sketch. And meanwhile, Gilbert McJokeyPants, probably feeling a little bit called out by these lines for yes, having always wanted to be Anne’s first and only (which, thanks to TBAQ, we know he is), and despite not being the subject of the poem (Anne says this was written at Redmond, which was prior to their engagement), decides he doesn’t much care for it. BUT, he still puts his hands in harms way to rescue the ‘nonsense’ from the flames, because to him, Anne’s work is still Anne’s work.

Honorable mention: (for the lol’s)

ANNE, trying to laugh; “Would you marry as quick as that if I died, Gilbert?”

DR. BLYTHE, really laughing; “Quicker if Susan would have me. Isn’t it about time for supper?”

2. A SAD FAVORITE;

Of course it’s this. Like… of course it is. It’s sad for the very obvious reasons (Walter always ‘stirs the deeps’ for me, especially when he’s gone), but then it’s extra sad because we’re, timeline wise, steady on to WWII and the overall feeling is… what was all the sacrifice of WWI for? The one thing worse than WWI itself was the stripping the achievements (the cause, the reason) of the sacrifice of soldiers (those that lost their lives, and didn’t). To make it all fruitless? It’s an actual abomination. A blight on every soldier’s memory. To see a whole new generation suffer the same fates and ultimate consequences… utterly maddening. And it broke my heart all over again to read Anne (she’d be around 80 here) saying she’s glad, for his sake, that Walter didn’t make it back to see the continued nastiness of the world. I don’t quite believe her. 🥺 What’s more? That she’s only shared this poem with Jem, likely because he is, as he says, a ‘tougher brand.’ Excuse me pls, I’ll just be over here UGLY CRYING.

NOWWW, if you ever have the time, I would also love to know your favorites!!!

[ddrqoyote]

people keep saying gear 5 is bad cause it turns luffy from a regular guy who made it this far with hard work into another chosen one. ignoring that that was never really true (related to garp and dragon, chosen by shanks and trained by rayleigh, has the will of D, etc), it makes me think of one of the biggest tensions in shonen.

there isn't really a thesis to what you're gonna read, i'm just rambling on something i think about a lot lately.

people want a self-made man for the lead that anyone could see themselves becoming. people also want a world-beater who can stop established, global evils with nothing but a small group of friends, and it needs to happen relatively quickly cause no one but hindu monks wants a story 5000 chapters long. and honestly, it doesn't feel real to have both. anyone who's been around the block a couple times knows that's not how the world works. it's not that easy to dismantle, no one can just stomp through the world like godzilla and knock all the bad stuff down. even kings and dictators can't do that.

i think most older shonen fans know all that, we're not dumb, we just don't like it.

there's this book of wwii superhero comics called "the great comic book heroes". the writer, jules feiffer, grew up on them in the 30s and worked on them* during the 40s and 50s. he talks a lot in the book about how he saw the earliest superheroes growing up.

*assistant to eisner on the original spirit run and wrote the last couple years. though he's probably better-known as a pulitzer-winning cartoonist, author and playwright. also illustrated the phantom tollbooth.

"The problem in pre-super days was that, with few exceptions, heroes were not very interesting. And, by any realistic appraisal, certainly no match for the villains who were bigger, stronger, smarter (as who wasn’t?), and even worse, were notorious scene stealers... Villains, whatever fate befell them in the obligatory last panel, were infinitely better equipped than those silly, hapless heroes. Not only comics, but life taught us that. Those of us raised in ghetto neighborhoods were being asked to believe that crime didn’t pay? Tell that to the butcher! Nice guys finished last; landlords, first. Villains by their simple appointment to the role were miles ahead. It was not to be believed that any ordinary human could combat them. More was required. Someone with a call. When at last appeared, he brought with him the deep satisfaction of all underground truths: our reaction was less “How original!” than “But, of course! The advent of the super-hero was a bizarre comeuppance for the American dream. Horatio Alger could no longer make it on his own. He needed “Shazam!” Here was fantasy with a cynically realistic base: once the odds were appraised honestly it was apparent you had to be super to get on in this world."

the rest of the essay is here if you want to read something about superheroes that isn't "they're the modern mythology (for the 1% of people who read comics)!" or "superheroes are shit even though i make a living writing them, because i'm british!"

but basically a big reason these superpowered characters exist is because real people CAN'T do the things they do. we can learn from them, we can strive to have as much integrity as them, but we can't enforce decency on the world or save everyone from the bullshit that happens to them, even the people we care about (i've tried saving people, believe me, it doesn't work).

i'm not trying to crap on shonen or superheroes, i'm just less and less sure what to do with them these days cause they're a huge part of my life and now they feel less real than when i was younger. i know they don't have to reflect reality for me to enjoy them and it's pretty silly to expect that, but... i don't know. sometimes i feel like i've totally run away from reality and i don't like that about myself. it feels like my life's empty sometimes. and i don't like how socially acceptable that's become either. every time i hear people talk about irl "character development" or "i'm in my [x] arc" or something similar, or some youtuber says "here are the characters in this story [that really happened]", i don't like it. call me a boomer but it worries me.

[nfumbewalk]

Esoteric Ramblings & Family Ramblings

Parchment for a sour jar. My real blood, oleum, and sigil.

I've been trying to get together more lessons for my *new* necromancy student. 💀 I have plenty of material, in my head. It's just gotta make it to my Notepad to her email! Lol. She's 35 years old and happens to have the right planets in the needed placements to be a natural necromancer.

I just happened upon her in a Santa Muerte reading. I offered her a free course because I think she'll be powerful. My course is usually $800.00. Big time gifts, right?!? 😅 I think so, with some tuning. She's wild, but I see potential! Why is my course expensive? To eke out the flakes, the non-gifted, the ones with a "god-complex," the wanna be's...you name it! In this field, you meet them all!

She may need to sign a privacy disclosure too. The stuff I teach isn't illegal but "normies" don't like ppl poking around graveyards. I just collect dirt from my muertos grave & maybe once in awhile, take a memento from a grave, if it's old. I never litter or tip stones, never ever desecrate anything! Graveyards are like my second home!

I've sent my student a few short documents that I hope she absorbs and asks some questions. Part of it is my "Muerteria™"- Adherents of Nod...but it was shortened. She doesn't need to know about the Gatekeepers, the Holy days, the coin, or the sacrifice (not animal)! Now, when I say "Gatekeeper" it's not what you're thinking. And also, nothing to do with the Demons of my past path.

I did have a brief convo with a Demon, even wore his sigil out of respect - no offering though. He seemed to be interested, but when he learned about other occupants of my house, his interest waned. He wouldn't be the hotshot here! He doesn't like my muerto, that's what!

Because my Rodolfo stands up for me. He won't let this deceiving Demon bother me or give me false promises! Rodolfo forced the Demon to leave my house after learning that this Demon wanted me back on the destructive path that is Demonolatry. I know I'm not the only one.

Hey - maybe it ain't destructive for you, great! But others, especially sensitive espiritista's like myself - we have to careful of energies that may influence us in a negative way, break our barriers (psychic, emotional, mental mostly), and drain us. That's why I ultimately left the Demono-folks. I found myself getting jammed up with negative energy and constant psychic & mental barrier breaking. I wanted a more peaceful place & I found that with the muertos, in now what I refer to loosely as "Muerteria™". It IS a path. Not a religion. Call it spiritual if you wish. There's no doctrine or holy book/scripture.

For me, personally, I like the Odu, which is a part of African Traditional Religion. I'm NOT in any of them though - never initiated, never will be. I do like aspects of those religions, though. The actual religion that fits me the closest is Palo Mayombe. Won't pay for it & they are biased against women. As are most African paths... They are getting better-ish, slightly. Yeah, they say: "Women! Are the mothers!" Umm..what else? Oh yeah, "Women! Comforters!" Rofl! 😂

Well, I'm no feminist, but inequality blows, especially in a religion. One thing I did not experience was racism! Amazing. One of my teachers was Cuban. Another was Puerto Rican. My Ifá Baba was Black. None of them had trouble teaching this cracker!

Family Ramblings

All of these "closed traditions?" Stick a sage bundle in it! I do NOT burn that shit! And I'm part Native. I'm also part African?!? Genetics are fascinating. It's not much African, but my old Palo teacher said it didn't matter, any counts!! Lol!! No shit, he said that. 😅 I'm mostly Germanic, Norwe & French Canadian.

My great grandfather, Norwegian, Tonyus Barstad, somehow got my grandfather, Arthur Wilson Barstad, to Oregon...where he enlisted into the Army during WWII, becoming a Tech IV Sergeant - "in the rear with the gear" he was! Met my grandma, who worked at a cinema - embroiled with Hitler's propaganda... Her sister's refused my grandpa. "No! You take him!" My grandma said "fuck it!" And in 1946-47 left Germany to marry my grandpa Arthur and GTFO Germany! My mom was born in Portland, Ore. in September 1948.

Grandpa Arthur was the cheapest man alive. My mom told horror stories about being cold all the time and how her parakeets didn't like it. Grandpa was just a drunk. He was drunk at work too - a government job, no doubt. And he stank to high heaven, never bathing. Grandma was drunk too, so I doubt she noticed. My grandpa did do one useful thing for me, many years after his death. I'm a member of The Order of the Eastern Star, which is basically female Freemasons, though men can join too.

The OES is all about charity work & fundraising for different causes. Yes, there is a secret handshake! 😊 And an initiation - a FREE one! Lolz! There is actually a Sentinel who sits outside the ritual room, guarding it. My husband sat & chatted with him. The offered to make him a Freemason.

Ah, just a little trip down memory lane. I really miss my parents. I have so MANY unanswered questions.

Done here!

Memento Mori! 💖💀💖

[pagesoflauren]

The Riveter Ch. 12

Summary: After escaping Hydra, you assist Dr. Erskine in helping Steve Rogers become Captain America. When Erskine is assassinated, you think your WWII career is over. Unfortunately, the SSR and Hydra are not done with you yet.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death, canon-typical violence (use of guns as a means of killing, blood loss, serious injury, physical altercations), mentions of trauma, slow burn, dialogue-heavy chapters, comic book science, torture, forced experimentation

A/N: Hope whoever reads this enjoys it. The dividers aren’t mine, they were created by@firefly-graphics and the Marvel blog formerly known as @writeyourmindaway. And a HUGE thank you to @eightcevanscentral for beta-ing

You’re certain the agent questioning you is as frustrated with you as you are with him as the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross, stands behind him and scrubs a hand down his face.

They’ve brought in five different people to read off the same list of inquiries about your time with Hydra; a person with something called a polygraph test; and now, a new investigator and Ross.

All the answers they got were the same. You knew your name, your date of birth, and how long you worked in the service of the US Army before your disappearance into the ice.

What you couldn’t tell them were the details of what they really wanted to know.

What were you doing from 1945 up until four days ago when Steve found you?

What was your role?

Why were you kept alive? How are you alive?

You could answer that. But at this point, the question was just procedural to make sure your stories were consistent.

Everything else got a variation of I don’t know and I don’t remember. You truly didn't–the polygraph test revealed that. All of that information was stashed and locked in a corner of your brain that you couldn’t access.

You said that over and over again for the past ninety-six hours. Why didn’t they believe you?

Because they have one reason not to.

Witness accounts placing you next to the Winter Soldier–who suddenly disappeared after the helicarriers fell–and Hydra agents that were captured confessing that they had worked with you.

You’re certain they questioned Steve about his knowledge, but you were confident they couldn’t accuse him of anything.

Sam and Agent Hill had got off scot-free.

Secretary Ross had told you they questioned Natasha in front of the Defense Council of the United States and now she’s disappeared.

“That just leaves you, miss,” he says, making a show of looking at the witness and Hydra agent testimonies. “Our intelligence team is sorting through Hydra’s and SHIELD’s files. Once we find yours, I’m sure your memory will run a marathon when it jogs up to the information.”

He leaves the room and you clench your fists.

- - - - -

Steve is fuming.

He spends all of his waking hours juggling thoughts of tracking down Bucky and getting you released. Part of him had hoped that they would release you on the third day after realizing you truly don’t know anything. He doubts you would tell them about your life in the past seventy years before you told him about it. But today, the fourth day, his frustration increases by the second.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He stops his pacing through his D.C. apartment and takes out the device, hoping for a notification that you’ve been released and he can pick you up.

It’s Tony.

Just checking in after the Hydra fiasco. You doing okay, Cap?

Steve furrows his brows and wonders why Tony took so long to message him. If he was so concerned, wouldn’t he have messaged him the day after it happened?

Doing fine. Just finishing up some business here before heading up there.

The reply comes quickly, What business?

Steve tries to figure out a subtle way to hint that it’s important and he has to stay without giving away that it’s about you.

Is it about Secretary Ross and your girlfriend?

How did–

How do you know about that?

I know everything. *Genius*, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, remember?

Steve rolls his eyes.

Right. But yes, it’s about that. They won’t release her.

Tony takes a second to respond, and Steve isn’t sure how to understand it. Let me see what I can do.

- - -

A few hours later, Steve hears a knock on his door. Looking through the peephole, there’s a mix of surprise and a feeling that he can only describe as “Oh, God, here we go.”

“Tony,” he says as he opens the door.

“Cap,” he nods in response.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help you break out your girlfriend. Well, not ‘break out’ more like bail out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I scanned through the Hydra files that Romanoff released. There’s not a single word about her in any of them.”

Steve’s brows furrow. How can that be?

“Now, I know what you’re thinking and no, my tech did not miss anything. It’s far too precise because it’s mine.”

“How can you be sure?”

Tony tilts his head. “To be frank, I can’t be. But, Secretary Ross has probably got a team of humans looking through those files and we all know how faulty humans can be.”

Steve doesn’t respond.

“Anyway, I’m thinking Ross has been holding your girlfriend for this long because he’s holding out for something about her. But you and I are gonna go down there right now and tell him he’s got nothing and as such, must let her go.”

“Since when did you become a lawyer?”

“I didn’t, but I’ve talked my way out of enough things to know what to do.”

Despite still being unsure about this, Steve figures it’s better than nothing. He grabs his jacket and keys before following Tony out of his building and to the Pentagon.

- - - - -

You barely have the appetite to eat the sandwich in front of you.

It’s the same one they’ve given you for lunch and dinner since your arrest. You know what it’ll be: stale bread, limp lettuce, mushy tomatoes, and sour meat.

The door opens and your head lifts slowly, ready for someone to snatch the plate away and question you again.

Instead, it’s Steve.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You jump up from your seat and leap into his arms. When he buries his nose in your neck, you feel a little self-conscious; you hadn’t been permitted to shower for as long as you’ve been here. He doesn’t seem to care, holding you even tighter when you try to pull away.

“You okay?” he checks, cupping your face and examining you closely.

You nod, pushing your face into his chest. Here, enveloped in him, everything feels better.

“Come on,” he coaxes you with a hand gliding down your back and landing at your waist, rubbing comforting circles there. “Let’s go home.”

He takes your hand, leading you out of the holding cell and interrogation room, through the detention ward, and out into a bright open hallway, lit by the sunlight pouring through the windows.

Your eyes sting and you whimper slightly at the pain, using your arm to shield your eyes as they adjust. Blinking away the blur, your eyes settle on a man who looks strangely familiar from the side.

When he pivots to look at you and Steve, he smiles and a sharp gasp leaves your throat.

“Howard?”

Steve squeezes your hand and you look at him before looking back at the man.

He looks down and takes off his sunglasses. He frowns a little, then smiles gently, almost in a forgiving way.

“No. No, sorry to disappoint,” he says with a shake of his head. You can’t tell if he’s serious or joking. He folds the arms of his glasses and places them in the breast pocket of his blazer. “I’m Tony, his son. My parents…” he pauses, “They died a little over twenty years ago. Car crash.”

A chill runs down your spine and you shiver visibly.

“Anyway, lovely to meet you,” he says, his mood seeming to change in the blink of an eye as if you didn’t bring up a traumatic memory.

Tony offers his hand for you to shake. In a surprise gesture, he brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it.

“Howard did the same thing when he and I first met,” you say fondly.

“He told me he was a gentleman when it counted. And he told me a lot about the two of you; ‘Captain Rogers and the little miss.’”

You smile, happy memories of working with him in the weapons room coming to mind.

Something feels strange about the knowledge of him being gone, though you can’t quite put your finger on it.

“I’m sorry to hear he’s gone,” you manage to say.

“Well, time heals all wounds,” Tony shrugs then looks between the two of you. “Shall we?” he says, gesturing to the exit.

Steve looks at you, “Ready to go?”

There’s something beneath what he’s saying. He’s not just asking you if you want to leave this place–because of course you do.

By the way his eyes fall on you, you know he’s also asking Are you ready to start our life together?

You smile. “Yes.”

- - - - -

“Tony, you passed the exit,” Steve says flatly, annoyed.

You weren’t paying attention. You were focused on the car. It really looked like something from the future: clean stitches on the black leather interior, a screen in place of a radio, heated seats, a quiet engine, and quick acceleration.

Everything you built into Schmidt’s car, only a thousand times better.

“Huh? Oh,” Tony replies, throwing a confused look at the two of you in the rearview mirror, though it’s easy to tell that he’s faking it. “We’re not going back to that tiny apartment you had.”

“It wasn’t tiny.”

“Well, whatever. I have an upgrade for you back at the tower, Cap. Somewhere you two lovebirds can settle in together. Privately, of course. Large, open space, stocked kitchen, California king bed, sound-proof walls…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this plan to take us back to New York?”

“Trust me, Capsicle, it’ll be great.”

Arriving at the airport, Tony leads you down a different terminal from the general public–not after garnering some excited points and eager looks from passengers. Some point out Steve, particularly a little boy wearing a shirt with the image of his shield on it.

“Still quite the celebrity, I see,” you remark. “Do people know you used to dance, too?”

Steve shushes you, cheeks turning red as he smiles.

“You two are disgusting,” Tony interjects with a smile, flashing a badge at the security guard.

He unlocks the door and you see a hangar with an aircraft. It’s smaller than the other planes on the runway, but it looks fast.

“You brought a Quinjet?” Steve asks.

“Don’t see a point in traveling an extra ten minutes when I could be using that time more wisely. Like bailing out the little miss.”

Your heart flutters from being referred to with that nickname again.

The back hatch of the Quinjet opens and Tony goes up the small incline. Steve stands by you as you get a look inside: it uses the space remarkably well; there’s storage along the walls and seats that fold up. Though you can’t see it, it looks like there’s even more space within the wings of the jet.

“I had the same reaction,” Steve reassures you. “It’s a far cry from Howard’s plane.”

At the mention of his name, you feel goosebumps ripple up your arms. You let out a small gasp, then cover it with a laugh.

“You’re right.”

You enter the jet as Tony takes a seat in the pilot chair, flipping switches, and turning knobs.

“If either of you wanna get a quick nap in, you can pull out the cot. Cap knows where it is.”

“You can sleep in this?” you wonder in surprise.

“Quieter than the average jet and more than twice as fast. We’ll be in New York within the hour,” Tony rattles off, flipping a switch that closes the back hatch. He tilts the steering wheel up and you feel the vehicle lift.

Startled, you reach for Steve and he steadies you with his hands on your waist.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly, “I gotcha.”

Tony communicates with the call tower, chattering indistinctly before he gets the clear to take off.

The jet moves so quickly and you adjust your arms to wrap around Steve’s waist as he reaches up and grabs one of the handrails suspended from the ceiling.

“Tony, warnings would be nice!” he shouts.

“Sorry, a little too eager to show the little miss what I’ve been up to.”

“Trust me, she sees it!”

When the jet levels, you’re shocked when you look out the front window. The world is moving so fast and it doesn’t feel like anything.

“This is incredible,” you say, detaching yourself from Steve and walking towards the second pilot seat.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Tony replies. He begins to describe all the technological aspects of the jet, answering your questions and sharing his secrets.

“Maybe one of these days Capiscle will teach you how to fly it.”

“Let’s just work on getting her to New York, Tony,” Steve replies, having not moved from his spot the entire trip.

“Well, why don’t you take a whirl now?” Tony offers, “We’re about to land.”

He walks you through it, telling you how to adjust speed and orient the vehicle so it can land perfectly in the launch bay.

“Coming up on the tower now.”

It’s tall, half of it glass and the other a classic looking skyscraper with a concrete exterior and smaller windows. A portion of it extends sideways to have room for a helipad and an outdoor patio.

“Alright, now, easy does it…” Tony guides you.

Your landing is a little bumpy, but he congratulates you nonetheless.

“You’re a natural. Could use some improvement, but we all do.”

The three of you exit the jet, you and Steve following Tony down the launch bay and into the building. Distantly below you, you can hear the sounds of the street: loud cars, sirens, what sounds like a train, and social gatherings.

Tony takes you to an elevator. It’s quiet, too, and the ride is smooth and quick.

You wonder how many times you’ll be shocked when a vehicle is fast and practically silent as it takes you where you need to go.

When you exit, you’re taken to a small atrium with what looks like a keypad and a door. A small window is on one wall, bringing more illumination into the space in addition to the lights in the ceiling.

As you approach the door, the screen lights up with an image of Steve’s shield.

“It’s fingerprint activated. Just put your four fingers or your thumb on the screen,” Tony explains. “It’s only calibrated to Steve’s prints but we’ll get yours sorted out ASAP, little miss.”

Steve uses his thumb and the door audibly unlocks and slides open.

The lights turn on as you enter, casting a cool light into the room and you freeze.

You’re certain Tony meant well with this design. It looked sleek and modern, but still cold and uninviting. The walls were exposed concrete, a little too reminiscent of the holding cell you were just occupying hours prior…

And something else.

The room feels suffocatingly frigid all of a sudden and your temples sting. Bringing your arms around yourself you shiver, and Tony conveniently mentions that there are heated floors and centralized temperature control.

Showing you another screen on the wall, he turns the thermostat up by two degrees.

“But, I also figured you two are old school, so there’s a fireplace there for more coziness. Gas, of course. There's a valve next to it. But if you need any help, you can ask Jarvis. He can also do things like dim the lights, lower the shades, lock and unlock the door, you name it.”

Tony walks the two of you through the kitchen and living spaces before leading the two of you down the hallway. The concrete walls remain a common theme throughout the place, the monochromatic color scheme still leaving you with a chilly, displaced feeling.

Stealing a look at Steve, he doesn’t look very bothered. He listens intently and you can tell he wishes he had a notepad so he could write all the information down. Knowing that he seems perfectly fine with the space, you decide to dampen your reactions, fidgeting with your fingers and keeping your limbs locked in close to your body.

When Tony brings you to the bedroom, there are softer colors that feel a little more welcoming, but it still holds that air of something uninviting and almost foreboding. You know automatically you won’t be able to sleep here.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, looking at both of you. “Any changes you’d like to make? Just say the word and I can make it happen.”

Steve looks at you while you look between both of them.

“It’s nice,” you say quietly, your neck stiff as you punctuate your sentence with a nod.

“You alright, little miss?”

“Mhm,” you nod more vigorously, but you don’t think it makes your discomfort any less subtle.

Tony looks thoughtful for a moment before he states there’s something else he’d like to show you. You walk through the apartment again and back to the elevator.

Another quiet ascent as you move back to the upper floors of the building.

The new space is illuminated with blue; sleek, gray walls reflect the light and cast a catalytic glow. It reminds you of the cube Schmidt used to power his weapons. That bright white and azure signal something big has been created in this space, and the next big thing is waiting to be started.

Steve leads you out of the elevator, but you barely make it more than three steps into the room.

“This is the lab, it’s where the magic happens,” Tony gestures around. “Lots of fun stuff. You got screens.”

He taps his knuckle onto a clear slab of glass twice and it lights up. ”It’s equipped with the fastest search engine known to man. But it’s not a standard-issue yet. Sometimes I don’t feel like sharing.”

He goes on and on and on about all the different features of the lab. You try to keep up, but the movement of the robotic arms distracts you, the light bothers you as your eyes continue to fail to adjust. You jump as some items fall off a desk and a man groans.

He’s not particularly small, but he makes himself so. Donned in a white coat and wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, his hair is a dark gray with a few silver strands curled loosely and styled out of his face.

“Oh, hello,” he greets awkwardly, rubbing his hands together and adjusting his coat. “Cap,” he nods to him, waving.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve greets back.

“Banner, come meet Cap’s girlfriend.”

You cut a quick look to Steve before straightening out your clothes.

Narrowing his eyes at you, Steve watches closely as you introduce yourself to Bruce. You’ve never been one to care too much about appearances. Peggy dressed you that night at the bar, and one of the first things you told him when you began discussing going to New York with him was he’d better not expect you to suddenly start wearing dresses.

“I’m gonna wear pants everyday, dammit. And the women of New York can shove it if it really bothers them.”

Keeping hair out of your face you were conscious of, but for purposes of being able to see.

But clothes?

“Little miss, let me show you around a little more. There’s something I think you’d like.”

You look at Steve again and he nods to you, a silent question of, “What do you want to do?”

You point in Tony’s direction and follow him. Bruce pipes up next to him, “She’s a shy one.”

Steve exhales briefly and sharply. “Maybe it was a mistake coming here.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s…it’s too much for her. She grew up in a village, not a city. And knowing Tony and how he’s…” Steve trails off, failing to find the word.

“Tony,” Bruce finishes for him.

“Yeah, and all this,” Steve motions to the room around him. “It must be a lot for her. She’s only been…’awake’...for less than a week.”

His heart sinks further as you nod with an uneasy expression on your face. He should have told Tony he would take you to New York when you were ready.

“I think I should take her out of here,” he thinks out loud.

“What do you mean?”

“Bring her out of the city, just for a little bit.”

“You know, that might not be a bad idea,” Bruce agrees. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off you as his friend continues, “You know her better than I do, and I can tell she’s very out of her comfort zone right now. If this is unusual for her, going to a quiet place might be just what she needs to really absorb everything.”

“Should I try to talk to her about it?”

Even now, after knowing you as well as he does, Steve still doesn’t know how to approach delicate subjects with you. His first instinct is to protect, enact vengeance on those that hurt you.

But he knows it’s not enough to accomplish his ultimate goal: to heal you–and himself–so the two of you can move forward with your lives together.

In his periphery, he can see Bruce shake his head.

“Just be gentle. Keep things light, show her some of the good you’ve discovered while you were waiting for her.”

Waiting for her.

Steve’s heart tugs at how long he’s waited for you. The right partner, as he told Peggy.

And he realizes, the whole time from when he woke up to up until five days ago, he was waiting for an opportunity to see you again. Biding his time going on missions and living in a time-warped haze, catching up with the times; waiting for one outcome or any other.

The discovery and thawing of your body. Meeting his end and seeing you on whatever awaits humans on the other side of life.

Waiting.

As you wring your hands nervously, a gesture that Steve knows too well, he pats Bruce on the shoulder in thanks and approaches the space where you stand as Tony rambles on.

“How’s it going here?” he checks in, keeping it casual.

“It’s good,” you say quietly, “It’s impressive, the lab, the tower…”

Your eyes wander up and around and your breathing turns shallow and quick before you swallow and look at him again.

“It’s…it’s—”

“It’s okay if it’s a lot,” Steve tells you gently, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “The world’s different from the one we knew, I know.”

You nod. “I know, but–”

“Maybe you lovebirds need a weekend away,” Tony suggests, his voice soft as he looks around. “Or more than a weekend. A week. Longer. You can stay up at the lakehouse.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Steve agrees, placing an arm around your waist and bringing you close to him.

You turn to look at Tony and he gives you a thumbs up. “I’ll make your apartment homier for you two. For man and wife, not just…what did Romanoff say?” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “Not just for a widower.”

You look back at Steve, and he smiles at you, drawing you close to him with a hand on your hip. He gently squeezes there, relishing the feeling of your body in his hands again as you lean your head on his chest.

Steve presses a kiss to the crown of your head and smiles at his friend, “I think that’s a great idea, Tony.”

- - - - -

You and Steve embarked on your journey less than an hour later, affording you a chance to freshen up before leaving the city as the late afternoon turns into evening.

Steve packed a bag of his clothes and essentials, while Tony sent you with a suitcase of some of Nat’s items.

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” he said. “While she’s gone, someone may as well get some use outta these.”

Driving up was enough to get you to calm down, especially when Steve showed you his phone and the Bluetooth connection to the radio so you could play music. He showed you all the artists and genres he was catching up with, everything from BeeGees and disco; to rock music and AC/DC; and Backstreet Boys and pop.

As you looked out the window, you marveled at the tall buildings that surrounded you on both sides. The last time you were in New York was 1943.

You remember your surprise at the hustle and bustle of the city, but it seems like life only got faster as time continued. Buildings got larger, lights got brighter, and people got more impatient.

When Steve stopped to top off the gas tank just before leaving the city limit, you browsed through the snack aisles, looking up and down at all of your choices.

The colors were bright and overwhelming, making you feel unsettled again until you moved into the aisle with fruit and grains. A man bumped you, knocking you into the shelf as he grumbled that he had places to get to.

You breathed in slowly, grabbed an apple, and headed to the checkout counter.

The cashier had a vacuous look in his eyes and a deadpan tone, rolling his eyes as you fumbled for the right amount of cash to give him. Steve came up next to you after, placing a bag of granola onto the counter and flashing a card to the man.

After your transaction, Steve ushered you out and into the car.

“I think I’m a little too slow for New York,” you mutter, buckling your seatbelt.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he replies with a smile, reaching across the console and patting your knee. “You’ll catch up. Takes some time.”

Once Steve drove out of the city, it suddenly felt easier to breathe. You no longer felt closed in by skyscrapers or rushed by honking cars.

You sat back and ate your apple, relaxing in the slightly reclined passenger’s seat. Steve seemed comfortable, occasionally reaching over again to hold your hand for a few minutes at a time.

About an hour into the drive, he mentioned that the two of you would need to stop at a grocery store and asked you to think about what you wanted to eat while you were away.

He pulls into a parking lot, the building and sign unassuming but when you walk in, you’re met with another space that overtakes your senses. You try to breathe slowly, following Steve as he takes you to the meat aisle and places a few trays of steaks into the cart and a tray of burgers.

“Now that I don’t have asthma anymore, I can stand by an open grill,” he remarks, a joking lilt in his voice.

You swallow and give him the best smile you can manage.

Wrapping his arm around your waist, he squeezes your hip. “We’ll be quick. Is there anything else you want?”

You turn your eyes to the refrigerated shelves, blinking quickly as you try to focus on the options in front of you.

Your eyes land on a package of bratwurst and you recall the dish Dr. Erskine cooked for the two of you when you were able to get your hands on more expensive ingredients during the war.

The plastic feels strange against your fingers, the texture foreign as you lift up the package and grab a second one before placing them in the cart.

Steve then takes you around to pick up some milk, eggs, and cheese, along with some frozen foods.

Leading you to the next aisle, you’re overwhelmed again by all the bright packages of different chips and sodas. A few paces down, a worker restocks the shelves, the crinkling sound scraping against your eardrums. Above you, a beeping sound plays and a man’s voice comes through the speakers, garbled by the old sound system. The music starts again–the music that had been playing this entire time and had faded into white noise–seeming louder than before. You look up and the harsh lighting stings your eyes.

Suddenly, everything that you had managed to become desensitized to reaches your senses: the hum of the cooling systems, the chatter from other shoppers, the meat slicer behind the deli counter, the beeping of the ovens in the bakery.

Recalling your dream–memory?--from a few days ago, you could look at Zola with a gaze that could kill. He had called your abilities as a super soldier a blessing.

Now, it was a curse.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice sounds above everything else. His hands cup your jaw, making you see only him. “Breathe in with me.”

He takes an exaggerated breath, making a show of his shoulders rising up as he inhales.

“Breathe out.”

You watch his chest sink and feel your own deflate, your heartbeat still in your eyes but less dizzy than you were a moment ago when you didn’t even realize you were feeling that way.

“Let’s go pay,” he says quietly, “We’ll leave after.”

“But…but we’re not done–”

He chuckles once, placing his forehead against yours. “Yes, we are,” he whispers before kissing your nose.

He’s gentle, offering you his arm to hold while he pushes the cart with the other.

You watch the man at the end of the conveyor belt bag your groceries and turn to Steve as he taps on the keypad.

“We forgot to get vegetables.”

“We’ll stop at a farmer’s stand on the way,” he promises. “We’re getting out of here.”

Embarrassed and guilty, you look down.

As much as you want to argue that you’re fine, you can handle ten more minutes gathering what you need, most of your energy is spent ignoring every piece of stimuli around you that isn’t Steve.

“Let’s go,” he verbally nudges, voice still soft as he leads the way out of the store and into the parking lot.

“Go sit inside,” he says, nodding towards the passenger’s side door. “I won’t be long.”

You wait as he loads the groceries into the back, feeling the weight of the car shift as it supports all the bags of food Steve purchased for the coming days.

You stop fiddling with your fingers long enough to buckle yourself in.

As you squeeze the base of your right finger with your thumb and forefinger on your left hand, you see Steve’s hand covers yours.

“You okay?”

You purse your lips and blink back tears. “I’m just…” you begin, face heating up at the sound of your watery voice, “I’m sorry I can’t handle it. I’m such an inconvenience–”

“Hey,” he says, cupping your jaw and gently turning your head so you can look at him. “You’re not. Not to me.”

His thumb swipes a tear that falls and he continues, “I know it’s been a lot these past few days. It just takes some getting used to, and I know because I’ve been there. And I’m gonna be here next to you every step of the way, sweetheart.”

Ignoring the discomfort in the way that you overextend your body, you throw your arms around his shoulders.

“I promise I’m not letting either of us be alone ever again,” he swears, cupping the back of your head.

He kisses you once, then a second time before you settle back in your seat.

The rest of the way, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Just before approaching the property, Steve keeps true to his word and pulls over so you can shop at a farmer’s stand.

You pick your fill of fruits and vegetables–some you’ve never seen before–feeling nostalgic as you place them into a cardboard box given to you by the owners of the farm. When Steve comes to ask you for your opinion on which tomato is best, your heart tugs as you remember shopping with your first fiancé.

It’s strange; it’s not that you miss him. You cherish the memories of the time you spent with him, sure, but you don’t wish he was there instead of Steve, nor do you wish Steve had been in his place–even if there was a world where he did survive.

You realize that in a cosmic way, this is how it was meant to be. You and Steve, together. Through everything.

And it suddenly becomes apparent that he knows it, too.

It’s why he had been so patient this entire time. He could easily walk away, abandon everything and leave you to your own devices.

He doesn’t just say no, he outright refuses to.

Steve calls your name, asking if you’re okay.

Standing on your toes, you press your lips to his. You smile at the surprise he seems to feel, his delayed return of affection a clear sign of how unexpected it was.

“You okay?” he checks again, neck, cheeks, and ears flushing red.

“Yes,” you nod. Then, you look at the tomatoes, giving them a squeeze before deciding which ones are best.

Another few miles down, Steve takes you to another roadside pit stop to pick up a few more snacks and some beer.

The property is closed off, a brick wall running along the perimeter until you reach an iron gate. From what you can tell, it’s massive.

But do you really expect anything less from Howard’s son?

The gate opens automatically as the car approaches, the driveway illuminating in Tony’s signature blue lights. As the sun sets across the lake, you can see the cabin in the distance.

It’s large, but still barely taking up the entire area. As you move deeper into the space, you realize you could walk and explore for hours without seeing any kind of barrier.

Steve pulls up right at the front porch, exiting the car and running over to your side to open the door for you. He takes your hand, leading you up the steps to the wooden deck.

You pause briefly, looking at how the receding sunlight reflects against the surface of the lake, rippling under the breeze. You hear the din of crickets and the occasional whistle from a nearby bird.

For a moment, everything is still; no SHIELD, no Hydra, no Project Insight, no Pierce, no Rumlow, not even the busy sounds of New York can reach you here.

It’s just you and Steve.

You turn back to look at him, grateful for the patient look he gives you. You know he’d give you as long as you need to feel normal. Even if you didn’t know what “normal” would look like in this new world, you know he’d love you whether you stayed the same or changed.

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[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - August 8th

Happy Sunday!! Here’s what I’ve been reading this week. As always, leave your fic authors some love if you read and enjoy their stories! 

**Indicates my recent favs 

~*~ 

Turn around three times by ladyshadowdrake (Capwolf/20k) 

Tony and Steve take a tumble through a portal of inky darkness. When they wake up, they're not exactly feeling like themselves.

***Senseless by Scavenge4Dreams (Hurt Comfort/16k) 

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

Right up the road by gottalovev (Capwolf/17k) 

The day at the senate committee in Washington DC wasn't supposed to end with Tony and Steve transformed into animals by a baby witch. That said, the 350 miles trek back to the compound to get help promises to be quite an adventure too!

(or the adventures of Cat!Tony and Wolf!Steve - and how to readjust when you're back to human!)

***The love spell by Annie D (scaramouche) (Love Spell/17k) 

Tony wakes up in love with Steve. This is an alarming turn of events, because he wasn’t in love with Steve when he fell asleep the night before. That said, it’s sort of nice? To be in love? He’s enjoying it, anyway.

***Citation Needed by elwenyere, FestiveFerret (Professor AU/30K)

Historian Tony Stark has one year to get his book about WWII weapons technology under contract before he goes up for Full Professor at Stanley College. There's only one chapter left to finish, which is supposed to explain Peggy Carter's involvement with something called "Project Rebirth," but there are two problems: his trail of evidence goes cold every time he encounters references to an enigmatic soldier named Steven Rogers, and his stress levels shoot through the roof every time he runs into the endlessly frustrating new hire in Fine Arts, Dr. Grant.

***All Time Low by Sineala (616/12k) 

Tony's lost his company to Obadiah Stane. He's lost it all: his money, his friends, his Avengers team... and his sobriety. Drunk, homeless, Tony is living on the streets, and when he runs out of liquor money, he sells the only thing he has left: his body. And one day, he has the exact wrong customer.

***Not the Only Living Boy in New York by Essie (Getting Together/25k) 

Everyone has a number of names written on their bodies from birth. Steve has three: Margaret Carter, James Barnes and Anthony Stark. After Steve loses two of his soulmates he's not ready to meet his third. If wishes were horses huh?

Includes texting, movie watching a solid amount of pining and a little kicking HYDRA's butt.

Computer Love by ceealaina (PWP/6K) 

A spam email and a misunderstanding from Steve lead to him accidentally revealing something very surprising.

*

“Well, I don’t know, Tony,” Steve snapped back, once again opening his mouth without thinking. “You’ve got a robot butler, alright? Someone secretly taping me jerking off to Iron Man porn could definitely happen.”

For a moment, Steve didn’t even realize what he’d said, glaring mutinously down at the email. But Tony’s lack of a snappy response grew suspicious, and Steve looked up to find Tony staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry. You jerk off to what now?”

I cannot walk on water by izazov (PWP/26k) 

Steve doesn't think about having sex with Tony Stark. He certainly doesn't plan for it. It happens anyway.

***If we never got this second chance by  Pookaseraph (Time Travel Kidfic/50k) 

When Tony and Steve’s son from the future, Jake Jensen, arrives at Avenger’s Tower, the two of them are forced to confront some hard truths: Tony that he might not actually become a horrible father, and Steve that he might not be able to set aside his discomfort with sharing a child with another man. When they both get a second chance at a first try at fatherhood, it’s up to the two of them to learn from their own future's past.

When I think about you by sirona (5+1 fic/11k) 

Five times someone saw Steve sass the hell out of Tony and one time Tony finally bought a clue. Also known as the story of Captain Sasspants more than handling his own with Tony Stark at his most devious.

***Thunderbolt City by  sirona (Getting Together/6k) 

It's competely unfair that the one time the whole thunder-from-the-sky thing happens to Tony, it has to be for someone completely out of his league, who takes one look at him and decides he wants none of it, thanks.

Three Little Words; or, Five Times Steve and Tony Didn’t Actually Apologize + One Time They Did by elwenyere(Getting Together/11k) 

“First of all,” Tony said, “and I need everyone to hear this on multiple levels: how dare you?”

In the branching timeline, Thor has to restart Tony's heart, and Steve hears that Bucky is alive. Some things go differently, and some things stay the same. For starters, Steve and Tony are still terrible at saying those three little words.

Some Fires Worth keeping by starklystar (Doctor AU/14K) 

“Teamwork,” Steve hands the clipboard back, trying not to jerk his hand away when Stark’s rough fingers brush with his. “You’re thinking of teamwork.”

“Well, it takes two to tango, doesn’t it?”

“If you say so.”

“If I say so?”

“You’re, uh, you’re the doctor,” and Steve feels his own cheeks warm. A beat of silence, and he cautiously adds, “you know more about… bodies.”

-----------

Or, Tony is SHIELD Memorial's newest head of ER, and Steve is New York's best firefighter. Naturally, that means some pining happens, some injuries get healed, and some hearts get kept.

***Never Have I Ever by Cluegirl (Mission fic/136k) 

Tony Stark doesn't have a lot of 'first times' left, after the life he's lived, but it turns out that Steve Rogers is directly responsible for a surprising number of them.

[bobbimorses]

i once saw someone saying that clint was originally going to be introduced/written as steve’s illegitimate son, but i never found a source or know if it’s true, i don’t really think it is … but is it?

excellent question, because what's behind this has nagged me for years! so anyone ever saying that on tumblr or twitter years ago was referencing a "parental substitute" entry on tv tropes, that used to be there but no longer is, saying that stan lee intended to make clint steve's illegitimate son. now, tvtropes is fan edited and, unlike wikipedia, has zero citations. (also looking at clint's page now, have some of you been editing it according to tumblr posts? neat).

using the wayback machine, i've determined the earliest date that the entry appeared on the parental substitute page was in april 2011. in july 2012, someone sent a submission to a "avengers headcanon" blog spicing it up saying the writers meant to reveal clint was steve and peggy's child given up for adoption (again, no citation, and peggy was extremely different in the comics sooo that one seems like they merged the tvtropes allegation with mcu).

subsequent posts on tumblr were from people reading the tvtropes page like "just found out-" "did you know," and then posts after that were referencing those posts. but where did the info on tvtropes originally come from?

well i'll tell you, i skimmed over clint's tvtropes page after reading all his comic entries when that "factoid" was still there, and decided i'd find out. so i read/skimmed/searched relevant entries from just about every old interview with the creators/oral history/marvel lore kinda magazine and book i could feasibly determine ever mentioned hawkeye or the avengers and the writing process behind them, which span decades. and guess which one mentioned this? absolutely none of them! so, person who edited clint's tvtropes page in 2011, tell 2012 me what you were talking about i'm begging.

clint, wanda, and pietro basically made references to themselves being infants at the end of wwii in their early 1964-1965 issues (they were but baby 19-20yo avengers when they joined), but obviously that didn’t work anymore when comics had to adapt the sliding timescale. but frankly, i don’t think the claim has much standing until i actually see something supporting it. so if anyone has a source, please tell me!

anyway, it’s all fine because clint might as well be steve’s surrogate son or adopted little brother, with terrible twos during cap’s kooky quartet. also for decades they pretty much looked like clones. don’t worry, clint, you’re annoying steve and calling him “old man” and “dad” in both canon and my heart.

[popculturebuffet]

Watchmen Issue By Issue Retrospective: “The Judge of All The Earth”

Hello all you happy people and once again time’s up, times here for the Watchmen, courtesy as always of @weirdkev27​ whose monthly patreon sponsored reviews have made this retrospective possible If you have something you want me to look at every month or just some fun one offs yourself consider joining my patreon here. 5 bucks a month gets you a review, a vote when I do my monthly polls, and other fun stuff.

Previously on Watchmen:

As it turns out the Comedian somehow slighted everyone related to both to the Minutemen and the almost team the Crimebusters. Neither were named the Watchmen because shut up, filling in the world while aslo filling us in on just how much no one would miss the attempted rapist and pregnant mother of his own child murderer, while also setting up important things for this issue: Dr. Manhattan’s slowly growing detatchment from humanity and one of his old foes having cancer. We also found out whatever’s going on is big and horrifying that again the guy who shot an unborn child for kicks was terrified by it. So join me under the cut as we pick up from there as things only get worse for our heroes and for the judge of all the earth.  Content Warning: Violence and Sexual Assault will be discussed due to the material being reviewed. 

We open with a black teenager reading a pirate comic next to a surly newstand owner ranting about how comics changed, how real life capes killed the superhero genre, about how we should nuke the reds. Standard “okay grandpa” stuff. I do find it a neat shift though that here superhero comics never got the second wind they did in real life after WWII, but died out. 

The comic, Tales of the Black Freighter, was, like the various fictional book excerpts, added to pad out the comic while still enriching it, a story that parallels our main villians and his fears as a captain and the sole survivior of a ship wreck deals with isolation and corpses. Originally I just skimmed these bits.. and that was dumb as their still thoughly enjoyable and in my teenage idiocy, I was so focused on getting through the plot I didn’t stop to consider this extra stuff was vital to flavoring said plot. 

Anyways the creepy redhead man who we later learn is rorschach scares the crap out of the guy as we cut to laurie in bed with Jon, who decide she has time enough before his confrence for a quickie... and to make this a three way as he decides to use TWO of himself which freaks her out. What I like is how Moore treats this: she’s RIGHT to be freaked out as he didn’t ask her first and her consent is king. While it’d be a fun treat if he showed he was cloning himself across two bodies, without her knowing it’s instead a terrifying invasion and he rightfully stops the moment she starts acting in terror. Given HOW LONG it took media to get consent right, I give moore credit here. 

Laurie is willing to forgive though since it was a well meaning if still creepy mistake.. until she finds out Jon WASN’T EVEN IN THE ROOM, using two of his clones to stimulate her while he worked and got ready for his interview. It’s hugely unsettling too: the idea of making love to your partner only to find out he wasn’t even in the room, that he cared so little for your consent that taking care of your needs and pleasing you was just a box to check off while he did “more important things” it’s immensely creepy and Laurie’s walking out is understandable... while Jon is so detached he barely registers it.

And as she leaves we see contrasting shots of Jeanny Slater, Jon’s ex... and from her dialouge it’s easy to wager she ALSO has cancer, as she’s taken up smoking again simply because it no longer matters. And she’s talking to some paper called nova express, whose gathering a story on Jon... I see this ending ENTIRELY well for him and the world in general. 

So Laurie naturally runs to quite literally the only friend she has.. Dan. Dan’s getting a new lock because he’s the only friend Rorshach has EVER had and he’d like this cycle to stop at some point. Also nice little mythological nod, the locksmith being from “Gordanian Knot” lock co..and one that if spotted you can probably guess how well this works out. Then again Dan Dreiberg, mechanical whiz who built himself a fucking flying ship and gadgets.. can’t be bothered to create an alarm system so this is more on him. Or on doors. They are the greatest foe of Vox Machina for a reason after all. 

Either way Laurie needs a shoulder to turn to and very transparently having a crush on Laurie, and even if he didn’t being a generally decent man, with Laurie admitting she just thinks Jon sees her as a collection of Atoms. 

So thus our big climax for the issue is two parallel stories and in a way so brilliant yet subtle I only noticed while doing this review: the dan and laurie half is in heavy red and yellow contrasts, while the Manhattan half is in mostly full colors but with a lot of purple and of course Manhattan’s  blue (which is darker in this scene due to him darkening it for television). This allows a clear division between both stories besides content, contrasting colors without hurting the eyes or drawing too much attention to itself. The most clever trick though is that one panel is always bigger than the other and every page in this one has the same structure: jon’s side has one small panel, one double panel and one small panel, and lauries has double, small double. It also shows gibbons is ALWAYS working in the comics trademark 9 panel framework, something I never considered, simply expanding panels when needed but still keepign the same layout. While I always appricated Moore’s work on the book and always thought Gibbons was talented this readthrough has given me such an apprication for just how heavily thought out Gibbons work here is. How EVERY panel is placed perfectly, every gesture has a reason. I feel it’s gibbons why we’ve had artists like mike allred, jamie mckelvie and david aja since who truly use the panel as the canvas it waas always meant to be. 

Dan and Laurie’s story is the easiest to cover so we’ll tackle that first. The two take a walk to Hollis.. but get accosted by muggers. Even with Dan out of shape and both likely long out of practice.. they still EASILY kick their asses and it’s glorious to watch.  They also pant heavily afterwords.. and two thigns are clear: one that felt amazing and two..

So they awkwardly part glances then ways since Laurie’s tired enough for one night.. and clearly trying to ignore how she feels about dan as she’s still sorting the rubble of her previous relatoinship. 

As for Jon his night goes even worse as has been building: the guy from Nova ambushes him at what’s supposed to be a palid, crowd pleasing press interview to say ther’es nothing going on in afganhistan for him to intervene on, usual goverment dribble... but is noticably affected as the pieces come together: his former assitant/jimmy olson, jeany, moloch.. they all have cancer.. and he’s the common thread. And despite his detachment... this CLEARLY rattles the guy, not wanting to answer questions not for the usual reasons but because this is a genine shock. and the crowd MOBBING the guy instead of letting him leave and process this.. goes about as well as you’d expect. (Rearranged the panels for this just as a heads up.. and for convience)

He simply teleported them.. but the sheer weight of everything is a lot. But it says a lot to Hollis’s character, as he tells dan the bad news, that despite Jon being so powerful.. he’s not afraid for himself or anyone in the audience.. but Jon. 

We then get an absolutley GORGEOUS sequences as Jon announces to his minders, who were planning to quarnitine him, that since he dosne’t seem fit for humanity anymore, he’s going to the last place untouched by captalism. 

And he’s going now after a brief stop in arizona to pick up an old photo of Jeanie.. and himself before he transformed, bidding one last look to the sky... as he goes away in a massive flash of light, a truly haunting sequence.

And the next day the news has hit.. and the implications are clear. The cold war was as hot as it was in the real world... but here they had manhattan as a living nuclear deterrent. Now he’s gone, things are bad and the once mouthy newsman.. is now shaken to his core and gives the kid at his stand the comic... figuring there’s not much time left. 

Laurie faces bad news as she finds her room being scrubbed by men in hazmat suits, and the agent basically blaming her for it, asking if she put him under stress.. and while he’s right america’s nuclear deterrient being gone is VERY bad..... she’s not at fault, and it shoudln’t be her , or anyones fucking job to be someone sole emotoinal support. Especially a walking bomb. if you were geninely concerned about this, you should’ve gotten him a friend AND laid. But you only gave him one person so when he finally emotonally collapsed he had no one to help him. 

Dan also gets the bad news his lock was broken by who.. but unlike last time where he was a condescnding ass about dan quitting.. this time Shack Attack seems geinely concerned.. as much as a human facebook post from my uncle chuck can be anyway. His theory their after heroes is no longer that... and Dan isn’t safe. 

And the ending is as this issue has been potetic and striking... Jon arriving at the beauty and wonder of mars and for the first time in three issues.. smiling.. before frowning at his old photo. All this contrasted with President Nixon and his men in the war room seeing that an attack would at BEST take out the east coast, and that a “quirk of the wind” could doom them all and giving it only a week to think.. and the country possibly only one week to live. This ending hit harder for obvious reasons: with the ongoing invasion by russia and putin trying to use the nuke as a bludgeon to prevent other countries from doing more than sanctions and slowly draining his people’s economy and freedoms while trying to destroy an innocent country. I.. I wish.. I honestly wish things had gotten better and this story was no longer relevant. But until people get better and until madmen like putin stop existing.. that simply will never happen and it always will be. Thank you for reading. 

A current ongoing games bundle to help the ukraine. 

[daisys-gard3n]

joseq my belovedddddd- even when they get older and more tired than they used to be they absolutely lavish attention and touches on each other anywhere and everywhere in the house, especially once Holly's moved out. (In fact I think Joseph probably got even more affectionate in his baby girl's absence, he suffered the empty nest syndrome HARD)

Especially since Holly married pretty young, Joseph was hit hard with the empty nest syndrome and typical overprotective daddy syndrome against Sadao. Suzi only laughed at his distraught and simply distracted Joseph from his grief with small kisses and hugs. Joseph was definitely more clingy - he would be clinging onto Suzi and wouldn't let her get up from bed and coat her face with kisses as she laughed.

Old Joseq would be dancing together to songs of their youth - and if you think about it, Joseph probably had to fight in WWII bc Battle Tendency was probably for like a year and WWII just started. So they probably attended a lot of USO dances, so Joseph would put on some music of the time and they would dance and relive their younger years for that second.

They spend time together watching movies, getting close as they watched. Or Joseph would be reading the paper while Suzi either knit or had a book of her own and just enjoy each other's presence.

Maybe then, Joseph would actually have time to settle in the information of Battle Tendency and he would seek out to Suzi for comfort:

"Is...It my fault Caesar died?"

"Of course not, Jojo! What would make you think that?"

"Well...The last conversation I had with him...I said some awful things. And...He went off on his own, angry with me...God, my last words to him were atrocious. I insulted his family before he died..."

"Oh, Jojo...I don't know what happened because I wasn't there or Signora Lisa Lisa never told me...But I know it wasn't your fault! Caesar would never have blamed you for his death! You told me yourself that he gave the last of his power to you! He was thinking about you to the end!"

Joseph might be the type of dad to whip out the photo album and look at pictures of Holly growing up and Suzi would come around and make comments or make fun of how joseph looked when he was younger. Just to cheer him up a little bit from missing Holly.

"You still have those weird lips."

"Weird? You weren't calling them weird when I was in between-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

[everlarkficexchange]

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up  

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death. 

  “Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago. 

  The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

  A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod. 

  That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face. 

  “Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

  I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother. 

  Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

  Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain. 

  It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister. 

  I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life. 

  I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning,  watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children. 

  I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate. 

  We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying. 

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

  “We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag. 

  Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

  I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully. 

  I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles. 

  We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor. 

  My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up. 

  “No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

  I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man. 

  He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me. 

  “My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

  I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names. 

  “Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

  “Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

  Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

  As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

  Marvel nods, grimly. 

  “We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes. 

  “Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

  I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps. 

  “Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

  After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

  I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly. 

  Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?  

  Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

  These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

  “Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk. 

  “Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

  I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow. 

  I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile. 

  “I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly. 

  My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head. 

  Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,” 

  My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers. 

  “Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?” 

  My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

  “Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?” 

  I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

  “Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”  

  I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12. 

  I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be. 

  I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things. 

  Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night. 

  ————————-

  Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings. 

  We talk about baseball:

  “You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?” 

  I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

  “Wow, beautiful and smart!”

  We talk about cars:

  “I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

  “The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?” 

  No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

  We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child. 

  Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly. 

  I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up. 

  “Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

  We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight,  alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden! 

  I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting! 

  Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches. 

  “Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

  “Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

  His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

  “You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!” 

  It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed. 

  A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here. 

  “I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants. 

  I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us. 

  “You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

  “You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

  “My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

  I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

  Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

  I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise. 

  “That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!” 

  We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house. 

  He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound. 

  But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried. 

  ————————-

  Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down. 

  Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

  I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

  I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

  But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something! 

  I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth. 

  I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure. 

  I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes. 

  My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare. 

  At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

  One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

  “Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs. 

  I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.” 

  ————————-

  Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face. 

  I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

  “I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,” 

  “Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

  “The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

  “I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…” 

  I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence. 

  My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

  ——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news. 

  I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way. 

  The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters. 

  “It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says. 

  At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long. 

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

  I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad. 

  Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

  “Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack. 

  I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary. 

  My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!” 

  “Katniss, what’s going on?” 

  I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

  I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

  “At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

  I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care. 

  “That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically. 

  I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t. 

  I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now. 

  “I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

  “Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

  She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath. 

  I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

  ———————-

  My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough. 

  I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold. 

  In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day. 

  There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption. 

  “Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper. 

  “Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

  Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father. 

  I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly. 

  She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation. 

  “Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly. 

  I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?” 

  “It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

  “This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?” 

  My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

  —————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

  “Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

  I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth. 

  “Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

  “Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command. 

  I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,” 

  I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade! 

  Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason! 

  I shudder at the thought. 

  But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

  My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name. 

  Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

  I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment. 

  I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

  He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here. 

  “Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

  “Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.” 

  Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”