#werewolf loving lesbians please find me
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Check Out Leah!!
If you were reunited with your lost love would you pet her? Even if she smelled like wet dog?
Checkout my Novel Sanctuary: Crossing the River here:
pinkkacey.itch.io/sanctuary-crossing-the-river
((The uncensored image is there too, done by Adabear_Bones))
Obviously based on this image you can expect an adult content. Its a romance novel, featuring werewolves, trans bodies, and lesbians.
#lesbian#lesbian writer#wlw#kacey pink#wlw literature#romance novel#sapphic#adult novel#adult writing#werewolf#transgender writer#trans woman#trans butch#gender queer#werewolf wednesday#werewolf loving lesbians please find me#team werewolves
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bbybluemochi's F.A.Q. ✧･ﾟ
Hi! Arun here! I thought that instead of answering your submissions one by one I’d gather all the frequently asked questions and answer them in a single post (this is a mix of art/OC/commissions related q's)!
Please note that I do read all your messages and I’m so grateful for every one of them!!!! I keep all your words really close to my heart, thank you for liking my art and loving my Ocs as much as I do, it means the world to me <3
What’s the name of your OCs?
They’re called Cotton (the blonde one) and Puppy (the dark haired one). The original idea for them was to make some silly wolf/bunny OCs (that’s why Cotton is called like that, it was supposed to be a joke about her tail…) but somewhere along the way they took over and became something completely different!
Is there a webcomic for your OCs?
Not currently! I don’t have the time or the skills (for now) but I’d love to give it a try in the future!
I was wondering if you mind people using your OC art as character art/inspiration for DnD?Just games with friends that are for fun, nothing for commercial.
Go ahead! I find that really flattering.
Just out of curiosity, are any of your OCs bisexual?
Both Cotton and Puppy are lesbians. That’s what I feel comfortable drawing since I’m a lesbian myself. If I ever do draw a bisexual OC I’ll make sure to mention it! <3
I think you said Cotton was a dominatrix in a previous ask, but is Puppy on the opposite side of the spectrum or is she just glad to be there whichever way?
Puppy is very much a sub. They both switch (Puppy as a service top and bottom and Cotton as a top and power bottom), but the dom/sub dynamic never changes. Also I wanted to mention that these dynamics do not transcend outside of the bedroom that much, there’s more to them than their kinks but I do love to draw them deep in their submissive/dominant headspaces.
Are one of the lesbian fairytale characters trans?
I didn’t design either of them with that in mind, but I’m super OK with people headcanoning them as trans!
May I use your art as a header/icon?
Of course! Remember to credit me tho~
Do you allow people to use your art freely?
I don’t allow reposts of my work (not that it matters that much, since almost all my art has been already reposted a million times ))): but I’d really appreciate it if you just shared my posts instead of reposting my art). As for phone backgrounds/wallpapers or stuff like that, yeah!
Do you have an instagram account or other social media, I would love to follow you there.
My main platform is twitter (same @), I post all my drawings there and I’m usually more active over there. Tumblr is kind of like an archive. I really like the community here but I find it easier to reply/interact with people on twitter! As for instagram, I do have an old art account (same @, again) but I haven’t posted in so long. I may start posting there soon if a certain rich guy decides to keep destroying the bird app tho.
I’ve always thought about this… how do you think it’d look if the aesthetics/styles [of your OCs] were reversed?
I’ll have to explore that in a future drawing, I haven’t thought much about it!
Do you write fics for your characters or has anyone else written fics about them?
Not yet! A couple of my friends have offered, tho! I usually like to stick to drawing because that’s what I do best, I don’t wanna subject anyone to my writing (it’s not very good,,,,). When I share some of my Ocs stories, I think it will be in comic format.
What's the story behind your OCs?
There are several, actually!! I like to put my OCs in different universes. As for now, there’s the Fairytale AU, the modern setting AU (this is the original one), and now the Werewolf/Vampire AU. I also did a drawing of them as spiderwoman and black cat but I don’t think that AU is gonna make a comeback for a while. I’m also planning a scifi AU but I’m not sure I’d be able to pull off that aesthetic with my current art style so I’m still working on it.
The Fairytale AU is the one I’m working on most of the time. I wanna release a small artbook with their story + illustrations. That was my main goal for 2023 but life got in the way, so maybe,,, 2024??? *crosses fingers*
Is your shop down? It’s saying that it’s not available.
I open my shop for 1-2 weeks every now and then, that’s why it’s closed most of the time! My plan is to open the store again in september, if i manage to finish all the merch in time! I’ll announce it on my twitter and tumblr account when I do.
Would you ever share a tutorial on how you make your art?
Yes, of course! I’m not very good at explaining my drawing process but If it helps anyone I’d love to! Just let me know what part of the drawing process you’d like me to focus on, because If i try to make a full illustration tutorial it’s gonna be too long/difficult to follow.
May I ask what brush do you use for your lineart?
I use a different brush almost every time I start an illustration, I’m not very consistent when it comes to that (I think it’s mainly because I haven’t found the perfect brush yet!). But let me know what illustration you’re curious about and I’ll try to remember which one I used!
Do you come up with poses off the top of your head or do you use some type of reference? I always struggle with them.
It depends on what I’m drawing! Some of my drawings are reinterpretations of paintings (I’m obsessed with pre-raphaelite painters and arthurian legend paintings in general), so in those cases I try to adapt the poses to my art style. Even If I’m trying to recreate an already existing painting I end up changing the poses/proportions a lot along the way to fit my personal taste/art style.
Other times, I just sketch from imagination (this is more entertaining, I think, since looking at references can make the drawing process a bit tedious). If I find it hard to draw a certain pose/part of the body I will look up references on printerest, no shame in using pictures! If I still can’t find the pose I need I’ll just take a picture of myself (this is like, a last resort for me. I’m too lazy for this).
My personal advice would be to use references for the pose and then tweaking the pose and trying to make it more personal
I love the way the armor was designed and rendered! Can you share some tips on designing armor?
Drawing armor is something I still struggle with most of the time. I think I’ve learned a lot in the past year (please don’t look at my armor drawings from 2022,,,,, sigh) but I still struggle to draw certain poses/angles. My advice is: don’t hesitate to draw non-functional armor!!! There’s always gonna be someone like “actually, that armour makes no sense :)” well !!!! it looks cool as hell so who caresssss !!!!!
I think it’s more important for you to get comfortable drawing armor before you start beating yourself up for not drawing accurate ones. It takes a lot of practice (I’m still learning!!!), especially if you’re trying to draw historically accurate ones, so start by having fun, and then work your way up from there.
Most of the tips I can think about are really hard to explain without a visual example, so let me know if that’d be a tutorial you would be interested in and I’ll try to make one (I’m cringing a little just saying this bc I swear, my armor skills are so bad compared to some amazing artists out there………..).
Do you allow cosplays your OCs?
YES…. YES PLEASE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM BEGGING YOUUU ILL LOVE YOU FOREVER !!!!!! *rattles my cage*
Do you allow fanart of your OCs?
Again,,, PLEASEEEEEEEEE !!! Just tag me so I don’t miss it and remember to give me credits if you do !!!!!!!!!!! :D
I was wondering if you use procreate , clip studio, or similar apps?
A mix of both. I used to draw on procreate only until I got a tablet and now I’m a clip studio user (csp sponsor me please), and now that’s all I use. I’m so used to drawing on PC now that I don’t think I’d be able to go back to procreate, but I still like that app a lot! All my drawings (even the ones I do on csp) always get retouched on procreate because I like some of the effects (*dreamy sigh* chromatic aberration filter,,, love u).
I wanted to know if the marks Cotton has on her waist are tattoos or like a scar?
Those are tats! Puppy is a tattoo artist ~~~ (I’m actually not sure if i’ll keep the waist tats on Cotton or if I’ll end up redesigning them,,,)
I was wondering if you take commissions?
Not right now. I also don’t have any plans of opening commissions any time soon! When I do, I’ll post a google forms on twitter and here on tumblr with the prices and type of comms I do. But there’s nothing scheduled.
Even tho I'm not doing commissions atm, I’m currently looking for illustration jobs (specially book covers), so don’t hesitate to email me at [email protected]
That's all for now, thank you for reading!! I think I covered most of the questions, I'll make another q&a post in the future! Bye~~
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➥ welcome to the club
hey i'm Ash and welcome to my acc
For my presentation: I'm bi, trans / use he|they pronouns and I'm 19 ! ٭ ٭ ٭ click "read more" for the rules and masterlist! [Stopped writing fics for now]
rules !
1 If you're under 16 please do not follow me. I have been engaging more and more in NSFW content and I don't want any minors reading my stuff :) and if I find out you're I'll block you (IF YOU DON'T PUT YOUR AGE I'LL IMMEDIATELY BLOCK YOU THANK YOU)
2 Do not repost my fics. I know they're not much but I just want to make it clear for everyone.
3 No transphobia, homophobia or racism is tolerated here. That also includes if you're a weirdo/pedo you'll be immediately blocked and reported.
▵ ▵ ▵ ▵
side note: I do not mind women/female aligned people on my account but keep in mind one thing. This account is mostly for the male audience and non binary/ gender not conforming people. I have decided that I'll not write for women since I'm not comfortable with it and it makes my dysphoria a big problem. Please do not ask me for it and search for someone who will do it gladly.
IMPORTANT: I've stated this before but I'm gonna remind you. Fem aligned people are welcome to my account, after all I mostly do gn reader but what I'm not that comfortable is with them liking posts DIRECTED towards cis men/ trans men. I do understand that it might be good written for you, but please, these are for them. Not for you. I know I don't have the power to tell you what to do. But I can block you. So understand that if I see someone like She/her - she/they (with also lesbian on their bio) liking my male reader posts I'm gonna be uncomfortable.
redacted + other art stuff twt acc ⁉️
content I'm okay with writing!
⊹ NSFW, fluff, angst, crack, common/ mild kinks, character x character, reader x multiple characters, monsters, vtubers (not making it like it's real), one shots, head canons & series about character x reader
content I'll not touch!
⊹ Adult character x child reader/character (as in a romantic aspect), real people (I'll only take vtubers online persona), incest, non-con, really explicit kinks, disturbing ideas that people might ask, furries (monster fucking doesn't count I guess), pedophilia, hate speech towards minority groups
specific exceptions :
✂ dub-con but only if people are okay with it (my other account has dark content if you're interested), heavy kinks only if I'm comfortable (somnophilia for example), monsters (like fucking a tentacle monster, a werewolf, etc) and I think that's it.
some fandoms I've written for:
☕︎︎ MHA:
- Boys Headcanons
- Deku (Angst/Fluff)
- Tamaki (Appreciation Post)
- Boys (Small details)
-Izuku (With Love)
- Let me be (Izuku 1)
- Let me be (Izuku 2)
- Let me be (Izuku 3)
- Let me be (Izuku 4)
- Let me be (Izuku final)
☕︎︎ GENSHIN IMPACT:
- Zhongli (messy outcome remake) 🔞
- Tighnari (Cursed fantasy) 🔞
- Tighnari (Silhouette) 🔞
- Dainsleif (Aimed to Kill)
- Kazuha (Fluff)
- Pantalone (Teasing) 🔞
- Zhongli (Dom Reader) 🔞
- Kaeya (Heacanons) 🔞
- Diluc (Flames) 🔞
- Xiao (Angst)
- Xiao (Brat tammer) 🔞
- Albedo (Body Open) 🔞
- Albedo (Fluff)
- Albedo (Succubus) 🔞
- Thigh Riding 1 🔞
-Thigh Riding 2 🔞
-Thoma (Is that so) 🔞
☕︎︎ MYSTIC MESSENGER:
- 707 (Stargazing)
- RFA Eyes
- Wounds 1 (TW sh)
- Wounds 2 (TW sh)
- Late Confessions 1
- Late Confessions 2
☕︎︎ LUXIEM / SHXTOU:
- Ike (Killer High heels) 🔞
- Ike (4 am)
- Luxiem hot 🔞
- Vampire Luxiem 1 🔞
- Vampire Luxiem 2 🔞
- Needy Shoto 🔞
- Mysta (Brat tammer) 🔞
- Kyo (Slow your grind) 🔞
☕︎︎ REDACTED AUDIO:
- Gavin Fanart 🔅
- Gavin Fanart 2 🔅
- Redacted Headcanons 🔅
- Redacted Headcanons 2 🔅
- David Fanart 🔅
- David Fanart 2 🔅
- Redacted Art Dump 1 🔅
- Redacted Art Dump 2 🔅
- Oc's reunion (Darlins) 🔅
- Red Redacted 🔅
others I'm interested in include ── kimetsu no yaiba / attack on titan / obey me / nu carnival / ouran high school / saiki k
ෆ Hope this clears up any questions you have! ෆ
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Okay so it's only loosely a crossover (the characters don't directly interact until the end) but whatever.
Anyway, after 1500 years, Excalibur has become....kinda like Mjolnir (hammer of Thor) meaning it's semi-sentient and Will Not let itself be picked up except by A) Merlin, B) Arthur, or C) someone it knows to be worthy. The bitch don't stay in the lake, either. It goes where it's needed, and right now, that is the Clusterfuck of Beacon Hills, where it appears buried in a rock (commit to the bit) and when the pack finds it, everyone has a good laugh bc they think it's a prank....except none of them can pull it out. Even with super werewolf strength.
But Stiles can.
(Deaton almost has a fucking stroke when he sees it)
And the rest of it is kinda just vague monster fighting shenanigans at this point, tbh, with plenty of Sterek (obviously) and also Stiles learning magic (I swear I'm not bitter) and at one point there is a dragon that does not get slain but very politely agrees to find a different plot of land to claim after "the blade-bearer" asks her to please leave.
Legit Merlin and Arthur only show up in BH at the end, after the crew is Tired and Bloody and Just Wants A Nap, and Merlin's like, "Christ, can you never stay where I leave you, you overgrown letter-opener?" to Excalibur, and Arthur is just like, "DON'T BE MEAN, MERLIN, hey, kiddo, can I have my sword back now?"
Leaving the rest of them to just be like "..........." bc they just met THEE King Arthur and Wizard Merlin, and they were dressed like a spring break Chad and his prep-goth lesbian wife.
lmao love how Merlin and Arthur come like they've just finished their honeymoon (well deserved tho)
but yes of course Excalibur ends up at Beacon Hills (a beacon for the supernatural am i right? eh?) just sitting pretty in its rock, chilling. it probably didn't even expect to be picked up by anyone other than Merlin or Arthur. sure, Merlin had said "someone [the sword] knows to be worthy" in his spell, but that was never meant to actually happen.
then the McCall Pack saunter in (well, maybe not saunter....more like stumble into the sword's domain because of some outside force or something) and begin their fun little challenge to see who gets to pull the Excalibur out of its stone. it's the most fun the sword's had in ages. then fucking Stiles Stilinski goes to pull out the sword as a joke.....and Excalibur feels its hold on the stone loosen.
oh dear
and you know, you'd think the sword would be pulled out for Scott (main protag and true alpha, all that jazz), but the sword is in Stiles's hands, and now all of them are freaking out (Stiles is the most smug he's ever been, much to the annoyance of everyone).
and then after all the shenanigans are over and our lovely Arthurian duo come in to retake Excalibur. cue Arthur and Stiles becoming petty rivals over the sword because i said so.
Stiles: Finder's keepers
Arthur: Uh, no, that's my sword
Stiles: And you abandoned it for a couple centuries, and it chose me, sooooo...mine now
Arthur: Merlin--
Merlin: No, no, the kid's got a point. I mean, you were dead for 1500 years, give or take
Arthur: ....yOU thREW the dAmN sWOrd iN thE fUCkiNG LAKE
#bbc merlin#teen wolf#stiles and arthur playing tug o' war with excalibur#and yes stiles learning magic is a MUST#a lost opportunity on mtv's part#like....they had a druid as their healer and no one thought to ask if he could teach them???? sounds fake#sterek my beloved omfg derek pulling stiles from dangerous fights bc he's STILL inexperienced w/ his magic like#'stiles stop jumping into fights with your sword you have the physical strength of a bean pole' 'but it's EXCALIBUR'#excalibur is stiles's new bat actually#he graduated from swinging bats to swinging the blade (mason owns his bats now)#bbc merlin x teen wolf#crossover#arthur pendragon#merlin emrys#stiles#mccall pack
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☁️💕 welcome to my blog! 💕☁️
stuff | he/him | 20 | lesbian | autistic | posic/plushum 🧸
this was going to be a plushie photo archive, but now ive decided to make it into my plushie spin+objectum sideblog! i'm pretty quiet about my objectum attraction, so i might be a little inactive, but when i do post it'll be mostly reblogging plushies i like, posting about my experiences, or trying to find a stronger connection with the community!
my favorite kinds of plushies are build a bears! (i currently have 6, partners with 2!) i also love pillow pets! 🤍
important to know:
please don't follow me if you're a minor! 🔞 i am an adult, and may post/reblog adult-oriented content!
absolutely do not interact with my blog if you are a member of the ddlg/cgl/etc communities, i am uninterested in anything that sexualizes childhood
if i interact with a post and you'd rather it not be on my blog, please feel free to send me a message, i don't mind!
this is a sideblog, but i won't be posting my main publicly right now - if there's a concern, though, my dms will be open!
tagging system (a work in progress!):
🧵 - reblogs
🪡 - queue
🧸💭 - talk tag
🧸☔️ - vent tag
🧸🎨 - art
🧸📸 - plushie pictures
🧸💕 - positivity/comfort
🧸 🎉 - silly posts
🧸❣️ - plushie related suggestive/nsfw/adult
🔞 - misc nsfw/kink
🎈 - pool toys/inflatables
🎁 - unrelated to plush
i have multiple plush partners and friends! They’ll have tags, too!
Calliope 🌱💕 - (she/her) a build-a-bear spring green frog, my main romantic plush partner!
Peony 🌷🐰 - (she/her) a build-a-bear floral Pawlette, my second romantic plush partner!
Rascal 🌖 🐾 - (he/him) a build-a-bear 2021 Howl-o-Ween werewolf, a close friend!
Big Dog - 🐶🤎 (he/him) a jumbo plush dog (brand unknown), who is like a father figure to me!
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Fic Masterpost!
This is mostly for me I’m not going to lie to you guys
Non-It Fics:
Stranger Things:
A Complex Analysis on Why Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington Are Not a Couple: A Study by Dustin Henderson
Fem Dustin walks in on Ronance making out
One shot
StarKid:
(i swear) i will die trying
Ted Spankoffski POV during the plot of Nerdy Prudes Must Die
2 Chapters
Locked and Loaded (oh so devoted)
Steph shoots Pete at the end of NPMD, but she misses (...sorta)
TW gun shot injuries
In Progress
it's like hearing a ticking sound coming from unmarked packages (something isn't right here)
Basically a what if for if Tinky was Pete's 'imaginary friend' the way Webby is Hannah's
One Shot
slurpees are a love language (prove me wrong)
Fluffy lautski drabble
Date Idea: sharing slurpees so ur boyfriend doesn't pass out
One Shot for Lautski Week 2023 (prompt: blue)
unfortunately, it's not quite a fairy tale (at least, not the one you were expecting)
Lautski cinderella au (Cinderella Pete/Prince Charming Steph)
HEED THE TAGS PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE
In Progress
It Fics:
Unfinished:
Forgotten Familiarity
Richie and Eddie find each other as adults without their memories of each other, fall in love, and get married. And then Mike calls.
It’s unfinished and always will be sorry, like the story is pretty much complete I just got overly optimistic where I should have ended it
Note to Self: Don't be Gay in Derry, Maine
Fem Reddie The Prom au
She’s also probably terminally unfinished
(like) Silence (but not really silence) is Infinity
Loose Matilda Ben au
Ben Centric
Optimistically in progress but who knows
we got the keys (the kingdom's ours)
Descendants au
In Progress (optimistically but like y'know-)
whats found in the palace gardens, as seen through silver-framed eyeglasses
Richie Cinderella au (reddie)
In Progress
the real world is where the monsters are
Camp Halfblood au
In Progress
Completed Works:
I Know Your Secret. Your Furry Little Secret.
Werewolf Richie au
3 chapters
Life (even infinite) Still Must Have Life In It
Time Traveler Stan and Eddie and Immortal Richie au (Streddie)
1 chapter but it’s LONG
so we took it in turns, and to my surprise, we found my words
Richie loose little mermaid au but like only the losing her voice part
Another fic with 1 very very long chapter
Family Road Trip
Eddie and the Neibolt Kids road trip from Derry to California so she can kiss Richie
4 chapters
One Shots:
Living on the Dance Floor
Stan and Richie were on dance moms as children au
i'm sorry. iloveyou.
Richie’s dead, it’s Eddie’s fault, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it it.
Super Hero Losers Club with powerless tech guy Richie au
This ones.... sad y’all
Radio City Presents: Middle Aged Lesbians Learning to Love
Canon divergence where Eddie lives, Richie has chronic pain, and they love each other a whole lot.
Merry (Fucking) Christmas, 1992 (1995)
Christmas themed Reverse Reddie au
A universe where Georgie Denbrough forgets his rain boots
Canon divergence where Georgie lives and Bill raises her little brother, until she forgets she has one
this one is also! sad!
Eddie Kaspbrak Vs. The Olympic Level Asshole
Olympic figure skater Richie and ice hockey team manager Eddie au
Calculated Gambles
Richie takes the hit for Eddie, but she survives. Now Eddie’s waiting for her to wake up in her hospital room.
Something Is Wrong With Richie
Richie stops talking. The Losers want to know why.
Basically my hot take on how Fem Richie having ADHD affects her differently than a male Richie having ADHD
This one is not well written I'm ngl
Tumblr Only One Shots:
Cheerleader Richie au
Only BESTIES get tortured in a lab together (Platonic Stozier) (also like really really sad)
Dracula au (this one is sort of a glorified head canon post)
Sad Internalized Fatphobia Ben One Shot
Emotober One Shots:
Otherwise known as that once scene from Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over
Prompt: Collapse, "Why do you even care?"
Reddie
Otherwise known as kissing is gross and Queer Eye is a decent backing track to a breakdown
Prompt: Fears, “I know what you need”
Tumblr Only
Reddie
Otherwise known as Dear Miss Michelle Hanlon it is my sincerest pleasure to accept you into the Derry, Maine school of being miserable, graduating class of 2019
Prompt: History, “I quit.”
This ones a sad one y’all
Otherwise known as this anniversary dinner is sponsored by: a shady black market love potion
Prompt: Disaster Date, "I never had a choice."
Another sad one with very creepy Connor Bowers
Otherwise known as some conversations are worst had on a fire escape drunk at three in the morning
Prompt: Insecurity, “We are not having this conversation.”
Implied Poly Losers, mostly Ben/Stan
Otherwise known as Ben has a nightmare
Prompt: Nightmare, “It’s not enough anymore.”
Poly Losers and posted ten months after October lol
Otherwise known as this anniversary dinner has been interrupted to bring you: the angriest Eddie Kaspbrak the world has ever seen
Prompt: Aftermath, “So it was all a lie.”
Follow up to shady black market love potion
also posted like a year after the rest fhjkl
#fic#fem losers club#fem reddie#rev fem Reddie#rev reddie#long post#masterpost#this might not even be all of them idk man
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what is your "official" [using that word loosely] review of it?
im gonna assume you're talking about the new monster high movie i mentioned earlier, if you're talking about the horror movie i apologize bc I'm semi stupid, also if you are talking about the horror movie i'll also make a post about that bc i have a lot of thoughts on the IT movies, ALSO I LOVE THIS BC I LOVE REVIEWS SO MUCH!!! i love ranting about stupid movies and ranting about things in general! feel free to ask any opinion on movies or games!!!
now introducing, my VERY shitty review of Monster High: the movie (spoilers i guess)
so the story starts with clawdeen, who is a werewolf, going skating, shes wearing a hoodie and stuff to hide that shes a werewolf because she doesnt belong in the human realm or something i cant remember tbh, eventually she bumps into someone and its revealed, whoopsies, she runs off home where we meet her dad (who is a human) and apparently its her 15th birthday or something, she tells her dad that she got accepted to monster high but hes kind of ehhh about it at first bc like they are against humans/half-humans
eventually he gives in and she can go, woo
meets frankie and draculaura who shes roommates with, meets deuce too bc romance i guess, apparently her mom was like a well respected person at monster high (her moms dead) so principal bloodgood asks her to perform a speech, also has some talk about the school being anti-human and stuff, however clawdeen feels like she belongs at monster high and is kind of nervous bc she's not fully human
clawdeen discovers that when shes scared/nervous she begins transforming into a human
they have a talk about jekyll and hyde in class at some point, big reveal is that the teacher who taught that class is hyde's son, hates monster high and wants to destroy it and humans because they killed his dad, stuff like that, enough with the bad summary
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
all around the movie was like an average disney channel movie tbh, girl doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere, finally finds a place where she belongs, conflict, stuff like that
things i did enjoy were the friendships between frankie, draculaura and clawdeen, i thought it was cute and sweet
non-binary frankie was something i also liked a lot! however i am quite sad about no lesbian clawdeen (also about them making her and deuce like each other but we'll get to that)
i did like a lot of the outfits actually! frankie had outfits i would totally wear, and draculaura! very goregeous (fuck you Grammarly for correcting)
the music wasn't awful, none of the songs stuck with me really but they didn't burn my ears i guess
tbh i thought the set looked neat too
things i did not enjoy however were the relationship between deuce and clawdeen, they didn't officially start dating or anything but it has been said they like each other, i didn't particularly feel any chemistry between them
they fully removed the rest of the wolf family, did not like that
some of the makeup was kinda eh but that might just be me being picky, the makeup around deuce's eyes looked very orange, and draculaura's makeup was a bit too toned down for my taste but yet again, might be me being picky
ghoulia yelps in this movie- she wasn't a major character, only appeared like a few times however i didn't like that they made her talk, idk just didnt really sit right with me?
the villain twist at the end was lame, they have a jekyll/hyde character in the monster high universe???? do jackson and holt mean nothing???? but i saw the twist coming, idk if they wanted us to see it coming but like i saw it
idk its 2 am and im rambling, yet again please tell me if im rambling about the wrong movie! maybe i'll actually be well rested then
kindly ignore how shitty my reviews are i was mostly spewing out words
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Collecting my Thoughts on Zombies 3
Hey y'all! Disney's Zombies was the first fandom I truly joined in Tumblr, and while I may not be as active in it anymore, I still love the first movie and the fandom a lot. So it's time for a review!
Tbh I fell out of love by the second movie. It wasnt as campy and corny than the first, but it also started this trend where supernatural creatures would just keep getting added to the franchise. I actually really liked the werewolf storyline, so I was cautiously optimistic for Z3, and y'all...
I didn't like it.
So let's get into it:
I was excited for the setup! There were clear stakes with a deadline for all the characters. Zed needs to do well at the game, Addison wants to do well at the cheer championship, and the aliens need to find the map by the cheer championship! Yay!
Wait,,, the alien invasion WAS the football game??? Where's Zeds storyline???
Okay so he needs to be an exceptional student. Cool! Maybe they'll be a montage of him studying-
Oh wait the aliens fixed his grades. Will there be consequences...?
NOPE
he's got an interview with a college recruiter. And the reprise was really good! Guess we gotta wait for the results
This halfway through the movie. So what's Zed gonna do now???
Nothing. He does nothing.
Let's check in with our other characters, shall we?
Addison's plot is... Weird. There's no setup to her feeling out of place. The girl is HEAD CHEERLEADER. Why are you dwelling
She just had no good character moments? She was just there to help the aliens
She sings about her and Zed are only 17 but this goes unaddressed. WHY. THIS IS AN INTERESTING THING
I've never super cared for her, but her importance to the plot with no characterization just made her frustrating
Bree and Bonzo! Always delights but damn did I want more of them
Wyatt and Eliza.... Yeah. No. At least Carlos in D2 had to overcome like an obstacle to ask Jane out. They just were like "yeah I like you!" YALL NEVER SPOKE TO EACH OTHER???
It's cute to see Wyatt so smitten but please
Eliza is still a lesbian to me. Better than Bucky/Eliza (will never forgive some of y'all for that)
I do like the absurdity of Eliza just being a robot tho lol
So like why did they make Willa out to be wrong??? The aliens tried to steal something important to her culture??? Of course she's not gonna trust them???
Wynter was iconic and I loved the wolves' song. Needed more of her tho!
New characters!
Holy fuck A-spen was such a good character. Did not expect them to be the leader but I was pleasantly surprised
Aliens dancing while saying "we come in peace" WHILE THE TOWN IS ON FIRE. iconic
Love the aesthetic of the aliens. All three movies know how to look cool
The shots of the mothership from the water... So cool
RuPauls voice sent me into another dimension LMAO
A-li... I don't like her. Low key racist and just cruel??? Sorry girl get a good haircut and maybe you'll feel better
A-lan. So fun. Needed MORE
I wanted the aliens to STRUGGLE. They just show up and are thriving??? Bullshit. Like I'm glad they didn't go "they're immigrants" route but like??? Make them feel grounded
The Someday Reprise was genuinely beautiful but it reminded me of a better movie LOL
Overall, I enjoyed myself despite the disappointment but I hate to say that I'm glad this series is over. It fell into obvious sequel traps, and it just sucks bc there was a lot of potential in this series. Oh well. Imma rewatch the first and continue w my life
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I wish I were as bold as you are to wear my werewolf legs in public!!! It's not that I prefer them hairy I'm just too lazy to wax all the time and shave a nonexistent sex life so yolo, but I'd be too ashamed to let anyone see them
Anon I still struggle with it!! That’s honestly why I make jokes on here all the time, to try and make it easier for myself. And it’s only something I’ve been able to do in the last couple of years. It can be really anxiety inducing going out as a woman with hairy legs. I find it hard too because I’m very pale and have very dark hair so it’s pretty noticeable. But I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed about 💕💕 and if it’s something you want to get to you can take baby steps!
I would leave the house with hairy legs while wear stockings and stuff and then went to wearing shorts while walking up to the bakery or my chiropractor’s appointment. You don’t have to do it all at once.
Also just having fun with it I think. That’s what helped me. I’ll go up to my family members sometimes and just go “look!! My legs are so hairy!! Are you disgusted?? 😆”. Or I’ll go to my 13 year old brother and be like “yes!! I’m still more hairy then you!!” Or calling them my fuzzy lesbian legs or my werewolf legs (that one was actually started by my brother lol). I think being funny with it can help you not feel as insecure. But it’s definitely hard. I still get worried in big groups if people will notice or say something. I have such a fear of being perceived as ugly by other people. But I also don’t want such a neutral part of myself to be considered ugly.
I find it especially difficult after watching a romance anime for some reason as well aha. That certainly makes me crave the smooth leg lolol. But I also find looking up feminine men can really help! Lots of them rock heaps of cool and different kinds of outside while still being hairy.
And I guess just trying to weigh the options in my head. I could shave, but it lasts like a day and then up getting all scratchy and itchy, I could wax but that feels like throwing money away because I have to keep doing it, I even tried an epilator in the past and it seemed like the perfect middle ground but it hurt so bad I would just keep putting it off so it became pointless.
But just know I didn’t pop into the world comfortable with my body hair either. It’s a very new thing for me that took time to get to. So please don’t be too hard on yourself 💕💕💕 but I can promise , at least for me, if I saw you walking out with your hairy legs I would be very happy to see it and I would give you a big smile , and I know there are others that would too! I know society has made us feel bad for our body hair, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of! It’s a natural part of your body. And dare I say it, it’s a pretty hot part too! 🥰👌👌
I wish you all the best and I hope you have a wonderful and beautiful day. Much love 💕💕
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Ok, so there’s a few, if you don’t mind. Also you’re p much my only source for crk fandom things so I don’t know what ships are already popular LOL.
Frost queenxSea fairy? I feel their dynamic would be fantastic, plus the whole ice vs water. Like please, two queens stepping on me at the same time?? What a blessing 🙏.
TwizzlyxKumiho? Chaotic sapphic energy right here.
FiancierxRaspberry. Yet another, powerful sapphic duo. Bonus points for opposing loyalties.
AdventurerxKnight. I feel like they’d make a cute pair, esp since adventurer is a lot like princess.
And finally, BlackberryxPrincess. They’re my goth vs bubblegum pink gfs go-to. Both of them scream sapphic energy to me, which is why I don’t ship them with their normal, hetero counterparts.
KDJJS im ur source?!? heh... flattered but also shocked🫣 i admit none of these i actively ship/have rly thought abt but ok let me go thru 1 by 1...
frost/sea... valid! i agree theyre both queens and theyre both lesbians but for me personally I can't really see sea fairy with anyone other than moonlight cookie bc she's canonically in love w moonlight cookie... (basically her entire chara is the concept of "the sea is a lesbian who yearns for the moon"... she has a lot of lines referencing her yearning for moonlight)
(and frost queen also a lesbian...i dont ship her w any playable cookie but love her backstory sm w her gf TT made me cry... ty devsis for giving us only wlw female legendaries🛐)
twizzly/kumiho sounds interesting! i havent thought abt it but i think kumiho is shippable w and has fun dynamics w a lot of charas tbh bc she's chaotic neutral and thinks every cookie is fascinating and fun regardless of morals... my fav dynamics w her are w werewolf and pomegranate but her dynamic w every cookie is so fun tbh... she'd prob find twizzly a lot of fun too ^^
financier/raspberry: def wlw girlbosses who should spar!!! they should have a friendly duel!!!😮💨
adventurer/knight... also valid!! i admit i dont really think abt either of these charas much tho kdncnd
blackberry/princess... ur absolutely right that theyre both wlw... blackberry is def a lesbian to me and i dont ship her w adventurer either😩 and princess is def wlw too... i dont actively ship this one but ur so valid on this <33 and i feel u in that im not interested in the popular het/mf ships w these charas🤧 (i dont rly feel romantic tension btwn them in canon either... knight def has a crush on princess i think but other than that...)
#srry if my answer is underwhelming but u happened to just mention#all pairings that i dont rly have an opinion on ksdbsk#/dont rly ship#ur valid tho feel free to ship w/e u want!!!#also have u read the crk costume bond story where princess shrieks out ITS SEA FAIRY COOKIE bc that made me lose it djfbd#princess cookie wlw panic moments#SHE DEF LIKES GIRLS!!! i think i see her as bi tbh.. def not straight tho#ask#ty for the ask <3
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Hey!!! if you like horny lesbian werewolf stories with love and a deeper message check out my latest novel:
#lesbian#lesbian writer#wlw#kacey pink#wlw literature#romance novel#adult novel#adult writing#sapphic#werewolf loving lesbians please find me#werewolf wednesday#werewolf#team werewolves
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I am LOVING what I'm hearing about Via Winchester, and I would love to know more about her (and I'd like to ask if I could be added to the taglist for her please!!!!!) And - if this isn't too spoilery - whether she ever gets to meet her other other half-brother Adam.
Ohhhh, thank you so much for asking!! It makes me really happy that you like her :)). And of course you can be added to her taglist!!
So, as I said in her intro post, Via is the result of a three-night stand between John Winchester and her mother, Anne. They met during one of John's hunts, when he travelled to the small town in Iowa where Anne lived to investigate rumors of a werewolf pack. John left town again before Anne even realized she was pregnant, and her conservative family disowned her once they realized she would be having a baby while still unmarried, but Anne still sent John a letter using the address he'd given her of the house Sam and Dean grew up in (which, despite having, she never used to look for him), to tell him that she would be having their daughter. John made sure Sam and Dean never saw the letter, but he made sure he was able to keep tabs on Via and Anne, despite never replying to the letter or making any effort to contact his daughter.
When Anne dies in a car accident when Via's eleven, John sees this as an opportunity to possibly connect with his daughter (and turn another one of his children into a hunter), but he knows that Social Services likely won't allow him to take custody of her. So he shows up at the foster home Via is temporarily staying in, announces himself as her father (with a faked DNA test and letter from Social Services to prove it), and takes her back to his small house, where she finally meets Dean and John begins to train her to be a hunter.
And Via may turn out to be pretty skilled for her age - she's a really good shot, she's quick to memorize different banishing incantations, and she can even take Dean down in a fight by the time she's fourteen - but she hates it. Hates essentially being a child solider, hates that John can barely even remember her mother's name when Anne still loved him enough to give her daughter his last name, and hates that Dean, despite the nice brother-sister bond they've developed, still treats him like some kind of hero regardless of how much of an asshole he is. Which is one of the big reasons why she's not exactly devastated when she's fifteen and he goes missing after going out on a hunt.
But Dean is hellbent on finding John, and Via hates the thought of staying in that small lonely house by herself, so she goes with him to pick up Sam, the brother she's never met, and head off across the country looking for their old man. Not that Via wouldn't be totally cool if they never found John, but at least she's getting some bonding time with her brothers out of it, so she tries not to complain too much.
She's also a badass lesbian disaster! I'm currently still deciding whether to create another OC to be her girlfriend or not give her a love interest at all, but knowing me I will definitely be creating another OC (😅).
As for Adam, I'm not far enough into the show yet to have actually seen him, but I do know about him! I'm not one hundred percent sure what exactly Via's reaction to meeting him is, but I'm sure it'll be something along the lines of rolling her eyes and muttering about how of course John has more than three kids, she'd be surprised if they didn't have half-siblings all over the country.
Again, thank you so much for asking about Via!! I'm definitely looking forward to exploring her and her story a little more!!
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what are your fave novel, movie, and album?
Oh man this is a hard one just because I'm so indecisive. I might reblog this in the morning with more if I remember.
Novel? One specific is hard but I read Compass Rose & it's sequel Sea Wolf by Anna Burke this year and adored them. They weren't perfect by any means (I'm not the biggest YA fan but I kinda just saw "lesbian scifi pirates" and dove in) but I enjoyed it and I'm actually really excited for this author's next book this week! It's about vampires!
Tho tbh if I had to pick a current favourite standalone novel I'd saaaay. True Nature by Jae. It's technically a sequel but stands on it's own just fine. I read it I think in early 2022? And its really peak Werewolf Novel imo. It was also extremely fun to read dialogue from deaf / hoh characters and their pov. Also good sex scenes too tbh.
Watership Down is also really high up there but I read it in high school and I want to reread because I had to rush reading it for a school project and I don't think I absorbed it as much as I could've lol.
Movie is also hard! The Spiderverse movies are up high because they're works of art. I rewatched ATSV today with friends for the 3rd time and my first two times were in theateres lol. It actually made me wanna go into animation again if ever possible.
Nimona also just hit me in a really emotional spot. It was not perfect at all but it felt special to me. Hence my icon change lol.
Skinamarink was super my thing and I loved what it did. I want more like it.
But honestly despite that I think my favourite movie(s) might be the Fear Street trilogy just because it's something I feel like I have to recommend with nothing but "if you like horror pls watch it". I think it's best experienced completely blind outside of trigger warnings. Please trust me and watch them I beg of you.
Albums... This is something I've been thinking of a lot. I know I have a favourite album but it changes so often lol. It's also like my music and there's "albums that meant a lot to me growing up" vs "this is whats been rotting my brain for days to weeks rn".
I always find myself coming back to Linkin Park's A Thousand Suns though. So I'll say it's that.
#burrow.html#irt music i think itd be easier for me to sit down and look at them physically to know whats my fave but i dont have that money rn haha
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time for this week's insanely queer wwdits brainrot. spoilers for ep 8- wellness center
this episode really just hit home how deeply in love guillermo is for nandor. the way he puts in so much effort into nandors party, the decorations, the "creepy paper," the crocheted doll 😫. I've seen a couple posts about how nandor is always giving out gifts but never receiving them and the one time he does he's too depressed to really acknowledge them.
I also love how much fun we're seeing colin robinson have. "this is just for me" is a wonderful new catchphrase for him and parallels nicely with all the characters asserting their needs and desires this season
"please join us. bring your cameras. no secrets here"
nandor lists jans "rockin bod" as one of the reasons he's joining the cult. istg this man is trying so desperately to cling onto the skin deep hetero aspects of his sexuality. his taste is awful for him. a human lesbian, a human who only wanted him for brief moments and ultimately chose a werewolf and her own lifestyle over life with him, and an actual cult leader. man, open your eyes.
when nadja points out how bad it looks for the vampiric council for nandor to reject his vampirism (mirroring her concerns about gail) he says they'll never have to worry about that because "you'll never see me again." and has this tug of war for his bag with guillermo. which is a theme throughout the episode of nandor trying to reject who he is and guillermo not being able to let go while everyone else acts so nonchalant about his leaving
the stair scene!!
guillermo tries so hard to follow nandor, but he responds with "I I no longer your master" and releases him. which technically he hasn't been nandors familiar this whole season and has continued calling him master, so no surprise when he calls him master when he's supposed to be undercover at the wellness cult
nandor genuinely doesn't see himself being happy with his chosen family 😭
"I want to find happiness too! what do you think I've been doing for the last 11 years? why do you think I've lived with you this whole time" this is definitely not just about guillermos desires to be a vampire. it's what he makes it sound like when he has 1 last wish to make him a vampire, but pairing this with the fact that he spends the next month in a house full of the most powerful vampires in the area with the knowledge that nandor views vampirism as a curse he doesn't wanna burden guillermo with *and* all the times he has to justify to himself wanting to check up on nandor. it's clear that it's something nandor-centric. he wants to be turned by nandor. he feels more alone without nandor in the house than he did when laszlo left for a while.
"despite my cold, dead heart and your just okay personality, I've grown to have some affection for you." "and I for you mas-" "well obviously. but vampirism is a curse, and I care for you too much to burden you with that. I would weigh too heavily on my conscience."
this was so close to a confession omg. but he sees guillermo as a whole person, one who he can't bear to see in pain knowing he'd be the reason. he didn't really see gail as a person on that level. granted she was near death when he turned her, but he never thought this much about her wants and feelings. he turned her against her will, wanted her to be the vampire spouse of his own far off dreams, not really wanting her *for her*
then he boops guillermos nose just to see him smile again, then tells him his face looks like a pair of wet undies to detach again
guillermo worries so much about nandor, even in the first 5 seconds where he gets hit by a car
colin robinson immediately claimed nandors room and started "marking" it with his farts. other than the obvious fart joke, I wonder how shitty nandors gonna feel knowing how quickly everyone but guillermo moved on and knowing that his room isn't his anymore. feeling out of place in his own space
guillermo gaining introspection over how nandor must have felt when guillermo initiated the last couple breakups on top of him cuddling the nandor doll 💔
ngl nandor looks so good in the cult. the bright colored clothes (which I saw someone point out contrasts guillermos greys this episode 👀), the hair style, the carefree smile. "nandy"
guillermo trying to justify spying on nandor reminds me of how I over explain my actions to my therapist
the way that nandor seems genuinely hurt by remembering that guillermo made poop jokes about making nadja his number 2. they just suck at communication. someone sit these men down and make them talk
nandors small "tell me you didn't" when Jan checks guillermos bag and finds all the stakes and shit
guillermo looked so good during that fight scene. he went into this random wellness group with the intent of making sure nandor was ok and brought a shit ton of weapons with him. ok sir. AND he held nandors hand as they ran through the maze of murderous vampires?? nandor didn't even attempt to really resist him. he just made comments and apologies to the people guillermo hurt.
"if I wasn't a human I'd be crushing your dick and slamming it on the floor." babe, your not human. is that a threat or a promise?
"did you ever consider for one moment that I might be happy for the first time in decades? decades! that I found somewhere where I feel that I belong? that makes me feel useful and powerful in ways I've never felt. never! not in 700 years. did you ever consider that?"
someone pointed out that this scene feels like the 1st time guillermo had to confront how truly selfish the rescue mission was. not that it's not what nandor needed, but that it was much more about guillermo being lonely and purposeless without nandor rather than going in with genuine concern for nandors needs and wants.
the vampires were really invested in changes to guillermos dick
someone else said this episode could've easily been an ensemble episode where more than just nandor gets brainwashed and either guillermo has to rescue them all or more than just guillermo does the rescue. but it was an intentional choice to make this nandor and guillermo centric. focusing on nandors existential dread and feeling like he doesn't belong and guillermos devotion to nandor.
#man this got long#what we do in the shadows#wwdits#nandermo#nandor the relentless#wwdits spoilers#guillermo de la cruz#nadja of antipaxos#laszlo cravensworth#colin robinson
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I Sexually Identify as an
Attack Helicopter
by ISABEL FALL
I sexually identify as an attack helicopter.
I lied. According to US Army Technical Manual 0, The Soldier as a System, “attack helicopter” is a
gender identity, not a biological sex. My dog tags and Form 3349 say my body is an XX-karyotope
somatic female.
But, really, I didn’t lie. My body is a component in my mission, subordinate to what I truly am. If I
say I am an attack helicopter, then my body, my sex, is too. I’ll prove it to you.
When I joined the Army I consented to tactical-role gender reassignment. It was mandatory for the
MOS I’d tested into. I was nervous. I’d never been anything but a woman before.
But I decided that I was done with womanhood, over what womanhood could do for me; I wanted to
be something furiously new.
To the people who say a woman would’ve refused to do what I do, I say—
Isn’t that the point?
I fly—
Red evening over the white Mojave, and I watch the sun set through a canopy of polycarbonate and
glass: clitoral bulge of cockpit on the helicopter’s nose. Lightning probes the burned wreck of an oil
refinery and the Santa Ana feeds a smoldering wildfire and pulls pine soot out southwest across the
Big Pacific. We are alone with each other, Axis and I, flying low.
We are traveling south to strike a high school.
Rotor wash flattens rings of desert creosote. Did you know that creosote bushes clone themselves?
The ten-thousand-year elders enforce dead zones where nothing can grow except more creosote.
Beetles and mice live among them, the way our cities had pigeons and mice. I guess the analogy
breaks down because the creosote’s lasted ten thousand years. You don’t need an attack helicopter
to tell you that our cities haven’t. The Army gave me gene therapy to make my blood toxic to
mosquitoes. Soon you will have that too, to fight malaria in the Hudson floodplain and on the banks
of the Greater Lake.
Now I cross Highway 40, southbound at two hundred knots. The Apache’s engine is electric and
silent. Decibel killers sop up the rotor noise. White-bright infrared vision shows me stripes of heat,
the tire tracks left by Pear Mesa school buses. Buried housing projects smolder under the dirt,
radiators curled until sunset. This is enemy territory. You can tell because, though this desert was
once Nevada and California, there are no American flags.
“Barb,” the Apache whispers, in a voice that Axis once identified, to my alarm, as my mother’s.
“Waypoint soon.”
“Axis.” I call out to my gunner, tucked into the nose ahead of me. I can see only gray helmet and
flight suit shoulders, but I know that body wholly, the hard knots of muscle, the ridge of pelvic
girdle, the shallow navel and flat hard chest. An attack helicopter has a crew of two. My gunner is
my marriage, my pillar, the completion of my gender.
“Axis.” The repeated call sign means, I hear you.
“Ten minutes to target.”
“Ready for target,” Axis says.
But there is again that roughness, like a fold in carbon fiber. I heard it when we reviewed our
fragment orders for the strike. I hear it again now. I cannot ignore it any more than I could ignore a
battery fire; it is a fault in a person and a system I trust with my life.
But I can choose to ignore it for now.
The target bumps up over the horizon. The low mounds of Kelso-Ventura District High burn warm
gray through a parfait coating of aerogel insulation and desert soil. We have crossed a third of the
continental US to strike a school built by Americans.
Axis cues up a missile: black eyes narrowed, telltales reflected against clear laser-washed cornea.
“Call the shot, Barb.”
“Stand by. Maneuvering.” I lift us above the desert floor, buying some room for the missile to run,
watching the probability-of-kill calculation change with each motion of the aircraft.
Before the Army my name was Seo Ji Hee. Now my call sign is Barb, which isn’t short for Barbara. I
share a rank (flight warrant officer), a gender, and a urinary system with my gunner Axis: we are
harnessed and catheterized into the narrow tandem cockpit of a Boeing AH-70 Apache Mystic.
America names its helicopters for the people it destroyed.
We are here to degrade and destroy strategic targets in the United States of America’s war against
the Pear Mesa Budget Committee. If you disagree with the war, so be it: I ask your empathy, not
your sympathy. Save your pity for the poor legislators who had to find some constitutional
framework for declaring war against a credit union.
The reasons for war don’t matter much to us. We want to fight the way a woman wants to be
gracious, the way a man wants to be firm. Our need is as vamp-fierce as the strutting queen and
dryly subtle as the dapper lesbian and comfortable as the soft resilience of the demiwoman. How
often do you analyze the reasons for your own gender? You might sigh at the necessity of morning
makeup, or hide your love for your friends behind beer and bravado. Maybe you even resent the
punishment for breaking these norms.
But how often—really—do you think about the grand strategy of gender? The mess of history and
sociology, biology and game theory that gave rise to your pants and your hair and your salary? The
casus belli?
Often, you might say. All the time. It haunts me.
Then you, more than anyone, helped make me.
When I was a woman I wanted to be good at woman. I wanted to darken my eyes and strut in heels.
I wanted to laugh from my throat when I was pleased, laugh so low that women would shiver in
contentment down the block.
And at the same time I resented it all. I wanted to be sharper, stronger, a new-made thing,
exquisite and formidable. Did I want that because I was taught to hate being a woman? Or because I
hated being taught anything at all?
Now I am jointed inside. Now I am geared and shafted, I am a being of opposing torques. The noise
I make is canceled by decibel killers so I am no louder than a woman laughing through two walls.
When I was a woman I wanted to have friends who would gasp at the precision and surprise of my
gifts. Now I show friendship by tracking the motions of your head, looking at what you look at, the
way one helicopter’s sensors can be slaved to the motions of another.
When I was a woman I wanted my skin to be as smooth and dark as the sintered stone countertop
in our kitchen.
Now my skin is boron-carbide and Kevlar. Now I have a wrist callus where I press my hydration
sensor into my skin too hard and too often. Now I have bit-down nails from the claustrophobia of the
bus ride to the flight line. I paint them desert colors, compulsively.
When I was a woman I was always aware of surveillance. The threat of the eyes on me, the chance
that I would cross over some threshold of detection and become a target.
Now I do the exact same thing. But I am counting radars and lidars and pit viper thermal sensors,
waiting for a missile.
I am gas turbines. I am the way I never sit on the same side of the table as a stranger. I am most
comfortable in moonless dark, in low places between hills. I am always thirsty and always tense. I
tense my core and pace my breath even when coiled up in a briefing chair. As if my tail rotor must
cancel the spin of the main blades and the turbines must whirl and the plates flex against the pitch
links or I will go down spinning to my death.
An airplane wants in its very body to stay flying. A helicopter is propelled by its interior
near-disaster.
I speak the attack command to my gunner. “Normalize the target.”
Nothing happens.
“Axis. Comm check.”
“Barb, Axis. I hear you.” No explanation for the fault. There is nothing wrong with the weapon attack
parameters. Nothing wrong with any system at all, except the one without any telltales, my spouse,
my gunner.
“Normalize the target,” I repeat.
“Axis. Rifle one.”
The weapon falls off our wing, ignites, homes in on the hard invisible point of the laser designator.
Missiles are faster than you think, more like a bullet than a bird. If you’ve ever seen a bird.
The weapon penetrates the concrete shelter of Kelso-Ventura High School and fills the empty halls
with thermobaric aerosol. Then: ignition. The detonation hollows out the school like a hooked finger
scooping out an egg. There are not more than a few janitors in there. A few teachers working late.
They are bycatch.
What do I feel in that moment? Relief. Not sexual, not like eating or pissing, not like coming in from
the heat to the cool dry climate shelter. It’s a sense of passing . Walking down the street in the right
clothes, with the right partner, to the right job. That feeling. Have you felt it?
But there is also an itch of worry—why did Axis hesitate? How did Axis hesitate?
Kelso-Ventura High School collapses into its own basement. “Target normalized,” Axis reports,
without emotion, and my heart beats slow and worried.
I want you to understand that the way I feel about Axis is hard and impersonal and lovely. It is
exactly the way you would feel if a beautiful, silent turbine whirled beside you day and night,
protecting you, driving you on, coursing with current, fiercely bladed, devoted. God, it’s love. It’s
love I can’t explain. It’s cold and good.
“Barb,” I say, which means I understand . “Exiting north, zero three zero, cupids two.”
I adjust the collective—feel the swash plate push up against the pitch links, the links tilt the angle of
the rotors so they ease their bite on the air—and the Apache, my body, sinks toward the hot desert
floor. Warm updraft caresses the hull, sensual contrast with the Santa Ana wind. I shiver in delight.
Suddenly: warning receivers hiss in my ear, poke me in the sacral vertebrae, put a dark
thunderstorm note into my air. “Shit,” Axis hisses. “Air search radar active, bearing 192, angles
twenty, distance . . . eighty klicks. It’s a fast-mover. He must’ve heard the blast.”
A fighter. A combat jet. Pear Mesa’s mercenary defenders have an air force, and they are out on the
hunt. “A Werewolf.”
“Must be. Gown?”
“Gown up.” I cue the plasma-sheath stealth system that protects us from radar and laser hits. The
Apache glows with lines of arc-weld light, UFO light. Our rotor wash blasts the plasma into a bright
wedding train behind us. To the enemy’s sensors, that trail of plasma is as thick and soft as
insulating foam. To our eyes it’s cold aurora fire.
“Let’s get the fuck out.” I touch the cyclic and we sideslip through Mojave dust, watching the school
fall into itself. There is no reason to do this except that somehow I know Axis wants to see. Finally I
pull the nose around, aim us northeast, shedding light like a comet buzzing the desert on its way
into the sun.
“Werewolf at seventy klicks,” Axis reports. “Coming our way. Time to intercept . . . six minutes.”
The Werewolf Apostles are mercenaries, survivors from the militaries of climate-seared states. They
sell their training and their hardware to earn their refugee peoples a few degrees more distance from
the equator.
The heat of the broken world has chased them here to chase us.
Before my assignment neurosurgery, they made me sit through (I could bear to sit, back then) the
mandatory course on Applied Constructive Gender Theory. Slouched in a fungus-nibbled plastic chair
as transparencies slid across the cracked screen of a De-networked Briefing Element overhead
projector: how I learned the technology of gender.
Long before we had writing or farms or post-digital strike helicopters, we had each other. We lived
together and changed each other, and so we needed to say “this is who I am, this is what I do.”
So, in the same way that we attached sounds to meanings to make language, we began to attach
clusters of behavior to signal social roles. Those clusters were rich, and quick-changing, and so just
like language, we needed networks devoted to processing them. We needed a place in the brain to
construct and to analyze gender.
Generations of queer activists fought to make gender a self-determined choice, and to undo the
creeping determinism that said the way it is now is the way it always was and always must be.
Generations of scientists mapped the neural wiring that motivated and encoded the gender choice.
And the moment their work reached a usable stage—the moment society was ready to accept plastic
gender, and scientists were ready to manipulate it—the military found a new resource. Armed with
functional connectome mapping and neural plastics, the military can make gender tactical.
If gender has always been a construct, then why not construct new ones?
My gender networks have been reassigned to make me a better AH-70 Apache Mystic pilot. This is
better than conventional skill learning. I can show you why.
Look at a diagram of an attack helicopter’s airframe and components. Tell me how much of it you
grasp at once.
Now look at a person near you, their clothes, their hair, their makeup and expression, the way they
meet or avoid your eyes. Tell me which was richer with information about danger and capability. Tell
me which was easier to access and interpret.
The gender networks are old and well-connected. They work .
I remember being a woman. I remember it the way you remember that old, beloved hobby you left
behind. Woman felt like my prom dress, polyester satin smoothed between little hand and little hip.
Woman felt like a little tic of the lips when I was interrupted, or like teasing out the mood my
boyfriend wouldn’t explain. Like remembering his mom’s birthday for him, or giving him a list of
things to buy at the store, when he wanted to be better about groceries.
I was always aware of being small: aware that people could hurt me. I spent a lot of time thinking
about things that had happened right before something awful. I would look around me and ask
myself, are the same things happening now? Women live in cross-reference. It is harder work than
we know.
Now I think about being small as an advantage for nape-of-earth maneuvers and pop-up guided
missile attacks.
Now I yield to speed walkers in the hall like I need to avoid fouling my rotors.
Now walking beneath high-tension power lines makes me feel the way that a cis man would feel if he
strutted down the street in a miniskirt and heels.
I’m comfortable in open spaces but only if there’s terrain to break it up. I hate conversations I
haven’t started; I interrupt shamelessly so that I can make my point and leave.
People treat me like I’m dangerous, like I could hurt them if I wanted to. They want me protected
and watched over. They bring me water and ask how I’m doing.
People want me on their team. They want what I can do.
A fighter is hunting us, and I am afraid that my gunner has gender dysphoria.
Twenty thousand feet above us (still we use feet for altitude) the bathroom-tiled transceivers cupped
behind the nose cone of a Werewolf Apostle J-20S fighter broadcast fingers of radar light. Each beam
cast at a separate frequency, a fringed caress instead of a pointed prod. But we are jumpy, we are
hypervigilant—we feel that creeper touch.
I get the cold-rush skin-prickle feel of a stranger following you in the dark. Has he seen you? Is he
just going the same way? If he attacks, what will you do, could you get help, could you scream? Put
your keys between your fingers, like it will help. Glass branches of possibility grow from my skin,
waiting to be snapped off by the truth.
“Give me a warning before he’s in IRST range,” I order Axis. “We’re going north.”
“Axis.” The Werewolf’s infrared sensor will pick up the heat of us, our engine and plasma shield,
burning against the twilight desert. The same system that hides us from his radar makes us hot and
visible to his IRST.
I throttle up, running faster, and the Apache whispers alarm. “Gown overspeed.” We’re moving too
fast for the plasma stealth system, and the wind’s tearing it from our skin. We are not modest. I
want to duck behind a ridge to cover myself, but I push through the discomfort, feeling out the
tradeoff between stealth and distance. Like the morning check in the mirror, trading the confidence
of a good look against the threat of reaction.
When the women of Soviet Russia went to war against the Nazis, when they volunteered by the
thousands to serve as snipers and pilots and tank drivers and infantry and partisans, they fought
hard and they fought well. They ate frozen horse dung and hauled men twice their weight out of
burning tanks. They shot at their own mothers to kill the Nazis behind her.
But they did not lose their gender; they gave up the inhibition against killing but would not give up
flowers in their hair, polish for their shoes, a yearning for the young lieutenant, a kiss on his dead
lips.
And if that is not enough to convince you that gender grows deep enough to thrive in war: when the
war ended the Soviet women were punished. They went unmarried and unrespected. They were
excluded from the victory parades. They had violated their gender to fight for the state and the state
judged that violation worth punishment more than their heroism was worth reward.
Gender is stronger than war. It remains when all else flees.
When I was a woman I wanted to machine myself.
I loved nails cut like laser arcs and painted violent-bright in bathrooms that smelled like laboratories.
I wanted to grow thick legs with fat and muscle that made shapes under the skin like Nazca lines. I
loved my birth control, loved that I could turn my period off, loved the home beauty-feedback kits
that told you what to eat and dose to adjust your scent, your skin, your moods. I admired, wasn’t
sure if I wanted to be or wanted to fuck, the women in the build-your-own-shit videos I watched on
our local image of the old Internet. Women who made cyberattack kits and jewelry and
sterile-printed IUDs, made their own huge wedge heels and fitted bras and skin-thin chameleon
dresses. Women who talked about their implants the same way they talked about computers,
phones, tools: technologies of access, technologies of self-expression.
Something about their merciless self-possession and self-modification stirred me. The first time I
ever meant to masturbate I imagined one of those women coming into my house, picking the lock,
telling me exactly what to do, how to be like her. I told my first boyfriend about this, I showed him
pictures, and he said, girl, you bi as hell, which was true, but also wrong. Because I did not want
those dresses, those heels, those bodies in the way I wanted my boyfriend. I wanted to possess that
power. I wanted to have it and be it.
The Apache is my body now, and like most bodies it is sensual. Fabric armor that stiffens beneath
my probing fingers. Stub wings clustered with ordnance. Rotors so light and strong they do not even
droop: as artificial-looking, to an older pilot, as breast implants. And I brush at the black ring of a
sensor housing, like the tip of a nail lifting a stray lash from the white of your eye.
I don’t shave, which all the fast jet pilots do, down to the last curly scrotal hair. Nobody expects a
helicopter to be sleek. I have hairy armpits and thick black bush all the way to my ass crack. The
things that are taboo and arousing to me are the things taboo to helicopters. I like to be picked up,
moved, pressed, bent and folded, held down, made to shudder, made to abandon control.
Do these last details bother you? Does the topography of my pubic hair feel intrusive and
unnecessary? I like that. I like to intrude, inflict damage, withdraw. A year after you read this maybe
those paragraphs will be the only thing you remember: and you will know why the rules of gender
are worth recruitment.
But we cannot linger on the point of attack.
“He’s coming north. Time to intercept three minutes.”
“Shit. How long until he gets us on thermal?”
“Ninety seconds with the gown on.” Danger has swept away Axis’ hesitation.
“Shit.”
“He’s not quite on zero aspect—yeah, he’s coming up a few degrees off our heading. He’s not sure
exactly where we are. He’s hunting.”
“He’ll be sure soon enough. Can we kill him?”
“With sidewinders?” Axis pauses articulately: the target is twenty thousand feet above us, and he
has a laser that can blind our missiles. “We’d have more luck bailing out and hiking.”
“All right. I’m gonna fly us out of this.”
“Sure.”
“Just check the gun.”
“Ten times already, Barb.”
When climate and economy and pathology all went finally and totally critical along the Gulf Coast,
the federal government fled Cabo fever and VARD-2 to huddle behind New York’s flood barriers.
We left eleven hundred and six local disaster governments behind. One of them was the Pear Mesa
Budget Committee. The rest of them were doomed.
Pear Mesa was different because it had bought up and hardened its own hardware and power. So
Pear Mesa’s neural nets kept running, retrained from credit union portfolio management to the
emergency triage of hundreds of thousands of starving sick refugees.
Pear Mesa’s computers taught themselves to govern the forsaken southern seaboard. Now they
coordinate water distribution, re-express crop genomes, ration electricity for survival AC, manage all
the life support humans need to exist in our warmed-over hell.
But, like all advanced neural nets, these systems are black boxes. We have no idea how they work,
what they think. Why do Pear Mesa’s AIs order the planting of pear trees? Because pears were their
corporate icon, and the AIs associate pear trees with areas under their control. Why does no one
make the AIs stop? Because no one knows what else is tangled up with the “plant pear trees”
impulse. The AIs may have learned, through some rewarded fallacy or perverse founder effect, that
pear trees cause humans to have babies. They may believe that their only function is to build
support systems around pear trees.
When America declared war on Pear Mesa, their AIs identified a useful diagnostic criterion for hostile
territory: the posting of fifty-star American flags. Without ever knowing what a flag meant, without
any concept of nations or symbols, they ordered the destruction of the stars and stripes in Pear Mesa
territory.
That was convenient for propaganda. But the real reason for the war, sold to a hesitant Congress by
technocrats and strategic ecologists, was the ideology of scale atrocity . Pear Mesa’s AIs could not be
modified by humans, thus could not be joined with America’s own governing algorithms: thus must
be forced to yield all their control, or else remain forever separate.
And that separation was intolerable. By refusing the United States administration, our superior
resources and planning capability, Pear Mesa’s AIs condemned citizens who might otherwise be
saved to die—a genocide by neglect. Wasn’t that the unforgivable crime of fossil capitalism? The
creation of systems whose failure modes led to mass death?
Didn’t we have a moral imperative to intercede?
Pear Mesa cannot surrender, because the neural nets have a basic imperative to remain online. Pear
Mesa’s citizens cannot question the machines’ decisions. Everything the machines do is connected in
ways no human can comprehend. Disobey one order and you might as well disobey them all.
But none of this is why I kill.
I kill for the same reason men don’t wear short skirts, the same reason I used to pluck my brows,
the reason enby people are supposed to be (unfair and stupid, yes, but still) androgynous with short
hair. Are those good reasons to do something? If you say no, honestly no—can you tell me you
break these rules without fear or cost?
But killing isn’t a gender role, you might tell me. Killing isn’t a decision about how to present your
own autonomous self to the world. It is coercive and punitive. Killing is therefore not an act of
gender.
I wish that were true. Can you tell me honestly that killing is a genderless act? The method? The
motive? The victim?
When you imagine the innocent dead, who do you see?
“Barb,” Axis calls, softly. Your own voice always sounds wrong on recordings—too nasal. Axis’ voice
sounds wrong when it’s not coming straight into my skull through helmet mic.
“Barb.”
“How are we doing?”
“Exiting one hundred and fifty knots north. Still in his radar but he hasn’t locked us up.”
“How are you doing?”
I cringe in discomfort. The question is an indirect way for Axis to admit something’s wrong, and that
indirection is obscene. Like hiding a corroded tail rotor bearing from your maintenance guys.
“I’m good,” I say, with fake ease. “I’m in flow. Can’t you feel it?” I dip the nose to match a drop-off
below, provoking a whine from the terrain detector. I am teasing, striking a pose. “We’re gonna be
okay.”
“I feel it, Barb.” But Axis is tense, worried about our pursuer, and other things. Doesn’t laugh.
“How about you?”
“Nominal.”
Again the indirection, again the denial, and so I blurt it out. “Are you dysphoric?”
“What?” Axis says, calmly.
“You’ve been hesitating. Acting funny. Is your—” There is no way to ask someone if their militarized
gender conditioning is malfunctioning. “Are you good?”
“I . . . ” Hesitation. It makes me cringe again, in secondhand shame. Never hesitate. “I don’t know.”
“Do you need to go on report?”
Severe gender dysphoria can be a flight risk. If Axis hesitates over something that needs to be done
instantly, the mission could fail decisively. We could both die.
“I don’t want that,” Axis says.
“I don’t want that either,” I say, desperately. I want nothing less than that. “But, Axis, if—”
The warning receiver climbs to a steady crow call.
“He knows we’re here,” I say, to Axis’ tight inhalation. “He can’t get a lock through the gown but
he’s aware of our presence. Fuck. Blinder, blinder, he’s got his laser on us—”
The fighter’s lidar pod is trying to catch the glint of a reflection off us. “Shit,” Axis says. “We’re
gonna get shot.”
“The gown should defeat it. He’s not close enough for thermal yet.”
“He’s gonna launch anyway. He’s gonna shoot and then get a lock to steer it in.”
“I don’t know—missiles aren’t cheap these days—”
The ESM mast on the Apache’s rotor hub, mounted like a lamp on a post, contains a cluster of
electro-optical sensors that constantly scan the sky: the Distributed Aperture Sensor. When the DAS
detects the flash of a missile launch, it plays a warning tone and uses my vest to poke me in the
small of my back.
My vest pokes me in the small of my back.
“Barb. Missile launch south. Barb. Fox 3 inbound. Inbound. Inbound.”
“He fired,” Axis calls. “Barb?”
“Barb,” I acknowledge.
I fuck—
Oh, you want to know: many of you, at least. It’s all right. An attack helicopter isn’t a private way of
being. Your needs and capabilities must be maintained for the mission.
I don’t think becoming an attack helicopter changed who I wanted to fuck. I like butch assertive
people. I like talent and prestige, the status that comes of doing things well. I was never taught the
lie that I was wired for monogamy, but I was still careful with men, I was still wary, and I could
never tell him why: that I was afraid not because of him, but because of all the men who’d seemed
good like him, at first, and then turned into something else.
No one stalks an attack helicopter. No slack-eyed well-dressed drunk punches you for ignoring the
little rape he slurs at your neckline. No one even breaks your heart: with my dopamine system tied
up by the reassignment surgery, fully assigned to mission behavior, I can’t fall in love with anything
except my own purpose.
Are you aware of your body? Do you feel your spine when you stand, your hips when you walk, the
tightness and the mass in your core? When you look at yourself, whose eyes do you use? Your own?
I am always in myself. I never see myself through my partner’s eyes. I have weapons to use, of
course, ways of moving, moans and cries. But I measure those weapons by their effect, not by their
similarity to some idea of how I should be.
Flying is the loop of machinery and pilot, the sense of your motion on the controls translated into
torque and lift, the airframe’s reaction shaping your next motion until the loop closes and machine
and pilot are one. Awareness collapses to the moment. You are always doing the right thing exactly
as it needs to be done. Sex is the same: the search for everything in an instant.
Of course I fuck Axis. A few decades ago this would’ve been a crime. What a waste of perfectly
useful behavior. What a waste of that lean muscled form and those perfect killing hands that know
me millimeter-by-millimeter system-by-system so there is no mystique between us. No “secret
places” or “feminine mysteries,” only the tortuously exact technical exercise of nerves and pressure.
Oxytocin released, to flow between us, by the press of knuckles in my cunt.
When I come beneath Axis I cry out, I press my body close, I want that utter loss of control that I
feel nowhere else. Heartbeat in arched throat: nipple beneath straining tongue. And my mind is
hyper-activated, free-associating, and as Axis works in me I see the work we do together. I see puffs
of thirty-millimeter autocannon detonating on night-cold desert floor.
Violence doesn’t get me off. But getting off makes me revel in who I am: and I am violent, made for
violence, alive in the fight.
Does that surprise you? Does it bother you to mingle cold technical discipline with hot flesh and
sweat?
Let me ask you: why has the worst insult you can give a combat pilot always been weak dick?
Have you ever been exultant? Have you ever known that you are a triumph? Have you ever felt that
it was your whole life’s purpose to do something, and all that you needed to succeed was to be
entirely yourself?
To be yourself well is the wholest and best feeling that anything has ever felt.
It is what I feel when I am about to live or die.
The Werewolf’s missile arches down on us, motor burned out, falling like an arrow. He is trying a
Shoot On Prospect attack: he cannot find us exactly, so he fires a missile that will finish the search,
lock onto our heat or burn through our stealth with its onboard radar, or acquire us optically like a
staring human eye. Or at least make us react. Like the catcaller’s barked “Hey!” to evoke the flinch
or the huddle, the proof that he has power.
We are ringed in the vortex of a dilemma. If we switch off the stealth gown, the Werewolf fighter will
lock its radar onto us and guide the missile to the kill. If we keep the stealth system on, the missile’s
heat-seeker will home in on the blazing plasma.
I know what to do. Not in the way you learn how to fly a helicopter, but the way you know how to
hold your elbows when you gesture.
A helicopter is more than a hovering fan, see? The blades of the rotor tilt and swivel. When you turn
the aircraft left, the rotors deepen their bite into the air on one side of their spin, to make off-center
lift. You cannot force a helicopter or it will throw you to the earth. You must be gentle.
I caress the cyclic.
The Apache’s nose comes up smooth and fast. The Mojave horizon disappears under the chin. Axis’
gasp from the front seat passes through the microphone and into the bones of my face. The pitch
indicator climbs up toward sixty degrees, ass down, chin up. Our airspeed plummets from a hundred
and fifty knots to sixty.
We hang there for an instant like a dancer in an oversway. The missile is coming straight down at
us. We are not even running anymore.
And I lower the collective, flattening the blades of the rotor, so that they cannot cut the air at an
angle and we lose all lift.
We fall.
I toe the rudder. The tail rotor yields a little of its purpose, which is to counter the torque of the
main rotor: and that liberated torque spins the Apache clockwise, opposite the rotor’s turn, until we
are nose down sixty degrees, facing back the way we came, looking into the Mojave desert as it rises
up to take us.
I have pirouetted us in place. Plasma fire blows in wraith pennants as the stealth system tries to
keep us modest.
“Can you get it?” I ask.
“Axis.”
I raise the collective again and the rotors bite back into the air. We do not rise, but our fall slows
down. Cyclic stick answers to the barest twitch of wrist, and I remember, once, how that slim wrist
made me think of fragility, frailty, fear: I am remembering even as I pitch the helicopter back and
we climb again, nose up, tail down, scudding backward into the sky while aimed at our chasing killer.
Axis is on top now, above me in the front seat, and in front of Axis is the chin gun, pointed sixty
degrees up into heaven.
“Barb,” the helicopter whispers, like my mother in my ear. “Missile ten seconds. Music? Glare?”
No. No jamming. The Werewolf missile will home in on jamming like a wolf with a taste for pepper.
Our laser might dazzle the seeker, drive it off course—but if the missile turns then Axis cannot take
the shot.
It is not a choice. I trust Axis.
Axis steers the nose turret onto the target and I imagine strong fingers on my own chin, turning me
for a kiss, looking up into the red scorched sky—Axis chooses the weapon (30MM GUIDED PROX AP)
and aims and fires with all the idle don’t-have-to-try confidence of the first girl dribbling a soccer ball
who I ever for a moment loved—
The chin autocannon barks out ten rounds a second. It is effective out to one point five kilometers.
The missile is moving more than a hundred meters per second.
Axis has one second almost exactly, ten shots of thirty-millimeter smart grenade, to save us.
A mote of gray shadow rushes at us and intersects the line of cannon fire from the gun. It becomes
a spray of light. The Apache tings and rattles. The desert below us, behind us, stipples with tiny
plumes of dust that pick up in the wind and settle out like sift from a hand.
“Got it,” Axis says.
“I love you.”
“Axis.”
Many of you are veterans in the act of gender. You weigh the gaze and disposition of strangers in a
subway car and select where to stand, how often to look up, how to accept or reject conversation.
Like a frequency-hopping radar, you modulate your attention for the people in your context: do not
look too much, lest you seem interested, or alarming. You regulate your yawns, your appetite, your
toilet. You do it constantly and without failure.
You are aces.
What other way could be better? What other neural pathways are so available to constant
reprogramming, yet so deeply connected to judgment, behavior, reflex?
Some people say that there is no gender, that it is a postmodern construct, that in fact there are
only man and woman and a few marginal confusions. To those people I ask: if your body-fact is
enough to establish your gender, you would willingly wear bright dresses and cry at movies, wouldn’t
you? You would hold hands and compliment each other on your beauty, wouldn’t you? Because your
cock would be enough to make you a man.
Have you ever guarded anything so vigilantly as you protect yourself against the shame of
gender-wrong?
The same force that keeps you from gender-wrong is the force that keeps me from fucking up.
The missile is dead. The Werewolf Apostle is still up there.
“He’s turning off.” Axis has taken over defensive awareness while I fly. “Radar off. Laser off. He’s
letting us go.”
“Afraid of our fighters?” The mercenaries cannot replace a lost J-20S. And he probably has a
wingman, still hiding, who would die too if they stray into a trap.
“Yes,” Axis says.
“Keep the gown on.” In case he’s trying to bluff us into shutting down our stealth. “We’ll stick to the
terrain until he’s over the horizon.”
“Can you fly us out?”
The Apache is fighting me. Fragments of the destroyed missile have pitted the rotors, damaged the
hub assembly, and jammed the control surfaces. I begin to crush the shrapnel with the Apache’s
hydraulics, pounding the metal free with careful control inputs. But the necessary motions also move
the aircraft. Half a second’s error will crash us into the desert. I have to calculate how to un-jam the
shrapnel while accounting for the effects of that shrapnel on my flight authority and keeping the
aircraft stable despite my constant control inputs while moving at a hundred and thirty knots across
the desert.
“Barb,” I say. “Not a problem.”
And for an hour I fly without thought, without any feeling except the smooth stone joy of doing
something that takes everything.
The night desert is black to the naked eye, soft gray to thermal. My attention flips between my left
eye, focused on the instruments, and my right eye, looking outside. I am a black box like the Pear
Mesa AIs. Information arrives—a throb of feedback in the cyclic, a shift of Axis’ weight, a dune crest
ahead—and my hands and feet move to hold us steady. If I focused on what I was doing it would all
fall apart. So I don’t.
“Are you happy?” Axis asks.
Good to talk now. Keep my conscious mind from interfering with the gearbox of reflexes below.
“Yeah,” I say, and I blow out a breath into my mask, “yeah, I am,” a lightness in my ribs, “yeah, I
feel good.”
“Why do you think we just blew up a school?”
Why did I text my best friend the appearance and license number of all my cab drivers, just in case?
Because those were the things that had to be done.
Listen: I exist in this context. To make war is part of my gender. I get what I need from the flight
line, from the ozone tang of charging stations and the shimmer of distant bodies warping in the
tarmac heat, from the twenty minutes of anxiety after we land when I cannot convince myself that I
am home, and safe, and that I am no longer keeping us alive with the constant adjustments of my
hands and feet.
“Deplete their skilled labor supply, I guess. Attack the demographic skill curve.”
“Kind of a long-term objective. Kind of makes you think it’s not gonna be over by election season.”
“We don’t get to know why the AIs pick the targets.” Maybe destroying this school was an accident.
A quirk of some otherwise successful network, coupled to the load-bearing elements of a vast
strategy.
“Hey,” I say, after a beat of silence. “You did good back there.”
“You thought I wouldn’t.”
“Barb.” A more honest yes than “yes,” because it is my name, and it acknowledges that I am the
one with the doubt.
“I didn’t know if I would either,” Axis says, which feels exactly like I don’t know if I love you
anymore . I lose control for a moment and the Apache rattles in bad air and the tail slews until I stop
thinking and bring everything back under control in a burst of rage.
“You’re done?” I whisper, into the helmet. I have never even thought about this before. I am cold,
sweat soaked, and shivering with adrenaline comedown, drawn out like a tendon in high heels, a
just-off-the-dance-floor feeling, post-voracious, satisfied. Why would we choose anything else? Why
would we give this up? When it feels so good to do it? When I love it so much?
“I just . . . have questions.” The tactical channel processes the sound of Axis swallowing into a dull
point of sound, like dropped plastic.
“We don’t need to wonder, Axis. We’re gendered for the mission—”
“We can’t do this forever,” Axis says, startling me. I raise the collective and hop us up a hundred
feet, so I do not plow us into the desert. “We’re not going to be like this forever. The world won’t be
like this forever. I can’t think of myself as . . . always this.”
Yes, we will be this way forever. We survived this mission as we survive everywhere on this hot and
hostile earth. By bending all of what we are to the task. And if we use less than all of ourselves to
survive, we die.
“Are you going to put me on report?” Axis whispers.
On report as a flight risk? As a faulty component in a mission-critical system? “You just intercepted
an air-to-air missile with the autocannon, Axis. Would I ever get rid of you?”
“Because I’m useful,” Axis says, softly. “Because I can still do what I’m supposed to do. That’s what
you love. But if I couldn’t . . . I’m distracting you. I’ll let you fly.”
I spare one glance for the gray helmet in the cockpit below mine. Politeness is a gendered protocol.
Who speaks and who listens. Who denies need and who claims it. As a woman, I would’ve pressed
Axis. As a woman, I would’ve unpacked the unease and the disquiet.
As an attack helicopter, whose problems are communicated in brief, clear datums, I should ignore
Axis.
But who was ever only one thing?
“If you want to be someone else,” I say, “someone who doesn’t do what we do, then . . . I don’t
want to be the thing that stops you.”
“Bird’s gotta land sometime,” Axis says. “Doesn’t it?”
In the Applied Constructive Gender briefing, they told us that there have always been liminal
genders, places that people passed through on their way to somewhere else. Who are we in those
moments when we break our own rules? The straight man who sleeps with men? The woman who
can’t decide if what she feels is intense admiration, or sexual attraction? Where do we go, who do we
become?
Did you know that instability is one of the most vital traits of a combat aircraft? Civilian planes are
built stable, hard to turn, inclined to run straight ahead on an even level. But a military aircraft is
built so it wants to tumble out of control, and it is held steady only by constant automatic feedback.
The way I am holding this Apache steady now.
Something that is unstable is ready to move, eager to change, it wants to turn, to dive, to tear away
from stillness and fly .
Dynamism requires instability. Instability requires the possibility of change.
“Voice recorder’s off, right?” Axis asks.
“Always.”
“I love doing this. I love doing it with you. I just don’t know if it’s . . . if it’s right.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Barb?”
“Thank you for thinking about whether it’s right. Someone needs to.”
Maybe what Axis feels is a necessary new queerness. One which pries the tool of gender back from
the hands of the state and the economy and the war. I like that idea. I cannot think of myself as a
failure, as something wrong, a perversion of a liberty that past generations fought to gain.
But Axis can. And maybe you can too. That skepticism is not what I need . . . but it is necessary
anyway.
I have tried to show you what I am. I have tried to do it without judgment. That I leave to you.
“Are we gonna make it?” Axis asks, quietly.
The airframe shudders in crosswind. I let the vibrations develop, settle into a rhythm, and then I
make my body play the opposite rhythm to cancel it out.
“I don’t know,” I say, which is an answer to both of Axis’ questions, both of the ways our lives are in
danger now. “Depends how well I fly, doesn’t it?”
“It’s all you, Barb,” Axis says, with absolute trust. “Take us home.”
A search radar brushes across us, scatters off the gown, turns away to look in likelier places. The
Apache’s engine growls, eating battery, turning charge into motion. The airframe shudders again,
harder, wind rising as cooling sky fights blazing ground. We are racing a hundred and fifty feet
above the Larger Mojave where we fight a war over some new kind of survival and the planet we
maimed grows that desert kilometer by kilometer. Our aircraft is wounded in its body and in its
crew. We are propelled by disaster. We are moving swiftly.
#I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter by ISABEL FALL#I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter#ISABEL FALL#gender identity
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Seven times someone spoke to a Marauder alone in a portrait and one person who spoke to them all together
In a world where all the Marauders died in the first war, their souls are preserved in portraits in Hogwarts. Their stories are legend if a bit tweaked, and their names are famous if a bit forgettable. But they were painted individually, and housed all over the castle, separated for all eternity from each other.
(Also, there are seven Marauders because Lily, Severus, and Regulus. Fight me.)
(FOR CONTEXT: Regulus married a Muggle named Amir and had a daughter with him named Hailee. Regulus and Sirius never fell out and Regulus calls Remus “Mum” because reasons. Sirius and Remus married and died without children and James and Lily had Harry with their partner, Severus. Peter had a nonbinary partner named Max, but they died in the war.)
ONE: Regulus Black (Room of Requirement) & Draco Malfoy [Second Year - Youth (Daughter)]
Draco is coming back from Quidditch practice after calling Hermione a Mudblood. He’s walking alone down a hallway empty of doors when one suddenly materializes in front of him. He walks inside, too curious not to, and finds a room with two chairs in front of a crackling fire.
Over the fire hangs a portrait of a young man with pale skin, ebony hair, and striking grey eyes. Draco sits down in one of the chairs and picks up the cup of hot cocoa from the coffee table, looking up at the portrait, which has now started moving.
“Who are you?” He asks, and the portrait shoots him a grim look.
“My name is Regulus Black. Do you know who I am?”
Draco shakes his head. Regulus hums, tugging at something around his wrist.
“I’m a Death Eater who defied Voldemort,” he says, pulling his sleeves up to reveal a blank wrist. “They didn’t paint me with that wretched Mark, thank Merlin.”
Draco puts his cocoa down, nervous, and finds his eyes darting around the room for a door.
“How do I get out of here?” He asks with all the politeness he can muster, and Regulus offers him a wry smile.
“Right through that door,” he says gently, pointing to the door now etching itself out of the wall. “But please remember, Draco - you make your own choices in life. You decide who you are. Not a House, not a name, not a Mark. You. Do not forget that like I did.”
Draco nods, backing towards the door.
“But you defected,” he says, feeling small. Regulus smiles sadly, his eyes cutting.
“Yes, I did. And I paid for it with my life. And the life of my partner, and my daughter, and my brother and my mum and my best friends. I paid, Draco. I’m still paying.”
Draco has his hand on the door knob. “Huh,” he says, and opens the door when Regulus adds, “Oh, and Draco, dear? Don’t call people Mudbloods. There’s no such thing. And it’s rude.”
Draco nods frantically and closes the door so hard he lands flat on his ass in the hallway, watching the door seal itself and fade back into stone.
TWO: James Potter (Gryffindor Quidditch “Hall” of Fame, Gryffindor Common Room) & Seamus Finnigan [Fourth Year - Never Not (Lauv)]
Seamus finds himself alone in the Gryffindor common room one Wednesday morning, pretending to be sick with a cold. He’s wrapped in a blanket and staring into the empty fireplace when he hears, “YO! KID!”
Startled, he falls off the couch, and stumbles up and over to the Quidditch trophy case in the corner. There, in a small frame, is the smiling face of a boy who looks just like Harry, except without the mark, with dark eyes, and happier. Seamus reads the plaque, James Potter, and smiles sadly, wondering if Harry has ever talked to this portrait before.
James, meanwhile, barrels forward, “You’re the one in love with that lanky black kid, right?” Seamus’ eyes snap up as he sputters, but James just grins. “Cool. I thought so. Can I give you some advice…?”
“Seamus.”
“Can I give you some advice, Seamus?”
Seamus, now bright red, says, “Um, sure?”
James’ eyes twinkle and he says, “Tell him.”
Seamus starts coughing, beating his chest as James laughs and he protests, “No! No, I can’t just tell my best friend I’m in love with him!”
James shrugs. “You can,” he says. “You wanna know a secret?” He leans in just a bit. “My best friends fell in love.”
Seamus startles. “What?” He breathes, and James grins.
“Yeah. Sirius Potter and Remus Lupin. Wasted six bloody years apart before finally giving in and admitting it. They’re the most in love people I’ve ever met.” His brow wrinkles. “Well, except Sev and Lily and me.” It wrinkles further. “Nah, I gotta give ‘em this one.”
Seamus gapes in shock for a moment before blurting, “That werewolf and the Black runaway were in love?! And you - fuck, you were with Severus Snape???” James stares at him for a moment before blinking and then bursting into laughter.
When he finally calms down, he looks back up at Seamus’ flushed face and says, “Sirius is a Potter and a Lupin, not a Black. And he and Remy loved each other more than anything. And yeah, Sev and Lily and I had some real fun times.” He tilts his head in consideration and says, “Actually, now that I think about it, some of those happened right on that couch over there. It’s weird they haven’t gotten a new one, huh?”
Seamus sputters for a third and final time and skitters away with a tomato-red face as James shouts after him, “TELL HIM, KID! SHOVE HIM AGAINST A WALL AND SNOG HIM SENSELESS!”
(Seamus, later, to Harry: “Your dad is fucking wack, bro.”)
THREE: Lily Evans (Library, Restricted Section) & Cedric Diggory [Fourth Year - Someone To You (BANNERS), Good Old Days (Kesha, Macklemore)]
Cedric sneaks into the Restricted Section to hide from all the pressure of the tournament. One night he’s thumbing through the books in his boredom when he finds an unframed portrait of a smiling redhead. As soon as he lifts her out of the book, titled The Marauders: A Complete History of Unfiltered Pranks (by Minerva Mcgonogall for Minerva Mcgonogall, signed by Regulus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Lupin (Love you Minnie!), and Lily Evans), the portrait pipes up, “Hi! I’m Lily!”
Cedric nearly drops the book in shock, but manages to catch it at the last second, mustering up a smile for the grinning portrait and introducing himself. She beams and glances at the book in his hand, her smile turning mischievous. “That’s a good one. We did get up to a lot, didn’t we?”
Speechless, he nods, not really processing that she’s just admitted to being Lily Evans, and her eyes dull with sadness at the sight of one of the injuries on his collarbone from the most recent challenge.
“Where’d you get that?” She asks, and he explains the tournament. She hums, and finally murmurs, “I heard them say my son is in that. Is that true?”
Mouth dry, Cedric nods, and Lily looks up at him again with glassy eyes and rasps, “Can you tell him I love him? That I’m proud of him and so are his fathers? Can you tell him that for me?”
Cedric nods again, hearing a creak and turning his head towards the noise when Lily whispers, “Go. Go, Cedric, before you get caught. Be brave, honey.” Cedric shoves the portrait back into the book and the book back onto the shelf with a muttered goodbye before sprinting away, Lily’s words echoing in his ears like a dying child’s scream.
FOUR: Sirius Black (Mcgonogall’s Office) & Ginny Weasley [Fifth Year - Alone (Bazzi)]
Ginny is sitting in Mcgonogall’s office, waiting for her professor to come and scold her for punching Zabini (he touched Luna’s ass, what was she supposed to do? Ask him to kindly stick his nose up where the sun don’t shine? She’d still be here, and he’d still be snickering like the slimy motherfucker he is in that dungeon cell he calls his bedroom). She hears a cough from somewhere on Mcgonogall’s desk and straightens up, ducking her head to peek around when she hears, “Pssst. Over here.”
She looks over and sees a framed picture of Sirius Black, grinning as if he’d never died. She swallows down her tears and nods her head in a polite hello. Sirius’ smile saddens as he says, “I hear you’re dating my godson.”
Ginny blushes, but nods, and for a moment, Sirius looks like he’s about to cry. “Why are you here, Ginny?” He asks softly, and she shrugs.
“Punched a Slytherin who touched my friend’s ass.”
Sirius grins at that, nodding his head in respect. “Good girl. You ever think about why that is?”
Ginny’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth to ask what he means when she sees his eyes wandering to a sketch of a wolf howling at the moon on Mcgonogall’s far wall, with the note For you, Minnie. Moony didn’t want it. Love, Sirius.
“I fell in love with a boy once,” Sirius murmurs. “My best friend. Remus Lupin. And he loved me back.”
I know, Ginny wants to say. You two were married and gave baby Harry joint Christmas presents and danced in the kitchen when you thought no one else was still awake. I’ve heard the stories, I’ve seen the pictures. I know. But instead she stays quiet, listening as Sirius tells his story.
“But instead of admitting that, I dated Marlene McKinnon for three years. Sold my gay ass out to a lesbian whore because I was too afraid to tell him how I felt about him.” Ginny has a lot of questions about the “lesbian whore” part - “I mean, she was a friend of mine, but I never wanted to kiss her, or sleep with her, but I did anyway. And he looked so fucking sad all the time. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t wanna ruin my happiness. I didn’t know how to tell him that he was my happiness. By the time I figured it out, it was too late.”
Ginny swallows, finally speaking up, “Why are you telling me this?” Sirius finally tears his eyes away from the picture of the wolf and the moon and gives her a bitter smile.
“Because I’m dead and my husband and I spent a mere three years together in all of the ten we knew each other. What kind of bullshit is that?”
Ginny shrugs. “Some bullshit,” she answers, and laughs uncomfortably.
Sirius laughs too, then sighs. He looks deep into her eyes and says, “I love my godson. You make sure he knows that. But I also love my husband. And I spent too damn long running from that. So let me save you a bit of trouble, Ginny - the greatest love is often the scariest.”
Ginny purses her lips. “What are you saying?” She says slowly, and Sirius smiles sadly as Mcgonogall’s heels come clicking down the hall.
“I’m saying maybe you shouldn’t waste your time on Harry when both your and his hearts lie elsewhere.”
Ginny blushes, looking down at the homemade bracelet Luna made her three summers ago, and at the sound of the door opening, she looks back up at a frozen Sirius, whose eyes are caught on Mcgonogall, somehow still twinkling.
FIVE: Peter Pettigrew (Outside Gryffindor Dorms) & Ron Weasley [Fifth Year - lovely (Billie Eilish, Khalid)]
Ron is sulking on the stairs outside the Gryffindor common room after a particularly bad Quidditch loss. He wishes he were with Hermione and Harry, but they were already tangled together when he came upstairs and he didn’t want to intrude, even though they invited him to.
He knows they’re all best friends, he just feels so much like the third wheel sometimes. So he’s sulking when he hears a soft, “Hey.”
He looks up in surprise and sees a portrait of Peter Pettigrew, and he immediately steels his eyes, backing away. Seeing this, Peter shouts, “Wait, no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know! I just - I didn’t actually betray them, you know? Okay, well, I did, but - but I fixed it! They forgave me! I promise I’m not evil, I’m not, Ron -”
“How do you know my name?” Ron blurts, and Peter jumps back in his frame, startled, then smiles softly.
“They say it,” he answers. “Harry, and that girl you’re always with. They say your name all the time.”
Ron blushes. “Oh,” he says, ducking his head with a smile. When he looks back up into Peter’s sad eyes, he says, “We lost today. Quidditch.”
Peter cocks his head. “To who?”
Ron shrugs, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his fingers over his knees. “Slytherin. Never lost against Slytherin before.”
Peter shrugs. “James and Sirius did. All the time.”
Ron looks up. “Really?” Peter smiles softly.
“Yeah. Mostly because they wanted Severus and Regulus to feel good, but. Yeah, they lost to Slytherin all the damn time.”
Ron’s smile fades. “Severus? Like, Snape? The Death Eater?”
Peter winces, then shrugs. “The Order spy. But, yeah.”
Ron blinks in shock. “They were friends? Even after Lily?”
Peter’s brow furrows in confusion, but he answers anyway, “Yes? They were dating. Them and Lily. Sent the whole school up in flames.”
Ron’s jaw drops open. “You can do that?”
Peter shrugs. “Yeah, ‘course you can. You can date Harry and that girl if you want. No one’s stopping you.”
Ron flushes, looking down in shame.
“They don’t want me,” he mumbles. “Not the way they want each other.”
Peter hums. “Severus said that too. So did James. They were both idiots.” Looking up at Ron’s glistening eyes and pouting lips, he smiles.
“Just because you’re not the smartest or the strongest or the funniest or the best at anything in particular doesn’t mean you’re not important, or that people don’t care about you.”
Ron nods, slowly. He stands and heads back inside without another word, pretending he doesn’t hear Peter sigh and say, “You’re welcome,” bitterly as he mumbles the password to the Fat Lady and slips back through the crack in the door.
SIX: Severus Snape (Headmaster’s Office) & Hermione Granger [Sixth Year - Ophelia (The Lumineers), O Children (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds)]
Hermione is visiting Dumbledore’s office for her Prefect badge and an overview of the position while Ron and Harry are brooding in their room. The three of them have become far closer than normal lately, and she’s almost glad to be away for a moment, as they’ve always been more honest with each other when she isn’t around. She can’t decide if that bothers her or not.
She’s waiting for Dumbledore to get there when she hears, “Miss Granger, correct?” in a slow, molasses drawl.
She looks up at the portrait labelled Severus Snape and answers the boy in the Slytherin tie, “Yes. Hello, Mr. Snape.”
Severus grins slowly, a cat-like expression of amusement and carefully calculated arrogance. “Smart one, aren’t you?” He asks, and she nods. He clicks his tongue. “Should’ve been in Ravenclaw.”
She flushes and opens her mouth to retort when the Sorting Hat starts shouting about insecure fuckwads who don’t know their place and Severus starts screaming back about it not doing its fucking job right until finally Hermione screams, “STOP!”
The hat grumbles off to sleep again while she stares a shocked Severus down, her shaking hands curled in fists as she says, “Please don’t shout at it. It’s tired.”
Severus raises an eyebrow, but huffs and turns away. She sees his blank arm as he turns his back to her and feels her heart break open with pity.
“You’re Harry’s father, right?” She asks softly, and his head whips towards her in shock. She offers a sad smile and explains, “Lily and James. There are no records, of course, but…”
“You’re Mcgonogall’s favorite,” Severus finishes, smiling wryly. “Yes. I am one of Harry’s fathers.”
Hermione nods, looking down at her books, and swallows before looking back up again to say, “He really loves you.”
Severus rears back in shock, his eyes searching her for lies as she tears up. “He really does. You may not know it, and he doesn’t speak of it, but - but I can tell. He misses you.”
Severus’ eyes turn dull and glassy and he turns away, hiding his face with his long shaggy hair. Hermione swallows down her tears, smiling again. “Yes, well -”
“I love him too,” Severus interrupts, voice soft. “I miss him too. We all do. Tell… tell him that, would you?”
Hermione blinks, then nods.
“Of course,” she says, ducking her head as the staircase starts to rumble. “I’ll take good care of him, sir.”
Severus smiles that sad wry smile again and stills just as Dumbledore steps through the door, but Hermione hears his silence echo in her ears.
Thank you.
SEVEN: Remus Lupin (Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom) & Luna Lovegood [Seventh Year - Dynasty (MIIA), Towards The Sun (Rihanna)]
As the war comes closer and closer to Hogwarts, the students there grow more and more anxious. Luna herself takes refuge in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where only Harry and Ginny know to find her. But with Harry on the run with Ron and Hermione and Ginny trying to hold down the fort with Seamus and Dean, Luna often finds herself alone.
One day she decides to make her way up onto the balcony over the classroom that leads to the office, and she reaches for the knob on the office door when she hears, “Don’t go in there, Miss Lovegood.”
She looks over at the portrait who’s spoken, dubbed Remus Lupin, and smiles. He smiles kindly back and asks, “What are you even looking for?”
Luna shrugs. “Some way to help, I guess.”
Remus smiles wryly and nods, glancing down at the wedding ring adorning his finger. His smile softens for a moment before he says, “Sometimes, Miss Lovegood, the best way to win a war is by treating others with kindness.”
Luna tilts her head to the side. “Like, with hugs and smiles?” She asks, and Remus smiles, biting his lip and nodding. His eyes are glassy, but she pretends not to notice.
“Yes, my dear, with hugs and smiles. Support each other. Take no conversation for granted. Merlin knows the only thing that comforted me in the first war was the constant reminders that I still had my family. That they were fighting with me, and that I was fighting for them.”
Luna nods sagely and looks down at the bracelets littering her wrists, each one made for a different person in her life: Ginny, her girlfriend; Harry, her partner; Neville, her best friend; Draco and Ron and Hermione, her friends. She asks, “What comforted you when you died? I know… I know it wasn’t fast. Or painless.”
Remus smiles, his eyes shining with kindness and hope despite the exhausted bruises beneath them and the scars across his face.
“I wasn’t alone,” he answers, his voice soft. “I died by Sirius’ side. I was holding his hand when I saw the light. And in the light there were silhouettes - James, Peter, Lily, Severus, Regulus. They were waiting for us. And I knew we would be okay.”
Luna nods. She twists a ring on her finger and says, “Thank you, Mr. Lupin. I’d best be going now.”
Remus nods as she begins to descend the steps, his voice ringing out one last time, “Good luck, Luna. I hope to Merlin your victory will be more permanent than ours.”
Luna twirls around, cocking her head as she asks, “You think we’ll win?” Remus smiles.
He nods, his eyes twinkling, and says, “Someone has to. Why not you?”
ONE: All Together Again (Grimmauld Place, Harry & Ron & Hermione’s Bedroom) & Harry Potter [After Graduation of Eighth Year - Daylight (Taylor Swift)]
Following the end of the war, Harry moves into Grimmauld Place, left to him by the godfather he never knew. He takes Hermione and Ron with him, the three of them having been in a committed relationship since sometime when they were on the run and following an unspoken agreement that they will follow each other anywhere.
Luna lives nearby with Ginny, in an apartment by Draco’s little cottage and Neville’s tiny hovel. The three of them live quietly, though their friends visit often. Harry feels better, happier, though the hole left by his missing family is still there.
One day, as he’s putting up pictures of him and his partners around their shared bedroom, he hears, “Harry?”
He looks up, and there, on the opposite wall, is a picture of the seven Marauders, all young and staring at him in shock. Harry tears up and rushes over, taking the picture delicately in his hands and smiling as he rakes his eyes over his lost family. They all grin back, and Harry reads the inscription on the frame: My dear Marauders, You have been my pride and joy for seven long short years. I know you will all do great things; I cannot wait to see what you accomplish. You are, and have always been, my favorite students. All my love, Minnie.
Harry covers his mouth, emotional, until finally James asks, “Are you happy?”
Harry looks at Remus and Sirius, their fingers intertwined and their eyes sparkling. He looks at Regulus and Peter, their arms around each other’s shoulders as they grin. He looks at Severus and Lily and James, his three wonderful parents. And he looks down at the two wedding rings on the chain around his own neck, bearing the initials R.W. and H.G.. And he nods.
“Yeah,” he answers, grinning. “Yeah, I’m really fucking happy.”
#marauders#harry potter#wolfstar#james x lily x severus#regulus black#james potter#lily evans#sirius black#peter pettigrew#severus snape#remus lupin#draco malfoy#seamus finnigan#cedric diggory#ginny weasley#ron weasley#hermione granger#luna lovegood#deamus#linny#harry x hermione x ron#minerva mcgonogall#albus dumbledore#i dunno i just wanted them to be happy#except i have a very twisted idea of what happiness is#or so i've been told#have a nice day y'all
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