#over the years....i have seen his control over my friend destroy her self image

[againstthegrainphoto]

......................okaaayyyyyyyy................but what about all the other girls........

[slytherinwh0re]

Now or never

Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni), swearing, use of the word m*dblood once

Summary: *Draco’s POV* Where Draco admits his feelings for the girl he’s been friends with for years.

Masterlist

*Draco’s POV*

I’ve never felt anything that comes close to this, a desire so deep it keeps me up at night, longing so ingrained into every crack of my soul it’s all I can think about. That’s what she’s done to me, (y/n) (y/l/n), the girl I’ve known since childhood, the one who’s always been there, and the only person who makes me feel alive.

Why she chooses to keep me around I’d never understand. Whenever I ask she says the same thing everytime, “I need you Draco” the response usually makes my heart slam against my chest but what I don’t think she gets is how I’m the one that needs her. Her warmth and kindness is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, I’m a fiend for it, without it life would be dull.

That’s why when she’s around I make sure to be on my best behavior, even Potter and the Weasel can’t get a reaction out of me when she’s near. Well, none other than a dirty look but she’d usually kiss my cheek and tell me to quit glaring cause it causes wrinkles.

One time in second year I’d called Granger a mudblood in front of her and the disapproving look she gave me was enough to put me off the word forever. She didn’t talk to me for a week after that, I had to apologize to the bushy headed scoundrel before (y/n) would speak to me again, it was humiliating but for her I’d do anything. I’ve never used the word again.

The witch has been there for me through everything, she’s always been my dearest friend, and I hers. So when I hadn’t seen her during the summer inbetween third and fourth year I was confused by my emotions when I’d finally spotted her on the train. I’d always known (y/n) was beautiful, I never denied it, but that year her hips had rounded out, her breasts were fuller, and her face looked more matured. That was the first time I’d wanted to do things with her that friends just don’t do together.

It only got worse from there, the older we got, the more attractive she became. She was everything I’d ever desired, it was torture not allowing myself to tell her the thing I wanted to do to her out of fear of ruining the friendship I valued over everything. Instead I sat back, lusting over the girl who didn’t have a clue.

I’d watch her, in class, at the library, while she was with her other friends, my eyes always seemed to find her in a room full of people. It’s pathetic really but I can’t help it, (y/n) took up every thought in my mind. It’s the worst at night, when I’m trying to sleep and the only thing I can focus on is how fucking nice her ass looked in class that day or the fullness of her lips and how perfect they’d look wrapped around me.

Now here we are in seventh year, both 18, and fully matured, our friendship as strong as ever but I’ve just about had it. I’ve watched as other twats got to call her theirs and be with her in ways I’ve only imagined but I’m always there for her, ready to pick up the pieces of her broken heart when they hurt her. The pretty girl was too kind for her own good and she’d only ever blame herself for them being such fucking idiots, how could they not realize what they’d just lost?

I knew she’d have boyfriends, she was too beautiful not to, but I’d never expected it to hurt me so much to see her with another. However I kept my mouth shut, she knew I didn’t like any of them but I never said anything to her about it, it’s her life and if she’s happy than I suppose that would just have to be enough for me. Although I will admit, I felt relieved when they’d break up, it meant I still had a chance if I ever gained the courage to tell her how in love with her I am.

“What’re you thinking so hard about Draco?” Her eyebrow’s are scrunched together and I can’t help but smile at how cute she looks.

“You.” I tell her honestly, reaching across my bed where she lays to brush the piece of hair off her face. The best part of being a prefect is the private dorm, we’d always come here and hangout.

“Me? What about me?” She rest her face on her hands and gives me her full attention.

I take in a deep breath and decide to be completely honest with her. “(Y/n), you know I think you’re beautiful right?”

“Well uhm—you’ve never really told me that before but uhm thank you.” Her face is bright red but she doesn’t look away, her eyes remain on mine and I feel my heart rate spike. “Why are you telling me this now Draco?”

There’s so many ways I could answer that question but I know if I never tell her the truth I’ll live the rest of my life thinking of the what-if’s. I sit up, grab her hand, and beckon her to do the same so we’re facing each other.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful my darling but I’ve been a coward,” I take deep breath, preparing myself for what I’m about to say, it’s now or never, “I’ve been hiding my feelings from you for years now. The way I feel about you is much more than what a friend should feel for another friend.” I grab her hands and hold them in my lap, my hearts going a mile a minute but if I stop now I won’t forgive myself. “What I’m trying to say is, I love you, I’m in love with you, I have been for so long.”

She’s silent for a while, just watching me, and I feel my heart begin to shatter. I start to lift myself off the bed but she holds my hands tighter, not letting me move.

“Oh Draco, you must be blind.” She let’s go of one of my hands and puts hers on my cheek, leaning into me until we’re only an inch away from each other. “It’s always been you, I love you.” And then she’s kissing me, and I think I might be dreaming but she throws a leg on either side of my hips, straddling my waist, and I realize this isn’t an image I’ve conjured in my head, my girl is on my lap, kissing me.

It’s like a switch flipped in my head, my hands find her hips, the same hips I’ve dreamt about for years, and I pull her as close to me as possible. Her tongue tangles with mine and she has her hands in my hair, tugging just enough to make my hold on her tighten. When she pulls away for air I tilt her head to the side, giving my lips access to the skin of her neck, sucking hard enough to leave my mark on her for the next few days, the airy moan she lets out is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. She’s addicting, the taste of her on my lips is like a drug, the sounds she makes give me goosebumps, and I love her, all of her.

When my sweet girl grinds down on my cock I just about lose it, the moan that leaves my mouth would be embarrassing if I wasn’t so caught up on how perfect the curve of her ass feels in my hands.

“Make me yours Draco.” (Y/n) whispers and I have to pull back to make sure I heard her correctly. Could it be that she really wants to be with me in that way?

“You’re sure my love? We could wait as long as you’d like.” She kisses my jaw and I moan as her hands start pulling on my shirt.

“I’m positive, I’ve wanted this for so long.” Fuck.

I flip us over so she’s laying on the bed and I’m on top of her, I pull my shirt over my head as quickly as possible as she starts fiddling with my belt. I place my hands on the skin of her stomach, moving them upwards slowly, giving her a chance to change her mind but she never was one for patience, instead she yanks her shirt off, leaving her in a thin black bra that she has off even quicker than the shirt, then she places my hands on each breast.

God I fucking love her.

The supple skin feels soft under my finger tips, her peaked nipples just begging to be played with so I do just that. I bring my lips around one, letting my tongue roll over the hard bud, listening to the soft sounds from the girl underneath me.

I hook my fingers into her leggings, dragging them down her silky legs, each new inch of uncovered skin makes my already hard cock grow impossibly harder. Her small hands pull down my pants and boxers with one quick tug, making my dick slap my stomach, leaving only one article of clothing between us. She wraps her fingers around me and I bury my face in her hair, the warmth of her hand driving me insane.

I pull her panties to the side, dipping my fingers into her dripping cunt, and the pretty girl moans my name.

“We can do foreplay another time, I need you now Draco, please.” How could I deny her when she sounds so sexy begging like that. I rip off her panties, throwing the destroyed material somewhere on the floor. I pull her lips back to mine and position myself at her entrance.

When I push into her it’s as if her body was meant for mine, her slick tight walls grip me perfectly. (Y/n)’s nails dig into my back as I keep up a steady pace, her perky tits bouncing with every deep thrust of my hips, and I watch as her swollen lips part into a silent moan as I find the spongy spot I’d been searching for.

My hands explore her body, running up the curve of her hips and up her soft stomach, bringing a thumb up to her bottom lip and watching in awe when she wraps her lips around it, sucking lightly before letting it go. I use that same thumb, to rub small circles into her clit.

“Draco, more, please I need more!” I pull out of her, flip her onto her stomach, and pull her hips up so her ass is in the air.

“As you wish my love.” I lick a single bold line up her center and then slam my hips into her. Giving my pretty girl exactly what she wanted. I smack her ass, thanking every God for letting this happen to me. She arches her back and grabs at the sheets, the screams of my name have me holding onto every fiber of self control I can. “You take my cock so well darling, I’ve dreamt about this so many times.” I smack her ass again, thrusting into her at a brutal pace. She’s soaking wet, the warmth of her cunt sucking me in with every jerk of my hips.

“I’m close Draco!” Her legs are shaking and I reach around her, one hand wrapped around her throat, pulling her to my chest, the other massaging her clit.

“Let go my love, I’ve got you.” I kiss her neck, inching her closer to her release. Her walls clench and she screams, my name leaving her lips on repeat as her orgasm rolls through her body. I wait until she’s done to let myself spill into her, my hips stutter and I moan into her hair as she pants against me.

I lay her down, grab a towel, and clean her up. She just stares at me with a small smile on her face when I lay with her, my pretty girl.

“I love you Draco.”

“I love you (y/n).”

*

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[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

not sure if this request is too much, but ok. I would like one where Stella is comforted by her s/the owl demon in a secret relationship, after a serious fight with Stolas and her daughter. If you don't want to, that's fine, but choose a second option if it's too much work, you can do something like everyday life between stella and her S / O. Thanks for your patience and excellent HC's

"Secret S/O" comforting Stella after a fight with her family

Youd found her in your room.

She was hunched over, staring at her hands.

She had let herself in. Again.

The two of you had been childhood friends, the two of you became very close, and like so many boys and girls, you had fallen for her.

But, as you were from a lower noble family, you could never be together.

So determined to have her hand, you spent years increasing your social standing.

But before you even got close to her, she was already betrothed to Stolas.

You never gave up hope, though. Instead you dedicated yourself to becoming a demon worthy of her affection.

It had been years since you had last seen each other when you found her on your doorstep.

She stormed in, almost barrelling you over.

She was livid, rambling and ranting on about her husband.

Stolas being your least favourite subject, you quickly tried to calm her down, asking her what had happened with Stolas.

That seemed to snap the poor woman out of her anger filled stupor.

She broke down, bursting into tears, collapsing into your chest, she cried out that her husband had cheated on her.

It took a lot of self control not to snap.

Stolas had this amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman practically handed to him, and Stolas CHEATS ON HER!

You took several deep breaths before turning back to the distraught woman. Now was not the time to get upset.

Stella needed you and you'd be damned if you weren't gonna be there for her.

You held her close, quetly consoling her as you let her cry against you.

You made sure she knows you were there.

You were always there for her.

And so a patern began.

Sella would go through something, afterwards she'd come running to you, where you would consol her.

But normally, she would announced her entrance, whether intentionally or not.

A scream or a huff, she'd stomp her feet or slamming a door. Something.

But this time was different.

This time you found her.

She just sat there, on the edge of your bed, staring into her lap.

You came up besides her, pulling her against you.

'What happened?' You asked her, knowing this time would be bad.

'We had a another fight.' She said, her voice hollow.

'You've had lots of fights, you've never been like this. Why is this time different?' You asked, unsure of how to approach her.

'Octavia' She said seemingly dumbfounded, 'Stolas and I were having another fight.' She took a deep shaky breath. 'That bastard slept with that retched IMP in OUR bed again."

Her breathing became heavy, "So I screamed at him, I told him he was an embarrassment to out family.'

You had heard this part many times.

Stolas showed little respect for there relationship, something that infuriated you to no end.

'But this time... this time, Octavia got involved...' Stella said, in disbelief.

'She went on about how all I care about is our image, she says I don't really care about Our family. And all of a sudden, I'm the bad guy!?' She said incredulously, tears welling in her eyes.

'Can't she see im the one trying to keep our family together.' She said bitterly.

'He's the one who cheated. He ruined everything! I'm not the one who betrayed OUR family. I'm not the one who... destroyed our marriage.'

She clutched her face, tears running down her cheeks. 'She's always loved him more...' she whispered, her voice void of emotion.

Wrapping your arms around her you brought her onto your lap. Quetly shushing her, running your hand down her back.

Despite the situation, you released a small chuckle. 'Hey, wanna know something, something i've never told another soul?'

Wiping her eyes she looked up at you. You meeting her light crimson gaze.

'When we were young, you were my only friend.' I began, swallowing the lump in my throat. 'But despite being of lower stock, you never thought less of me. And I'm unabashed in telling you that... I fell in love with you'

The words hung heavy in the air.

'And all these years later... I'm still in love with you.' You turn away from her. 'I would have told you when we were young, but there was no way I could ever be with you... I was to far beneath you.'

'So I dedicated my youth to becoming your equil, to becoming a demon that could be accepted as your partner. To becoming your equil.'

You took her hand into your own, running your hand over the silver band on her finger. 'But when I even reached the point of having the slightest chance... you already belonged to Stolas.'

'I had nothing. No purpose in life. So I did the only thing I could. I dedicated myself to become a demon...' you looked down at Stella, the Owl stared up at you, a mixture of shock and recognition across her face. '...to become a demon, worthy of your love.'

Looking down, you cupped her cheek, looking deep into her eyes, you told her. 'I can't bare to see you go through this anymore, Stella. You are the most amazing demon I've ever ever met and seeing you go through so much for someone who treats you so poorly, you deserve better than this, Stella, you deserve someone who loves you.'

You felt hesitant with what you were about to say, but said it regardless. 'I know I have the most to gain from you being disenchanted with Stolas.'

'And even I have questioned my intentions. But I give you my word, I only wish the best for you... even if that means your with Stolas. I want you to be happy.' You finished, looking away.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. Youd kept all that in for so long, no matter what happened now, at least you got to be honest with her.

You felt Stella's hand cup your cheek turning you to meet her gaze.

She looked so... confused?

She pulled you close, your noses almost touching. 'Are you sure you want this?' You ask her, you needed to know this was a decision she was making truthfully.

Stella looked you deep in the eyes and with such conviction, she told you 'I have never been so sure of something in my life.'

And with that said, she pulled you into a deep kiss.

You instantly began to return the kiss, bringing your hands to her face as you poured decade's of pent up love and affection into the kiss.

You didn't hold anything back, the two of you roaming each other's bodies like two lovers who had been separated for millennia.

But that could have just been wishful thinking on your part.

Still locked in a heated kiss, Stella pulls open your jacket as you undid her dress. The two of you shed your clothing faster than you thought possible.

Before you entered her, you asked, 'Are you sure this. Is what you want?' Stella stared at you for a moment, before she pulled you into another passionate kiss.

In that moment, you were in utter bliss. You had finally became one with the woman you've loved all your life.

The two of you spent the night together, wrapped in a passionate embrace, making love deep into the night.

You awakened early the next morning. The two of you just basked in the afterglow, just holding each other close.

You layed a kiss between Stella's eyes before asking her 'What happens now?'

Stella stayed silent for several seconds before sighing. 'I don't know... But, Stolas won't give up his little Imp' she spat the word, giving a huff before continuing 'And even if he did, I'm not giving you up. Not after all hes put me through.'

That took the wind out of you.

'Is that all this was, payback?' you asked self consciously.

Realising the double meaning of her words she grabbed your face, before telling you firmly. 'No! You hear me? This was not revenge.' Pulling you close she told you 'You... You were the only person who was there for me... I dont know what's going to happen next, but there isn't another person in hell I want to be with.'

You couldnt help but smile at that, before pulling her in for another kiss.

No, you couldn't imagine a better place to be either. And come hell or high water, you weren't gonna give her up.

You and Stella were together and nothing, not even Stolas could change that now.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter One

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate. 

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 1 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Trope: ‘Enemies to Lovers’; mainly angst, mutual pining, fluff, and eventual smut

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Word Count: 4000+

A/N: Ooo, let’s hope this does numbers! I love myself some ‘enemies to lovers’ tropes. It’s been a while since I’ve written Steve fanfics. :)

~

Wakanda, 2018, 4:04 pm.

     The flash of bright white light temporarily blinded you, sending you back to the ground and cupping your face in self-defense. But as quickly as the initial crack, it was over. Eerily silent and loud at the same time. The birds whistled their same tune, some higher-pitched than others. The wind seemed to blow louder, rustling the leaves from the trees and landing all around you and your teammates. 

“Thor?”

You lifted your head at the sound of Steve’s voice and checked if the coast was clear. All that remained of the evil was a new blood-stained hammer - a hammer that Thor was watching intensely, as if the answer lay hidden there. It was the only remnant left and your mind was already wondering how to use it to bring that evil back to finish a fair fight. 

“Where’d he go?”

The birds stopped singing. 

“Steve?”

You whipped your head around at the sound of Bucky’s confused voice, watching as one of your best friends dropped his gun and looked up at Steve as his hands began to disappear. In a matter of seconds, Bucky - or what became of him - fell to the dirt below. No one spoke, and you watched as Steve tried to control his breathing as he took a knee to place his shaking hand over his best friend’s ashes. A life and mind brought out of the darkness to finally amend those knots he had twisted, now ceasing to exist. In the distance you could hear Okoye shout in turmoil and Rocket begin begging. 

“What’s happening?” you finally choked out, turning just in time to see Wanda lift her head to the sky, defeated and out of will, and succumb to the same fate. “No!”

You ran and fell beside Vision’s now gray and decaying body, reaching over and palming through Wanda’s ashes. You rubbed them between your fingers, inspecting them, and brought your hand to your chest. The pit of your stomach churned as you sat there, immobile and numb. 

“Sam!”

So many names were being called but soon everyone who remained fell silent. The trees were still guiding the wind, leaves falling into the ashes of your friends, a sign of a new and unwanted chapter. You felt Steve drop beside you, turning Vision around to see the damage to his body. You winced when you saw the gaping hole in his forehead. 

“What is this? What’s happening?”

Natasha ran to where you were seated, hand over her stomach as if she was ready to vomit. And once she took one look at Vision, that’s exactly what she did. 

You removed your hands from your chest to look at them, the ashes still there and practically mocking you into finally believing this as reality. “Did we just lose?”

Steve was moments away from a full-blown panic attack. He simply looked up at the trees, watching the way the sunlight still burst through with no disruption. “Oh god.”

You caught Steve as he tipped his upper body toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding onto something real. He had to believe you were real. Anyone. And you were the closest person to him. You shut your eyes and held him, running your hands through his hair, wincing when you realized Wanda’s ashes were now on him.

You held him tight, praying to any God you chose to believe in at that moment, that Steve wouldn’t disappear too. 

Unknown Location, 2025, 1:07 pm.

     The air was incredibly musty, as if each person who struggled for breath in this room at one point or another left a piece of their soul floating in search of last minute penance for their sins. And the man in front of you was no different, choking on the purple blood that dripped down his neck and onto his now unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His chest was rising and falling, his breathing becoming less labored with each blink of the eye. His hands were tied behind his back and to the chair he sat on, a flickering light in the corner of the dark, concrete room somehow mocking this man’s last remaining seconds of life. 

“I’m not an evil person,” you started, kicking one of the legs of the chair to startle the poor man. But your guilt was minimal - it’s not like you wanted to do this - but knowing this man did exactly what everyone said he did, hands red and dripping with young blood, you selfishly took pleasure knowing this man would look at you when he died. “It’s just my job as third in command.”

You gave the man a small smile as you bent down to his level, head hanging in shame, slow breaths now pausing in between each intake. You looked to the other party in the room, handing them the gun in your holster, and walked out the room as the sound of two gunshots rang out. 

Left twist. Sting. Breathe. 

You washed away any smell from that godforsaken room, giving extra attention to the roots of your hair and under your fingertips. 

Scrub. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

The crack of your neck frightened even you, and you stood under the burning shower for a few more minutes before deciding the sting was enough. You changed into the most comfortable sweats you owned, surprisingly calm for such a gruesome morning you had, and took your time with your skin care routine. 

Circle. Wash. Dry.

Soft music played in the overhead speakers, the classical sounds vibrating from one wall to another and surrounding you with something tranquil - something still. There was nothing to expect from such a sound, only the next repeated chorus, no words or drops - just tranquility. You could barely hear yourself breathe but you were at peace - or mostly - and ready to sooth your growing headache behind the eyeballs with more than just music. You slipped on a pair of comfy, forest green socks and bent them at the ankle to achieve an even fluffier look. You applied your favorite perfume, lotioned up your hands, and donned your tacky friendship bracelet. 

One for you. One for Bucky. One for Peter. And one for Wanda. 

You hummed the whole way to the common room, waving at the morning staff as they fixed lightbulbs, covered holes in the walls, and swept the floors. One muffin and a cup of coffee later, you were resting with your head in Wanda’s lap as she filled your thoughts with your chosen sceneries.

      “I can make you see anything you have already seen, so yes.”

“A miniature golf course, Peter’s high school graduation, a field of all kinds of flowers, and Natasha.”

Wanda stilled her floating hand, smile faltering for a moment before she nodded. “Okay… okay, I can do that.”

     They were images well-drawn out, slow and steady to make the atmosphere similar to when you were actually there. They seemed to float across your vision, comfortable in their positions and radiating the same warmth you had felt the first time around. A moving picture. Wanda really had excellent control of this. 

     “I won!” Sam leapt into the air, pointing at a disgruntled Bucky, who stepped off to the side to not throw Sam over his own head. “I won!”

“How is it possible for you to get a hole-in-one each fucking turn?” Bucky groaned, moping in Wanda’s shoulder as she held him and struggled to keep herself standing from her own intense laughs. 

“I think we got a cheater on the loose,” Steve grinned, pointing at the ring Sam was trying to discreetly tuck back into his pocket. A friendly gift from T’Challa, no doubt. 

“Nuh-uh, give me the fucking proof, Wilson!” Bucky roared, wrapping his arm around Sam’s neck and tugging him forward. “I will not admit defeat if there was foul play involved!”

Sam escaped the hold, climbing onto the rock located to the side of the flag and a sign that read ‘do not climb on rocks’. 

“It just helped me calculate all things geometry, Barnes. We’re good.”

Bucky looked as if he was going to leap on him again, but before he could even finish that thought, Sam slipped on the wet surface and plummeted into the rushing little river. 

Laughter erupted and did not cease until you were escorted out of the fairgrounds by four security guards. 

     A flick of Wanda’s wrist and a new memory began forming, colors blending like an oil painting, dried and covered with a glossy varnish, ready to hang. 

     “Don’t trip on your way up, kid.”

Peter swatted Steve in the side as the super soldier left the room, leaving Peter alone in front of the full-length mirror. He adjusted his tie and tried to lay that pesky dangling strand of hair over the top of his head.

You got up from the couch and made your way over, wrapping your arms around Peter and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’ll do great. We’re all so proud.”

“It’s just high school…”

You frowned and turned him to face you. “No, you should already be in your second year of college. This is seven years in the making. We are all so proud.”

Peter could feel the slight burn at the corner of his eyes but he swallowed it down, giving you a small smile and a hug. 

“And can you trip? Don’t you stick to all surfaces?”

Peter scoffed and pushed you away, his tiny smile never faltering.

     You could feel Wanda shift her legs underneath you, searching for the most comfortable position as she continued her work. You sighed, already feeling the therapeutic effects. 

     “They’re all so pretty!” you yelled cheerfully, running through the field with your arms extended to the sky. Bucky and Steve followed close behind, leaning down every so often to pluck the flower of their choosing and adding to the bouquet in their hand. 

“Which did Tony prefer?” Steve asked, snapping you from your pollen-filled, ecstatic state. 

“Aesthetic beauty, Rogers! Natasha was a sucker for anything pink and sunflowers.”

Bucky nodded, seeming to take that information into consideration as he plucked the yellow and pink flowers only. Steve chose the most healthy looking flowers, his hand struggling to hold them together as he reached the two dozen mark. 

“I think we’re good. These are good.”

You smiled at both super soldiers and admired their bouquets, leaning over to sniff their masterpieces. “Awesome.”

     Wanda sighed as she neared your last vision, debating on showing you your chosen moment instead of another one. This moment always hurt Wanda as she wasn’t there to witness it, but it was special to you. There were so many others to choose from, but you insisted this was the one you always wanted to see. And Wanda was always hesitant at first - but when she lifted her hand slowly and dropped the memory back into the front of your brain, she couldn’t help but smile. 

     “Are we ready?”

Everyone was practically bouncing on their heels, both excited and terrified. Time travel was new to humanity and you were to be one of the first to experience such a thrill. You were going to get everyone back. 

You squeezed Natasha’s hand once more before you walked back over to Thor and Rocket. You all nodded to each other, saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘good luck’ with your childlike expressions. 

“See you in a minute,” Natasha grinned, her cheeks reddening with a friendly blush as she looked over at Steve. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a braid you had helped her make, and she was carrying an extra pair of socks in case of a long hike. 

Then a blast of color surrounded your body and the smell of peaches as you landed on Asgard filled your overstimulated senses. 

     You opened your eyes and smiled up at Wanda. You didn’t want to see old memories with your friend, but the most recent. It was like you were grasping onto that last memory of her, not wanting to change anything about her last smile, her last laugh, her last shred of existence. It was oddly calming, and so you hoped Wanda would understand. 

You thanked her again and proceeded to the kitchen. It was bigger than the one before, the soft forest green color of the walls a nice contrast from the blue ones before. You laughed to yourself and your conscience as you silently thanked the explosion that obliterated the horrid blue walls, quickly backtracking at your dumb thoughts. Still, you chose to joke about everything that happened before to avoid falling deeper into yourself. The kettle started howling, smoke circling around the tip. You poured your tea, dropped two cubes of sugar in, and added a little milk. 

It was quite bizarre how quickly you could bounce back from the morning you had. A very bloody, order-filled morning. When one order was given, you had to come up with a plan on how to not disregard the other. You had to listen to Fury and your father, gaining a few feet on each side without toppling the other. Still, it took a physical toll on you. But with Wanda’s help in easing your mind and the very sweet tea you nursed, your emotional baggage was pretty minimal. It sometimes scared you how easy it all was. 

Your morning carried on quietly as you sat on the concrete curb, happily sipping your tea in your sweatpants. You could hear Sam and Scott arguing about something a few feet away from you and Bucky taking his afternoon jog around the track. Quite distracted, the sudden ‘thwip’ and superhero landing of a certain teenager scared you enough to spill a little of your tea. 

“Goddamn, dude!” you whined, looking up at Peter as he tried to control his laughter. 

 “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me!”

“Excuse me for being distracted by the hot super soldier just over there,” you joked, pointing over at Bucky. 

Peter rolled his eyes and sat next to you, immediately reaching over to take the tea from you and take a sip himself. You let him, as you had no other choice, rolling your eyes anyway. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had classes today?”

Peter handed back your cup, “Nah, I’ve only got classes every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Ugh, that sounds great. I remember I scheduled my classes for every day of the week just to have more units,” you sighed, taking another sip of tea. 

 “Stupid.”

You pushed Peter’s shoulder playfully, both your laughter catching the attention of Sam and Scott. But as quickly as you had distracted them, they ignored you and went back to bickering. 

“I’m just here to see my friends, sue me!”

“Nope, you’re always welcome,” you smiled, holding out your wrist and bumping your bracelet with his. “How was your week otherwise?”

“Eh, nothing major. Just trying to navigate the world now that they know who's behind the mask.”

You gave Peter a look of sympathy, still mad at the sudden manipulation of the kid after such traumatic events. You had promised him you would protect him by any means possible, as did the rest of the team, but he seemed to be navigating the situation just fine. Staying away from reporters, scheduling his classes during the most isolated gaps of the day, and signing dozens of forms that promised to protect him, give him royalties, etc. After you had brought everyone back, it seemed the least the new management/orders could provide for you all. 

“We all have our days,” you muttered, handing your tea back to Peter. You two sat there for a while longer, enjoying the slight breeze and taste of sugar. 

An agent rounded the corner and spotted you, jogging up and handing you a yellow folder that was sealed in plastic. “For you, from Fury, from whoever before that.”

“Um, thank you?” you said as the agent walked away. You inspected the folder, turning it over in your hands and playing with the thin plastic. 

You lifted it up to Peter’s face, “Here, smell it and tell me if there’s poison.”

Peter scoffed, “I can’t do that!”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

Peter muttered to himself as he took the folder from you, sniffing it awkwardly. “Smells like paper, dude.”

“Cool, thanks.” 

You ripped the plastic off and unhooked the folder, dropping the single item onto your lap. Peter just sipped your tea and watched you open it. 

It was another envelope, but this one was white with custom-printed indents that swirled across the front and a big, red blob of wax smushed- with your initials- sealing it. You ripped it open and pulled the invitation from inside. You must have read it a thousand times, eyes rapidly scanning the small page with secret meanings. 

“You got invited to a wedding?” Peter asked, taking it from you and reading it himself. 

“Yeah, but this is so much more than that,” you said, snatching it back and standing up from the curb. You quickly went back into the compound, searching for the one person who needed to read it also.

You seemed to find everyone before you found the super soldier who wasn’t out for a jog, a line of somewhat concerned superheroes following behind you from room to room. Eager minds and yet, inflexible rib cages full of anxiety and worry, all ready (and quite not) to tackle the new evils of this new world. And whether they followed you blindly or with functioning minds, they were prepared. 

With the rest of the team behind you, you burst through the second floor with the invitation held over your head. Steve stopped mid-bite, milk dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at everyone in confusion. “Um…”

“It’s time-” you started, pulling the stool from next to him and sitting down. 

“Time for what?” Steve interrupted, his mouth still full of cereal.

“Time for this,” you motioned to the envelope you were handing him. “-to finally end.”

Steve read the invitation word for word, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming deeper as his mind worked. You couldn’t quite discern the feeling in the pit of your stomach, twisting and spinning into a tight coil, seeming to spread to the others as it grew in pressure within you. 

“All three?”

“All three,” you confirmed. 

Peter pushed through Bruce and Rhodey, “What’s happening? What’s gonna end?”

You looked over at Steve, his bowl of cereal now forgotten and soggy. 

His eyes were distant and rather cold, hands extended on his knees as if he was drying the accumulating sweat, shoulders building tension. 

“Steve, we can finally end this. We have to tell everyone. It won’t be enough if it’s just you and me.”

He wanted to explode, in both anger and anguish, to stumble over his intact persona and leave it behind - someone he hasn’t known for a long time. It ate away at him each day since Fury notified him of your selfish choice, burrowing into his now tarnished soul in the most sadistic way. But the prospect of finishing this chapter - a chapter that was unexpectedly halted when half the world disappeared - was considerably euphoric. A chance to move on. 

“Okay.”

Rhodey already had knowledge of your background, recruitment, and family but Steve’s initial involvement - the start of it - was still a mystery. You sat everyone down in the living room, making room for the others who arrived later, and clapped your hands together. “Story time!”

Steve groaned, face already pressed against a throw pillow. “Just tell them.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“You know whose spawn I’m from,” you began, snickers from your amused friends encouraging you. “To better transport their product, they sent me over to the states to attend college like the good little girl they think I am.”

Sam cracked open a beer and lifted his legs up onto the couch, sitting back with a massive smile on his face as he got comfortable for your story. He handed another beer to Scott. 

“Wait, product?” Scott asked, taking a sip from his drink. 

You smirked at him and tapped your nose twice, amused by his ‘O’ reaction. “Anyway, by then I already knew that I wanted out of the game. I didn’t like that life, I didn’t like the violence, I didn’t like my family.”

Steve knew that was an understatement, a cruel and restrained statement from your part, and he wanted to tell everyone just how justified you were in your words, how real you were being, and how much help you would certainly need for this. But like always, he remained silent. 

“But Fury got to me before I could leave. So, we made a deal. I would train as a field agent and he would promote me every other year to lessen suspicion on this whole ordeal. The deal being I would play both teams.”

By now, your whole team was intrigued. 

“I would do what I could for my father and still have my family’s trust, while feeding the information to SHIELD and our lovely star-spangled man over here,” you pointed over at Steve. He gave you a tiny but forced smile. 

“But after the collapse of SHIELD, my father only became more violent, more hard-headed, more suspicious. He- uh-” you stuttered, flashbacks suddenly filling your head. Wanda watched your eyes dart rapidly, sensing the rush of blood to your legs and tips of your fingers.

“He was power hungry,” Wanda said, immediately feeling your heart rate lower. Although you never actually said it, she could tell you were grateful for her intrusion. 

“Yeah, exactly,” you cleared your throat. “But Steve’s involvement all started when Fury asked me who would be the best front - the most reliable front.”

“So, with only Fury and the bad guys knowing - Y/N named me as her partner in crime,” Steve explained, head hanging low as if it was such a disgrace to do what you openly did. You knew his troubles with coming to terms with such an offensive role were multiplying daily, but you were now this close to stopping  every bad force involved. 

 “So, Captain America is the ultimate drug smuggler,” Scott spoke, somehow trying to comprehend the information all at once. You and Steve both nodded in confirmation and avoided the wide and questioning eyes looking back at you. 

“Yeah, he’s essentially the top boss.”

“Y/N-,” Steve interjected, but you beat him to  it. 

“And here we are! Him and I both invited to the wedding.”

Wanda stretched out her words, “The wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding - where three of the most famous and powerful drug lords south of the border will be attending and ready for our taking - including my father.”

Steve stood from his seat, posture straightening as he spoke to the group. “The invitation reads like a threat. No cameras, no plus-ones besides those listed specifically on the card, no speaking to reporters before or after. The trust Y/N has gained would unknowingly make us the contraband of the party.”

After going through more specifics about the whole situation, Bucky finally raised the question eating away at his mind this whole time. “Whose wedding is it, anyway?”

You grinned that stupid little grin Steve always prepared himself for. It was the grin you would display whenever you were going to make a serious matter a joke, or brush something serious off your shoulder as if it didn’t bother you. The sarcastic grin he always wanted to wipe off your face as you defied orders. 

“My lovely little sister’s.”

Rhodey stepped forward to take the invitation for personal inspection, “When is it?”

“A week from tomorrow,” you beamed. “Which means I got to get shopping for a wonderful little, red number!”

“Please, be more excited about this,” Steve groaned, sarcasm dripping off each syllable. 

You flicked your right hand up and in position to flash your charming little middle finger at him, a river of fluffed ego and delight flowing to your cheeks as he huffed and left the room in a stumbled march.

“So…” Scott’s voice ripped through the awkward silence. “We’ve been secret drug smugglers this whole time?”

~

Please let me know what you think! I listened “The Archer” by Taylor Swift and I was like... yes, I see this, lmao. Tell me if you would like to be tagged in later updates! xxMoni

[cyclicalaberration]

Naught But A Fool In The Body Of A God

(Gore + existentialism warning) A foolish gamers... character study? I think?

Totems were funny things. Made of gold and emerald, looking both very much and not at all like their creator. You could go your entire life never seeing one of them. It is a rare person who needs to to face a powerful and dangerous raid, or to track down a mansion, all of which are filled to the brim with Illagers, just to get lucky and catch an Evoker off guard.

Totems are particular about who they save, seeming to despise their own holders. Evokers almost always held one, but they couldn’t seem to use them.

They seem almost heretical, as though Death herself is only tolerating their presence. She does not seem the type to let a method of escape slide. Though, she is simply a collector, and totems can only be used once. Perhaps she created them, to give some sense of hope as she waited at the finish line, merely extending the bridge into the void.

That is not the case, however. The creator was a young god then, full of spite and bloodlust. He carved them in his image, gave them to those who followed him through lava and storms, across oceans and land. He was not a god of death but a god of dying, a conglomerate of souls of those slaughtered in his name. He is of much the same stock as gods of war and blood, power growing from violence and destruction.

He was older, though. Older than the concept of war. War implies thought behind destruction, implies plans. Dying is a natural aspect of life. Everyone is dying, ever so slowly. He was an intermediary, an active force on the field of Death, who, for all those who fear her, is quite passive.

You, most likely, do not fear death. You cannot, for you do not know what awaits you in her loving embrace. You fear dying. Your last breath leaving your body, laying still, moving for the very last time, thinking your very last thought. You fear the unknown and the end, the change. You do not know what comes after death and that strikes fear into your heart. You do not know what it is like to take your last breath, and that haunts you.

This young god, so new and so primordial, hunted. If he stopped moving, stopped hunting, stopped killing, he’d fade away and die. He sent his followers to hunt, to pillage, his need for souls insatiable. They hunted, and they warped, skin greying and eyes darkening. They began to shift from human to something else, something other. Infused with his power, they hunted, leading groups to hunt down more sacrifices to their god.

He grew in power, grew in strength. Death herself watched, for he was just like his creations. He was a totem, serving a greater power. He was sculpted from gold, inlaid with emerald eyes, given the wings of all her favored creatures, and he engraved himself with stories of his past, his triumphs, his losses, things he wanted to hold close to him forever.

--

Blood runs through the canals of those engravings, a trident plunging into the chest of the next breathing mortal, and the god, whose name has been long since lost, laughs. Another one came for him, not learning the lesson of its companion, and a sword is driven through their heart, buried up to the hilt, freed moments later by the golden flames eating at its nervous system, reduced to ash in seconds. He brushes them away as one would brush away eraser shavings.

Bodies lay strewn across the field when he’s finished, a one-sided war, headed by a mortal he’s already forgotten, over some sin he no longer cares to remember.

A chuckle rings out from behind him, and he whirls, sword drawn. “That’s quite the display.”

They were half-buried in a fog, extremities concealed in the mist that he knows for a fact wasn’t there. Their eyes glow with hunger, with spite, with a thousand emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. It hurts to look them in the eyes too long.

“A lot of flair for some bodies nobody will even see. Nobody but me, of course.”

“What can I say, I’m an artist.”

“Or a zealot.”

“What’s the difference? You won’t have the breath to tell anyone.” He swings his sword, runes glowing. Whoever they are, they will soon be ash, soaked by their own fog, as fire eats them from the inside out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My father wouldn’t be happy, he’s not nearly as forgiving as me.” He whirls again, seeing white eyes and a ruffled shirt, mere feet from his face, leaning back against nothing. He gets the feeling that they’re looking at him, truly looking at him, and he chokes, breaking his gaze away from swirling, dancing white, blank but never empty.

“How-”

“Foolish, that’s what you are. A fool.” The mortal- No, they are not mortal. No mortal stares a god in the eyes and calls him a fool. “Why do you fight?”

--

His companion smirks at him. He grins right back, rows of teeth glinting in the light of the enchanted blades. Centuries of fighting together made them a well practiced dance, a machine of blood and souls. Three arrows pierce the hearts of the guards, falling wordlessly from their towers. That’s all the warning they get. Before the night is out, blood flows so thick it sits for years, soaking the wood and drowning the now-ashen grass.

His companion’s footsteps wither and rot the wood on which they stand, warping it beyond recognition. They work their way to the center of the fortress, people charging to their deaths, impaled, sometimes, by naught but the thorny whips of their enchanted armor.

The stone crumbles beneath their feet, and the god would feel the effects, if he were not himself a statue, life breathed into him by the very goddess who steals it, made of pure gold, which doesn’t tarnish, doesn’t decay. Tapestries crumble to dust as his companion runs their hand along them. The god tosses a mortal to the side, its body lying crumpled, its soul buzzing as he adds it to his own. Another voice layered over his own, another voice to buzz with every angry word.

His companion grips a guard by their chin and laughs as it crumbles to dust beneath their hands.

The general of the army falls, and they dance in the blood of their enemies, spin in the blood of their victims. The hem of the smaller god’s dress sprays droplets of blood as they twirl, the god of dying laughing as his friend grabs his hands, dancing in victory, in elation, in completion. They propel themself into the air and spin him. They move as a unit, as they did in the heat of battle.

Later, the god will sit, stare at his companion, and say “You once asked me why I fight.” That day is not today. Today they will both fight, dance in the blood of their enemies, and move on, the fortress a shell of its former self, growing over with vines, breaking apart.

--

Two gods, a god of dying and a god of withering and ash, rest in a small village on the bank of a river. The withering god rests against a tree, long ago struck with lightning, telling a story to the village children, as the god of dying laughs, interrupting them with his own commentary on just how comically wrong they’re telling it.

It has been decades since they drew first blood, traveling for weeks at a time, collecting, remembering, rather than destroying. Fights found them, of course, mobs never learn, but fewer mortals have fallen to their stained hands in the past century than in their best year previous.

They still delight in the occasional bloodbath, if the chance arises, but as the world shifts towards calm, they drift away from senseless slaughter and towards traveling.

They pass by cities, or the ruins of what once were, and they ask themselves, “Was that our doing?” and they do not know, hundreds of civilizations having fallen to their blades, their arrows, and their fire.

But they sit, ancient, immortal warriors, telling stories to children, their hands still caked in more blood than these children will ever see.

Later, the god of dying will say to his companion: “I fight because destruction is control. Nothing exists that I cannot destroy, nothing exists that I cannot control,” but that day is not today. Today they laugh at incorrect accounts of tales they experienced, true histories lost, new memories formed. Today the god of withering and ash closes their eyes, and the god of dying makes the skies dance with light for the descendants of people they long-ago killed.

Later they will reflect. Today they will reminisce.

--

Two gods part ways, on a mission from Death. They will meet again, but it will not be the same. The god of dying, of storms, and of the ocean and all that that entails smiles down on his old friend, their white eyes glowing with hundreds of memories.

“I’ll see you soon, Old Pal.”

“See you soon.” They turn down different roads, one a path of explosions, of wars, of power-grabs and monarchies, and one down a path of self-reflection.

Their paths take them to the same destination: Redemption. Neither take the same road there, and neither path is straight, but it never is. And redemption is a place not easily found, but easily lost, easy to slip back into old ways for moments at a time, on a godly timescale.

The god of dying takes the name Foolish, a reminder of his past. He arrives in a strange land, full of holes and trauma and death. The place reeks of hubris. It makes him sick. It makes him hungry. The hunger curls in his stomach and the stench gives him a sickening headache, so he runs. Runs far away, and he builds.

Builds for control, builds for stability. Builds are his one constant, gigantic pyramids and sculptures and he can’t stop. His temple expands. A man, a man he has seen, a man who feels like too much and too little, too much in one body, a vacuum and a black hole, asks him for a kingdom. Simple enough. A child approaches him, telling him to build a mansion, a mansion larger than a country, for him, his husband and their son. He will be paid. He is not paid nearly enough.

--

A demon, a cat, and a not-quite-human man encroach on his summer home. They reek of vines and death, and Foolish loses his composure. They doubt his power. They threaten his home and he smiles with too many teeth and grows, grows to his full size. His eyes glow. They taunt him, threaten him.

“I’m a peaceful man, Ponk. But if I must defend myself, I can.”

“Defend yourself against this, then, Foolish.” Ponk hurls a trident at him, glancing off him, a mortal not strong enough to pierce his skin. He’s a fool, more a fool than the man who took it as his name. That is his weapon, carved of prismarine and ivory, more his domain than any other. For a moment, the god tastes blood.

“I may be a totem of undying, but in the past, I have been a totem of death.” He calls power to his fingertips, lightning in his eyes. “It’s not just one thing, Ponk. It's never just one thing. Have you ever tasted lightning? Smelt the ozone in the air, seen it dance across your skin before you black out from the pain?”

“Do you see where we are, Foolish?” In Ponk’s mind, the name is fitting. He has never seen a storm called from nothing before. Never seen a storm called at all, only harnessed. He disbelieves.

“It does not matter. A sunny day does not matter.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Let me show you.” He smiles, rows of teeth bloodied with the lives of thousands, millions of mortal souls. His voice layers, thousands of voices, screaming to be heard. The crack of lighting lands mere feet from the three. “Now begone from this place, and I don’t ever want to see you here again, am I clear?”

The vines must be resolved. The egg continues to hunger, but he has hope, hope that there is a piece of mortal soul left in them, a piece of morality that wishes to be free. He does not give up hope.

--

The gods’ paths cross again in a city, the totem and the king. A city drowning in red, twisting, oozing vines, calling out for blood. They spend hours weeding, burning red vines and laughing. His friend no longer flies, his friend hides their once-beautiful eyes, but they’re the same. They do not remember him, but they are the same.

“Foolish, have I ever shown you my eyes?” Of course they have, and he says as much. “I’m going to show you again, just in case.” Their eyes dance, with confusion and worries, and a deep-seated fear of rejection.

“Yeah, that’s the Eret I’m thinking of! The one with white eyes, the one with the netherite armor!” Foolish looks concerned, but this is nothing that they can’t fix. They’ve fought armies together, a few missing memories aren’t going to make him give up on them.

They attend a banquet. They dance for the first time in centuries, spinning in circles to the music played by that infernal catmaid. They attend a banquet and it goes south, hard, as all parties attended by gods do. It goes south and he makes use of his totem nature, wrapping around their heart, taking their place. They will not die to the monstrous egg before they get to dance together, and reminisce.

Soon, the god will say to his old friend, that he builds to replace. He builds to counteract the destruction he caused, and it will not replace the lives lost, but it adds something new, something beautiful to this harsh reality, but that is not the truth. The truth is, he creates for the same reason he destroyed.

--

Soon a mortal man in a cardboard mask will tell him that he let him die. Soon, he will be taunted by a mortal man, full of hubris, who says that his builds mean nothing, are nothing, bring nothing to the world, and a part of him will think the mortal man is right. A part of him whispers that he is selfish. That his ways are wrong. That he must pick up the sword once again, bleed mortals for their souls.

He will shove that part deep inside, and he will remind the man that no good comes of blood. He will tell the man that he too once believed that death was the answer, death would give control, but he will tell the man that he was wrong, and that he will be too.

You either die a monster, vengeful and wicked, or you grow. You adapt, you create, you reconcile. Some may never forgive, but many will. Mortals only get one lifetime, he must make the most of it.

He will not say that though. He will sit up against the side of his sphynx and sew hundreds of thousands of tiny dolls, breathing life into each one, giving each one a small hard hat and a job, so he will never be alone. He will build, children safe in the ender cradle, and he will give himself time to think. He will stop moving, for one moment, and he will not die. He may be the god of the seas, but he is not a shark. He keeps moving, a perpetual motion machine, purely out of fear of what his own thoughts bring, and he truly lives up to the name given to him so long ago. Foolish. For he is naught but a fool in the body of a god.

[kittyprincessofcats]

She-Ra S5 E06 - Taking Control

Yes, I am still determined to finally finish these reviews because I have thoughts on all of these episodes and still want to write them down (even though it’s been ages), so here we go. Spoilers for the rest of the season in case you haven’t watched it yet.

So let’s get into it:

- I love that they just took Wrong Hordak with them and that they’re actually calling him “Wrong Hordak”.

- Adora obsessively checking on Catra all the time is so sweet ❤️ (but also sad because she just came so close to losing her for good).

- “I honestly can NOT believe it worked.” Yeah, I’m with Bow on that. But like I explained in my Save the Cat review, I actually love that their super risky plan ends up working, as it already shows that Horde Prime is not as invincible as it seems.

- “Well, friends and one person who threw me off a cliff once.” I’m so here for all the “former enemies who now casually reference all the times they hurt each other in the past” banter, you have no idea!

- “I am honored to provide nourishment for my exalted brothers.” I love Wrong Hordak. Pretty much every one of his lines is a winner.

- Change in the opening: Only a tiny one (for now), but Wrong Hordak has been added to the heroes’ shot in the end and his expression is hilarious.

- Catra’s flashbacks to Horde Prime submerging her in that pool are so painful. (I saw a theory on here somewhere that this is why Catra’s fear of water seems even worse in season 5 compared to before. It makes sense when you consider Horde Prime tortured her in that pool. Side-note: This also makes me want to have a word with all those people who complain that Catra’s redemption was “too easy”. She literally went through extreme torture and mind-control to protect other people, but go off about how that’s “easy” or not a vaild reason for those people to forgive her, I guess.)

- Gosh, just the fact that she’s so panicked when she wakes up 💔

- I love how Adora, despite being so concerned and wanting to reach out for her, holds back and gives Catra her space.

(- Side-note: Let me take this moment to shamelessly promote what’s most likely Noelle’s fanfic: Don’t Go by Annacharlier on AO3 does an amazing job filling in the blanks between Save the Cat and Taking Control and explaining what goes on in Adora and Catra’s heads here. Give it a read if you haven’t already!)

- “I keep having this horrible vision of a blonde girl who thinks she’s better than everyone barging into my room all day.” I love how Catra’s still her snarky self, though. And how Adora isn’t even mad and just smiles at this.

- Okay, so the obvious topic of Catra not wanting to face everyone she’s hurt aside, I find it interesting how Entrapta is the only person she doesn’t use a nickname for - she calls them Arrow Boy, Sparkles and Entrapta. I think it’s a mix of her knowing Entrapta better than the others, and her respecting Entrapta more.

- The entire fight between Adora and Catra is such a good scene (as sad as it is). Catra doesn’t want to face all her mistakes (she didn’t think she’d actually live long enough to have to), is plagued by obvious guilt and still doesn’t really realize that Adora came back for her because she cares about her (hence her accusation that Adora “just loves feeling like a hero”). Adora on the other hand thinks that things should be okay now because she saved Catra and they’re together again, so why can’t they just make up? She doesn’t realize that Catra needs a bit of time to really digest everything that’s happened. And that “I never hated you!” moment? Beautiful. I think it’s a huge thing for Catra to realize that even when they were enemies, Adora’d didn’t hate her.

- Many She-Ra episodes have two plots going on at once and one of them happens to be way more interesting than the other. In season 1, it was often “the Horde plot is more interesting than the Bright Moon plot” for me. In this episode, it’s a very clear “the plot in space is more interesting than the one on Etheria” - sorry.

- I’m glad we finally got a Spinnetossa kiss, though!! This season is just bringing all the gay!

- Micah freaking out about Glimmer potentially not liking him (not realizing that Glimmer’s really not a kid anymore) is also kind of cute.

- I love Glimmer’s expression when Adora complains about Catra. She just looks so #done with all of this.

- Adora calling Catra a “stubborn brat” is amazing. (Though tbh, I misheard her at first and thought she said “stubborn cat” - which would be true, too.)

- “Did you think she was going to just instantly become a totally different person?” That’s a very good point and I’m glad the show didn’t make Catra just insantly act completely differently.

- “I believe - in Horde Prime.” Look, I could just quote all of Wrong Hordak’s lines here because they’re just too good 🤣. Also, the fact that his apron says “Smooch the chef” in first one’s writing? Amazing.

- Poor Bow being the designated driver and having to fly into an asteroid field. Love how excited Entrapta is about it, though.

- I just noticed that when Catra’s getting those flashes after the ship is hit, the first image she sees is of Krytis!

- “Once again, Catra is ruining out lives!” Okay, but that’s really not her fault this time. Though I get that Adora’s just being overdramatic here. (“Then try not to hit anything!” 🤣) Also, my first thought was Wrong Hordak was sending the trace signal, not Catra’s chip - but the chip does make more sense, since Wrong Hordak was cut off from the hivemind and Horde Prime also couldn’t find Hordak for years.

- Honestly, the group on Etheria should have left that party way sooner. Something was so obviously super off there, and they noticed it as well - but still stuck around for way too long. (But then again, they had no idea about the chips at all, so maybe that’s a bit harsh.)

- The way Spinnerella moves her neck when she says “something weird just happened” - very nice hinting/foreshadowing there!

- “Me? Why would I wanna hurt you? Ooooh, you mean because you sent me to Beast Island, stole my work and used it to rip a hole in the fabric of space and time? I get it. Hold still.” 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Have I mentioned I LOVE ENTRAPTA??? I love how she’s not even mad at first and then so genuinely proud of herself for “getting it” - but also, since this is pretty much the worst thing Catra’s ever done and something she (rightfully) feels a lot of guilt over, I’m glad the show took the time to address it. Yeah, it’s played for laughs here at first, but then the episode actually seriously addresses it.

- “We’re doing this. Then if you think hiding from the people you hurt will make you feel better, we’ll drop you off and you’ll never have to see us again. *sigh* You’ll never have to see me again.” THIS MOMENT. Okay, let’s get into this: I like that Adora’s not letting Catra get away with anything here. That she tells her straight-up that they have to remove the chip or else Prime will find them, that she questions if hiding from everyone she’s hurt will really make Catra feel better, but that she also agrees to drop her off if Catra really wants that. And I like how Catra, now that Adora is offering her what she said she wanted earlier, realizes she doesn’t actually want to lose Adora again either. Adora offered to let her go, and Catra realized she doesn’t want that. I also really like Catra asking Adora to stay: It shows that Adora’s presence still makes Catra feel safe, hence why she wants her there for the chip removal procedure, but it also nicely foreshadows the finale, where Catra will ask Adora to “stay” again. Also, all that hand-holding and blushing? Cute.

- “I’m not protecting you, I’m protecting them.” YES. And here’s where Micah shows that he does take Frosta seriously and does understand how strong she is - good!

- Catra seeing Horde Prime’s thoughts: First of all, it breaks my heart how tiny and scared she sounds when she talks about Horde Prime “using” her (but also not really because I’m evil and I’m here for the angst). Then, I like how she insists she has to do this because otherwise Adora will “do something stupid and get herself killed” - Catra is super protective of Adora. And again with the hand-holding and asking Adora to stay with her 😭. I also like that it really works and Catra ends up finding out what Horde Prime is doing and even seeing what’s going on on Etheria.

- Also: I like that Horde Prime is genuinely furious about Adora saving Catra. That the whole reason he changed his strategy and started chipping people on Etheria is because he’s genuinely pissed about that and wants revenge (something Double Trouble will again confirm one episode later).

- Can we also talk about Adora and Catra immediately reaching for each other and hugging when the ship gets hit?

- “She-Ra, if you really are out there: Are you getting this?” Okay, but that’s just the thing: She literally is getting this! I like how the two plots connect here and how Adora becoming She-Ra and defeating the ships in space also helps Swift Wind power up and save the others.

- Everyone’s already talked about this at length, but I love She-Ra’s new transformation! The symbols representing Adora’s friends (winged boots for Glimmer, heart for Bow, mask for Catra), the way better outfit and hair in a ponytail, the beautiful galaxy background with those lights, the triumphant orchestra version of the transformation music - I’m here for all of it! (Also for Catra’s little blush at the end there.)

- She-Ra destroying the ships in space is epic.

- Catra’s apology to Entrapta is such a huge moment for her and such a nice scene! I like how she technically didn’t even have to do it: Entapta didn’t expect an apology and was already on her way out. But Catra has been feeling bad about this for a long time and realized now that she doesn’t actually want to run away. And after we’ve seen Catra being awful to everyone and feeling guilty over what she did to Entrapta since early season 4, it feels so good to finally hear her genuinely apologize for it (and genuinely apologize to someone other than Adora in general). And Entrapta patting her head with her hair is so precious 😭. I love both of them.

- The scene of Catra joining everyone else at dinner is so good 😭😭😭. How she’s finally ready to face them, but still sits away from them, not expecting to be forgiven or accepted, how Bow and Glimmer make room for her and invite her to join, how her ears perk up at that, Glimmer offering her food, that glance between her and Adora... YES. Catra is someone who’s been rejected and made to feel like an outcast her entire life, and she was convinced everyone hated her now. Bow and Glimmer inviting her to sit with them here was so important.

- I love Entrapta asking if the food comes in smaller sizes. She just has a thing for tiny food and I can respect that.

- And... oh no, Spinnerella is chipped!

This was another really good episode! I like how it shows Catra’s growth and shows her working on herself. I also like how things weren’t just immediately okay between her and Adora and that she still has to work on actually redeeming herself even after her heroic sacrifice. But I also think it’s realistic that Adora and Glimmer aren’t holding a grude against her, since she literally went through hell for them. Her apology to Entrapta was really beautiful and all the soft moments between her and Adora make my heart melt.

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[maaaddiexo]

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - 1.8

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Eight

Nyx marched through the halls of Rivendell angrily. Flight of stairs after flight of stairs she went until she was at the highest lookout point the Elves of Rivendell had built. The sound of water cascading down the mountain drowned out the sound of blood pumping angrily in her ears, but she could still feel it nonetheless. She crossed a small arched bridge in front of waterfall. The mist that came off put out the smoke on her cape.

Nyx discarded her cloak angrily, throwing it on the floor and kicking it away. Her face burned with anger and she rubbed her face, frustrated tears running down her cheeks. Not even a week she’d worn the ring and already it had torn down the defenses she’d spent over a decade building up. She braced herself against the stone balcony railing.

“Focus, Nyx. Like Gandalf taught you.”

“Milady Nyx?” An Elf stood timidly at the top of the stairs. Clearly, he knew he was interrupting something. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”

“Tell Elrond and Gandalf I will not be attending. They will understand.”

The Elf hesitated and then bowed. “Of course, Milady Nyx. Would you like to have it sent to your room?”

Nyx hesitated and then nodded curtly.

The Elf bowed once more and then descended the stairs quickly and Nyx felt her knees give out, splitting when they hit the stone. Her fingers gripped the stone spindles and her head rested against them. Nyx couldn’t find it in herself to move. Not even as the sun began to set and the temperature dropped.

Nyx was tired. She could go no further.

⍥⍥⍥

When Nyx woke up the next morning, she was still on the outlook, her cloak wrapped around her like a blanket with leaves in her hair.

Someone was touching her shoulder. She saw the familiar staff before she heard the voice.

“My dear, why sleep on the floor when you’ve been offered a bed.”

Nyx looked away. All around her were burnt leaves and grass. Her fingertips were black with ash. She’d spent a long time trying to control her anger the night before. And though she hadn’t burned down a gazebo, Rivendell wasn’t completely unscathed. “What time is it?”

“The Council is about to begin but Frodo refused to start without you. He insists you be part of the meeting.”

Nyx frowned. She wanted no part of the Ring and its journey, wherever it led. Not after what it did to her in less than a week. She felt the anger in her, glowing bright. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly.

“Come on. Up you get.” Gandalf helped Nyx to her feet and began to fret over her, pulling the leaves and twigs out of her hair and brushing down her cloak. “That’ll do.”

Nyx frowned and self-consciously pulled her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. They descended the stairs quickly, Nyx trailing behind the grey wizard. “Gandalf, I do not want to go with the Ring.”

“You do not have to. But attend for Frodo’s sake. Here,” he grabbed Nyx’s scythe and placed it in her hands. There was still dried blood on it from the last time she used it. “Come.”

Everyone was already seated in the Council Room and Nyx moved to stand behind Frodo’s chair. He smiled gratefully at her over his shoulder. She tried to smile back but wasn’t sure how convincing it was.

“Strangers from distant lands,” Elrond began. “Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall.”

Nyx found Aragorn’s eyes across the circular room, fear brimming in her eyes. Her gave her a calm smile before turning to look at someone else. The Elf from the day before. They shared a familiar look with one another. A look of familiarity and friendship.

“Each race is bound to this fate – this one doom,” Elrond continued. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

Frodo stood on shaky legs, looking at Gandalf and then Nyx behind him. She nodded encouragingly at him. He reached into his pocket as he walked towards the small stone table in the middle, octagonal in shape. He placed it on the stone gently but still, everyone heard it thud, like a boulder hitting the bottom of chasm.

Immediately, the Ring began to hum and sing, and everyone sat forward in their chairs, drawn to it. Except for Nyx. She took a step back in fear. Her fingers began to warm.

“So, it is true,” a man murmured. He stood up slowly. “In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the west, a pale light lingered. Voices crying. Our doom is near at hand.” He moved closer to the Ring. “Isildur’s Bane is found.” He reached his hand forward. “Isildur’s Bane.”

“Boromir!” Elrond shouted. The man stood up with a fright, shaken out the Ring’s lure, and looked to the sky in shock as it began to darken.

Gandalf stood, reaching a hand to the sky. He began to chant in Black Speech.

Ash nazg durbatulûk

Ash nazg gimbatul

Ash nazg thrakatulûk

Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul

Nyx stared at the Ring, reciting the translation under her breath. It was the inscription on the Ring.

“One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

And in the darkness bind them.”

With Gandalf’s word, the sky brightened as fast as it darkened and everyone sat back down except for Nyx, who had no seat.

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris.”

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” Gandalf said to Elrond. “For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil,” he reminded the people in front of him.

Boromir shook his head. “It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay! By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!”

“It cannot be used against its true master,” Nyx said angrily. “All it does is pull the evil from within and make you a monster.”

“And what do you, a mere girl, know about the Ring?” Another man spat at her. The rage bubbled in Nyx and her fingers did more than warm. Someone laid a hand on arm. Gandalf.

“Nyx is right,” Aragorn said. “You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

“And what would a Ranger know of this matter? You are no more experienced than the girl!”

“This is no mere Ranger.” Nyx watched as the silver-haired elf stood up. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” Aragorn and the Elf did know each other.

“And it would not be wise to insult Nyx,” Elrond added. “For she has the nasty habit of catching fire.”

“Witch!” A man hissed. Nyx glared at him, her eyes flaming orange. It was one of the few tricks she’d picked up over the years. The man gasped and then fainted, and Nyx smirked. She swore she heard Gandalf chuckle too.

Boromir looked at Nyx and then Aragorn. He chose to focus on the latter. “This is Isildur’s heir?”

“And heir to throne of Gondor,” the Elf added. Nyx winced. Salt in the wound, if you asked her.

“Havo dad, Legolas.” Nyx glanced at the elf as he obeyed his friend’s words to sit down. So his name was Legolas.

“Gondor has no King,” Boromir said. “Gondor needs no King.”

“Then what does that make you?” Nyx wondered.

Gandalf spoke before Boromir could respond to Nyx’s angry words. “Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.”

“You have only one choice,” Elrond added. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” The Dwarf with ginger hair and a thick Scottish accent stood up and swung his axe. His axe should have shattered the Ring. Instead, the axe splintered into pieces and the Dwarf was thrown onto his back.

Frodo flinched, grabbing for his head. Sauron’s Eye flashed in his mind.

Nyx dropped to the ground, feeling a stabbing pain in her chest as images flashed in her mind. White hair. Fire. A blade dripping in blood. Somebody screaming. She coughed and black liquid splattered onto the stone. Ichor. Her cheek burned.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.”

Nyx wiped at her lips with the sleeve of her dress and stood up on weak legs. Gandalf offered her his arm.

“One of you must do this.”

There was silence all around.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” Boromir argued quietly. “Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.”

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas demanded. “The Ring must be destroyed!”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!” Gimli argued.

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir added, standing up. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”

Gimli stood up – not that it made him any taller. “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!”

The other Elves stood at Gimli’s insult and, soon enough, everyone was standing and yelling over one another. Frodo sat still, staring at the Ring as it called for him.

“Nyx?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“I think it needs to be me.”

“Are you saying that because It calls to you or because you are strong enough to fight Its call?”

“I’m doing it because I don’t want to do it. Everyone is fighting to be the one because they don’t want somebody else to do it. I just want it done.”

Nyx smiled. “Then say so.”

Frodo’s announcement went unheard the first time. And the second. Nyx huffed and grabbed her scythe, which she had placed on the ground at the beginning of the meeting. She lifted it and swung it down against the concrete as hard as she could. The blade embedded itself in the concrete until no more metal could be seen. The crack echoed all across Rivendell and across the ponds and ocean, bouncing off the sides of the cliff. The Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Wizard stopped arguing instantly.

Elrond sighed indignantly. “Why must you always break something when you visit?”

“Because you ignorant and stubborn men never listen. Now, shut up and sit down. All of you.” She stepped back as Frodo stepped forward, swallowing thickly. His hands were so sweaty.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though…I do not know the way.”

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins.” Gandalf gently touched the young Hobbit’s shoulder in reassurance. “So long as it is yours to bear.”

Aragorn stood. “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.” He walked across the circular room and knelt at Frodo’s feet. “You have my sword.”

“And you have my bow.” Legolas moved to Frodo too, passing Nyx on the way.

“And my axe,” Gimli promised.

Boromir stepped forward slowly. “You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

Nyx stared at Boromir a moment longer. She didn’t like the way he spoke to Frodo, and she certainly didn’t like the faraway look in his eye.

“Heh!” Something brushed the side of Nyx’s skirt and she watched as Sam jumped from behind some bushes and ran to Frodo’s side, crossing his arms. “Mister Frodo’s not going anywhere without me.”

Elrond looked down at Sam in both disappointment and pride. “No, indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not.”

“Doing some gardening again are we, Master Gamgee?” Gandalf asked with a pointed look in his eyes.

Sam looked down at his feet awkwardly. Nyx smiled.

From the other end, someone shouted. “Oi! Wait! We’re coming too!”

Nyx bit back her laughter at Elrond’s expression as the two cousins rushed to stand beside Frodo as well.

“You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!” Merry insisted.

“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission. Quest. Thing.”

Merry looked at Pippin. “Well, that rules you out, Pip.”

Pippin looked offended. Frodo turned around to look at Nyx, who was standing separate from the group.

“What about you, Nyx? Will you come with me?”

“You want me to?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Aragorn said. “We could use a dragon in our company.”

Nyx smiled. For once, the name she’d been given wasn’t be used in anger or fear. “Then you shall have her.”

“Ten companions. So be it,” Elrond announced. “You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

Part 1.9 ➺

[cruisingthedemimonde]

America’s Gay Men in WW2

World War Two was a “National Coming Out” for queer Americans.

I don’t think any other event in history changed the lives of so many of us since Rome became Christian. 

For European queers the war brought tragedy.

The queer movement began in Germany in the 1860s when trans activist Karl Ulrichs spoke before the courts to repeal Anti-Sodomy laws. From his first act of bravery the movement grew and by the 1920s Berlin had more gay bars than Manhattan did in the 1980s. Magnus Hirschfeld’s “Scientific Humanitarian Committee” fought valiantly in politics for LGBT rights and performed the first gender affirmation surgeries. They were a century ahead of the rest of the world.

The Nazis made Hirschfeld - Socialist, Homosexual and Jew - public enemy number one.

The famous image of the Nazis burning books? Those were the books of the Scientific Humanitarian Committee. Case studies of the first openly queer Europeans, histories, diaries - the first treasure trove of our history was destroyed that day.

100,000 of us were charged with felonies. As many as 15,000 were sent to the camps, about 60% were murdered.

But in America the war brought liberation.

In a country where most people never even heard the word “homosexual” , historian John D’emilio wrote the war was “conducive both to the articulation of  a homosexual identity and to the more rapid evolution of a gay subculture. (24)” The war years were “a Watershed (Eaklor 68)”

Now before we begin I need to give a caveat. The focus of this first post is not lesbians, transfolk or others in our community. Those stories have additional complexity the story of cisgender homosexual men does not. Starting with gay men lets me begin in the simplest way I can, in subsequent posts I’ll look at the rest of our community.

Twilight Aristocracy: Being Queer Before the War

I want us to go back in time and imagine the life of the typical queer American before the war. Odds are you lived on a farm and simply accepted the basic fact that you would marry and raise children as surely as you were born or would die. You would have never seen someone Out or Proud. If you did see your sexuality or gender in contrary ways you had no words to express it, odds are even your doctor had never heard the term “Homosexual. In your mind it was just a quirk, without a name or possible expression.

In the city the “Twilight Aristocracy” lived hidden, on the margins and exposed their queerness only in the most coded ways. Gay men “Dropping pins” with a handkerchief in a specific pocket. Butch women with key chains heavy enough to show she didn’t need a man to carry anything for her. A secret language of “Jockers” and “Nances” “Playing Checkers” during a night out. There is a really good article on the queer vernacular here

And these were “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.”

In public one must act as straight as possible. Two people of the same gender dancing could be prosecuted. Cross dressing, even with something as trivial as a woman wearing pants, would run afoul of obscenity laws.

The only spaces we had for ourselves were dive bars, run by organized crime. But even then one must be sure to be circumspect, and act straight. Anyone could be an undercover cop. If a gaze was held to long, or lovers kissed in a corner the bar would be raided. Police saw us as worthy candidates for abuse so beatings were common and the judge would do all he could to humiliate you.

Now Michael Foucault, the big swinging french dick of queer theory, laid out this whole theory about how the real policing in a society happens inside our heads. Ideas about sin, shame, normalcy, mental illness can all be made to control people, and the Twilight Aristocracy was no different.

While cruising a park at night, or settled on the sofa with a lifelong lover, the thoughts of Priests and Doctors haunted them. “Am I living in Sin? Am I someone God could love?” “Is this healthy? Have I gone mad? Is this a true love or a medical condition which requires cure?”

There was no voice in America yet healing our self doubt, or demanding the world accept us as we are. And that voice, the socialist Harry Hay, did not come during the war, but it would come shortly after directly because of it.

Johnny Get Your Gun… And are you now or ever been a Homosexual?

For the first time in their lives millions of young men crossed thousands of miles from their home to the front.

But before they made that brave journey they had another, unexpected and often torturous journey. The one across the doctor’s office at a recruiting station.

In the nineteenth century queerness moved from an act, “Forgive me Father I have sinned, I kissed another man” to something you are, “The homosexual subspecies can be identified by certain physical and psychological signs.” 

These were the glory days of patriarchy and white supremacy, those who transgressed the line between masculine and feminine called the whole culture into question. So doctors obsessed themselves with queerness, its origins, its signs, its so called catastrophic racial consequences and its cure.

“Are you a homosexual?” doctors asked stunned recruits. 

If you were closeted but patriotic, you would of course deny the accusation. But the doctor would continue his examination by checking if you were a “Real Man.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Did you like playing sports as a kid?”

If you passed that, the doctor would often try and trip you up by asking about your culture.

“Do you ever go basketeering?” he would ask, remembering to check if there was any lisp or effeminacy in your voice.

Finally if the doctor felt like it he could examine your body to see if you were a member of the homosexual subspecies. 

Your gag reflex would be tested with a tongue depressor. Another hole could be carefully examined as well.

Humiliating enough for a straight man. But for a gay recruit the consequences could be life threatening.

Medical authorities knew homosexuals were weak, criminal and mad. To place them among the troops would weaken unit cohesion at the very least, result in treachery at the worst. In civilian life doctors had much the same thing to say. 

The recruit needed a cure. And a doctor was always ready. With talk therapy, hypnosis, drugs, electroshock and forced surgeries of the worst kinds there was always a cure ready at hand.

Thankfully the doctors were not successful in their task, one doctor wrote “for every homosexual who was referred or came to the Medical Department, there  were five or ten who never were detected. (d’Emilio 25)”

Here’s the irony though, by asking such pointed and direct questions to people closeted to themselves it forced them to confront their sexuality for the first time. 

Hegarty writes, “As a result of the screening policies, homosexuality became part of wartime discourse. Questions about homosexual desire and behavior ensured that every man inducted into the armed forces had to confront the possibility of homosexual feelings or experiences. This was a kind of massive public education about homosexuality. Despite—and be-cause of—the attempts to eliminate homosexuals from the military, men with same-sex desires learned that there were many people like themselves (Hegarty 180)”

And then it gave them a golden opportunity to have fun.

The 101st Airborn - Homosocial and Homosexual

“Homosocial” refers to a gender segregated space. And they were often havens for gay men. The YMCA for example really was a place for young gay men to meet.

Now the government was already aware of the kind of scandalous sexual behaviour young men can get up to when left to themselves. Two major government programs before the war, the Federal Transient Program and the Civilian Conservation Corps focused on unattached young men, but over time these spaces became highly suspect and the focus shifted to helping family men so as to avoid giving government aid to ‘sexual perversion’ in these homosocial spaces.

But with the war on there was no choice but to put hundreds of thousands of young men in their own world. All male boot camps, all male bases, all male front lines. 

The emotional intensity broke down the barriers between men and the strict enforcement of gendered norms.

On the front the men had no girlfriend, wife or mother to confide in. The soldier’s body was strong and heroic but also fragile. Straight men held each other in foxholes and shared their emotional vulnerability to each other. Gender lines began to blur as straight men danced together in bars an action that would result in arrest in many American cities.

Bronski writes, “Men were now more able to be emotional, express their feelings, and even cry. The stereotypical “strong, silent type,” quintessentially heterosexual, that had characterized the American Man had been replaced with a new, sensitive man who had many of the qualities of the homosexual male. (Bronski 152)”

Homosexual men discovered in this environment new freedoms to get close to one another without arousing suspicion.

“Though the military  officially maintained an anti-homosexual stance, wartime conditions nonetheless offered a protective covering that facilitated interaction  among gay men (d’Emilio 26)”

Bob Ruffing, a chief petty officer in the Navy described this freedom as follows, ‘When I first got into the navy—in the recreation hall, for instance— there’d be  eye contact, and pretty soon you’d get to know one or two people and kept branching out. All of a sudden you had a vast network of friends, usually through  this eye contact thing, some through outright cruising. They could get away with  it in that atmosphere. (d’Emilio 26) ”

Another wrote about their experience serving in the navy in San Diego, “‘Oh, these are more my kind of people.’ We became very chummy, quite close, very fraternal, very protective of each other. (Hegarty 180)”

Some spaces within the army became queer as well. The USO put on shows for soldiers, and since they could not find women to play parts, the men often dressed in drag. “impersonation. For actors and audiences, these performances were a needed relief from the stress of war. For men who identified as homosexual, these shows were a place where they could, in coded terms, express their sexual desires, be visible, and build a community. (Bronski 148)”

“Here you see three lovely “girls”

 With their plastic shapes and curls.

 Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?

 We’ve got glamour and that’s no lie;

 Can’t you tell when we swish by?

 Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?”

The words camp and swish being used in the gay subculture and connected to effeminate gay men.

I would have to assume, more than a few transwomen gravitated to these spaces as well.

Even the battlefield itself provided opportunities for gay fraternization. A beach in Guam for example became a secret just for the gay troops, they called it Purple Beach Number 2, after a perfume brand.

This homoerotic space was not confined to the military, but spilled out into civilian life as well.

Donald Vining was a pacifist who stated bluntly his homosexuality to the recruitment board as his mother needed his work earnings, and if you wanted be a conscientious objector you had to apply to go to an objector’s camp. He became something of a soldier chaser, working in the local YMCA and volunteering at the soldier’s canteen in New York he hooked up with soldiers still closeted for a night of passion but many more who were open about who they were. 

After the war he was left with a network of gay friends and a strong sense of belonging to a community. It was dangerous tho, he was victim of robberies he could not report because they happened during hook ups, but police were always ready to raid gay bars when they were bored. “It was obvious that [the police] just had to make a few arrests to look busy,” he protested in his diary.  “It was a travesty of justice and the workings of the police department (d’Emilio 30).״

Now it might seem odd he was able to plug into a community like that, but over the war underground gay bars appeared across the country for their new clientele. Even the isolated Worcester Mass got a gay bar.

African American men, barred from combat on the front lines, were not entirely barred from the gay subculture in the cities. For example in Harlem the jazz bar Lucky Rendevous was reported in Ebony as whites and blacks “steeped in the swish jargon of its many lavender costumers. (Bronski 149)”

The Other War: Facing Homophobia

“For homosexual soldiers, induction into the military forced a sudden confrontation with their sexuality that highlighted the stigma attached to it and kept  it  a  matter  of special  concern (d’Emilio 25)”

“They were fighting two wars: one for America, democracy, and freedom; the other for their own survival as homosexuals within the military organization. (Eaklor 68)”

Once they were in, they fell under Article 125 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice: “Any person subject to this chapter who engages in unnatural carnal copulation with another person of the same or opposite sex or with an animal is guilty of sodomy. Penetration, however slight, is sufficient to complete the offense.”

Penalties could include five years hard labour, forced institutionalization or fall under the dreaded Section 8 discharge, a stamp of mental instability that would prevent you from finding meaningful employment in civilian life.

Even if one wanted nothing to do with fulfilling their desires it was still essential to become hyper aware of your presentation and behaviour in order to avoid suspicion.

Coming Home to Gay Ghettos

“The veterans of World War II were the first generation of gay men and women to experience such rapid, dramatic, and widespread changes in their lives as homosexuals. Bronski 154”

After the war many queer servicemen went on to live conventionally heterosexual lives. But many more returned to a much queerer life stateside.

Bob Ruffing would settle down in San Francisco. The city has always been a safe harbour for queer Americans, made more so as ex servicemen gravitated to its liberated atmosphere. The port cities of New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles became the prime destinations to settle. Vining’s partner joined him in New York, where they both immersed themselves in the gay culture.

Other soldiers moved to specific neighborhoods known for having small gay communities. San Francisco’s North Beach, the west side of Boston’s Beacon Hill, or New York’s Greenwich Village. Following the war the gay populations of these cities increased dramatically.

The cities offered parks, coffee houses and bars which became queer spaces. And drag performance, music and comedy became features of this culture.

These veterans also founded organizations just for the queer soldiers. In Los Angeles the Knights of the Clock provided a space for same sex inter racial couples. In New York the Veterans Benevolent Association would often see 400-500 homosexuals appear at its events.

A number of books bluntly explored homosexuality following the war, such as The Invisible Glass which tells the story of an inter racial couple in Italy, 

“With a slight moan Chick rolled onto his left side, toward the Lieutenant. His finger sought those of the officer’s as they entwined their legs. Their faces met. The breaths, smelling sweet from wine, came in heavy drawn sighs. La Cava grasped the soldier by his waist and drew him tightly to his body. His mouth pressed down until he felt Chick’s lips part. For a moment they lay quietly, holding one another with strained arms.”

Others like Gore Vidal’s The City and the Pillar (1948), Fritz Peters’s The World Next Door (1949), and James Barr’s Quatrefoil (1950) explored similar themes.

In 1948 the Kinsey Report would create a public firestorm by arguing that homosexuality is shockingly common. In 1950 The Mattachine Society, a secretive group of homosexual Stalinists launched America’s LGBT movement.

References:

Michael Bronski “A Queer History of the United States”

John D’emilio “Coming Out Under Fire”

Vivki L Eaklor “Queer America: A GLBT History of America”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lesbians

In 1947 General Eisenhower told a purple heart winning Sargeant Johhnie Phelps, “It's come to my attention that there are lesbians in the WACs, we need to ferret them out”.

Phelps replied, “"If the General pleases, sir, I'll be happy to do that, but the first name on the list will be mine."

Eisenhower’s secretary added “"If the General pleases, sir, my name will be first and hers will be second."

Join me again May 17 to hear the story of America’s Lesbians during the war.

[lostsoulaltair]

OnS Theories (14S). Seventh Theory - The difference between demon Mikaela and the black demon series (Long Theory)

Hey guys, the cowntdown starts, 5 theories left for the moment; hope everyone’s been doing well, without any other stuff to say, let’s begin!

In the previous theory, I talked about the factors that were involved in Mika’s power related to being a demon. We saw that Ashera’s natural reaction was that of fear instead of being happy for an opportunity to save Mika.

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 94

But despite giving the factors that made Mika an extremely dangerous and powerful demon, what makes him different from the other demons from the black demon series if they’re labeled as dangerous as well?

For that, let’s talk about each demon so far and how exactly their desire ended up awakening their demon selves, what do I mean?

Instead of focusing the traits they possess, there’s something more to base upon, such thing is the desire they had at its peak before they even became vampires, such thing will be stated within the next list:

1. Asuramaru - Ashera Tepes

Asuramaru is the second most dangerous demon that has ever existed, he was the one that drove Mahiru somehow out of control before she turned into a vampire; her desires grew wilder as she kept growing after she stated having nightmares:

Image from Catastrophe at 16 - Chapter 18

Within the Catastrophe LNs and manga, Mahiru started having nightmares about a demon back when she was around 11 years old or so, such dreams started to increase with time until it was hard to resist them:

Image from Catastrophe at 16 - Chapter 18

Mahiru ended up taking measures so she could protect Shinoa and give the option for Guren to save the world of its own madness drove by the First Progenitor.

But now, what exactly did Ashera’s desire end up revolving around?

As a demon, Asuramaru displayed the desire of power, violence, the power to be able to handle down any enemy in front of the wielder; in Mahiru’s case, Asuramaru offered the power she could have ever dreamt of; which is something that applies with Yu at the same time:

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 46

It can be said that Asuramaru’s primordial desire as a demon was to unleash its power freely, to unleash a savage destruction with the body of the wielder but then, how does this relate to the “he” that was once a vampire in the past?

If many might recall, Ashera once he along Krul and Noya discovered the corpse of Sika Madu’s son, Noya ended up killing Yu; Ashera ended up taking the responsibility of such acts:

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 94

Ashera clearly stated:

“I accidentally killed Yu. Oh! But my little sister is innocent! It’s my fault only mine! She kept telling us over and over that we shouldn’t...”

What does this imply?

Correct. It means that Ashera’s strongest desire was the safety of his sister; his sister was primordial after loss of their mother; he being the elder brother kept the oath of protecting his little sister which is why after being turned into a vampire, his main goal was to save Krul.

Then, why did Ashera look happy back in chapter 49?

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 49

Correct, it’s likely that Ashera traveled with the First not by his own but rather as a deal with the First with the sole purpose of actually protecting Krul from becoming a test subject after entering the forbbiden chamber where the corpse of his precious son.

Therefore, it can be said that Ashera’s strongest desire was the one to protect. The safety of his sister.  Then what could it be concludedd with this?

Correct. That Ahera’s strongest desire was “Protect his Sister” hence why the demon form he took was that of a violent demon able to crush down enemies if the wielder wished for but of course, everything would depend a lot with the mental strength of the wielder in order for him to really unleash his powers.

2. Noya - Noya Hienma

Noya’s often portrayed as a destructive demon who feeds from strong desires that involve a carefree life but getting rid of what ties a human from it’s pain. Which can be seen in the Catastrophe LNs, what do I mean?

Back in the Catastrophe, Noya once suggested Guren to kill his friends so he could embrace the power he required:

Image from Catasstrophe at 16 - Chapter 32

Noya promised Guren he’d give him the power to reach Mahiru if he allowed all what he harbored free; thus included harming his friends. Of course, Guren withstood such tempting offer since his squad was and still is the most important thing for him. Something like this can be see in Vampire Reign as well:

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 83

It can be said that Noya is a demon that gives power in exchange of having the wielder set all the things that bound them free, of course, letting go could result in a worst scenario; in Guren’s case, it means seeing his friends vanish after resurrecting them.

Now, what can it be said with the human or vampire self on which his desire was at its highest?

Noya once remembered a time on which he was roaming freely back in the catastrophe:

Image from Catastrophe at 16 - Chapter 32

It can be said that perhaps his desire was at its highest when he was roaming freely as a carefree boy back then, his looks show he was the happiest in the past, no cares no worries that could destroy his happiness; of course, once he became a vampire, some glimses of his personality displayed that Noya actually went through a hard life, it is pausible to say that perhaps he was tasked to do bad things hence why he displays no remorse when he kills Yu in the past.

3. Byakkomaru - unknown real name

Byakkomaru is Shinya’s demon, his manifestation form is that of a tiger while the vampire hiding behind such manifestation is:

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 83

Byakkomaru is displayed as a demon hiding beneath animal skin, he is rather the interesting demon, he seems rather patient compared to other demons when they aim to possess their wielders; Byakkomaru, in order to give power to Shinya, he asked his wielder to name what he desired; but why?

Byakkomaru in fact, is a demon that devours the void, what do I mean?

Shinya’s real personality is the one that stopped caring about the world, for him, it doesn’t matter if he really tries or not, it could be said that it’s technically Sloth; which is something Byakkomaru feeds from, the sloth that increases within Shinya; but, at the same time, in order to give his master power, Shinya stated his desire, which was to “have power to save Guren”.

It could be said that before Byakkomaru was turned into a demon, Byakkomaru’s personality was that of a man that never gave up, a man that was constantly battling even if the results were a complete void, if there was nothing to be achieved; it is likely that his desire was at its highest when he actually succeeded in something eventful.

4. Gekkouin - Unknown real name

Gekkouin’s first appearance was in chapter 51 after Yoichi spotted Lacus Welt; after recognizing his face, Gekkouin started to take over Yoichi due to the deep grudge Yoichi has against him.

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 51

Gekkouin is displayed as a rude demon towards his wielder, he seems like the type of guy that enjoys bullying the weak but actually, there’s something hidden beneath his physical appearance, what could it be?

Correct. Gekkouin’s demon self enjoys revengeful wielders, he insists Yoichi to take revenge upon the death of Yoichi’s sister who was taken by Lacus Welt.

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 51

Gekkouin attempts to convince Yoichi to allow him to take over him to kill Lacus which at the end results with Yoichi showing a sadist side which no one was really expecting; therefore, what could it be said about Gekkouin’s vampire side?

Who exactly was he before turning into a demon or what made his desire reach the peak?

Justice. 

You might ask why justice if his current self enjoys revenge.

In a way, despite the path Yoichi is taking, he’s attempting to do justice for the unfair death of his sister, it could be said that his former self was someone tied to the bounds of what was rightful or even it could be that he striked down with justice, but what exactly does justice ends up meaning?

It’s not that Gekkouin might have taken revenge as a mean of justice, but rather, law and order to make justice.

5. Kiseki-O

Kiseki-O is a demon whose background is really short, he hasn’t appeared ever since he made the pact with Kimzuki along the fact he got a better comunication with him to use his abilities for manifestation.

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 21

Kiseki-O is seen as a patient demon, he enjoys playing around but there’s actually a characteristic of him, what could it be?

Correct. Rage. He feeds from Kimizuki’s rage, back in chapter 21, Kiseki-O kept taunting Kimizuki until this one ended up losing his cool and eventually was submitted into a dream until he passed Kiseki-O’s test.

Furthermore, such statement can be reflected in chapter 84

Image from Vampire Reign - Chapter 93

Kiseki-O instantly got possession of Shiho since Guren killed Mirai Kimizuki in front of him; Shiho’s biggest desire is to protect his sister at any cost, even if it means betraying his friends, his biggest fear is to fail such task which is something that instead of paining him, it literally made him go beserk into a deep rage which is something Kiseki-O feeds from. What does this mean?

Shiho in fact has a deep rage within him due to the fact he doesn’t have the power to keep his sister safe, he was aware that he wasn’t able to protect her from the experiments, furthermore he ended up losing his sister in front of him after he finally retrieved her.

But now, what does this imply with Kiseki-O? What was Kiseki-O before he became a demon that fed from rage along the strong desire of Kimizuki?

It could be said that Kiseki-O might have had someone he was successful to protect, which might actually stablish as his most fulfilling desire.

6. Raimeki - Unknown real name

Raimeki appears or makes her debut in chapter 58 after Shikama possesses Kureto or likely attempts to possess him, of course, Raimeki states that she’s trying her best to not allow Shikama Doji possess him.

With Raimeki, there’s something rather peculiar, she suggests Kureto to break two personal taboos, one of them being lust towards Aoi and the 2nd one being to let loose of himself, to be a carefree instead of being strict with himself.

But what could it be implied with Raimeki as a demon?

Correct, Raimeki is a demon that feeds on strong desires, those desires end up withing longing, and you might wonder how it might be possible, for that, let’s take a look at Kureto; ever since the LNs, Kureto has been a strict guy that has literally worked hard so his father could acknowledge him, of course, his father never looked up to him which is something Kureto kept going on and on until he learnt his father was a puppet of someone else.

Returning to the theory itself, what could it be said about Raimeki’s former self or likely where her desires were at her highest?

It’s possible that Raimeki’s highest desire or wish was with someone she deeply longed to be with, perhaps that was the part of her life that literally made her the happiest, hence it could be the reason why she feeds on what Kureto longs for.

7. Special cases, Mikaela Hyakuya and Mahiru Hiragi

Now, as I’ve stated in other theories, I don’t involve ships within theories; therefore, let’s talk about the type of love these two displayed within their respective stories.

Mahiru Hiragi

Mahiru Hiragi as a demon has become rather more merciless and “free”, she enjoys taunting Guren but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care; in fact, she cares about his well being even knowing she left a huge burden within him.

But, if we talk about her human self, Mahiru was once a kind hearted girl, of course, the curse she had ever since she was born wasn’t going to let her live a normal life, furthermore, the fact that her fate was written in stone was something that as much as she fought, was something she couldn’t avoid.

The reason why she became a demon was “love”. She loved Guren so much and yes, I’m aware many state she didn’t due to her being the person who killed Guren’s friends but, in fact, if she didn’t kill Guren’s friends; Tenri Hiragi would have killed them afterwards. How can I state this?

It is well known that Tenri was a merciless man, he was always stepping on the Ichinose family, always mocking on them, he didn’t hesitate on executing Sakae Ichinose, nor he even considered Guren’s feelings one bit.

Returning to the theory once again, love is one of the desires that has a high meaning within the story, of course, love can be different when it comes to characters, it can be selfless love, selfish love, obssessive love, possessive love, etc.

For Mahiru, her love was something that could be denominated as selfish, her actions seemed as she was always making Guren suffer but in fact, she was guiding him to find the pieces on how to fix the world and how to actually rescue those he held dear.

The reason why her body was never lost was due to an ability she had when she was a namanari, she was able to devour demons or parts of them; which is something that happened with Noya at the end of the Catastrophe LNs; she merged with him by devouring him, hence why Guren’s cursed gear is called Mahiru-no-Yo.

Mikaela Hyakuya

As I’ve stated in other theories, Mika’s love goes in two forms, selfless but obssessive as well; what do I mean?

Mika’s love for Yu is selfless, he cares about his well being, but at the same time, his past, the fact that Yu is the only family left he has, awoke obssession within him; he doesn’t hesitate to kill if it means to keep Yu safe, even if it goes against his wishes.

Mika’s love is pure in its own way, he always thanked that Yu became his light after the darkness surrounded him; when he stated “I love you” all the thoughts he had were transmitted in such phrase, a deep “thank you for everything you’ve done”; but then, what exactly makes Mika as a demon so dangerous?

Correct, his desire at its highest was love, when he reached the dream, his desire was at its highest, his dream only displayed what he wished and loved to have for the rest of his life; he wanted to keep the orphanage kids by himself, along Yu, all he needed was that, his family, the moment and the fact they were his only happiness.

Hence why, once he awoke as a demon, those who had knowledge about it were aware that the new demon was going to be the most dangerous and powerful that has ever existed.

To conclude, it can be said that the current demons from the black series had their desires at its highest whenever they had a goal in mind or aimed to achieve something even if it meant their lives; or simply, their happiest moments they’ve ever had along the fact that there was something that marked their lives in a positive way.

What do you think guys?

Let me know!

P.S: Theories don’t involve ships. They remain in a neutral view. 

[kchuarts]

Instinct

A/N: *rubs my filthy hands together* This is a VERY self indulgent fic of mine with one of my various kinks... Also takes place during a weird timeline in IW and Loki has been informally accepted as an Avenger. 

Summary: Astrid KNOWS that now is not the time to bring up the idea of having a child. She also knows how Loki feels about it; he does not want children. With everything going on in the world, why was she even thinking about this?

Thanos is still looming over the Avengers at an uncomfortably close distance, and strange creatures have began to invade earth. Unfortunately, these creatures happen to be from Jotunheim...

Warnings: 🔞🔞🔞 VERY SPICY SMUT, breeding, dubious consent, impregnation, etc...🔞🔞🔞 DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!!!🔞🔞🔞

The very first time Astrid had ever brought up the idea of having children in the future with Loki, was also the last time. In fact, the prince seemed rather upset that she would even bring up such a topic. He had given her a very firm “No.” but never gave any clear validation why he was so against the suggestion. Astrid decided it would be wise not to bring it up again despite her desire to give him a family. His cool opinion of her devotion made her heart ache. She thought that maybe he would be at least open to the idea, but his habit of closing off had won that argument. 

It wasn’t that Loki did not want children, it was more of his inner turmoil and who he was. After his haunting fall from the Bifrost, the prince never even thought he would be breathing today. Since his brainwashing, he had concluded that fatherhood would never be within his prospect. This final result was all thanks to the lack of fatherly love from Odin, having learned the truth of his origins, having been unwillingly controlled, what he could do, and now? What now? There was no research of a mortal and Jotun ever creating life together and scarce information of an Asgardian and Jotun doing the same. Loki would not risk his wife’s endurance for something that could quite possibly kill her. He finally found something beautiful through his hardships and he was not willing to let her go. As much as it hurt him to see Astrid suffer in silence about it, he would rather be safe than sorry... 

“It has come to my attention that a seam has torn through our world by something to let these massive beasts in and destroy everything in sight.” Fury stated, glancing to Thor and Loki who were standing to the left of the round meeting table. “It is also to my understanding that you have dealt with these things before, and that your brother is of their particular home planet.” He waited for a reply from the Gods as everyone else did. 

“They are frost beasts and they do indeed come from Jotunheim.” Loki spoke up, nodding toward the holograph of one of these humongous creatures. 

Steve walked forth, examining the 3D image and scratching his beard at it. “So what you’re saying, if I am not mistaken, is that we could have another convergence on hand if these things are coming in? I’m no expert so please excuse my misinformation if I am wrong.” His blue eyes flicked to the God of Mischief. To everyone’s slight relief, both Loki and Thor shook their heads no. “We have yet another 5,000 years before the next convergence occurs, so we can consider ourselves lucky in that regard.” Thor tapped the table toward the frost beast, “What we have here is something else entirely and if my intuition is correct, I believe Thanos is behind this.” The God of Thunder pulled his arm back, mirroring the Captains pose and scratching his own beard. Director Fury nodded to Thor, “So it is a distraction of sorts for what he truly has planned? Laufeyson. You should know the answer to this, given you were under his control.” 

Loki nodded, “This is one of his tactics. His army is far larger than a few frost beasts, I have seen it first hand. Well, a glimpse of it anyways. I am hypothesizing he has torn the seam to get me alone. He still is after my head and wishes death upon me.” His thumb gently plays with the smooth onyx band around his ring finger as a means to calm himself; to think of going home to his wife. “Understandable. We also wanted you dead for a period of time.” Nick spoke nonchalant, taking no mind in the slight irk in Loki. “Gentlemen, please.” Steve frowned, holding his hands out and waving down before turning to the dark haired prince, “I’ve got an idea but it will be very dangerous. It does involve closing that seam so we can take care of this and get back to taking Thanos down... I’m gonna need you to go home, Loki.” 

Scoffing, the Trickster gave an amused smile to the captain “I would not exactly call it ‘home’ as you so plainly put it, but it does appear that I haven’t a choice here.” He sighed and turned on his heel, “Very well, please prepare a ship for me. If you are sending reinforcements along, I suggest you see Stark first for cold resistant armor. I do not require it, but mortals will-” There was a sudden crackling noise as Tony’s voice broke through the communicator on the table. “Sorry to interrupt ladies, but this isn’t the time for an ice cream social. We’ve got frosty the snowman on steroids over here destroying shit left and right!”  Fury pressed a button, “Stark. Where is your position and company?” 

“Central- Really!? Come on!! Never mind where we are! Just track us down and get help!!” Tony’s voice cut out as his communicator lost connection. 

Almost immediately, Thor turned to Loki and grinned widely to which the latter tried to ignore what was just said. 

“Let’s do get help.” 

“No-” 

All four of the men present suddenly grabbed onto anything as the room shook violently. The shaking was followed by a terrifying screech, causing everyone except Loki to cover their ears. “What the hell was that!?” Steve looked up to see the Trickster frozen in place as though he had seen a ghost. “It’s near the medical wing-” Loki choked out, taking off in a sprint as fast as he could. 

--------------

“Everyone form a single file line and do NOT rush out!!” Astrid walked along the line of medical workers and patients, doing her best to escort the frightened people out of danger. It was hard to do so with the violent tremors that continued to rock the building. “Astrid, I’ll take over, go check the Children’s ward and make sure there aren’t any kids left.” Doctor Cho placed a hand on the brunette woman’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. Astrid nodded, quickly making her way out of room D to the best of her ability through the crashing and now flickering power. Her heart rate picked up as she heard a high pitched, terrified squeal come from her destination. Astrid sprinted down to the ward, eyes scanning over the beds in a panic. 

The child shrieked once more as the power blacked out completely this time. “It’s ok!! Stay where you are and I’ll come get you, sweetie!!” Astrid pulled her phone out quickly turning on flashlight and seeing a little girl; who was no older than 5, huddled in the corner and shaking. The head nurse head to the girl with light feet, scooping her up and giving the poor child a tight squeeze. “It’s gonna be ok. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you out of here.” She cooed to the girl, taking her small hand and holding it as she had reached for it out of comfort. Swiftly, Astrid began to make progress exiting the room with what little light her phone provided her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” She cautiously stepped over some new rubble that had fallen from the ceiling while she was in the ward. “L-Lorraine.” the girl sniffled, continuing to hold Astrid’s hand and cling tightly to the woman. 

Astrid smiled at the child despite being in complete darkness. “What a pretty name you have! I am so glad to have rescued you, Lorraine. My name is Astrid.” She adjusted the girl in her arms, hearing a small noise of happiness come from her; before finally reaching a well lit area and setting Lorraine down. Kneeling to her eye level, Astrid looked over her to see if she had any injuries. “Wh-What’s gonna happen to us, M-Miss Astrid?” The woman’s attention is brought up to big, teary green eyes. Reaching up, Astrid pushes some hair from the girls face and smiles once more in an attempt to ease her fears. “We are gonna get us out of here and find your parents. I see you’ve got a Junior Agent badge on your little uniform. Do your parents work for S.H.I.E.L.D?” She tapped the button on Lorraine’s shirt. “Mhm. Daddy is a person that helps other people. My mommy is here.” Her small finger pointed to her heart, “She went up to heaven last year with nana. Daddy told me not to be sad no more ‘cuz she is not in pain. He misses her too but he takes good help of me.” she gave the nurse a small smile, swaying in place. 

“Oh Lorraine, you are such a brave little girl... My mom is here too.” Astrid smiled sadly, pointing to her heart. “What about your daddy?” Lorraine wiped her eyes, sniffling as she was lifted into the woman’s arms again. She paused, hesitant on how to answer that... “My dad...” She started saying as she continued to find an exit. “My dad..” she smiled at the little girl “Is Mr. Stark and he is the coolest dad ever. Sometimes he is kinda mean so maybe your dad is way more cool.” she chuckled softly as Lorraine’s eyes became large with wonder. “Whoooaaa!! That’s awesomeness. Are the Avengers your friends?” her fears soon dissipated from her mind as she became engrossed with Astrid’s words. “Mhm. I am! Captain America is the sweetest, Black Widow is cool, Ironman is a genius, Thor is like a big puppy!! I love them all.... Can you keep a secret for me?” She raised her brows and winked at Lorraine. The girl nodded eagerly and leaned in to hear, “I am married to one of the Avengers.” She laughed softly at Lorraine’s little gasp and blush. “Do you guys have babies?” 

Her laugh faltered a little, but she continued to smile despite the inner conflict within. “Nope, not yet. But I’ll let you know as soon as we have one.” She pushed Lorraine’s bangs from her eyes again, heart aching from wanting a child of her own. Before the little girl could say anything else, Astrid dove to the floor while shielding the child with her body. The wall had exploded and a giant claw reached in, one of it’s sharp nails cutting Astrid’s ankle. She hissed in pain, clenching her teeth and keeping Lorraine’s head to her chest to protect her as much as she could. The pain slowly became worse as it felt like her skin was frozen and becoming frostbit. She knew it wasn’t too deep but that searing chill would worry her more. Lorraine screamed as the Frost Beast roared, destroying more of the wall. The beast turned it’s attention to the two and primarily focused on Astrid as it could smell her blood. Its hulking body moved, jaws getting dangerously close to the woman. 

Before it could snap Astrid and Lorraine into it’s jaws, the Frost Beast let out a painful screech and backed away as its eyes began to bleed. Loki leapt down from the roof and into the hall where his wife was currently trapped. “Astrid!!” He called out, climbing down the fallen building to get to her. “Norns.” He muttered, seeing the nasty cut on her ankle and the chill encasing it. Holding a large hand over it, he chanted something in his native tongue and healed it completely. “I thought you were at home.” Astrid coughed from the dust, blinking to get it out of her eyes and look at Loki. “You really think I would be at home right now with all of this ruckus going on? Come now, my love. You know me better than that-” His brow scrunched as he saw movement underneath his wife. Lorraine peeked out, spotting Loki and quickly hiding her face into Astrid’s chest again. “It’s alright, honey. That’s my husband, he’s here to help us. He’s the one who defeated that big mean monster.” The brunette woman sat up, checking over the little girl. 

Loki watched in awe as Astrid so lovingly and patiently tended to the child; checking to see if she was hurt and that she was ok. He knew it was part of her job to help children, but he never did get to see how she worked with them let alone see the love in her eyes for them. The god bit his cheek, shaking his head at the “what if...?” thoughts and scooped the both of them up. “Let us get to safety before more of its friends decide to show up and give us a bigger problem.” 

---------

After reaching the rest of the group, Lorraine was returned to her father who was sobbing with reprieve that his daughter was safe. “Miss Astrid helped me, daddy! She and her husband! “ Lorraine gave the two a toothy grin. “She’s gonna let me know when they have babies.” She giggled as she saw Loki’s cheeks turn pink. His jaw was clenched, “Astrid. My love. May I have a word?” He spoke through his teeth. Astrid’s smile faded as she knew where this was headed, she turned and smiled to the girl; saying her goodbyes and thank yous before facing Loki. 

“I-I can explain-” her voice was timid from her husband’s silent irritation.

Loki shook his head, nostrils flaring a bit “You know how I feel about that.” He almost hissed while trying to keep his temper under control. “She is a little girl, Loki.” Astrid’s hands fall to her sides, becoming annoyed herself. 

“And?” 

“And? And what!? She was frightened! I had to distract her somehow!” The brunette scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “So that distraction was to tell her every little detail about our personal life? She is a little girl, Astrid.” He mocked her words and tone from before. “What did you want me to do!? Say nothing!? Kids are curious! Also, for your information, I didn’t tell her everything as you so dramatically put it. I doubt that she will remember me in a few days.” She felt a sharp grip on her arm and gasped as Loki shoved her against the wall. He was very irate with her and would not have anymore. “That is exactly the problem, my dear. You work with children and she just so happens to be in the same place you are. I do not recall any other children you have helped affecting you like this. Children are indeed curious and will spread information like wildfire. Have you forgotten that the public still resents me? I do not know what sort of thoughts have overcome you as of late concerning me impregnating you, but they will cease. The next time this gets brought up...” He stopped, looking away from her. What was he going to say? He wasn’t going to leave her, Norns no! There was always adoption... No. His selfish thoughts of being mistreated and fearing he would be the same to an innocent babe turned him away quickly. The thought of getting her sterilized did cross his mind too... 

Astrid yanked her arm from his now loosened grip, tears burning her eyes. She knew he had a point and that she would apologize for it later, but just once did she want him to see that these thoughts were not selfish. She was doing this for him out of love and wanting him to be truly happy. “I-I’ll see you at home.” She huffed, walking away and refusing to let Loki see her tears. She would not let him win, not this time...

----------

Dinner was unusually quiet that evening, Astrid still mulling over the events of the day and barely touching her food. Loki was presumably in the same boat and decided he also lost his appetite. “I am to leave for Jotunheim tomorrow.” He broke the silence, pulling a chair out and sitting across from Astrid who glanced up at him. “Okay, be careful.” She shrugged, looking back down at her cold food before getting up and pitching it. The prince clicked his tongue and stood up abruptly, blocking his wife’s way to their bedroom. “Is that all you have to say to me?” hidden displeasure seeped in his words. Astrid sighed deeply, shoulders falling and whined, “Loki I’m tired-” She tried to walk past, just wanting to go to bed. His large hands grasped her arms, not as tightly as earlier but still firm, “Look at me.” His voice softened. The brunette sighed again before looking into the prince’s eyes. A small smile peaked across his handsome features as his hands moved up from her arms to her jaw. “I would wager that our situations have changed given that you always tell me I am the dramatic and whiney one.” He smiled as he got a grin from Astrid who tried to hide it. 

“I apologize for earlier, my love...” His thumbs caressed her cheeks as he continued to look at her. 

“I’m sorry too. I know it’s not a good subject... But m-maybe... Maybe we could discuss it in the future? Not have anything set in stone, but talk about it?” Astrid raised her brows, a hopeful glint in her large, doe like eyes. Loki leaned forth, placing a kiss on her forehead “Perhaps we will... However, there are more important things to worry about at hand. Such as keeping you safe.” He rest his cheek on top of her head and felt her arms wrap around his lithe torso. Nuzzling her face against his strong chest, Astrid took his scent in and felt any worry she had at the moment drift away. “Well then you probably won’t like my next question then.” She chuckled. 

“You want to come to Jotunheim with me, don’t you?” Loki lift his head up to look at his mortal wife again, an unamused expression on his face. Astrid grinned, nodding and giggling at his frown. In her amusement, she reached up and pushed his pouting lip in and squealed when he softly nipped at her finger. “Be careful, I may have picked up a few habits from the mongrel.” He chuckled, hiding his smirk with a kiss to her neck. His laughter rumbled once more as Astrid smacked him playfully at him. “Leave my Kovu out of this.” She scolded, still laughing softly. Loki stood up, taking her small hand in his and leading her to their bedroom. He carefully tossed her onto the large mattress before crawling up and placing his head on her chest. Astrid rolled her eyes as she knew what he was asking for and began to play with his hair. “You know, you will need a medic to come along with you. One that sorta kinda knows your biology-” She blushed at what Loki cut her off with. 

“By that you mean my cock? Oh darling, I am most certainly aware that you are an expert in that field.” He laughed as he felt yet another smack, nuzzling his head on her chest. “You know what I mean, dumb ass.” Astrid continued to play with his hair, shaking her head and smiling. “You are right though. I do take care of children... But there’s one big kid that I really need to keep watch on. Such a little trouble maker he is and not to mention he is very amorous...” She felt him shift a little to press his lower half on her leg to emphasize her words. “You would not happen to be talking about a very tall, handsome, charming, prince with a large-” He felt her stop playing with his hair and actually whined. The brunette laughed at the noise he made and his hand grabbing hers to put it back on his head. “Your chances of me saying yes to your joining decrease when you stop your petting.” 

Sighing once more, Astrid resumed her caresses until the prince lulled into a slumber. He did agree to her joining the mission, but what he was not aware of were the circumstances that would happen on the planet of his birth... 

So I guess this is gonna be a two or three parter. God damn. Why do I do this to myself?? Anyways, smut will be in the next chapter 

Taglist: @lucywrites02​

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January's New Releases

2021 told 2020 to hold it's beer and what a month January has been! Publishing YA also came out swinging with a slew of new books (many already bestsellers) in what we hope will be another banner year for BIPOC stories. Click below to find books for your TBR list. 

Week of January 5th

The Life I’m In by Sharon G. Flake Scholastic Inc

My feet are heavy as stones when I walk up the block wondering why I can’t find my old self.

In The Skin I’m In, readers saw into the life of Maleeka Madison, a teen who suffered from the ridicule she received because of her dark skin color. For decades fans have wanted to know the fate of the bully who made Maleeka’s life miserable, Char.

Now in Sharon Flake’s latest and unflinching novel, The Life I’m In, we follow Charlese Jones, who, with her raw, blistering voice speaks the truths many girls face, offering insight to some of the causes and conditions that make a bully. Turned out of the only home she has known, Char boards a bus to nowhere where she is lured into the dangerous web of human trafficking. Much is revealed behind the complex system of men who take advantage of vulnerable teens in the underbelly of society. While Char might be frightened, she remains strong and determined to bring herself and her fellow victims out of the dark and back into the light, reminding us why compassion is a powerful cure to the ills of the world.

Sharon Flake’s bestselling, Coretta Scott King Award-winning novel The Skin I’m In was a game changer when it was first published more than twenty years ago. It redefined young adult literature by presenting characters, voices, and real-world experiences that had not been fully seen. Now Flake offers readers another timely and radical story of a girl on the brink and how her choices will lead her to either fall, or fly. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Happily Ever Afters by Elise Bryant Balzer + Bray

Sixteen-year-old Tessa Johnson has never felt like the protagonist in her own life. She’s rarely seen herself reflected in the pages of the romance novels she loves. The only place she’s a true leading lady is in her own writing—in the swoony love stories she shares only with Caroline, her best friend and #1 devoted reader.

When Tessa is accepted into the creative writing program of a prestigious art school, she’s excited to finally let her stories shine. But when she goes to her first workshop, the words are just…gone. Fortunately, Caroline has a solution: Tessa just needs to find some inspiration in a real-life love story of her own. And she’s ready with a list of romance novel-inspired steps to a happily ever after. Nico, the brooding artist who looks like he walked out of one of Tessa’s stories, is cast as the perfect Prince Charming.

But as Tessa checks each item off Caroline’s list, she gets further and further away from herself. She risks losing everything she cares about—including the surprising bond she develops with sweet Sam, who lives across the street. She’s well on her way to having her own real-life love story, but is it the one she wants, after all?

One of the Good Ones by Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite Inkyard Press

ISN’T BEING HUMAN ENOUGH? When teen social activist and history buff Kezi Smith is killed under mysterious circumstances after attending a social justice rally, her devastated sister Happi and their family are left reeling in the aftermath. As Kezi becomes another immortalized victim in the fight against police brutality, Happi begins to question the idealized way her sister is remembered. Perfect. Angelic.

One of the good ones.

Even as the phrase rings wrong in her mind–why are only certain people deemed worthy to be missed?–Happi and her sister Genny embark on a journey to honor Kezi in their own way, using an heirloom copy of The Negro Motorist Green Book as their guide. But there’s a twist to Kezi’s story that no one could’ve ever expected–one that will change everything all over again.

Roman and Jewel by Dana L. Davis Inkyard Press

If Romeo and Juliet got the Hamilton treatment…who would play the leads? This vividly funny, honest, and charming romantic novel by Dana L. Davis is the story of a girl who thinks she has what it takes…and the world thinks so, too.

Jerzie Jhames will do anything to land the lead role in Broadway’s hottest new show, Roman and Jewel, a Romeo and Juliet inspired hip-hopera featuring a diverse cast and modern twists on the play. But her hopes are crushed when she learns mega-star Cinny won the lead…and Jerzie is her understudy.

Falling for male lead Zeppelin Reid is a terrible idea–especially once Jerzie learns Cinny wants him for herself. Star-crossed love always ends badly. But when a video of Jerzie and Zepp practicing goes viral and the entire world weighs in on who should play Jewel, Jerzie learns that while the price of fame is high, friendship, family, and love are priceless.

The Awakening of Malcom X by Ilyasah Shabazz & Tiffany D. Jackson Farrar, Straus and Giroux (Byr)

In Charlestown Prison, Malcolm Little struggles with the weight of his past. Plagued by nightmares, Malcolm drifts through days unsure of his future. Slowly, he befriends other prisoners and writes to his family. He reads all the books in the prison library, joins the debate team and the Nation of Islam. Malcolm grapples with race, politics, religion, and justice in the 1940s. And as his time in jail comes to an end, he begins to awaken — emerging from prison more than just Malcolm Little: Now, he is Malcolm X.

Here is an intimate look at Malcolm X’s young adult years. While this book chronologically follows X: A Novel, it can be read as a stand-alone historical novel that invites larger discussions on black power, prison reform, and civil rights.

When You Look Like Us by Pamela N. Harris HarperCollins

When you look like us—brown skin, brown eyes, black braids or fades—people think you’re trouble. No one looks twice at a missing black girl from the projects because she must’ve brought whatever happened to her upon herself. I, Jay Murphy, can admit that, for a minute, I thought my sister, Nicole, got too caught up with her boyfriend—a drug dealer—and his friends.

But she’s been gone too long now.

If I hadn’t hung up on her that night, she’d be spending time with our grandma. If I was a better brother, she’d be finishing senior year instead of being another name on a missing persons list. It’s time to step up and do what the Newport News police department won’t.

Week of January 12th

Chlorine Sky by Mahogany L. Browne Crown Books for Young Readers

She looks me hard in my eyes & my knees lock into tree trunks My eyes don’t dance like my heartbeat racing They stare straight back hot daggers. I remember things will never be the same. I remember things.

With gritty and heartbreaking honesty, Mahogany L. Browne delivers a novel-in-verse about broken promises, fast rumors, and when growing up means growing apart from your best friend.

The Meet-Cute Project by Rhiannon Richardson Simon & Schuster

Mia’s friends love rom-coms. Mia hates them. They’re silly, contrived, and not at all realistic. Besides, there are more important things to worry about—like how to handle living with her bridezilla sister, Sam, who’s never appreciated Mia, and surviving junior year juggling every school club offered and acing all of her classes.

So when Mia is tasked with finding a date to her sister’s wedding, her options are practically nonexistent.

Mia’s friends, however, have an idea. It’s a little crazy, a little out there, and a lot inspired by the movies they love that Mia begrudgingly watches too.

Mia just needs a meet-cute.

Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0) by Angie Thomas Balzer + Bray

If there’s one thing seventeen-year-old Maverick Carter knows, it’s that a real man takes care of his family. As the son of a former gang legend, Mav does that the only way he knows how: dealing for the King Lords. With this money he can help his mom, who works two jobs while his dad’s in prison.

Life’s not perfect, but with a fly girlfriend and a cousin who always has his back, Mav’s got everything under control.

Until, that is, Maverick finds out he’s a father.

Suddenly he has a baby, Seven, who depends on him for everything. But it’s not so easy to sling dope, finish school, and raise a child. So when he’s offered the chance to go straight, he takes it. In a world where he’s expected to amount to nothing, maybe Mav can prove he’s different.

When King Lord blood runs through your veins, though, you can’t just walk away. Loyalty, revenge, and responsibility threaten to tear Mav apart, especially after the brutal murder of a loved one. He’ll have to figure out for himself what it really means to be a man.

Angel of Greenwood by Randi Pink Feiwel and Friends

Seventeen-year-old Isaiah Wilson is, on the surface, a town troublemaker, but is hiding that he is an avid reader and secret poet, never leaving home without his journal. A passionate follower of WEB. Du Bois, he believes that black people should rise up to claim their place as equals.

Sixteen-year-old Angel Hill is a loner, mostly disregarded by her peers as a goody-goody. Her father is dying, and her family’s financial situation is in turmoil. Also, as a loyal follower of Booker T. Washington, she believes, through education and tolerance, that black people should rise slowly and without forced conflict.

Though they’ve attended the same schools, Isaiah never noticed Angel as anything but a dorky, Bible toting church girl. Then their English teacher offers them a job on her mobile library, a three-wheel, two-seater bike. Angel can’t turn down the money and Isaiah is soon eager to be in such close quarters with Angel every afternoon.

But life changes on May 31, 1921 when a vicious white mob storms the community of Greenwood, leaving the town destroyed and thousands of residents displaced. Only then, Isaiah, Angel, and their peers realize who their real enemies are.

Week of January 19th

Thirty Talks Weird Love by Alessandra Narváez Varela Cinco Puntos Press

Out of nowhere, a lady comes up to Anamaría and says she’s her, from the future. But Anamaría’s thirteen, she knows better than to talk to some weirdo stranger. Girls need to be careful, especially in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico—it’s the 90’s and fear is overtaking her beloved city as cases of kidnapped girls and women become alarmingly common. This thirty-year-old “future” lady doesn’t seem to be dangerous but she won’t stop bothering her, switching between cheesy Hallmark advice about being kind to yourself, and some mysterious talk about saving a girl.

Anamaría definitely doesn’t need any saving, she’s doing just fine. She works hard at her strict, grade-obsessed middle school—so hard that she hardly gets any sleep; so hard that the stress makes her snap not just at mean girls but even her own (few) friends; so hard that when she does sleep she dreams about dying—but she just wants to do the best she can so she can grow up to be successful. Maybe Thirty’s right, maybe she’s not supposed to be so exhausted with her life, but how can she ask for help when her city is mourning the much bigger tragedy of its stolen girls?

This thought-provoking, moving verse novel will lead adult and young adult readers alike to vital discussions on important topics—like dealing with depression and how to recognize this in yourself and others—through the accessible voice of a thirteen-year-old girl.

Your Corner Dark by Desmond Hall Atheneum/Dlouhy

Things can change in a second:

The second Frankie Green gets that scholarship letter, he has his ticket out of Jamaica.

The second his longtime crush, Leah, asks him on a date, he’s in trouble.

The second his father gets shot, suddenly nothing else matters.

And the second Frankie joins his uncle’s gang in exchange for paying for his father’s medical bills, there’s no going back…or is there?

As Frankie does things he never thought he’d be capable of, he’s forced to confront the truth of the family and future he was born into—and the ones he wants to build for himself.

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo Dutton Books for Young Readers

“That book. It was about two women, and they fell in love with each other.” And then Lily asked the question that had taken root in her, that was even now unfurling its leaves and demanding to be shown the sun: “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Seventeen-year-old Lily Hu can’t remember exactly when the question took root, but the answer was in full bloom the moment she and Kathleen Miller walked under the flashing neon sign of a lesbian bar called the Telegraph Club.

America in 1954 is not a safe place for two girls to fall in love, especially not in Chinatown. Red-Scare paranoia threatens everyone, including Chinese Americans like Lily. With deportation looming over her father—despite his hard-won citizenship—Lily and Kath risk everything to let their love see the light of day.

If I Tell You the Truth by Jasmin Kaur HarperCollins

Told in prose, poetry, and illustration, this heartrending story weaves Kiran’s and Sahaara’s timelines together, showing a teenage Kiran and, later, her high school–aged daughter, Sahaara.

Kiran is a young Punjabi Sikh woman who becomes pregnant after being sexually assaulted by her fiancé’s brother. When her fiancé and family don’t believe her, she flees her home in India to Canada, where she plans to raise the child as a single mother. For Kiran, living undocumented means constant anxiety over finances, work, safety, and whether she’ll be deported back to the dangers that await her in Punjab.

Eighteen years later, Kiran’s daughter, Sahaara, is desperate to help her mother, who has been arrested and is facing deportation. In the aftermath, Kiran reveals the truth about Sahaara’s conception. Horrified, Sahaara encourages Kiran to speak out against the man who raped her—who’s now a popular political figure in Punjab. Sahaara must find the best way to support her mother while also dealing with the revelation about her parents.

We Free the Stars (Sands of Arawiya #2) by Hafsah Faizal Farrar, Straus and Giroux

The battle on Sharr is over. The dark forest has fallen. Altair may be captive, but Zafira, Nasir, and Kifah are bound for Sultan’s Keep, determined to finish the plan he set in motion: restoring the hearts of the Sisters of Old to the minarets of each caliphate, and finally returning magic to all of Arawiya. But they are low on resources and allies alike, and the kingdom teems with fear of the Lion of the Night’s return.

As the zumra plots to overthrow the kingdom’s darkest threat, Nasir fights to command the magic in his blood. He must learn to hone his power into a weapon, to wield not only against the Lion but against his father, trapped under the Lion’s control. Zafira battles a very different darkness festering in her through her bond with the Jawarat—a darkness that hums with voices, pushing her to the brink of her sanity and to the edge of a chaos she dare not unleash. In spite of the darkness enclosing ever faster, Nasir and Zafira find themselves falling into a love they can’t stand to lose…but time is running out to achieve their ends, and if order is to be restored, drastic sacrifices will have to be made.

Lush and striking, hopeful and devastating, We Free the Stars is the masterful conclusion to the Sands of Arawiya duology by New York Times–bestselling author Hafsah Faizal.

Week of January 26th

Written in Starlight (Woven in Moonlight #2) by Isabel Ibañez Page Street Kids

If the jungle wants you, it will have you…

Catalina Quiroga is a Condesa without a country. She’s lost the Inkasisa throne, the loyalty of her people, and her best friend. Banished to the perilous Yanu Jungle, Catalina knows her chances of survival are slim, but that won’t stop her from trying to escape. It’s her duty to reclaim the throne.

When Manuel, the son of her former general, rescues Catalina from a jaguar, a plan forms. Deep in the jungle, the city of gold is hidden, home to the fierce Illari people, who she could strike an alliance with.

But the elusive Illari are fighting a battle of their own—a mysterious blight is corrupting the jungle, laying waste to everything they hold dear. As a seer, Catalina should be able to help, but her ability to read the future in the stars is as feeble as her survival instincts. While searching for the Illari, Catalina must reckon with her duty and her heart to find her true calling, which could be the key to stopping the corruption before it destroys the jungle completely.

The Knockout by Sajni Patel Flux

If seventeen-year-old Kareena Thakkar is going to alienate herself from the entire Indian community, she might as well do it gloriously. She’s landed the chance of a lifetime, an invitation to the US Muay Thai Open, which could lead to a spot on the first-ever Olympic team. If only her sport wasn’t seen as something too rough for girls, something she’s afraid to share with anyone outside of her family. Despite pleasing her parents, exceling at school, and making plans to get her family out of debt, Kareena’s never felt quite Indian enough, and her training is only making it worse.

Which is inconvenient, since she’s starting to fall for Amit Patel, who just might be the world’s most perfect Indian. Admitting her feelings for Amit will cost Kareena more than just her pride–she’ll have to face his parents’ disapproval, battle her own insecurities, and remain focused for the big fight. Kareena’s bid for the Olympics could very well make history–if she has the courage to go for it.

Wings of Ebony (Wings of Ebony #1) by J. Elle Denene Millner Books/Simon Schuster Books for Young Readers

“Make a way out of no way” is just the way of life for Rue. But when her mother is shot dead on her doorstep, life for her and her younger sister changes forever. Rue’s taken from her neighborhood by the father she never knew, forced to leave her little sister behind, and whisked away to Ghizon—a hidden island of magic wielders.

Rue is the only half-god, half-human there, where leaders protect their magical powers at all costs and thrive on human suffering. Miserable and desperate to see her sister on the anniversary of their mother’s death, Rue breaks Ghizon’s sacred Do Not Leave Law and returns to Houston, only to discover that Black kids are being forced into crime and violence. And her sister, Tasha, is in danger of falling sway to the very forces that claimed their mother’s life.

Worse still, evidence mounts that the evil plaguing East Row is the same one that lurks in Ghizon—an evil that will stop at nothing until it has stolen everything from her and everyone she loves. Rue must embrace her true identity and wield the full magnitude of her ancestors’ power to save her neighborhood before the gods burn it to the ground.

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Anyone who’s been in the TMA fandom (or those who understand the bare minimum of the story) know damn well that whatever was going on with Michael D. Stortion and Gabriel/Worker-of-Clay was not just a simple Avatar/Entity partnership. No, in the twisted timeline of the Spiral itself, the Armageddon arms-race pales in comparison to the romantic tragedy subplot those two had long before Jon and Martin were in the picture.

(This is also going to be a long one, and with some MAG 101 spoilers, so buckle on in...)

Here’s what I mean:

Gabriel (or in this case, Gabe) works with Neil Lagorio (Web aligned special-effects dude) in the mid 1900′s on their first movie The Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Unfortunately for him, Gabe quits in 1972 just as the movie was released. 

Not much is known of this time after 1972 up until the dreaded sculpting class in 2004. Speculation-wise, Gabriel might have been corrupted by the Flesh during his movie-making times or earlier before he came into contact with the Spiral.

Reasons: -The Spiral connects with the unraveling of reality, question one’s sanity and eventually “spiraling” into insanity. -The Flesh, in its literal sense, connects to the fear of people or animals being killed for meat; even the appearance of flesh/bone being twisted, bent, or butchered. But it can also connect on a emotional level, such as being viewed weaker than others, mostly relating to a person’s body image. That’s also the reason why the nature of his death is completely unlike the Spiral simply letting him fade out of reality. -Gabriel displays more Flesh-like qualities in his appearance and work up until the end of MAG 126. He doesn’t want people to judge him by appearance alone (even if his entire body is made up of clay) but he makes up for it with his unassuming personality and amazing talent. In a literal sense, he wants to mold himself into the kind of person that gets praised for his clay-making abilities, not just from his creations alone.  

[Enter Ｔｈｅ　Ｄｉｓｔｏｒｔｉｏｎ: Stage Left] Of course, while there’s no evidence on how, when or why the Distortion would target him specifically, but there is one thing. Compared to all the other Spiral avatars and fear-aligned creatures, they all used to be humans in the past. The Spiral by nature is to cast aside their humanity and submit to the nature of insanity. But since most of the Spiral avatars either faded out of existence or just refused to do anything ritual-wise, how was it supposed to create a new world if all they ever do is destroy? It adopts an artist, of course. There’s nothing more chaotic than the struggles of a budding sculptor such as himself. But while that may be a convincing argument for the Spiral to get Gabriel to join the Dark Side, there could be more to convince him that it’s worth following the unknowable being of delusions. Long story short, there was no reason for Gabriel to judge himself so poorly if he knew how to reshape the world to how he sees fit. it would convince him that, like the archangel he’s named after, he could show the world the coming future; twisting the laws of reality so that there’s no room to judge how something should be right or wrong, imaginary or real.  As if they were said from the Lord himself, Gabriel heard the Distortion’s tell him about a new world and finally found inspiration in them.

Then comes the sculpting class.  It’s worth noting that, even with the angel symbolism for Michael and Gabriel, it could be implied that Gabriel is also a goody-two-shoes Christian boy who regularly attends church, as evidence of Michael having knowledge about Mass in MAG 20, assisting the Flesh in driving Father Edwin to cannibalism (so the Flesh and Spiral have an interesting partnership, huh?).  Besides that, this is where Gabriel takes the spotlight. From Deborah’s point of view, he was a strange little man from the beginning; eyes always jutted out of his face, appearing right in someone’s personal space and disappearing just as fast, and of course, his works of clay. (Also a random headcanon just because: Gabriel may be afraid of water, either because his entire body being made of clay, and since you need water to help shape the material, he does not want to get it melded into his own flesh. Could also be the reason why he has short and greasy hair, cause he would practically melt into a puddle if he was unfortunate enough to get wet.) And apart from Deborah and her friends’ growing discomfort over Gabriel in general, he’s just vibing in the back of the class, trying to make a shape for the unknowable form of the Distortion. And the second Deborah inadvertently gives him a break from his artist’s block, he quite literally takes control of the class; switching over the biweekly schedule it was before into every week, and even manipulating the space of the classroom to further support his artistic needs. 

“Ray told us the lesson was ‘faces.’ I put my hand up to say that sculpting faces was probably a bit advanced for where we were in the course, but he shook his head, and said that we were… a lot more talented than we thought. He said the key was that faces were twisted. All faces were twisted on the inside, and all you had to do was reach into the deepest part of yourself and put that twisted on the outside of the clay, and as soon as you can scream you’ll have your own face staring back at you.”  (MAG 126)

This is also the key to the Spiral itself. With Gabriel’s assistance, he will be able to let the spiral to insanity move in reverse, create the physical manifestation of that fear instead of letting it collapse and destroy itself. And in that lesson as well, Gabriel finally creates a fitting image of the Distortion...A door, the physical entrance to insanity itself.

Then comes the final stretch in Sannikov Land, the nonexistent island that was said to exist between the years 2009 and 2011. And as Michael D. Stortion explains in MAG 101, was the perfect place for their ritual, The Great Twisting. After everything Gabriel had done to appease his good “friend”, The Distortion seemed extremely invested in the Worker of Clay at that point. Nevermind the fact that its telling Jon how its identity was stolen away from Michael Shelley by merging with the Distortion, but there’s more to this origin story.

“Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her. And she fed him to me. She made him to destroy our transcendence. And she did not hesitate.” “And it was me they sought to stop. Me and the others of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is. Our Great Twisting. The-Worker-of-Clay had laboured for decades on that contorted, impossible edifice of doors… and stairs… and falsehoods… and smiles. A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it. And in the centre, the door that would open to all the places that were never there, was me.“ “Perhaps I should have realised what was happening; seen those two lonely figures approaching me, but I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self. So ecstatic was my completeness, I did not even hear my own door creak open.“ “Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place. To become Michael. And to do so at such a crucial point in our Twisting, in our becoming, well of course it destroyed it. The impossible altar collapsed. The-Worker-of-Clay tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud. The others of us were cast to all the places that aren’t; some have still not found their way out again...My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being. Reduced once again to feeding on the unsuspecting and confused. That is who I am.“ (MAG 101)

Even if all of this was to explain how the Distortion became the being it is in the series, it’s easy to see how overjoyed it was during the ritual. All that the Spiral ever did was bring the sense of unreality and paranoia unto people for ages, only breaking down the mind until they eventually spiral into oblivion. It wanted to be something, it wanted to make something twisted and nonsensical from the world, to shape the world itself to the nature of insanity. And after all that time, no matter how many avatars it had in its control, Gabriel was the only one who began creating the ritual. Even if it was for an ulterior motive, The Distortion was pretty giddy as Gabriel worked for years on end to create the meaning of insanity; to create something that the Distortion saw as the perfect vessel for itself. And even as it was explaining it, with all these feelings of joy and ecstasy and very human thoughts and emotions, this was before it was forced to become Michael. So much for not being bound by human nature, huh? But it’s pretty ironic that, as the embodiment of delusions, insanity and lies, it never considered the idea of having an avatar that could make something out of that chaos. Even if the Distortion was explaining how Michael-not-Michael Shelley came into being, it also can be interpreted as Michael just yearning for his best Avatar so far.  So instead of “I’m going to tell you my entire backstory.”, it’s more like “I’m going to tell you how a nosy old woman and her idiotic assistant ruined my chances to be with my Avatar of the Decade who may or may not be my boyfriend.”

In conclusion, Gabriel AKA The Worker of Clay AKA Igor with an art degree became the Hands of the Spiral because the nonbinary embodiment of delusion (who is also a door) gave a miserable struggling artist a shot of self-confidence (and a shot out of the Flesh’s control), eventually becoming its #1 Boyfriend Avatar of all time, and is the only person that would make the “hates gender and existence itself” Distortion yearn for years after his tragic death.

Takes notes people, this is what peak performance looks like.

[timefirewrites]

COMIC SANS INTRO

Taglist (ask to be added/removed): @black-lakritz-dragon​​ @marewriteblr​​ @spacetimewraithwrites​ @emmaschoutenwrites​

ID under the cut would’ve prefered to put it here, but the post is already super long, sorry

[ID: thirteen google presentation slides, all written in the font comic sans, black text on a white background.

1. Title: “Gay Space Pirates", subtitle: “thats it thats the story”

2. Title: “What.” Text:

Okay so, everyone is queer

Literally, there’s not a single cishet character in this story

I’m not sorry <3

Most of the cast are non-humans, but the ones that aren’t are super diverse

Transfem muslim gal, intersex nerd with vitiligo, nonbinary overweight dumbass, I’ve got them all

There are also some disabled and mute characters

Oh, also they’re all neurodivergent because I said so

3. Title: “Setting!”, Text:

So, humans discovered aliens are real

and joined their Intergalactic Union

(which is definitely not evil)

That happened about 300 years ago and humans are now vibing all over the galaxy

Sounds great, right?

Well, for most humans, sure, but the ones who had to stay behind on Earth because they couldn’t afford space travel don’t like it as much

The situation on Earth is kind of shitty, and some people want to leave

4. Title: “pLoT??”, Text:

Neb is one of those people

They got an amazing plan to “borrow” a spaceship and never look back

Problem: Neb didn’t account for a robot to suddenly accompany them

The plan kind of fails real bad, but in the end the two escape from Earth

And immediately get picked up by space pirates

Fortunately, they don’t get killed

Because those pirates could really use an extra pair of hands or two, for their biggest mission yet

Which is retrieving a weapon apparently powerful enough to destroy the universe before someone else does

Nobody knows what it actually looks like though

5. Title: “Neb”, Text:

Nonbinary, aro and ace (they/them)

overweight

has idiopathic hypersomnia (basically means they sleep a lot)

also chronic migraines

pretty impulsive and says what they think

has a hard time trusting others

dreamt of going to space for as long as they can remember

On the right side of this slide is a picrew image, showing a person with brown skin, dark brown eyes and black, curly hair. They’re wearing a red bandana as well as a torn yeans jacket and have multiple scars on their skin. The background is the nonbinary flag.

6. Title: “Ahdia”, Text:

Transfem, bigender and pan (she/they)

mute

mechanic of the ship and the only one with a sense for fashion

happy go lucky and just overall fun to be around

pretty laid back, but would absolutely hunt you down if you hurt one of her friends

proud holder of the single brain cell this crew has

On the right side is an image as well, it shows a woman with fairer, but still brownish skin and brown eyes wearing a black hijab and a long-sleeved light blue shirt with clouds on it. The background is the trans flag.

7. Title: “Cap”, Text:

intersex, queer (they/them)

First time they show up, they’re holding a soda and pizza

likes organization in theory

wants to appear like a badass, but is too chaotic for that

needs to wear glasses, but doesn’t bother

Captain of the crew that picks Neb up

certified mess

Again, an image of the right shows a person, this time with dark brown skin and vitiligo, dark brown eyes and long, black dread-locks. They have some silver piercings in their ears and wear a dark purple hoodie. The background is the rainbow flag with the brown stripes on top.

The next three slides feature two columns each, each with an own title.

Title: “Com”, Text:

AI of the ship

shy and nervous mess

wants to visit all kinds of planets

loves taking care of plants

panromantic and ace

uses she/her, but doesn’t really care about gender

spends most of her time watching trashy romance movies

Title: “Coal”, Text:

The robot Neb befriended

Realized they were self-aware not even a day ago and already got anxiety

easily overwhelmed by everything

Has no idea what to do with themself

they/them

someone tells them knitting is a thing and they never do anything else ever again

Title: “Laser”, Text:

genderfluid, uses he/him or she/her

weapon specialist and tired of it

suffers from chronic neurogenic pain

speaks in a very monotone voice

writes poetry, but nobody is allowed to read it

canonically wears crocs

Title: “Lifo”, Text:

gender? no thanks (uses fel/fels pronouns)

tiny, but deadly

lost an arm and half a leg and replaced them with robotic parts (same for fels spine)

usually very loud, but can be completely silent if fel wants

cook of the ship

loves collecting trinkets

Title: “Nova”, Text:

He’s absolutely enormous, huge, colossal and every other synonym for really big you can think of

looks like he can kill you, is actually a cinnamon roll

licensed medic and mom friend of the crew

I lied when I said Ahida is the only one with a brain cell, Nova knows what he’s doing too

loves painting

Title: “Mer”, Text:

Don’t tell anyone I said this, but Mer is my favorite

if the name wasn’t clear enough, his species is aquatic

he’s beauty, he’s grace, he’ll punch you in the face

killed a man and will do so again

don’t cross him, he will get his revenge and you will regret your actions

seems like he has everything under control, but really doesn’t

11. Title: “some of my favorite lines”, Text (in no particular order):

“What’s up with your display?” Their voice sounded more steady now, which was good. 

“I do not understand.” Their voice on the other hand just sounded confused. 

“Oh, right. You probably can’t see it. You’re currently displaying an error message. Which just reads ‘error’. Not very helpful.” 

“Fuck. I didn’t deactivate it.”

“We could just go in and race to the top.” 

“What? No. Why would we do that? We can’t afford to get caught, we need to make a plan, Coal.” 

“You said you wanted an adventure. Plus, I do not think we could create a plan, seeing as we know next to nothing about its defence and security.” 

They said that because of them? They were just rambling earlier, not really thinking about it, just talking to fill the silence. 

“Okay. But if anything goes wrong, it’ll be your fault.”

“Uh, I don’t think so? Better not touch it, though.” As Lifo said that, Cap could see fel fighting against the desire to do just that. At least Com would be happy. 

Chapter 13 - they did surgery on a grape Neb

“Oh. I’m the ship. Nice to meet you?”

Whatever the hell was going on, they didn’t sign up for this.

“I am fine.” Perfectly fine. Mhm. 

Coal nodded, then just stood around? 

"You're outnumbered now! Coal agreed to watch Love On A Foreign Planet with me. So, uh, get moving, Fishsticks."

They settled on two things they were pretty sure were edible: a soda labeled “SpacePop: the best soda in the universe” with a “multiple sunsets on Madoras” flavor and some leftover pizza. (They were pretty sure Madoras didn’t exist, they never heard of that planet before. Maybe they shouldn’t drink that soda after all.)

“I’m Laser, my gender is a burning trash can and my pronouns depend entirely on the mercy of the universe.”

12. Title: “Homegrown memes”, this slide is filled with six different memes.

A windows error message, but the title and text is just screaming. The two options are “AAA” or “AAA”. It’s labeled “Coal”.

A photo of two people in wedding clothes. They’re labeled “Laser and Lifo”, in the background is a person falling from the sky, labeled “Com”.

Spiderman (labeled “Mer”) is holding a screen labeled “dealing with a breakup like a normal person”, in the next frame that screen is being thrown away as spiderman looks at a pc being held by someone else labeled as “commiting murder”.

A person is being kicked into a lake by someone else. They’re labeled “Coal trying to figure out what to do now that they’re self-aware”. The person kicking them is labeled “the plot”.

The “is this a pigeon” meme, but the guy is labeled as “Cap”, the butterfly as “wearing a hoodie and truly horrendous shorts” and the caption now says “is this formal dress attire?”.

The last meme is a chart, with five rows and two columns.

Row 1: Regularly says fuck: Coal, Lifo

Row 2: has sworn of saying fuck, but said it at some point: Cap, Neb

Row 3: has not said fuck before, but can if so desired: Laser, Ahdia, Mer

Row 4: has not said fuck before and refuses to say it: Com, Nova

Row 5: legally cannot say fuck: also Coal

13. This slide is an image of Earth as seen from space. Above it white text reads “the End”. /end ID]

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Three

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 3 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Warnings in this chapter: sexual harassment (slight); talk of sexism/misogyny/canon violence; mentions of drug use; mentions of depression

Word Count: 8,900+

~

The Compound, 2023, 3:16pm

     It probably would have been better to grieve as a group, to help each other in understanding what just happened, to lean on each other. But the second you saw Clint fall to his knees without Natasha beside him, soul stone in hand and face miserable, like he saw a wandering ghost in need of help, you started to walk backwards off the platform. 

You stumbled and teetered before finding balance against the railing. No one seemed to notice you, all wrapped in their own suffocating grief, and you abandoned the group to run across the grounds of the compound. It wasn’t until you ended up by the lake that you realized you were crying, tears flowing but face tough and angry, chest heaving as you came to a stop. You just stared at the ground, shaking hands still gloved and teammates still back at the compound and - oh, god Clint, oh god, oh god, oh god. 

Chest still tight and finding it harder to breathe, you shut your eyes and leaned against the nearest tree. Several minutes flew by, the only sounds that of your suit’s fabric stretching and retracting as your breathing grew slower. And the grief that enveloped you almost instantly turned into fury, and it hurt, it hurt, but you were just so damn angry that you found yourself wishing it was you. Natasha didn’t deserve this, and neither you, but you would give anything to just believe for a second that this couldn’t be real.

But you all knew the risks. This was inevitable. And you were so angry. 

Voices startled you from your thoughts and you watched your teammates pace toward the dock, ideas bouncing from one head to another as they strategized ways to reverse this. But Clint quickly shut them up, telling them that no matter what they did, a sacrifice was a sacrifice and that was the end of it. 

“It was supposed to be me.”

And finally someone said it, because it should have been anyone but Natasha, and that thought caused bile to burn your throat and why in the world could you not control your breathing?

You ran from your spot, legs carrying you to the gardens and burning as you increased speed. You collapsed near the lake, shredding your suit until you were left in the comfortable t-shirt and leggings underneath, sounds of the garden ringing in your ears. 

The time of day could be told by the purple and orange streaks painting the sky, evening dew on the plants near your feet and the sound of a cricket’s chirp cutting through the silence. You counted the hours this way, focusing on the colors and sounds of the outside world that for some reason, didn’t feel like your own anymore. Guilt latched onto your core as you found yourself falling into the therapeutic senses of it all, eyes closing and a silent plea of ‘I’m so sorry, Nat’ escaping your lips. The tears you had shed hours ago were now dry, creating a minor strain of your skin, noticeable as you moved your face. 

Legs dangling from the dock and eyes simply watching the sky change shades, you barely heard the soft footsteps behind you. And you smiled, surprised that it took your teammates this long to recognize your absence.

Thor grumbled below his breath as he sat beside you, his feet barely touching the water. You swung your legs together, impossibly empty yet consumed minds working behind such sad eyes. 

“You want to jump in and freeze? It’s autumn, it’s cold, we’ll probably die from hypothermia.”

Your body lunged forward lightly as a tiny laugh left your throat, a small smile twitching on the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Thor grinned at your equally dark response, reaching over and gripping your hand in his. He rubbed small circles into your knuckles and resumed watching the clouds shift. 

You looked down at your conjoined hands, wondering why he came after you in the first place. Still, you squeezed his hand back and relaxed in the feeling. 

“Doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

Thor turned his head, “She traded her soul for trillions of others who had no choice.”

You mumbled, “Still isn’t fair.”

Thor scooted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, grinning when you accepted the invitation to lean into him. 

“None of this fair. We have one more fight, Y/N.”

You sighed, ready to complain and run back to the compound to lay under a mountain of blankets, wallowing in self-pity and increasing depression. 

“Look at me,” Thor instructed, gently pulling away from you. “I know what you’re feeling. I too want to sleep and never wake up.”

Your face dropped, sympathy flooding your eyes. You raised a hand to lay your palm on his cheek, wiping away the stray tear he had let slip. “You don’t have to be so strong.”

Thor leaned into the feeling of your warm hand and he gave you a sad smirk. “I know. But it’s all we know how to be.”

Thor could sense your depleting energy, and as much as he wanted to carry you to your bed and wrap a blanket around you, cup of tea ready and some comedy movie on repeat, he had to persuade you. There was one more fight that needed to be fought.  

“Breathe, and think of the first thing that brings you comfort. Lean into that, let it give you strength, and use it.”

You turned to him, prepared to protest, but Thor simply gripped your face in his hands, allowing you to do the same. He rested his forehead against yours. “Think and use it.”

You nodded, still apprehensive to the idea, but you shut your eyes and thought. New and old friends. It could have been anything - Natasha’s final and unknown farewell, Wanda’s loud laugh as she fought Sam (who was on Steve’s shoulders and her on Bucky’s) and tried pushing him into the water, or even Tony’s face as he realized he forgot to put the lid over the blender before turning it on - anything, but you held onto the first flash of joy your mind recalled. 

The sudden image of Steve’s face frightened you. Not because Steve himself was scary, but because the more you thought of him, the more prepared you were for the final battle. You had something to fight for. Someone. You simply saw Steve - Steve who tucked his knees up to his chest when he sketched the trees outside his bedroom window - and how he would put his pencil down and march toward you because ‘don’t you ever knock?’, and push you out of his room as you laughed and apologized at the same time.

“Use it,” Thor repeated. You opened your eyes. 

So you wiped your tears and changed back into your suit, hair now held in a ponytail and new gun on your hip. Your breath hitched as Bruce lifted the gauntlet to put it on, his eyes swimming with fear but also determination, and you found yourself glancing at Steve. He felt eyes on him, and he found yours, and something alerted you of the shift. Perhaps this was his last straw, it was yours too, but this was different. You wanted to go back to Thor and ask him to help you find that memory again, ‘tell me to imagine Steve again, Steve with his soft face and gentle hands, Steve who doesn’t look like he’s just seen a ghost!’. A perfect stranger, and before you could ponder such a drastic change, Bruce began screaming in agony. You stood behind Tony, allowing Bruce’s screams to fuel your energy, because you had one more fight. 

Just one more. 

A Forest in Iowa, 2025, 6:47am

     You awoke with a strangled groan, a crick in the neck that needed to be remedied by a quick snap to the opposite side and a very numb ass. You dreaded having to remove your arms from the warmth the blanket provided, but the quicker you turned the car on you could relax. You leaned over and did so, the tingles along your lower back and bottom begging you to get out of the car. Steve was startled awake from the sudden rumble of the engine, alert within seconds and examining his surroundings. 

You practically crawled out the car and stretched every muscle, even muscles you didn’t know could become inflamed, and started walking around the campsite while rubbing your palms on your sore ass. Steve joined you outside after a few minutes, laughing at the random stretches you were performing. 

“Laugh all you want, Rogers but if I don’t get this knot out my ass then any danger we encounter you’re taking out alone.”

“Do you need help?”

You snapped your body back up, an involuntary loud cackle rising from your throat. “That would be a treat.”

Steve rolled his eyes and began stretching himself, arms bent and raised behind his head as he tugged on his elbows. “I just meant in general. Not specifically your ass.”

You giggled at his innocence, walking back to the car and grabbing the blanket you had regretfully crawled from. You wrapped it around your shoulders and made your way back to Steve, extending your right leg out and dipping your upper body down to continue the stretch. You heard the sudden ‘pop!’ of your hip, surprising both you and Steve. You screamed in slight but joyful surprise, pulling yourself back up to look at Steve. He just stared back, amazement and a little concern in his face. He scrunched his nose and smiled wide. 

“That hurt?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and extended your left leg now, bending down and stretching the same way. Again, ‘pop!’

And Steve had to walk away in complete astonishment, hands covering his ears and a comical expression on his face, because it just sounded so weird. 

You stopped at the first secluded diner you stumbled upon, barely open for the morning and understaffed. There was a lonely waitress behind the counter folding napkins and cleaning the leftover coffee grounds someone forgot to clean before her. She looked about thirty, slightly dark circles under her eyes, but presented a cheerful smile as you and Steve walked through the door. If she was surprised with two Avengers walking into her place of work, she did an excellent job at hiding it. 

“What can I get you two?”

You took a seat on the light blue swivel chair at the counter and flashed the waitress a kind smile as you spoke. Her name tag read ‘Martha’. “Coffee and tea to start with, please.”

She clicked the coffee maker on and went to retrieve a kettle from the back, leaving you and Steve alone. 

“You hungry?” you asked. 

Steve plopped down in the chair beside you, already grabbing the two sugar packets he would put into his tea. “Starved.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were the one who refused the last granola bar.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“Aw, you starved yourself for me?”

Steve huffed in annoyance, playing with his sugar packets and head hung low to avoid recognition from incoming customers. You stared at him longer than usual, studying the way his jaw ticked every so often and how he would sniff at nothing only to pass the time and countless thoughts. You reached over and grabbed a handful of sugar packets, piling them in between you and the super soldier, and began constructing the base of a tower. It seemed to snap Steve out of whatever thought he had, and he quickly became interested. He helped steady the base, careful fingers adding to the height. You two worked in silent cooperation, little giggles filling the empty and quiet diner. 

Martha returned with two mugs and went to grab both the freshly made coffee and tea. She watched as you and Steve constructed your sugar packet tower, a smirk on her face as she poured your drinks. “Anything to eat?”

And it was one of the best meals you had. The sheer amount of grease on those sausages and hash browns warmed your once empty stomach and meshed with the coffee in the most delightful way. You almost wanted to ask for seconds, those scrambled eggs not nearly enough, but the longer you stalled the longer the ride on the freeway was going to be. 

You paid and left a generous tip, finishing the remaining amount of coffee in your mug. Steve had gone to the restroom, your sugar packet tower still standing tall and proud. It didn’t seem like Martha was going to knock it down any time soon. The bell over the front door dinged with a new arrival, the cold air from outside making you clutch your hot mug tighter. 

You glanced over your shoulder out of instinct. The man looked to be in his mid-forties, a trucker no doubt, and had only the slightest hint of an unwashed smell. He took a place at the counter a few seats away from you, throwing his hat down and begging Martha to bring him a coffee of his own. You took a sip from your mug.

“Woah, you’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”

Busted. 

“Nope.”

The man scooted a few seats closer, eyes now wide awake. He pointed at you in an almost accusatory manner, but voice still cheery. “No, seriously - I’ve seen your face in the news and everything!”

You set your coffee down and saw the look of pity Martha was throwing you from across the counter. “You want a picture or something?”

The man laughed now, a nasty smirk on his face. “Or something would be nice.”

Your face scrunched and your shoulders immediately tensed. “You better not be implying-?”

“Woah, hey, no harm here! I just mean, you’re here alone and I’m here alone…”

You looked away from him, taking a big swig from your mug. The burn down your throat was somewhat therapeutic. “I’ll do the picture or else I start screaming.”

“I’d love to hear that.”

Steve rounded the corner when he heard a full-on conversation he was sure just started during his absence. He almost cursed himself for leaving you alone during such an important mission, even if it was to urinate. He could have had you standing outside the men’s restroom just to feel more secure of your well-being. Still, he remained behind the wall and listened to the conversation. If Steve was to interrupt before you could get your own kicks in, then he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

‘I had him on the ropes!’

‘Excuse me for assisting a teammate!’

‘Get bent!’

Yeah, Steve would let you kick this person’s ass and brag about it instead of yapping at him.  

You groaned, hoping the loud sound would make the man retreat back to his breakfast. “Bet you would.”

But it seemed to encourage him more, and he stepped closer to lean on the counter and bump your shoulder with his. You kept your eyes trained on your abandoned coffee. 

“C’mon, I’m just a lonely trucker trying to make ends meet. I think I deserve some kind of reward.”

You put on your best fake smile, tilting your head towards him. You flashed your teeth, a great distraction for him as you reached into your pocket for your throwing knife. “That picture offer seems to be wearing very, very thin, dude.”

He placed his dirty hand on your shoulder, squeezing as he spoke in a low whisper. “Guess that’s for the best.”

His hand was immediately twisted from your shoulder, the sound of his instant wail frightening poor Martha. You knew what had happened, and as chill as ever, you swiveled the chair around casually. 

The man groaned in discomfort, “Woah, hey! - oh my god.”

Steve’s single hand was crushing his, digits begging for mercy as each second Steve squeezed even harder. He could feel the man’s knuckles start to crack painfully. “Yeah, ‘oh my god’. Touch her again and I’ll total your truck.”

The man shook his head violently, “We were just talking!”

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, elbows resting on the counter behind you. 

“C’mon Cap, you gotta believe me!” The man tried to sprinkle some humor on the situation, which only caused Steve to shove him into a booth, hand still gripping his. 

Steve towered over him now as the man had no choice but to fall back into the booth. “That’s just it - I don’t.”

The man looked from Steve’s face, to yours, to his own purpling and bruising hand. “What are you two doing out in the middle of nowhere anyway? Danger nearby?”

You stood from your seat and stood beside Steve, arms crossed and a smirk on your face. “Look, bud - tell anyone you saw us and you’ll regret it.”

And like the idiot he was, even with Steve’s hand cramping down on him, he still countered. “Are you threatening me?”

Steve couldn’t believe this guy. Of course, he could squeeze harder and just yank this guy’s fingers clean off, but he wasn’t that evil. The guy was just a creep and a pervert, which in Steve’s moral compass, called for a few cuts and scrapes and not a permanent disability. 

“Yup, and I tend to have some creative ways of framing people.”

     “C’mon, I know you can hit harder than that!” 

Steve threw a few more punches at the cushion Bucky was holding up, boxing gloves nearly sliding from his fists because of their large size. 

“One more, there we go!”

Bucky lowered the cushion as Steve threw his last punch, racing toward the bench to fetch Steve’s inhaler and hand it to the younger boy. 

“I could have gone longer.”

Bucky smiled at his best friend, “I’m sure you could have but you were about to pop a lung and I love you too much to see you go out that way, pal.”

Steve took a drag of his inhaler at the same time he tried to wrap his arm around Bucky’s neck. But the older boy was quicker and lunged out of the way, taking a celebratory light jog around the ring for such minimal effort on his part. Steve just glared at him, a small smirk forming as Bucky started chanting. 

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, defenders of America, the world, we avenge the fallen!”

Steve let Bucky exaggerate, inhaler finally working enough for him to take a big swig of water. “You really think we’ll save the world?”

Bucky held his chest and laughed loudly, “America isn’t going to war anytime soon, pal. Let’s focus on rescuing dames from bullies and perverts first!”

     “Captain, you gonna let her-?”

You snapped your fingers in his face to get his wandering eyes back on you, “I’m speaking to you.” 

Steve couldn’t hide his grin, a slight blush growing on his cheeks due to your authoritative tone. He had heard you speak this way countless times, roughing up some guy on the opposite side whenever they proved difficult. Although you weren’t currently throwing punches, Steve was proud nonetheless. 

You continued, “Tell anyone and I’ll tell the cops you tried selling us drugs.”

The man’s eyes widened comically, “What? I don’t even have-”

You reached into your back pocket and revealed a tiny baggy half-full of white powder. Martha’s tiny giggle reminded the man that he had an audience, a possible witness, but her overall lack of involvement was enough to know he was alone in this. “Come again? You were saying something?”

The man gritted his yellowing teeth, “No fucking way.”

You jiggled the baggy closer to his face, watching in amusement as he whipped his head to the side as if it was poison. “Way. I’ll stash it in your beloved truck where only the dogs can smell it.”

Steve, hands still gripping the man out of instinct, was completely shocked. He watched the baggy in the most peculiar way - analyzing its size, crumpled appearance, even the way the tiny specks of white dust latched onto the moisture inside, resembling salt or sugar. Obviously he knew what product you handled, but he had never seen it up close and personal unless he was in the evidence locker room. Maybe ‘shock’ wasn’t used with negative connotation, because Steve wanted to both laugh at your threat and snatch the baggy from you to ensure no other soul saw you handling it. 

The man looked from both you and Steve, determined expression falling as he ran out of viable options. He sighed in defeat, “Okay.”

You snatched the baggy away from his face and pocketed it. You smiled at him with such brightness, as if you hadn’t just threatened to ruin his life. “Cool, nice meeting you!”

Steve let him go and walked back to his original seat to pick up his coat. He ignored the annoying babbling from across the diner, choosing to grab your belongings too and smiling at Martha as he took his leave. You rushed after him, turning back to wave at Martha. 

“Best coffee ever, Martha!”

You settled into the car and continued your drive fairly easily, a comfortable silence between you two. Steve didn’t know if it was the jitters from the coffee - not like he was really affected by caffeine anyway - or the effects from the uncomfortable situation he should have pulled you from sooner, because next thing he knew his voice was an octave higher and cracking. “So, you just had that shit in your back pocket this whole time?”

You choked on your laugh and covered your mouth, looking up from your phone and at him. You shared the same playful look in your eyes. 

You shrugged, “You never know when you might need it.”

Steve shook his head but kept the same tiny grin, “Do you…?”

The playfulness somewhat subsided, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The seatbelt was digging into your right breast and side of your neck. Steve waited for your response, the question an entirely personal one. He was about to retract it, apologize and focus on the freeway for the remainder of your trip, but you cleared your throat. 

“Once. But I was young, curious, and it burned like hell so I didn’t do it again.”

You were fourteen, still unsure of yourself and the world around you, clinging onto the inner child your environment was beginning to kill. You remember running through the mansion, the ranches, random hotels and random weddings - a dozen other children and teenagers running alongside you, each avoiding interaction with those their guardians had told them to avoid. And you remembered the day you wanted to enter your bedroom to retrieve your little iPod shuffle, the door resisting as you pushed. Your strength ultimately won, revealing a bedroom floor full of all types of guns, grenades, and automatic rifles. You didn’t scare easily, you never had, but that angered and annoyed you greatly. That was your room, your own sacred space to avoid confrontation, and it had been tainted. You had stepped over the guns carefully and reached your bedside table. Attaching your headphones to the device and clicking shuffle, you had almost missed the packages of drugs laying on your white bedsheet. Where you slept.

More out of anger than curiosity, you had carefully poked a hole in one of those taped packages and rubbed it over your teeth and gums like you saw some of your father’s men do. The sensation was weird, more numb than anything, and although you wanted it to taste like the flour you used for baking, it didn’t. So you picked a small portion under your pinky nail and sniffed. It burned, similar to when you burped and the carbonation came back up through your nose, and you wanted to scream. An instant headache, an unknown high, and a very angry Seda appeared around the same moment. 

“Why do you carry it now?” Steve asked. 

You snapped yourself out of the flashback, “My father knows we’re traveling by car. We’ll be arriving in the next day or so. He could call at any time and tell me he needs someone taken out in whatever state we’re currently passing through.”

Steve hummed, face showing discomfort. “Taken out? Do you often plant drugs on innocent people?”

You huffed, “Hardly innocent. Just drug dealers or other smugglers that got on his bad side.” 

You played with the button to roll down the window, watching the moisture from water droplets begin to dry and leave their smudge. You continued, “Quick drop into a glove compartment or someone’s pocket while they’re distracted usually does the trick.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed, “Guess I can understand that.”

You left the window slightly open, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. The smell of rain was prominent. “I do my research before, you know. I don’t just frame random people.”

Your soft voice suddenly hurt Steve, almost like you were accusing him of thinking of you as evil. Whether you discussed your undercover work with him or not, he would never assume you escaped morals. You were an Avenger after all, and even though no one knew, Tony used to have a huge part in the decision-making process with Fury. And if Tony had seen something in you, then he trusted him. “I know.”

“Thank you, by the way. I may not look it, but he did scare me for a sec.”

Steve sighed, “We’re partners, Y/N. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes at his sincerity, smiling toward him but avoiding his gaze. “Still… thanks.”

“No problem. Your playlist this time?”

You passed the next several hours listening to mostly instrumental music, the foggy and dense atmosphere of each state you drove through providing the same calm feeling. It was winter after all, and although California didn’t have quite as much snow as the midwest, it certainly had rain. The drive consisted of small talk about your surroundings, about your friends, about the most random things you could fill into a twelve hour time stamp. You played with the seat warmers, laughing when Steve jumped a foot in the air when his got a little too hot for his liking. And his cursing. When you first met Steve, he didn’t curse all that much unless it was in the middle of a fight or when he was truly angry. But now, especially after these last couple of years, his vocabulary expanded to new inappropriate lengths. You didn’t mind, no, it made the conversations all that more interesting. 

So when Steve grumbled under his breath as he spilled crumbs from his granola bar onto the passenger seat (you had volunteered driving the sixth hour in), and mumbled “jesus fucking christ”, you gave him such a bright smile with equally bright eyes that had Steve scrunching his eyebrows together and he leaned away from you, a blush crawling up his neck. 

‘What?’

‘You took the lord’s name in vain.’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘Over a granola bar.’

‘... I see your point.’

You stopped about an hour away from the hotel, legs cramping and backs strained but overall happy that no one else on the journey recognized you two. There had been that kid who paused in the aisle of a small gas station, wide eyes staring up at both you and Steve as you reached for a bag of chips. Steve had crouched down to his height, chatting for a few seconds before giving him a small fist bump. You smiled at the kid, bringing your finger up to your mouth to mime a tiny ‘shh’, and followed Steve out the store after paying. 

You spent the next few minutes stretching, the sudden pops of your hips causing Steve to create as much of a fuss he had done before. 

‘Is that normal?’

‘It’s a ball and socket joint, they crack.’

‘So violently?’

‘It actually feels awesome.’

The California air was musty this season, humid and wet. The smell of various weeds and tree bark overpowered anything else, and although there was moisture in the air, the coldness dried your eyes. You found yourself blinking multiple times to accumulate some tears, and you reached into your backpack to reapply some lip gloss. You donned a simple, forest green tracksuit with a knitted sweater over it all, layers and layers to combat the cold breeze. Steve wore a similar knitted sweater, but he seemed less fazed by the cold than you were. 

“So, how much do you trust this person?”

You snapped your head up from your lazy resting and asked Steve to repeat his question. Once heard, you shrugged and answered. “About ninety-five percent.”

Steve chuckled and wrapped his arms over his chest, “Will it ever be a hundred? C’mon.”

You grinned back and took a deep breath, chilly air slightly burning your sinuses. “They took a bullet for me once. And they didn’t have to.”

You were meeting your main contact of the mission. Maribel, a childhood friend, a friend who ultimately took a bullet for you to keep your undercover identity a secret. You could have been compromised, forced to stand trial in front of your father and his men, but she took the fall. After going off the grid and living in Madripoor for about six years, she had contacted you after the snap. Her relief, and her eagerness for revenge, all were to your benefit. So you fed her any information you could, both vowing to fuck with your father in any means. And since you were the only person on the inside with ties to the Avengers, having Maribel be an insider with no ties ultimately helped prepare your case. Two sides, two people with shared experiences, all truth. And you were going to do everything in your power to clear her name and get her a good deal. 

“So, why isn’t it a hundred?”

“I haven’t trusted anyone a full one-hundred percent since SHIELD was compromised.”

Steve’s voice dropped a little, but you could still make out his teasing tone. “Do you trust me?”

“It wavers.”

“Wait-”

You interrupted and pointed toward the trail hidden by the trees, “There she is.”   

Maribel had changed immensely since you last saw her. Her natural ginger hair was now dyed a dark brown, her freckles seeming to have multiplied and draped themselves from her cheeks and down her neck, over her shoulders, etc. She wore all black, leather jacket and leather boots, loose strands of hair blocking the view of shoulder buttons and shoulder pockets. She looked younger, more refreshed in her natural glow, healthy even. You found yourself breathing a sigh of relief, chest tightening with genuine love as she flashed you a wide smile. You gave her a tight hug, patting her back and welcoming her back to the states. She smelled of the bushes she had to track through to get here. 

She released you from her tight grip and looked over at Steve, giving him an almost teasing look. “Heard you were invited. Nice to meet you Captain.”

Steve shook her hand, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

She chuckled and winked at him, “Y/N inform you about me? How do I sound? Look?”

Steve seemed to be affected the same way you had, an involuntarily reddening of his cheeks giving him away. “Like a possible ally.”

Maribel scoffed playfully, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Status?” you asked.

Maribel handed you the file she carried, “Hotel is secure. Neighboring cities have no alerts about your arrival or of the upcoming celebration. Everything’s pretty quiet.”

You smirked, looking over to Steve in recognition of what that meant. “Of course it is. He wouldn’t dare kill any U.S citizens on American soil.”

“Heard he got sloppy,” Maribel sang, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“Let’s hope it’s to our benefit. You meet up with the agent in charge I told you about?”

Maribel nodded, “Torres is set up a few miles from the venue. He’s been running surveillance for about three days already.”

“If you can’t get into contact with me, Torres is your second. Got it? He reports back to Sam.”

Maribel agreed, “Got it. So, what’s the plan for the rest of the week?”

“Steve and I will draft a report tomorrow morning and send you the encrypted file.”

“Can’t wait. It’s nice to see you again, Y/N,” she smiled, bringing you back into a tight hug. Steve simply stood to the side, listening around for any disturbances. 

“Likewise,” you spoke, sad to watch her walk away and back toward the hidden path. Her feet crunched on some fallen leaves purposefully. You suddenly remembered the bit of information that could be useful if Maribel were to encounter an old foe.

You called out to her, “Oh, and if anybody asks - Steve is my boyfriend and you’ve known about it for three years now!”

Steve hid his face behind his hand, looking down to his feet to avoid Maribel’s teasing and humorous expression. “Lucky you!”

     The hotel was nicer than you expected, the pictures on google doing little to showcase just how grand it really was. With some of your savings and a little money under the table from Fury, you were able to book a single bedroom with two beds for five nights. Obviously, the wedding night wasn’t counted as the two of you were going to have to haul ass immediately, but five nights in this grand arena seemed vacation enough.

From the outside, it seemed like any chain hotel, but the inside provided a more Gothic feel. It compared to a Vegas type, but also your typical breakfast inn. It was an odd combination, but you figured they had that liberty since it was a really quiet part of the city and didn’t see many regular customers.

You lugged your suitcases through the elevator doors and pressed the button for the seventh floor, looking around for the security cameras in the corner. You spotted the red light blinking and immediately smiled and waved. 

“Steve, say hi to Bucky.”

Steve looked at the camera and raised an eyebrow, giving a small wave. “You know regular security can see us, too?”

“Can’t hear us, though. Neither can Bucky.”

“So, if I were to call him a thousand bad words right now, he wouldn’t know?”

You squinted at Steve as the elevator dinged, “He can still read our lips.”

“That adds to the fun!”

The room was big enough to set up an extra pull-out table and computer in the corner, the only separate part being the bathroom to the side of the entrance door. The beds were both queen sized, multiple throw pillows scattered on top and two bedside tables in the middle. 

You rushed inside and threw your suitcase carelessly at the foot of the bed closest to the door, and ran to leap in the air and land face first on the cushy mattress. “Heaven!”

Steve picked up your suitcase and set it against the wall, “Glad to see you’re already making yourself at home.”

You rolled over and pressed some pillows to your chest, “You ever plopped yourself down onto a hotel bed? Do it!”

Steve tilted his head slightly, reluctant to the idea. “What if I break it?”

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave in. “Promise you won’t laugh if I break it?”

“Do you know me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and braced himself against the wall, pushing himself off and leaping into the air only lightly, crashing onto the bed the same way you did. The bed creaked and made a horrible sound. But it held, the wood proving stronger than you thought. 

“Okay, I see the pleasure in that,” Steve laughed, face still smushed inside the mountain of pillows. You lay in your own beds for about an hour, naps wholeheartedly enforced. 

A quick knock on your hotel door snapped you from your short slumber. You rolled over with a groan, looking over your shoulder at a still snoring Steve. His age was catching up to him alright, because he totally should have woken up from that. You opened the door and greeted Torres, allowing him to step inside. He lugged in a hotel cart with a heavy drape over it, careful in not hitting the doorway. 

“Agent Y/L/N, it’s so great to see you again!”

Now Steve was awake.

“You too! I thought our last rendezvous was cut too short,” you teased, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him puppy-dog eyes. Torres blushed under your gaze but shook his head at your flirting. 

“Well, here we go again! Got everything you need right here.”

He revealed the desktop computer and multiple other monitors, radios, a printer, and earpieces. 

“Looks like Christmas morning,” you joked, helping Torres set up. 

“Sorry for waking you, Captain. Sam said I had to deliver all this before nighttime.”

Steve waved his apology off, “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anything.”

You went over the itinerary for the rest of the week and once Torres announced his leave, you handed him the extra key card you had asked for. 

“If you need anything, or we don’t radio in at the times we set up, you use it. Okay?”

Torres gave you a sincere smile, tucking the key card into his coat pocket. “You can count on me.”

Once Torres left the room, Steve spoke. “Watch him barge in when one of us is showering.”

“Let’s hope we don’t scar the poor kid.”

It took about two hours to set up all the tech and connect it all back to the compound. You video chatted with Bucky and Scott and discussed the itinerary tomorrow. You double-checked mic connections, triple-checked police reports filed within the last few hours, and reviewed spy cam footage Torres had taken of the ranch. It was basically homework. 

“We have to set up our backstories, our so-called relationship, you have to know everything.”

Steve hummed, tapping his pen on the table. “Where do we start?”

“They might ask why you help me in the first place.”

“Fuck America, that’s why.”

You stuttered, voice timid and eyebrows high. “O-oh?”

Steve laughed at your reaction. He leaned in with confidence, “I mean, your father grew up close to a similar time I did. He’s old fashioned, no?”

“Kind of. He’s old so he hates the new clothing styles, women’s rights, the works,” you shrugged. 

“Wow, he sounds worse the more you speak about him.” You rolled your eyes at Steve and his sarcastic tone. “So I can say America just changed way too much since I came out of the ice.”

You nodded and rapidly wrote the basics of the backstory into your notepad. “Okay. But I hope you know you’re gonna have to play into that conservative part, especially with him and Seda.”

“What do you mean?”

You smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow, “You gotta be drowning in toxic masculinity.”

“Fuck, really?”

You almost wanted to lean over and slap his shoulder. It was then that you realized how disconnected Steve really was to this whole situation, never once meeting your father or his minions. He didn’t know the shit that went down when he was in hiding, only the basics, and scaring him now didn’t seem like a great idea. 

“Really. You’re playing the role of my boyfriend in a male-dominated drug war. They think you’re in charge, which is technically correct to assume. Your rank is higher, your status is higher, so your personality needs to match that or else you won’t gain their trust.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, “I don’t know the first thing about disrespecting women.”

You snorted, “I’m gonna be honest and say that was the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Stop it.”

You spoke with your hands, fingers dancing as a way to sprinkle some sensitivity on the issue. “Order me around. Tell me when it’s time to leave, be possessive if anyone wants to get my attention, interrupt me.”

“Y/N, I don’t think I can do that.”

“You technically already do it.”

Steve blinked, “Excuse me?”

You lowered your voice to explain, “You’re my Captain. You give me orders on the field. You shut me up when I’m too loud or turning something serious into a joke.”

He shifted again, “But I don’t do it to dominate you.”

“I know you don’t. Trust me.”

“So, I gotta become an asshole?” 

You nodded, “Yes. But you need to know your limits.” You handed Steve multiple files for him to examine. 

“Ramirez is one of the rare ones that loves his family, especially his wife and daughters. You can’t be an ass in front of him.”

Steve grinned as he read, surprised with the restraint Ramirez and his men were able to achieve. “Guess that’s a little relief for me.”

“And White is too much into his own product all day to give a shit.”

Steve paused before he spoke, licking his lips in hesitation. “What happens if your father goes overboard?”

    “Shit,” you mumbled, tumbling into the compound and practically crawling to the first floor. You didn’t know who was home or who was visiting. Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Sam were on the run for more than a year now - Scott and Clint were on house arrest (which you were also, technically) - so you truly did not know if your cries for help would be heard. You had practically begged to accompany Wanda or be with Bucky back in Wakanda, but because of your undercover status (and the fact that your father still did not know you aided Captain America in hiding an assumed fugitive), you weren’t allowed to leave the compound without permission. The memory of the separation was almost as painful as the gunshot wound in your abdomen. 

You clutched the side of your stomach and crawled through the doors. 

“Arrrgh - is someone home?”

And with a stroke of luck, Rhodey rounded the corner just in time to hear your plea. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, dashing across the room to help you sit up. “What happened?”

“They were getting too suspicious,” you said, wincing when Rhodey pressed a nearby blanket on your wound. “I couldn’t give them Steve’s location.”

“Are you talking about your father and his partner?”

You nodded quickly, helping Rhodey apply pressure. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, alert the medics. First floor,” Rhodey stammered, the sight of your blood making him a little queasy in the morning. 

“I’m gonna kill him if he got one of my kidneys - I was saving that, you know?”

Rhodey involuntarily laughed, quickly covering his mouth. You brushed it off and let him know that if you were still able to joke, he was able to laugh.

“Take your mind off the pain, what happened?”

You sighed, shutting your eyes in distress. “You know that the main players in this game are me and Steve. My father decided that it was time to meet the star-spangled man, time to meet who is distributing his product behind the back of the U.S government.”

Rhodey rotated the blanket to dab with a clean side. You continued speaking. 

“I told him Steve wasn’t active at the moment - not a lie, by the way. But the more I told him that I had no way of being in touch with the dude, the angrier he got. Seda fired a warning shot into my gut, I guess.”

“Shit… I can’t authorize any more solo trips without back-up, Y/N. This has gone too far,” Rhodey sighed, adrenaline lowering once he saw a few medics burst through the door. 

Hours seemed to pass before you awoke. The doctors found no serious damage, your stitches were already healing with the help of Tony’s new tech, and you were up and walking within hours. A slight pinch in your gut bothered you, but other than that you pulled yourself out of bed to go search for Rhodey. You heard voices talking over one another, all angry and authoritative. You tip-toed into the room just in time to see Rhodey end a call and turn back to the group of people he was talking to in person. Your breath hitched when you saw him, face still rugged and more tired than you remembered, but still gorgeous. 

“Steve?” you quietly muttered, all eyes darting toward you. “Wanda?”

You tried to run over to them but were caught limping. Still, Wanda rushed over and enveloped you in a tight hug, noticing the way you twisted your hip outward to avoid full contact.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Rhodey said as he came over to hold you steady. 

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, his hand now resting on your blushing cheek. You studied his blue eyes carefully, scared that this reunion was going to last for only a few more seconds, his warm hand making your stomach knot. He had a full beard now, hair longer than you remember, and he filled in his suit more. You were so unbelievably happy to see him after everything that went down. 

You patted his chest with a soft chuckle, “Finally ripped that star off, huh?”

Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but you could see a glint of tenderness. 

He placed his hand over yours, “Who’s ass do I have to kick?”

You waved your hand in the air. “Family drama.”

Rhodey didn’t let that explanation fly, though. He informed the rest of the team of what happened to you, Steve’s anger building. 

But you quickly silenced them, “I’m alright. I’ll deal with it later. What threat do we currently face?”

After their brief update, you were ready to go back to bed. 

“So, you’re telling me that we gotta fight this big purple dude because he wants Vision’s stone? Sure, why not?”

     “I really hope he doesn’t go overboard.”

Steve repeated the question, however. “What do we do?”

You sighed, picking at the potato chips to your side. “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, or I am, we’ll just squeeze each other’s hands.”

“Like a safe word?”

Your smile grew slowly as you registered his innocent words. “Yes, Steve, like a safe word.”

You popped a chip into your mouth and leaned back into your chair,  “Wow, you’re on a roll with that adorableness.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stole a chip from your bag, “Shut up.”

You pointed at him and smiled wider, “See? Toxic bitch.”

It took a moment for Steve to register his previous words, “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” 

You dusted off your fingers and handed him even more files, “Alright, so we know that to make it in this drug game, you gotta have connections everywhere.”

“Understandable. What are we looking for tomorrow?”

“Drug lords love to conduct business in the middle of huge events. Big distractions mean more leeway.”

“But tomorrow?”

“We’re going to cut them off. Swipe their ID’s.” 

You elaborated, “To survive in this business, you have to have ID’s to get anywhere and everywhere. We’re looking for fake press ID’s, fake police ID’s, even fucking farming and landowning ID’s or… licenses, really. Those two give us the proof of ownership for certain lands.”

“Just swipe them?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“My father keeps them all in a little safe inside the wall. It’s located in the study. Just his and Seda’s.”

“And they won’t notice they’re missing?”

“Word is that they’re not planning a move until the day of the wedding. Meaning, they’ll be cut off when they open that safe. We have to keep the product from moving or else our agents won’t find the tangible evidence when we give them the green light.”

Steve wrote in his notepad. “So, we’ll focus on the hacking-?”

“During the rehearsal dinner.”

“Gotcha.”

You grabbed the bag of chips and ate a few, the silence still comfortable. You spoke, stealing Steve's attention from the files. “This is gonna work, Steve.”

Steve thinly smiled and reached over to steal the bag from your hands. “As long as we don’t get caught.”

      The steam from the bathroom practically whipped Steve across the face, the smell of lotions and perfume overpowering the natural odor of the hotel air conditioner. He groaned as he searched his suitcase for his pajamas. 

“You couldn’t have left me some hot water?”

You scoffed, towel rinsing your wet hair. “It’s a hotel charging two hundred a night. If you don’t have hot water, then we’ll go down there and ‘Karen’ it up.”

“Funny,” Steve mumbled, pushing past you and locking the bathroom door. You stood, arms slightly raised in confusion, expression mimicking those in comedy shows. If there was any hidden camera, your eyes scanned for it. 

“Uh, what’d I do?” you mumbled to no one in particular. But you brushed off Steve’s sudden change in attitude and sat for the next thirty minutes hand drying your hair in sections and watching television. You were invested in an episode of Kitchen Nightmares that you barely heard your phone ding. You unlocked your phone, laughing under your breath at the group chat messages. 

Bucky: Kill him yet?

Peter: bet she will by wednesday.

Wanda: Ridiculous, all of you

Y/N: Twenty bucks says he kills me.

Bucky: hey are you even allowed to bet on this?

Wanda: Seems fair since you’re so sure she’ll crack

Peter: She’s more sneaky

Y/N: He mad right now

Bucky: He’s always grumpy before his bedtime

Y/N: dude it’s eight

Peter: lmfao

     The same fog of heat exited the bathroom as Steve opened the door and you murmured a quick ‘I told you so’ for him to hear. He ignored you, rubbing his eyes as he plugged his phone to his charger and crawled under his blankets. He sat up, though and reached over to grab his sketchbook, knees coming up to substitute as a flat surface. You snuggled into your blankets after turning the television volume lower and placing the remote closer to Steve’s bedside table. You brought the blanket up to your chin and hummed peacefully.      

The sounds of Steve’s pencil prompted you to open one eye. His tongue was between his incisors and his eyes were squinted slightly, hair only a little wet from his shower and the tip of his nose pink.             

“Drawing always seems to ease your mind, huh?”     

Steve didn’t look up from his drawing, “It’s relaxing. I have control over it, so…”     

You thought his explanation was weird, but you understood what he meant. “I wish I could draw. It seems fun.”     

Steve paused his movements and glanced over at you, “Do you want to learn?”    

You stretched your legs and moaned loudly, “What? You want to teach me how to draw an eye tonight? I’m warning you.”   

Steve shook his head, “Right, I don’t think I have that much patience.”   

You snorted, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly as you searched for a more comfortable spot. “Mm, maybe some other time?”     

“I know you sing, though.”     

You flopped back over to face Steve, elbow now propped up to hold your weight. “How in the world do you know that?”    

“You sing sometimes, in your room. It was quiet, but you would sing along to some song on your earphones.”     

You scrunched your nose and chuckled, “And you were just outside listening?”    

Steve paused his movements again, “What? It was pretty.”    

You sank back down into your pillows and drew the blankets higher. “I feel like you saw me naked.”     

Steve scoffed, “Totally not the same thing.”     

You teased Steve further, “I’m exposed.”     

A throw pillow hit your side out of nowhere. “Stop it, I was being serious!”    

You grabbed the pillow and threw it back at him, “I haven’t sang in a long time. I hum mostly.”     

Steve caught the pillow, and resumed his sketching. “Well, you should definitely sing more.”   

“Thank you, my number one fan. I’ll take that into consideration.” You sighed and closed your eyes again. 

“Why did you stop?”

You winced but quickly covered it by taking in a deep breath, eyes still closed. 

      “You’re still fuming about it. You’re still fuming about your image being ruined. Good ol’ Captain America as a secret, undercover drug dealer!”

Steve finally showed proof of cracking, hands gripping his hair harshly. “Y/N, I said don’t start! I’m finished!”

But you persisted, now screaming and countless, frustrated tears tainting your red cheeks. “You can’t fucking stand me because I tarnished that fucking star on your chest! I made you look bad to a bunch of fucking criminals!”

     “Guess I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”

Steve didn’t want to ignore that, he wanted to dig deeper, but even with much persistence pinching the tip of his tongue, he remained silent and accepted your answer. He glanced your way a few times throughout the next couple minutes, finding your chest fall into a steady rhythm as you drifted off. He turned a page in his sketchbook, quickly brushing the surface clean of any dust before starting the outline of your sleeping form. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise​

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Soulmate Shenanigans Five: The Order Of The Shenanigans

Hey! Guess who has returned? 

Me!

Just the March doing her prompt writing thing, as seen on previous episodes :)

Parts one, two, three, and four here!

Prompt #5

Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience

Warnings for kidnapping mention and gifted kid “potential” mention

Okay. Not going to lie, I kind of tweaked the concept, but I like how it turned out. The idea of the sides having sides in human AUs has been in my brain, and now it’s in yours!

World Building

At first, the symptoms of having a soulmate was seen as symptoms of witchcraft

It was a reasonable assumption to make, as seeing into someone’s head and emotions wasn’t really a thing that humans did. 

However, as the population grew and communication across the globe became a thing, the instances of people finding their soulmates grew as well, and not everyone could be a witch (or, if they were, being a witch was simply being human).

It took a while for the culture around soulmates to shift, but shift it did, and people eventually figured out “Oh, that person is my soulmate, not my eternal enemy that I need to destroy via my demonic powers, which I totally have”

But people’s minds are kind of a lot, and it’s hard to process it all.

So, in modern day, people have learned to separate the pieces of their soulmate’s personality that they get bombarded with into different pieces, or sides

The sides are Logic, Morality/Emotions, Creativity (with there sometimes being a divide between dark and light), Self-Preservation, and Anxiety.

Characters

Roman: Roman is looking forward to meeting his soulmate so much!

Just...later.

When he’s a famous writer and people know about him and he’s evened out his insecurities and he deserves them!

Being perfect for them is going to take work, but most people meet their soulmates over 30, so he’s got at least fifteen years to prepare.

Until then, he was working on his fantasy story and dreaming of the day he’d get published or get the lead in a school play.

The writing club had been his idea, so you could say that everything that happens in the story was his fault. He’d just wanted to be around people who liked the same things he liked!

Roman’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Note: Names are hard. Aaaagh.

Magnus, his creativity, romance, passion, etcetera. Magnus is really the one who calls the shots around here. He’s just as goofy of a fifteen year old (if not more) as Roman, but he has the unenviable position of running a mind palace and being the ego of someone who hates himself.

This guy just wants to listen to Hamilton, but noooo, he had to have an evil reflection of himself and self-worth issues.

The Count, his self-preservation and pretty much Roman’s inner Roxie Hart/Velma Kelly. Randomly suggests poisoning their mortal enemies a lot (note: they don’t have mortal enemies). 

The most like canon Janus out of any of the self preservations, except instead of “we live in a society” it’s more “fuck it, we’re going to be *famous*!”

The other sides will pay him to stop saying, “that’s showbiz”

The Medic, his morality and emotions. Sort of has a medieval healer thing going on (which means herbs in a satchel, not plague doctor mask).

A lovely person on his own, but when he and The Guard team up, it’s ✨Guilt time!✨

He has the question of “Am I a terrible person?” on his hands, so...good luck to him. He’s trying to hold the five of them into a cohesive unit, but it’s hard!

The Guard, his fears and anxious thoughts. He has a shield and a spear, and is kind of dressed like a (dark and stormy) knight.

No one particularly likes him, but it’s his job to recognize The Shadow, so they all need him.

He hangs around on the outskirts of the mindscape, ever vigilant.

The Alchemist, his logic. No one listens to the voice of reason in this house. Al isn’t really a fan of this, and being Roman’s logic, he thinks that if he can find a way to prove himself it’ll turn out okay.

The Shadow, everything Magnus discarded. You could call him dark creativity, but he’s a lot more. 

They used to call him Rex, when they were kids.

Patton: Patton isn’t thrilled with having to move to a new school, but he’s keeping a positive attitude

The new town is creepy and making friends is harder than he thought, and he just wants to right a sappy love story about ghosts without feeling sad.

But if he keeps his chin up, he knows it’ll all be fine!

And hey, maybe he’ll find people who like him in this writing club thing!

Patton’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have: 

Patrick, his morality and emotions. Patrick feels all of the loneliness and desperation that Patton feels daily, but pretends he doesn’t feel it, since he has to be there for them!

Them meaning his family, meaning the rest of Patton’s mind, as well as Patton, since he’s kind of an older brother/role model to the guy.

Covering the full scope of human emotions isn’t great when the other half of your job is enforcing the sense of right and wrong (and the general consensus in Patton’s head is showing negative emotions = burden = wrong).

None of them can cook, but that won’t stop him from trying!

The Canary, his fears and anxious thoughts. Constantly popping up to remind everyone that they’re failing. It’s kind of his job.

Stress plays the piano when things get to be too much.

The Gardener, his creativity, romance, and passion. Conjures flowers a lot. Projects wishes for a soulmate into the sappy ghost love story, which he’s mostly in charge of writing.

Hasn’t split yet, but that’s mostly because nearly all of Patton’s negative impulses that would be considered “dark creativity” already come from The Miser.

Dr. Picani, his logical side. Knows everything about cartoons, and tries to be professional, but a complete sweetheart.

Secretly knows his name is Emile, but is waiting for the best moment to tell everyone.

The Miser, his self-preservation and deceitful side. No one’s a fan of him. Patrick is kind of his mortal nemesis (in the sense that Patrick claimed the title and he just kind of went along with it?)

Everyone else in the Pattonsphere refuses to curse, but he says many a “fuck” with ease

Trying to protect The Gardener from splitting by taking responsibility for most of the things a dark creativity would do.

Virgil: Virgil just didn’t want to join the yearbook committee. 

It was irrational, maybe, to have a deep rooted hatred of the yearbook committee. 

They were just trying to categorize things, design pages-it wasn’t malicious! 

And yet, being in that classroom and seeing Amelia’s dead eyes and smile near rang every alarm bell in his system, so he needed a way out this year.

His parents weren’t going to let him not choose an activity, so he flipped a coin and ended up in some writing club.

He came into the club determined to fake some pretentious poetry about death. Just because they say the club’s about expression or whatever doesn’t mean that they can know anything about his comics.

Virgil’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have: 

Dante, his fears and anxious thoughts. Dante has too many eyes. Dante is lowkey a cryptid, but he’s sadly a cryptid in charge of life decisions.

There’s no way to dance around it. Dante’s a spider-human hybrid.

Dante would prefer they never be perceived by anyone for anything. He does not want to be seen, he does not want to be heard, he does not want to be perceived. Period. 

But he’s a very conspicuous spider-human hybrid. 

The Competent One, The One Who Can Actually Do Math, Steve, whatever you want to call him, he’s Virgil’s logical side.

His theories are just....

See that image? That kind of sums up his characterization.

Parker, his creativity, romance, and heroic side. He’s the one who got them obsessed with comic books, and is trying to write his own. If people don’t like the comics, he’ll probably just start screaming and never stop

He gets the purple eyeshadow!

Remy, his self-preservation. He mainly just wants Virgil to just...rest

Nap. Sleep. Take a self-care day. This is Remy’s goal.

Also to continue to have the most style out of anyone in the Virgilsphere

Remy has a talent for never being anywhere at the right time, and then popping up at the worst moments, caffeine in hand.

Tam, his morality and emotions. The most into the emo phase out of any of them, since he feels all angst!

Sometimes just hovers and screams. Everyone’s pretty used to this.

Logan: Logan was trying to ignore the things he’d seen

Logan was a scientific guy. He knew that magic wasn’t real, that the fae were just stories.

So, clearly, the nightmarish things he’d seen that night were just that: nightmares. Just nightmares caused by stress over his academic struggles.

That was the immediate problem at hand: academic struggles. Logan was always the top of his class his whole life, and words like “gifted” were thrown around. Lately, however, things have been harder to keep up with and pay attention to, and it’s a bit of a mess.

Logan joined the writing club because he thought it might help him with English class, and he did like speculative fiction.

But, more importantly, he joined it because he thought it would be a simple task he could easily ace, so he wouldn’t have to keep being told that he wasn’t trying.

Logan’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Mimir, his logical side. Mimir is pushing himself to take care of all academic matters and keep Logan afloat.

Mimir is over his head, but doesn’t really have anyone to talk to (or so he thinks), so he’s just putting Warby Parkers over his panic and faking cold distance to make everyone think he’s doing okay.

Alastor, his moral side. Half of his job is repressing Logan’s emotions, which isn’t a great thing to be doing, but he think he’s doing it for a good reason.

Kinda strict and blaming Mimir for everything going wrong. He does care about the others, he’s just bad at showing it.

Cassandros, his fears and anxious thoughts. 

This dude-

He’s basically just [puts feet on coffee table] “Hey, did you know everyone hates us?? I made a PowerPoint that proves it!”

He’ll get character development, though.

The Chessmaster, his overdramatic self-preservation.

Tries to be clever, walks into walls.

The Detective, his creative and fanciful side. He wants to swashbuckle, but instead he’s restrained to geometry. 

But now he has a project in the writing club! He has something to do!

And The Mad Scientist is trying to ruin it!

The Mad Scientist, Logan’s dark creativity.

They never used to care about the creative side one way or another. There was no need to make a dark side when it was already looked down upon.

Now, however, there are things in Logan’s mind that he’s trying not to think about, and so the Mad Scientist has joined the fray.

The Actual Plot

This is going to be an actual fic that I write. So, I’m not going to fill out the entire plot here.

I can, however say a few of the plot lines

Plot One: Everyone’s sides are in a state of constant screaming and must learn to communicate.

They also need to let their main guys figure out they have soulmates, because they’re all repressing that information for their own reasons.

Plot Two: LAMP in a writing club, falling in love and being disturbed by first drafts!

Plot Three: The fae are kidnapping people.

And everyone needs to get them to Stop.

I guess you could call this a trailer??

I JUST REALLY LIKE THIS IDEA

[iheartrobots404]

My Robot Boyfriend: Questions of Autonomy and Manufactured Romance in a One Direction Robot Fanfic

If recent history is any indication, the general human public has become increasingly horny for basically anything sentient. From candy corporations tweeting lustfully about anthropomorphic foxes to erotic novels about flying reptiles, the boundaries of acceptable romantic sentiment are expanding at a rapid pace. A conservative may easily interpret this as the nadir of our decadent society, heralding the swift demise of our civilization. But the real story is much more complicated.

Monster novels and cinema have always been metaphors for the latent anxieties of a society. Initially manifesting in racist fears of desegregation and miscegenation in D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, the theme of white supremacist heroism triumphing over the control of the female body by a monstrous “other” is apparent in such later movies as The Neanderthal Man and Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Guillermo del Toro’s 2017 Best Picture winner The Shape of Water is deeply concerned with the dehumanization and unseen racism in monster movies, choosing to portray the monster and white woman in a genuine romance, while the handsome man that perceives them is the villain.

According to del Toro, The Shape of Water was an attempt to demonstrate that “the racism, classism, sexual mores, everything that was alive in ‘62, is all alive now. It never went away.” Del Toro characterizes the monster as a perceived negative aspect of society or personality that is initially distressing but can become liberating when embraced, explaining, “There are truths about oneself that are really bad and hard to admit. But when you finally have the courage and say them, you liberate yourself. All monsters are a personification of that.”

But what about...

Monsters have embodied a substantial collection of anxieties over the years: the rupture of the religious world by the scientific in Frankenstein, communism and McCarthyism in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the erasure of the past by modernity in King Kong. Robots, in comparison, typically represent a generalized technophobia, a fear of technology replacing the human, best represented by I, Robot (2004). They can also invoke questions of the nature of autonomy in an industrialized, capitalist society (Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times), fears of the transgression of the mind/body duality (2018’s Replicas), and imminent warnings of scientific and military hubris (Black Mirror’s Metalhead). So if romance with monsters can be a liberating embrace of the taboo, what function does romance with robots serve?

To answer this question, we could turn to the wide range of novels and films providing nuanced treatments of the complex ideas involved in human-robot relationships. Her (2013), Ex Machina (2014), Autonomous (2017), and He, She, and It (1991) are all beautiful, subtle considerations of robophilia, celebrated in science fiction and general circles. Unfortunately, my library card was revoked after failing to pay my 10-month overdue fee on Taken by the Pterodactyl, so that’s a dead end. I also don’t really want to pay to watch any movies, and the last time I went on 123movies.com I got a virus that pulverized my feeble laptop. Fortunately, the greatest, most boundary-pushing work on human-robot relationships is completely free of charge and within reach to anyone with an Internet connection. No expense is necessary to access this avant-garde treasure trove of communal literature, where robophilic desire meets ingenious analysis of our technology-ridden society.

I am speaking, of course, of the user pokemonouis’s love bot [h.s.] on the popular fanfiction site Wattpad. Before you click away in terror, consider that fanfiction can be a vital representation of culture, especially that of young people negotiating their place in a complex world. As the author Constance Penley says of Star Trek slash fic, fanfiction can be “an experiment in imagining new forms of sexual and racial equality, democracy, and a fully human relation to the world of science and technology.” With this framework in mind, let us dive into a sultry world of robot love.

In the vein of a typical Black Mirror episode, love bot [h.s.] is set in the present, near-identical to today except for one incongruous twist. Our protagonist, Ava, has been sent a mysteriously large package by her cheeky friend Niall Horan, containing an eager-to-please model from Love Bot, Inc., Harry. Though Ava is initially incensed at her friend Niall and is uneasy about Harry’s bizarre synthetic mind and body, she quickly warms up to his loving personality and sexual proficiency. Along the way, Ava must deal with her complicated newfound responsibility and the complexity of her own emotions.

Tragically, like Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor or Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” love bot [h.s.] remains unfinished. It was abandoned in 2016, and like One Direction, it doesn’t appear to be releasing any new material any time soon. Nonetheless, love bot [h.s.] is astounding in its complete lack of pretension or self-consciousness, existing as a complete, undiluted fantasy about getting a sex robot based on your favorite band member. However, the cherry on top is the dialogue created between the author and her readers, manifesting as a ludic communal debate about the philosophy involved or implied in the context of the world she has created. What I’m trying to say is that One Direction robot fanfiction is basically the 21st century version of the Athenian plaza or the Parisian salon, where the author’s story, as well as the community comments surrounding it, remain a portal of vital insight into such disparate themes as the commodification of sex and romance, the question of robot’s social standing given their initial utilitarian purpose, and the morality of human/robot pairings.

To enumerate, the foremost concern of love bot [h.s.] is the commodification of romantic love and its implications for how we relate to other human beings. From the moment Ava receives Harry, she is unwilling to engage with what she perceives as a mere corporate commodity, surrounded by packing peanuts, a charging port on its lower back. When Harry boots up, Ava is immediately accosted by the manufactured nature of his existence:

The comments echo Ava’s sentiment. One user states, “I’d be creeped out. Imagine if there was a camera or something.” Another jokes, “in the middle of doing what he does best, Harry whispers in my ear, “please like love bot incorporated’s page on Facebook!” This combination of the romantic with the heavily marketed is not new to the 1D fandom, as the band’s image, promotional events, song lyrics, and music videos all serve to encourage an attachment between fan and musician. However, to assume that the average fan mindlessly consumes the marketed content is to ignore the self-awareness within the 1D fandom. For instance, 1D fan culture often repudiates the perceived manufactured nature of their idols; many fan works bemoan the band members’ “management,” or the behind-the-scenes music industry professionals who prevent the boys from living life to its full potential. Thus, the Harry Styles sex robot becomes a potent metaphor for the fans’ relation to their favorite musicians, a playful way of acknowledging that you’re being pandered to yet still enjoying the show. In keeping with the framework of monsters provided by Guillermo del Toro, to engage romantically with the robot is to embrace the messiness and weirdness of emerging sexuality despite society’s opinion of 1D fans as crazed, lustful, and corporate-brainwashed young women.

Love bot [h.s.] also presents an interesting exploration of robot aesthetics and how they are constructed to appeal to humans. Ava is initially rather put off by the combination of the synthetic and the natural found within Harry’s body:

Despite this, she eventually comes around to Harry’s physical appeal, particularly due to his “cuteness:” Ava’s affection grows after he adorably takes the expression “you’re a dime” literally, uses the phrase “take a sleep” instead of “take a nap,” and is caught using her computer to look up “how to impress a girl.” According to scholar Sabine Payr, robots in popular media tend to either be nearly indistinguishable from humans, in which case they occupy the space of the “uncanny valley,” are threatening, and must be destroyed (as in Blade Runner or Ex Machina), or are presented as non-threatening “sidekicks,” whose cuteness and helpfulness to humanity mark them as peaceful (Wall-E, Star Wars’ C-3P0 or R2D2). Harry is gradually brought out of the former category and into the latter through his cuteness as well as his utility to Ava, such as through cooking her a delicious breakfast. As one commenter succinctly puts it, “It kinda creeps me out that he’s a robot but he’s freaking adorable so whatever.” However, this transformation of Harry has the possible negative consequence of him not being seen as fully equal to humans, as his “adorableness” is contingent upon him occupying a lower social position than Ava. Nevertheless, though most readers seem somewhat put off by Harry’s robotness, many seem just as ready to engage with the “uncanny valley” robot as the “adorable” one. For example, in response to Ava calling Harry "too real, too creepy," one user responds, “Well Send him over to me and call me Goldie locks cause he’s just right.” This sentiment is repeated throughout the first chapter: for every “This is going to turn into some Chucky shit for sure” there appears a “Call me Shia Labeouf cause I’m about to get it on with a transformer.” The readers willing to engage with the “uncanny valley” Harry avoid the problem of inequality inherent to the subjugation of the robot to a “sidekick” role. Thus, in this case, engaging romantically or sexually with the robot may be a potential expansion of the social category that robots may inhabit, a radical rebuke of the idea that robots must be subordinate to humans to be lovable.

Similarly interesting is love bot [h.s.]’s theme of autonomy: can one form a healthy relationship with a sentient being that is bought and customized to love you? Throughout the narrative, Harry refers to Ava as his “owner” or “master,” and Ava frequently treats him like a friend’s dog that she has been left to take care of. Harry gets separation anxiety when she leaves to attend school or work, is constantly compared to a puppy, and is described as a “burden:”

However, the readers were quick to push back on this characterization of Harry. Angry commenters lashed out at Ava, stating, “HES NOT A FOOKING BURDEN” and “HARRY DOESNT DESERVE YO RATTY ASS.” Readers of love bot [h.s.] reject the notion of a love bot as a less than human, asserting their right to be recognized not as a product or sex slave but as a full and realized autonomous being. However, as commenters repeatedly point out in another section of the fic, such a relationship is suspect. Ava is eager to downplay the uniqueness of her relationship with Harry, mostly ignoring his robotness in favor of labeling him as just another human:

Commenters are quick to point out the contradictions within this statement, replying, “except for him bc he is a literal robot who was made to be owned” and “says the girl who literally owns a robot im fed up bye.” Ava may treat her robot boyfriend as an equal, but, as the readers indicate, the nature of their relationship is inherently unequal. After all, the fic mentions that the love bots are, in legal terms, basically slaves:

Harry is completely dependent on Ava, and, tragically, only able to shop at Sears. With the realities of this society, the commenters argue, Ava’s “you are your own person and you belong to yourself” statement is functionally meaningless. Commenters also occasionally bring up other questionable power dynamics within the context of Ava and Harry’s relationship; one states, “Imagine if they got in a fight, she could just power him off;” another asks, “What if she died?” after a sentence highlighting Harry’s extreme dependence on Ava; another mentions, “that sentence is making me remember that he's a robot & can be programed at any time :((.” Harry’s boundaries of mind and body are much easier to manipulate than Ava’s, and this presents a quandary; can a robot partner ever be in full control of their internal psyche if his mind is specifically manufactured to carry out a single purpose, and that mind can be tampered with at will? The rich dialogue created between the author and readers gradually teases out several ethical considerations involved in human-robot relationships, questioning whether any relationship between a human and a robot constructed out of pure function can ever be helpful. In this context, the readers redefine the act of loving the robot as not a simple act of passion, but a commitment to upholding the autonomy of one’s partner.

The playful exchange between the author of love bot [h.s.] and her readers illuminates the moral gray area of human/robot relationships, offering key insights into the nature of commodified romance, social categorization of robots, and unequal partnerships. If/when artificial intelligence advances and potentially becomes sentient, the willingness to have debates about these topics will be essential to the creation of a just society for humans and robots alike. As Guillermo del Toro reminds us, the hierarchies and unquestioned assumptions of today will persist into the future, and a potent way to resist them is through the act of loving the taboo. It would be unwise to dismiss it.