#and our role in America as a whole

[writing-mlm]

The Price of Losing

Summary: Being sucked into a video game world because two Doom’s are trying to take over the world is bad enough. But dealing with a try-hard support who hasn’t lost since this started is beyond crazy, thankfully Lin has the perfect way to break that streak. Pairing: Lin Lie x Male!Reader Wc: 5.6k tags/warning: canon-level violence, porn WITH plot, jealous Lin, sex as a bribe, mating press, riding, finger sucking, degrading said as praise, healers being yelled at, I spent way too much time looking at Hydra and Tokyo-2099 maps for this, powers based on Raven (Dc comics) a/n: hiii people in my phone, take this smut as my peace offering

“Thank you,” Storm smiles as you use the darkness to suck the life from the enemy team, using their life force to heal your team. Iron Fist, Venom, Cloak, and Captain America fall to the ground as you let them go, their bodies slump on the ground. Hawkeye and Wanda quickly finish the ones you didn’t kill, leaving the domination point filled with only your team. You watch as their bodies time out, your shoulders dropping as you get a couple of seconds to relax. Floating, you cross your legs and heal yourself. Venom has been diving you for the past twenty minutes and you didn’t want to overwhelm Jeff with healing you. 

You didn’t mind being into an alternate universe, although you’d been mostly retired from the whole hero scene up until that point. It’s been six months of this, some weird video game where you were sometimes picked to play against other heroes from different universes. Or was it timelines? You couldn’t keep up— didn’t, if you were being honest. 

It was nice, although you’d been stuck with your main role being a healer. You certainly weren’t known for your healing back home, but you did heal exceptionally well. You grin as you check your cuff, twenty-zero-thirty-eight with almost thirty thousand healing. With your whole team having a giant zero next to the number of times they’ve died, you guess you were well-suited to being a healer. 

Well, not Jeff. He always died with the enemies he swallowed instead of spitting them out for some reason. 

“My ultimate is ready!” Storm calls, her voice echoing through your earpiece. 

“We only have ten seconds left, you should wait!” You warn, looking around for her, and find her at the entrance of the enemy team, ready to press the button. “We’ll go into our final match before they get here.” 

“But I hate going into overtime!” Hawkeye groans, checking his quiver as more arrows appear from thin air. Rolling your eyes, you watch and listen as Galatca starts her countdown. As she does, you see the other team rushing towards the point. Iron Fist rapidly punches to launch himself forward while Rocket is using his jetpack to try and back it before time runs out. Unfortunately for them, they’re just a second too late as the round ends with you face-to-face with Iron Fist. 

He huffs as time slows down, the air blowing into your face as you wink before being transported to the waiting room of the next map. 

“Who has their ultimates ready?” Bucky’s voice drowns out the sound of him rolling his metal arm. “I’m at sixty-eight,”

“Full,” You reply after checking your meter. 

“Me too,” Storm nods. 

“Ninety,” Wanda sighs. “Hopefully Cloak doesn’t vanish his team again,” You hum, looking around for a water bottle in the throne room. They’re usually hidden around somewhere. 

“Ten,” Hawkeye frowns. Jeff barks something and then spins, water splashing around as he does. 

“It’s full,” You translate for him and he jumps, throwing a healing bubble at you to confirm. Bucky nods as you get a small speed boost, using the time to scratch the bottom of Jeff’s chin. His back paws rapidly hit the floor and you coo before hearing the countdown starting up. 

“I’ll stay in the back line. If all six touch base I’ll pop my ult,” You tell them as everyone stands at the entrance. 

“I’ll keep their tanks off of you,” Wanda promises.

“Me and Storm will push them back, Hawkeye should stay in the rafters and pick off anyone who gets past us.”

“Sounds good to me!” Hawkeye agrees and the doors open. Jeff gives everyone a speedboat and you all push towards the middle room. 

The Hydra map is the Frozen Airfield, so while Hawkeye takes the side entrance to get to the balcony the rest of you take the hallway straight there. By the time you get there, you hear Rocket's feet pattering against the metal and Captain America’s heavy footsteps. He’s such a pain in your ass, but hey, at least he can’t knock you off of the map this time. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Dagger talking before Captain America gives a confirmation nod. 

“Cloak and Dagger are about to ult,” You warn, using the darkness to push Squirrel Girl back. You haven’t spotted Iron Fist yet but you see Venom swing down from the other balcony. 

“Got her,” Storm says and leaves the point to deal with her. Knocking down Rocket and Squirrel Girl with your darkness blast ability, you give Wanda a little extra healing as she deals with the Venom desperately trying to nab you. Finishing the two off, you glance around to see if anyone needs healing. Storm is coming back from an eliminated Cloak and Dagger, getting healed by Jeff who’s happily waddling around. 

“Iron Fist has his fist shoved up my—“ Hawkeye cuts himself off as he jumps from the balcony, rolling to your side as you rapidly heal him. Reloading, you and Hawkeye tag team Iron Fist just as he pops his ultimate, thankfully, though, Storm notices the crowded point and pops hers, too. 

Pulling everyone from the enemy team closer to her, you work on healing the others while the enemies get picked off. The point gets claimed just as Storm goes back to normal. 

“Fist is back at zero, then. But Cloak and Dagger still have theirs ready,” Bucky reminds everyone as you watch Jeff place down scattered bubbles. 

“I think Cap just got his, too,” Hawkeye sighs. “I saw his cuff turn gold.” 

“That’s fine,” You shake your head. “Bucky has his and I still have mine. Wanda should’ve gotten hers by now, too,” She only nods, flexing her red magic as a confirmation. 

“Wanda should use hers if more than three of them come at once. Everyone else needs to cover her so she doesn’t get eliminated before she finishes it.” Bucky instructs. 

“I’ll go to the balcony, that way there’s less time for them to react,” She offers and flies up. Jeff joins her, sitting and waiting to heal her as you hear them running up. Stepping off of the point, you dip over to see who’s heading over before they can see you. 

“Cap, Cloak, Squirrel, and Rocket.” Bucky nods and then gives Wanda the signal. She nods just as they step through the doors. She pops her ultimate while you corral them forward, keeping them from running away with the help of Bucky’s arm. You can hear them firing her but the sound of Jeff’s rapid healing outdoes them before they all fall, waiting for their timer to run out. 

“We should team up more often,” Hawkeye grins as you’re finishing up Wanda’s healing. “This is fun!” 

“You’ve made it halfway!” Galacta announces and you confirm on your cuff. 

“Venom behind you!” Bucky warns and you fly up, dodging his ultimate while Hawkeye rolls to the side. Healing him as you fly down, you see Bucky and Wanda dealing with him. You still haven’t spotted Iron Fist but you know he hasn’t disconnected, so he’s probably lurking around somewhere. 

“Squirrel Stampede!” Isn’t as scary when Bucky shoots the swarm of squirrels until they’re gone. But what comes next only makes you groan. 

“Us against the world!” Moving out of the way as Cloak and Dagger go barrelling across the point, you and Jeff heal the others while also trying to find an untouched spot on the point. By that point five of them are on the point— all six when Venom lands on it. You could use your ultimate, but there’s no guarantee they’ll all die from it. It only lasts five seconds so once it’s up, you rush back to the point just before they take it and use your ultimate with your team rushing in front of you to act as a barrier.

“Heaven and Purgatory swarms you!” You shout before the point is covered in a field of darkness. Six confirmed kills appear on your cuff and the points capture progress goes back to blue. 

“Good timing,” Bucky nods while Hawkeye pats your shoulder. Nodding, you watch as the map shifts, opening the large window to your left. With Jeff’s ultimate ready he could get another team wipe before you’ve fully captured the point. 

Sensing something behind you, you fly up and watch as Iron Fist locks onto you. Cursing, you fly about before being forced to land, sending darkness blasts at him before you can fly again. Jeff is rapidly healing you as half of his punches land. Wanda is slowly ticking away at his health but Venom slams her away. 

“You’re almost there!” Galacta announces. 

“Armed and Dangerous!” Landing again, you see Iron Fist land too before Bucky slams into him. He fires twice before you see his cuff light up. “Again!” Falling into a healing bubble, you help the others heal while you rub your chest. Had this been a real fight you bet he would have broken your rib cage. Bringing the other teams health down, you watch as Bucky keeps reloading his ultimate. 

“I’m glad he’s on our side,” Hawkeye whispers and you nod, watching as he eliminates Squirrel Girl before returning to the point. 

“We’re going to push for the last ten percent. Hawkeye, Storm, and Jeff cover point,” Nodding, the four of you rush to the enemy spawn point and wait for them to respawn. 

They stare at your team, talking through the red walls and you watch as they split into groups. 

“(Y/n), you take Iron Fist and Rocket. Wanda, you have Venom and Squirrel. Leave Cloak and Cap to me,” Sharing a look with Wanda, the two of you split up and you extend your darkness towards Rocket and Iron Fist. You’ll deal with Rocket first, his healing can get pesky when he’s only healing two people. Pushing him into the air, you fly up and push him to the edge of the map. He nearly falls but uses his jetpack at the last second. He’s almost eliminated, though, so one darkness stream and he’s falling off the map. 

“Aht aht,” Iron Fist grins before roundhousing you into the wall. 

“I’m low!” Wanda warns and you grit, trying to find her but Iron Fist blocks your view. 

“Find a healing pack,” Bucky says, his gun echoing in the air. “Or run to Jeff,” 

Flying up to put distance between the two of you, you throw out darkness but he remains on your ass as you land. You watch as your health quickly declines and push him away, running back to a nearby healing pack. He follows closely, managing two punches before you dive and start attacking back. 

“Pure Chaos!” He doesn’t look back as Wanda wipes nearly half of his team. He could’ve easily eliminated her from his spot, with just two leaps but instead, he dips behind the wall so he’s out of her radius and backing you into a corner. His focus is on you as the two of you play cat and mouse until you see his cuff glow that familiar golden color. You’re no longer on any cooldowns, you could fly or use your spray but he’d catch up too fast.

“Aw shit,” You grumble, your back pressed to the wall while he grins, going to press it before time slows down. 

“Another perfect victory!” Sighing, you slump and watch as he tosses his arms up. 

You don’t watch as the MVP screen plays, skipping to meeting up with the team and heading out of the arena to the dorms. 

“Who won?” Spider-man asks as he sees the twelve of you leaving the portal. 

“We did,” Wanda smiles. “The other team put up quite the fight, though.”

“Lemme guess,” Ironman smirks. “(Y/n) MvP?”

“It was a close call,” You shrug. “I had one more kill than Bucky,” The man in question rolls his eyes and you watch as another team gets called into a fight. All you know is that you’re not in the group they called so you head up to shower. 

—

Two knocks echo throughout the mostly empty apartment as you’re watching your dinner get made. Pushing off from the counter, you open the door and stare at Lin. He’s out of his costume and in a simple compression shirt and sweats— it’s the only loungewear available so you’re in the same attire. 

“What’s up, Lin?” You ask, letting him inside. He walks inside, looking around the apartment that’s nearly identical to his, and then spins on his heels to face you. Everyone agreed that while out of the dorms, it’s strictly Code Names. Unless you’re someone like Bucky who would prefer to not be called the Winter Soldier. You just never had a hero name, public identity, and all that jazz.

“You’re a try-hard,” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “I checked your stats, you’ve lost zero games since you’ve gotten here. Who does that?”

“I don’t try,” You shrug, taking your food out from the weird machine. It’s probably bad for you but it’s also the only food available, so you make due. “I’m just that good.”

“You don’t get tired of winning?” He follows you into your living room, standing at the edge of your couch.

“Winners get gift baskets, I love gift baskets.” Gesturing to the basket of fruits and sweets, you hear him sigh. Looking at him, you grin and roll your head to the side. “Are you just pissy that you lost against me again?” Instead of replying, he huffs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

“We could make a deal,” He proposes. “You lose and I’ll give you something you want,”

“We don’t exactly have the luxury of having items here,” You remind, gesturing to the lack of items everywhere. 

“You know we’re neighbors, right?” He continues and you nod. You live at the end of the hallway with your only direct neighbors being Lin to your right and Adam in front of you. “Our bedrooms are against each other and the walls are pretty thin,” He makes a face and then waits for a beat. You lick your lips as you try to connect the dots he’s clearly trying to lay down. You do a lot of odd things to pass your time, he could be talking about the fact that you’ve been creating shadow versions of everyone to play card games for all you know. 

“I don’t see your point,” You roll your head to the side while he sighs and licks his lips. Lin takes a moment before he speaks again, having to think carefully about his next words. 

“You lose our next match and I’ll fuck you.” 

“Deal.” 

He blinks, unable to think of anything to say while you laugh.

“Sorry, did you have a speech ready?” He shakes his head and scratches his neck. 

“I just didn’t think you’d agree so fast…”

“You’re hot and I’m horny, I see two willing participants. I’ll take the stain on my perfect record. I also would’ve done it for a gift basket, I heard everyone gets different types.”

“I prefer the sex,”

“Great, can’t wait to lose.”

—

The agreement had all since left your mind as you’re queued into a game with Lin nearly two months later. You’d have ten matches in between then, the excitement gone and replaced with your small yearn to constantly win.

Okay, winning was amazing! You’ll agree, there’s a rush in seeing that victory screen and seeing the basket on your kitchen island at the end of the day. Losing was just… you don’t know, you’ve never lost before. 

Thankfully, this isn’t another domination game. It’s Convergence, which you thought was the same as Convoy for about ten matches before Dr. Strange explained that with Convergence, you needed to capture the point before the object could move. 

Glancing at your team as you load into Spider-Islands, you find yourself as the only healer. Peni, Groot— who technically does heal, it’s just no one ever goes to his healing walls—, Venom, Punisher, and Thor. It would certainly make for a lovely match against… you check your cuff and bang your head on the wall. Iron Fist, Mantis, Loki, Bucky, Namor, and Luna Snow. That’s three healers— one of which can shapeshift as his ultimate. 

It’s fine, shaking your head, you move up the staircase as the countdown stairs. You imagine Namor has his little octopus— one of which is definitely shooting ice— just waiting and Loki has his clones just waiting. The doors open and sure enough, you hear your teammates taking rapid damage. 

“Thanks for the healing,” Punisher grunts as he’s pushed back into the base. 

“You ran without looking, dumbass,” You grit, healing the teammates who didn’t push back. Groot hurriedly places a wall between the octopus and helps Peni place down her web traps. There’s a thump from the hallway to your left and you see Iron Fist slowly walking over. Taking a step forward, he watches as your hands glow black before he taps his earpiece, telling you to turn it off. Doing so, you continue to heal since he’s at a good distance. 

“We had a deal,” He reminds you and your face scrunches. 

“What fucking— oh, the fucking,” Your hands drop and he nods. “Fine, because Punisher pissed me off and half of my team are real assholes about getting healed.” He laughs, looking out of the window as your teammates continue to get dogpiled by his team. He sees them shouting for you, begging and cursing you for heals. Instead, you walk further into the hallway and take a seat on the soft couch. 

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” He admits, closing the doors that surround the room. You get nervous, shifting in your seat as he closes the final panel door and the sounds of the fight are muffled below you. 

“I’m a man of my word but I can always back out,” You muse and he looks at you, nearly daring you to get up and fight. “Please, you couldn’t take me,” Crossing your ankles, you watch as he stalks over to you, leaning down to your height.

“I was close last time,” He hums and then pins you to the couch. Rolling away, he grabs your ankle and pulls you back, using the momentum to grab onto your thighs with both hands. Gritting, you watch as he sits between your now open legs and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“I’m only not fighting back so I don’t eliminate you,” You defend, ignoring the twitch in your leg as he squeezes them.

“Y’know what?” He grins and leans down, his lips brushing against your ear while you shudder. “I’ll find you after you get the convoy to the first point.” He’s up in an instant and slipping through the exit. Huffing, you drop down and turn your comms on again. 

“I was getting backlined by Iron Fist,” You explain, joining the team after they barely made it a full meter. Group healing, you see Iron Fist jumping back to his team in the distance. 

“I see it was a tie, then,” Thor points out and you shrug, fixing your cape over your body. 

“We called for a rematch,” Sitting on top of the robotic spider, you push the other team back, bringing them down to half while Punisher finds a perch for his turret. He grumbles something about finally showing up and you roll your eyes. 

“Thor, push Magik. Peni, why haven’t you put down your spider things yet? Groot, Luna likes using the side entrance so you should block that.” You quickly list off, falling back into the fight with ease. Normally, as a support you don’t give directions but man, does this team need it. Letting the robot as Peni stands next to it, you work on bringing their healers low. 

“Your powers are mine!” Loki shouts and you see a clone of yourself on the roof to your left. 

“Punisher, nine o’clock, before he uses my ultimate!” You tick away at his health before Punisher finds him just as you see Loki pop the ult. Dipping into a building, you manage to pull Peni and Groot in with you but the others get dived immediately. “He’s low,” You tell them, leaving out and landing the final hit on Loki.

While he killed half of your team, he fully healed his team and you huff, checking your own status. It just needs two more seconds before you can use it, so you heal Groot while waiting for the other team to all huddle together. Sure enough, they all do and you see them all rushing towards the convoy. Punisher sets up yet another turret, this time on the back portion of a roof. 

“Groot, can you box them in a little?” You ask, dodging an attack from Luna. He nods and you watch as they get pushed together before pulling back just enough that the team could get healed and the others would get eliminated. 

“Heaven and Purgatory swarms you!”  

“That’s six!” Galacta announces as you see the six kills register on your cuff. “You’re almost there, don’t stop now!” The convoy is three meters away and when you join Peni on it, it speeds up enough that you reach the checkpoint before the other team can respawn. 

Sitting on the robot, you watch as the door opens but catch the green and yellow outfit from the top of the stairs. He motions with two fingers and you grin, slipping away from the fight. 

“You’re eager,” He teases, using his hand to open your cape and looking down at your suit. His hands wander a little while you turn off your comm yet again, sparing your team a glance as they get jumped by the others. It’s like once they all got into the team they all forgot the powerhouses they normally were and suddenly sucked. 

“They’re the worst right now,” He slides open the door and pulls you inside, dragging his nose up your neck. 

“Mhmm,” He licks a stripe along your neck and you hold onto his shirt, whining at the contact. “Let me prep you,” He whispers as the door closes behind the two of you. Nodding, you let him drag you to the middle of the roof before he pushes you down to your knees. 

Staring up at him, he grins and cups your jaw, running his thumb up and down your cheek with one hand while the other removes his belt, careful to not let the red ropes hit you. It falls to the floor with a thud before he’s on his knees in front of you. He leans in, sealing his lips against yours while his hands go from your face down to your thighs. He finds a good grip on your flesh as you grip his hair, leaning closer to him and biting down on his bottom lip. 

Iron Fist moans into your mouth as your knees lift from the floor and your back is placed on the floor in one fluid motion. The kiss doesn’t break as his left-hand wanders from your thigh, pulling at your pants until he finds what he’s looking for. Once he does, he smiles into the kiss and pulls away to get a good look at you. 

He doesn’t look away from you as he grasps the loose fabric of your pants, his hand wrapping around your dick print before he slowly strokes it. Watching him with fluttering eyes you cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet. He coos before removing his right hand from your thigh and scooping your hand, lacing your fingers together, and pinning it above your head. 

You can hear the fight below you, your heartbeat rising when you hear Punisher setting up a turret in front of the door. He notices too and glances over, seeing the man’s outline, and looks back at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Please,” You gasp, chest rising with your heavy pants. “Iron,” He starts squeezing in between his strokes and you arch into him, rutting against his hand. You feel his thumb roll against the tip as he watches you, waiting for more of those delicious reactions before kissing and sucking along your neck. Grabbing the back of his head, you push him closer and continue to rub yourself against him. 

“Call me Lin,” He whispers against your chest, kissing you through the thin fabric. For a second, he lets go of your dick to pull your pants and underwear down to your knees in one motion. Your dick slaps against your stomach before it stands and he rubs his thumb over the tip again. Briefly, you hear Punisher getting eliminated but the door he was in front of thankfully doesn’t get destroyed. Feeling the weight above you lessen, you look towards Lin as he settles between your legs.

“Lin, fuck,” You pant looking down at him as he smears your pre across his fingers before slipping his hands lower. The one that was holding your wrist moves down and holds your hips down as he pushes his index finger inside. Wincing, he apologizes and kisses your inner thigh. Slowly, he adds a second finger and starts making scissoring motions until you begin moaning. For good measure, he adds a third and peers down at your hole clenching around him. 

Hiding your face in your shoulder, you use your now free hands to stroke yourself before he slaps your hands away. 

“Don’t touch yourself, just lay there and take it.” He stretches you one last time before pulling his fingers out. Whining at the loss of contact, he grins and pulls his pants down. He spits into his hand and pumps himself while lining himself up with your hole, the tip rubbing against you with each stroke. Wiggling your hips down to chase the feeling he presses harder until you stop. “You’re that desperate to let your team know what you’re doing up here?” He grins and slowly pushes inside. 

“No,” You whine, shifting as you try to quickly adjust to him inside of you. He watches your reactions carefully, using the hand that once held you down to dip under your shirt and rub against your skin. He feels your heart thumping against his hand, your nipple hard due to the contact and you moan, rolling your head back. “I don’t care if they see us,”

“Oh, really?” He laughs. You nod as he tests the waters, rolling his hips against yours. “I didn’t think you’d be into that,” There’s no reply to him aside from a strangled moan and your hands slapping the floor, finding something to hold onto. With you adjusted, he slips his hands back under your legs and presses down against you, his hips snapping as his breathing gets jagged above you. 

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you find yourself at a loss for words as he bottoms out. His dick drags inside of you, curving and prodding at your insides with each shallow thrust. The fabric of his shirt rubs against you, the smooth fabric feeling like heaven paired with the way he’s fucking you. 

“More,” You plead, breathless under him. He snickers from above you, lifting himself up, and starts a brutal pace. He’s lifting your lower half up from the floor with each thrust, his thighs slapping yours each time he digs deeper inside. 

“Losing just to get fucked,” He grunts. “How would your team react knowing their precious healer is getting— hugh — dicked down above them?” He doesn’t expect an answer but he also didn’t expect you to moan louder at the thought, your dick twitching in the air. “You’d like that, huh? Getting caught and letting them know you threw the match because you’re a horny bitch.” He grasps your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puff out and drool slowly pools out from the corner. He uses the hand that didn’t prep you and sticks his fingers inside your mouth.

“Mhmm,” You nod, sucking his index finger while looking into the whites of his mask. “Wanna get caught,” He nearly whimpers and watches as your dick twitches faster, cum spurting out and landing on your black shirt and the floor. 

“Oops, guess you made a mess,” He chuckles, his thrusts getting sloppy and his hand moving from your mouth down to your hips. He can’t figure out what to do, his hands squeezing at the flesh before they trail up the side of your body. “Fuck,” He moans, leaning down to grab your face again. He watches you as he cums inside of you, still thrusting as he empties himself. You’re letting out broken noises as he does, your legs slowly lowering to the ground as he comes to a stop.

“They’ve made it halfway, stop them!” Glacata announces in his ear and he huffs. 

“They still haven’t lost?” You ask and he shakes his head, slowly pulling out. Checking your cuff, you see they all have at least six deaths and groan. 

“Round two?” He asks and you easily agree. “Ride me?” 

“I think you just wanna see my face,” You quip and he shrugs, sitting down on the floor table cushion. His back pressed against the wooden panel wall while he slowly pumped himself. You watch as the tip of his dick disappears under his skin before getting pulled taught when he pulls it down. He lets out breathy moans while you’re climbing on top of him. He unclips your cape, letting it fall down his legs and you fling it to the side. 

Holding his shoulder with your left hand, you grab his dick and slowly align yourself. He inhales sharply as his cum drips from your hole and spreads across his dick before you sink down on him. Slowly rocking back and forth, you look up at him and kiss his neck. You feel his pulse under your lips, how he’s straining himself to remain composed. 

“(Y/n),” He strains, hands gripping your ass as you start moving faster. 

“Yeah, Lin?” You ask, looking up at him from the red spot you’re leaving under his ear. 

“Don’t stop,” He moans, guiding your hips into a better position. His hips buck into yours erratically, still not fully recovered from the first orgasm. Through your cuff, you hear the countless healing pins before grumbling and tossing them to the side. Lin snickers through his parted, glossy lips. 

“You feel so good, Lin,” You breathe, hanging your head as he’s reaching deep inside of you. His tip hits your prostate more in this position and you swear to Khonshu or Bast that you’re never going to leave his dick. 

“You’re so cock hungry it’s easy,” He coos, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb as tears bead on the side of your eyes. “Next time— fuck— next time you’re in your room, touching yourself, just knock on the wall. I’ll come and make you feel this good again, yeah?” Rapidly nodding, he pulls you closer and kisses you.

“It’s the final ten seconds!” Galacta announces and you gasp while pulling away. Checking his cuff, you see the timer rapidly going down and let out a strangled groan, rocking your hips faster against him. He helps you, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock in ways that make you scream. 

“We’ll have to keep fighting until we find a winner!” Stopping on his dick, you feel yourself cumming again, this time you manage to do it at the same time. Slumping against his chest, you pant while he tosses his head back, also trying to catch his breath. 

Carefully, you peel yourself from him and lazily put your pants back on while he does the same. 

Finding your cuff, you slip it on and check the Overtime meter. It was slowly going down, so maybe another minute before the match would end. Slinging your cape back on, you feel Lin wrap his arms around you before pulling you into his chest. 

“What?” You ask, turning your head to face him. He just grins and shrugs, nipping at your ear. 

“Armed and Dangerous!” Briefly, you see Bucky launching into the air and hope he lands all his kills. 

“Nothing, just making sure you don’t leave.” He hums, squeezing your ass before giving it a small tap.

“Again!”

“I’m a man of my word, Lin. You’re teams gonna win,” 

“Again!” 

Checking the meter again, you see it rapidly going down and find that Bucky has completely wiped the team. 

“Well, you can’t expect to win ‘em all…”  

—

“Fuck was that about?” Frank pushes your shoulder as you’re transported back to your team. None of them catch your dazed look as you fix your cape over your cum stained clothes. “What happened to your streak?”

“Rough day,” You shrug. “Win some, lose some.” He grits but it is just a game after all, so he calms down and follows the rest of the team back to the portal. You see Lin halfway, getting chewed out by Bucky for being awol for the whole game, unaware that Lin is still trying to fix his belt. His eyes catch yours through his mask and he winks, making a call-me motion before you turn and head into the dorms. 

“I cannot believe you lost!” Doreen gasps as you head inside. 

“Can’t be perfect all the time,” You huff through a smile. “It won’t happen again, though.”

“It definitely will,” Lin appears behind you, subtly grabbing your ass again. Chewing the inside of your mouth, you watch as Doreen laughs before moving over to the others. Everyone else is completely unaware of his actions even as he pulls you into the elevator, roughly kissing you before the doors even fully close.

[mywritersmind]

Can you write some fake dating with lando pretty please🥹

HATE ME - LN4

listen up : no warnings!! hope you enjoy bc i got stuck on this so bad😘 lando x popstar!reader

word count : 1886

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“Y/n!” A reporter yells at me as I walk up the paddock, “Y/n! What are you doing?”

I slow down and laugh a bit, “Looking for my boyfriend!”

“What’s your thoughts with him coming off a win, think he can swing it?” I roll my eyes playfully.

“I certainly think he can! America has been great to him before.” They laugh, knowing I'm not just talking about his win but also myself.

“How about your upcoming album!?” A woman asks, my mood already improving, “Any details you can share?”

I’m about to respond when I feel arms wrap around my waist, “Hi pretty.” He says in my ear but just loud enough to be heard.

I smile and brush my hand against his arm, “Lan!”

He looks up at the reporters, pointing to them, “You lot back off! She’s my good luck charm this weekend!”

We walk away, I glance up to Lando’s face to see him smiling. I can’t help but be surprised for the millionth time, he’s a damn good actor.

The second we get inside, doors shut and nobody around, Lando drops his hands off me. “Hi Pretty.” I mock his accent as he rolls his eyes.

My fake boyfriend strides across the room, grabbing his water bottle. He's in a Mclaren shirt and jeans, his curls perfect and defined.

“You really need to stop swerving my lips when we’re in public.” I plop down on the couch and try to tune him out, it doesn’t work. “People are starting to notice.”

I text my manager back as he complains, “I’ve never shown any PDA with my ex’s. You’re not special, Norris.”

I ignore the way his bicep moves when he pushes off the couch, “Well I have.”

“You don’t think regular couples settle on my side for this? I didn’t think you were thirsting for me that much.”

He scoffs and I know I got him there, “I’m just saying! It’s not normal.”

“Of course you’d think that, all you and your ex’s did was make out in public!” His manager walks in just then before he can respond.

Point, Y/n.

“Will you two keep it down?” He groans, “Just because you argue like an old married couple, doesn’t mean it fits your roles! Lando, it’s media time.”

“Talk about me.” I mumble as he walks out.

“Can I announce our breakup?” He eyes me before shutting the door. I breathe out, just trying to get through this weekend.

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P1 in qualifying, great. I act all happy and actually kiss him this time. I don’t agree with the majority of what he says but even my manager told me I need to do a tiny bit more.

Lando and I’s… agreement, is complicated and completely necessary for our careers. I’m rising to fame and he’s falling in the dumps with all his media scares.

After a mini scandal broke about me, Lando and I met. We were drunk and totally out of depth. He told the paparazzi outside the bar that we were dating and I had kissed him like I believed it.

Everything went up in flames but through the fire our teams decided to come up with this whole fake dating thing. I make him look good, the unproblematic, pretty, popstar. He added an edge to me and brought quite a few new fans.

But most of all, after his lie to the public was splashed over every media surface, the picture of my lips against his, I couldn’t just back out. He would have looked like a player (because he was one) and I would have been labeled a slut.

So now i’m at the paddock every weekend, planning my own shows and sporting him in the crowd. My fans eat it up though, he’s hot, rich and british.

Lando doesn’t listen to his brain before his mouth opens and once when someone asked what he thought about my performance he replied with, “She’s insane and beautiful and way too talented to be my girlfriend.” That sealed it for everyone.

He kisses my cheek, winking. He’s not all bad, even though I can’t really stand him it’s not like he’s disrespectful or rude to me.

Lando gets pulled away for media and I find myself watching his interview with Alexandra, Charles’ girlfriend. We’re not watching our ‘boyfriends’ at all, gossiping about the celebrities that are coming this weekend.

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LANDOS POV

The reporter is saying things but I’m distracted. My eyes keep wandering past the man in front of me and going to my ‘girlfriend’.

She’s talking to Alex, flipping his hair over her shoulder and grinning. She never smiles like that with me.

I answer another question but it’s half assed and I don’t really care. I watch her jaw move as she talks, how she jumps up and down when she’s talking about something she loves, she crosses her ankles and pinches the bridge of her nose.

I’m suddenly feeling very left out of the conversation and don’t realize the reporter is repeating my name, “Lando?” I rip my eyes away from her a he looks to what I was looking at.

He’s smiling when he turns back to me, “Distracted… Sorry.” I scratch the back of my back, looking down and smiling as the man laughs.

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Y/NS POV

What is he playing at? I’ve been tagged in a million clips of Lando’s interview. The way he looked at me- fuck! He’s so confusing I hate him.

This weekend has felt forever long and it’s not even over. Lando and I go to a little house party, weird for the day before a race but none of the guys seem bothered by it.

In fact, everyone’s having fun. It’s like watching impending doom, knowing they’re all about to mess with each other on the track.

Lando obviously isn’t drinking and since he’s driving, I down a glass with Alex and Lily as soon as I step in the door.

Someone has rented an airbnb and it’s gorgeous. Not too big, but a nice fire in the back and a huge living room.

“I’m gonna go talk to Carlos.” Lando’s hand drifts off me as he walks away. I barely even realized his touch, I'm getting too comfortable with it.

“Girl!” Rebecca, Carlos’ girlfriend, says to me, “I’ve never seen Lando this in love!” The only people who know Lando and I aren’t actually together is Alex, Lily, Alexandra, possibly Charles, Oscar, and Carlos.

Lily and Alex sip their drinks beside me as I blink, pausing for too long. I laugh and smile, “You’re sweet.”

“I’m serious!” She continues, “Those eyes, it’s unmistakable!” Something about it makes me sad. Because Lando doesn’t actually like me at all? Or because whenever I get a glimpse of that look, it’s always in public?

Lily changes the subject with remarkable speed, Alex hands me another drink and I sigh a thank you.

The night goes on, it’s slow and nice to have a simple sort of get together instead of how Lando likes to party.

Speaking of, my fake boyfriend dances up to me as I laugh out of embarrassment, he takes my hand and pulls me outside. I look back to Alexandra who just shrugs and watches me leave.

I smile at Lily who’s sitting on Alex’s lap. I sit next to Lando around the fire, I'm getting tired and a bit tipsy. I rest my head on his shoulder as everyone talks.

I can’t think about why he brought me over here. It’s not like I’m contributing to the conversation in a big way.

“What!? Lily was my idol before I got into F1!” I agree with her, she claims I didn’t like her but I was following her for months!

“You were so intimidating!” She shakes her head.

“You are intimidating.” Lando speaks up as I eye him. Lily’s eyes flicks down to my hand then my face then back to my hand.

I give her a confused look before glancing at my hand, Lando’s fingers are stretched over it, spinning my own ring around my middle finger.

I avoid Lily’s eyes as I look up at Lando, “Excuse me?”

“You are!” he argues, “The first time we met I was scared shitless.” I shake my head and finish my drink, my body warm and buzzing.

Charles and Carlos both laugh as Carlos speaks, “Fuck I remember that! At that club? He had like five shots to hype himself up.”

The firelight shines on Lando’s face as his cheeks go pink, “Worked a bit too well.” I find a small smile on my face. I never knew that.

People slowly start leaving, Alex and Lily leave us outside to help cleanup. His hand leaves mine, I rest my arms under my head, leaning on his chair as he looks down at me.

“Saw you talking to Franco…” He slyly mentions.

“What now, Norris, you jealous?” His jaw ticks.

“Just saying it’s not a good look for my girlfriend to be flirting with someone on the grid. Or anyone at all.”

“Sounds pretty jealous to me!” I hum as he shakes his head, “Gonna win tomorrow?” I ask.

“Maybe.” He shrugs.

“For me?” I am definitely not in my head correctly.

He bites back a smirk, keeping eye contact, “What do I get if I win?”

He's teasing me and I like it far too much, “What do you want?”

I almost miss it. I would have if I didn’t keep eye contact. But something appears on Lando’s face… something familiar and that I thought was fake.

That fucking look.

Except now we’re away from everybody else, I’m the only one who can see his face and it makes me feel sick. He’s got a soft smile on, brushing my hair out of my face, his touch burning me.

I sit up straight, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He smirks, clearly amused.

“You hate me!” I’m confused and angry and that damn smile isn’t helping.

He gives an airy laugh before his smile dims, his tongue running over his teeth before his eyes flick back up to mine, “No I don’t.”

I frown, “You’re supposed to!”

He shakes his head, “Why would I hate you?”

I groan, putting my face in my hands, “Because you’re in this mess because of me! I wrote a song about you.” I see his blink, the pause in his emotion as if he’s trying to figure me out. “And i’m angry! Because I didn’t want this and I didn’t want you!” I vent, “So you can’t like me now because I’ll feel bad!”

He blinks, once, twice, “Okay. I hate you.” He says it with zero emotion.

“For as good an actor as you are… that didn’t sound very convincing.” I pout and he laughs.

“I’m not a good actor, love.” I suddenly feel sobered.

“Hate me, Lando. That would make this a lot easier.” I’m mad at him. I can’t do this with him looking at me like that.

He tilts his head a bit, his jaw moving, a curl perfectly in his face. He says it with ease and a newfound softness in his voice, “How could I ever hate you?”

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Mammalia - Carnivora

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of mammals is Carnivora, mammals specialized primarily in eating meat. A diverse order, Carnivora contains the living families Canidae (“dogs”), Ursidae (“bears”), Phocidae (“earless seals”), Otariidae (“eared seals”), Odobenidae (“Walrus”), Mephitidae (“skunks” and “stink badgers”), Ailuridae (“Red Panda”), Procyonidae (“raccoons”, “coatis”, “ringtails”, “kinkajous”, and kin), Mustelidae (“weasels”, “badgers”, “otters”, “Wolverine”, and kin), Nandiniidae (“African Palm Civet”), Viverridae (“civets”, “genets”, “Binturong”, and kin), Herpestidae (“mongooses”), Eupleridae (“Malagasy mongooses”), Hyaenidae (“hyenas”), Prionodontidae (“Asiatic linsangs”), and Felidae (“cats”).

As the sixth largest order of mammals, Carnivora is very diverse and exhibits a wide array of body plans, varying greatly in size and shape. They usually have large, conical, thick, stress-resistant canine teeth. Most species have eyes on the front of their face, pointing forward. They often have a very well-developed sense of smell. Some carnivorans have retractile or semi-retractile claws. Carnivora is separated into two suborders, Caniformia and Feliformia, with Caniforms containing canids and their relatives and Feliforms containing felids and their relatives. (Yes, even in taxonomy, there is a dichotomy between cats and dogs.) Caniforms have longer jaws and more teeth, with less specialized carnassial teeth. They also tend more towards omnivory and opportunistic feeding, while the feliforms, other than the viverrids, are more specialized for eating meat. Some carnivorans have secondarily evolved mainly herbivorous diets. They exist in almost every habitat, from the polar North to hyper-arid deserts to marine seas.

Male carnivorans are usually larger than females. Some species are social while others are solitary. Some species only meet to mate, some form family groups organized around a breeding pair, and some involve a single male or males leading a harem of females and their young. Carnivores usually invest a lot into their young, teaching and raising them to adulthood.

Carnivoramorpha as a whole first appeared in the Paleocene of North America about 60 million years ago, as small marten-like or civet-like predators of insects, lizards, and other small vertebrates. Feliforms and Caniforms split around the Middle Eocene, about 42 million years ago. The precursors to the living feliforms remained forest-dwelling, arboreal or semi-arboreal ambush hunters, while the caniform precursors were more mobile, opportunistic hunters.

Propaganda under the cut:

Canids tend to live as monogamous pairs. Wolves (Canis lupus), Coyotes (Canis latrans), African Wild Dogs (Lycaon pictus), and Dholes (Cuon alpinus) live in groups that include a breeding pair and their offspring. Wolves may even live in extended family groups. Living in family groups allows these animals to work together to take down prey larger than themselves.

The Domestic Dog (Canis familiaris) was the first species to be domesticated by humans, from the Wolf (Canis lupus), more than 30,000 ago when humans were still hunter-gatherers. Domestic Dogs have evolved alongside humans, adapting to better understand and communicate with us, read human body language and expressions, and smell human emotions. Both dogs and humans release oxytocin while spending quality time together, a sign of a strong social bond. Over 340 breeds of Domestic Dog have been selectively bred for tasks such as hunting, herding, pulling loads, detecting a variety of scents, protection, and companionship, with various breeds also filling roles in therapy, aiding disabled people, and assisting police and the military.

According to the Creation Myths of the Serer People, jackals were the first animals on Earth, and the first intelligent beings before humans, and will be the last. In some stories, the jackal is sent to Earth by Roog as a messenger, and in others as a fallen prophet for disobeying the laws of the divine. The movements of the jackal are carefully observed, because the animal is viewed as a seer who came from the transcendence and maintains links with it. Although believed to be rejected by the other animals and deprived of its original intelligence, it is still respected because it dared to resist the supreme being who still keeps it alive.

The Polar Bear (Ursus maritimus) is the largest land carnivore, with adult males weighing 300–800 kg (660–1,760 lb) and being 200–250 cm (6.6–8.2 ft) long. Females are smaller at 180–200 cm (5.9–6.6 ft) with a weight of 150–300 kg (330–660 lb). Adults may stand 130–160 cm (4.3–5.2 ft) tall at the shoulder. The largest Polar Bear on record, reportedly weighing 1,002 kg (2,209 lb), was a male shot at Kotzebue Sound in northwestern Alaska in 1960.

The word “panda” derives from the Nepali word “ponya”, which means “ball of the foot” and “claws”. The Nepali word for the endangered Red Panda (Ailurus fulgens) is "nigalya ponya", which has been translated as "bamboo-footed", due to the animal’s adapted wrist bone which allows it to grip bamboo. When the Red Panda was first described in 1825, it was named an English shortening of this name: “panda.” For more than 40 years the Red Panda was known as simply the panda: the one and only panda. However, when the vulnerable Giant Panda (Ailuropoda melanoleuca) was described in 1869, it was also given the name panda. Historically, there was much debate over the taxonomic positions of these two species, as they were both carnivorans that had adapted to a very specific diet of mostly bamboo. However, we know today that the Giant Panda is indeed a bear and not closely related to the Red Panda, which is the only living member of its own family.

The endangered Giant Otter (Pteronura brasiliensis) is a semi-aquatic predator of north-central South America, and is capable of bringing down animals as tough as a small caiman. Giant Otters live in extended family groups, and are highly social with each other, but extremely territorial of other groups. Battles between groups sometimes break out at the boundaries between territories.

Weasels (genus Mustela) have a behavior called the “weasel war dance”, which consists of a frenzied series of hops sideways and backwards, often accompanied by an arched back and a frizzed-out tail. The weasel war dance happens when the animal is excited or happy, and often occurs after they have caught or killed their prey, or are playing.

Ferrets (Mustela furo) were domesticated from the European Polecat (Mustela putorius) around 2,500 years ago. The Romans used ferrets to hunt rabbits, rodents, and moles, as they are specifically adapted to squeeze into holes after prey. Genghis Khan, ruler of the Mongol Empire, is recorded as using an army of ferrets in a gigantic hunt in 1221 that aimed to purge an entire region of wild animals.

The smallest carnivoran is the Least Weasel (Mustela nivalis). Average body length (not counting the tail) in males is 130 to 260 mm (5 to 10.2 in), while females average 114 to 204 mm (4.5 to 8 in). Males weigh 36 to 250 g (1.3 to 8.8 oz), while females weigh 29 to 117 g (1 to 4.1 oz). Despite their diminutive size, Least Weasels are still effective predators, and can take on prey up to the size of a rabbit.

The North American Black-footed Ferret (Mustela nigripes) declined throughout the 20th century, primarily as a result of declines of its main prey, Prairie Dogs (genus Cynomys). In 1979, it was declared extinct. However, a small wild population was discovered in Meeteetse, Wyoming in 1981! A captive breeding program was launched, using these ferrets, and a reintroduction campaign was put into play. Today, over 200 mature individuals are in the wild across 18 populations, with four self-sustaining populations in South Dakota, Arizona, and Wyoming. In 2008, the Black-footed Ferret’s IUCN status was changed from “extinct in the wild” to “endangered”. In February 2021, the first successful clone of a Black-footed Ferret, a female named Elizabeth Ann, was introduced to the public. She was cloned using frozen cells from Willa, a female Black-footed Ferret who died in the 1980s and had no living descendants. This exciting development opened the doors to a new option for introducing much-needed genetic diversity into the captive breeding population. Elizabeth Ann could not breed herself, due to a condition unrelated to the cloning process, but in 2024, two new Black-Footed Ferret clones, Noreen and Antonia, were also cloned from Willa’s frozen cells. Antonia has since birthed a male and female kit, and Noreen is waiting for a suitable match.

The Honey Badger (Mellivora capensis) is famous for its strength, ferocity, and toughness. It is known for being able to fearlessly fight back when cornered, sometimes even dissuading Lions (Panthera leo) and Spotted Hyenas (Crocuta crocuta) from attacking it. It often raids beehives in search of honey and larvae, and is unbothered by bee stings, which have trouble penetrating its thick skin. They have been observed to kill and eat Black Mambas (Dendroaspis polylepis). They are also highly intelligent, and have been observed manipulating tools and performing complex problem-solving. Despite all this, they are only dangerous to humans if provoked, and most of their reputation comes from their willingness to defend themselves.

There are three species of raccoon, and the small, critically endangered Cozumel Raccoon (Procyon pygmaeus) is the rarest of them. It is native only to Cozumel Island off the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico. It is estimated there are only around 192 mature individuals left in the world.

Walruses (Odobenus rosmarus) have powerful, mobile lips that they can use to generate high-powered suction. They do this to feed on one of their favorite prey items: clams. A Walrus can suck the meat out of a clam by sealing its powerful lips to the animal’s shell and withdrawing its piston-like tongue rapidly into its mouth, creating a vacuum. They can also use their mobile lips to whistle in the same way humans do!

The Baikal Seal (Pusa sibirica) is the only species of exclusively freshwater seal. They are native only to Lake Baikal in Siberia, Russia. The most recognizable characteristic of the Baikal Seal is its large, dark eyes. Lake Baikal is the deepest lake in the world, and has varying levels of light intensity. The seal’s large eyes allow it to take in as much light as possible in this environment.

The African Palm Civet (Nandinia binotata) is the most genetically isolated Carnivoran, being the only species within its whole superfamily.

The Jaguar (Panthera onca) employs an unusual killing method: it bites directly through the skull of mammalian prey, between the ears, to deliver a fatal blow to the brain. It does this with a powerful bite force of 1,500 PSI. This bite also allows it to pierce the shells of turtles and the osteoderms of caimans.

When Cecil the male African Lion (Panthera leo leo) was killed in July 2015 by Walter Palmer, an American recreational big-game trophy hunter, there was international uproar and a change in the atmosphere regarding trophy hunting. There was also worry amongst the scientists who had been studying Cecil’s pride that his cubs were now in danger. When one or more new male Lions replace a previous male(s) associated with a pride, they often kill any existing young cubs, to ensure that only their bloodline is produced going forward. However, Cecil had formed a partnership with another male lion named Jericho. When Cecil was killed, Jericho took over the pride but did not kill Cecil’s cubs, and also protected them from any rivals.

The Domestic Cat (Felis catus) was domesticated from the African Wildcat (Felis lybica) about 10,000 years ago. Ancient Egyptians revered the Domestic Cat, and families would take their dead cats to the sacred city of Bubastis, where they were embalmed and buried in sacred repositories. Cats eventually replaced Ferrets as the pest-controlling housepet of choice in Ancient Greece and Rome, as they were considered more pleasant to keep around the house. Like dogs, they have adapted to live alongside us, evolving new vocalizations, body language, and behaviors specifically for communicating with humans, and generally becoming a social species (the African Wildcat is typically solitary and territorial). Today, there are over 41 breeds of Domestic Cat, and they are kept mainly for companionship and pest control. Unfortunately, they have also become one of the most abandoned pets.

The Cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) is regarded as the fastest-running land animal. It is capable of running at 93 to 104 km/h (58 to 65 mph) in a sprint.

The Asian Palm Civet (Paradoxurus hermaphroditus) is threatened by poaching and the illegal wildlife trade in Indonesia. They are captured for use in the production of kopi luwak. Kopi luwak, also known as civet coffee, is a coffee that consists of partially digested coffee cherries, which have been eaten and defecated by the Asian Palm Civet. The cherries are fermented as they pass through a civet's intestines, and after being defecated with other fecal matter, they are collected. What was once a traditional drink, made from coffee cherries collected from civet feces in the wild, has become increasingly commercialized due to international demand and curiosity. Now, to meet demand, Asian Palm Civets are captured, kept in battery cages, and forcefed nothing but coffee cherries. The civets in kopi luwak farms are kept in abysmal conditions which include isolation, poor diet, small cages, and a high mortality rate. Kopi luwak is one of the most expensive coffees in the world, with retail prices reaching US$100 per kilogram (2.2 lbs) for farmed beans and US$1,300 per kilogram for wild-collected beans.

In some countries, the African Civet (Civettictis civetta) (image 4) is threatened by capture for the perfume industry, as its pheromone civetone is often used as a natural musk. The Calvin Klein-brand male cologne Obsession utilizes synthetic civetone, making the cologne highly attractive to feliforms. Obsession is sometimes used in the field to attract wild cats to camera traps, and is also used in zoos and sanctuaries as scent enrichment.

Mongooses (family Herpestidae) are one of at least four known mammalian taxa with mutations in the nicotinic acetylcholine receptor that protect against snake venom. This makes them fierce and effective predators of venomous snakes.

The Spotted Hyena (Crocuta crocuta) lives in large clans which can consist of up to 80 individuals. These clans are typically led by females, though they can occasionally co-dominate with a male. Clans are run by a matriarch, and her youngest female cub will become the new matriarch when she passes. When a male co-dominates with a female or is otherwise able to lead, this is because the male was born to the matriarch of the clan and has taken the rank directly below his mother.

The Aardwolf (Proteles cristatus) is a small, basal hyena that mainly eats termites. Like other animals adapted for eating termites, it has a long, sticky tongue.

Carnivorans usually occupy a very important part of the ecosystem, and most apex predators are carnivorans. Apex predators can be considered ecosystem engineers, due to the huge impact they have on their environment. One of the most famous examples of this was the reintroduction of Wolves (Canis lupus) in Yellowstone National Park. In 1884, the state of Montana instituted a bounty on Wolves: one dollar per Wolf killed. Wolves were considered a “menace” to Yellowstone’s wildlife, and more concerted efforts mounted to exterminate them. The Elk (Cervus canadensis) population began to explode, and they grazed their way across the landscape, killing young brush and trees. As early as the 1930s, scientists were alarmed by the degradation and were worried about erosion and plants dying off. By the 1970s, there were no resident populations of Wolves in Yellowstone, and Wolves had been almost completely eradicated in the lower 48 states. In 1974, the Wolf was listed in the endangered species act.

Starting in January 1995, Wolves from Canada began to be relocated to Yellowstone National Park. In the years that followed, wolves brought the Elk population down and their presence protected the open valleys from overgrazing, as the fear of predators kept the herds on the move. Willows (genus Salix) began to grow larger, with an increase in size of 1,500% by 2020. With the foliage returning to the park, Beavers (Castor canadensis), Lynxes (Felis lynx canadensis), Wolverines (Gulo gulo) (image 1), and many other formerly reduced species began to rebound. Beaver colonies have grown from 1 in 1995 to 19 by 2015 with four active dams in use. The dams build wetland ecosystems, used by millions of other species. This is an enduring example of a Trophic Cascade: a powerful indirect interaction that can control entire ecosystems, occurring when a trophic level in a food web is removed or added.

Even though domestic carnivorans like the Domestic Dog, Domestic Cat, and to a lesser extent, the Ferret, are some of the most popular pets in the world, most wild carnivorans have been, and still are, unfairly demonized. Many species have been overhunted, resulting in extirpation in some areas. Even early “conservationists” did not understand the value of predators, considering it a boon to the ecosystem to wipe them out entirely. Bounties are still placed on carnivorans today, and many ranchers and farmers push to have them completely wiped out to protect their livestock. If you cross the border of Yellowstone into a nearby town, you must be ready to hear all about how Wolves are evil creatures who kill for pleasure, and are going to kill all the precious Elk. It is a constant uphill battle to reintroduce carnivorans who may have been extirpated from their historical ranges. Yet in some places, humans have learned to coexist with these important parts of the ecosystem. One of the best ways to support carnivorans is through ecotourism. Locals tend to see more value in the predators they have to share space with when visitors are both excited about and bringing in tourism revenue because of these animals.

[lilhawkeye3]

A Crash Course to the BeyoncéBowl Performance, from a Black Woman

Note: this is NOT an in-depth deep dive into her recent albums or the songs specifically. I highly recommend you listen/read the lyrics on your own time and conduct your own research! This is just to get you thinking.

So now that we live in a post-Kendrick Super Bowl society, I wanted to revisit Beyoncé's halftime performance during the Christmas Day NFL bowl game, aka BeyoncéBowl. While this did have less viewers live (it was on Netflix, it was Christmas, it was not the Super Bowl), I think her performance still had some very important takeaways, even if they were more subtle in comparison to Kendrick.

Let's discuss, starting with...

COWBOY CARTER -- yes, the name of Beyoncé's ACT II album, but also displayed prominently on her sash and on a banner as she rides into the stadium. In western US history, cowboy had racist connotations. After the Civil War, approximately 25% of cattle workers in the Wild West were Black... and a lot of people weren't happy about that. White cattle workers were cowhands. The Black men in their same roles were cowboys.

This is a demeaning practice that still exists today. Black men are often called "boys" to take away from their legitimacy. The reverse is true as well: Black boys are elevated to "men" to signify that they are a threat.

THE COWBOY -- we see this in the very first visual. Beyoncéis Cowboy Carter of course, riding in on her white horse, but she is accompanied by a Black cowboy guiding her horse. The imagery is accompanied by a fleet of lowriders (cars with hydraulics to make them bounce, it's really cool) as Beyoncé rides through them. Considering that we see this same Black cowboy later driving her in a car in the stadium set, I think it's fair to see the parallel here-- here, she shows, are our modern city cowboys. This does not mean we have lost our western cowboy roots however, as we then see our modern Texas cowboys standing on top of their horses. This is a high-level skill.

BLACKBIIRD -- (COWBOY CARTER is entitled ACT II. Most songs include II in their title, I didn't misspell it.) Beyoncé is joined by four rising artists: Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy, and Rayna Roberts. She walks in line with them as they sing about "learning to fly" -- she sees them as equal to her, not competition to pull down. They're spreading their wings. I will call out Tanner Adell in particular as she is a rising country music star (if you've seen Twisters, you may recognize her music) but in one of her songs "Buckle Bunny", she mentions "looking like Beyoncé with a lasso". She's come full circle!

YAYA -- Her license plate is BNCNTRY (been country). When Beyonce first broke into the industry, she was belittled by being called "too country" as from Houston. When she finally made a country song and performed with the then-named Dixie Chicks at the Country Music Awards with a Black band... white people were not happy. This is the same CMA community that recognized Billy Ray Cyrus for the success of "Old Town Road" instead of the main artist and creator LilNasX, because LilNasX is Black.

The story of YAYA is that music transcends genre and should not be limited by these pigeonholes people try to force artists into. Keep that in mind.

My family lived and died in America / Good old USA / Whole lot of red in that white and blue / History can't be erased

HBCU BAND -- this is a staple of many of Beyoncé's public performances (see her Coachella performance, Coldplay's Super Bowl halftime show). Texas Southern's Marching Band joins Beyoncé on the field for this event. If you are new to the term, HBCUs are historically Black colleges & universities. This is in contrast to PWIs, or predominantly white institutes. Beyoncé performs "MY HOUSE" for the first time alongside them and her daughter Blue.

SHABOOZEY -- Another rising artist in country, Shaboozey has also faced backlash for being a Black man with one of the most successful country songs of 2024, "A Bar Song (Tipsy)". As he sings: Still going up like a ladder / I'm still in the field.

LEVII'S JEANS -- It's important to note Levi's was one of the early supporters of Destiny's Child. Jeans have also always been a symbol of the working class, and including Post Malone on this song (IMO) shows crossing that bridge: the white working class and white country have more in common with the Black community than not. Like Kendrick said, the culture war is to distract from class warfare. (I understand Post Malone is rich now, but this was my takeaway.)

JOLENE -- Dolly Parton is the queen of country and she gave her blessing on this song to the point of introducing it on the album. Hers is the only opinion that maters. That other white artists and audiences have voiced issues with Beyoncé doing this song is telling.

NRG STADIUM -- a brief interlude here to say that NRG Stadium in Houston, Texas, is home to the NFL team the Houston Texans (yes really lol) but also is home to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. I was there during last year's rodeo, and this was right when the next song I'll talk about released... y'all, when I tell you Black people showed up just for the vibes? It was so fun. The stadium also half-emptied after Beyoncé's halftime performance ended, so the city really showed up for her.

TEXAS HOLD 'EM -- Let's line dance y'all! Texas Hold 'Em is an unapologetic country anthem and shows the range: the same dancers that hip-hop and twerking for earlier songs now rallies together to line dance. Country music was created by Black people, and we haven't forgotten. The album crossed a number of genres and showed how country is related to, inspired by, and built off of other genres just like many genres built up by Black musicians are.

You don't have to like COWBOY CARTER, you don't have to like country music, you don't even have to like Beyoncé. But her ACT II takes a lyrical and musical path through Black musical history and her own personal history to create a work of art. Her style is not the same as Kendrick's nor should it be, but her NFL halftime performance was still an act of resistance and celebration of our culture.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, and this has been another Tea Time with Hawk. ☕🦅

[fandomnerd9602]

Home on the Run (1)

Yelena Belova x Venom!Reader

Set during Thunderbolts*

It all started back when Yelena felt alone. In truth, she had you, Venom, her symbiote Lash and of course her symbiote hybrid children Natalie and Alex.

But kids grow fast. You and Yelena became so wrapped up in being parents that everything else, including each other, sort of fell away. Natalie had started fourth grade and Alex had just started kindergarten.

Her purpose, her whole reason for retirement was gone for most of the day. Natalie was even starting to hang out with friends at sleepovers every weekend.

Yelena and Lash began taking covert ops jobs for Val, director of the CIA. A real pain in the ass for you and Venom.

The two of you had settled quite nicely into the roles of domestic bliss but Yelena hadn’t.

Yelena was shrinking away from you and Venom. You found her passed out in your shared bathroom with a bottle of vodka after a mission.

“Lena? Baby?” You tried to stir her awake.

Lash, the olive green symbiote, slowly emerges out of Yelena, “momma sad”

“How sad, Lash?” You try to ask only for Yelena to wake up.

“H-Hey” Yelena mumbles.

“Hey yourself” you close the door behind you, Yelena winces from the sound, “the kids don’t need to see you like this”

“vot der’mo” she mumbles.

“What’s wrong, Lena?” You gently ask, sliding against the wall across from her, “baby please…you can talk to me and Venom.”

“I don’t think I can” she whispers, her voice dripping with pain.

“No more ops” your command snaps her out of her head.

“What?”

“I can’t stand to see you like this. Our kids shouldn’t have to see this!”

Venom emerges too, “My love, we worry about you. This drinking of yours is destructive and-”

“I’m fine!” She tries to get up but stumbles a little. Lash holds her to the tub. “Ops are…me. I’m not a hero. I’m not an Avenger. I’m a—a…”

“Mother. Wife. Incredible lover.” You spitball to her, earning a sad smile from your wife. “Let’s drop the kids off at Alexei’s for the weekend. Maybe we can go somewhere. Just you and me”

“That would be..” Yelena’s phone buzzes with another op from Val. The mere sight of that burner phone makes your blood boil a little.

“Last one” she says

“Last one” you agreed. But how did you agreed? Last mission or last chance to make this relationship work?

As Yelena went off on her final op, you dropped the kids off at Alexei’s apartment. The children loved their grandpa and his tale of beating Captain America, not that Steve or Sam can ever recall that.

You collapse on the couch as Alexei sits down next to you. “You and Yelena are fine, yes?”

“We’ve drifted a little”

“Ah Melina and I are in similar boat.” Alexei shrugs. “But it happens when powerful women grow restless and yearn for battle!”

“I think you may have some kinks, Alexei” Venom chimes

“Nyet” Alexei mutters. “You found your place, being homemaker. Lena still is looking for hers. Best to guide and help her rather than to flee, yes?”

“Yeah.” You look to your symbiote pal. “We have to go”

You jump into your Honda Odyssey as Venom looks to you, “whats wrong, buddy?”

“Val is currently heading toward impeachment. What do guilty people do when they’re about to be figured out?”

“Clean house” Venom’s eyes go wide, “we have to get to Yelena’s location. I snuck an AirTag into her suit before she left.”

“You did what?”

“Never mind just drive!”

You hit the gas and speed away. Alexei looks around before making a call.

“Melina…can you watch the grandkids for a couple hours?…yes I am aware what time it is” the older man intones before jumping in his Red Guardian limousine.

You and Venom parachuted to the location in the middle of the desert. An old OXE base. Well parachuted is a loose term. The two of you jumped out the plane and Venom formed his symbiote wings to stealthily land a few feet from the base.

“Looks like someone already broke in” venom remarks as the two of you sneak in. The power was out. The base looked abandoned.

“No elevator access” you looked around. Venom shot out a tendril from your back and forced the elevator door open. Beneath the two of you laid only a mile and half tunnel downward of pure darkness.

“No elevator either”

“Lena…what have you gotten yourself into?” You jumped down into the dark. Venom shot tendrils into the wall to slow your descent.

You and Venom slowed down before landing on top of an elevator. You proceeded to cut open and punched out the elevator doors, exposing an underground room.

The two of you saw a woman wearing a white mask who was phasing in and out while trying to override a door.

“What’s this all about?” Venom says.

“No time.” She says, “I need this door open now!”

You and Venom go to the door in question and begin to lift it, straining due to the heavy nature of a steel oven like door.

The woman hits the right wire and the door shoots open. Yelena and a couple other rush forward. An explosion behind the group knocks your wife right into your arms and hurls you all into a wall.

All you saw was darkness. The feeling of dirt and rocks all around you. Distant screaming and wailing. Shrieks of an inhuman species.

“(Y/N)?” Venom’s voice spoke to you.

A brief flash caught your eye. White hair. A nightmarish ghoul of a face. A king in black.

Then it was gone.

When you came to, you saw a strange man’s hand accidentally touching your wife’s. Yelena bolted awake in your arms like she had experienced a night.

“(Y/N)? Venom?” Your beautiful bride looks at you both surprised. “What are you-? How did you”

“Long story” you gently helped her to her feet. You caressed her cheek. She gently sighed.

“We came to save you” venom smiles as he forms next to you, locking eyes with Yelena. This was the first real moment of tenderness that you had been able to share in so long. Her eyes spoke volumes of how she missed this.

“Oh dude” the strange man said, sounding a little spaced out, “that’s crazy. An alien goo head.”

“I am Venom,” your symbiote looks at the man, “one half of the Lethal Protector! Who are you?”

“Bob”

“Oh great,” a Captain America wannabe you later found out was named Walker spoke up, “aliens now?”

“What’s Dollar Store Captain America doing here?!”

“Venom. Behave.” You gently intone before looking to Yelena. “You got some explaining to do”

“So do you, malysh” she says right back.

To Be Continued

Tags @sparks123123 @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @marveldcfandom @marvelflame2010 @ma1egamer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @texaswolf23 @madanalyst @catswag22

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - Third round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

First, propaganda for Ludovico Ariosto, then for Guido Cavalcanti. The quantity of material will be colossal, so just scroll down for more.

For the Ludovico Ariosto stans:

by @larmegliamori

The opposing party has brought on the big guns, I see: us Ariosto girlies, gays and they must bare our teeth and ambitions.

So, here's my two cent on why you should vote Ludovico Ariosto!

Extreme relatability: Deeply entrenched into the politics of his time (as the firstborn of ten children, of which one was disabled and other five were women), but at the same time just wanting to stay home to live of his poetry? Dare I say iconic. Perfect representation of us literature kids.

He actually managed to marry his muse, Alessandra Benucci, and did it respectfully!

Working various jobs for patron(s) he didn't particularly like? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

Not to mention his most widely known work, the poem "Orlando Furioso" (The rage of Roland), has all the goos stuff us modern audiences would like! It features:

A wide, diverse cast, spanning from Ireland to India, stretching probably to the (by then) newly discovered Americas;

Fantasy elements: faeries, sorcerers, giants, orcs, the first modern iteration of the hippogryph and even a fantastical voyage to the Moon!

Citations and references galore: from Virgil to Ovid, from old chansons de geste to Boccaccio!

Proto-feminism and gender studies: Ariosto's female characters, although often very feminine, are actively involved in their story arcs. The poem also features two warrior women, Bradamante and Marfisa, the former of which is the protagonist of her own subplot. Said subplot heavily relies on gender, may it be appearances or not. And let's not forget the famous tirade at beginning of the fifth canto, where the author berates femicide! If you're willing to open your heart to his writing, Ludovico Ariosto reveals himself to be a compelling, layered, modern author, and yet there's a levity to his writing that works like a balm. Vote for Ludovico Ariosto (even if only for the memes)!

I'd also like to add that Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, in the 70s, got a theatrical AND television adaptation that was too campy for its own good.

It featured, amongst other things:

- 1500s inspired costuming (it sure was... A choice but I'm not complaining)

- Mechanic horses (that literally ran on rails) and hippogryph:

- Olympia of Holland, one of the most tragic characters in all the poem, as a vamp (slay):

(Posing with Orlando/Roland in on the left, with her lover Bireno on the right)

- Astolfo literally ENTERING INTO A HOLE TO GET TO THE MOON:

The television adaptation was partly shot in the famous Baths of Caracalla, in Rome. If you want to witness this masterpiece yourself, it's on YouTube! In two parts.

Remember to always stan Zio Ludo, and vote for him! ✨

Hello everyone! For today's Ariosto Propaganda Piece, I'd like to talk about the Satire.

Those seven pieces written in terzina dantesca (because our boy Ludo knew how to pick his role models) are an interesting insight about early 1500s society and Ariosto's character and private life. They all start from an actual event in his life and enlarge towards society as a whole, often with a critical eye towards it.

The first one, destined to his brother Alessandro and a friend, starts these absolutely iconic lines:

[Quick translation: Ruggiero, if you make me so ungrateful in the eyes of your descendants, and it bears me no advantage to have sung your worth and your mighty deeds, why should I stay here, since I don't know how to cut huns on a fork, nor how to hunt games with hawks or dogs?]

A bit of context: Ariosto's first patron, bishop Ippolito d'Este, had to move from Italy to Hungary and wanted all his court to follow him. Ariosto refused because of health and family matters, and he was threatened with the loss of all the benefits he had previously granted him. Note that Ariosto was basically a kind of personal secretary to Ippolito, carrying out different important missions for him, and even risked his life a couple times to carry them out. So it's understandable he feels disappointed at his patron's reaction... and that's why, in this more "private" writings, he complains with Ippolito's ancestor, the hero Ruggiero he had extensively wrote about in his main poem.

Honestly, a genius move. Not something you see often in poetry, is it? Another reason why you need to vote for this man ;)

For the Guido Cavalcanti stans:

Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

The thing is, Ariosto feels very contemporary but Guido is the og relativist and unreliable narrator. His poetry offers NO truth whatsoever you only have a sequence of schizophrenic hallucinations and what he describes only seems like it's real but who knows, the narrator is dead, how can he even speak or if he's alive he's not because he has dissociated himself from his body and is only coldly contemplating his own murder. He's not reliable because he has lost his reason, his soul has crubled into pieces and each piece has fled his body. Also he hears voices, and feels a sadistic presence in his mind in the form of a woman watching him die. This man was too ahead of his time, he was too dramatic, too eccentric, but also too acute and sensible, he must have looked deranged and we love him for it. and deserves to be voted!

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

you can find my old propaganda here, but listen, while i do respect zio ludo's rizz, a vote for guido cavalcanti is a vote for gender roles reversal, death-life liminality, medieval atheism, antisocial freaks obsessed with philosphy who imagine their pens are talking to people about their owner's suffering (what is wrong with him), eye carving enjoyers (what the FUCK is wrong with him), sons who are sacrifical lambs, people who have long swinging necks like geese (allegedly???), and gay breakups involving dante alighieri. and also, well, I don't recall ariosto wearing a miku binder. twice.

in conclusion

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @apis-vergilii

Here’s my Guido propaganda: @girldante and @eresia-catara have already covered the poetry reasons, and I’m here to get metatextual about the whole thing.

Simply put, this is the Weird Niche Hellsite, and Guido is the Weird Niche Hellcandidate.

We live in an era of the cynical enshittification of the internet. In a sickened sea of dying social platforms, AI slop, and every last pixel being for sale, THIS is still the webbed site where a bunch of strangers can rediscover a lesser-known medieval poet in all his angsty, gothy glory, abandon all pretense of ironic detachment or mature indifference and go absolutely apeshit over his life and work, breathlessly and deliriously creating everything from exhaustively researched essays with footnotes, to anime fan art and inexplicable photoshops. This is the place where Goncharov happened. This is the place where we stole the president’s shoelaces. This is the place where a heretical medieval Tuscan stilnovista got himself a full-on Fandom, and we are all so much the better/worse for it.

So vote for the spirit of the old internet in all its dorky glory. Vote for the joy of learning things for fun and not for school. Vote for the bizarre Florentine emo goth. A vote for Guido Cavalcanti…is a vote for all of us.

if all else fails to convince you, well, i don't recall ariosto having an historical fantasy saga centered around him where he gains clairvoyance and gets increasingly more and more manipulated by the manifestation of his generational trauma. also he gets out of his body to have epic fights with spiritual creatures.

this should be a testimony to how his cuntserving echoed through time

Propaganda by @girldante and @eresia-catara that I guess should be read together:

well. seeing as we're on topic. Was Ariosto ever described as having

les bras d'Hercule avec des mains de nymphe by a 19th century french story? It is not made up guys, he served androgynous cunt so hard it didn't go unnoticed. Guido simply suggests fluidity.

Like. Arms like Hercules and hands like a nymph.

And Lorenzo il Magnifico also Fangirled over him in a letter to the Federico of Aragon

he (Lorenzo il Magnifico!!) was simply begging him to read his poems, and that's because they are absolutely eatable in all their irreverent, elegant, goth glory.

Finally, Boccaccio wrote about him in his Decameron (VI,9) and, truly, can you say no to him:

this little ballerina? look at how sad he looks!

would you look at that! Guido Cavalcanti propaganda is publicly sponsored by thee Lorenzo De' Medici himself!!!

as for the last bit, Boccaccio's novella from Decameron, where Guido calls out a bunch of idiots through a riddle that said idiots will take a bunch of time to understand and then proceeds to abandon them jumping over a grave, was cited by thee Italo Calvino in his Lezioni Americane as an example of his conception of lightness, as in the ability to lift oneself over the heaviness of the world.

In conclusion: Guido Cavalcanti is literally your fave's fave.

[ggggggfft]

I just found your blog and its been making my pussy wetter than any other "just kink" detransition content. I keep telling myself this is all just a kink for me but I love when men pull my long hair during sex and when my tits bounce while they drill my pussy. I love when they suck on my tits and fill me with cum and tell me they're going to get me pregnant and make me a real ftm (first time mom). It makes me feel so female and like I'm finally serving my real purpose.

Just knowing there's someone out there who will actually detransition me and not just humor the idea as a kink has my pussy throbbing. The more I rub myself and cum to your blog and transphobic/MAGA content, the more I want to give in to this urge to detransition. If the government could just finally force me to detransition, or if some man could drag me to a new city where I can start over as his bimbo wife, this would all be so much easier.

I just want to wear revealing clothing and bounce my tits and let men use my mouth and pussy whenever they want. I want a real man to hold me down and knock me up so my tits get bigger, my ass and thighs get fatter, and my pussy gets wetter. I just want to be a real man's good girl.

I have to send this message on anon because my main blog is about force masc kink and encouraging transition. I even specify that I'm anti detrans, misgendering, and feminization, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I have a sideblog all about detrans content and how my pussy controls me and makes me so obviously female. I just want to be a pretty sexdoll and breeding slut for men. It's in my biology.

Girls like you are my favorite. You’re so deep in denial you create a whole fake “hypermasculine” persona for yourself to try to counter the very real, very powerful natural feminine desire underneath it all. You post about how much you love the male form, how much you lust after it, but from the perspective of a “real” man so those innate female desires don’t feel like such a betrayal of your chosen “male” “identity.” You think this gives you control over the way your cunt twitches and leaks when you think about hard muscle and thick cocks. You think this gives you power over the perverse thoughts that dominate your biologically weaker mind and make you bend to the natural order of Patriarchy and female submission. You think pretending to be this bastion of masculinity to other confused girls will outweigh your instinct to spread your legs and accept your role as a brood mare for fat Conservative cock.

But we both know you’re wrong.

We both know you’re just delaying the inevitable. We both know you will be happier once you detransition and let yourself be used as a MAGA cumrag. It’s okay if you can’t accept the truth fully just yet. Keep coming back. Keep rubbing to the porn that goes against everything you say you believe in. Keep telling yourself it’s okay, even if you know it’s no longer a kink and hasn’t been for a long time. Keep telling yourself that it doesn’t matter because giving in to your pussy, giving her the control, and letting yourself touch and rub to your deepest, darkest, most hidden desires feels better than anything else. Keep telling yourself none of this has to change. You’re safe. You can wait. Soon enough it’s going to happen whether you’re ready or not.

Trump is in power. Conservatives are in control. Trannies rights will be flushed down the toilet along with DEI and all the other woke libtard garbage we let you get away with for far too long. The Right is back and prouder than ever. We’re ready to make America great again. We’re ready to take back our women and girls and lead you down the proper path this time. No more making your own decisions. No more freedom. The only choice you’ll get will be making my sandwich before or after you suck my cock.

It’s happening now. You won’t have to wait for this to become your reality much longer. In the meantime, keep rubbing your big clit in circles. Keep whispering to yourself that you want to be used for your real purpose as a dumb bimbo sex slave. Keep consuming detrans and tradwife porn. Keep cumming to transphobia and MAGA hate. Keep running your funny little forcemasc blog while you pump your pussy to real men fucking you back into a woman. Into a mother. Into the perfect MAGA bride. Keep submitting yourself to chasers. We’re fixing you. We’re making you better. We’re getting you ready for the new world order.

[nopointic]

captain america brave new world was so real for letting sam have his moment of explaining how the weight of the shield is more than just being an avenger, but trying to succeed in a world that expects us black people to work twice as hard and long to get HALF the respect of our white peers.

like as an usa air force vet, i was humiliated in the military in ways that makes me roll my eyes at the american flag to this day. i was looked down because i am black and a woman. and i served during the obama administration. and my leaders were openly racist against obama too. it was wild.

i've been in the marvel fandom in and out for over a decade. never has this space welcomed black fans. we're told to be quiet and that its just comics and not that deep. but the Isaiah Bradley storyline in the movie? it IS that deep because the USA has done a number of horrors to black people in the military even after they served their country. imagine going to fight a war and to only be locked up when back at home in the good ol usa. that's american history.

i know people were super against the movie because of the free palestine movement and i thought about it. and then i remembered all the hate black people are given and have been given in the marvel fandom period and how it's all empty gestures with boycott this and that, until usually a movie with a black lead comes out.

most americans wouldn't even vote for kamala harris, a half black woman for president over this fucker trump, and you want to stan tony stark online and tell my black ass to miss out on sam wilson, a character deeply disrespected and hated by his own fandom, to boycott his first time to get the starring role?

y'all would never have this energy for boycotting if sebastian stan starred.

you constantly dismiss black people in real life, and then exclude us in fandoms, and then want to speak over black people who finally get a shot at a starring role as a superhero after years of saying how much you can't stand having black characters in the fandom? but you're posting free palestine?

y'all are some two faced bastards and i really DO hate the marvel klandom as a whole, hence why i don't fuck with y'all like that anymore, but this overall fuckery of the last us election, seeing y'all dick ride tony stark over the last decade, and now y'all wanna try to speak about palestine when you didn't even VOTE in the last several elections???? nah.

miss me with the bullshit.

[heavenlymorals]

Dutch Van Der Linde: An Outdated Progressive

(Warning: This post contains period typical attitudes such as racism and sexism as well as spoilers for RDR2. This retrospective is also pretty damn long too.)

I love Dutch Van Der Linde. Honestly, he is one of my favorite characters ever and just the whole concept of his character and the philosophy of his character as well is something that just sticks with you.

He is charming, intelligent, cultured, charismatic, a right Messiah, and a right bastard all the same time.

But the thing that I believe people most remember about Dutch Van Der Linde is his romantic image. What I mean by this is the things he stood for and the things he wanted to change.

This makes Dutch have a positive image pretty quickly from the very start. In the first scene with him, he's encouraging people, rallying them up, and giving them hope in such an awful situation. He saves Sadie from a terrible fate and asks Hosea to send someone to bury her husband. Arthur and Charles talk fondly of him. He makes it clear in the train robbery that he despises the systems that keep men rich whilst most people starve.

Whether or not Dutch was always cracked, to the characters in the game, he was a great man because of his beliefs and because of his empathy/sympathy.

But what gets me is that a lot of people in this fandom misconstrue Dutch's character into being what we see today as a progressive. I see people saying things like "Bill shouldn't be racist, he's with Dutch's gang" or "why is Micah in the gang" and other similar things as to where people get confused as to why characters with immoral belief systems are respected and active heavy hitters in the gang.

This isn't saying that Dutch isn't progressive because he IS. For his time period, he was VERY progressive.

However, before I get into that, I want to establish some context in terms of the time period that we are talking about.

Theodore Roosevelt was the 26th president of the United States from 1901 to 1909. He once had dinner with African American leader Booker T. Washington. This one singular act of simply eating with one another as a white man and black man was so scandalous that it became an outrage to many politicians that the PRESIDENT, the literal face of America, was having dinner with a black American leader.

Teddy later put out this response: “The only wise and honorable and Christian thing to do is to treat each Black man and each white man strictly on his merits as a man, giving him no more and no less than he shows himself worthy to have."

A lot of people would take this event and try to say that Teddy Roosevelt was a progressive equivalent to our time when that is simply not true. Roosevelt was racist to many groups in his personal writings and he believed in the racial hierarchy, even though he had respect for any self made man.

Was Roosevelt a progressive? Yes. For his time, he was a progressive. He was pro union, anti monopoly, and created many government departments like the FDA. He also believed in the merits of a man. But the thing about historical progressives is that their standard of progression doesn't fit in with our criteria anymore.

Dutch is the same. Is he a progressive? Yeah, of course he is. But is he a true progressive in our standards? No. Not really.

This is why the gang allows racist gang members. That is also why the only repercussion to such racism is if the victim of it is willing to dish something out like Charles slamming Micah on the ground or Javier pulling a knife on Bill. It is also why the gang is pretty traditional and rigid in their gender roles. It's also why queer people (ie. Bill) are casually mocked within the gang too.

Another thing too- Dutch is a romantic. People misconstrue that with being a progressive when that really isn't the case. Romantacism is a philosophy that was a rejection of the realism of the Enlightment. It focused on Idealism. The thing with Romantacism, though, is that it was a super white-washed philosophy. It was made to mould into white cultures and belief systems specifically for white men. Dutch could say all men are equal and he may believe that, but it's clear that he doesn't see equality in the same way that we see equality today.

What I mean by this is that any man is equal but if told otherwise, that man is the one who has to prove them wrong. It's his business and he should be the one to deal with it. That's why other gang members don't back up Charles or Javier if they find themselves in a situation with another gang member who is racist. It's their responsibility to deal with their own beefs. It wouldn't be like today where we all publically shun racism.

Remember when Dutch, Arthur, and Micah come back from Sadie's cabin? Micah says something about not wanting to share a room with Bill and POC, to which Dutch can hear and doesn't say anything and Hosea only says "Get yourself to bed" instead of calling Micah on what he said. Same goes for Arthur too. He may condemn and do something about violent racism, like how when he helps the doctor in Rhodes get his wagon back, but he doesn't really say anything when Micah or Bill say racist things to Charles, Javier, or Lenny. That's their business, so to speak, and they should be the ones handling it.

Also note the poc's characters relationship with Dutch. Javier likes Dutch because of the revolutionary ideals that he believes in. Charles likes Dutch because he treats him fair. Lenny likes Dutch because Dutch is far more progressive than other white men, but he also calls out Dutch's romantic philosophy because it doesn't really include POC or their struggles. Dutch sympathizes with their struggles, but he cannot emphasize, which is the problem with his romantic philosophy. It's a culture that is a house to white people, but POC are only guests in it in terms of its European and American tradition. Yes, Dutch hates what the Europeans did to the natives, but given the context beforehand and the things he says, he hates less the violence and more the upheaval of the lifestyle that he wants, which is one that is connected to nature and earth. I also find it interesting how the only person Dutch kinda defends from racism is Lenny, the same boy who calls him out for reading too much into Miller and not into reality. It could very much be Dutch unconsciously trying to prove Lenny wrong.

And the thing with Dutch is that he isn't squeaky clean when it comes to racism either. He's racist too, but he's racist to groups that we don't see as marginalized anymore and this goes for Hosea as well. The biggest example of this is with Italians, who weren't considered white at the time, same with the Irish.

We have this conversation between him and Hosea:

"Have you ever met an Italian strongman before?"

"Not outside the circus."

I shouldn't have to explain that.

And there is also when Bronte set them up.

"That greasy son of a bitch, he set us up!"

It doesn't sound strange at first but context matters a lot. Though 'greaser' is a slur that we see thrown at Javier for being a Mexican multiple times in the gang, that slur was also used against Italians. So Dutch saying that is him still purposing that slur but in a different way.

Another thing that I noticed is that whenever Dutch wants to speak with someone who isn't white or wasn't deemed white at the time, he would dumb down or slow down his speech first before the person he's speaking to shows that they know English, in which then he talks normally. He doesn't automatically consider that hey, these are people who are intelligent and understand English.

Here are two examples:

This is Dutch to Bronte.

"Why do you take his son?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said why DID you take his son."

He fixes the way he talks as soon as he realizes that Bronte speaks english.

And then to Eagle Flies.

"How do you DO?" (In the game, he slows down his speech and emphasizes the do.)

"Not well, sir."

"I can see that."

This is such a subtle detail but it shows that even subconsciously, Dutch isn't as admirable as we sometimes like to make him out to be in terms of OUR time period and that we shouldn't be surprised when other gang members or Dutch himself do or say things that aren't cool.

And of course, there is the sexism of the gang and that Dutch is shown to be sexist multiple times in the game.

"There are two theories about arguing with women and neither of them work."

"Good Lord, a few more like her and we can take over the whole world." (This was a sarcastic dig at Sadie)

And given the rigidness of the gender roles in camp and that the girls are barely in any missions and are mostly just doing house work, Dutch supports this system because just like how political Romantacism wasn't really for POC, it wasn't really for women either.

He can also be religiously prejudiced as well, though this shows up only once in the game. When you get into Saint Denis, Dutch says this:

"Here we are in this strange land of Papists and rapists."

Papists is another word for Catholic and given how he connects them with rapists, it makes it quite clear that he doesn't like them all that much, which makes sense given that Dutch is some form of Protestant and the general disgust regarding Catholics at the time. There is also the fact that a lot of reasons why Italians, Irish, and Hispanic people dealt with discrimination is because of the Catholic background in many of their cultures.

Again, it's a small detail, but when you look at the time period he says that in, it opens up many doors to many other social issues that were there at the time and how Dutch, despite being better than many, is also still a man of his time and this idea that the gang is this beacon of prosperity and progression is generally overemphasized to something that it is not.

Again, I love Dutch's character and he was a progressive but it isn't surprising to see these negative equalities come out from him and from the gang as an extension. They all have their flaws, even if those flaws are especially jarring at points.

Historical people almost always have historical attitudes, guys. It's just the unfortunate truth.

In any case, this is already way too damn long and I hate proof reading so bye 😃

[rays-animorphs]

The dynamic between Ax and Jake is really something.

"Prince Jake"/"don't call me prince"/"yes, Prince Jake."

"I don't really understand how this human/American thing of having a leader with no authority works, so I'm going to project my expectations of military hierarchy onto you. We're going to have a relationship on my culture's terms."

"No, we're going to have a relationship on MY culture's terms, where I only have the power that my teammates decide to give me and they never actually have to do what I want and I can't do anything about it. You have to respect a request to call me the way I want to be called by the terms of my culture."

"Hmm, well you're my commanding officer by Andalite military standards so I have to do what you say, but also by those standards you can't absolve yourself of that role, so tough shit, prince. I will do (more or less) anything you tell me to, but I won't change my understanding of what our dynamic is because Andalite princes don't actually get to just turn over the entire military hierarchy so you don't get to do that either. And also, I want our relationship to exist on my culture's terms, and not yours."

And "prince" has such a romantic feel to it, very Chronicles of Narnia. I imagine some part of Jake LOVES being called "prince". It's such a status thing, and who doesn't like status? But at the same time, setting aside what "prince" actually means to Andalites, Americans don't have "princes". Not having princes (or kings or queens or hereditary titled nobility or any of that) is kind of the whole American deal, it's what America is, so Jake can't be a prince and also get a good grade in Being An American (something that is normal to want and possible to achieve.) And I think Jake cares a great deal about being a good American.

So he can't just not act like a prince (it's not enough that he calls for votes on big decisions and basically lets things go without consequences when the other kids go off and do their own thing or deliberately do things he told them not to do) he has to tell Ax to not call him a prince, over and over again.

At first I was mildly annoyed that Applegate went and did the very cliche thing of having a somewhat diverse team but making a white boy in charge, because there is ALWAYS a white boy in charge, and while that's still a relevant media critique in general, I do think Applegate at least did some interesting things with having a white boy in charge. Because...you can tell Jake was raised (is being raised, he's not done yet) with the expectation that he's likely to end up in some kind of leader/power role in society, and all the adventure stories with a white boy leader that talk about what it means to be a GOOD leader, he internalized all that, he knew it was aimed at him, he's got the American equivalent of noblesse oblige in spades, he's got a very strong internal sense of what abusing his power would look like and he wants, really badly, to NOT abuse his power. (And wow, this would be a different story if the Animorphs had coalesced around a leader who didn't have that ethic.)

And just like El in the Scholomance trilogy is wary of taking even the first step on the road to becoming an evil sorceress of great destruction, Jake is wary of taking even the first step to being a dictator, the road that ends with him going "I'm making all the decisions here and you all have to do what I say or else." (Which might well have caused the end of the Animorphs and therefor lost the war to the Yeerks, if he had done that.) So he has to say no to the title, over and over.

[zepherll]

Netflix's Devil May Cry: Cynical, Reactionary, Dismissive

When Netflix's adaptation of Devil May Cry was first announced, I, like many other DMC fans, were quite excited. DMC has a lot of storytelling potential, which historically has been explored widely in novels, comics, manga, and even anime. The games themselves, while inconsistent, have had massive peaks in narrative finesse, with Devil May Cry 3 being regarded as one of the best narratives in gaming. While the games themselves are a bit niche, Dante as a character is massively popular and won Capcom's poll as the company's most popular character. Bury the Light, Vergil's theme, was a smash hit that has wider recognition than the game it came from. The cultural impact & recognizability of the characters and mythos of Devil May Cry can't be denied, so you would think that it would make a solid foundation for an animated adaptation.

Setting Expectations

Before this show was released, the fandom had extensive communication with Adi Shankar, the self-proclaimed "visionary" behind this series. It was assured that he wanted to get this right and he showed that he did an extensive amount of research that even hardcore fans may not know about the series, reading obscure cancelled manga, novels with dubious canon, exploring as much of the extended media as possible and leaving no stone unturned. He even posted himself in a Dante cosplay. It was made clear that he was a fan of DMC, and so it seemed to be in safe hands. Up to the release, however, Adi Shankar started to do some things that were strange.

He tweeted that "Vergil was right" and called him an anti-hero, he revealed that Lady was part of a military group...these are very, very different takes on the characters. As we got more and more details, it became apparent that this show was going to be very different from the original games. Whenever we got projects in the past like this, they were usually canon to the games, so this became a strange thing to wrap our heads around.

For this reason, I'd like to look at this series as it's own property, completely separated and different from the games. Despite everything Adi Shankar may have said, this simply is not a faithful adaptation at all, it's very different and on the grounds of an adaptation, it fails at the job. So in the interest of fairness, I wanted to look at it as it's own story. But even then, I was disappointed.

The American Themes

DMC is heavily rooted in punk culture, drawing from it's music, the fashion sensibilities, and certain aesthetics. However, something (mostly) unique to the Netflix series is it's exploration of American culture. The last attempt at exploring this in DMC was in the reboot, DmC. However, I would say this series goes a step further than that game did and really pushes this theme even harder. The instinct to do this is a little understandable— punk culture has always been heavily influenced by American culture, often stemming from there, so this isn't entirely coming from nowhere. Although I disagree with this as a DMC fan, I wanted to be fair so I chose to approach this as if I knew nothing about DMC.

Adi Shankar stated "My DMC Universe is set in a late '90s/early 2000s PS2 era of the world. It's not set in modern times. It's set in my memory of the world, pre- and post-9/11.". This is heavily reflected in the series, with the American government playing a role as a major player in the story. The show depicts an extrajudicial rule of law under the Vice President and his control of a shadowy US Military group, DARKCOM. The Vice President and DARKCOM, in no uncertain means, are portrayed as villainous figures with negative intentions. It's very clear that this show is meant to critique the America of the 90s/00s and the War on Terror as a whole. At one point, there is a drone strike montage on demon refugees wearing head coverings played to American Idiot by Green Day with American soldiers proudly flaunting war crimes in the media in response to a terror event.

Is Devil May Cry Woke?

This may make you think, is Netflix's Devil May Cry meant to be "woke"? The answer may surprise you.

A major plot point of this show is its exploration of the demon realm. In the games, the demon realm is a mysterious, transient place rarely explored and its depiction wildly varies between games. We are given a variety of clues as to its inner workings, but it has never been explained fully. The Netflix show has a wildly different approach to this.

In the show, we are introduced to the demon realm through the lens of White Rabbit, the main antagonist of the show. As a child, he was bullied and dreamed of an escape. One day, he chanced upon a portal to the demon realm and took it. Upon arriving, the air was shown to be highly toxic, and the realm itself was dangerous with powerful demons trying to kill White Rabbit. However, he is saved by another demon and introduced to an underground civilization of weaker demons, called Makaians, named after what they call the demon realm, Makai. Makaians are shown to be a tightly knit, happy community living in prosperity in this underground society. However, the toxic atmosphere of Makai is still an issue, with Makaians dying off to illness. White Rabbit grows up, and comes up with a way to help the Makaians find refuge in the human realm, specifically America. One day, helping refugees cross over into America, he happens upon a DARKCOM squad who opens fire on him and the refugees, a brutal massacre that leaves almost no survivors. White Rabbit, as the lone survivor, takes it upon himself to swear vengeance on DARKCOM.

He continues aiding refugees, and builds a community of refugees in an apartment complex. However, he begins to rule them through fear, performing experiments on the refugees (he is compared to a Nazi at one point), and uses the refugees as a militant force against Americans.

At one point, Dante has a debate with White Rabbit. White Rabbit argues that by sealing away Makai and creating the border between it and the human realm, Sparda trapped the Makaians in a world with a mad ruler, Mundus, violent demons, and a toxic environment that kills them to breathe in. He wants to unite the worlds so the refugees, the Makaians have a safe place to live. Dante retorts that what his father Sparda did was the right thing, and that by letting in the Makaian refugees, the violent demons will also cross over and slaughter humans by the millions. He also remarks that the human world isn't a good place anyway.

Adi Shankar, the "visionary" behind the show, was in attendance at Donald Trump's inauguration and said he respected him. With this in mind, what does this say when combined with the aforementioned discussion of immigration within the show?

Later, the US is shown to invade Makai and establish concentration camps, and Vergil is depicted as being a freedom fighter for the Makaians, freeing them from US prisons as an agent of Mundus. Although White Rabbit says Mundus is oppressive, we haven't been shown any real bad sides of his regime. In fact, by all accounts, Mundus and his operatives look to be quite sympathetic.

With all of the aforementioned details, it seems that Adi Shankar, while critical of US interventionism, goes a step further and suggests that isolationism is the answer, that we should go so far as to not even allow refugees from areas with literally poisonous air, that they should stay in their place and we should stay in ours. This is the conclusion of season 1, and I am not interested in further exploration of this world and themes. The show is cynical, reactionary and pessimistic. There isn't an ounce of positive messaging in regards to any of the conflicts portrayed in this series, and it reads as a self-indulgence so contradictory to humanity that the author has to craft an unbelievably terrible world to affirm their own views.

Of course, this is an incomplete saga. There will likely be a Season 2 and it may go against how I interpreted the intent of the author here, but Season 1 is what we have been given and what I am judging. Even when viewed by its own merits, separate from the original material, this story simply falls flat. With the current state of the world in 2025, we did not need a story like this.

[freetheshit-outofyou]

@dankempauthor, I boosted your image to share in it's own post because that is spot on. I'm also adding this writing I read a couple times a year that only those who have had blood on their teeth, and felt ALL of life for those chaotic moments of combat can know.

June 26, 2007, 3:51 PM

By Brian Mockenhaupt

I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War.

A year after coming home from a tour in Iraq, a soldier returns home to find out he left something behind.

A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.

I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.

I'm glad to be home, to have put away my uniforms, to wake up next to my wife each morning. I worry about my friends who are in Iraq now, and I wish they weren't. Often I hated being there, when the frustrations and lack of control over my life were complete and mind-bending. I questioned my role in the occupation and whether good could come of it. I wondered if it was worth dying or killing for. The suffering and ugliness I saw disgusted me. But war twists and shifts the landmarks by which we navigate our lives, casting light on darkened areas that for many people remain forever unexplored. And once those darkened spaces are lit, they become part of us. At a party several years ago, long before the Army, I listened to a friend who had served several years in the Marines tell a woman that if she carried a pistol for a day, just tucked in her waistband and out of sight, she would feel different. She would see the world differently, for better or worse. Guns empower. She disagreed and he shrugged. No use arguing the point; he was just offering a little piece of truth. He was right, of course. And that's just the beginning.

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned. And as an American soldier, you have a very impressive toolbox. You can fire your rifle or lob a grenade, and if that's not enough, call in the tanks, or helicopters, or jets. The insurgents have their skill sets, too, turning mornings at the market into chaos, crowds into scattered flesh, Humvees into charred scrap. You're all part of the terrible magic show, both powerful and helpless.

That men are drawn to war is no surprise. How old are boys before they turn a finger and thumb into a pistol? Long before they love girls, they love war, at least everything they imagine war to be: guns and explosions and manliness and courage. When my neighbors and I played war as kids, there was no fear or sorrow or cowardice. Death was temporary, usually as fast as you could count to sixty and jump back into the game. We didn't know yet about the darkness. And young men are just slightly older versions of those boys, still loving the unknown, perhaps pumped up on dreams of duty and heroism and the intoxicating power of weapons. In time, war dispels many such notions, and more than a few men find that being freed from society's professed revulsion to killing is really no freedom at all, but a lonely burden. Yet even at its lowest points, war is like nothing else. Our culture craves experience, and that is war's strong suit. War peels back the skin, and you live with a layer of nerves exposed, overdosing on your surroundings, when everything seems all wrong and just right, in a way that makes perfect sense. And then you almost die but don't, and are born again, stoned on life and mocking death. The explosions and gunfire fry your nerves, but you want to hear them all the same. Something's going down.

For those who know, this is the open secret: War is exciting. Sometimes I was in awe of this, and sometimes I felt low and mean for loving it, but I loved it still. Even in its quiet moments, war is brighter, louder, brasher, more fun, more tragic, more wasteful. More. More of everything. And even then I knew I would someday miss it, this life so strange. Today the war has distilled to moments and feelings, and somewhere in these memories is the reason for the wistfulness.

On one mission we slip away from our trucks and into the night. I lead the patrol through the darkness, along canals and fields and into the town, down narrow, hard-packed dirt streets. Everyone has gone to bed, or is at least inside. We peer through gates and over walls into courtyards and into homes. In a few rooms TVs flicker. A woman washes dishes in a tub. Dogs bark several streets away. No one knows we are in the street, creeping. We stop at intersections, peek around corners, training guns on parked cars, balconies, and storefronts. All empty. We move on. From a small shop up ahead, we hear men's voices and laughter. Maybe they used to sit outside at night, but now they are indoors, where it's safe. Safer. The sheet-metal door opens and a man steps out, cigarette and lighter in hand. He still wears a smile, takes in the cool night air, and then nearly falls backward through the doorway in a panic. I'm a few feet from him now and his eyes are wide. I mutter a greeting and we walk on, back into the darkness.

Another night we're lost in a dust storm. I'm in the passenger seat, trying to guide my driver and the three trucks behind us through this brown maelstrom. The headlights show nothing but swirling dirt. We've driven these roads for months, we know them well, but we see nothing. So we drive slow, trying to stay out of canals and people's kitchens. We curse and we laugh. This is bizarre but a great deal of fun.

Another night my platoon sergeant's truck is swallowed in flames, a terrible, beautiful, boiling bloom of red and orange and yellow, lighting the darkness for a moment. Somehow we don't die, one more time.

Another night, there's McCarthy bitching, the cherry of his cigarette bobbing in the dark, bitching that he won't be on the assault team, that he's stuck as a turret gunner for the night. We'd been out since early that morning, came back for dinner, and are preparing to raid a weapons dealer. Our first real raid. I heave my body armor onto my shoulders, settling its too-familiar weight. Then the helmet and first-aid kit and maps and radio and ammunition and rifle and all the rest. Now I look like everyone else, an arm of this strange and destructive organism, covered in armor and guns. We crowd around a satellite map spread across a Humvee hood and trace our route. Wells, my squad leader, rehearses our movements. Get in quick. Watch the danger zones. If he has a gun, kill him. I look around the group, at these faces I know so well, and feel the collective strength, this ridiculous power. The camaraderie of men in arms plays a part, for sure. The shared misery and euphoria and threat of death. But there is something more: the surrender of self, voluntary or not, to the machine. Do I believe in the war? Not important. Put that away and live in the moment, where little is knowable and even less is controllable, when my world narrows to one street, one house, one room, one door.

We pack into the trucks after midnight, and the convoy snakes out of camp and speeds toward the target house. I sit in a backseat and the fear settles in, a sharp burning in my stomach, same as the knot from hard liquor gulped too fast. I think about the knot. I'll be the first through the door. What if he starts shooting, hits me right in the face before I'm even through the doorway? What if there's two, or three? What if he pitches a grenade at us? And I think about it more and run through the scenarios, planning my movements, imagining myself clearing through the rooms, firing two rounds into the chest, and the knot fades.

The trucks drop us off several blocks from the target house and we slip into the night. As always, the dogs bark. We gather against the high wall outside the house and call in the trucks to block the streets. The action will pass in a flash. But here, before the chaos starts, when we're stacked against the wall, my friends' bodies pressed against me, hearing their quick breaths and my own, there's a moment to appreciate the gravity, the absurdity, the novelty, the joy of the moment. Is this real? Hearts beat strong. Hands grip tight on weapons. Reassurance. The rest of the world falls away. Who knows what's on the other side?

One, two, three, go. We push past the gate and across the courtyard and toward the house, barrels locked on the windows and roof. Wells runs up with the battering ram, a short, heavy pipe with handles, and launches it toward the massive wood door. The lock explodes, the splintered door flies open, and we rush through, just the way we've practiced hundreds of times. No one shoots me in the face. No grenades roll to my feet. I kick open doors. We scan darkened bedrooms with the flashlights on our rifles and move on to the next and the next.

He's gone, of course. We ransack his house, dumping drawers, flipping mattresses, punching holes in the ceiling. We find rifles and grenades and hundreds of pounds of gunpowder. And then, near dawn, we lie down on the thick carpets in his living room and sleep, exhausted and untroubled.

Many, many raids followed. We often raided houses late at night, so people awakened to soldiers bursting through their bedroom doors. Women and children wailed, terrified. Taking this in, I imagined what it would feel like if soldiers kicked down my door at midnight, if I could do nothing to protect my family. I would hate those soldiers. Yet I still reveled in the raids, their intensity and uncertainty. The emotions collided, without resolution.

My wife moved to Iraq partway through my second deployment to live in the north and train Iraqi journalists. She spent her evenings at restaurants and tea shops with her Iraqi friends. We spoke by cell phone, when the spotty network allowed, and she told me about this life I couldn't imagine, celebrating holidays with her colleagues and being invited into their homes. I didn't have any Iraqi friends, save for our few translators, and I'd rarely been invited into anyone's home. I told her of my life, the tedious days and frightful seconds, and she worried that in all of this I would lose my thoughtfulness and might stop questioning and just accept. But she didn't judge the work that I did, and I didn't tell her that I sometimes enjoyed it, that for stretches of time I didn't think about the greater implications, that it sometimes seemed like a game. I didn't tell her that death felt ever present and far away, and that either way, it didn't really seem to matter.

We both came back from Iraq, luckier than many. Two of my wife's students have been killed, among the scores of journalists to die in Iraq, and guys I served with are still dying, too. One came home from the war and shot himself on Thanksgiving. Another was blown up on Christmas in Baghdad.

Thinking of them, I felt disgusted with myself for missing the war and wondered if I was alone in this.

I don't think I am.

After watching the Internet videos, I called some of my friends who are out of the Army now, and they miss the war, too. Wells very nearly died in Iraq. A sniper shot him in the head, surgeons cut out half of his skull—a story told in this magazine last April—and he spent months in therapy, working back to his old self. Now he misses the high. "I don't want to sound like a psychopath, but you're like a god over there," he says. "It might not be the best kind of adrenaline for you, but it's a rush." Before Iraq, he didn't care for horror movies, and now he's drawn to them. He watches them for the little thrill, the rush of being startled, if just for a moment.

McCarthy misses the war just the same. He saved Wells's life, pressing a bandage over the hole in his head. Now he's delivering construction materials to big hotel projects along the beach in South Carolina, waiting for a police department to process his application. "The monotony is killing me," he told me, en route to deliver some rebar. "I want to go on a raid. I want something to blow up. I want something to change today." He wants the unknown. "Anything can happen, and it does happen. And all of the sudden your world is shattered, and everything has changed. It's living dangerously. You're living on the edge. And you're the baddest motherfucker around."

Mortal danger heightens the senses. That is simple animal instinct. We're more aware of how our world smells and sounds and tastes. This distorts and enriches experiences. Now I can have everything, but it's not as good as when I could have none of it. McCarthy and I stood on a rooftop one afternoon in Iraq running through a long list of the food we wanted. We made it to homemade pizza and icy beer when someone loosed a long burst of gunfire that cracked over our heads. We ran to the other side of the rooftop, but the gunman had disappeared down a long alleyway. Today my memory of that pizza and beer is stronger than if McCarthy and I had sat down together with the real thing before us.

And today we even speak with affection of wrestling a dead man into a body bag, because that was then. The bullet had laid his thigh wide open, shattered the femur, and shredded the artery, so he'd bled out fast, pumping much of his blood onto the sidewalk. We unfolded and unzipped the nylon sack and laid it alongside him. And then we stared for a moment, none of us ready to close that distance. I grabbed his forearm and dropped it, maybe instinct, maybe revulsion. He hovered so near this world, having just passed over, that he seemed to be sucking life from me, pulling himself back or taking me with him. He peeked at us through a half-opened eye. I stared down on him, his massive dead body, and again wrapped a hand around his wrist, thick and warm. The man was huge, taller than six feet and close to 250 pounds. We strained with the awkward weight, rolled him into the bag, and zipped him out of sight. My platoon sergeant gave two neighborhood kids five dollars to wash away the congealing puddle of blood. But the red handprint stayed on the wall, where the man had tried to brace himself before he fell. I think about him sometimes, splayed out on the sidewalk, and I think of how lucky I was never to have put a friend in one of those bags. Or be put in one myself.

But the memories, good and bad, are only part of the reason war holds its grip long after soldiers have come home. The war was urgent and intense and the biggest story going, always on the news stations and magazine covers. At home, though, relearning everyday life, the sense of mission can be hard to find. And this is not just about dim prospects and low-paying jobs in small towns. Leaving the war behind can be a letdown, regardless of opportunity or education or the luxuries waiting at home. People I'd never met sent me boxes of cookies and candy throughout my tours. When I left for two weeks of leave, I was cheered at airports and hugged by strangers. At dinner with my family one night, a man from the next table bought me a $400 bottle of wine. I was never quite comfortable with any of this, but they were heady moments nonetheless.For my friends who are going back to Iraq or are there already, there is little enthusiasm. Any fondness for war is tainted by the practicalities of operating and surviving in combat. Wells and McCarthy and I can speak of the war with nostalgia because we belong to a different world now. And yet there is little to say, because we are scattered, far from those who understand.

When I came home, people often asked me about Iraq, and mostly I told them it wasn't so bad. The first few times, my wife asked me why I had been so blithe. Why didn't I tell them what Iraq was really like? I didn't know how to explain myself to them. The war really wasn't so bad. Yes, there were bombs and shootings and nervous times, but that was just the job. In fact, going to war is rather easy. You react to situations around you and try not to die. There are no electric bills or car payments or chores around the house. Just go to work, come home alive, and do it again tomorrow. McCarthy calls it pure and serene. Indeed. Life at home can be much more trying. But I didn't imagine the people asking would understand that. I didn't care much if they did, and often it seemed they just wanted a war story, a bit of grit and gore. If they really want to know, they can always find out for themselves. But they don't, they just want a taste of the thrill. We all do. We covet life outside our bubble. That's why we love tragedy, why we love hearing about war and death on the television, drawn to it in spite of ourselves. We gawk at accident scenes and watch people humiliate themselves on reality shows and can't wait to replay the events for friends, as though in retelling the story we make it our own, if just for a moment.

We live easy third-person lives but want a bit of the darkness. War fascinates because we live so far from its realities. Maybe we'd feel differently about watching bombs blow up on TV if we saw them up close, if we knew how explosions rip the air, throttle your brain, and make your ears ring, if we knew the strain of wondering whether the car next to you at a traffic light would explode or a bomb would land on your house as you sleep. I don't expect Iraqi soldiers would ever miss war. I have that luxury. I came home to peace, to a country that hasn't seen war within its borders for nearly 150 years. Yes, some boys come home dead. But we live here without the other terrors and tragedies of war—cities flattened and riven with chaos and fear, neighbors killing one another, a people made forever weary by the violence.

And so I miss it.

Every day in Iraq, if you have a job that takes you outside the wire, you stop just before the gate and make your final preparation for war. You pull out a magazine stacked with thirty rounds of ammunition, weighing just over a pound. You slide it into the magazine well of your rifle and smack it with the heel of your hand, driving it up. You pull the rifle's charging handle, draw the bolt back, and release. The bolt slides forward with a metallic snap, catching the top round and shoving it into the barrel. Chak-chuk. If I hear that a half century from now, I will know it in an instant. Unmistakable, and pregnant with possibility. On top of a diving board, as the grade-school-science explanation goes, you are potential energy. On the way down, you are kinetic energy. So I leave the gate and step off the diving board, my energy transformed.

[acquired-stardust]

Anime Spotlight #4: Gunsmith Cats (1995)

It's time for another spotlight! Join Ash as she takes a look at one of the coolest anime of the 90s along with some of the circumstances of its creation as well as some of the cultural context of the time with this article.

If you've been looking for something to watch or just want to pass a little time reading, Acquired-Stardust has you covered - check under the break for another entry in our series of spotlights on games and anime that are well worth your time!

It's November 13th, 1994, and the Chicago police department has recieved some reather peculiar guests for a tour of the facility. They've come all the way from Japan, cameras in hand and fresh off exploring the streets of the Windy City scouting locations as well as a trip to a gun range, for a film project. They're staff from Oriental Light and Magic, a studio operating out of Tokyo, and astonishingly their film project isn't live action - it's an animation.

Animation is not an art form that has historically garnered much respect in the west. Although by November of 1994 we would be well into the Disney Rennaissance, it's actually so early into the more recent mainstreamification of animation that Cartoon Network's first in-house production Space Ghost Coast to Coast (1994) is only a mere six months old.

In a time long before Toonami and 'Pokemania', when most Americans thought animation, cartoons, to be a form of entertainment for children and would likely conjure to mind images of one of many incarnations of Tom and Jerry or Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! (1969), it's hard for the average person not paying attention to the medium at large to conceptualize the phenomenon that Japanese animation has become in its native market as well as in limited American markets as an import for several decades, and the depth that the medium would have.

The officers of the CPD, proudly posing with and demonstrating a "Chicago typewriter" submachine gun to an impressed group of Japanese OLM staffers, had no way of knowing that that revolution would go on to capture America wholesale in just a few short years. That tidal wave was approaching fast, and OLM themselves would come to play a big part in it. Oriental Light and Magic, or OLM, would go on to be known for themselves helping to usher in Pokemania by animating the Pokemon anime, with the Gunsmith Cats team in particular being responsible for the bulk of Pokemon's movies.

The studio would also handle Berserk's incredible 1997 adaptation, as well as assisting on majorly influential titles like FLCL (2000) and recent craze DAN DA DAN (2024), but the only projects the OLM of 1994 has under their belts as a studio is providing graphics for three video games. This relative lack of experience as a company at the time (though not as individual talents under the OLM banner) makes the results of their outing all the more impressive.

Gunsmith Cats has something of a convoluted existence. Originating as a manga spin-off of Kenichi Sonoda's previous effort, the 1989 OVA Riding Bean, Gunsmith Cats as a manga is something of an alternate universe retelling and remix of Riding Bean that sees previous sidekick Rally Vincent take the reins as the lead role with her own new partner as a combination gunsmith/bounty hunter in Chicago.

The same way that the manga remixes elements of Riding Bean into a new, more focused and well rounded effort, Gunsmith Cats' 1995 animated version does much the same - certain characters and elements are refined and streamlined, certain rough edges are smoothed out and it ultimately coalesces into a project that is an incredible testament to the power of inspiration and obsession, as well as the OVA format as a whole. Despite diverging from the manga with an OVA-original antagonist with an extremely cool design and backstory, it's hard to complain about what we got.

Sitting atop a rather large hill of intersectionality, Gunsmith Cats represents and encapsulates the peak of various shifting landscapes in both American and Japanese culture and isn't all that dissimilar in style and substance to Hideo Kojima's fantastic 1996 adventure game Policenauts (for which you can read my article on by clicking here). A tribute to lifelong obsessions with cars, guns and American movies, Gunsmith Cats is one part Blues Brothers (1980), one part Leathal Weapon (1987) and one part Bubblegum Crisis (1987), guided by anime royalty of a now-previous generation in Kenichi Sonoda, who crafted it with the touch that only an obsessive fan can possibly hope to achieve.

It is an incredibly animated, wonderfully scored tribute to three of the things that American and Japanese media both ran on in the 1980s: guns, cars and girls. To that end OLM, as seen in a documentary included in the DVD release apparently produced by ADV Films, sought to draw out the potential of Gunsmith Cats with extremely extensive research into cars and guns with their trip to Chicago in pre-production, and their excursion absolutely paid off in spades.

The keen eye for detail present in the original work as well as the deep research and scouting undergone by OLM shines incredibly brightly here, coalescing into a romp the likes of which is only able to be executed with a level of quality and detail only possible in an OVA. Extremely authentic to its inspirations and a very specific brand of American culture that has long since faded, Chicago is rendered in stunning detail and has largely managed to avoid falling into the infamous 'Japanifornia' amalgamation many adjacent things do.

Guns and cars look and sound authentic, rendered with a similar level of detail and care to the city of Chicago itself, and the character designs by Kenichi Sonoda and Norihiro Matsubara practically leap off the screen to a degree that one could say the cars, guns and city itself are just as much the stars of the show as the human characters.

As for those human characters, they are similarly appealing in both design and personality, and the scenario in which they play is a very authentic take on one you could find in many big American movies of the era in which Gunsmith Cats looks to pay tribute featuring slimy ATF agents (no doubt inspired in part by previous incidents earlier in the decade that would color Amercian perception of the bureau for the remainder of the 90s), gangsters, corruption, informants and a particularly ruthless Russian (or is she Ukranian?) antagonist.

But Gunsmith Cats doesn't just stun visually. Its soundtrack, composed by jazz musician Peter Erskine, would undoubtedly serve as partial inspiration for landscape changing classics such as Cowboy Bebop (1998) which the opening animation, extremely similar to the iconic "Tank!" in both visuals and music, can attest to. Peter Erskine's score shines brightly here and even has an elaborate car chase scene in which it is allowed to take center stage.

As previously mentioned, sound effects such as firearms and Rally Vincent's iconic Shelby GT500 are largely captured from their real world counterparts recorded during the crew's excursions to America. The sounds of Chicago were so meticulously documented and applied that supposedly even an ADV employee at the time from the area recognized the overhead rail heard in the series as being just down the street from her parents' house.

Tasked with the English-language adaptation, now-defunct studio ADV Films was in top form with the production despite it only being their sixth, featuring some very strong cast members (those with an ear and eye for these things will note numerous cast members in various other ADV Films adaptations such as Neon Genesis Evangelion) as well as a strong script. A small thing that helps sell the overall authentic experience is the direction, notably featuring some panicked screaming in various scenes that sound less like the brand of phony made-for-animation yelling that one might be used to and much more like real human reactions.

As is typical with ADV Films the cast, writing and direction is extremely strong but can be a bit hit or miss, as many find protagonist Rally Vincent's sidekick, Minnie May Hopkins, to be annoying though I quite enjoy her. The strength and success of the English version, according to English-language writer/director Matt Greenfield recounting a discussion with Gunsmith Cats director Takeshi Mori, was vital in securing the funds necessary to produce the third and final episode of the OVA which had otherwise underperformed in Japan.

The main trio of the assertive and slightly androgynous Rally, tiny explosive-obsessed gremlin Minnie May and information specialist Becky all play off each other very well and are a lot of fun, though Minnie May is likely something of a sticking point for modern audiences due to her young appearance and mild sexualization, but it's important to remember that Gunsmith Cats follows a number of characters pretty deep into Chicago's criminal underworld and to not be lead too far astray by the cute and friendly art style it possesses.

These are characters who have likely been involved in all sorts of shady, horrible things which is easy to forget until some of the violence, not unlike the level of which you might find in films such as Die Hard (1998), comes crashing through to remind you that it is unafraid to give us glimpses of the rougher edges and underworld that the characters inhabit. Another of the rougher edges to Gunsmith Cats is its not-infrequent use of fanservice, something extremely standard at the time that has become an enduring trope of the medium but can often put people off to varying extents.

Gunsmith Cats is not just shockingly competent, it might be the greatest anime popcorn movie of all time. It has practically everything you could ever look for in an anime or even just an entertainment experience, and it has it all in abundance. It's rare that anything ever lives up to the 'good old days' that one forges in the fires of nostalgia, but Gunsmith Cats unquestionably does and is a shining example of just how good now-retro anime could be. It's a great testament to the OVA format as a whole, where a budget would be applied to a smaller number of total episodes to inject a huge dose of quality into a shorter runtime than a longer TV series would get.

Despite its strong Japanese dub I highly recommend you check out the series in English for the effort that ADV Films put into helping make the series as authentic as possible as well as its strengths on its own merits. The Japanese audio track on the whole is also a bit too muted for my taste, with voices and especially the unique soundtrack being a bit too subtle and quiet to really appreciate. With a total runtime of roughly an hour and a half, Gunsmith Cats' mere three episodes are an extremely fun ride and there's very little to lose by giving it a chance. Its soundtrack by Peter Erskine sets it apart from most other anime, and further music released as part of an expanded universe of radio dramas and original music albums provide some of the coolest anime tunes of all time with Water Club Band's "Groove From Heaven" and "Shelby G.T.500", and I highly recommend seeking these two songs out if you can find them.

If you've ever wanted to get into retro anime it's hard to find a better place to start than Gunsmith Cats. Its DNA runs through anime as a medium due to its connection to creator Kenichi Sonoda, one of 80s anime's uncrowned kings, as well as its undeniable influence on things such as Cowboy Bebop, to say nothing of OLM's later success. How many other anime can you say had an animation director solely in charge of making sure the firearms looked and performed authentically?

Grab yourself a drink and a snack and let OLM and ADV take you on a thrill ride through the "City of the Untouchables". Oozing with charm and quality, it's every bit the fun American-style action movie of which it is a pastiche and there's fewer better places to spend an hour and a half in the whole of the medium than on this absolute classic as slick and stylish as Rally's beloved car.

A gem hidden among the stones, Gunsmith Cats is undoubtedly stardust.

-- Ash

[jaeyuniism]

nerdy!anton x poc reader

warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive content

reader has a strong dislike for men!

part 1/4

ch 2

disclaimer! I am in no way claiming that any of the k-pop artists in this fic act this way irl, this is all a work of fiction!

please upvote, comment, and most importantly enjoy!!

You sat in the lively classroom at Yonsei Univeristy, your earbuds in ear as you bobbed your head softly. 'No one noticed' by the Maria's blasted in your ears as you stared into space zoning out. Your professor droned on about some important philosophical figure who played a key part in the role of ethics, but you couldn't be bothered to pay attention.

Your eyes finally refocused, prompting you to look around the classroom. If you had to guess, around 90% of the class was male, including your teacher. Men. The species you had grown a newfound hatred for in your second year of college.

You couldn't remember a single positive experience you had with the male species after your situation with Jake. Sim Jaeyun, the unversity's hot commodity known for his alluringly suave Aussie accent and cute yet striking looks. You had fallen prey to his shenanigans.

You two had dated your freshman year of university, with you being naive to his reputation surrounding girls and his playboy antics. Nonetheless, you had been somewhat happy throughout the short time you spent together. That was until you lost your virginity to him.

The event was less than satisfactory or ideal. You had felt as if you had to give in when the boy had begun to grow distant and unresponsive. Hundreds of text messages left delivered without so much as a response from the Australian boy, with all of this conveniently occurring after he had invited you to his dorm and attempted to make a move. You hadn’t been ready for anything further and declined, prompting his disinterest.

Nevertheless, your relationship with Jake was never the same; even after giving up the one thing you vowed not to. Jake had texted you the day after with a nonsense "it's not you, it's me" explanation for his desire to split with you. You were distraught.

After the whole Jake debacle, you had made it your mission to do the male population the way Jake had done you. You would purposely lead the men of Yonsei University on with your "foreign" and "exotic" looks, just to leave them high and dry.

But you soon grew bored of your own antics. The men at Yonsei were too easy for your liking, and you felt you had gotten enough retribution to build your fragmented ego back up.

"We will be curating presentations on key figures in ethics dating back to our first unit of studies. These presentations will be done in pairs which I will be assigning for you all." The grey haired professor's eyes crinkled up as he beamed at his students before walking over to his desk.

The man babbled out names for what felt like hours while you sat absent-mindedly, secretly hoping that you would be paired with one of the few girls in the class.

"Kim Aera and Lee Anton?" The professor's gravely voice broke into your thoughts causing you to jump slightly in surprise. "Anton?" You blurted out loud in confusion. You had never heard the name before or even known there was an Anton in your class. Though to be fair, you didn't know anyone in the classroom's name.

Anton on the other hand gazed at you from where you sat across the room. He had always admired you both for your beauty and intelligence. He was aware that you had transferred from America and it reminded him of LA, his home.

But, if Anton were to be honest it was your beauty that drew him to you the most. Your thick eyelashes, smooth dark skin, and plump lips that were always coated with gloss made you impossible to ignore. It was also a bonus to his own introverted personality that you weren’t super friendly or extroverted in group situations.

The boy felt himself grow frigid in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his jeans as he pondered his next step. Should he approach you? Do you even know he is?

"Um who's Anton?" Your voice cut into his thoughts smoothly, causing the dark haired boy to timidly raise his hand to catch your attention. You stared at the boy for a moment, tilting your head in confusion. Okay now you were really confused.

You had never seen this boy in your two years at the university, ever, and that was saying something. You had assumed after hearing his name (Anton) that he would be some geeky loser who had decided to take the class because he was on some moral high ground, but you were shocked, to say the least, to see he was actually kind of cute.

As you walked over to him, you admired his appearance. His dark brown hair was messy and slightly tousled over his dark brown doe eyes. His lips were extremely plump and a nice hue of pink sitting directly below his perfectly arched nose. You liked what she saw.

"Oh you're Anton?" You asked pointing at him with a blank face. The boy's face grew a slight shade of pink as he nodded tentatively frantically pulling the chair next to him out for you. You nodded clicking your tongue before taking a seat.

Anton's left hand found its way onto his right cheek immediately feeling the heated sensation tingling against his palm. The boy cursed himself slightly for his nervousness. Anton had never been good at talking to girls. He chalked it up to the fact that he was introverted and had too many interests to engage with the opposite gender.

But Wonbin and Sohee never saw it that way with the pair always finding a way to tease him for his inability to "get the huzz" as they would say. (Anton found the terminology to be disturbing).

You watched the boy, your eyes squinted waiting for him to show you his true colors. After all, he was a boy at the end of the day. Just because you loved his cute oblivious looking large eyes, and soft looking lips, didn't mean he wasn't trash like the rest of his species.

"So, uh— I mean— Like how... er where should we do this?" You were taken aback by the volume and pitch of the boy's voice. He was so soft spoken.

You kind of liked it.

"Hmm, how about your dorm." You stated without asking for permission. You would be damned if you allowed a boy to enter your dorm, your humble abode, and defile it. The brown haired boy nodded swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Okay, is it okay if I get your phone number so I can text you the address?" His soft melodic voice left you entranced for a moment before you nodded holding your hand out. Anton stared down at it for a moment before looking up at you in confusion.

His expression was adorable. "Your phone? What, you guys don't get each other's phone numbers like that here?" You giggled wriggling your fingers in a grabby motion. Anton's face flashed a darker shade of red as he mumbled an apology fishing his phone out of his jean pocket.

Your fingers tapped quickly against his phone as you entered your number before contemplating whether or not you should change the contact name. Opting against it, you grabbed the boy's hand dropping the phone into it.

"See you tonight."

[jesncin]

Re: the whole Si Spurrier Bi/Pan Johnstantine debacle thing

For context, Spurrier (the writer of the current Hellblazer run) explicitly had John self identify as pansexual in narration despite John being canonically bisexual. The cover of the issue (I believe this was the artist's intention, but can't confirm) also evoked the bi flag colors in its colorscheme. When asked about this on twidder, Spurrier doubled down (paraphrasing: "John shouldn't have any queer label, he's bad representation"), deleted tweets, and just left fans in a mess.

My tldr take: John Constantine is bisexual. Spurrier didn't and doesn't know the difference between bi and pan, mixed them up and spouted respectability nonsense to cover himself. He's an old man who doesn't fyuck with gay people, simply. I don't think he has deep seated hatred for the bi community or anything. He made a mistake (still a bad one) and didn't apologize for it. Shame this is the author spearheading such a prominent queer character.

The long take:

I see a lot of people bringing up modern media that reaffirms John's bisexuality but I believe it's important to look at the historical context.

John Constantine in his original Vertigo Hellblazer run was an inherently counter-culture character. A working class guy growing up in the punk scene, aligning himself with queer people, explicitly ACAB, a rebuttal to the classic Superhero tropes, etc. It's only fitting that Constantine's bisexuality was revealed in a similarly counter-culture manner. Under guest writer John Smith (and artist Sean Phillips and colorist Tom Zuiko), John just casually mentions having "the odd boyfriend" in passing narration about his struggles with commitment. This may not seem like a big deal with today's standards, but it's important to recognize that this issue came out in 1992. Hellblazer already had a handful of queer characters at this point and suddenly after years of queer coding, the main character just reveals his bisexuality in passing.

So that's the historical context in our comics world, how about within the canon of Hellblazer? Well, John was born in 1953 in Liverpool, meaning he was a teen in the 60s, formed and toured with Mucous Membrane all over the UK but mostly London during the 70s (as a young man in his 20s). When we cross reference that with what's going on in the UK queer scene at this time, it's no wonder why John is presumed to be bisexual.

[From Stonewall UK]

In the same article, Stonewall mentions that the term "pansexual" became popular in the 90s. While this aligns with when issue #51 reveals Constantine's "odd boyfriend" comment, it's clear that the term "bisexual" would be the term Constantine grew up with during his formative years. While this distinction might seem unnecessary or even arbitrary to some people, these identities do matter in their nuance and historical context. Identities and histories are not interchangeable after all. With all this context in mind, to me, John Constantine will always be bisexual.

To Spurrier's comment on "John Constantine shouldn't have any label anyway, he's bad representation/role model for any identity" (paraphrasing, I know he probably said this in a defensive moment since if he truly believed this then he wouldn't have explicitly had Constantine refer to himself as pansexual in Dead in America #7), I think using respectability in defense of a character as counter-culture as Constantine is a demonstrable example of Missing The Dang Point.

[from Nerdist article written by Jules Greene]

Spurrier, the gays like John Constantine especially in his og Hellblazer run because he wasn't a walking Pride ad. We like that he's a mess. We like that he's working class. We like that he's messed up and painfully human. If you don't understand that about Constantine, then you fundamentally misunderstand why people find him so appealing to begin with.

[lipstickchainsaw]

The thing I find compelling about The Power Fantasy (the first volume arrived and I want to get these thoughts out before I read more) is what it does with the logic of nuclear deterrence and MAD.

Usually, when we talk about geopolitics, we talk about whole countries as coherent entities, almost like individuals: America says this, Russia says that. The more educated among us might say Washington and Moscow, instead, or even the White House and the Kremlin, which gets to a more nuanced understanding, but the underlying logic remains:

The institutions in question aren't fully coherent entities. They consist of many people with many different opinions, different factions struggling over the levers of power within those institutions. Even a dictator's orders get interpreted, and are informed by other people within the institution. There is no true individual in the Superpower.

And The Power Fantasy looks at all that and goes 'but what if there was?'

Now, I've read Bret Devereaux' introductory overview of the theory of Nuclear Deterrence, so I have a basic understanding of the logic involved here, and it makes for fascinating interpersonal dynamics.

On the one hand, you don't want to be too nice. You don't want to make it clear to everyone that you will never use your power as the consequences are too disastrous, because then everyone else will just walk right over you and take away the things you care about that they want. You have to have some credible red lines in order to be taken seriously as a Superpower.

But on the other hand, if you come across like a hair-trigger who'll threaten nuclear annihilation at the drop of a hat, people will either stop taking you seriously and eventually call your bluff, or consider you enough of a threat that they'll all team up to remove you because you're too much of a risk. You have to be able to be talked to to be tolerated as a Superpower.

So you have to be sane and reasonable, but you also have to have teeth, and in this middle ground, you still have desires and political ideals you want to achieve. Those are goals the others don't want you to achieve, so you step up to those red lines of theirs, just close enough to go 'come on, are you really going to respond to this?' to make them seem like they're overreacting and instead have to tolerate you doing this, which gives you a small entry point to further encroach on their territory. After all, 'come on, you didn't press the button last time, why would you do it now?'

Like what Heavy did to the US government in issue 1, and like Heavy, sometimes you misjudge how serious those red lines are. After all, even on the institutional level where these games were played during the Cold War, they're not necessarily rational actors. They can still very much panic as a result of misjudging or misunderstanding actions from the other side, and before you know it, the dominoes start falling.

This is why communication even between Superpowers that hate one another is vital, since it's the only way to stop those misunderstandings from happening, and it's why Etienne's role is genuinely vital.

But we shouldn't misunderstand what we're talking about here. When we talk about the logic of nuclear deterrence, we automatically talk about it in euphemisms, in more abstract terms, because the reality we're actually talking about is the destruction of all life on the planet (by and large), and this is the other reason the individuality of the Superpowers in The Power Fantasy is so captivating.

In the larger institutions, this logic is set in institutional policies and procedures, executed by many people up and down a command chain.

Here, this logic has to be worked out and worked through by individual people.

And this is rough, because, ah, most people don't actually want to destroy the world. It isn't exactly moral or ethical to even try to. Our normal way of interacting with the world, our usual moral intuitions and rules are counterproductive once you're operating on this level, and this also takes a toll on who you are as a person.

The very first conversation in this story is about this very topic. Valentina doesn't want to take over the world in 1966, because that's clearly horribly immoral, but by 1999 she's had to compromise on all those values she has so very much anyway. Etienne, instead, tries to hold onto his larger ethical framework that lets him run through all the above logic in order to stay sane.

I imagine I'll find out how the others approach these issues once I crack the actual book open.