#i had a similar idea to faraway friends actually like way back! putting the faraway kids in headspace and all
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Quantum Entanglement
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Words: 6.4k (oops)
Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)
Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.
Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.
AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.
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There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.
As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.
So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.
He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.
And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.
"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.
You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."
"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.
"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."
Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."
"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.
"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.
Steve nodded. "Just moved here."
"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."
You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.
So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.
The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.
Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.
Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.
"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."
You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.
"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."
"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."
"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."
You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.
"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.
But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.
When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.
As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.
Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.
"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."
"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."
You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.
"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."
He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.
"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."
Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"
Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."
He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.
"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."
Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.
Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.
"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.
You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"
Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.
"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."
You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"
The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?
But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.
It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.
And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.
But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.
It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.
At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.
"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"
"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"
The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.
You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?
"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"
Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.
You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.
"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"
Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.
"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.
"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.
"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.
You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.
He waited for your instruction.
"Undress me."
He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.
Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.
"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.
"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"
There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."
You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.
You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."
Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.
"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."
Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.
"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.
"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.
Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.
Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.
"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."
"No, definitely not."
"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."
"Where?" he teased.
"Everywhere, big man."
Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.
Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.
Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.
"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.
He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.
And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.
"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.
Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.
"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"
"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."
"Kiss me, Steve."
"Yes, ma'am."
He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.
You gasped. "Oh, God."
Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.
"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.
"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.
You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."
"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."
"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.
"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"
"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."
Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.
"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."
"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."
"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.
"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."
The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.
But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.
"Tell me what you need, darling."
"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."
Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.
"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."
You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.
When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.
He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.
#steve rodgers x reader#steve rogers#captain america#captain america x reader#avengers smut#captain america smut#steve rogers smut#simping for steve rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#captain america fanfiction
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❛ lily james, cis female, she/her, 56 ✶ was that isla nightingale gracing the streets of alestria? i heard the aries’s order is the harpy, and rumor has it they are observant + secretive which must be why they are a spy. their allegiances are currently with the crown, but who knows how serious that is. ❜ lia . 26 . cst . she / her . [ @solariarb ]
stats
name: isla nightingale (it’s rare that she gives her full name)
current alias: elina
date of birth: april 5, 1965 (is around 56, but looks 32)
sign: aries
gender: cisfemale
orientation: bisexual
birthplace: unspecified, was found somewhere in the northern mountains.
hometown: alestria
family: unknown, raised by an ex head guard of the castle. (earl nightingale)
story
a kid left to her own devices, one that never knew the warmth of a parental embrace and was forced to fend for herself in the rocky mountains. she has no recollection whatsoever on how she ended in such a place and her earliest memory, besides the aimless wandering on a hopeless land, was of the man who found her and took her to alestria.
a simple guard, earl, sent to a mission to the northern mountains. it was an accident that he stumbled upon a little girl, one that seemed almost feral as she bared her teeth in a silent hiss. this should’ve been enough of a warning for him to continue his path, but had he done so, he would’ve missed how she seemed to control the shadows to conceal herself from any danger. it was all instinctual back then, and the guard immediately noticed the little to no control she had over this, but he knew of another harpy with a similar gift. all it takes is a moment for him to know that she’d be a great asset to the guard with the right upbringing.
asking for her name, all he got as an answer was a shrug and an “i dont have one”. he lowered his sword, raised his hands to not appear as a thread and promised her a better life if she decided to come along with him. it was an easy decision to make, after all, he was her one-way ticket out of the tundra to a promised land.
before returning to the palace, the guard made one last stop… somewhere in the outskirts of alestria where a small cabin could be found amidst the trees. it was a place rumored to be abandoned, even haunted. truth was, a fae well over one hundred years lived there in secrecy and self-exile; her strong opinions against the crown earned her an awful reputation and she decided to make herself a home away from alestria. the guard knocked on her door and she easily understood the situation after a simple “you owe me one” and being briefed about what he saw in the mountains.
bidding goodbyes, the next time the little girl saw the guard, she wasn’t so little anymore.
she was able to learn more about herself and her abilities while living with evanora, her “mentor” (she never allowed the girl to regard her as a mother), but something about alestria always caught isla’s (name given by evanora) attention. from a young age, isla learnt to disguise herself in order to sneak out of the cabin and into the town. it’s not that evanora wasn’t aware of her little antics, but more so she knew that it’d be a good practice for what earl had in mind for her future.
isla developed an affinity to observe and pay attention to others and despite the isolation, she intuitively understood how to move and convince people in order to accomplish something, mostly always getting free goods from the townspeople.
it was around sixteen when earl, once again, came knocking to their little cabin. now, he was the head guard and had plans for isla. the first one involved taking classes in the alestria academy. it was all part of a bigger scheme; he needed her to learn certain things for what he had envisioned. along with her regular classes, earl came up with a training plan for her to start immediately along with other soon-to-be guards.
much to earl’s content, isla had very much developed a set of skills that only needed to be honed. he noticed how easily she managed to connect with others and he never missed her wandering fingers with the affinity to take things that weren’t her own. he saw, too, her way with words and how, with a whispered nothing, she’d get anyone to do whatever she wanted or turn against their closest friend. isla knew how to manipulate the narrative in her favor and she did so in a way that the trust invested in her was never broken.
graduation comes and isla thought she’d become a guard much like her peers… but earl had something else in mind. under his personal recommendation, she was sent to small missions, mostly to recollect information and keep tabs on people around alestria, which she fulfilled with ease: disguising herself within the shadows always came in handy. it started with merchants who earl suspected had shady dealings... until the day came that she was appointed to work for the royals as a spy when she turned twenty six.
it’s only then that she becomes aware of how earl had a perfectly manufactured masterplan. the extra private classes she had to take on diplomacy, royal affairs and history, etiquette… everything made sense and, even though she’s not completely sure of her allegiance to the crown, she was satisfied to have a purpose. she finally found one.
thirty years have passed since her very first official mission and even though earl passed away in a tragic fight, she remains committed and dutiful to her job; fulfilling any request the royals have for her. when she’s stagnant, she likes to take other miscellaneous jobs as a cover and, if asked, her story is ever changing. one day she can be marie, the daughter of some merchants from a faraway land and the next one she’s olivia, a widow of an honorable doctor. right now she goes by elina, a waitress somewhere in astra avenue waiting on her next assignment.
personality
gifted at reading people, even those she’s just met, quickly assessing and mirroring their emotions, expressions and body language, granting her great insight into people and allowing her to establish rapport with them rather fast.
she’s direct and has an ability in calling out failures with a chilling degree of insensitivity, not shy about pointing out what could’ve been done better or being honest about what she sees. isla tends to be blunt and driven to get things done, becoming critical, brusque and hostile in the pursuit of her and the crown’s goals.
if there’s anything she loves, it’s a good challenge. she avoids being weak, vulnerable, controlled or manipulated, embodying the gifts of charisma and confidence. when the situation calls for it, isla has a tendency of becoming confrontational and has difficulty backing down or admitting defeat, pushing things to the edge.
emotional expression isn’t isla’s strong suit, she actually tends to distance from her emotions, especially in public. in her line of business, she thinks that such displays are displays of weakness. she might not pick up on emotional subtleties in other people that she’s not as close with. isla might look like someone strong, independent and with her life apparently sorted out, but beneath that front she’s worked so hard to build lies an insecure woman with a lot of fears, one of them being caught off guard, getting harmed or being humiliated.
puts a lot of pressure on herself to perform a certain way and will constantly second-guess herself, never quite sure if her behavior is being received well. not being connected to her emotions only adds to her insecurity and it’s the reason why she becomes unsure about people either liking or judging her. she also has a secret need for validation, thus the pressure only increases. even though she will never voice this, isla feels fulfilled when her efforts and ideas are recognized.
owner of a natural confidence that generates influence around her, isla takes a great deal of pride and joy in the abilities she has worked hard to master over the years. though, she has a tendency of overestimating her own development and those that don’t know her well, might mistake it with arrogance. her speech isn’t helpful to avoid these misunderstandings: when coming face to face with someone that is in direct conflict with her beliefs and way of working, she puts a barrier between her and the person, becoming albeit defensive and purposely trying to talk down the other.
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Oc Interview — Téa Ittai
I saw other people doing this and used the template for a few of my dragon age ocs, but I haven’t written for Téa in a while so~
Name “Full name: Téa Ittai. Lovelady, if I’m working.” She winks, leaning back in her seat casually. “Everyone seems to call me something different, nowadays—I’ve learned not to be picky.”
Are you single She giggles airily, unbothered by such a question. Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Depends who’s asking.”
Are you happy “And why wouldn’t I be?” She asks slyly. It isn’t an answer, but it seems to be as much as she’ll give.
Are you angry “I could get there, if you really want me to.” Another wink, as carefree as the first.
Are your parents still married “I would assume so, although you’ll forgive me if I’m not in a hurry to dig them up and ask.” She smiles lopsidedly, either unbothered by the memory of them or very good at acting like it.
NINE FACTS
Birth Place “I grew up in Drummond’s Point. Nice little place...” Her voice trails off a bit, eyes glazing over before she shakes herself out of it. “Maybe it’s just the nostalgia talking, but I don’t think I’ve ever found a place quite like it.”
Hair Color “Ah, it’s pretty dark, isn’t it? I’m not surprised you can’t tell. It’s brown, actually—although a lot of people mistake it for black if they don’t get a good look.” It’s styled into braids, wrapped in a colorful silk scarf. She twirls the ends of the scarf in her fingers as she talks.
Eye Color “I understand it was something of a surprise when they turned out so light. This pale a green isn’t a common color for someone who looks like me.” She hums, “I suppose the little glow would be more easily missed if they were darker, but I’ve always sort of liked them.”
Birthday She grins wide, and it slithers across her face in a way that might remind one of a snake. “Are you asking my age?” A click of the tongue, teasing, “Awfully bold.”
Mood “I like to have fun and I’m easily bored.” She drawls, “My blessing and my curse, respectively. Not much else matters, I’d say.”
Gender “Now isn’t that a nebulous concept?”
Summer or winter “Such extremes! I hate both, honestly.” She snorts, “I’d rather take spring or autumn. Those moments in between, when the weather hasn’t decided what it wants to be, yet.”
Morning or afternoon “When it’s so early in the morning that it’s almost still night—that’s about as good as it gets all day.”
EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE?
Are you in love She sputters out a little surprised laugh. “Good one.” She manages between strained chuckles.
Do you believe in love at first sight “If it does exist, it’s too rare to ever consider it a viable option. There’s too many other explanations for too many similar feelings.”
Who ended your last relationship “I did,” She mutters, casting her eyes downward for the briefest of moments. “Was better that way. I was leaving, and he...he had plenty of other options. Probably didn’t even notice I was gone.”
She sighs and reclines further, eyes cast skyward thoughtfully. “It’s been nice to see him again, but I don’t regret it. Not really. I’m not the type to get mixed up with for too long, if you know what’s good for you.”
Have you ever broken someone’s heart “I doubt that very much,” She laughs aloud, “I generally don’t bother the ones looking for something deeper. That’d just be cruel of me, I think.”
Are you afraid of commitments There’s a mischievous spark in her eye at this. “Who’s to say I’m afraid of anything? I’m a mage—things are usually afraid of me.”
Have you hugged someone within the last week “Of course!” Abruptly, she straightens up in her seat, face uncharacteristically serious. “I have a daily quota to fill.” It’s unclear whether or not she is joking.
Have you ever had a secret admirer She waves the question off, barely even sparing a second to think it over. “That would be awfully foolish.”
Have you ever broken your own heart Unblinkingly, she smiles. That’s all she does.
SIX CHOICES
Love or Lust “Well, one definitely comes with less entanglements.” She tilts her head, “Moving around as much as I used to, I didn’t often participate in much of either, to be honest.”
Lemonade or iced tea “Iced tea! Extra sweet, of course.”
Cats or Dogs “Don’t you think it’s kind of rude to ask a wild mage to choose?” She folds her arms behind her head casually, “But cats. Definitely cats.”
A few best friends or many regular friends “The more the merrier, right?”
Wild night out or romantic night in “I’m more used to being out and about at night. I’m usually working, now, though...or too exhausted because I was just working...”
Day or night “Night. Used to be that there were less people around to give me trouble if I was out and about. Now if I’m wearing the uniform it doesn’t really matter.” She shrugs nonchalantly.
FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS
Been caught sneaking out “If you can believe it, I used to be too worried I’d be caught to break rules too often.” There’s a wistful sigh to go along with the faraway look in her eyes. “Life comes at you fast, I guess.”
Fallen down/up the stairs “I refuse to answer on the grounds that Chase might be listening from somewhere nearby.”
Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt “My, aren’t you digging deep?” She tilts her head, tone nonchalant but eyes twinkling sharply.
Wanted to disappear “I’ve been disappearing periodically since I was a kid,” She kicks one leg over the other, stretching them out in front of her, “If I suddenly get the urge again—you’ll know in that you’ll never see me again.”
FOUR PREFERENCES
Smile or eyes “Eyes tell you everything you need to know about a person if you know how to read ‘em.” The look in hers is almost clinical in nature. A scholar studying her subject with incalculable experience. The careless smile she wears belies the intelligence in her gaze.
Shorter or Taller “I’m not picky—height never really seems to have much impact on overall appearance, I don’t think.” Her shoulders bounce again in an uncommitted gesture, “I’ve been attracted to people taller and shorter than me. It doesn’t generally factor.”
Intelligence or Attraction “You could be the smartest person in the room and it isn’t gonna replace what isn’t there. If I don’t feel it, I don’t feel it.” She tilts her head, “I’ve too often seen intelligence translate into arrogance or cruelty. It isn’t all that.”
Hook-up or Relationship She sighs heavily. It would seem that the subject matter is finally starting to weigh on her for some reason. “Turns out relationships aren’t for me.” Is all she says.
FAMILY
Do you and your family get along “We certainly did at one point.” The smile slowly returns to her face. It’s different than some of the others she’s worn since the questions began—softer, in some ways. “My parents loved each other, and they loved me. That’s all I really could have asked for.”
Would you say you have a “messed up life” She laughs out loud, seemingly caught off guard. “I’d say I’m pretty cursed, wouldn’t you? Or maybe I am the curse...I can never decide.”
Have you ever ran away from home “Nope.” She pops the “p” sound, smiling widely. “I was perfectly well-behaved. Sort of.”
Have you ever gotten kicked out “Nah, my parents were never that heartless. Can’t work out a conflict if the other half isn’t there.”
FRIENDS
Do you secretly hate one of your friends She snorts derisively. It looks as if the idea puts a bad taste in her mouth, the way she scrunches her eyebrows together. “Sometimes it’s useful to stay on good terms with people you don’t particularly like—but if I hated them I wouldn’t call them a friend in the first place. Even if I was that type, I’m not so good at lying that I could hide something as strong as hatred.”
Do you consider all of your friends good friends “All?” She hums thoughtfully, casting her eyes skyward and bobbing her head from side to side, “No, probably not. I do what I can to keep things sweet, but there’s a lot of us now, Y’know? Not to mention it’s unrealistic to expect your personality to mesh well with everyone outside of a working environment.”
Who is your best friend “Chase gets me.” She chuckles fondly as if recalling a pleasant memory. “More than people usually do, I mean. Didn’t think much of him to begin with, but he’s...alright.”
Who knows everything about you One corner of her mouth lifts bitterly. “I don’t believe anyone’s had the privilege, now that I think about it.”
#shepherds of Haven#mc: téa ittai#oc template#ok but the reface app is so cool and works super well w faces made in artbreeder#wall of mcs#this’ll be the second thing I’ve posted that’s actually her speaking in her own voice 🥺 hello baby
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Star Trek Villains Who Actually Had a Point
https://ift.tt/3t8D3MQ
This article contains spoilers for various parts of the Star Trek franchise.
Last fall, airing just a few weeks apart, both Star Trek and Star Wars debuted season premieres of new streaming TV episodes in which the heroes of each show had to fight a giant, legless worm-monster. In Star Trek: Discovery’s “That Hope Is You Part 1,” it was the deadly Tranceworm, while The Mandalorian’s “Chapter 9: The Marshall” had the murderous Krayt Dragon. The differences between the Final Frontier and the Faraway Galaxy could not have been made clearer by these dueling beasts: in Mando, the plot involved killing the monster by blowing up its guts from the inside, while in Disco, Book taught Michael Burnham how to make friends with it.
The Trek universe deals with the concept of evil a little differently than many of its famous genre competitors. There is no Lex Luthor of the Federation. Palpatine doesn’t haunt the planet Vulcan. The Klingons have no concept of “the devil.” (At least in The Original Series.) This isn’t to say Trek doesn’t have some very memorable Big Bads, it’s just that most of the time those villains tend to have some kind of sympathetic backstory. Even in the J.J. Abrams films!
So, with that in mind, here’s a look at seven Star Trek villains who maybe weren’t all bad, and kind of, even in a twisted way, had a point…
Harry Mudd
In Star Trek: The Original Series, Harry Mudd was presented as a straight-up con-man, a dude who seemed to be okay with profiting from prostitution (in “Mudd’s Women”) and was also down with marooning the entire crew of the Enterprise on a random planet (in “I, Mudd”). He’s not a good person. Not even close. But, he does make a pretty could case against Starfleet’s lack of planning. In the Discovery episode “Choose Your Pain,” Mudd accuses Starfleet of starting the war with the Klingons, and, as a result, putting the larger population of the galaxy at risk. “I sure as hell understand why the Klingons pushed back,” Mudd tells Ash Tyler. “Starfleet arrogance. Have you ever bothered to look out of your spaceships down at the little guys below? If you had, you’d realize that there’s a lot more of us down there than there are you up here, and we’re sick and tired of getting caught in your crossfire.”
Seska
At a glance, Seska seems pretty irredeemable. She joins the idealistic Maquis but is secretly a Cardassian spy. Once in the Delta Quadrant, she tries to screw Voyager as much as possible, mostly by hooking up with the Kazon. That said, Seska is also someone caught up in hopelessly sexist, male-dominated power structures and does what she has to do to gain freedom and power. The Cardassian military isn’t exactly enlightened nor kind, so the fact that Seska was recruited into the Obsidian Order in the first place certainly explains her deceptive conditioning. You could argue that Seska could have become a better person once she had Captain Janeway as an ally, but, the truth is, she was still a spy caught behind enemy lines, but suddenly without a government to report back to. So, Seska did what she had to do to survive, even lying to Chakotay about having his child. The thing is, again, outside of Starfleet, Seska is at the mercy of the sexist machinations of the Kazon, so again, she’s kind of using all the tools at her disposal to gain freedom. Had Voyager not gone to the Delta Quadrant, and Seska’s villainy may have been more clear-cut. But, once the reason for her espionage becomes moot, her situation gets more desperate, and, on some level, more understandable.
Charlie Evans
In The Original Series, Kirk loves telling humans with god-like powers where to shove it. In “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” he phasers Gary Mitchell and buries him under a rock. But, in “Charlie X,” when teenager Charlie Evans also gets psionic powers, Kirk does a less-than-a-great job of being a good role model. For most of the episode, Kirk tries to avoid become Charlies’ surrogate parent, and when he does try, it results in an embarrassing overly macho wrestling match featuring those famous pink tights.
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Charlie was a deeply troubled human being, and there was no justification for him harassing the crew and Janice Rand in specific. But, angry, kids like Charlie have to be helped before it gets to this point. Kirk mostly tried to dodge the adult responsibility of teaching Charlie the ropes, and only when some friendly aliens arrived, did everyone breathe a sigh of relief. But, don’t get it twisted, those aliens are basically just social workers, doing the hard work Starfleet is incapable of.
The Borg Queen
Because the origin of the Borg Queen has dubious canonical origins, all we were told in Voyager is that she was assimilated as a child, just like Seven of Nine. As Hugh and Jean-Luc discuss in the Picard episode “The Impossible Box,” basically, everyone assimilated by the Borg, is, on some level, a victim. The Queen was never presented this way in either First Contact or Voyager, but, at one point, writers Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens had pitched a story for Enterprise which would have featured Alice Krige as a Starfleet medical technician who made contact with the Borg.
Because both Alice Krige and Susanna Thompson played the Borg Queen, it’s possible the backstories of each Queen is different and that maybe they aren’t the same character. Either way, assuming the Borg Queen retains some level of autonomy relative to other drones (likely?) then she’s pretty much making the best of a bad situation. In fact, at the point at which you concede the Borg are unstoppable, the Queen’s desire to let Picard retain some degree of his independence as Locutus could scan as a kind of mercy. The Borg Queen actually thinks she and the Borg are making things simpler for everyone. And with both Data and Picard, she tried to make that transition easier and, in her own perverse way, fun too.
Ossyra
Yes, we saw Ossyra feed her nephew to a Trance worm, and we also saw her try to kill literally everyone on the USS Discovery, including Michael Burnham. However, in the middle of all of that, Ossyra did try to actively make peace between the Emerald Chain and the Federation. And, most tellingly, it was her idea. Ossyra also pointed out one of the most hypocritical things about the United Federation of Planets: the fact that Starfleet and its government rely on capitalism without actively acknowledging it. Essentially, Ossyra was saying that the ideals of the Federation are great, but the Federation has all kinds of dirty little secrets it doesn’t want to talk about. In her meeting with Admiral Vance, pretty much everything she said about the Federation was true—and her treaty proposal was fair.
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The only snag: she wouldn’t turn herself over as a war criminal. Considering the fact that the Federation made Mirror Georgiou into a Section 31 agent, despite her war crimes in another universe, this also seems hypocritical. Why not just do the same thing with Ossyra? Tell everyone she’s going to prison for war crimes, but make her a Section 31 agent instead? Missed opportunity!
Khan
Khan was genetically engineered by wacko-a-doodle scientists at the end of the 21st Century. At some point on Earth, he became a “prince” with “power over millions.” But, as Kirk notes in “Space Seed,” there were “no massacres” under Khan’s rule, and described him as the “best of the tyrants.” Kirk’s take on Khan in “Space Seed” is basically that Khan was an ethical megalomaniac. Most of what we see in “Space Seed” backs this up. Khan doesn’t actually want to kill the crew, and stops short of doing it when he thinks he can coerce them instead. His only focus is to gain freedom for himself and his exiled fellow-Augments. In the Kelvin Universe timeline, Khan’s motivations are similar. Into Darkness shows us a version of Khan who, again, is only cooperating with Section 31 because he wants freedom for his people. Sure, he’ll crush some skulls and crash some starships to get to that point, but in his dueling origin stories, Khan is, in both cases interested in freedom for his people, who, are by any definition, totally persecuted by the Federation.
Khan is still a criminal in any century. But, we only really think of him as a villain because he goes insane in between the “Space Seed” and The Wrath of Khan. The Khan of The Wrath is not the same person we met in “Space Seed.” As he tells Chekov, “Admiral Kirk never bothered to check on our progress.” Had Kirk sent a Starfleet ship to drop in on Khan and his “family” every once in awhile this whole thing could have been avoided. In the prime timeline, Khan goes nuts because Ceti Alpha VI explodes and nobody cares. In the Kelvin timeline, Admiral Marcus blackmails him. Considering that Khan is Star Trek’s most famous villain, it’s fascinating that there are a million different ways you can imagine him never getting as bad as he became. In “Space Seed,” he and Kirk basically part as friends.
Q
In “Encounter at Farpoint,” Q accuses humanity of being “a savage child race.” And walks Jean-Luc Picard through the various atrocities committed by humanity, through the 21st Century. Picard kind of shrugs his shoulders and says, “we are what we are and we’re doing the best that we can.” When we talk about the philosophy of Star Trek, we tend to give more weight to Picard’s argument: the idea that by the 24th century, humanity has become much better, in general than it is now. But, the other side of the argument; that there’s a history of unspeakable violence and cruelty baked into the existence of humanity, is given less weight. We don’t really listen to Q when he’s putting humanity on trial, because we can’t see his point of view.
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But, because Q wasn’t a one-off character, and because he said “the trial never ends” in the TNG finale, he’s actually not really a villain at all. Q exists post-morality, as we can imagine it. His notions of ethics are far more complex (or less complex) than we can perceive. Q is one of those great Star Trek characters who is actually beyond reproach simply because we have no frame of reference for his experiences or point of view. In Voyager, we also learned that even among other members of the Q Continuum, Q was kinder, with a more humanitarian approach to what he might call “lesser” lifeforms. If Q is villainous, it’s because of our definitions of villainy. Of every Star Trek antagonist, Q is the best one, for the simple fact that he’s not a a villain at all.
Which Star Trek villains do you think had a point? Let us know in the comments below.
The post Star Trek Villains Who Actually Had a Point appeared first on Den of Geek.
from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3eIGmoq
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FFT: it all started with glow paint; jeff hardy
Notes:
Did I ever mention to ya’ll that I am legit still in love with Jeff Hardy? No? Oops, sorry. Anyway, this ask came into my main from @xladyxfatex and I had to move it to this blog, of course. Couldn’t lose this one. I had fun writing Jeff again. Perhaps I’ll write even more Jeff Hardy in the future? Who knowsss.
Summary:
Iris decides to ditch a girls night out and sneak down to the room Jeff hangs out in whilst he’s painting. Flirting and playing with glow in the dark paint and making out ensues.
Warnings:
uhh.. paint in places not a canvas. mentions of nudity. innuendo. steamy makeout.
Pairing:
Jeff Hardy x OFC, Iris
His taller muscular frame filled the doorway to the dressing rooms and he chuckled quietly to himself. Inside the room, Iris wiggled her hips as she whipped her hair around and giggled quietly. He’d overheard her earlier saying she was getting ready to go out and quote-unquote “Dance her little ass off.” and just the thought of other men seeing her like she was dressed currently had the North Carolina native up in arms. He nearly shot a foot into the air as he felt a finger tapping the back of his shoulder.
“Being a creeper again, I see?” Lita gave a soft and knowing smirk as Jeff tried to play it off. Trish was quick to speak up and call him out. “ Ya know, if you just actually made a move as opposed to skulking around and taking out pretty much any other guy who shows interest, Jeffro.. You might possibly get somewhere. Something to think about?” Trish mused with a soft laugh as she shut the door in the man’s face, drawing a pout to his lips.
Trish and Lita shared a look and wandered over to the newest hire to the roster, flanking her on either side. “Happy 21st!”
“I know right? I can finally legally drink!” Iris giggled, sitting down the almost neon pink lipstick she’d been about to put on, staring at herself in the mirror. She realized that Lita and Trish were staring at her and then kind of trying to subtly have a muted conversation over her head and she cleared her throat. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on, huh?”
“Well…”
“Here’s the thing, tiny.” Lita took the lead. She knew Matt and Jeff better and she knew that Jeff was literally never going to step up. But he would keep taking on every single guy who even dared look at Iris wrong and earlier tonight, he’d almost bitten off much more than he could chew when all 3 members of the Brood tried ganging up on him. It had taken Matt and one or two others just to break up the insanity at the end.
It had taken Jeff at least two hours to calm down and stop threatening to go and find Edge and kick his fucking head in for whatever thing he’d done or said towards Iris that Jeff wasn’t particularly fond of, too. Lita just hadn’t seen Jeff get that way before, so she knew that whatever he was feeling was real and until he got it out, it was going to keep him from having his head totally in the game.
“Yeah?”
“ Remember how you were telling us you thought a certain Enigma was so hot?” Lita teased gently, laughing to herself at how easy this was potentially going to be as soon as she saw the look on the younger female’s face and saw those big brown eyes getting that dreamy and faraway look she often got whenever Jeff Hardy was concerned.
Iris eyed Lita with a raised brow and a hand on her hip, the other one tangled in long blondish brown waves. “Yeah? And?”
“What if I told you that the Enigma in question might feel the same way?”
Iris started to laugh but her laughter trailed off as soon as she saw the calm serious looks on the two older females faces while they stared at her. She swallowed hard and muttered in a quieter tone, “Okay, you have my attention..”
“But you know how shy he is, Iris.” Lita started, Trish chiming in in a velvet purr, “Sometimes men.. They have to be lead.”
“Lead, huh?”
“Mhm. And maybe, Iris, if you were to go down to the room he always disappears to.. Maybe you’d have a better time tonight than if you were going out drinking with all of us like we planned.” Lita finished, nodding towards the door, giving the other female a gentle push towards. Iris swallowed hard, her hand poised to reach for the handle.
Trish tossed a tee shirt at their friend and called out through laughter, “You might want to actually finish getting dressed first, goofball.”
“Good idea.” Iris tugged the shirt down over her body and opened the door, taking a deep breath. She had to relax. She knew Jeff wasn’t the kind of guy who’d ever really.. approach her first, Lita and Trish were right. If someone was going to do something, it clearly fell to her.
She wandered down to the area Jeff always hung out in to paint or play his guitar and she’d been about to raise her hand to knock, but instead, she quietly pushed the door open.
Jeff stood there shirtless, the shirt he’d been wearing earlier tied around his hips as he stared at a canvas that glowed with several varied shades of pink and purple and orange. He didn’t hear the soft click of the door as she closed it. He didn’t hear her tiptoeing softly across the room either. She pressed against his back and he tensed a little, muttering a quiet “What the fuck?” before turning around.
“Iris? Hey.. What are you doin here, darlin? I thought you were goin out with Lita and Trish.”
… come on mouth, work!… Iris took a few deep breaths and pressed herself against him, staring up, lazily pressing a fingertip against those kissable lips of his. “Well, see.. I got to thinking.. I can go out and drink anytime now.” Iris trailed off, getting distracted by bright and deep jade-colored eyes and Jeff’s breath caught in his throat as he muttered huskily, “Yeah?” and his arms wrapped around her, hands locking across her lower back. Iris grimaced at the cold wet paint that he’d had smeared on his hands that was now on her skin and before she could stop herself, she was whimpering at the lingering touch. It seemed to make something snap in Jeff and he pulled her even closer, leaning down and pulling her up slightly. “So you want to spend your birthday with me, hm? Am I getting that right?”
“Mhm.” Iris practically purred the one-word response and Jeff gripped her more firmly, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, it was with a hint of a smirk. “Sweet.” as his hand squeezed her ass, grinding her against him in the process. Iris hissed at the feel of more cold and wet paint on her body. With a giggle, she reached out, grabbing a paintbrush covered in pink. “Ya know, this is my favorite color…” she drawled, painting an arrow pointing down his abdomen. Jeff swallowed hard and chuckled quietly, “Really now, Darlin? I hadn’t noticed.” he pretended to be totally shocked and as he was staring down at her intently, his hand reached back, grabbing for the paintbrush he’d discarded when she snuck up on him. He dipped the brush into the pink paint and gave a low, dark chuckle as he slid the brush down the front of her shirt similar to the way she’d done to him.
Iris reached up, the paintbrush clattering to the floor quietly and taking his face in her hands, she pulled his mouth against her own as deep as she could manage and somehow, he managed to further deepen the kiss to a point where Jeff Hardy honestly couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He was picking her up, sitting her on the edge of a table nearby. His hands slipped down, fingertips toying with the hem of a tee shirt.
One of his merch shirts, to be exact. He started to tug it upward and Iris gave a shaky gasp, her hands moving over his chest, dragging through wet paint as her legs circled his waist. The more his tongue tangled and dominated her own and the more light-headed she became, the further she wanted to push it. Her shirt settled on the floor and the shirt tied around his waist did the same. Purple glowing paint-covered hands roamed back up her body, gripping her breasts and squeezing them together as he bucked into her and growled against her neck at the way her quiet whimpers and soft pleas filled the quiet between them. Her white bra was now glowing purple on either side and as his hands gripped her thighs and squeezed, purple handprints lingered on soft skin, making her nip at his bare chest and making him whimper almost helplessly as she started to nip and bite her way down.
He stopped her, shaking his head, leaning her back on the table, leaning down into her. “Oh no, birthday girl. No. Tonight, I’m gonna take care of you..” he drawled as his lips ghosted over her abdomen and he fixed lust filled jade-colored eyes on her intently, his tongue slowly dragging over his lips….
#jeff hardy fanfiction#jeff hardy fanfic#jeff hardy fic#jeff hardy oneshot#jeff hardy imagine#// fluff and slight innuendo#// things get kinda.. steamy.
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❧ ❧ ❧
Three huh, hooboy
~~
Ritsuko wasn’t sure what she was expecting from the third child, no one was since Gendo had lost him, but the smile boy wearing an honest to god black cloak and ornate rings wasn’t it.
“So you’re telling me I was asked to come here in order to pilot a giant robot to fight that giant angel thing?” Shinji asked.
“You can’t be serious!” Misato protested. “He’s had no training.”
“AWESOME! And they said coming here was a bad idea! It’s even my color. Load me up!”
Misato resisted the urge to facepalm. Where was this fearlessness on the way in?
A1 Clips attached Shinji was brought in the entry plug and the LCL started filling in.
“Should I be concerned?” Shinji asked, still remarkably calm for the situation.
“The liquid is breathable, you were oxygenated this way for nine months after all.” Ritsuko explained calmly.
“Not what I was worried about- oh hey, this stuff tastes great!”
Many of the the bridge workers, who’d grown to tolerate the smell of LCL looked at Unit 01 in confusion and a little disgust.
Gendo’s Kid Ritsuko reminded herself. “Unit 01 Launch.”
“Sure he climbs into the giant robot, but not my car.” Misato grumbled. “Okay Shinji, I need you to focus on walking.”
The mecha took one tentative step. Then another. Shinji giggled and the robot began to bounce on it’s toes, before slipping and landing on it’s behind.
“Shinji are you okay?” He didn’t seem damaged from the feed, but the life sign readers were malfunctioning and not telling Ritsuko anything.
“All okay-dokey.” Shinji said in a sing-song voice before straightening himself out. “Oh look, there’s the Angel. LET’S WRASSLE!”
“Ritusko what the hell is going on?” Misato asked as Shinji attempted to suplex the Third Angel. “He wasn’t acting anything like this before.”
“It just a hunch, since we don’t have enough data and the readouts aren’t calibrated properly to him,” which sounded better than saying they weren’t working, “But I believe he’s having a unique reaction to the LCL which is putting him in a hyperoxygenated state which-.” She sighed, realizing she had to simplify. “He’s getting high off the LCL.”
“That can happen?” Misato asked, aghast.
“There’s no evidence of it happening before, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. He’s been getting progressively more twitchy the longer he’s in there.” She gestured to the plug feed where Shinji was drumming his fingers on the controls, tapping his feet, and grinning like a loon.
“Oh God, we have to pull him out.” MIsato had paled considerably. She didn’t even want to think about the damage that could be done in this state. “Shinji you need to-”
“DEATHTRON HAMMER!” Shinji charged at the Third Angel shoulder first. The AT Fields clashed, creating a red aura around Shinji as he broke through and began pummeling the Third Angel before suddenly retreating and climbing on top of the deployment shaft.
“And now the grand finale. Passed down through the Valentine Family, ARTEM BUSTER!” Cackling he leapt off the shaft and landed elbow first, right on the Third Angel’s core. The resultant explosion blew him off, causing him to ragdoll through the air, before landing in one of the mountains.
“We got lucky,” Misato said grimly.
~
Section 2 seemed all to happy to shove the boy at Ritsuko. He was still under the effects of the LCL and was talking a mile a minute, occasionally going into a fighting pose and punching the air a few times as if to make a point.
Ritsuko pinched the bridge of her nose. As Misato said, they’d gotten lucky he’d defeated the Angel in this state. He clearly wouldn’t be able to pilot until they could counter whatever he was reacting to in the LCL. “Shinji, we need to give you an exam since the senors in the EVA were malfunctioning and not picking up anything.”
Shinji paused in his reenactment of his fight. “You mean like beating and heartbeat and stuff?” He went back to his play fighting the air.
“That’s correct.” Ritsuko felt a headache coming on.
“Your sensors are probably fine.” Shinji tried to do a spin kick and failing. “I just don’t have any.”
“You don’t have any life signs?”
“Nope.” Shinji gave them a big grin, with canine teeth that were a little too long and sharp. “I’m a vampire.”
The two college roommates looked at each other. “Shinji, vampires aren’t real.” Misato started to explain.
In response Shinji turned into a purple hued bat and began an erratic flight in circles, cackling all the way, not knowing how many plans just went up in smoke.
~~~~
Shinji raised by someone else is a common enough trope in fanfiction. I at one point thought of trying my hand at it and went with the Valentine Vampires from Shadow Hearts. It never got past the planning stage, but damned if this wasn’t going to be a fun Shinji
(Note: Shinji ‘died’ in a car crash before being brought back as a vampire by Hilda, so he’s terrified of being in cars)
(More under cut)
~~
“Later, I need to talk to you. About The Case.” There had been a time when 'The Case' had been the drunk driver that hit his wife. Now it was the dark cloud that had hung over Inaba for nearly a year.
Yuu froze. “Is something wrong?”
“No I just – I just need a little more information,” Dojima decided. A hell of a lot more was more truthful.
Yuu nodded. “After Nanako goes to bed, I'll tell you anything you want to know.”The emphasis on the word 'want' puzzled Dojima. As they sat down Nanako reach for the remote and flicked on the TV. Dojima felt a slight chill down his spine, knowing that his daughter had once gone through a similar screen.
Then it hit him. The reason for Yuu's odd manner of speech was to give Dojima an out on some things he might be disturbed by. What little Dojima knew about the occurrences was frightening and mind blowing. Yuu was giving him a way out, trying to protect him from having his world blown apart even further.
Stupid kid, always trying to protect everyone around him. It was moments like this that Dojima would never admit to. Watching his nephew shine in sports and academia was something for any family member to be proud of. But it was watching how he cared and looked out for people, how he protected everyone he came across with the same ferocity that Dojima himself had, that made him wish Yuu had been his son, not his sister's.
Still, Yuu could protect his friends, Nanako, and any other passerby he met, but trying to protect his uncle was taking it too far.
The evening seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace. It seemed a small eternity before Dojima finally finished reading his daughter a bedtime story and turned out her lights.
Yuu was waiting for him in his room, two cups of tea steaming on his table. Dojima tried to start the conversation, but his nephew cut him off. “Ten minutes”
“What?”
“It normally takes Nanako about ten minutes to fall asleep. I don't want her listening in on this conversation.” And thus began the longest ten minutes in Dojima's life.
Finally Yuu put down his tea and looked Dojima in the eye. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” It's more than just the details of the murders. It what his nephew has been through this past year and why on Earth he didn't tell anyone. He did muttered Dojima's subconscious. Twice
“This is your last chance to back out,” Yuu warned. Receiving no reply, he sighed. “It began the day after Yamano's body was found. Yosuke was treating me to a meal as a welcome to town and Chie came along. We met Saki-sempai...” Yuu stopped and shook his head. He hadn't known and there was nothing he could have done at that point. “As we parted, Chie told us about this Urban Myth, the Midnight Channel. That if you looked into a turned off TV at midnight on a rainy evening, you'll see your soulmate.”
Dojima raised an eyebrow.
“Don't give me that look. I know how childish it sounds, but I had already seen Chie play the Nutcracker Suite on Yosuke with very little provocation, and besides, what could it hurt? It wasn't like anything would actually happen.” Yuu chuckled self deprecatingly. “As the clock struck midnight, I looked out the window. Three streetlamps glowed; red, yellow, and blue. The rain was light, but you could still hear the patter on the roof and pavement.”
Dojima felt a chill run up his spine in a way that he hadn't since he was a small child. The faraway look in his nephew's eyes told him he wasn't just telling the story, he was narrating it as he relived the events in his mind.“When I first heard static coming from the television, I thought it was my imagination. I turned around to see the television, that has been off a second ago, was on. I saw flashes of a girl, running from something in fear. The images only lasted a few seconds, then faded to nothing, leaving only the slight glow of a TV that should have been turned off. That's when I heard the voice.”
“I'm still not sure what it was, Izanagi perhaps,-” Yuu continued, ignoring the question his uncle was about to ask, or perhaps too far gone in the memory to realize Dojima had been about to interrupt. “-it's voice seemed to cleave my body in two. I thought my head would explode from the pain. It's word echoed through me: 'I am Thou and Thou art I. Thou art the one who opens the door'.And then – silence.”
Tension left Yuu's frame. “The only sound came from rain, the only light from the streetlamps. I wasn't even sure if what had just happened was real or not.” Yuu turned from his uncle, towards the TV. “I don't know what I was thinking. At that point, I'm not even sure I was. I just reached out...” Following his narrative, Yuu stretched his right hand out, his fingertip barely touching the screen.
Dojima felt his heart leap into his throat as a ripple pattern flowed across the screen from the contact. Yuu had yanked his hand back, the tentatively reached out again. This time he didn't pull back, pushing his am into the screen nearly up to his shoulder.
Yuu looked at him calmly, completely unphased by how impossible what he was doing was. “This is how it started Uncle. If I hadn't stayed up that night, perhaps I never would have gotten involved.” He pulled his hand back out. “The voice in my head, the images that showed on the Midnight channel, the power that lets me pass through the door, all were important to solving the case.”
“You have a lot of unused vacation time. It's time to call it in. I knew eventually you'd want to know the whole story and we'd discussed how to explain. We decided the best way was to walk you down our path, to reenact the major moments of the case. Tomorrow we'll head to the one place that was the key to our investigation. I'll continue the story there, where we first got involved.” Yuu's expression softened. The take charge tone he had been using evened out to the gentle voice he associated with his nephew. “I know what you just saw isn't easy to accept. It wasn't easy for me either, for any of us. There's no nice way to explain everything that happened-”
“There's never a nice way to explain murder,” Dojima growled, trying the quiet his thumping heart. A large part of his mind trying to find some explanation for what he just saw.
“No, there isn't, but this...it got messier in far more personal ways. You'll see. Rise and Naoto are coming over tomorrow to play with Nanako. And we'll begin on the path of the investigation. You should get some rest.”
“And you expect me to just fall asleep tonight?” Dojima asked dryly, not sure if he was being serious or trying to lighten the mood.
“It would be best, tomorrow will be tiring. That place always is.”
“That place?”
“Trust me,” It wasn’t a statement, from his nephew, but a plea. Because Dojima hadn’t trusted him on the important things. And because of that a bunch of kids had to face a murderer alone.
“I do.” More of a promise than a statement. That he wouldn’t discount what his nephew told him ever again.
~~~~
One of the few things that left be dissatisfied in Persona 4 was Dojima’s whole ‘lets not talk about it’ after the fact. He’s the type of person who’d need to know and understand before he could put it to bed in his mind. So this, Backside of the TV would be the group walking him through it to try and gain that understanding.
~~
A haunted looking man stared into his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had come so far, from the child of poor farmers in his home country to being one of the top programmers in a large-scale American cooperation. Was he really prepared to throw it all away?
There was no doubt about it, a product recall at the late stage would destroy global trust in the company. Competitors could easily move in and remove his company from the picture. Not only would he certainly be fired, but he would be unhireable. All for something that had less than a one in a million chance of happening.
But what if it does happens, eh? His conscience whispered at him. Could you go on living with yourself knowing some poor soul gets hurt because you did NOTHING?
The man splashed some cold water on his face. It wouldn't do to lose control of his emotions. There was only one thing he could do, and he was going to do it with pride and dignity. Drying his face with a towel, the man marched out of the restroom with a renewed sense of purpose. He marched to the main meeting room, where all the major stockholders and even the company president were waiting.
Trying not to let his fear show, he moved to the podium, sliding his notes and proofs into the small cubby within it. One final deep breath and it was time...
“Gentlemen,” began Rodrick McStewart, “The Pinnacle chip is flawed.”
“A 'flaw'?” Armando Guitierrez's voice sounded innocently curious, but it was all Roddy could do to keep from shivering. “What kind of 'flaw'?”
“One I've never seen before,” Roddy answered honestly. “If activated, the chip's ability to increase the rate of information flow goes into overdrive, the consequence of which are, to say the least, dire.”
One of the stockholders leaned forward “What do you mean 'dire'?”
McStewart sighed. “The computer would start downloading information from the internet at an unseen rate. And not just one or two files, it would try to download the whole bloody thing. Rather than slowing down as this continues, it speeds up causing the system to critically overheat in under a minute. It's not unlikely the computer would explode, causing serious damage to the user in the process.”
It was silent as a morgue. “W-What are the odds of this happening?” Another suited man asked.
Crud. He was hoping that wouldn't come up. “I've calculated the odds at four hundred and fifty million to one.” As he feared, he watched the entire boardroom relax, joking amongst themselves that they had been scared of nothing. The fools saw such a large number as unreachable. But the truth was the chip had already sold over 60 million units on pre-order alone. In under a year it would reach five hundred million, practically guaranteeing at least one accident.
Guitierrez took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Roddy. I will discuss this with the shareholders. If you would please wait in my office, we can discuss this further and see how we can salvage this.”
He knew he was being dismissed, but it was more than he had thought he would get. At least Guitierrez was willing to listen to him in private, even if he was going to spend the next hour telling the stockholders there was no problem.
Guitierrex's office was a long rectangular room, the north side of which was completely glass. The mahogony deck used the window as a backdrop. Roddy flopped down in the wheeled leather chair in front of the desk and pulled out his notes. On one of the pages was a picture of the Pinnacle chip focused in on it most important feature, the 'Broken Arrow' core. Many times McStewart wished he could have spoke with the R&D team that had developed it. It's power was amazing, McStewart was sure the chip he had built around it wasn't accessing a fraction of it's true power.
“Thank you for your patience Roddy, no sit, sit” Guitierrez gestured for the programmer to remain sitting in the wheeled leather chair. “How could this has happened?
“The Broken Arrow core is so powerful. Moreso than we ever could have guessed. A system built around it would probably be the most powerful system in existence, but a normal computer just can't safely handle it.”
“I see,” Guitierrez walked to the north wall of his office, which was a solid glass window letting in the cold December sun. “We shall have to rally as quickly as possible. How many other developers are aware of the flaw?”
“None, I didn't want to start a panic, not until I was completely sure.”
Guitierrez turned his back from the window “A wise move Roddy,” He gripped the back of Roddy's chair. “I thank you for your final service to this company.”
Roddy had expected to be fired. What he hadn't expected was for his employer to start pushing the chair at top speed towards the window. He also hadn't expected the window to not me made of hurricane glass.
Shards of shattered glass fell with him as he tumbled out the window. He hit a tree branch with a thud that probably broke all his ribs but halted his fall enough to survive it. As quickly as he could he made his way to his car. He wished he could just call an ambulance, but he didn’t want to give Guitierrez the chance to finish the job.
Elswhere, Debbie Douglas put in the preorder for one of those Pinnacle chips. It would be just the perfect thing to give Dexter for Christmas.
~~~~
An attempt to redo Freakazoid as a more serious superhero story. Not much more to be said.
#Anonymous#Ghost Writing#NGE#Shadow Hearts#Persona 4#Freakazoid#I don't know why it moved the readmore to the top of the document#by it won't let me fix it
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The Journalist and the Winter Soldier
Description: You’re a journalist in New York City who is preparing to interview the infamous Winter Soldier, James Barnes. During your interview sessions you find that your relationship with him may go beyond that of journalist and interview subject. Can the two of you keep things platonic or will the lines become blurred along the way? Previous parts can be found here.
Chapter 4:
The next morning you took way too much time deciding on an outfit to wear to your follow up interview with Bucky. You couldn’t wear anything too formal, it’s not like your office was on Wall Street or anything, but something too casual could send the wrong message. You were going for a follow up interview after all.
Eventually you managed to decide on a black dress that came mid-thigh with white flowers on it. You smiled at yourself as you twirled in the mirror, sometimes wearing pants all the time bored you, so you were glad for the upturn in the weather. Just to be safe you threw on a white gray pleather jacket and topped the outfit off with black heeled booties. Perfect, this outfit said ‘I’m here for a follow up interview but also I’m cute if you wanted to notice’.
Making sure you had all your notes with you as well as a pen and a pad of paper, you got your keys and made your way back to the Avengers Compound upstate. You stopped at a Starbucks drive-thru for a quick coffee and then continued on your way. On your drive you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. You wondered which version of James Barnes you would get today; the closed off, reserved, media conscious man, or flirty Bucky who made your heart beat just a little faster.
You showed your ID badge at the gate and as you pulled in you could see Bucky outside waiting for you. Shit. You weren’t prepared for this at all. You tossed back the rest of your coffee, not at all minding the mild scolding to your tongue and back of your throat, as you parked your car. You quickly pulled your purse, which contained all of your interview materials, from the passenger seat before you exited the car. You noticed Bucky approach you and you took the opportunity to quickly smooth down the skirt of your dress, making sure it was presentable after the long drive.
“Wow, if I knew you were gonna dress up, I woulda changed.” Bucky teased, giving your outfit a quick once over. His roaming eyes over your form made your throat go dry. You shifted nervously under his gaze, shuffling from foot to foot and making the gravel beneath you crunch in response.
“It’s nothing, just business attire. Besides, you’re not on camera today anyway so what you’re wearing is perfectly fine.” You commented, taking in his current attire. You guessed when he said ‘break in his schedule’ he really meant it. It looked like he had just come from the gym. A black tank top practically clung to his sweaty torso, revealing every place his muscles rose and fell. Black joggers hung loosely from his hips, giving you a small peak of his hip bones. His jet black hair was pulled into a messy bun with some forgotten strands clinging to his face, in short, he looked like an Adonis and you weren’t okay.
You noticed that when you mentioned there wouldn’t be a camera today he seemed to relax more, uncrossing his arms, one black and gold and the other flesh, from his chest.
“So, what are we talkin’ about today then?” He asked, leading you towards a clearing across from the parking lot.
“While my editor and I were going through the footage last night, I realized I didn’t have a sound bite of you talking about the differences in life in the 1940s vs. life now.” You explained, following him to a bench that sat under a blossoming willow tree. The scene made you feel nostalgic for home when you used to sit under a similar weeping willow and read books aloud to your stuffed animals. Your mom and always said you were born a performer, she wasn’t far off.
“What is it?” Bucky questioned, pulling you from your thoughts. “I lost you there for a minute.”
“Oh sorry, I had a willow tree just like this when I was a kid. Just made me remember and all.” You replied, sitting down opposite him on the dark wooden bench. You noticed there was a golden placard on the back of the chair ‘Howard Stark, good at inventing, okay at parenting’. It made you smile.
“I knew him you know.” Bucky commented, noticing where your eyes had landed on the bench.
“What was he like?” You asked, eyes blown wide in awe. Bucky chuckled lightly at your
reaction, you guessed he got that question a lot.
“A little of what you would expect, a lot of what you wouldn’t.” Bucky replied with a faraway look in his eyes. You sensed a story coming so you pulled out your phone and began to record, Bucky didn’t object. “He was arrogant, yes, a cad, even more so, but he was also kind of reserved.”
“How do you mean?”
“Whenever he was working he would sit in whatever space we provided him with for
hours. Sometimes he would forget to eat or even sleep. You could always tell when Stark had an idea in his head that he couldn’t shake, it was the only time he ever really shut up.” Bucky recalled with a wistful smile on his face.
“Sounds like you knew him well.” You remarked, jotting shorthand down in your notebook, blue ink scribbling across the white expanse of the page.
“Not as well as others, but that wasn’t really my area. I was more of the follow orders type, not really one to give them out.” He said with a shrug.
“Why not?”
“It never really made me comfortable. When I was growin’ up I had to look after a few people so it felt nice to not have to do that, even if for a little while.” He pondered.
“What?” You questioned, noticing how his gaze didn’t fall on anything specific, just kind of staring and thinking.
“I...uh, I’ve never really thought about that before actually.” He replied bashfully, bringing his right hand up to rub the back of his neck, a slight blush creeping on his cheeks. He was cute when he was flushed, you wondered if you could make it happen again. Damnit, focus, you’re here for the story not for the man. Even if said man was being incredibly charming without so much as lifting a finger.
You made a split second, maybe stupid decision. You unzipped your booties and brought both of your legs on the bench and sat criss crossed. You made a show of readjusting yourself making Bucky chuckle in bewilderment and then you placed your notebook back in your lap.
“What are you doing?” He questioned, looking at your new position and then to your booties laying haphazardly in the grass.
“I’m just getting more comfortable. Interesting story and all.” You answered simply, a slight smile playing at your lips. You looked down at your notebook and remembered your next point, “You said you had to look after a few people when you were growing up, who did you mean?”
“I was the oldest of four and my dad didn’t hang around much, so I kind of took up the responsibility of looking after my younger siblings.” Bucky started, “and then one day I met Steve, when some punks were trying to take his money. We were fast friends after that. But he was always getting into trouble which means I was always getting him out of trouble.”
“Captain America getting into trouble? What a scandal.” You gasped, putting your hand over your heart and feigning shock. Bucky laughed, a real, throw your head back need to catch a breath laugh. You held your breath. He looked beautiful when he laughed, like for the slightest of moments the weight of his past actions wasn’t sitting on his shoulders. Like all of the preconceived notions people had of him just faded away and he was free to just be himself. You guessed that was what he must’ve looked like all the time all those years ago. But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone again, much to your displeasure.
“Steve got into a lot more trouble than people think. He faked multiple enlistment forms for Christ’s sake. But he’s my best pal and I never once hesitated to help him out, super suit or not.” Bucky said, with more conviction behind his words than you think you had ever heard from anyone. “That’s one of the differences from the 40s to now, now Steve can kick enough ass on his own.”
“I’m sure he still appreciates your help though.” You replied before you had a chance to think about what you were saying.
“What makes you so sure?”
“It’s better to go through life with someone, if you can. Friendships, especially like the one you and Steve have, are a rare breed. If I had one like that I’m not sure anything could make me let it go.” You said earnestly, again forgetting yourself.
A silence followed as Bucky took in your response. He shifted so that he was facing you on the bench, he tucked one of his muscular legs under him and swung his metal arm around the back of the bench, resting it there. You felt his gaze burning into the side of your face so you decided to turn to face him as well, unprepared for how close the two of you were. Not close enough to be indecent but not faraway enough not to be either.
“Are you normally this open as a journalist?” He questioned, bringing his black and gold metal hand to rest under his chin.
“Are your normally this open to journalists?” You replied cautiously, but with a hint of teasing in your voice.
“Touche.”
You shook your head and rolled your eyes in response. Unsure if his response warranted any other kind of reply.
“That’s another thing that’s different.” He commented casually, pointing to your expression.
“What?”
“How people communicate. Back in the 40′s we were just more upfront about things. There wasn’t all this reading between the lines nonsense.”
“Well you also had polio.” You rebutted.
“Okay, point taken.” Bucky said, putting his hands up in mock defeat. After about fifteen more minutes you felt like you finally had enough material. Looking at the notebook in your lap, you gave your notes one more once over before you closed it again.
“Well, I think I finally have everything I need. Thanks for agreeing to meet me again Bucky.” You announced, placing your shoes back on your feet and standing up.
“I should be the one thanking you.” He said, as the two of you began the trek back to the parking lot. It was only a short distance which you found yourself suddenly disappointed in, you didn’t want this to end.
“What for?” You questioned, hiking your purse further on your shoulder.
“Besides Steve, I hadn’t been that open with anyone for a long while. You’re a real gem, you know that?”
You could feel a flush work its way across your own face now and you tried your best to hide it from Bucky but to no avail. You could see him grinning from the corner of your eyes.
“Well, this is me.” You said breathily as you unlocked your car and threw your purse into the passenger seat. Bucky walked with you over to the drivers side and opened the door for you. As you got in he leaned against the top of the door frame, looking down at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. But you knew how it made you feel, you felt like hummingbirds were fluttering around in your chest cavity, begging to break free. You tried to catch your breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear your pulse quicken at his look.
“When can I expect to see this interview of mine? Sam keeps pestering me about it.” He joked, still looking at you with those piercing blue eyes. You imagined he was looking straight into your soul, into your very being. It was unnerving and comforting at the same time. Seriously, what was it about this man?
“It’ll be out in about two days but if you want I can send you it when we’re done editing, so probably sometime later today.” You guessed, doing anything to see him smile again. It was worrying the effect he had on you.
“I’d like that.” He said with his head cocked to the side in mock contemplation, some of his black locks falling into his eye as he did so, making him look more handsome than you thought was humanly possible. God you really needed to get out of here.
“Well, the sooner I leave the sooner you can see it. Bye Bucky, talk to you later.” You said, closing your door but leaving the window down in case he decided to grace your ears with another response.
“Bye doll, looking forward to it.” He answered cheekily. Bastard. You pulled out and the moment you got out of the gate blasted your music on high. Anything to overpower the sound of your heart thundering in your chest and the wayward thoughts in your head.
Taglist: @heatherhollowayst @perrythefrickinplatypus
#the journalist and the winter soldier#chapter four#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#mcu fanfic#marvel fanfic#reader insert
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Two Worlds Collide Chapter 14
Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully
Chapter 14
(read it from the beginning here)
Stella grew restless about four hours into the flight. She had finished the book she’d brought with her to read, and now there was nothing to do but think about where she was going and why she was going there. And she didn’t like the answer to either question. Beside her, Scully was asleep, black-rimmed glasses on her face and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone open across her lap.
It was irritating the way she could sleep anywhere. Stella was tired to her soul, and yet she couldn’t sleep, not in her own bed, not in Scully’s, and certainly not on this airplane currently jetting its way across the Atlantic, carrying them toward Scully and Mulder’s son. Stella shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have taken time off work so soon after her return, and she sure as fuck shouldn’t be anywhere near this family reunion.
At least she’d had the presence of mind to request the aisle seat, so she didn’t have to disturb Scully as she stood to stretch her legs, desperate for something to do that didn’t involve sitting here, dwelling on her current situation. She made her way down to the lavatory, which was thankfully empty. When she returned to her seat, Scully was still asleep.
Somewhat curious and a whole lot bored, she slipped the book off Scully’s lap, earmarking her place before she flipped back to the first page. The idea of a woman her age reading about an eleven-year-old boy wizard was completely laughable, and yet, she found herself getting sucked into the story. It was hard not to root for Harry and his friends, and she couldn’t help noting the similarities to her current situation. Scully’s son was the same age as Harry. When young Harry about learned his parents’ true identities and the circumstances that had left him an orphan, it wasn’t so different from young William learning about Mulder and Scully and the mysterious, dangerous situation surrounding his birth.
Stella saw a bit of herself in Hermione. She too had been an insufferable know-it-all once upon a time, so naïve as she marched through the halls of the private academy her parents sent her to, enjoying the admiring looks she got from the boys—and the girls—while earning top marks in all her classes. A lifetime ago.
“Well, there’s a sight I never thought I’d see.”
Stella looked over to find Scully watching her read with a sleepy grin. “I was bored.”
Scully turned her head to peer out the window at the ocean stretching endlessly below. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours.”
“What did you think?” she asked, gesturing to the book.
“Not bad.” Stella handed it back.
“I’m enjoying it too.” She held it tightly, a faraway look in her eyes that probably had nothing to do with Harry Potter and everything to do with where they were going.
“It looks like they’re preparing the meal service,” Stella said, more to distract Scully from her thoughts than anything else, but it was true. The cabin had filled with the scent of something savory, and a cart loomed at the far end of the aisle.
“I’m going to sneak out to the bathroom before they block the aisle,” Scully said.
Stella stood to let her out, fingers tapping against her thighs as she attempted to corral the restless energy inside her. If only they were staying in a nice hotel with a pool, she’d at least have a good, long swim to look forward to once they’d landed, but no, Scully had insisted that they rent a cabin in the woods so they could experience nature while they were in Wyoming.
Everything Stella knew about nature had to do with dead bodies found there, corpses left in desolate places by deranged people. She saw herself walking through the woods in Ireland, as she so often did in her dreams, looking for Rose, and the restlessness inside her intensified.
Scully returned to her seat, and Stella sat back down beside her, buckling herself in. She let the metal snap against her fingers as it closed. Fuck. What was she doing on this airplane?
As if sensing her discomfort, Scully reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “I have a little surprise for you when we get there.”
“A surprise?” Stella attempted a smile, trying to give Scully the reaction she was looking for, even as her mind spiraled around all the well-intentioned things Scully might have planned for her that would no doubt make Stella feel even more uncomfortable about being here. She didn’t want a gift. She didn’t want anything out of this weekend except to provide comfort for Scully where she could.
Scully was looking at her now like she knew every thought currently spinning through her head, and Stella had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that she might. Scully had always been too perceptive where Stella was concerned. Then again, she didn’t know her well enough to know Stella hated surprises.
They ate mediocre airplane food, read more Harry Potter, passing the book between them, and shared idle conversation as the flight dragged on. Eventually, they landed in Minneapolis, where they boarded their second flight to Jackson, Wyoming. Scully became visibly more anxious as the day wore on, and Stella put her own discomfort aside, distracting Scully and providing what reassurances she could.
“I can’t believe Mulder isn’t coming,” Scully admitted as their plane began to descend into the Jackson airport, tears shining in her eyes.
Stella wanted to kick him in his very fine ass for not being here for his son and for causing Scully unnecessary pain and stress at an already overwhelmingly painful and stressful time. “I’m sorry,” she said instead, squeezing Scully’s hand.
“I’m going to see William tomorrow.” Scully turned her face against Stella’s shoulder, weeping silently.
Stella rubbed her back as uninvited tears pricked at her own eyes. She swallowed them, gathering Scully closer into her arms, wishing and hoping with every fiber of her being that everything would go well for her on this journey back to her son.
They landed uneventfully and picked up their rental car. Stella fought to contain her frustration as she plugged the address for their cabin into the GPS in the dash and watched it direct them out into the middle of fucking nowhere.
“I wonder how many serial killers have used this cabin before us,” she quipped as she drove them out of the airport.
“So funny,” Scully scoffed at her, but she was smiling.
It was late, and they were both exhausted after traveling for more than twelve hours. But Stella held back her complaints about the cabin, even though it meant they had to stop for groceries on the way, since they wouldn’t have the convenience of room service. This trip wasn’t about her. Stella was only here for emotional support.
So, she dutifully picked out groceries for the next two days and drove them into the middle of the fucking forest, and when they got there, she put everything away, made sure Scully took the sleeping pill she’d brought with her for tonight, and tucked her into bed, holding on to her until Scully fell into a restless sleep.
When Stella woke the next morning, she was hit by the disorienting sense of confusion that always followed a long journey and jetlag. The bedroom was decorated in the slightly garish American style that was meant to celebrate the wilderness…or blood sport. A deer head was mounted on the wall over their bed, and a bear skin served as a rug on the floor. It made Stella’s skin crawl.
But this trip isn’t about you.
Scully walked into the bedroom, a cup of coffee in each hand. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” Stella sat up to accept one of the cups, registering two unsettling facts at once. First, Scully had never woken before Stella before, and second, there was a slightly manic gleam in her eyes. Today was already taking its toll on her, and it had barely begun.
Scully sat beside her in bed, and they drank their coffee in silence, both of them lost in the uncomfortable depths of their own minds.
“Are you ready for your surprise?” Scully asked after the coffee cups had been set aside.
Stella did her best not to flinch. This was all wrong. She didn’t want anything from Scully right now—not ever—but especially not this morning. “Maybe it should wait until after the party.”
“The party isn’t until two,” Scully said, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “We’ve got hours and hours to kill until then. Come on. Get up and get dressed, just throw on something comfortable to go for a walk with me.”
“Okay,” Stella conceded. For Scully, she’d accept whatever this was and try her very best to be grateful for it. She wouldn’t let herself add any stress to Scully today.
Scully pulled a black canvas bag out of her suitcase and stuffed a few covert things into it while Stella pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and went into the bathroom. By the time she’d come back out, Scully was waiting by the door, toe tapping nervously against the hardwoods.
Scully tossed her a granola bar as they headed out the door, and they ate in silence as they walked down a narrow trail leading away from the back of the cabin. Stella resisted the urge to make another quip about serial killers and buried bodies. It was probably more likely that they’d encounter a bear or some other similarly murderous animal than a human.
“Oh, here it is,” Scully said quietly as something glimmered through the trees ahead of them. “Your surprise.”
Stella’s surprise was a thing already out here in the woods? She walked faster, curious in spite of herself. The woods opened up in front of them, and a lake came into view, glittering sapphire blue beneath the sky yawning overhead.
“You can swim all the laps you want to out there,” Scully told her. “Bigger than the biggest hotel pool. And there should be…yep.” She gestured to the side. “A beach right over there to go in.”
“A lake.” Stella stopped short. “This is my surprise?”
Scully nodded. “I knew you would need to swim. Actually, I thought a swim might do us both some good this morning.”
“But I didn’t bring my—”
“Swimsuit?” Scully patted the bag she was carrying. “I packed it for you. And mine too.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Stella’s eyes stung. Her lip quivered, and her chest had grown uncomfortably tight. Was this what it felt like to experience a happy surprise? Or was this what it felt like to fall in love?
“You’re welcome,” Scully whispered, pressing her lips against Stella’s.
“Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around Scully, holding on to her until she’d regained the ability to speak. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Scully gave her an “I told you so” of a smile, pulling free to open her bag. She tossed Stella’s suit at her and took out one of her own. “I don’t think the local wildlife will mind if we get changed right here on the beach.”
“Scandalous,” Stella said as she tugged her T-shirt over her head. She stripped down and pulled on her black racerback suit as Scully did the same beside her. And then, hand in hand, they waded into the lake. The water was cold, shockingly so as it first met her skin.
“Shit,” Scully whispered beside her, shivering past a nervous giggle.
“You’ll get used to it,” Stella told her, wading deeper. The water was a deep green color but clear enough to reveal their toes against the sandy bottom and the little fish that darted between them. Stella tried not to think what else might be lurking out there. Usually, she preferred to keep her distance from wildlife, but right now she was so touched by Scully’s grand gesture with the lake, she was more than willing to swim with hungry fish and snakes and who-knew-what else.
She waded in up to her waist and then dove beneath its shining surface, eyes closed since Scully hadn’t packed her goggles. It was just as well since she didn’t really want to know what was below her. Leaving Scully behind, she stroked her way out to the middle of the lake, burning through everything inside her that needed burning.
She treaded water as she took in the scenery around her for the first time. Mountains rose in the distance. She was surrounded by trees and birds and the endless blue sky above. There wasn’t a house or any other sign of civilization in sight. And despite her resistance to being here, she had to admit it was beautiful. Scully’s crimson head was visible near the shoreline, swimming lazily in the shallows. Even more beautiful than the scenery.
The lake felt like liquid ice beneath Stella’s toes, so she brought them to the surface, floating on her back while she soaked it all in. After a few minutes, she struck out again, swimming toward shore, sucking the brisk mountain air into her lungs, inhaling energy and exhaling peace.
By the time she reached Scully, she felt like a whole new woman. She gave Scully a warm, leisurely kiss before heading back toward the center of the lake, swimming until she was calm, inside and out. The ache in her almost-healed ribs was barely noticeable. When she’d swum herself out, she made her way to the beach where Scully stood in waist-deep water, watching fish nibble at her toes.
“It tickles,” she said with a smile as Stella approached.
“Disgusting,” Stella countered, pulling Scully into her arms and sending the fish darting off into the deeper, darker parts of the lake.
“Better?” Scully asked, touching Stella’s cheek.
“Yes.” She pulled their bodies flush, Scully’s hardened nipples teasing hers through the fabric of their suits. “You too?”
“Much,” Scully said with a nod. “It was just what I needed this morning.”
“Yes.” Stella kissed her deeply. “Also, this.”
Scully smiled against her lips as her hand slipped between Stella’s thighs, pushing her swimsuit to the side. “And this.”
“I like the way you think.” Stella tugged at the fabric of Scully’s suit, fingers encountering the heat of her body beneath the cold of the water. Ripples spread around them, disturbing the glassy surface of the lake as they moved together, swaying beneath the cloudless sky. Scully came first, dropping her head onto Stella’s shoulder as her body gripped Stella’s fingers, pulsing with release. Then she was moving again, fingers pumping in and out of Stella’s body as an orgasm built inside her, as big as the Wyoming sky.
She came against Scully’s fingers, release rippling through her like the water around them, so intensely grateful for the woman in her arms she could cry. She very nearly did. She’d come on this trip to give Scully her support, but Scully had given her just as much in return.
As they waded out of the lake, Stella gave her hand a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s get you ready to meet your son.”
#Two Worlds Collide#fanfic#Stella x Scully#stella and scully#The X Files#The Fall#Dana Scully#Stella Gibson
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What Have They Lost? 1/?
My Writing
Fandom: Arrow, The Flash
Characters: Barry Allen, Iris West, Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Connor Hawke, Cisco Ramon, Ted Grant
Pairings: Barry Allen/Iris West, Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Summary: "I can definitely tell you that there’s a way we’re going to bring [Laurel] back and she’s going to be alive and well. And Flashpoint might have a little bit to do with that." -Wendy Mericle
AKA: The AU where that wasn't a blatant lie, and Flashpoint has bigger repercussions for Barry's friends and allies than he first realized.
Notes: So, probably not wise to start yet another WIP without finishing the one I have going but...I got really excited about this idea and wanted to see what people thought.
If this is continued (which I hope to do so), things may get a little confusing as certain characters will be going by different (more comic book accurate) names, but I'll do my best to make that clear when introducing them. There are characters referenced in this chapter who will have a bigger role going forward, and when that happens I will add their character tags. Similarly, if some characters haven't been mentioned at all yet, that doesn't mean they won't be in the story. Their character tags will be added later, too.
Much thanks to @colorofmymindposts for beta-ing this chapter and helping me restructure some things. It's a much better beginning as a result. Title is pulled directly from a line in DC Rebirth by Geoff Johns while song titles and lyrics were pulled from both the Black Canary solo book and Green Arrow Rebirth, and I make no claim of owning any of them. I hope you all enjoy and let me know your initial impressions!
*Also can be read on my AO3*
Barry felt that, all things considered, life was treating him fairly well lately.
Of course, he’d had to fix the mistake he’d made going back in time to save his mother, and even now there were consequences from that. The team hadn’t been happy to learn that truth, and he worried his and Cisco’s friendship would never again be quite what it was. There were things that had resulted from his meddling that he would always feel guilt over.
But not this. Not him and Iris. Despite an awkward first attempt at a date and the second getting interrupted as well, they were falling into a better pattern now as a couple.
She found him in his lab one late morning while Julian was out at a crime scene, so they had the space to themselves for a bit. Iris wrapped her arms around his middle from behind and placed her chin on his shoulder, though he doubted it was to see the spectrometer he was working with.
“Any plans for tonight?”
Barry shook his head. “Nothing specific. You know, just,” he waved a hand to indicate general Flash stuff, which Iris understood with no trouble.
“Think you could take a break for one night?”
Barry raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I got concert tickets and I want you to go with me.”
A concert? That wasn’t usually his scene. “How’d you get them?”
“Daria in Arts and Entertainment gets sent them sometimes and she can’t make tonight work, so she offered them to me.”
Daria in Arts and Entertainment? That probably meant this was some kind of pop thing, didn’t it? Barry’s face scrunched up.
“I don’t know, Iris…”
“Bear, come on.” She squeezed him tight for a moment before letting go and taking a couple steps back. “It’s Birds of Prey!”
“Am I supposed to know them?”
“They’ve only been my favorite band since college, so I would hope so,” she remarked, and Barry turned around with a frown. He could have sworn Iris always said she liked the pop star Cassidy best. “They do some slow stuff, too. I know how you like your jazz,” Iris added with an indulgent roll of the eyes. “So are you in or out?”
He knew Iris still wanted to do some normal couple stuff as well as more extravagant dates. And if she was happy, Barry was sure he could put up with some music that might not be his taste.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in. It’ll be fun.”
“Great.” Iris leaned in and pecked him on the lips. “Gotta head back to work, but I will see you later for our date. I’ll text you the details.”
“Okay.” Barry watched her go, his smile falling off his face as she disappeared down the stairs. If this was Iris’ favorite band, he was going to have to do some research.
He went to his computer and searched the name Birds of Prey, only finding articles about a band and their lead singer, a woman only known as Dinah.
“Triumphant return to Central City after particle accelerator accident,” he read aloud to himself from the bit of preview text from one article. What did that mean? And why did the name Dinah sound oddly familiar to him?
A knock on his lab door called his attention, and he was busy the rest of the afternoon with casework, even with Julian’s added assistance. Rather than resume his internet search after his shift ended, Barry decided to pursue a different avenue of inquiry.
Cisco was present when he rushed into STAR Labs. His friend barely looked up from the computer monitor he’d been studying.
“Cisco, hey, what do you know about Birds of Prey?”
That question caught the engineer’s attention. “Uh, you mean one of the greatest musical groups of our time?”
“Yeah. Sure.” How did everybody already know this band besides him?
“They’re stopping here on their comeback tour. I think it’s tonight, isn’t it? I missed the online bid for tickets.”
“Iris got two from her coworker, so we’re going tonight,” Barry revealed.
Cisco groaned. “Lucky. I only saw Dinah live once, back when she was doing open mic nights around colleges, you know?” Cisco’s gaze got a faraway look. “I had a poster of her on my wall all through grad school. I’d give anything for a picture with her.”
“Well, I can’t promise that, but I can try and get you a picture of just her.” Barry checked his phone. “I’ve got to meet Iris at the house.”
“Yeah, have a good night.”
“You, too.” It hadn’t been perfect, but Cisco had at least been willing to open up to him about some topic, even if it was one that made little sense to Barry.
He arrived home and changed quickly into clothes better suited for a concert. Iris already had the keys to the car, so she drove them over rather than him running them. They parked on the street near the venue and joined a fast-growing line to get in.
“So, everybody keeps calling this the comeback tour,” Barry began. “What’re they coming back from?”
“You really didn’t hear?” When he shook his head, Iris continued, “They were performing on stage the night of the particle accelerator explosion.”
“And there was an accident,” he said, repeating what he had read before.
“Yeah, the sound equipment and everything, you know? I mean, the band manager got them all off the stage before anyone got too hurt, but there were all kinds of rumors about Dinah’s voice being damaged or the trauma being too much to let her go back on stage.”
“Wow,” was all Barry could come up with.
“Yeah. But, she got back in the game. This is their last stop on the tour, at least for now. People are wondering if they might go international next.”
They had passed through the doors and now were too busy looking for their seats to talk. They weren’t right in the front row, but Arts and Entertainment writers were clearly given a good spot, probably in hopes the review would be better.
The lights dimmed, and a voice came over the systems. “Central City, here tonight is the band that needs no introduction. This is...Birds of Prey!”
The obligatory fog machine obscured things as the musicians all got into place. He counted two redheads and a woman with hair so dark it almost bordered on black. Nothing about them seemed to stand out in his memory.
But he didn’t need the large screens on either side to tell who the woman was that strode confidently downstage to the mic in the center. Even if it should have been impossible.
“Laurel?”
The crowd was too loud around them, and Iris was busy with cheering and didn’t hear him or see his distress.
How could it be possible? He still remembered standing in front of Laurel’s grave, watching as Oliver tried to hold back the anguish that had been in the wet sheen of his eyes and the deep lines of his face. He didn’t think he could ever forget that look. It hadn’t just been Barry’s team who’d loved her.
And yet she was standing above him on a stage, so alive.
“Hello, Central City! It is good to be back.” Laurel paused to let the cheers subside. “I wanted to make sure we stopped here on tour. Had a bit of a fight for it. You can ask Ted.”
Iris leaned over to tell him, “Ted’s the band manager. He’s practically a father to her.”
“He is?” Who was Ted? Where was Captain Lance?
Iris nodded but gave him a second look. “You okay?”
He felt incredibly faint, actually, but there was no time to explain anything to Iris. There were people all around them and Laurel was speaking again.
“But Ted agreed, because we don’t walk away from things. Right, Central City?”
Laurel paused again for cheers. Someone out in the crowd shouted a, “We love you!”
“I love you, too!” She replied with a beautiful smile. “No matter how many times we get knocked down, we get back up. So let’s get up and get things started!”
She motioned back to the band, and the dark brunette hit her drumsticks together four times before the rest of the music started up. People were already on their feet, and Barry stood as well to see better. Now that he was over the shock he started taking more of her appearance in. There was still her blonde hair cascading down her back, but that was about where the similarities ended in how this Laurel styled herself. She had on a blue tank top, ripped up jean shorts, and fishnet leggings on under those. Fishnets!
Was it Siren? Was this all just some trick? And yet even as he thought that it made little sense. Iris’ favorite band since college, Cisco’s poster in grad school...somehow, Laurel Lance had been a member of this band for years.
But she’d been a hero. They all knew that. Or they had.
The song they were performing now seemed to be called Fish Out of Water, judging by the chorus. Barry could relate to that feeling. Then it hit him that Laurel actually had a really good voice. He’d never known that about her, whether it had even been true before...all this.
Because it was dawning on him what this was. Just like the changes that had occurred to his friends’ loved ones because of his meddling, the only explanation for Laurel not only being alive but drastically different than he remembered was the timeline being altered. But how could he have missed this?
If this much was different, what else had changed in Star City? He’d spoken to Felicity briefly since returning to this timeline and realized John now had twins instead of a daughter, but what about Oliver? Were he and the others okay?
“I’m gonna slow things down a bit,” Laurel was saying. “Even if I know you guys like things fast around here.”
Iris nudged him in the side with a big grin. It faded as he looked at her, though. “Seriously, Bear, you okay?”
“It can wait.” Now wasn’t the time or place to get into it. He wasn’t even sure how to explain to Iris that a woman she had never met but admired was now still a woman she had never met but admired just in a different way.
“If ya broke the wings of a blackbird, baby...it’s a joke to think she’ll look backward, baby,” Laurel sang. She looked...sad, somehow. Not in an obvious way. The confidence was still there, but it was like something was missing. And Barry thought he knew what it was.
His mind raced as the band closed out with another louder number to get people cheering right at the end.
“How do you feel about pretending to be from Arts and Entertainment?” He asked at more of a shout in Iris’ ear to be heard.
She raised both eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
Barry ran instead, back to her office at Central City Picture News to grab a camera and a couple of press passes. When he reappeared at her side, she blinked in surprise.
“Barry—”
“It’s kind of important that we talk to her. I’ll explain on the way home.”
Iris looked unsure, but she nodded, trusting him. Barry felt a boost of confidence at that; the rest of his teammates weren’t that willing to trust in his ability these days.
They made their way backstage with the passes and waited as Laurel and the others exited the stage. Barry felt a little stunned to watch her approach this close despite seeing her up on the stage. She was real and alive and a part of him wanted to rush forward and hug her — but that would probably get them kicked out.
There were a few lucky fans with special passes there, too, and he watched as the woman and sometimes-teammate he’d known signed autographs and took selfies with them. He snapped a couple of pictures with the camera he’d borrowed for appearance’s sake.
“Great show tonight, Dinah,” Iris called out to get her attention. She held out her hand when the other woman approached. “I’m Iris West with Central City Picture News. Huge fan, really.”
“Thanks for coming out,” said Laurel, her eyes only briefly passing over Barry, and it was so strange not seeing even a hint of recognition there. Had they never met in this timeline? What did this mean about whether she knew the others?
“So what’s next for the band?” He asked. “International, somewhere else in the states? Star City, maybe? It’s our, uh, sister city,” Barry added when both Laurel and Iris gave him odd looks.
“Funny you should say that. We’ll be taking some time off in Star, yeah. Ted and me, anyway. The other girls are stopping home in Gotham, but Ted’s got a place there.” She nodded back towards an older man with flecks of gray in his hair and a few lines in a deeply tanned face.
“Great,” said Barry.
“Your new song, Blackbird. It’s really good, and the lyrics, uh, what’s the story behind that?” Iris asked. Barry knew he’d put her on the spot and that this style of interview wasn’t exactly her specialty. He thought she was doing a great job, though.
Laurel shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of false starts in life. A lot of things I’ve had to walk away from. You learn to live with it.” She glanced over at Ted again who made some kind of motion. “Listen, there’s a girl scheduled to meet me in the green room, so if we could wrap this up?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll message your people if I think of anything else to ask,” Iris said quickly. “Thanks so much for your time.”
“Yeah, thanks Lau— uh, Dinah,” Barry remembered at the last second. Her eyes jumped to his with a sharp look.
“Yeah. You too.” Laurel said quietly. She turned and walked away, glancing back at them over her shoulder once.
“So what was that actually about?” Iris asked in his ear. Barry gave a start and looked away from the hallway Laurel had disappeared down. They went through a side exit and started the walk back to the car.
“I know her. Or knew her. Um, before I changed the timeline.”
Iris’ eyes widened. “Really? How?”
“She wasn’t a singer. She was the Black Canary. A hero, part of Oliver’s team. She died last spring—” Iris stopped in her tracks, expression one of alarm. Barry reached for her hand to keep her moving down the sidewalk. “—or she did in that timeline. I don’t know how this happened.”
Iris was quiet for a few moments, processing the information. “Well, at least she’s here in this timeline?”
“Yeah, but,” Barry began. He shrugged. “It’s so different. She doesn’t even go by the same name!”
He remembered seeing Dinah on the gravestone, only then realizing they’d all been calling her by her middle name the whole time. What made a person decide to change names? How far back did this divergence from the timeline go?
Iris was frowning, discomfort showing on her features. She had defended his actions in changing things to the rest of the team, but was this a step too far? What did she think of him now? “Well, Bear, I think you’re just going to have to leave this be,” she said eventually. “It’s too late to change things.”
“I know. I just — I need to check on the others in Star, okay? Just so I know what’s been going on if we ever have to team up sometime.”
“Okay.” Iris let him go with a kiss, and then Barry was off running again, first to get his suit and then to Star City.
What was Team Arrow like without a Black Canary? What was Oliver like? He didn’t know too much about the other man’s relationship with Laurel, but they’d obviously been close judging by how affected he’d been at the funeral. What would Barry be like without one of his teammates? He couldn’t even imagine it.
He entered the cave and stopped, calling out to make sure the space wasn’t as empty as it appeared. “Hey, Ollie, you in? Really need to talk to — woah!”
Barry didn’t quite dodge out of the way of two arrows connected by a wire that shot out and pinned him to the wall behind him.
A young man, teenager really, with blonde hair and dark skin emerged from behind a support beam. He carried a bow and quiver of arrows and was grinning as he approached. “Gotta watch your surroundings better, Flash.”
“Connor,” said a familiar voice, the tone only slightly warning.
“I’m only messing, dad,” said the teenager to Oliver as the older man approached. Barry felt his mouth drop open. Since when did Oliver have a second son?
Oliver himself seemed different, somehow, in ways that were hard to define. The stubble he usually had could more accurately be called a goatee, and there were lines in his face that Barry could have sworn hadn’t been there. But he didn’t look as abjectly miserable as the last time Barry had seen him.
“What’s going on, Barry?”
He decided to just cut to the chase. “What do you know about Dinah Laurel Lance?”
Oliver’s face scrunched up. He frowned, though it was more in confusion than anything else. Then the worst possible answer left his lips.
“Who?”
#lauriver#westallen#barry allen#laurel lance#iris west#oliver queen#arrow#the flash#cisco ramon#ted grant#connor hawke#black canary#green arrow#my writing
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Endgame thoughts
My initial reaction was that it’s surprisingly really slow paced and has very few action scenes. I was going to say it was all ultimately worth it for the big climactic battle at the end. But then it really lost me on almost all the endings for our heroes.
Pretty much everything I dreaded came to pass. Tony had five years with his wife and kid, but he had to live those years in a super-depressed world where he felt like a failure, then when he had the chance to fix everything and settle down and finally enjoy life, they ripped it away from him. Also, kinda selfish of him to insist that they don’t erase the last five years on the off chance that it causes Tony to not get married and have a kid with Pepper. Like, fuck all the people who didn’t get dusted but died as a result of pilots and drivers and doctors suddenly disappearing or who became depressed and were driven to suicide and fuck Loki, Heimdall, Vision, Gamora, and half of Asgard I guess?
Similar to how they ended Tony’s story about PTSD, survivor’s guilt, and the overbearing burden of feeling like he has to be responsible for everything in the worst way possible, I feel like Steve’s ending was also antithetical to his entire arc. He spent the whole series trying to acclimate to life in the future and he was doing a pretty good job of it. He got caught up on tech, pop culture, and even found a new love, bland and underdeveloped as she was. Then he just goes back in time to live in the past? Also, the whole point of sending Steve back to return all the stones was to ensure the timeline didn’t get fucked and things would play out as they had originally, so Tony’s daughter wouldn’t be unborn. But then Steve goes and hooks up with Peggy, who got married to someone else in the original timeline. Also, no one noticed Captain America returning after being presumed dead in a time where memories of him and what he looked like would still be fresh? Also, also Peggy founded SHIELD. Did she have to hide Steve’s existence from everyone who knew him every day that she worked with them? Did Steve not warn her about HYDRA infiltrating her organization? What about in the future when those HYDRA agents were tricked into thinking Steve was one of them? Any consequences to that?
I think the biggest tragedy of Steve’s ending is that it could’ve been the most beautiful, perfect, satisfying, sentimental ending to another story. Like, if they’d done this at the end of Avengers 1, or even Winter Soldier, I could get on board with the idea that Peggy was Steve’s one true love that he could never move on from. But after so many movies showing Steve acclimating to living in the future, making new friends and getting an old one back, (He seriously didn’t get to spend any time with Bucky outside the battlefield after they finally fixed his brainwashing. How bullshit is that?) establishing himself as the leader and moral center of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and making out with Peggy’s grandniece it feels like character regression to have him throw all that away to literally live in the past.
Also, he passes on the mantle of Captain America to Falcon, who already has a perfectly good superhero identity, instead of Bucky, who could actually use a new identity to start over with.
I felt cheated by the fact that they emphasized Loki being important to Thor in the marketing, but then Thor just walks right past him in his cell. Present Thor never interacts with or even mentions Loki and all of his emotional moments are with his mom, who I never cared about, in a callback to one of the worst movies in the franchise. Which isn’t to say those scenes weren’t well-done. Well, I mean, except for the fact that Thor’s fake hair and beard and beer-belly were terrible and distracting and took me out of the moment, though props to the actress playing Frigga for managing to be so sincere acting opposite Chris Hemsworth in that getup. I really don’t know what they were thinking with that. Like, they could’ve written the movie’s timeline so that they went to see Thor when he’s sad and fat to get their cheap laughs and then have them take another year or so to put together their time-travel setup so Thor could get back into shape. But no, they really decided to commit to that bit and have him spend the entire movie, his character’s swan song, as a damn clown. Like, they couldn’t have at least switched out the cheap ugly unkempt hair and beard for a better set that looks more realistic so he could look just a smidge more dignified in the finale battle?
And that’s not even getting into Thor’s ending. I was already peeved by Infinity War giving Thor his eye back immediately after he lost it but I think the ending they gave him somehow managed to be even more insulting than Tony’s. Like, his dad dies and he finally ascends the throne and takes on the responsibility of being a king and then he just gets fat and drunk and then abdicates and puts Valkyrie in charge so he can run off aimlessly looking for a new purpose with the GotG? Like, what sense does that make? Also, he justifies putting Valkyrie in charge by saying she’s got leadership qualities, but when did she ever demonstrate any? Ragnarok was all about Thor demonstrating HIS leadership abilities by recruiting Valkyrie, Hulk, Loki, and the Sakaar rebels to fight for his cause. Valkyrie didn’t do any leading in that film, she just learned to start giving a shit and be a team player again. In Endgame, all she does is point Rocket and Hulk in Thor’s direction and then show up on the battlefield. They don’t even imply that Valkyrie was taking charge while Thor was wasting away.
She looked fucking great on her horse though. But where did she get it? I don’t remember seeing her herding one onto the refugee ship at the end of Ragnarok. I’d say I’m surprised that Thor and Valkyrie didn’t become an official couple offscreen like Peter and Gamora did, but after they threw away Jane, Sharon, and Betty and aborted Nat and Bruce’s romance, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that Thorkyrie went nowhere. If they hadn’t gone with making Thor a joke for the whole movie though, it could’ve worked really well since in their last film together, Thor was the one who pulled Valkyrie out of a funk where she was drinking and wasting her life on Sakaar to cope with her trauma and she had the opportunity to do the same here. Oh well. Maybe with Thor out of the picture and Loki possibly alive the ship I really wanted to see take off might actually stand a chance.
The big girl ensemble scene kinda made me laugh because they really wanted all the girls (sans Nat) together and it was already kinda forced and corny when they did it in Infinity War when there were only three, but when you’ve got a huge battlefield full of mostly male heroes and random male soldiers and grunts it stops being a believable coincidence that all the women and only the women would end up in the same spot and just becomes transparently “we deliberately flocked together just for the sake of forming a girl group with no regard for strategy”. But that’s not even what made it funny. What made it funny was that they stuck Mantis in there and then as soon as everyone charged she disappears because Mantis isn’t a fighter, so there was no reason for her to join that group, which makes the whole thing even more transparently like, not a thing that would happen organically in real life.
I totally didn’t even notice that Lady Sif didn’t appear because the actress had left the franchise long ago, so I just never expected her to show up, anymore than I expected Jane to. In fact, I was so sure that Natalie Portman was only going to appear in archive footage or in faraway shots with a body double that it shocked me when they had like, a whole five seconds of her waking up and then Rocket walking into the room and it didn’t look like it could’ve been from the original movie because they never would’ve shot the scene to linger after Natalie walked off with the camera angled to frame a two-foot tall character. So I guess they got Natalie back just for that.
I’ve expressed before that I’m not a fan of dealing with story and character problems by throwing them away instead of fixing them, and Jane’s a pretty good example of why. The first two Thor movies feel like a complete waste now since they spent so much time developing her and Thor’s relationship and Thor having to choose between his obligations to Asgard and his love for her. Her dumping him in Ragnarok doesn’t inform his character at all, unlike Tony and Pepper’s break-up in Civil War. It’s just an excuse to make him single so they can set up Valkyrie as his new love interest. But then Thor and Valkyrie don’t get together, nor does he reconcile with Jane. The movie indicated he was still heartbroken over Jane, and they had the perfect setup for a reconciliation. Thor lost his both his parents, his siblings, his best friend, his eye, his hammer, his home planet, and half his people, but Jane was snapped by Thanos, which means she came back to life at the end. It was such a blatant missed opportunity to not have him either get pulled out of his funk by Valkyrie or reconcile with Jane in the end it almost feels like maybe they were going to in an earlier draft but then decided it was too similar to Steve's happy ending so they just decided fuck anything respectful or satisfying for Thor and just dumped him on the GotG for no other reason than to make his different.
When Valkyrie said she liked either Bruce or Hulk apart better than both of them together I was like “hard same”. Like, the CGI on Hulk was never that convincing, but it gets really deep into the uncanny valley in this film. It just feels wrong to see the big green guy emoting and gesturing like Bruce and hearing Bruce’s normal soft-spoken voice coming out of Hulk’s mouth. Nothing about it is okay. I would’ve liked it better if they hadn’t skipped over the character arc too. Like, instead of just “Oh, we reconciled our differences and merged into one during the timeskip” Bruce was still unable to Hulk out for five years and didn’t know why and then finally figured it out for the final battle in a big triumphant moment.
I was hoping there’d be some kind of a twist to the soul stone get scene. Like, because Nat sacrificed herself instead of being pushed in, she’d get the stone instead of Clint and then they’d both live, or they’d both fall and be resurrected. Kinda like in Yu Yu Hakusho when Yusuke and Kurama both tried to sacrifice themselves to the magic mirror to save Kurama’s mom so it let them both live.
They should’ve just cut Clint’s storyline and swapped it for Hulk’s story. Cause like, the whole Ronin thing doesn’t really impact the plot in any way. The only purpose it serves is to give him a reason to fight with Nat over who should sacrifice themselves despite Nat being the obvious choice since Clint has a wife and kids he’s trying to get back. The scene at the beginning where he loses them is all we really need to be emotionally invested in him. Scott only had the one scene with his daughter and that was enough for him.
If they’d had Hulk’s reconciliation happen over the course of the movie instead of during the timeskip then they could’ve sent Clint to New York and Bruce to Vormir, since an active battlefield wouldn’t have been a good place for Bruce to be while unable to Hulk out. It could’ve been Bruce and Nat fighting over who should sacrifice themselves as a resolution to the feelings of guilt and self-loathing they discussed in Age of Ultron. Nat could’ve sacrificed herself, not out of shame for her past or the future she doesn’t think she can have, but out of love for Bruce. Her sacrifice could’ve been the key to unlocking Bruce’s ability to reconcile the two halves of himself, which would've been a nice payoff to her being able to snap Bruce out of Hulk mode in AoU and Ragnarok instead of just a thing that happens to make you sad for no reason.
I thought Captain Marvel in her solo movie was just okay. Not unlikable by any stretch, but not particularly funny or charming or otherwise possessing any kind of engaging character traits strongly enough to give me something to latch onto. But I found her quite unlikable in this film. She’s barely in it and every time she is, she’s copping a real attitude. Like, everyone else is grieving and wracked with guilt because they’re actual empathetic characters who’s natural reaction is to feel bad about the situation even though they tried their hardest, and many of them couldn’t have done much anyway. But Carol just seems really defensive. Like, if this were any other hero, she’d be sorry she wasn’t around to stop Thanos. She’d be haunted by all the people who suddenly, inexplicably turned to dust, knowing she was the one hero powerful enough to stop him, but she wasn’t where she needed to be. Instead, she comes across as being more bothered by the idea that other people might blame her for not stopping Thanos than by what Thanos did.
I kept thinking that maybe since Loki got the the space stone the timeline was messed up and he was going to pop up in the final battle and I actually played myself into thinking it was him moving Mjolnir for a sec before it turned out to be Steve and then I was disappointed he didn’t show up later when everyone else did.
Nebula at the start of GotG 1 was already hoping that Ronan would help her kill Thanos, so it’s OoC for past Nebula to be his loyal servant in this movie.
How did Clint and Natasha go to Vormir not knowing about the sacrifice? Nebula was able to figure out what happened to Gamora in Infinity War, so why didn’t she warn them?
Loki disappeared with the space stone in Avengers 1 but he was still in his cell during the events of TDW, but then they went further back in time to get the space stone in the 70s. But when did Steve return the space stone? If he sent it back to the 70s, does Loki still get it in 2012, or did Steve stop him from getting it?
Also, why did they even need to go to the 70s to get more Pym particles? Bruce already had the time stone. They could’ve just used it to fix their flub with Loki.
I can’t believe they finally put explicit gay rep in the movies but like, in the weirdest way. Like, it wasn’t like they hyped it up and then only vaguely implied it with stereotyping, like some other movies. They did have like, an outright unmistakable declaration of a character’s sexuality, and it wasn’t even saved for the very end. It’s in like, the first half-hour. But, they did it with a random no-name extra. So it’s like, they now acknowledge that gay people exist in these movies, but there’s still no explicit unambiguous LGBT representation among the heroes, or even the supporting cast.
I remember in Tony’s funeral scene, seeing a teenage boy and thinking “Who the hell is that? That’s not Peter, and that’s not one of Clint’s kids”. Like, I’m not great with faces, especially when they’ve drastically changed due to puberty, so of course I wasn’t going to recognize the kid from Iron Man 3. Now that I know that that’s who that is, I think it’s a pretty nice touch, even though it’s still bullshit that Tony died.
Kinda confused about Gamora. We’re never shown that she goes back to her time, but I guess we have to infer that she did because she’s not with the other Guardians at the end and Peter has an image of her on a screen implying that he plans to somehow find her and bring her back to life in his time. Also, how is Nebula alive if her past self died?
Everyone who got snapped was brought back to life, but the five years they were gone wasn’t erased. So Peter is still 15, even though he’d be 20 if he hadn’t died, unlike Cassie who is now a 13 instead of 8 (I think that’s her age, don’t quote me on that). But we see Peter hug Ned, who looks the same age, and Flash and MJ also appear to be the same age in the Far From Home trailer. So, I guess it’s a coincidence that everyone in Peter’s circle just happened to also get snapped so there’s no awkwardness with Peter being in high school while all of his friends are college-aged now.
#avengers#avengers spoilers#endgame spoilers#spoilers#avengers endgame spoilers#avengers 4 spoilers#marvel#marvel comics#mcu#endgame#mcu spoilers#avengers endgame
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There’s No Shame In Dreaming
I still have feelings about Chapter 5, and @disneyphantomlover had an amazing theory, so I wanted to write something for it. I dipped into myself quite a bit for the character of Henry’s granddaughter. I also dipped into my own version of Joey a bit.
You’re 7 years old and your favorite thing in the world is making up stories. You don’t write them down most of the time, although you think your mother does sometimes. She likes sharing them with your Grandpa Henry and Grandma Linda. Grandpa Henry always praises your creativity. Grandma Linda says you’re just like Grandpa Henry. You know Grandpa Henry made cartoons a long time ago, although he doesn’t talk about it all that much. He worked for Uncle Joey. Uncle Joey technically isn’t related to you, but he’s Grandpa Henry’s friend so he’s pretty much part of the family. He lives close by, along with Grandpa Henry, so you visit him a lot. Uncle Joey can be kind of awkward sometimes like he doesn’t know how to talk to you. You like him anyway. He always listens to your stories. A lot of adults don’t like listening to your stories.
He has cool posters around his house too. Grandpa Henry has posters like that, posters of characters you don’t quite recognize. They’re not like the Disney characters you’re used to. Grandpa Henry talks about working for Uncle Joey on the cartoons sometimes, but he never talks about it enough to satisfy your curiosity. So, one day, when Grandpa Henry has dropped you off at Uncle Joey’s house, you ask him about it. You want to know what happened at the studio. You know it closed down at some point, but you don’t know why. You know about the ink machine in Uncle Joey’s house too, even if you don’t know what it does. Uncle Joey gets a faraway look in his eyes.
“I haven’t thought about that in a long time.” He says. You sit there patiently, arms folded, waiting for him to continue.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather hear a different story?” He asks.
“No. I want to hear about this.” You insist. Uncle Joey smiles wearily, shaking his head and muttering something about you being just like your grandfather. Then he begins. The story he tells you details your grandfather returning to the studio after getting a letter from Uncle Joey himself. The details are bare, and the only other person he mentions is the janitor, Wally. You don’t know much about Wally, but he sends Uncle Joey and Grandpa Henry letters sometimes. You saw a picture of him once and you think he dresses weird. Your father laughs and tells you that that’s the fashion in Florida.
“When are you going to tell me the rest?” You demand as Uncle Joey finishes. You’re rather unsatisfied with the story he’s told you.
“When you’re older.” He tells you. You huff, but Grandpa Henry is walking in to pick you up.
.
You’re 8, about to turn 9, and you’re standing outside of Uncle Joey’s house in the rain, crying so hard you can barely breathe. You know you should have gone home, but your day has been pretty rough. Some boys at school threw your notebook in a puddle and ripped out a bunch of the pages. Uncle Joey gave you the notebook as a present for your birthday. It was really nice, with the cover made of real leather with your name embossed on it and everything. You’re worried your parents will be mad at you. You’re not supposed to bring the notebook to school because it’s expensive and it was a gift. You knock on Uncle Joey’s door, trying to will yourself to stop crying. Uncle Joey opens the door, dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe. He always seems to wear that sort of thing when you come over, even though you’ve seen pictures of him in suits and he has lots of nice clothes in his closet. He takes one look at you and drags you inside.
“You could have caught your death of cold.” He’s scolding you as he gets some towels and wraps you up in blankets on the couch, but you feel better just being here.
“What happened?” He asks once you’re safe and dry and bundled up in blankets. Your heart sinks because now you have to tell him what happened to the notebook he gave you. You sniffle as you dig out the dirty and disheveled notebook from your bag, holding it out to him with your head hung in shame. Uncle Joey takes the book from you, turning it over and clicking his tongue.
“I’m assuming you didn’t do this to it yourself.” He says. You shake your head, trying not to cry.
“Some boys at school saw me writing in it and took it.” Your lip is quivering as you fight back tears. “I wasn’t supposed to take it to school and now it’s ruined. I’m sorry, Uncle Joey.” Uncle Joey kneels down in front of you, putting his free hand on your shoulder.
“Sweetheart, it’s alright.” He gives you a smile. “I can get the journal fixed.”
“B-But it was really expensive and-” Your parents told you to be careful with it because they said Uncle Joey had spent a lot of money on it. But Uncle Joey cuts you off.
“It wasn’t your fault. I know you’ve been very careful with it in the past and I’m certain you will continue to be careful with it.” He says.
“You’re...You’re really not mad?” You were so sure he would be angry. But then again, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Uncle Joey get mad before.
“I’m really not.” He reassures you. “Now, let’s call your parents, alright?”
“Okay.”
.
You’re 10 years old and you’ve actually done some research about the studio. Well, you call it research, but it was mostly pestering Grandpa Henry into showing you more drawings and posters and letting you listen to some music from the show. You know now that the person who composed those songs is Sammy Lawrence. Grandpa Henry used to get letters from him when you were younger. Grandma Linda says Grandpa Henry has a studio portrait somewhere in the house, although she thinks it’s packed away in the attic. Your mother thinks she remembers meeting Sammy once, although she’s not sure. Your father knows very little of the people from the studio. Armed with this new information, you demand to hear more of the story of the studio. Uncle Joey looks up from his knitting, Grandma Linda has started teaching him so he has something to do with his hands, and chuckles.
“You really are Henry’s granddaughter.”
“You always say that.” You fold your arms. “Are you going to tell the story or not?”
“Alright, alright.” Uncle Joey sets his knitting down and starts telling the story all over again. The story seems different this time, but maybe that’s because it’s been a while since you’ve heard the story. Or maybe Uncle Joey is just embellishing things. He does that a lot. Wally appears again as Uncle Joey takes you down to the music department, as well at the projectionist Norman Polk. Your mother remembers going to a funeral for Norman when she was a teenager, so you know what happened to him. Still, you find it interesting to hear about him.
“Did Wally really lose his keys that often?” You ask.
“Well, I wasn’t there all the time,” Uncle Joey admits. “But Sammy always brought it up when he came to complain to me.” You can’t help but feel a little intimidated by Sammy, even if it’s just in a story. He reminds you of stern teachers you’ve had who don’t like how often you end up daydreaming in class. You try to distract yourself by asking about Alice Angel. You’ve seen her on the posters and when Uncle Joey tells the story of the music department, he mentions her and a woman named Susie Campbell. You’ve heard her name before, but you’re not sure where.
“Maybe another time.” Uncle Joey says. His smile suddenly seems forced, like he finds it hard to talk about her. Part of you wants to push him for answers, but you decide not to. You don’t like making Uncle Joey sad.
.
You’re 12 years old. You have a few friends you’re close to, and you like them a lot, but they’re a lot more outgoing than you are. You don’t see them too much outside of school, although you did invite all of them to your Bat Mitzvah. The boys at school are picking on you even more now. They tease you about your appearance a lot. You had to get braces that year, so that’s something they really like pointing out. It makes the whole thing even worse. You keep to yourself most of the time. You like spending your time in the library, curled up in a corner. The librarians like you and remember which books are your favorites. You’re a bit of a morbid child. You read a lot of horror stories, despite the librarians warning you that they might be gruesome. You don’t speak up all that much in class, preferring to lose yourself in your own little world. You’re just not interested in most of the subjects. Your parents are worried about you.
“Sweetheart, it just seems like you’re not applying yourself.” Your mother says when your report card comes in. You’ve been getting mostly B’s with an occasional C.
“Give her a break, Sarah.” Grandpa Henry says. “I was the same way when I was a kid.”
“I’m just worried about her, Dad.” Your mother glances back toward you. You’re hunched up in a corner, writing in your notebook. It’s a cheap notebook. You keep Uncle Joey’s notebook at home, using it only for special ideas.
“She’ll be alright.” Grandma Linda assures your mother. “School isn’t everything, dear.”
“I guess you’re right.” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. “I just want her to be able to function well in the world.” Your father is at work right now, but you’re sure he’d say something similar. Your parents tell you all the time that pursuing a career in the arts really isn’t realistic. They tell you it doesn’t pay well. Just look at what happened to Uncle Joey’s studio, they say. Grandpa Henry and Uncle Joey always come to your defense when your parents start talking like this.
“She’s 12.” Grandpa Henry says. “She doesn’t need to have her whole life figured out. Let her do what she enjoys for now.”
“They mean well.” Grandma Linda tells you when you’re alone. “They just want you to be safe and happy, and they think you won’t be happy if you don’t make money.” You just nod. You don’t really care about money. You don’t care about having a job. You just want to do what makes you happy.
.
You’re 14 years old. You know the world is cruel. The boys at school push you into puddles when they can find them, or take your supplies and hide them. You got in trouble when you knocked out the front teeth of a book who decided to flip your skirt. You just finished reading Frankenstein in its entirety. You’re at your Uncle Joey’s apartment. You don’t want to go home because the boys at school beat you up that day for what you did to the boy who flipped your skirt.
“You need to tell your parents.” Uncle Joey says as he gives you a bag of ice to put on your face.
“They’re already mad about me getting in trouble.” You mutter, staring sullenly down at your feet. “They said it’s not ladylike.” Uncle Joey sighs, settling down beside you.
“They mean well.” He says.
“Everyone says that.” You hunch your shoulders. “It doesn’t feel like they do. Nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“They love you, they do.” Uncle Joey puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into a hug. “Sarah and David just worry, is all.” You draw into yourself.
“Did you ever get bullied when you were little?” You ask after a moment or two. Uncle Joey laughs. He has a nice laugh. It always makes you feel better when you hear him laugh. It’s big and booming most of the time, although it’s gotten weaker over the years.
“Oh, I certainly did.” He chuckles. “I was never all that popular in school. I was a bit of a bratty child if I’m being honest. And it didn’t help that I was almost always sick.”
“So you got beat up a lot?”
“Quite a bit.”
“Were your parents mad at you?”
“Only when it was my fault.” Uncle Joey says. “Because it was my fault sometimes. I had a big mouth.”
“Do you...Do you think I deserve it?” Your voice is quiet as you huddle into Uncle Joey.
“You’re a good kid.” He pats your head. “I don’t think you’d ever deserve it.” You both sit in silence for a few moments.
“Will you tell me about Alice Angel now?” You finally ask.
Uncle Joey tenses a bit at the name, but he sighs and nods his head. “I suppose you’re old enough for it now.”
You look up at him, trying to hide your excitement. You’ve waited so long to finally learn about who Alice Angel and Susie Campbell are. Uncle Joey begins to tell the story again, from the beginning. You think you remember this story differently. Boris isn’t a monster, he’s just a slightly selfish wolf. You were excited to hear about him at the end of Chapter 2, and now you get to see him again in Chapter 3. This chapter is longer than the others, so long you almost fall asleep. You learn about the Butcher Gang, the villains of the Bendy cartoons. Here, they’re nothing but mindless creatures, without voices and without purpose. And you finally hear about Alice Angel. In Uncle Joey’s story, she’s a selfish and vain being, marred by the Ink Demon and driven to insanity. This what he thinks of Susie Campbell, apparently. You’re surprised at the bitterness in his voice when he speaks of Susie. You’ve never heard him sound so angry before. In passing, he mentions Thomas Connor as well, which is a name you know. Mr. Connor’s wife sometimes sends Uncle Joey letters. You’ve never met her, but Uncle Joey says she’s a lovely woman. The story ends abruptly, with Alice stealing Boris away.
“That can’t be it!” You say, grabbing Uncle Joey’s arm. “What’s the rest? What happens to Boris?”
“It’s getting late, my dear.” Uncle Joey pats your head. “It’s been a long day and I’m feeling tired. You should be getting home too.”
“But...” You trail off, knowing full well that he’s right. You slid off the couch, gathering up your school bag from where you left it beside the door.
“Dear?” You stop and look back at Uncle Joey.
“There’s something I want you to remember, darling.” His expression is worn, almost mournful. “Grownups aren’t always right. We make mistakes, just like you do. But we don’t always want to admit to it. Don’t fault your parents when they’re wrong, help them be better.” You’re not sure what he means by this, but you nod before darting outside.
.
You’re 15 years old. You don’t go to Uncle Joey to get a story this time. He’s in the hospital. He goes there sometimes when his health gets particularly bad. You don’t have school that day, so you’ve gone to visit him in his hospital room. Since your parents are both working, Grandpa Henry agrees to take you. Grandma Linda comes along too. She wants to bring Uncle Joey his knitting so he has something to do while he’s in the hospital.
“If he doesn’t have something to do, he’ll end up complaining to all the nurses.” Grandma Linda sighs as you all walk up to the hospital.
“I think they’re used to him by now.” Grandpa Henry laughs to himself. You hold your notebook close to your chest. You’ve come up with a new story idea that you want to share with Uncle Joey. Within the past year, you’ve gotten really into Norse Mythology and you want to write some kind of story with it. You really like the goddess Hel, even if there isn’t a lot of information about her.
Uncle Joey is sitting up in his bed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he skims a book. In the quiet moments, you can’t help but notice how old and frail Uncle Joey looks. You try not to think about it too much. You’ve never actually had someone close to you die before. You don’t really want to have that happen either.
“Well, it looks like you’re amusing yourself.” Grandma Linda says. “I guess I didn’t need to bring your knitting.” Uncle Joey immediately looks up, his whole face splitting in a grin.
“Goodness! Did you all come here just to visit little old me?”
“She wanted to visit you.” Grandpa Henry pushes you forward gently. “We just came along because she needed transportation.” You smiled and run over to him, throwing your arms around Uncle Joey.
“I missed you.” You say. Uncle Joey’s expression softens and he pats your head.
“I missed you too, dear.”
Grandpa Henry and Grandma Linda exchange a look before setting down the knitting and leaving the room. You sit down in the chair next to Uncle Joey’s bed, opening up your book.
“I got a really good idea for a story.” You say, flipping to the proper page. “Do you want to hear about it?”
“I’d love to.” He smiles at you.
You spend the next hour excitedly telling Uncle Joey about your story idea. He listens quietly, watching you with a soft smile. When you finish, Uncle Joey nods thoughtfully.
“Do you want to hear more of the story?” He asks. You blink.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“You told me a story, so I should return the favor.” He nods. He takes your hand in his and begins once more. The story is a bit lacking this time, but you know that’s because he’s tired and you’re happy to listen anyway. You hear about people you didn’t know about, like Jack Fain, and people you already know, like Grant Cohen. He shortens Chapter 3 because you’re both tired and he knows his audience. When he reaches Chapter 4, you learn how sorrowful the ink creatures are, how much they’ve suffered. You learn about Bertrum Piedmont and Uncle Joey’s plan to build an amusement park.
And you realize your Uncle Joey was a horrible, horrible person.
You’re very quiet when he finished. Grandpa Henry and Grandma Linda come back because the sun is setting and they need to get you home.
“Why don’t we get some food on the way home?” Grandma Linda suggests as she takes you by the hand. You cling to her hand, nodding and feeling very much like a small child again. Grandpa Henry notices your silence, giving Uncle Joey a knowing glance. Then you all leave.
.
It takes you a long time in order to ask Uncle Joey for the end of the story. Life gets in the way. You’re 18 years old. You just graduated high school and are going to college in the fall. You’ve had a lot of talks with your parents about your future and they understand now. They want you to be happy. And you are happy, to a certain extent. You’re excited to go to college, to be something more than you currently are. Grandpa Henry took you out to lunch that day to celebrate your graduation and now you’re at Uncle Joey’s apartment. Grandpa Henry wanted to check on Uncle Joey. You don’t mind too much. You’re sitting on the couch in the living room while Uncle Joey and Grandpa Henry do the dishes in the kitchen. Uncle Joey’s sickness has been getting worse as of late, but despite it all, he refuses to be weak or helpless. You’ve been doing a lot of thinking about your Uncle Joey since the last story he told you.
It’s strange, knowing these two sides of him. On one hand, he’s the Uncle Joey you grew up with. He supported your interests throughout the years, always taking your side and making sure you never feel as though you’re worthless. On the other hand, he’s Joey Drew, the man who drove his studio into the ground and never cared about his employees. When you first arrived at his apartment that day, Grandpa Henry had to step out to get something Uncle Joey needed, so he told you the last bit of the story.
“I’m not sure I want to know the rest.” You say as Uncle Joey sits down beside you.
“Don’t you want to know how it ends?” Uncle Joey smiles wearily. “Every story needs an ending, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” You nod.
He doesn’t embellish or explain anything this time. You have to read between the lines a little bit. You have nothing to fear from Sammy Lawrence anymore. It’s been years, and he doesn’t even know you exist. You know he’s probably dead anyway. You learn a bit more about Wally Franks, and how his feud with Sammy started. Apparently, Wally had stolen a chocolate cake from Sammy. You can’t help but laugh a little at this. It does sound like something Wally would do. You recognize Mr. and Mrs. Connor as the survivor angel and her loyal wolf. You don’t know them well enough to know if this portrayal is right. Just bits and pieces. But that’s what this story is, just bits and pieces. You waited too long, and Uncle Joey’s memory isn’t what it used to be. This is the end. There won’t be any more chapters.
You watch Uncle Joey and Grandpa Henry in the kitchen and smile to yourself. You’re older now. You know the world is cruel and life is unfair. But there is happiness. Your Grandpa Henry chose happiness, and he allowed Uncle Joey to experience it as well. You decide you won’t ask for any more stories about the studio. You open up your notebook, placing your pen on the page. You think you know just the right story to tell now. One with a happy ending.
#bendy and the ink machine#fanfiction#batim spoilers#batim chapter 5#henry stein#joey drew#linda stein#batim oc#tw: bullying#tw: violence#tw: injury
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Founding Home: Diary One (Part 1)
New Orleans, March 1827
After years of studying, I cannot believe that I am here. I have finally reached a place within my research to keep a journal of my experiments and track the best elements of new incantations. Because inspiration emerges from many sources, I will record the conversations I have along with my observations.
This diary will be a compilation of the magical methods I studied here in New Orleans as part of the Creole and Saint-Domingue communities, concepts shared with me during my time at Uagadou School of Magic, and what I learn from the local Chitimachan community. Honestly, it is refreshing to have a central location for all of this knowledge, instead of the multiple scraps, sheets, and scrolls of paper I have accumulated over all this time.
To be entirely truthful, my utmost hope for keeping record of my work is to use it to instruct students of magik. New Orleans has always been different than the rest of the States in its ‘strange institution’ of enslaving my people, with plantation holders giving Africans a small chance to ‘buy’ their freedom — an opportunity my family benefitted from. Lately, it seems this system is being challenged and free Colored communities are in danger. Even here in Treme — home to generations of free peoples — we hear stirrings of plantations where the last owner was lax about enslaved people reading and writing behind closed doors, and the new owner sets people to whippings and worse for the same acts.
These changes make me feel like something big is coming, and it’s only a matter of time before someone I love is hurt. This fear is even deeper for those of us who hold magik. While non-Colored people paid little attention to us as we read from our eple scrolls when I learned magic, they are now scrutinizing anyone Colored who dares hold parchment in public.
I am not the only one who holds these fears for magik children. I have been speaking with Treme elders, wizards and Pégik alike, and we have concluded that the safest place for us to instruct young wizards is in the swampland. So, for the past six months Francis Guillory, my closest friend and travel companion, and I have examined some of the old Maroon settlements searching for ways to make the swamp secure and habitable. This past month we decided on two possible locations and are ready to embark on the next step, gathering instructors of magik.
With this last thought written, Helene Larieux let out a low sigh and stretched. Seeing the words laid out in her hand reminded her that today was the day.
“Oh Bondye,” she muttered as she took stock of where she was in her morning routine before she had decided to write in her diary, exasperated with herself for sitting at her desk in her dressing gown.
She hurriedly snatched a faded moss green dress from her wardrobe and put it on. Turning to her vanity, she grabbed a small jar of kohl and tiny eyebrush to line her eyelids. Wiping her hands on the hand towel dangling from the end of her vanity, she moved to open the medium-sized bottle of castor oil she kept there.
After spreading a dime sized amount onto her fingers, she selected the braids she’d done in the front of her head the night before and undid them. Satisfied with how they looked in the mirror, she selected a tigon similar in color to her dress, wrapped it around the braids in the back - obscuring them from view - and flattening the folds in the middle. When she finished, the curls in the front looked springy and light, held in place by a fold that rested at her crown.
Hearing a knock at her bedroom door, she went to open it and found her mother’s bemused face. A tall and very attractive woman, with flawless wheat complexioned skin two shades paler than her own and a curvy silhouette that Helene sometimes envied, her mother held a regal bearing that often made it seem as if she were more serious than she actually was.
“Taking your time, as usual, are we?” she said with a smile, “You do realize that Francis knocked on our door ten minutes ago, non?”
“Did he now?” Helene asked, distracted as she put an agate ring on the ring finger of her right hand. “Would you let him know I’ll join y’all in the main room shortly?”
“Hmm, I…” Helene’s mother paused in her response after spying Helene’s diary lying open on her desk. Walking over to examine it closer, she said, “This is remarkably like the leatherwork done by someone I once knew.”
The haunted look in her mother’s eyes told Helene everything she needed to know. Her mother, Carlota, had been born on the Destrehan plantation and had been able to ‘buy her freedom’ due to the assistance of Helene’s father, George, and his Cajun friend, Jean Claude. This had all transpired before Helene was born, but she’d long realized that when her mother had a faraway tone she was remembering a past that she never wanted to talk about.
“Oh, yes, Francis gave me that — maybe you could ask him about it?” Helene suggested quietly.
Her mom snapped out of her reverie at the sound of her voice, “Ah, yes, maybe I should.” She took a last, lingering look at the diary, and walked out of Helene’s room.
After finding and putting on her tiger’s eye necklace that she used for scrolling, Helene added the diary, along with a few other items, to her travel bag before walking out of her room and into the main room.
Walking into the sunlit space, she took in the place she’d always loved yet had also taken for granted. After being home for the past eight months, the novelty of being somewhere she belonged unequivocally still wasn’t lost to her. Perhaps it was just witnessing her mother remember her past, or it could be that the man that she’d just spent most of her time abroad with was standing in front of her, but in that moment, Helene was suspended in sentimental thought.
“Hello, Helene,” Francis greeted her with humor in his eyes, “Nice of you to have dressed up for me.”
Helene followed his gaze down to her feet, where she’d slipped on her tan, lace-up boots that she reserved specifically for traipsing through the woods and swamp land. Looking across to Francis’ feet, Helene noticed he wore his own dusty boots and grinned.
“Well, you know I do my best to coordinate with your laissez-faire attitude towards dressing,” she responded.
Helene’s papa, shaking his head at the pair, brokered, “So I hear you’re making the trip to Bayou Teche today?”
“Yes, Papa,” Helene answered, “Francis has a few contacts within the Chitimachan township there who could be interested in teaching their ways of magik. Maybe even assist us with the school construction project.”
“Oh,” her papa said as he sipped from his cup of tea and settled with it on the sofa.
“Yes,” said Francis, his brown eyes gleaming with a hint of mystery and mischief, “I made friends there during a few of my papa’s work trips and have always admired how they teach magik.”
“You know our healer community here in Treme is excellent in teaching new healers every year…” Helene’s father began.
“This again,” sighed Helene under her breath.
Her father was a gifted healer and something of an anomaly within this traditionally woman-led sphere of magik. When he’d first come to Treme as a teenager, he worked hard to assure other healers that he had no intentions of usurping their clients, only stepping in when his expertise was requested. He’d done well enough to afford helping Manman out of bondage at the Destrehan’s and set up a modest household in Treme by combining his healing and her seamstress earnings.
It was, in fact, his great prowess and pride of being a gifted healer that led him to push his only child, a daughter at that, to pursue healing since she was young. Initially, Helene had been open to it. She had been a young, curious girl who enjoyed helping others and making adults proud. Yet, by the time she began her formal training in magik at the Guillorys at age 11, it was clear she had neither the head nor the stomach for healing.
Now and again her father would bring up the possibility, as if reintroducing the idea would make her change her mind, as he was now.
“And,” her father continued, “I would be more than happy to find a suitable candidate to help with your school endeavor.”
“Oh…” started Helene, who was taken aback, “that would actually be very helpful.”
As her father nodded Helene’s mother, who had caught the end of the exchange as she walked into the room, gave him a wink.
“How about the Pégik elders that you both spoke with, were they any help?” her manman asked.
“Well,” Francis began, “They showed us how they are keeping the schools for Pégik children hidden, and have given us some school supplies they can spare, like slate, chalk, pencils, and the like.”
“That’s useful, right?” asked Helene’s manman hopefully.
“It is, indeed,” added Helene, “Especially because the Pégik elders we spoke to were familiar with the construction of the Maroon settlements before they were destroyed. Many elements of our plan hinge on their insight.”
Helene regretted that they couldn’t involve the Pégik in their plans more directly, particularly because she wished her mother could feel just as useful to her plans as anyone with magik. This was a dynamic that Helene had been navigating for her entire life.
Growing up as a child of a Saint-Domingue wizard father and a mulatto Pégik mother came with its own set of problems, even when living in a free Colored community with a mix of magik and Pégik families. Helene’s mother was so used to seeing magik practiced in secret within the slave quarters of her youth that she had very little reservations about courting and marrying a wizard, but at times Helene felt as if her manman resented being the only Pégik within their household. It didn’t help that within the Treme community the family called home, Helene’s father was in constant demand by wizard leadership and often had to keep his involvement discreet while most of Helene’s closest friends were the wizards she had gone to school with. And what was more, Francis’ mother was one of the two teachers at their small wizarding school, leaving her mother feeling alienated even in building a close relationship with the mother of Helene’s best friend.
So Carlota, who had taught young Helene her letters and numbers while also taking on seamstress jobs, occasionally seemed to deflate when conversations around her became solely about magik. Helene had always tried to keep her mother from feeling as if she’d been replaced, but felt that she’d failed her in some way by making the creation of a magical institution the center of her own ambitions. She knew it was foolish to think this way — this was the same woman who had taken on extra jobs in order to help Helene fund her trip to Uagadou and was just as excited as she was each time she made a magical breakthrough. Yet, she couldn’t help but worry.
Almost as if she’d heard Helene’s thoughts, Helene’s mother probed, “What has come of your studies in Uagadou?”
Helene’s father sat up, interested in her answer. While she had been back home for the past eight months, most of her time had been spent testing out different magical techniques gathered during her time abroad, in collaboration with her eple notebooks from school — which had actually been a small hut on the back of the Guillory property. The remainder of her time back had been spent navigating the politics of obtaining council from wizard and Pégik elders, meaning she spent very little time explaining everything to her parents.
As Helene sat, deciding where to begin a discussion about her time in Uagadou and what she’d learned, Francis filled in for her, “Truthfully, it may be easier to explain what we didn’t learn in Uagadou. During our first month there we were exposed to much more than the main four subjects we were taught here.”
“Do they not spend much time covering eple crafting, healing, potions, and illusion there?” asked Helene’s father, intrigued at the notion.
“Their institution is enormous and old, so while they cover those four subjects thoroughly, students could easily pick four other subjects to advance in and spend little time on those at all,” answered Francis eagerly.
“We were lucky enough to befriend a professor around our age, Kizza Nalule, who specializes in animal transformations,” Helene stated.
“You didn’t!” exclaimed Helene’s mother.
“I’m afraid we did,” Francis smiled with no apology in his voice.
“Well,” Helene’s father calmly ventured, “What are your animal forms?”
“An osprey,” Helene answered quietly.
“A Black bear,” Francis stated proudly.
“I’ll be…” Helene’s manman started before drifting into some choice French words.
“We, um, hate to leave the conversation here, but we have to head to the square before we go to the Bayou,” Francis transitioned.
“Like enfer you do!” said Helene’s mother, ready to interrogate them further.
“Now, Carlota, they’ll be back later and we’ll be in a better, clearer space then, non?” said Helene’s father.
From the look her mother gave her father, then she and Francis, Helene knew there was a very small chance, if any, that her mother would be any less upset the next time they spoke about her becoming an Animagus. But as was typical of her mother when she felt betrayed by her family, she left the room, head held high, went into the kitchen and began cleaning.
“Er, sorry to cut the conversation there, sir,” Francis said, this time with an actual apology in his voice.
Helene’s father sighed, “Yes, not the best way to introduce this change to us, but I suspect she’ll be in a better mood if you bring her something when you return later.”
“We’ll do that,” Helene smiled brightly as she hugged her father goodbye and blew a kiss to her mother, starting out of the front door.
“Good luck you two!” shouted her father amid the sounds of banging pots and pans.
After she and Francis had safely made it down the street and rounded the corner towards Congo Square, Helene finally let go of the breath she’d been holding since deciding to bring up animal transformation only a few minutes ago.
“Well, you’re in prime form,” stated Francis.
“Argh, you know I’ve been struggling with the idea of telling them about becoming Animagi.”
“Of course I did, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell them during one of your locket discussions while we were still in Uganda, as I did with my parents.”
“You don’t understand because both of your parents come from Creole wizard families. They understand the prestige that comes with becoming an Animagus, despite the danger.”
“Yes, well my papa is still Pégik and prestige or not, I doubt he wanted yet another reminder of how his family, and his middle son no less, surpassed him in magik,” said Francis, bitterness tinging his tongue.
Helene knew Francis’ papa was a sore subject for him. Shortly before they’d left for Uagadou two years ago, Francis had learned that his father had fathered a child by a Pégik woman, a fact he’d held onto their entire time in Uganda. Francis’ father had always seemed insecure about having no magical ability yet devoted most of his time to carpentry and glowed with pride when speaking about his family. Helene suspected that much of Francis’ anger came from thinking his father wanted another Pégik in his family so he wouldn’t feel so lonely. While she couldn’t hold this thought against Francis, as she often felt the same way about her own mother, she knew talking with him about it would leave him seething.
Deciding to change the conversation to a safer topic, Helene asked, “So, what are we picking up for your Chitimachan friends?”
Francis shook his head as if trying to shake away the dark thoughts that’d consumed him during their walk to the marketplace, “When I last visited, they mentioned needing some work gloves for basket weaving.”
“Hmm, I believe Miss Ella’s stall is on the other side of the square,” added Helene, “She’s the best at keeping labor supplies on hand.”
As the pair made their way across Congo Square, Helene glanced up at Francis, taking in how fine a figure he was. He was tall, at least a head taller than she was — and she was basically a tree sapling with a couple of curves. They were similar in skin tone, what her mother called ‘caramel-complexioned’ but where she was slender he was broad-shouldered and muscular. When they’d finished wizarding school at 18, their families had been sure Francis would ask Helene’s father to begin a formal courtship, given the way they had flirted with each other ceaselessly since they were 16. But graduation came and went, Francis continued to flirt with young women wherever he went and Helene was courted by one of their classmates, Frederick, off and on for a year before breaking it off.
Then Helene and Francis decided on a scheme to develop their own set of eples, at first for fun and experimentation until they found they had a knack for combining eples in useful ways. One of their favorite creations was an eple that coded any letter they wrote to become indecipherable unless read by the intended recipient. After sharing this discovery with a council of elders, it was decided that the two should travel to Uganda to expand their magical training and bring their newfound knowledge to others. While Helene’s primary interest in going to Uagadou had been to read and learn as much as she possibly could, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she’d also hoped that the two of them being abroad together would lead to them becoming more than friends. These hopes were dashed almost immediately after they’d arrived, however, as Francis proved to be just as big a flirt there as he was at home. To make matters worse, it seemed his anger at his father meant he was even more focused on magical advancement than he was occupied with thoughts about Helene. That wasn’t to say that he’d never indicated interest in her. They’d shared a kiss at 17, and while they were at Uagadou, Francis had a very heated conversation with a paramour of hers that seemed to be brought on by jealousy.
Just when Helene thought she might ask Francis to give her a better explanation about this confrontation, she noticed a small face she knew.
“Hey, Francis, why don’t you go on to Miss Ella’s stall,” she suggested, “I see Marie at her dad’s metalwork stall and want to say hello.”
Francis followed the direction of Helene’s head gesture, waved at Marie, then promised to meet Helene there after taking care of his business with Miss Ella.
As Helene walked up to Mr. Louis’ stall, she noticed he was in deep conversation with a customer and gave him a slight nod. Moving to the side where Marie sat, Helene signed ‘hello’.
“How are you?” Marie signed back.
“Pretty good, considering,” said Helene, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two.”
It had indeed been a while. The last time Helene had seen Marie she was 10 and still held some childlike chubbiness. The Marie she currently stood in front of had grown several inches and showed some signs of early pubescence.
“Yes, I’ve missed you,” Marie gestured, “It’s been lonely having so few people around who know how to sign and use magik.”
Helene felt guilty. Here she was trying to build a magical institution, yet she hadn’t bothered visit one of the magik children she was closest to since her return to New Orleans. To be fair, she’d spent most of her first month back sleeping and accompanying her parents on their various work trips. After that she and Francis had returned to their eple work with the councils.
All of this didn’t make up for the time she could’ve stopped in to check in on Marie, however. Sighing with regret, Helene answered, “Yes, I’ve missed you too. Not visiting is entirely my fault. How have you been?”
“Still working in magik sessions with Mrs. Guillory,” said Marie. “Sometimes it’s hard to not turn word signs into magik signs.”
Helene laughed at the mischief in Marie’s eyes as she signed this. Marie was Marie as always. When Helene began babysitting her, she was a quiet, yet precocious five year old who tried hard to remain settled as her father worked, but couldn’t help but to get into things. Helene had been deemed a responsible enough girl at 17, so the grown ups suggested she watch Marie. Because Helene was more bookish than she was outgoing, initially she’d been afraid that Marie wouldn’t take to her, but she soon found out Marie shared her curiosity for magik and the two became fast friends.
It wasn’t until later, when Helene overheard her parents talk late one night, that Helene learned how Louis and his daughter ended up in Treme with no wife or mother. Apparently Marie’s mother had died in childbirth while enslaved. Louis, who was an accomplished metalworker on the same Mississippi plantation, hoped that his skill would keep the owners from forcing his hearing impaired daughter into the fields. But as soon as Marie turned four, he’d received notice from the overseer that she was to join the others, and was expected to work just as hard, hearing or no. Louis seized his chance to escape as soon as he could and had landed in New Orleans. When Helene had first met him she thought he seemed a bit desperate and on edge, but as time went on it seemed the fear of being discovered had subsided. Even now, Louis sold his wares openly on market days, but only on days he felt safest, usually after there had been a raid.
Helene had always been slightly suspicious of his desperation, but her love for Marie had outweighed her suspicion — how could someone awful have such a great child? For the most part Louis had always been nice to her and had even given her a little coin before her trip to Uganda in thanks for taking care of Marie for all these years.
“How are your lessons going?” she asked Marie.
Marie shrugged, “Well enough, I feel like I can always do more, but Mrs. Guillory says I need to stick to the plan.”
Helene nodded, “She is a stickler for rules. What would you like to do instead?”
“My fingers are itching to work with soil and plants,” Marie answered, “Papa says there’s no more room for plants in our place and I’ve done all I can with our small garden.”
“Oh!” Helene signed with excitement, “I’ve just remembered that I have a few plants that I’ve not been able to nurse back to their fullness since returning. Maybe you could stop by my house later?”
“Really?” asked Marie happy at the thought, “When?”
“How about when Francis and I return from our trip? I’ll come back to the market to pick you up.”
“Yes, I’ll ask Papa!”
“Great!” Helene signed as she spotted Francis heading their way, “See you in a few hours.”
Marie and Louis waved Helene and Francis goodbye as they walked away from the stall.
“So, was your trip to Miss Ella’s successful?” asked Helene.
“Very. I found work gloves in multiple sizes and had enough time to visit the jewelry stall to get you this,” answered Francis, handing Helene a small pouch.
Helene opened it and found a black choker with a cameo image of a woman with curly hair tied in a tigon, much like hers.
“Oh my, thank you,” Helene said with a smile and a hug, “This was completely unexpected. What’s the occasion?”
Francis returned her smile and shrugged, “No real occasion. I just saw it and it reminded me of you. I thought after spending all this time in the swamps you may like something nice. Can’t have you only associating me with mud and sweat.”
Helene laughed and put the cameo in her bag, deciding she would wear it on her next day out somewhere nice. Could it be that Francis returned her feelings after all?
When she looked up again, Francis’ face held a frown. She looked around but couldn’t see anything that would make him unhappy. Shrugging, she joked, “I know what this is about. Your birthday is in a couple of weeks. You’re angling to get a nice birthday gift from me.”
His smile didn’t meet his eyes when he answered, “Nah, but now I’m expecting something grand.”
He walked a little faster than her now, making it to the clearing in the park up ahead. Had she made him angry? How? They were just smiling and hugging. Pushing these thoughts back, she met him at the Apparition point — an old magnolia tree that some wizard had designated far enough from nearby vantage points to be safe enough to travel from.
“Ready?” Francis asked tersely as he held his hands out for side-along Apparition.
“Yes,” Helene started, “Are we—?” but before she could finish her question they were off.
And with a rush, they were standing beside a sign that stated: “WELCOME, Chitimacha Indian Reservation.”
Helene stumbled a little, letting her feet catch up to the ground here. Francis, who had led the side-along Apparition since he’d been here so frequently, seemed to have landed with no difficulty.
After watching Helene to ascertain whether she needed any help, Francis began walking past the sign and into the reservation. Helene caught up with him and together they made their way to the scout post.
Francis stopped and introduced Helene to the guard, Charles, explaining they were here to give someone named Rosalie the gloves she’d requested. The guard gestured them forward and they continued their path towards a tall house made of plaster and thatch that Francis pointed out five yards away.
As they walked the path uphill, Helene noticed that Francis seemed to have shaken off whatever had been bothering him, after speaking with the guard. In fact, the usual spring in his step was back. Perhaps returning to the primary mission put him in a better mood?
They made it to the front yard and could hear little voices laughing in the back. Francis knocked on the front door, and a few moments later someone tall, with long dark brown hair, wearing a loose-fitted red tunic with fine blue embroidery and leather leggings answered the door.
“Hello, Boaz,” Francis greeted them, “We’re here to see Rosalie. She should be expecting me.”
Boaz nodded and looked at Helene in askance, “Is this your friend who wants to start a school?”
“Hi, yes, I’m Helene,” said Helene holding out her hand, “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” demurred Boaz, shaking her hand, “Come and have a seat. I’ll let Rosalie know her guests have arrived.”
Helene and Francis walked into the room they had gestured towards, Francis heading directly to a seat in the corner. Helene followed his actions and took a seat on the bench in the center of the room. As they waited, Helene took in the room. Each wall had been painted a landscape painting with animals moving in the distance. To the side of where they sat, there lay a few sleeping mats, woven rugs, and blankets in a range of colors and patterns.
Helene was thinking through the best way to make her appeal to Rosalie about joining the school, when she walked into the room.
Rosalie was a short woman, with long brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a dimpled smile. She seemed to be the same age as Helene and Francis. She walked up to Francis gave him a hug, then walked over to Helene to shake her hand. She smoothed her long, blue patterned ribbon skirt before taking a seat on the side of the bench closest to Francis.
“It’s nice to see you,” she started looking at Francis, “And to meet you,” she added, nodding in Helene’s direction.
Before Helene could respond in kind, Rosalie continued, “Any luck fetching those gloves I requested?”
“Yes,” answered Francis, smiling as he pulled them out of his bag, “I got them in an assortment of sizes. I hope there are enough small ones for your youngest pupils.”
Rosalie smiled back while taking the gloves out of his hands, her hands lingering on his, “You’re always so thoughtful.”
Helene felt her gut tighten and tried as hard as possible to make her face appear emotionless.
Francis laughed, blushing a little, “It was no problem.” He slowly moved his hands back to his sides.
Helene tried to clear her head, and voice, as much as she could before mustering, while gesturing towards the backyard where they could hear children talking, “It seems you have a lot of practice in teaching children. What magik do you teach?”
Rosalie followed Helene’s gesture and nodded, “Myself, Boaz, and a few others teach all the magic we know. My specialty being potion-making.”
“Is that so?” asked Helene interested, “My father is a healer and he’s always looking for a potion master who knows their stuff.”
“Is he now?” said Rosalie with an eyebrow raised, “A male healer? May your father be George Larieux, by any chance?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“By reputation,” stated Rosalie with respect in her voice, “He helped our best healer recover from a bad sickness. We thought we might lose her.”
“Oh,” said Helene, thinking she may be making some inroads with Rosalie after all, “I’m glad he could help.”
“Quite,” said Rosalie, as she turned towards Francis, “Do you mind explaining this project you wanted to speak to me about?”
“Sure,” Francis stated, giving Helene a brief glance before beginning, “As we’ve discussed in the past, the non-Colored seem to be enforcing greater restrictions on Colored populations and wizards are becoming worried that the security measures that worked when there was little scrutiny will completely fail during a crack down on Colored communities.”
“You must have heard about the militias who destroyed the Maroon settlements all those years back?” added Helene.
“I have, but that was quite a while ago and a few of your fellow freedmen assisted, no?” said Rosalie.
“Well...yes, but—” Helene started.
“...our elders believe that soon enough similar measures will be taken due to the visions a few of them have had — but this time these actions will include the destruction of free Colored communities as well,” Francis ended.
Helene sat back, surprised that Francis would share the contents of a vision with Rosalie. They had been entrusted with this information by the elders, who’d expected them to keep it quiet lest the details of the vision lead to a mass exodus. Neither Helene nor Francis had shared this information with their parents.
If Rosalie noticed Helene’s reaction, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she nodded saying, “This matches some of our concerns. One of our elders had a vision of settlers pushing us further out of our land soon.”
The three sat in silence for a beat, each trying to decipher what it meant that elders from two different communities shared similarly foreboding visions.
“And you’re suggesting the answer to this forthcoming violence is what? Teaching?” said Rosalie with light sarcasm.
“But you see, the location is central to this plan,” started Helene.
“What? In swampland?” asked Rosalie in a near sneer, “As you can see, we live a good deal away from settler eyes and can practice magic without being devoured by mosquitoes. Why would I leave my students here to go teach in a lagoon?”
Francis caught Rosalie’s gaze, “Rosalie, that’s a bit unfair. We would never ask you to leave your students.”
“No? You’d have me ask their parents permission to uproot them from the family and home they know because of a few visions and your friend’s ‘brilliant’ plan?” she finished, no longer containing her barbed speech.
“That’s it. It’s fine.” said Helene angrily standing up, “You can keep your students and your teaching and your potions here. I don’t want help from anyone more worried about mosquitoes than they are about protecting their people.”
Francis quickly stood up and moved between the two women. “I don’t think we’ll have any progress in conversation here today. Rosalie, if you don’t like the idea of helping us build the school, would you at least consider coming out a couple of times a week? We could really use a potions master of your caliber,” he said with a strained smile.
Rosalie gave an imperceptible incline of the head, while waving them away.
Francis led Helene out of the door, with only a slight glance back on their way out. Helene grumpily moved out of his arm span and stomped her way towards the reservation entrance, not sure who she was most angry with at the moment.
While halfway down the hill, Helene felt the presence of another person and glanced back to find Boaz following them. When she stopped and turned in Boaz’ direction, Francis caught up with Helene and then waited as well.
Boaz stopped in front the couple and said, “I heard what you said to my sister. I want to help you.”
Helene, who had been braced for round two of the argument they’d just left with Rosalie, was unprepared for this interaction, “Pardon me?”
“I want to help you build your school and help teach people,” Boaz repeated, “You may find my gifts better suited to your goals than Rosalie’s anyway.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’m a weaver and builder.”
“May I ask,” Helene inquired, “Why you’d like to help us, after I just had a row with your sister?”
Boaz’ face remained diplomatic, but even so Helene could see a twinkle in their eyes, “My sister often has rows. What matters here are the visions you spoke of, you see, the elder Rosalie mentioned is my grandmother.”
Francis gasped, “Mrs. Sennet had that vision?”
“Yes,” Boaz answered, “And she told me that when your friend came, I was to assist. I’ll await your next correspondence by osprey.” Then with a nod to Francis and Helene, Boaz trekked back up the hill.
Helene and Francis looked at each other in stunned silence for a minute or so, before turning to continue their way back to the reservation’s Apparition point.
Francis stopped Helene before she turned to Apparate back to the park on her own. “That wasn’t how I expected this to go, but I think it’s safe to call this trip a success, right?”
Helene gave him a small shrug before turning on the spot, just before she pictured her destination, she thought triumphantly, “We did it!”
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Eple Creation
Before drafting an eple, or spell as it is said in English, you must first sequester yourself to a location at a great distance from others. While simply thinking of an incantation isn’t sufficient to conjure a spell with one's hands, if one isn’t careful you may find yourself absentmindedly muttering different spells as you work through an incantation.
The simplest eples are created by using the prefix of one spell and the suffix of another. For example, if taking the prefix ‘levi’ from the incantations — Levicorpus or Wingardum Leviosa — then adding the suffix ‘me’ from the incantation – Point Me — one would find themselves hovering in the direction of the item they seek.
Eples are best created by wizards who have a wide range of incantations under their belt because they know how each eple feels when spoken and achieved. It is for this reason that eple creation is not taught to students until they have shown mastery of non-verbal eples.
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