#her awareness of their white supremacy threatens them

[masterthespianduchovny]

I think people see Black people and POC as simultaneously incapable and overly capable. So they treat them as children and as threats-both undeserving of respect and humanity. You see this with how Richie treats Sydney, for example. And I think that's why most people have no problem with his treatment of her. The reality is that Sydney is much more competent than he is and he knows it. He is fully aware of it and that's why he degrades her, and Carmy too. That's why many viewers don't want her with Carmy. Because she is the shit. She is young and impatient and green but she is great. And that's why she is impatient because she sees her own potential and wants to grow it because she knows she can do it. She is not only talented, but she also has the skills and work ethic. It's both that she is innately good and has worked to become the best. And to be quite honest, most people are very much content with mediocrity. And that's the thing about Carmy and Sydney-they aren't. They absolutely are not. And that's a big part of the reason why they are so immediately connected. That's why Richie is so bothered by both of them. And that's why, in a larger sense, there is such a problem with Black people and POC. Because a lot of us have been taught that mediocrity is not acceptable. In fact, for a lot of us, it is intrinsic not to be mediocre. And mediocrity is a core tenet of whiteness, all while touting greatness for just being white. For existing. So it makes total sense that a lot of viewers would see this young, Black woman, who immediately can go toe to toe with someone as great as Carmy, and be seen as an equal and someone deserving of respect and even love eventually, and be threatened. They are cut from the same cloth and they see it and know it deep down and people are mad because they themselves aren't part of that fabric. They are mad that someone like Sydney is.

You spitting. I’m ready to pass a collection plate because this sermon is the truth.

You’re essentially saying they know they’re losers like Richie and are upset like he was when he was called out. They heard her taunting him and started hollering because those rocks hit their target: white mediocrity.

Deep down, many of these white people who coast of white mediocrity feel inferior because they know they wouldn’t be where they are without white supremacy. They wouldn’t be successful, they wouldn’t be viewed as attractive, they wouldn’t have friends, etc without a racism structure backing them. They need that to thrive in the world.

But people like Sydney, how dare she succeed and exist in a world that tries its best to make it hard for her to be great. How dare she be beautiful and viewed as such? How dare she be confident in her own talent and not apologize for it or diminish herself. How dare she challenge someone for being rude and disrespecting her.

Richie expected to be handed the family business NOT because he knew what he was doing, but because he was Mikey’s best friend. There is literally nothing that supports the idea that Richie can run the restaurant. Nothing. This man relies on a toxic system that was the backbone of a failing restaurant. He has no idea what’s going on with the finances, takes shortcuts in repairs, and de-escalated tension with violence.

Not only could Carmy cook, he ran the best restaurant in the entire country. And he chose Sydney as his sous chef. Sydney repeatedly showed time and time again that she was the right choice. How she got the brigade running, improved the skill set of the other chefs, de-escalates various situations, on her feet thinking, etc.

He’s one of those entitled fucks who thinks he’s entitled to a POCs success and opportunities because he wants it. He doesn’t actually put in any work, yet he wants the acclaim and attention. Then feels resentful because they’re doing well and he’s convinced himself he was “robbed.”

We see this all of the time in real life. White people get handed shit they aren’t qualified for and no one questions it. Black people work our asses off and we’re said to be getting “hand outs.”

Sydney worked at so many fine dining places that Carmy said she had some serious “heat”, so much so he thought UPS was another fucking fine dining place.

The actual cooks in the kitchen respected Sydney eventually, but the man who was only hired because his best friend owns the kitchen and can only use the cash register is talking about her as if she’s come intruder? As if she doesn’t belong there? Lololololol

I’ve lived in neighbors with white people, I’ve gone to school with them, and I’ve worked with them. One thing they will always have is the audacity.

To protect and defend Sydney means to admit that they are lacking and that’s the last thing they’d admit. They hate and resent Sydney for challenging the system and refusing to be less than her best. They hate her for wanting more and not kissing their asses whenever a white person is upset or she makes a mistakes.

It makes sense that they’d idolized the epitome of toxic masculinity. Someone resentful that they’re being phased out of life because they don’t add value to others. Richie knows he has to adapt or he’s not going to survive, but they haven’t made that connection yet. Life will always keep moving forward, the question is: will they move too or be left behind?

Others are resentment because they allowed themselves to be walked over and thinks others should be okay with that behavior as well.

#the bear mail

[walled-flwr]

John Walker getting a best down from the Dora Milaje wasn't just great television or even "fan service". There a lot going on in that scene which will be dissected just below

The Dora enter the scene when John Walker has just threatened Sam. One of them throws a spear into a beam between them, protecting Sam who is obviously didn’t want to fight.

So John Walker started the fight by threatening a Black man who helped defend Wakanda. #WinterSpoilers

John’s behavior toward the Dora is insulting and passive aggressive & FILLED WITH MICRO AGGRESSIONS (Like when he referred to their spears as "pointy sticks). He touches Ayo without her permission in a gesture that white men often claim is friendly but is actually a condescending way they assert their authority and power over others, especially women.

YOU DO NOT PUT HANDS ON A BLACK WOMAN WHOM YOU ARE PAINFULLY UNFAMILIAR WITH. It is not cute neither is it an ice breaker. Just F*cking DON'T ✋🏾🚫🛑

We’ve seen John uses that gesture before, along with his nonchalant “aw shucks” act before. At this point we, the audience, should be aware that it is a mask that covers calculated violence and can’t be reasoned with. Ayo sure sees it. #WinterSpoilers

Which makes it very interesting to see so many people cast the Dora as aggressors in this situation. It shows how much we’ve internalized white supremacy that we see a white man we know to be dangerous threaten a Black man but frame Black women as the aggressors.

PS I understand that by virtue of how the fight scene is filmed it looks like the Dora, Ayo especially, have lethal intent. But if anything the fight demonstrates that if the Dora Milaje want someone dead he would be dead. They left those men alive. 🤷🏽‍♀️

And by returning the shield, they demonstrated that John Walker was of ZERO THREAT to them.

The Dora Milaje showed restraint and more importantly, class.

For those of you idiots saying "Don't make it about race", I say screw you. This show if anything shows how America views itself as the altruistic saviour when in truth they're little more than soiled cattle muddying & soiling everything they touch.

#the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #john walker #captain america winter soldier #captain america #falcon sam wilson #sam wilson #winter soldier #helmut zemo #baron zemo #lamar hoskins #rip battlestar #agent carter #sharon carter #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #nick fury #karli morgenthau #dora milaje #florence kasumba #marvel phase four #anthony mackie #sebastian stan #daniel bruhl #erin kellyman #wandavision #steve rogers #bucky x sam #hydra

[cruisingthedemimonde]

America’s Gay Men in WW2

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

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

For European queers the war brought tragedy.

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

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

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

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

But in America the war brought liberation.

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

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

Twilight Aristocracy: Being Queer Before the War

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

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

And these were “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 101st Airborn - Homosocial and Homosexual

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here you see three lovely “girls”

 With their plastic shapes and curls.

 Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?

 We’ve got glamour and that’s no lie;

 Can’t you tell when we swish by?

 Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Other War: Facing Homophobia

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

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

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

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

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

Coming Home to Gay Ghettos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References:

Michael Bronski “A Queer History of the United States”

John D’emilio “Coming Out Under Fire”

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

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

The Lesbians

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

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

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

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

#gay history #world war two #queer history #gay #lgbt

[rapeculturerealities]

At a time of so much death and suffering in this country and around the world from the Covid-19 pandemic, it can be easy, I suppose, to take any incidents that don’t result in death as minor occurrences.

But they aren’t. The continued public assault on black people, particularly black men, by the white public and by the police predates the pandemic and will outlast it. This racial street theater against black people is an endemic, primal feature of the Republic.

Specifically, I am enraged by white women weaponizing racial anxiety, using their white femininity to activate systems of white terror against black men. This has long been a power white women realized they had and that they exerted.

This was again evident when a white woman in New York’s Central Park told a black man, a bird-watcher, that she was going to call the police and tell them that he was threatening her life.

This was not innocent nor benign nor divorced from historical context. Throughout history, white women have used the violence of white men and the institutions these men control as their own muscle.

From the beginning, anti-black white terrorists used the defense of white women and white purity as a way to wrap violence in valor. Carnage became chivalry.

We often like to make white supremacy a testosterone-fueled masculine expression, but it is just as likely to wear heels as a hood.

Particularly in the post-Civil War era, when slavery had been undone, white male politicians used the fear of rape of white women by black men to codify racial terror.

As the author and scholar Rebecca Edwards has pointed out in her book “Angels in the Machinery: Gender in American Party Politics From the Civil War to the Progressive Era,” white politicians have long focused their furor by claiming to be the defenders of white women, a last guard against their suffering.

As Dr. Edwards noted, Mississippi’s James Vardaman, arguably one of the most violent racist politicians in American history, and that’s quite a feat, said in 1903, “a vote for Vardaman is a vote for white supremacy, a vote for the quelling of the arrogant spirit that has been aroused in the blacks by Roosevelt and his henchmen, … a vote for the safety of the home and the protection of our women and children.” Vardaman, who once famously said, “If it is necessary, every Negro in the state will be lynched,” won election and became governor of Mississippi.

Indeed, untold numbers of lynchings were executed because white women had claimed that a black man raped, assaulted, talked to or glanced at them.

But it goes even further than that. The Tulsa Race massacre, the destruction of Black Wall Street, was spurred by an incident between a white female elevator operator and a black man. As the Oklahoma Historical Society points out, the most common explanation is that he stepped on her toe. As many as 300 people were killed because of it.

In 1944, 14-year-old George Stinney Jr. was electrocuted for the killing of two little white girls. He was the youngest person executed in the United States in the 20th century. His trial lasted only a couple hours. There was little or no cross-examination of prosecution witnesses or calling of defense witnesses. The all-white, all-male jury deliberated for only 10 minutes before finding Stinney guilty, and he was sentenced to death.

He was just 5 feet 1 inch tall. As Laura Bradley wrote in Slate, “He weighed 95 pounds when he was arrested, and was so small he had to sit on a phone book in the electric chair when he was executed within three months of the murders.” Some say the book was in fact a Bible.

A circuit court judge threw out Stinney’s conviction in 2014.

The torture and murder of 14-year-old Emmett Till in 1955, a lynching actually, occurred because a white woman said that he “grabbed her and was menacing and sexually crude toward her.” His torturers beat him, shot him in the head and tossed his body into the Tallahatchie River tied to a cotton gin fan with barbed wire. A few years ago, the woman admitted to an author that she had lied.

Till’s lynching would serve as the big bang of the Civil Rights Movement. Indeed, when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on that bus, she said that she was thinking of Till.

This practice, this exercise in racial extremism, has been dragged into the modern era through the weaponizing of 911, often by white women, to invoke the power and force of the police who they are fully aware are hostile to black men.

In a disturbing number of the recent cases of the police being called on black people for doing everyday, mundane things, the calls have been initiated by white women.

And understand this: Black people view calling the police on them as an act of terror, one that could threaten their lives, and this fear is not without merit.

There are too many noosed necks, charred bodies and drowned souls for these white women not to know precisely what they are doing: They are using their white femininity as an instrument of terror against black men.

#white women #racism #Black Lives Matter #tw murder

[olivieblake]

Let me preface this by saying I have always shipped dramione. However, I’m re-reading the Harry Potter series for the first time in years. In that time I’ve become a lot more educated on racism (and it’s many forms, etc...) Also, this is my first time reading it where I didn’t think of mudblood as some made up word for muggle born wizards, but the wizarding world equivalent of the n-word. Given all that, my feelings about the dramione ship have shifted. (1/2)

I often wrote off Draco’s violent racism as the fault of Lucius not Draco, but at what point does it become Draco’s fault. It is chicken soup for my souls when I see racist teens being denied or expelled from schools because of using the N-word or doing something equivalently racist. They probably learned it from their parents as well, but I still blame them. I don’t know what my question is. I just wanted your thoughts

I have a lot of thoughts and here they are in a stream of consciousness format

one is that I think you’re right to recognize that “mudblood” is the wizarding world’s n-word and in a lot of ways there are problems with the dramione ship that we have to be careful about. there’s a reason, for example, that I never write draco using the term “mudblood” in a romantic or sexual way (I really don’t understand why people seek that out) and also a reason I never write historically untenable situations, such as the nazi officer and auschwitz prisoner prompt someone asked for a few months ago. I do think you’re right that there’s a layer of distance we’ve taken advantage of in romanticizing the relationship; it’s hard for us to make the connection to white supremacy because the potterverse is an imaginary world—which is important for children! we feel safe within this world because our imaginations are supposed to be safe and they are children’s books. also, the decision to cast a pretty white actress named emma watson meant that for a lot of us, issues of racism seemed like very distant parallel. should we realize differently now? yes, probably, maybe. I’m still working through my feelings on this, so we’ll come back here

point two: this is the problem with so-called cancel culture, though, that you seem to be implying that at some point draco’s “racism” becomes unforgivable. but it’s not just within the dramione ship that he realizes his wrongs—canonically he shows evidence of awakening, if not actual repentance. isn’t the idea that we want people to wake up and realize they’re wrong, regardless of how long it takes? I would LOVE for donald trump to wake up tomorrow and be like oh shit I’m a racist misogynist, fuck!! that’s obviously not going to happen and it wouldn’t undo anything he did prior to that—but the whole point of dramione is to write draco’s process of 1) realization and 2) contrition. I would argue that every dramione fic (certainly every dramione fic of substance) involves him facing his prejudice and perceiving his error. does it matter that he doesn’t figure this out until his life is threatened at age 17? I mean yes, of COURSE you can blame him for his prejudice (and his prejudicial actions) whether it starts with his parents or not. 

but isn’t THE WHOLE POINT that he changes his mind? 

I mentioned in our AMERICANAH discussion that I think the author was right—the only way to “cure” racism is romantic love. “Not the kind of safe, shallow love where the objective is that both people remain comfortable. But real deep romantic love, the kind that twists you and wrings you out and makes you breathe through the nostrils of your beloved.” I think the dramione ship has this concept at the root of it: that draco falls in love with hermione and in valuing her over himself (which is what love is!), he begins to not only understand her trauma and the way he caused her pain but also begins repenting for it with his choices. this is always at the heart of it. we always want draco to feel that crushing devastation of knowing exactly what he’s done, and then we want him to be on her side, unconditionally.

is it EXTREMELY ICKIER when you think about this within the frame of a nazi loving a jewish woman or a white supremacist falling for a Black woman? YES, immensely so, I hate it and I would never write an AU for either of those scenarios. I would absolutely not touch that at all. so I think that distance I mentioned earlier is pretty crucial here, because yeah, this is a fake world with magic that doesn’t exist and “mudblood” isn’t the n-word because it isn’t preceded by centuries of slavery, imperialism, or punitive institutional bias. well, there’s obviously institutional bias once voldemort pops up and wrecks shit, but historically? it’s unclear

—which is not to excuse anything. I do think intellectually there is a line to be drawn between these comparisons, though it’s a fine one. if I could choose to unship this at this point in time... maybe I would. personally I have always been diligent about the way I address morality in my fics, but was I ever considering it in terms of racism? no, not really. would I have romanticized this relationship if it felt even remotely like a real prejudice that existed in the world? I don’t believe so, no.

ultimately... I stand by the way I have written this ship. can I stand by the ship in general? I think that’s much more questionable, and also the reason I have avoided so many dramione fics and tropes in the past. because sure, you can romanticize the bad guy for the thrill of the angst, but at a certain point there has to be a moment where we question what, exactly, we’re romanticizing. while I do think there’s an argument for making the intellectual distinction (again, these are children’s books, and also as a first gen immigrant american who was neither british, white, nor magical, I already felt extremely distant from literally everything in these books, so at 11 years old I would not have made the connection between the n-word and “mudblood”) there is also a strong argument for being more conscious of what you read. if you seek out fics where draco is the one who saves hermione, are you seeking something akin to a white savior narrative? if you like fics where draco fetishizes muggle culture, is that the same as fetishizing Black culture? or are you just normal and horny and interested in reading fantasy romance using characters you already know from a fiction series you grew up with??

in conclusion: I think, as in all things, there are gradations to the morality of what we romanticize, and being aware of what we consume and why we consume it is what’s important right now. on a broad scale, however, there are no definitive answers as to whether something is wrong or right, and I will definitely have to think about this when I approach it in the future.

#unpopular opinions #dramione #Anonymous

[earthmoonlotus]

A Ritual to Bind White Supremacists

Find a place that feels powerful and magical to you, ideally at dusk or during the night, on a full or waning moon. (I did this last night at a beach by a lake at dusk as the moon was rising, which felt pretty powerful and nice. Feel free to do it in your bedroom though, or anywhere else that feels good for you.)

Ground and center yourself into your body, the Earth, and the space you’re in, using whatever methods you normally would.

Repeat 3 times the words:

May white supremacists be bound.

May they be unable to cause harm.

May the find obstacles at every turn.

May they face a dead end.

When I did this ritual last night, I ended up saying the words first and casting a circle afterwards, which is unlike how I would normally do it. You can cast a circle beforehand (like I normally do) or afterwards (like I did last night), or not at all if you’re not really into casting circles.

If you do want to cast a circle, for each element you invoke, be aware of its loving and protective energies as well as its fury towards injustice.

For air, feel the hope it brings. Hope for something new, for new beginnings, for a humanity without bigotry and oppression.

For fire, feel the way it inspires and embodies passion, change, warmth, and light, but it also embodies our justified rage.

For water, feel the love and peace it embodies, and direct its energy towards a peaceful world without white supremacy, and also know that it has the power to drown.

For Earth, I focused mostly on the planet itself (instead of archetypal energies I sometimes focus on), and on supporting Her ability to continue to support life; to have a world that is alive, has diversity in its life in general and humanity in particular, and is not threatened by white supremacists who also want to destroy it.

Add whatever energy-raising techniques or words that you wish to add to the spell. I sang this chant, which made me feel powerful and part of a larger whole, and I added various words about protecting Black lives and about us (those who are against white supremacy) being able to prevail and have a world with peace and freedom.

I also invoked Hecate, Quanyin, Brigid, and Aphrodite, four Goddesses who I feel especially connected to. Each of them has their own energies to add to protect those who are targeted by white supremacists and fight against the white supremacists who would harm them. Hecate felt especially prominent in this, as the Mistress of Darkness and Soul of the World, who protects misfits and the downtrodden but is also connected to death and can be very scary for those (like our targets in this spell) who do not respect Her, the Earth, and those who are oppressed. I would advise everyone to invoke whatever deities you feel personally closest to.

To release the circle, I sang this chant. Feel free to release the circle in whatever way you see fit.

May we prevail, free from white supremacy and the harm it would cause! So mote it be.

#witchcraft #spell #spells #pagan #samhain #ritual #op #so mote it be #aurorasun

[seyaryminamoto]

Matching Heartbeats: Sokkla Saturdays 2020

Day 6: Making a deal

On FF.net//On AO3

If only someone other than Aang had claimed to have been warned in their dreams that some dangerous threat lurked in the shadows of Ba Sing Se's Palace, tailing the king and his family, Sokka would have never taken a break in his duties as a White Lotus agent to investigate it. It wasn't that he dismissed spiritual matters the way he had in his younger years… but something as vague as "threat lurking in the shadows" didn't sound as serious to him as a confirmed, verified menace would…

But here he was, paying a home visit to King Kuei, smiling awkwardly as him and his wife talked his ear off about the baby they were expecting, who would arrive any day now. They had the highest hopes for the baby, and couldn't seem to consider that maybe their bright enthusiasm was a hazard, a beacon that attracted unwanted attention: countless dignitaries, envoys from noble families of Ba Sing Se and other cities, even representatives of other nations, had been arriving across the weeks leading up to the birth, all be it to congratulate the king before and after his child was born.

And that meant the threat, whatever it might be, could be anywhere. It could be part of any of those retinues, whether a highly-ranked official or a mere servant, even someone within Kuei's own people, hiding in plain sight for years, gaining his trust, until the right moment to strike arrived. It wouldn't be any surprise, would it? The trusting fool had reinstated the Dai Li after they turned on him, no less…

Thus, Sokka was to work in subtle secrecy, without the king's awareness. He would unearth the threat somehow, before Kuei could come any closer to unraveling there was one at all: it had taken forever for the man to ease up on his antagonism towards the Fire Nation, and Aang's grand project to establish a United Republic hadn't helped matters in the least… too much rode on keeping the damn king safe. They could be on the verge of yet another war if either him or his loved ones were harmed by this problem.

He smiled as enthusiastically as he could while Kuei recited his genealogy for the umpteenth time, eating his dinner while trying his best to attune his other senses to their surroundings. What was the best place where a killer might hide? Where would he hide, if he were an assassin? What would he use to do away with Kuei or his wife…? Or maybe both? It could be an attempt to treasonously kill every member of the royal family, come to think of it… while Kuei and his wife appeared to look forward to having a huge family, this one would be their very first child. Without these three, the Earth Kingdom's royal bloodline would be gone for good.

If so… the closest way to stealthily strike at them would be from their side. But would this threat have waited this long to act, if they had been in the king's employ for all this time? The pregnancy had only been announced officially to the whole world two months ago: anyone who had intended to kill Kuei and do away with his child would have likely acted sooner than this. That Aang had only gotten that warning after the pregnancy was announced could only mean that, whatever this threat was, it had found out about the truth when everyone else had… it was an outsider. And what would an outsider do to get closer to Kuei, enough to kill him or his child…?

Sokka's eyes raked the servants in the room slowly, assessing each of the maids with careful regard. All appeared perfectly Earth Kingdom, clad in elegant yet humble robes of palace servants… nothing stood out amongst them. Not the maids, then? Perhaps the soldiers?

Just then, he glimpsed one shadow at the threshold of the door behind Kuei. Sokka's eyes narrowed as he glanced in that direction: he couldn't identify it right away. He gritted his teeth before setting down his chopsticks and excused himself, saying he'd have to go to the bathroom because he'd eaten too fast. Used to such antics on his part, Kuei dismissed him with a laugh, and he lingered in the room with his beloved wife while Sokka walked through the opposite door… and then turned sharply on the next corner, slipping through the corridors he had learned by heart during his brief stay in the Palace back in the years of the war. He had to move slowly, as cautiously as possible, if he hoped to catch this lurker…

He glanced past the corner warily, and from this new angle it was far easier to spot the dark shape hidden in the corridor: even if he hadn't been warned that there would be danger, he would have been alarmed by it.

Slowly he made his way towards that shadow, knowing there was a pretty good chance he'd be heard… knowing it could mean trouble if he was. The whole idea was to resolve this problem without Kuei finding out there was a problem at all. If he even knew anyone was trying to assassinate him, every bit of progress made for the harmony of nations would come to an abrupt end, and they couldn't have that, not at all…

The shape was so focused on the dinner scene, apparently, that they hadn't sensed him yet. One more careful step, then he could sprint towards it and disarm them before questioning them thoroughly, perhaps…?

The shape turned sharply towards him and launched a potent kick at his face.

Sokka lost his balance but regained it quickly just before the other person tackled him: he was larger, stronger physically, and he planted his feet firmly just before the opponent collided with him: the feeling of that body against his own… those were breasts. It was a woman.

Ugh, that was no reason to hold back if she was here to kill Kuei anyhow.

He clasped the enemy by her shirt and pinned her to the nearest wall, perhaps a little more violently than he should have: the next thing he knew, the dark corridor was lit up by an eerie blue light that came from the enemy's fingertips…

An eerie blue light that allowed them both to see each other's faces, and recognize one another immediately.

"Sokka…?!"

"A-Azula?!"

She hadn't intended to be discovered at any point in time, but if anyone tried to attack her, she wouldn't hold back if they were strong enough to withstand her non-bending combat abilities. She had conjured her fire with the intent of putting a rather final conclusion to this sudden setback… but just before she could strike in a violent, lethal way, she found herself recognizing the man as someone she absolutely couldn't kill if she truly hoped to get out of this mess unscathed. The very fool she had been surveilling a moment ago, as he excused himself from the meal he had been sharing with the king…

"Guess you didn't need the bathroom that much, huh?" Azula said, with a dry grin. Sokka gasped, staring at her in anguish.

"You're… you're kidding. Zuko said you'd changed, that you'd proven yourself…!" Sokka said, keeping his voice down despite his outrage threatened to change that. "I believed him! And yet now you're trying to kill the king?!"

"You… ugh, you utter imbecile," Azula sighed, closing her eyes and dropping her head against the wall. "I'm not trying to kill anyone… well, not anymore, I did think I'd have to kill you just now, until I recognized you. But I'm not here to kill that fool of a king, I'm here to save his sorry hide. Same as you."

"You… you are?" Sokka said, blinking blankly. Azula smiled dryly again and nodded in the most sarcastic manner possible. "W-wait, but why? How? You know that someone's going to try to…?"

"I don't know it, my stupid brother knows it, apparently," Azula growled. "He says he had a dream, some damn vision said King Kuei would be in mortal peril, and I suggested I could come here and deal with the matter myself."

"He… he dreamt that too?" Sokka asked. Azula raised her eyebrows.

"What, so did you?"

"No, Aang did," Sokka answered, biting his lip. "That… still doesn't explain why you weren't sent as an official dignitary, though. You're dressed like a servant, aren't you? Why…?"

"Why else?" Azula hissed. "I can't expect to play nice with the king the way you did. Technically, I'm still largely despised in this damn city, and even though I'm no longer public enemy number one, I'm not exactly far from that position either. If Kuei ever realized I'm the very same girl who aimed a fire dagger at his throat and stole his throne? He'll likely either sentence me to death right then and there, or eject me from the Palace, and his damn assassin will have a free path to doing away with him."

"And you're helping out… why?" Sokka asked again, blinking blankly. "Just because Zuko had a vision…?"

"More because I'd really like to come to this damn city whenever I so please without needing Zuzu making a thousand diplomatic agreements to allow it," Azula hissed. "You don't know it yet, do you? I'm his top intelligence advisor: his spymaster. I've been doing his dirty work for the past years. Why do you think he's faced next to no rebellions as of late? Because he's doing a fantastic job, and all the people indoctrinated into Fire Nation supremacy for the past five generations have changed their beliefs immediately thanks to his preachy speeches?"

"Uh… no. I guess that wouldn't make too much sense, not when it's only been a decade since the war ended, but…" Sokka admitted, before sighing. "And well, if he's going to have an intelligence advisor it makes sense it'd be you. You're far smarter than anyone else in that nation, as far as I know…"

"Flattering… though you're an idiot," she said, smiling a little. Sokka grinned too, despite himself. "That's not the sense of 'intelligence' I was referring to, and you know it."

"Still true," he smirked. "But… you do swear you're here under his orders? You promise you're not just messing with me for your benefit?"

"Ugh, and why on earth would I do that?" Azula sighed, rolling her eyes. "If I were here to kill them myself, I would've offed you immediately, whether I recognized you or not."

"I suppose…" Sokka pouted. "Though I thought we were getting along better, you know…?"

"That's no reason not to kill a guy who's pinning you to a wall like he likes it, you see…"

Her words echoed in Sokka's head for a long moment, throughout which he stared at Azula in utter disbelief. She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, before glancing down at the contact between their bodies: his hands on her shoulders kept her pressed to the wall, as did one of the legs that held down hers. By the time her eyes returned to his, Sokka's face was deeply flushed, even under the blue light of her bending.

"S-sorry… I didn't mean to… sorry," he said, pulling away and releasing her from his grip. Well, his heart was racing now… and not the same way it had when he had thought he'd caught the assassin.

"You didn't?" Azula asked, smirking still. "And here I thought you were doing it deliberately because you somehow adore being in close quarters with me… it's happened an awful lot of times, hasn't it?"

"U-uh…" Sokka blinked blankly as Azula lowered her fire, extinguishing it after a few moments, leaving them in the perfect shroud of darkness once more. "Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. I didn't really want to cause you trouble, Azula, it's just…"

"You were sent here for the same reasons I was" Azula said "And that means… that as much as I'd rather work alone, we may be better served by cooperating with each other going forward."

"Cooperating?" Sokka repeated. Azula nodded promptly.

"I'm on the inside. I will keep Kuei and his family safe because, so far, I've been posing as a maid in their household for five days and they still haven't noticed something's off. Odd, you'd think, but they're royals of the careless kind, much like my father was: they don't pay that much attention to the help so long as the help knows how to pass unnoticed."

"And you've learned how to go unnoticed over the years, huh?" Sokka asked. Azula nodded.

"You, though, can investigate by talking with all those dignitaries who poured into the damn Palace in droves. Assess them, figure out which one is the likeliest to strike against the royal family, and keep watch over them. I can't quite perform background checks here as easily as I would have in the Fire Nation… but fishing out any Earth Kingdom loyalists who believe Kuei's latest policies are an insult to their great nation will, hopefully, yield results soon."

"You're quite confident, huh?" Sokka asked, raising an eyebrow that he knew she wouldn't see, not while they stood in such a dark corridor. "Do you have any leads on anyone in particular so far, or is it you haven't been able to investigate much on your own?"

"I've looked up only a few people, but they appear to be irrelevant," Azula admitted. "I'll keep an eye on the other servants, even the Dai Li and every soldier, for whoever's behind this could've had the same idea I did to disguise themselves in the palace's own staff… eventually, something's bound to pop out as suspicious."

"Alright… alright," Sokka said, biting his lip. "Then I guess… we have a deal?"

"We might," Azula said, enigmatically. Sokka smiled before stretching a hand towards her. "But only if you pull your weight. I'm not slowing down just to wait for you to catch up with me."

"Same here," Sokka said, haughtily. "We, uh, should meet at least once a day? To discuss anything we've discovered for now?"

"Good idea," Azula nodded, clasping his hand in hers gently: her warmth shouldn't have been any surprise, and yet Sokka felt a thrill rushing under his skin upon their contact. "There's some unused rooms in the basement, choose one of those and I'll meet you there at midnight, I suppose. No one should be keeping tabs on a maid at those hours."

"Alright," Sokka said, breathing out slowly. "I'll, uh, go back now then. Sorry for scaring you…"

"Oh, I'm sure I'm the one who scared you," Azula smirked. Sokka scoffed.

"Just because you kicked me? You really think that scares me?" he smiled. "I've been through worse than that many times, Princess."

"I bet you have," Azula said, raising her eyebrows as Sokka walked away, raising his hand in farewell towards her.

"See you tomorrow," he said… though he had a feeling it wouldn't be quite so long before he saw her again.

He was right to guess as much: she appeared frequently wherever the king was, always keeping her head uncharacteristically low, walking at the same hurried, nervous pace as the other servants, shyly complying with every order and command. She appeared the picture of humility and perfect obedience… except for whenever she locked eyes with him. By then, she'd send him a quick glare, as good as commanding him wordlessly to stop staring at her. Sokka would obey quickly, again bothered by how his heartrate quickened upon being in her presence. Something was definitely wrong with him…

He had continued his research, though, and he had tried to make his acquaintance with the many visitors Kuei had received. He'd shared drinks with some, helped others heave in their large gifts for the king, offered directions to those who couldn't seem to find their way in the large palace… in the end, he always found a way to coax enough information from each person about who they were, and what they were doing in the palace.

He would share that information with Azula at midnight: despite he should know better, it had startled him to find her wearing her palace-acquired nightgown – a full-body, near translucent white outfit – upon their first nighttime encounter. She had made fun of him for how flustered he was, and he had tried his best to ignore her jabs as he conveyed what he'd discovered. Even though it'd been a week of this procedure already, he could never seem to hold back from admiring how those simple clothes hugged her womanly figure perfectly… but he wasn't here to swoon over beautiful women, he was here to work. And work he would. Even if she was making it rather difficult by stealing away his attention when he should have known better.

So far, not much progress had been made: everything seemed perfectly harmless. They were growing slightly frustrated over their assignment, even spending the latest midnight meeting drinking together while dissing their respective employers, Aang and Zuko, for having ridiculous dreams that they'd forced them to act upon… Azula was rather interesting with her inhibitions lowered, Sokka thought, but he hadn't dared act on his damn impulses even then. She had given no sign of reciprocity, so as far as he could tell, he was the only fool whose loins seemed to soar whenever they were near each other. This was work, too: he couldn't lose control and had to focus on the duty, the situation at hand. It wouldn't do to fail to protect Kuei because he was too busy gazing at Azula's cleavage, wondering just when she had filled out that much and how he hadn't noticed until then…

And if they kept up at this rate, he might have just failed to read the signs of danger when they finally arrived at their doorstep: a week after Sokka's arrival, another lordling, landowner in the western Earth Kingdom, had appeared in the Palace with as much pomp as any other noble had… and yet he immediately stood out as a menace to Azula and Sokka, as they watched him in his encounter with Kuei.

"So much has changed in the Earth Kingdom for the past years, my king… it has been difficult to keep up," the man had said, sipping his tea quietly upon each pause. Kuei eyed him remorsefully. "But this child of yours…! It will be the very first good change in a long time, won't it? A strong boy, I'm sure, who will uphold every ideal our nation ought to strive towards…"

"I am hoping so, yes," Kuei smiled. "I do regret that there has been very little to be done about the United Republic's demands, though, Lord Yao… it has taken me so long to accept the Avatar's project because I had no intentions of hindering my own people. It all boils down to that spoiled Fire Lord, really…"

"Oh, but he's just the spitting image of his father, only, with a damn scar across his face," said Lord Yao. Sokka's eyes flickered towards Azula, and he was impressed to see she hadn't reacted, not even once, upon hearing either the king or his lordling badmouthing her brother. "His colonial pursuits cannot be denied. He knows it's more convenient for him to keep a foothold in our continent, that's why he can't be reasoned with, why he's been so adamant about keeping Yu Dao as it is. I'm sure he'll start demanding for his other colonies to be reinstated too…"

"I do hope not…" Kuei said, though his eyes flickered towards Sokka then, and he smiled awkwardly. "I know you're personal friends with the Fire Lord, but surely you understand…"

"Oh, I understand completely," Sokka nodded, tightening his lips into a line. "I thought I was lucky to be born in a place with next to no resources anyone else would want to exploit, but ever since they found oil… the North has been pestering us nonstop, you know? I used to think it was fine, they were only giving us a hand, but by now I'm starting to wonder if maybe the rebels who didn't want this were in the right, instead… even Fire Lord Zuko has economic interests in the area now. He may be my friend, but he's still a Fire Lord. And Fire Lords… sadly, they can't be trusted."

It impressed Azula that he would sound so sincere… that he would speak ill of Zuko without missing a beat, with such believable naturality that both Kuei and Yao appeared perfectly, blissfully happy to hear him. While she had schooled herself into becoming the best spy she could possibly be, it didn't escape her notice that Sokka had, in all likelihood, spent his latest years perfecting his own skills on the matter all the same, in the White Lotus's ranks. And this way, he had gained Kuei's sympathy… and perhaps Yao would go to him for support, if he needed it.

Yet… Yao seemed to be ambitious, and he seemed to already have a plan, Azula realized. He wanted Kuei on his side, he wanted the king's support… he wanted the Fire Nation gone. He wanted the Earth King to father a boy, too…

Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle started to make sense in Azula's head. She gritted her teeth as she tuned back into the conversation, only to find that they were now boasting about the greatness of their respective nations and how they were the truly superior ones to the Fire Nation – a matter that she found utterly stupid to discuss, though to her relief, Sokka had enough sense not to pretend to be a pushover in every regard, claiming the Water Tribe was the greatest of all nations playfully while the other two laughed and declared otherwise.

She didn't wait until midnight this time: she waited only ten minutes after the meeting was done to slip away from the other maids unnoticed, rushing to the room she had long identified as Sokka's. She knocked on his door quickly, urgently, glancing anxiously around herself – no one should notice her here, not when the rounds of cleaning guest rooms were long finished, and when she should be down at the kitchens, working to ensure dinner would be served safe and soundly…

The door finally opened, and she would have rushed inside quickly, locking the door behind herself immediately… if only she hadn't been greeted by the sight of a shirtless, soaked Sokka with only a towel around his waist.

"A-Az…" he started, as she gasped at the sight of him. "W-what are you…?"

She snarled and rushed in anyway, bumping lightly into his body before closing the door in a rush. Curses, no. This wasn't fair. This wasn't right. She had been keeping herself in check, doing her best to disguise her body's reactions to his proximity for as long as they had encountered each other in that dark corridor… as, of course, no hot-blooded woman could be at the opposite end of those intense blue eyes, pinned against a wall by him as she had been, and not feel her very soul shudder with the urge to be kissed by him… but she was no fool. She had no intentions of acting on attraction, not when she was here for very serious, professional reasons…

But that glistening body, and that loose, wet hair, certainly seemed to taunt her into doing the exact opposite of what she had intended to. She had nearly damn forgotten why she was here, outright, as she stared at Sokka with what she hoped he'd interpret as outrage… rather than the arousal it truly was.

"I had no idea you'd drop by, sorry!" Sokka grimaced. "I was cleaning up before dinner, I thought…"

"Well, that's too bad because you'll be skipping dinner," Azula determined. Sokka's confused stare only made his train of thought obvious to the Princess after a short moment of tense silence. "B-because we have to investigate something, damn you! Not for any other reason!"

"Oh. Hah, here I thought you'd… haha, never mind," Sokka grinned awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he made his way to his temporary closet. Azula gritted her teeth, watching his strong back, her gaze shifting lower, to the rear so tightly marked by that towel… no, no, no, she wasn't that stupid, she didn't think with her loins, no she didn't… "Why do you want me to skip dinner, though? Is it Yao? I did think he sounded fishy, but did you catch anything suspicious enough about him already?"

"No strong evidence yet, no, but I'm sure I know what his plan is," Azula said, tearing her eyes off him once he turned towards her, putting on a shirt slowly as he gazed at her. "He wants to be in Kuei's good graces like any other noble, but by incensing him further against the Fire Nation. He'll have Kuei killed, frame the Fire Nation for it, detonate another war and position himself as the ideal leader to carry forward this new conflict…"

"Wait, wait, wait… he'll have Kuei killed?" Sokka repeated, frowning as he put on a set of trousers: had he put on any underwear? Azula hadn't seen him do so. Oh hell, was he going to wander the damn palace without any on? That… didn't help. Not in the least. "You mean… he'll hire someone Fire Nation to kill the king?"

"And then, in all likelihood, he'll take down the material assassin himself, turn him in to the authorities, endear himself to the queen, all in a bid to become her next husband," Azula declared, staring pointedly at the wall. That certainly made it much easier to focus, yes. "He'll pin the murder on the Fire Nation, and raise the child himself to make sure he will hate our people. It's a perfectly stupid plan, and yet one that would likely work smoothly if only some weird spirits hadn't sent messages to my brother and your Avatar about what was going to happen…"

"That's distressing to even think about," Sokka sighed. "Okay, but then… what will we do? Without solid evidence there's not much we can present to Kuei, and Aang doesn't want me to present anything to him anyhow. He thinks that if Kuei finds out there's anything going on, he'll lose his shit and turn against the nation coalition all over again…"

"Zuko told me the same thing," Azula said, releasing a breath and turning towards Sokka anew: he had fastened his sash, and tied up his still wet hair, and surely still had no underwear on. Ugh, she HAD to stop thinking about that… "We'll look for the evidence now. Once dinnertime arrives, Yao will surely either eat with Kuei or take a group of lords out into the city, attempting to gather more supporters for his cause once he sets his plan in motion. He shouldn't be in the palace for a while, and that gives us enough time to search through his room to find any signs of communication between himself and his likely hitman."

"I'm not sure," Sokka frowned. "We'll both go? Not that I mind investigating with you, Azula, but we need to keep Kuei alive too, remember? One of us should…"

"There's literally no way the queen's water will break and she'll deliver a child, all within the next three hours," Azula said, skeptically. "Yao won't act until the child is born, and worse yet, he seemed to be quite certain it would be a boy: it's entirely possible that, if it's a girl, he might not act at all."

"Or that he might kill the child," Sokka suggested. Azula's eyes widened. "It's… sickening. But he could have his hitman killing Kuei's daughter. There's no better way to ensure Kuei sees red and doesn't stop until he immolates his entire nation in a war against the Fire Nation, if need be, than by killing his child… or is there?"

"I hadn't even thought of that." Azula admitted, frowning. "But it's a perfectly logical way to proceed, even if…"

"If utterly appalling? Yes," Sokka growled. "Just the thought that someone would want to kill a newborn makes me want to bash in their heads with my club, that they want to do it for a political reason makes me want to… to bash in their heads multiple times with my club."

"A valid feeling," Azula said, breathing out slowly. "But it means we have a short window of time to act. Once the queen's water breaks…"

"We'll have to be there. To protect her, for sure," Sokka said, gritting his teeth. "But if we can stop this beforehand, all the better."

"Indeed," Azula sighed, gesturing at the door. "Let's go. I know where Yao's room is."

Sokka obeyed promptly, slipping his knife inconspicuously inside his pocket, unwilling to bring any larger weapons than that. He followed Azula dutifully, urging his foolish heart not to overreact about Azula's flustered behavior earlier: she wouldn't have necessarily reacted any differently to any other guy she had seen like that, would she? It wasn't an indicator for anything serious, not really… no matter how he wished it were. It was stupid, a really bad idea, to see Azula in this light as of late, he knew as much, but why couldn't he seem to stop doing it…?

The undercover Princess led him to one of the topmost rooms in the Palace: most of them were occupied by now, and the newest arrivals were often given the least comfortable rooms of all, even as far as seven floors up. However luxurious it was, many of them had already complained about knee pain climbing so many stairs… fortunately, neither of the stealthy investigators were quite as quick to exhaustion as nobles were. They reached Yao's assigned room as quietly as possible, constantly hiding in corridors whenever anyone came close to them, switching stairs frequently to throw off anyone who might see them… until finally they arrived, and Azula produced a handful of servant keys with which she unlocked the suite quickly.

It was, naturally, empty: her guess about what Yao would do during dinner had been spot on. Sokka locked the door again behind them, and they analyzed the place cautiously. Yao hadn't been here for long, so he evidently hadn't unpacked much so far. They'd be able to search his bags, then, of which he had plenty, stacked on one side of the bed.

"Seems like he does intend to move in, huh?" Sokka asked, reaching for the first of the bags.

"You'd think, but most these nobles brought similar amounts of luggage," Azula said. Sokka flinched.

"Must be awful for you to clean after all those people," he said. Azula scoffed. "I'm surprised you've put up with it for so long without a hitch…"

"'Put up with it' is the right phrase, yes," Azula admitted, opening another bag: clothes, apparently. Many changes of them. She still stuck her hand inside for good measure, in case she found anything other than fabrics within, be it paper or a weapon or just anything…

"I'd have never expected you to deal with this. Serving others… doesn't really suit you," Sokka said. Azula smiled and shrugged.

"It's a pretense. And Zuko pays well, at least," Azula said. "That being said, I lived like most these pretentious fools long ago. I had their same complaints, saw the same faults in everything servants did, which means… I know exactly what they want to see, exactly how to clean to their satisfaction, exactly how to respond so they'll ignore my very existence. A double-edged blade, you could say."

"Wow," Sokka smiled. "Sounds like you should hate this job, but maybe it works well for you…"

"Oh, I hate pretending to be a servant, don't get me wrong," Azula said. Sokka chuckled. "But I don't hate being a spy. I don't hate investigating, and putting up a front… I masqueraded as your ex once before, remember? In this very palace…"

"Ah… I never did see you in the Kyoshi Warrior outfit, though," Sokka smiled. "Just in the Dai Li uniform."

"Your sister did. She was so fearful, telling me all about how Zuzu was in the city…" she said, smiling mischievously. "I know I shouldn't take joy in any of those events these days, but it was highly ironic that she'd beg the worse of two evils to save her from the other one."

"I'll say, in retrospect? You pulled off something incredible with that coup," Sokka smiled. "It was wrong, yes, but… I wish I'd ever come up with a plan as big as that. The scope of it, the way you had everything working smoothly, exactly as you needed it to…? It sure was something…"

"It's the main reason I managed to sabotage your big plan, too," Azula said, glancing at Sokka almost remorsefully. "Kuei himself blurted out that your people would attack the Fire Nation on the day of the eclipse. Obviously, I asked him to keep talking and the fool did…"

"Ugh. So, I could've impressed you that day with my strategic abilities, just as you blew me away with the coup, and he sabotaged it?" Sokka asked. Azula, despite herself, laughed at his outrage. "Damn him. Maybe I shouldn't be helping him at all. I'll leave and tell Aang to send someone else in my stead, now I'm angry…"

"If it makes you feel any better, you weren't half bad a strategist," Azula said. "Still aren't. But… I'm better."

"Heh! I'll get you yet, Princess," Sokka hissed playfully. She smiled as she set aside the fourth bag and started with the next one.

Sokka had been looking through a rather big bag, one carrying a few more implements rather than clothes. Hygiene implements, as far as he could tell, in general… but then he felt a small scroll at the very bottom, squashed against the rest of the items. He shifted the contents of the bag, fishing out the scroll with difficulty… when Azula suddenly whipped her head around to the door and urged him to be quiet by pressing her finger to her lips.

Sokka froze in place… just in time to hear footsteps. Footsteps, approaching.

Azula grimaced, closing the bag she had been searching and piling them together at haste. Sokka followed suit, tucking away the small scroll inside his pocket… but where to now? They were on the seventh floor, there was no way they'd be able to get out through the window, and the front door was ruled out, for if this was Yao, it was evident he'd enter through it in a matter of seconds. Under the bed? The frame was solid, there was no way they could hide there…

Azula clasped his forearm suddenly and dragged him to a corner of the room: Sokka had very little time to process what was happening before the Princess pulled the closet door open and tossed him inside. She closed the door quickly, its creaking sound matching the one of the front door, that was opened at the same time.

It was a small closet, and Sokka's head scraped its ceiling if he tried to stand at his full height. It resulted in him crouching lightly over Azula's frame… while she, in turn, was pressed fully into his chest, her face against his quick-paced heart.

Both breathed heavily, but as quietly as they possibly could, too. They heard footsteps out in the room, but no voices, nothing to ascertain this was Yao other than strong footsteps… then a sigh.

And then the sound of the mattress being pressed: he was sitting down, or laying down altogether. Why? How come? Wasn't he supposed to be going to dinner?

Sokka glanced at Azula – or at least tried to, for it was hard to see her in the dark. She raised her head towards him too, and when he tried to mouth some thoughts towards her, in a desperate and fruitless attempt to communicate, Azula pressed a hand to his lips before leaning into his ear.

"Be quiet," she whispered breathily, so softly Sokka almost missed the meaning of her words. Yes, well, being quiet went without saying, but what were they going to do next? How would they get rid of this problem? How would they get out of this damn closet?

It wasn't the first time Azula was in a complicated position in the middle of her espionage. She had been forced to hide behind bookshelves covered in dust and cobwebs, she even had to conceal herself in garbage one time, and the damn stench had taken forever to rinse off. But this time around she was stuck in a rather cramped space… and worse than that, she wasn't alone.

Try as though either of them might to be as professional and steady as they did, their bodies were in full contact as they held each other safely. What to do? How to ever excuse this, if they were caught? Even if they played this as some sort of twisted situation where they had developed a fancy for each other and taken to making out in dark corners, why would anyone choose to hide in a closet of the Palace's seventh floor to make out? They had no choice but to stay hidden indeed… for however long as possible, until whoever was outside left the room again, or fell deeply asleep and they were free to slip away unnoticed.

Sokka leaned closer, his lips grazing Azula's ear. She shivered, again trying not to let her damn system misunderstand what was happening… but then he spoke as she had, in that hushed, husky whisper, and his breath tickled her neck, sending tingles up and down her spine, as good as tickling the private places she knew she shouldn't be responding to him with…

"What do we do?" he had asked, and he lingered right where he was. Azula shivered involuntary, clinging to his waist, her long nails scraping his skin lightly.

"We… wait," she decided, in the same voice tone. "Just… stay put. Like this."

Sokka swallowed dryly: he would do his best, yes… but holding this beautiful woman so closely, feeling her breasts pressed against his body, inhaling her light perfume, would make it far more difficult not to move than any other challenge he could think of right now. The closet was so small, he had no idea how any nobleman would be granted such a small clothing storage… surely Yao would have complained nonstop about it to Kuei if he didn't have an agenda to push forward.

That being said… the man could easily climb out of bed and decide to tuck away his things sooner than later. If that happened… well, he'd punch the lights out of him, before Azula could do anything more final. While it seemed she used her abilities for better purposes these days, it was clear the Princess had become even more lethal in recent years and wouldn't hold back from executing anyone who might have caught her in a compromising situation… and that wouldn't work for their purposes either. If she killed anyone in this Palace, and it was discovered that any firebender was responsible, the precarious peace would shatter all over again…

His grip on her arms tightened, as though to keep her right where she was. To ensure she wouldn't do anything too dangerous, to ask her nonverbally to leave this to him, if need be. The man outside rustled in the mattress, and Azula's head whipped quickly towards the sound only for Sokka to lean closer yet, their cheeks colliding.

"Don't… do anything," he whispered. "Leave it to me."

Azula gritted her teeth, again tickled pleasantly by his voice. Again, stirred in a way she hadn't intended to be by him. She turned her face towards his… and in that darkness, she could sense him less than an inch away. She could feel his breathing against her own skin… just as he could feel hers, no doubt.

"How…" Azula mouthed softly, "… how do we always… end up in close quarters like this…?"

Her words rang true, and stirred further confusion and excitement inside Sokka's body: without needing a light source, he could imagine the way her eyes would glisten upon meeting his own. Her breaths brushed against him… breaths she released through her mouth. Her lips were parted… those full lips he couldn't help but want to kiss since their arrangement had begun – most powerfully once their midnight encounters had started.

The chance of being caught was terrifying. That had to be why his heart was racing… why hers was, too – he could feel hers against his chest, drumming through her breast… oh, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her, to pin her to another wall and show her the best of times by doing so. An unwise course of action, he guessed, for as much as they had gotten along for the last years of the decade, he hardly knew her that well… let alone did he know her well enough to jump into any wild dalliances without looking back, did he?

Oh, but she was so tempting, and she shivered in his arms, and he heard as her tongue slipped out of her mouth, licking her lips… he wanted to lick them, too. He could have done that for her…

No, no, no, he couldn't, he shouldn't, this was stupid, his brain had stopped working, that was the only explanation for the slowly surging erection that bulged inside his trousers… free from the trappings of underwear he had neglected to wear merely because the situation sounded quite urgent.

The man outside rustled in bed again, and Azula shuddered, leaning forward again… pressing further into Sokka. He flinched, she noticed… and that was when she grew aware of the dangerous problem that hung between his legs. She lowered her head, despite knowing she wouldn't be able to see anything… had he been turned on earlier, for some other reason, and the situation wasn't helping? Or… was it because of her?

Well, he was a man. No doubt, having a girl's bosom pressed into his body could have triggered a rather hormone-driven, impulsive response in his system… and yet that realization amused Azula, somewhat. She had teased him a few times by now, by saying he had a crush on her, somehow… but that his manhood would rise up to a challenge no one had posed for it certainly spoke for itself.

She raised a hand and then froze in place, once it was mere inches from his shaft: what on earth was she doing? That wasn't something she should touch, was she insane? That wasn't teasing, that was harassment. Sokka would report her to Zuko as soon as they got out of this damn closet, tell her brother she was some sort of horny nymphomaniac who had dragged him into a closet and had her way with him there… eh, maybe she really should be one. It would be more fun than standing here, raising her head towards his, merely chasing after those soft breaths he released, while she inhaled that delectable, masculine scent of his body… there was something breezy to his natural musk, as though he had only just been rolling in waves in the sea: that same sensation brushed through her senses, much as her own scent, akin to a spicy incense with a dash of saffron bittersweetness, was slowly overwhelming him. She seemed to embody a fireplace, burning steadily, but ever ready to take a wilder surge and burn everything in her wake, if need be… and he longed for it. He wanted to be burned, just as she wanted his waves to roll across her. Maybe if they both did it together, as one, neither one would get hurt…

His hands slid lower over her arms. Hers rose to his strong chest, the one she had been so enraptured by earlier. Any moment now, the other would pull away, somehow, despite they couldn't possibly put much distance between them in such cramped space. Any moment they'd snap out of the intoxicating daze they were in. Any moment, that bastard right outside would pull the door open and find them, flustered and undeniably excited, gazing into each other's eyes with unabashed lust…

A second ticked by.

And then another.

And nothing happened. Nothing changed.

Sokka swallowed hard: Azula could imagine the sight of his throat's movements, despite being unable to see it for herself, only to hear it. He was growing bolder, once his hands trailed down the sides of her elbows… and fell upon her waist. Azula shivered, and her own fingers probed the muscles of Sokka's chest, slipping lower, between their bodies… yet with no intent to push him off, he realized, for those fingertips caressed his abdomen… caressed it with greed.

Her irregular breathing soon accompanied his: what was the other thinking? What on earth were they doing? Azula raised her head again, intending to ask just how far those hands of his would go…

Her lips grazed his by sheer accident.

And the next thing she knew, his hands had clasped each of her ass cheeks as he kissed her hard, powerfully, overloading her already thrilled senses by finally caving in to the temptations they had failed to resist.

Azula didn't have a chance to reason with the situation: he had succumbed, though he had fought it longer than she had expected, but he had succumbed nonetheless… and as those willful lips collided with hers, she found herself completely forgetting all about professionalism. What did it matter to anyone if she made out with her associate in closets if she so wished? His lips tasted heavenly, and his tongue darted out to seek hers… her whole body shuddered as she leaned further into him, her hands touching him with now unmistakable erotic intent. She needed this, whatever it was. She wanted him, no matter the risks. And she'd get him, if not now, later…

Sokka nearly yelped when her hand slipped recklessly, quickly down his chiseled abdomen to tug off the sash that held his clothes together: undoing it proved enough for his trousers to drop, for his shirt to spread open… for his manhood to spring up, uncontested and free, and she caught it in her hand without the slightest hesitation, shivering with anticipation instead. Her hungry kisses rivaled his own perfectly, and while one of his hands lingered on her rear, the other ventured forward, cupping her left breast even over her clothes. Oh, he was bold, just as she was reckless, and she simply loved it.

She wasn't sure whether she was lucky or unlucky when it came to her servant's uniform: there were far more layers to it than to Sokka's simple apparel. He struggled to find her skin underneath the clothes, hiking up her outer tunic to find a long-sleeved shirt underneath, and beneath it, at last, her underwear. Ugh, but pulling off her clothes would be near impossible in this damn closet, so cramped, with the constant menace of that man outside, who would catch them if they made any noise they shouldn't…

Their kiss broke apart with a sweaty gasp: they breathed hotly against each other for just a moment, yet that Azula refused to let go of his erect cock convinced Sokka to cast the rest of his reservations to hell: he raked up the clothes of her upper body, slipping his hand through the hem of her trousers. And when Azula gasped, whether out of sheer pleasure, outrage or disbelief, Sokka pushed her back against the closet's wall and caught her sound with his own mouth, kissing her voraciously once again… and the whole world was fading in blissful wonder as those fingers prodded her clit delectably, stirring so much wet heat inside her Azula could barely hold her own against his touch. It was too good, he was too good… and by the soft, purr-like sounds that poured from his throat, perhaps she was good too, as she massaged his shaft, rubbing her whole hand over it, pressing her palm to his tip and prompting his breath to hitch for it.

She wanted to see his face… to know what he was thinking. Her other senses took control as it was, for she could barely make out his silhouette, even when kissing him with her eyes narrowly open… weird that she'd feel even more excited about trying to see him as they kissed, when his fingers were already doing a brilliant job at riling up her arousal: just how embarrassing would it be, in any other circumstances, for a man to dip his fingers over her folds to find them sopping wet right away? She knew she had no excuse for that kind of reaction… but to be fair, Sokka had no excuse for the massive erection she was still stirring further. Unable to see it, she dared caress it from hilt to tip, basking in how strong and potent it felt… she wanted it. She really wanted it inside her… whether it fit or not, she simply wanted it.

He groaned softly when he started thrusting into her hand, and Azula moaned back, their heavy breathing and intimate caresses paired in perfect synch. Their free hands traveled across the other's body, teasing and testing the waters by touching everything they dared: it was Azula's turn to wrap her hand around his rear… she wanted to spank him rather irrationally upon caressing the soft, round mound. Meanwhile, his own hand slipped under her clothes, struggling to push so many layers out of the way, all be it to find her nipples. He could have settled for her thighs, but he went further… Azula's lips wouldn't leave his anymore, and to his delight, the two were thrusting into each other's hands together, moaning, panting sweating, needing more than just these caresses to find full satisfaction… but, to be fair, the caresses were doing a damn good job at pushing them to the edge all the same.

Sokka's lips trapped Azula's tongue briefly, just as a surge of pleasure nearly caused her to pull away from their kiss: there was something impossibly erotic to being kissed this way… almost as though he were claiming her for himself. As if he was deciding she'd be his, from now on… and as she shivered violently under the fingers that dipped inside her entrance, while the thumb continued to toy with the clit, Azula found that notion perfectly agreeable. Yes… yes, she wanted to be his. She wanted more of this, whatever the hell it was, because it certainly felt like more than just impossibly hot sex to her…

He tensed up: he was close as well. He released her from the capture of his lips so he could pant heavily against her, but Azula stole another wild kiss from his open mouth: her hand jerked his organ faster than before, and by the groans that left his lips, that was exactly what he needed right now…

He came in spurts, shooting his load mere instants before her own lower body seemed to catch fire: they melted into each other's hands, moaning with more abandon than they should've risked. And again, they devoured each other's lips with savage kisses as they rode the last of their climaxes together, aided by the other in climbing down from the heights of pleasure.

They still breathed heavily when their releases were finished… and he still stole another kiss from her lips. And another. And yet another. Azula moaned, wondering if he'd want to take her in this stupid, cramped closet… she wouldn't mind one bit, if he did…

And then another sound, outside their tight, ever-heating closet, reminded them that they weren't alone in the damn room… and that a wild tryst was NOT the reason they were here.

"W-what…?" Sokka pulled away, turning his head towards the closet's door, his ear sharp and keen… Azula's crumpled clothes rolled down again as Sokka released her from his grip, though she had to tug everything properly back into place anyway…

And then that sound again.

A snore.

The bastard outside had entered the room to take a nap.

The two of them released louder breaths than they should have, at the same time. Oh, this was absurd. It was stupid. Either they had the best luck in the world or the worst, and it was near impossible to tell which it was.

Sokka leaned down, searching blindly around the floor to collect his sash. Azula shook her head, reaching a hand towards the door.

"We… are going to move very carefully, and quietly," she said. Sokka nodded. "If that bastard wakes up…"

"I'll stab him," Sokka said, bluntly. Azula smirked.

"Sounds good," she decided.

His hand found hers on the closet's door once he was ready, by sheer chance. Azula swallowed hard, but together they pushed it open as quietly as they could, hoping it wouldn't creak if they were careful…

She slid out of the narrow opening first, walking so silently across the room Sokka grimaced, while closing the closet behind himself: he could never be that stealthy. But he'd try anyways, even if he couldn't walk that lightly. He followed her as she reached the door, opening it just as quietly, and she urged him to move faster: he was still halfway across the room, walking cautiously while keeping an eye on the man snoring…

A rather large, bulky man with shaggy hair and beard. Sokka frowned as he studied his appearance: that wasn't the perfectly groomed Lord Yao he'd met earlier. He gritted his teeth as he slid out of the room, and Azula closed the door silently once more… before clasping his forearm and guiding him to the nearest flight of stairs.

He only followed blindly, carelessly, his heart racing so bad over the tension and adrenaline he didn't even think twice about whatever their destination might be. He only came back to his senses when Azula tossed him inside another dark room… a room he soon recognized as his own. She closed the door behind herself, locking it quickly before releasing a long, tense breath.

"That… was so close. Way too close," Azula said. Sokka nodded, finally finding his voice again to ask:

"You okay…?"

"Okay?" Azula said, turning to look at him in disbelief: the sunset's glow fell upon the room through the windows, and now she could see Sokka's face clearly… his reddened lips beckoned her yet again. She wondered if hers did the same to him…

"I-I mean… that was… intense," Sokka decided, swallowing hard. "That guy… that wasn't Yao."

"Yeah… I noticed when I was waiting for you to get out," Azula said, nodding. "The… the hitman, then?"

"Maybe. Could be… oh!" Sokka gasped, reaching into his trousers' pocket, fishing hastily past his knife for the small scroll he'd put away just before the stranger had showed up.

Azula stepped closer upon noticing he was holding what might be their only useful lead so far. She swallowed hard and stopped a little closer to him than she should have… close enough to smell her own perfume on him. Even to smell a certain, rather intimate scent that still clung to his hand… oh, she was insane. She really was insane. Getting fingered on the job and growing so utterly excited over it… what was the matter with her?

"It's… encrypted somehow," Sokka grimaced. "Feels like they purposefully broke the ideograms into nonsense so no one could intercept the message."

"That so…?" Azula asked, reaching for the scroll: her hand brushed against his. Sokka didn't even flinch as she angled the paper towards herself.

Sokka let go of the scroll once Azula walked away with it, towards his desk. Watching her body sway with each movement sent jolts of excitement through his body… threatening to reawaken his shaft after it should have been, by all logic, calmed after she had relieved him earlier… curses, how on earth had he scored a handjob out of Princess Azula, of all people? He swallowed dryly at the thought… too dryly. There was water in the jug, he could drink that. And he could offer her some too, why not? It was just the gallant thing to do… especially after having jerked off each other in a closet.

Azula had already gotten started deciphering the confusing code when Sokka deposited a small cup with water beside her. Her whole body jolted for it, and she shot him a quick, awkward, grateful smile before getting back to work. And then she glanced back at him, most deliberately, to watch as he swallowed each mouthful of his own cup of water. Oh, the bob of his neck's triangle with each swallow… that was a true spectacle. He was impossibly attractive, and she wasn't sure how to stop admiring him…

He lowered his head and she whipped hers around quickly, her face fully flushed as she returned to work. Sokka blinked blankly at her sudden movement, but he placed his now empty cup on the desk while leaning over Azula's hunched form…

"You're in my light," she said, though her voice wasn't too antagonistic. Sokka bit his lip.

"Oops. Give me a sec," he said, stepping away… and Azula's heart sank for it. Which it shouldn't have. Curses, she had to FOCUS.

She continued to work quietly: she had already deciphered the first part, but then he returned to the room… with a set of lanterns that he distributed across the room, lighting them one by one.

"It'll be dusk soon anyway, so…"

"Good call," Azula said, working on the next set of ideograms… and then he set down the last lantern right on the desk.

"And now I'm not in your light," Sokka smiled, leaning again. Despite herself, Azula grinned too.

"So clever," she whispered.

"How's it looking?" he asked.

"I think I've nearly got it. It's not a long message," Azula said, jotting down a few more possibilities on the paper she was using to unravel the cyphered missive…

Within another two minutes, two phrases had formed across the paper:

I'll arrive in the afternoon. Keep the room empty until the job is done.

"The job…" Sokka said. Azula snarled.

"Yes, it sounds bad, but not bad enough," she said, turning to look at him. "That guy, the one we saw… he's the murderer. He's the one Yao hired for his scheme."

"And if we take him out now…" Sokka said. "It'll cause trouble anyway. Worse yet if you do it personally: he's an ally and associate of a guy Kuei seems to like plenty. If a firebender is found attacking, or killing him…"

"The story will be spun into making me the enemy, yes," Azula said, gritting her teeth.

"They haven't acted yet," Sokka sighed. "I'm not sure we can make our move until they make theirs. There's so many potential risks…"

"The thing is… we do have the upper hand," Azula said, turning towards him. "Because they don't know I'm here. They don't know which team you're working for. You've said what they wanted to hear, but you're the Avatar's friend. They can't outright assume you mean them any harm… just as they can't assume you don't."

"Exactly," Sokka said, breathing sharply. "And they're completely unaware of your presence. So… we'll use those things to our advantage."

"You'll stick to Kuei. Follow him around, tail him, especially on the day of the birth," Azula said. "I'll wait on the queen, offer my services during the birth…"

"Sounds fun," Sokka said, with an awkward smile. Azula scoffed.

"A little blood won't faze me," she declared, boldly.

"I think it's more than just a little… but I think the worst part is the ridiculously loud baby crying," Sokka smiled. Azula grimaced.

"Fair… but I'll endure it," she said. "If the baby is a girl, I'll stick to guarding her and the queen. If it's a boy, you'll stand guard with Kuei and I'll try to reach you before the enemy does."

"Might be I'll make quick work of him before you do," Sokka smiled. "Though… we're not supposed to let anyone know what's going on, right? We're supposed… to keep our operation secret, quiet, without Kuei or the plotter's awareness. Should I try to take down that guy in front of Kuei? For real?"

"Hmm…" Azula bit her lip, tapping her chin with a fingertip. "I'd think it's the safest way to proceed… but maybe it isn't, you're right. If anything… we should figure out the layout of the birthing location, and where Kuei will be kept in wait. Then it's just a matter of figuring out where this guy is likeliest to break into either room… and then stop him before he does."

"We can… research that tomorrow?" Sokka asked, innocently. Azula blinked blankly. "You with the servants… I with Kuei himself?"

"Tomorrow?" she repeated. Sokka bit his lip. "Well, that's…"

She wasn't so stupid as to not understand his implication: he wasn't disregarding his work, not at all, and neither was she, that was stupid to even think about…

But they had started something in that damn closet.

And one climax was certainly not enough to consider it finished.

"If you agree…" Sokka said, closing his eyes raising his hands defensively. "If you'd rather we go right back out to track down someone who can get us all the information on royal birthing protocols, that's fine too, I just thought today had been a tiresome enough day to…"

He had been betting on it. He had been waiting for it. And he damn smiled when he felt that hand clawing at his blue shirt with enough strength to rip into the fabric.

And then he was swimming in the bliss of their joined lips for one more moment, as he nearly knocked her chair over upon kissing her back too enthusiastically. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and this time he didn't hesitate for an instant before swooping her into them, carrying her towards the fancy, elegant bed Kuei had granted him for this visit. He was quite fortunate for having gotten along with the king, and encouraged him to find his true calling by traveling the world, back when Azula herself had taken his kingdom. Otherwise he might have received a lesser suite… and this obnoxious opulence seemed to him the perfect environment in which to devote himself to Azula.

He dropped her on the mattress, and she nearly bounced with recoil as he pulled the sash and his clothes came undone yet again. Azula smiled as she watched them fall off his body… his glorious body that seemed to shine pure gold under the brightness of those lanterns. Sokka only had to shrug off his shirt, and toss off his boots to be fully naked… and Azula devoured him with her eyes, taking in that impossibly attractive body as she began undoing the fastenings of her own clothes.

"I thought… it had been a tiresome day?" Azula teased him. Sokka smirked.

"Yeah. Because I just wanted it to be nighttime already," he said. His insinuation made her laugh as he finally did away with all his clothes and climbed atop her, stealing a quick kiss from her lips that left her aching for more.

"You're clearly desperate to get some sleep, right…?" Azula said, smiling as he pulled her tunic over her head slowly. She never thought being undressed by a man could be this exciting, but her skin felt delectably feverish wherever his hands grazed her.

"With you? Hell, yeah," he blurted out, tossing the tunic aside before diving for another kiss.

Azula moaned, raising her legs awkwardly so she could remove her own shoes. She tossed them carelessly away, just as Sokka undid her own sash and pulled her clothes open… just as he had wanted to, from the first moment he had seen her wearing that damn revealing white sleeping gown… unlike him, Azula had underwear, but he didn't wait to remove it before covering her breasts with kisses, even over the bindings of her chest. Azula moaned, arching her body against him, struggling to shove off her own trousers… and, upon being unable to push them lower than mid-thigh, since his body pressed into hers, she took to caressing his strong back instead. She moaned delectably into his lips, appreciating his powerful build notoriously… and then he broke off the kiss to attack her neck next. Azula threw her head back, moaning far more carelessly now: she knew he wanted to hear her, to feel each vibration of her vocal cords, and she'd give him exactly that… was she being too generous? Too easy? Somehow, any such concerns were so superfluous that night she couldn't bother pondering them more than once. This felt right… it felt good. Better than good. He knew what he wanted, and he was chasing for it, and what he wanted was nothing other than her. Who could say no to a marvelous man who was giving himself so willingly…?

He sat up again, doing away with her lower body's clothes… and he smirked mischievously as he unabashedly gazed at her exposed nether region. Azula kicked at him playfully, smiling as she made to close her spread legs, but Sokka grunted in a sensual manner, clasping her knees to keep them apart.

"If you think I'm a sick pervert for wanting to look at every bit of you… then yes, I'm a sick pervert" Sokka smirked. Azula laughed and shook her head.

"I have no right to complain, do I…?" she said, gazing lustfully at his groin.

"True… you've been checking me out for a while, haven't you?" he teased her, urging her to sit up too. Azula snorted, her cheeks flushing as she closed her eyes: she raised her arms, allowing Sokka to undo her chest bindings slowly… revealing her to his greedy gaze with each loop he undid.

"How's someone not supposed to check out their partner in crime… if he shows up soaking wet, wearing just a towel, at the door?" Azula smiled. Sokka snickered.

"Liked what you saw…?"

"You like that I liked it…"

"Damn right I do," he whispered, stealing one more kiss from her lips as the last of her bindings came off…

And her full, plump breasts were revealed to his gaze at last. He groaned, leaning in to press his face to the mounds. They had been held down tightly, he thought… maybe they hurt a little, right? And now, free from those restraints, they'd need some massaging for the sake of relieving Azula from any potential pain… that made sense, right?

He didn't even know why he was making up excuses to fondle her chest, let alone once Azula began moaning heartily. Her nipples hardened against his palm, and Sokka groaned teasingly at the delectable sensation. Whether she needed a massage or not, clearly her chest was sensitive… and very receptive to his touch. And as far as he was concerned, he could continue touching it for hours if she allowed it. Oh, he really hoped she'd allow it… he was fine with her branding him a depraved fool if she wanted to do so, he simply needed to have her, all of her, and unless she stopped him, he intended to do as much right away.

She didn't stop him… but she did tighten her legs around his waist and swapped them on the mattress, all be it to find her own chance to devour his neck at leisure, to caress his chest just as he had hers. Whenever she rose, the glow of the lanterns would fall upon her body, and every curve wound be highlighted in such an exciting manner Sokka's mouth watered for it. He took Azula by surprise when, upon rising once after nibbling on his neck, Sokka's lips landed on her collarbone, moving lower slowly… she knew what he was up to, and as embarrassing as it was to moan in such a careless manner, she couldn't stop doing as much. She threw her head back and cried out, letting him lavish her breasts in turns, his mouth toying with her nipples in particular as he cast quick, teasing glances at her. His blue eyes appeared black with desire tonight… and that was how Azula wanted them to be. She wasn't often the recipient of anyone's lust… fear, yes. Envy, all the time. Spite, everywhere she went. But lust…? Let alone this much of it, so unabashed and unrestrained…?

She knew her sounds were more than a little embarrassing, but so what? Yet again, this was convenient. If the entire damn palace discovered Sokka was sleeping with an apparently common maid, he'd merely look like a lecherous idiot who picked up a girl at random… and she'd look like a fool who got swept up by the charming war hero. And no one, especially not that damn lord Yao and his associate, would ever suspect they were onto them.

That thought brought her to smile as she gave herself to her pleasure wholeheartedly. Let them hear… let everyone hear. She didn't care, for there was no reason to hold back. It felt amazing, and it would protect them too, should any danger befall them. Who'd have thought sex could be the perfect answer, and the ideal cover, in the middle of a job…? She'd have to drag Sokka into more of her missions, it'd be an amazing side activity to keep herself as inconspicuous as possible in the eyes of the people she had to investigate…

Sokka tugged down her clothes again, wrapping an arm around her to hoist Azula onto her side: he dragged the clothes off her legs, taking advantage of the situation to touch her thighs as boldly as he dared. And all the while, his mouth toyed with her breats, providing Azula with more surging pleasure than she knew what to do with.

"Y-you… really seem to like that…" Azula managed to say between moans.

"Here I thought you were the one who liked it…" Sokka said, with a toothy smirk before nibbling on her nipple. Azula cried out, half-laughing, half-moaning as she allowed him to pin her down again as he had his way with her. Oh, let it be. He wanted her, and she rather enjoyed the consequences of being the object of his desires right now.

Her body thrusted upwards towards him, urging him to take care of another part of her body, and Sokka complied, slipping a hand south once again. A hand he intended to replace with his mouth shortly, but he just needed a little longer of those soft mounds, just a little longer…

"Y-you're… y-you're going to be the death of me… if you keep this up…" Azula moaned desperately. Sokka snickered before delivering one more long, defiant suck to her nipple, eliciting yet another cry of pleasure from her.

"You sound amazing now that you're not trying to stifle everything in a closet," Sokka smirked.

"Like making me moan, do you…?" she asked. "There's… other ways to achieve that pretty easily, if you must know."

"Oh, my… I wonder what you mean…?" he said, teasingly, as he crept down her body, pressing slow, open mouthed kisses across her toned abs.

Azula smiled, closing her eyes: he sucked every bit of her skin his mouth fell upon, as though branding her his own… why did that thought stir so much excitement in her heart? Was it because her every partner before Sokka had been lackluster, quick encounters that went nowhere? Or was it knowing he wanted her, to the point of behaving almost possessively, had driven her mad with joyful pleasure…?

Sokka's brain was nothing but a cloud of bliss: her body was impossibly alluring to the eye, even more delightful to touch and taste directly. And while her perfume's fragrance certainly did a number on him back in the closet, there was yet another scent catching his attention now… a scent that demanded he buried his face in her sopping wet core, something he did without holding back at all.

"Y-you…! Oh shit, you glutton…!" Azula gasped, nearly kicking out when his mouth fell upon her folds. He was devouring her as though he were famished… which he possibly was, in quite a literal sense too, considering he'd skipped dinner. Was that why his mouth took her in so hungrily? If so, she'd make sure he wouldn't eat much right before the next time they…

… Next time? Would there be a next time?

Well. She'd certainly do her best to make sure there was one.

She only spread her legs further, giving Sokka all the room and opportunity to take her in as he pleased. Shivers rushed across her body, concentrating at her core, as though all her energy was focusing, ready to explode. She didn't quite need another release to be ready for his magnificent manhood… but if he would be selfless enough to gift her one, she wasn't about to refuse it.

More moans poured from her lips, and she thrusted at his face lightly, begging him to keep going. Sokka grunted right back in his masculine, sensual manner, and Azula felt as though she were about to catch fire for it. Who could've ever imagined that boy she'd fought against in a war, so long ago, would prove to be the best lover she had ever had…? It defied reason, she thought, and yet it was such a welcome discovery…

She kept her eyes closed as she navigated her excitement with him: she gasped when she felt his hands traveling over her abdomen again, right over her ribcage, and then he was squeezing her breasts yet again… Oh, he was a menace. He wanted to take every part of her body for himself, Azula guessed… and she wanted to give them to him, impulsively so. Why not? Why hold back? She bit her lip in a failed attempt to stifle another moan, and then he sucked on her clit with such devious power, while rubbing the tip of his tongue insistently on the rawest spot, that she climaxed chaotically once again, her whole body an erupting volcano, lava rushing through her veins at alarming speed with each pump of her heart. Sokka lapped at her folds eagerly, taking in every juice that appeared to escape her entrance, and he chuckled at each jolt of her body, every involuntary shudder upon the surging pleasure.

"Y-you… you're just… oh, to hell with you…" Azula moaned, clasping his hands in her own… but not to remove them from their spots at her breasts, rather, to encourage him to touch her further. Sokka chuckled.

"Much better than dinner, I'd say," he smirked, rising slowly. "Looks to me like I've conquered Ba Sing Se's conqueror, huh…?"

"You what?" she said, opening her eyes to level him with an outraged glare… one he fielded with a still proud smirk, as he pulled his right hand back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"You heard me," he said, defiantly. Azula scoffed, shaking her head.

"Proud of yourself, are you?" she asked, as his smile widened. "Why… I'm afraid I won't acknowledge that title you've bestowed upon yourself."

"You won't?" Sokka asked, amused.

"No… at least, not yet," Azula said, and a smile spread over her face. Sokka raised his eyebrows, intrigued… more so when Azula spread her legs even more shamelessly, exposing herself completely to him. "Surely you realize… you have one stage left still?"

"Ah… I breached the outer wall with the first kiss?" Sokka asked, teasingly, leaning towards her. "Then maybe the lower ring with the first orgasm… middle ring with the second. Now it's time for the third?"

"Give me four and you'll be sitting pretty on the throne, too," Azula smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. Sokka couldn't hold back a laugh as he pressed his brow to hers.

"You're… you're hot. Extremely hot," he decided. Azula scoffed.

"Tell me something I don't know… I am, after all, a firebender," she declared, proudly. Sokka laughed and dared kiss her lips quickly, unsure if she'd be comfortable upon tasting herself on his mouth.

"That's not quite what I meant, but you're funny anyway," he smiled. "Never expected you to be so playful…"

"Never expected…?" Azula asked, smirking. "That suggests you've thought about this before. About pinning me to your bed, and not just to a wall…?"

"Hmm… the thought did occur to me, once in a while," he said, pressing soft, slow kisses over her cheek. Azula's smirk widened.

"When?" she asked. Sokka snorted.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, deliberately angling his body so his hardened shaft would rub against her sensitive clit: Azula jolted and cried out, only for Sokka to smirk deviously. Curse him, he had a dark, mischievous streak, on top of everything else… he was a tease, in the best of ways. To hell with this, if they kept this up, she'd wind up asking him to marry her before the night was out… "I might as well ask you the same question, Princess… did you think about me this way before? When?"

"Nuh-uh… you'll tell me first," she decided, reaching down between their bodies to clasp his shaft in her hand again. Sokka gasped as she smirked knowingly. "Look at that… fully charged and ready to shoot your lightning bolt, are you?"

"Something like that," Sokka conceded, laughing softly. "Ugh, you know what? You like games. I like games. Whoever comes first… answers first. 'Kay?"

"That… is not a bad idea, actually," Azula smiled. Sokka snickered.

"Good. Because I know I have leverage," he said, lowering himself again: her hand released his sturdy cock, and he dragged its head across her folds teasingly. Azula moaned heartily, rolling her eyes back over the sheer pleasure. "You're as sensitive as can be, after all…"

"And you're fully erect… and looking glorious," she said, smirking as she ventured a devious glance at his shaft. Sokka actually laughed at the shameless remark. "I don't think it'll be quite as easy for you to win as you hope, Sokka…"

"I'll conquer the conqueror… if it takes every last bit of my willpower," he decided, speaking with feigned seriousness. Azula could only laugh, even though he overtook her lips with teasing kisses moments later.

And slowly but surely, his cock's head began breaching her entrance: Azula moaned even more sensually than before, embracing Sokka urgently… most intentionally, hoping he'd go deeper once she pulled him closer. Sokka caved in, letting their hips loom closer until they were in full contact once he was deep inside her… and her moans were amazing by then. With her neck fully exposed, he couldn't help himself but kiss her skin, nibbling on it teasingly as he rolled back slowly, withdrawing himself to the tip… and them ramming back through her, faster than she expected. She yelped, clawing at his back, and Sokka groaned – the pleasure made him lightheaded too, no matter how strategic he was trying to be. She was so warm and wet… how would he ever resist until she finished again? It felt heavenly, being inside her…

He breathed out slowly before latching onto her neck next, biting lightly, but sucking harder. Her fingers clutched at his back, lightly when the pleasure was bearable… and clawing at him when it was overwhelming, as it was with each of his violent thrusts. And yet the smile on her face every time he stopped once he was buried to the hilt… she liked this. She loved this. It was as intense and savage as she needed it to be, apparently. Only…

"Y-you tease…" she said, between moans: he had done it again, drawing far back again: her breath hitched with anticipation and she cried out again once he rammed inside her potently. "Ah, just…! Go all the way, damn you…!"

"I… thought I was…?" Sokka smiled, reeling back again. Azula's chest heaved delightfully against his… and he smirked mischievously. "You sure you want me to stop the teasing?"

"Yes… yes," she said, letting her hands move up to his face: she pulled him in for a clumsy, sloppy kiss he couldn't seem to get enough of. "Fuck me like you mean it…"

"If you say so…" he smirked, stealing one more kiss…

Before drilling into her raw and powerfully, rolling his hips back only to thrust anew instants later. Azula's loud moans surged further, her nails catching his back once again as he thrusted and thrusted, faster yet, like a train-tank doing away with every line of defense…

And it was incredibly pleasant, both for the man who thrusted powerfully, rhythmically, even if his heart seemed to be about to fail him with how fast it was beating, and the woman underneath him, who thrusted right back into him, yielding her control of the situation only enough to let him understand that he only fucked her as he did because she allowed it… because she wanted him to. And her conditions and terms were perfectly agreeable for him, just as well.

Anyone else might have faltered at such a rhythm, Azula suspected, but her partner had the stamina and strength needed to power through while continuing to adorn her neck with the most delightful hickeys, to match with the scratches she couldn't help but trace across his back whenever he overwhelmed her. Sokka hardly seemed affected by the scratches, just as Azula was only stimulated by everything his mouth did to her neck… for both their conscious minds were focused on the joining of their bodies above anything else. The pleasure was rising, threatening to burst with the violence of a geyser, and neither one wanted to stop. Their challenge and bet forgotten, they couldn't seem to slow down their pace, and neither one wanted to do so anyway. Sokka only pulled away from her neck to gaze at her excited face for a moment… to take in the sweaty pearls trailing down her face before stealing a powerful kiss from her lips. She returned it tenfold, licking and sucking his lips as she moaned seemingly endlessly: his thrusts were powerful, hands clutching her thighs to further control the spread of her legs… and to Azula's surprise, he actually closed them rather than pushing them further apart. He wanted to tighten things, did he…? Well, if that's how he wanted it, she'd gladly relent.

Sokka yelped when her walls suddenly squeezed him. Azula moaned softly, but the knowing smirk on her face spoke lengths about how sure of herself she still was. Sokka gasped against her lips when she squeezed again: he kept thrusting even though her latest course of action was threatening to throw him off completely… oh, but it felt too good. He gritted his teeth, only for Azula to cover his lips with kisses, compelling him to steal another wild, deep one from her mouth.

Another squeeze, and his brain seemed shot with a tranquilizer: he couldn't think anymore, he was all impulse and instinct, and that meant he was thrusting recklessly, kissing her lustfully, touching her boldly… and she squeezed again, and again, and again, encouraging him further, begging for more mindless thrusting until those deliberate squeezes weren't quite so intentional anymore.

"I… I'm close…" Azula announced. Sokka grunted back as he kissed her powerfully, encouraging her to reach for that peak as she wished…

Violent shaking overtook her, and she gasped and shuddered violently as her hands clawed harder at his back: her piercing cry probably was heard all the way to where the damn hitman was sleeping in the seventh floor, as loud and careless as it was. And even then, when her walls now squeezed him in a whole involuntary manner, Sokka thrusted savagely inside her until, in his mindlessness, his release loomed so close he could do nothing to slow it down, let alone when those shuddering walls were driving him mad with pleasure…

He finished inside her, carelessly, recklessly, disregarding all risks, forgetting to ask if she had taken any form of birth control, which she likely hadn't… oh, nothing seemed to matter right now. All he wanted was to deplete himself fully, and as he thrusted further, he achieved exactly that, gifting himself to Azula while he groaned and moaned with each sway of his hips.

He collapsed atop her when he was all done, and their heavy breaths matched as their bodies regulated again… that is, if they ever would. Somehow, it felt like they would spend the rest of their days with an unquenchable sexual drive, a primal urge to merge with each other without restraint… just as they had now. Sokka breathed out and pushed himself up with some difficulty, supporting his weight with his elbows.

"Didn't mean to crush you… sorry 'bout that…" he said. Azula snorted. "Though… if you don't mind, that's fine too."

"I like it, rather," Azula declared. Sokka chuckled, stroking her hair gently. "What's so funny?"

"You're… smiling. More than I think you ever have since I've known you," he chuckled. Azula snorted and laughed heartily now. "I guess it's fitting, eh? You just needed to have sex with me to feel better about life. Perfect remedy, eh?"

"Joke all you like, that was… that was something," Azula laughed, still unable to stop smiling. "And I… I finished first. Damn. You won, after all. Though… you're still missing one climax, you know? You're in the upper ring now, but…"

"Not in the palace yet?" Sokka chuckled. "Well, then, I guess I know what I'll be doing next, greedy Princess…"

"You're the one who wanted to conquer me. I'm just establishing the rules," Azula smirked. Sokka laughed, pressing quick, soft kisses to her lips.

"Still… you did come first. Tell me… when did you start wondering how good we'd be together?" he asked, prodding her nose with his own. Azula sighed.

"It's all your fault… yours and yours alone," she whispered. "If you'd just quit pinning me to walls that often, I wouldn't think about you sexually…"

"Huh… I've got to do that more often, then," Sokka teased her. Azula laughed and shook her head.

"You're a piece of work, aren't you?" she smiled. He grinned cheekily right back at her. "You?"

"Probably the same time, actually," he chuckled. "I liked talking up close to you in that corridor a bit more than I should've… and then you pointed out we were too close and I pulled away because I thought you were uncomfortable, but not because I didn't want to be this close…"

"Hmmm… good to know," Azula grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and reeling him in for one more heartfelt kiss…

One that turned dangerous as his hand slipped between their bodies and took to prodding her clit. Azula gasped.

"H-hey, you don't have to try already…" she said. Sokka snickered.

"Might be I want to… I like your moans. They're sexy," he said, and his pronunciation of the word made her shiver against his strong body. She wanted more, forget all caution and sense, she was going to lose her mind if he didn't make her come again…

A knock on the bedroom door.

Azula damn near cursed out loud upon the sound… upon Sokka's abrupt pause, and wary glance at the door. He swallowed hard and offered Azula an apologetic grimace before uncoupling their bodies – his cock wasn't ready for another round yet, but with Azula's sounds, it was certainly starting to rear its head yet again… only to be disappointed by the interruption.

"Here," Sokka said, yanking the sheet off the bed quickly and covering Azula's body with it. The Princess groaned as Sokka collected his pants and pulled them up again – still no underwear. And now she found that a most agreeable choice. "It's probably nothing…"

"Nothing?" Azula repeated. No, her senses said otherwise…

It was late. It was very late at night, as far as she could tell. Most people wouldn't be awake by now… nor would they be eager to knock on the southerner's door unless they had a good reason for it. And Azula only reached a sudden conclusion about what the interruption might be mere instants before Sokka opened the door.

"Oh, e-excuse me, sir…" said the nervous young man at the other side of the door: he failed to recognize the woman in the bed, and he didn't stop to pay much attention to the clothes scattered in the room. That being said… he was flustered. Yes, he'd heard Azula. At this point, the whole damn city might have heard her. "But King Kuei… he asked me to inform you, since you were so keen on being beside him once the baby was about to come to this world…"

"W-wait, what?!" Sokka exclaimed. The nervous man grimaced. "How can that be?!"

"Well, seeing what you were up to, I doubt you don't know how it came to this…"

"What the…?! That's not what I meant!" Sokka squealed, his cheeks flushing. "Ugh, I'll be there! Just… take a walk! I'll be right out!"

Sokka slammed the door shut, and Azula wasted no time climbing off the bed: finding each clothing garment, regardless of the lanterns Sokka had lit, wasn't all that easy, but Azula managed to patch up her servant persona as best she could by the time Sokka managed to fasten his sash around his waist.

"I can help you with your hair," he offered. Azula grimaced, having been halfway through composing a clumsy knot, but Sokka took over for her as she sighed in defeat.

"Curse that damn baby for deciding this was the best timing to arrive…" Azula growled. Sokka chuckled, finishing her hairdo and hugging her gently afterwards.

"It should take a while before it's born. If it looks too slow, we can go find a dark corner and get right back to this…"

"I'd love that, but we do need to keep an eye on the damn assassin. If it's just one assassin," Azula said, glancing at Sokka warily. Sokka grimaced but nodded. "We don't know how widespread Yao's plan may be. He could have more than just one hitman…"

"He should have more than one," said Sokka, frowning. "Kuei shouldn't be in the same place as his child, right? So one hitman for him… another for the baby."

They exchanged a quick glance: each of them had a job, then, as they'd agreed upon before. And they'd do best to fulfill them, as fast as possible.

Sokka fisted Azula's hair before pulling her close for one more kiss. She relented most willingly, venturing to taste him with her tongue, to feel every ridge in his mouth, to memorize his every detail… their duty was dangerous, after all. What they'd do next… it might not end well if they weren't careful. A good luck kiss wouldn't hurt at all either, would it?

"We'll get back to it… as soon as this is over, if not sooner," Sokka promised. Azula smiled and nodded.

"I should hope so. I look forward to your final campaign, conqueror Sokka," she smirked, stepping towards the door. He chuckled and followed suit.

The palace wasn't as quiet as it ever was at these hours: maybe with all the ruckus over the baby's birth, their obnoxious coupling had been slightly less obvious than they had suspected. They rushed together to the birthing area, and Azula glanced at Sokka once more to confirm their plan. He nodded, smiled, and squeezed her hand gently before rushing away, towards the living room where Kuei was waiting.

The queen was crying when Azula entered the room, and her heart sank for it… until she realized it was just about the pain. She breathed out in relief for it, assessing her surroundings quickly… assessing the rest of the servants warily: nearly all of them looked exhausted, obviously displeased to be woken in case the queen needed anything… except for one young girl. She appeared completely alert, watching the queen intently… so intently she didn't seem to realize Azula was watching her.

Sokka barged into Kuei's living room… and Yao was there, of course, an arm wrapped around the nervous king who kept pacing nervously inside the large hall. Sokka approached, offering his support too… Kuei threw himself at Sokka, and Bosco sniffed Sokka's body, as though picking up an unexpected odor on him. The water tribesman grimaced, eyeing the surroundings with uncertainty: while he had been alerted because Kuei had thought he'd feel safer this way, there was obviously no reason why Yao should be here too. And it seemed Yao knew as much as well: he justified his presence by claiming he had been with Kuei when the news had been broken, and he had merely been worried about leaving the king to his own devices at such late hours.

Kuei's behavior was odd, Sokka found, though… and he only realized why when he unintentionally caught the scent of the king's breath: alcohol. He had been drinking, perhaps with Yao… it'd make it all the easier to target him.

Sokka eyed his surroundings anxiously: the living room had a few windows, could Yao's hitman be somewhere behind them, out of reach? If so…

"You know what you need, pal?" Sokka decided, grinning as he clapped Kuei's back. "A new environment!"

"A… what?" Kuei said, blinking blankly. Sokka grinned mischievously.

"Let's take a walk! Find the best room in the palace to spend your time in while we wait for the baby to be born. It'll be a while anyway."

Random as the idea sounded, Sokka didn't miss the disapproving scowl on Yao's face as he guided the Earth King out of the room. There were so many rooms, countless of them… and if he could pick up a retinue of soldiers in the process, better yet.

Meanwhile, as the queen cried further, complaining about every contraction, Azula managed to reach the one-track-mind servant, tapping her shoulder gently: the young woman nearly jumped out of her skin, as Azula bit her lip and asked if she could speak with her in private about something very important.

The fear in the woman's face was obvious: she thought she'd been had. She refused at first, but the others encouraged her to go, and promised they wouldn't fall asleep while the queen was struggling to bring the baby to the world. Azula breathed out and led the young woman through the hallways, biting her lip as she clung to her arm as any shy, nervous maid might…

"What's the problem? Did you… find out something surprising?" the maid asked. Azula bit her lip.

"Y-yeah. I definitely did," she said. "I'm a little worried. I… I don't think it'll sit well with the Earth King, or the Earth Queen, so I thought I'd get your advice. Everyone else looked like they were about to fall asleep, so…"

"Yeah, well, that's precisely why I should be there," the maid argued. "I'm the only one who had a proper rest over the evening, you see…"

"Ah, no wonder," said Azula, smiling awkwardly. "Why, though…?"

"Because I always take the night shifts," the servant declared, stubbornly. "Anyway, if you have nothing to say…"

"I do have something to say," Azula whispered, stopping at the end of a corridor that led nowhere but to a maintenance room. "The truth is, I…"

"What?!" the maid said, exasperated over the pause. Azula gritted her teeth, covering her face with her hands.

"I-I was seduced by a guest!"

The maid blinked blankly for a moment, as Azula turned an innocent gaze upon her. Ah, she didn't expect that, did she?

"I'll be in trouble, won't I?" she said. "Oh, but he's… he's irresistible. He just hit on me and the next thing I knew… ah, do you think the hickeys show too much? I'm going to be in so much trouble if anyone knows…"

"I… no!" said the maid, laughing carelessly now: good. Her guard was down, as Azula showed her the undeniable marks on her neck. "Oh, please, it's hardly the first time anything like this happens… you don't have to worry, truly. Come on, let's go back, the king and queen have bigger things to worry about than whoever their servants sleep with, okay?"

"You're sure…?" Azula asked. The young woman nodded. Azula sighed as the maid started to turn around…

And that was when Azula struck her hard, delivering a powerful blow to the carotid artery, knocking the woman unconscious immediately.

Azula caught the woman in midair, using her servants' keys to open the maintenance closet: she tossed the maid there, took the woman's own assorted keys, and locked her within. She'd come back for her later, once everything was safe. She couldn't know for sure if this woman was an ally of Yao's yet – despite she reeked of it –, but if she wasn't, the enemy would still be within the vicinity. She returned at haste to the queen's room, but instead of marching inside alone, which would garner a lot of suspicions, she only lingered by the door, listening… listening carefully. There was a lot of activity inside right now, and Azula flinched at each desperate cry of the queen's – oh, but she was a fool, wasn't she? She'd allowed Sokka to finish inside, with no countermeasures… and she damn refused to bear his child and wind up screaming for not-quite-fun reasons in the near future, just as the queen did right now. She'd find some contraceptive measures as soon as possible…

Ten minutes later, a piercing, shrill voice broke across the already noisy palace.

Azula grimaced and pushed the door open lightly, ready to act if need be…

"A baby girl! Oh, she is delightful!"

Azula's eyes widened. A girl. If it was a girl, then Yao and his people would likely target the child. She snarled and entered the room quickly, watching as the rest of the servants clapped excitedly as the baby was taken care of, wiped and cleansed for her mother to hold. No one had done anything suspicious so far… so had she chosen correctly? Had she found the culprit, or one of them, anyway?

"The king must be informed!"

Oh, hell. That could be trouble.

Azula grimaced and stepped closer to the queen and the baby – in her not so humble opinion, it was frankly a rather ugly child… – taking up a resting defensive position near them. She played it off as mere curiosity about the baby… while constantly casting glances at the door, wary about what would happen next.

Kuei nearly lost his cool when the servants arrived with a message. Sokka frowned, glancing about himself: he'd successfully gathered around five soldiers, but would they be enough in case the king needed help…?

"A girl…? My child is born! It's a girl, Sokka!"

Sokka froze. Oh, hell: they'd go for the baby.

Kuei only hugged him quickly before sprinting off at haste, followed by his soldiers… and not by Yao.

"Where are you going?" Sokka asked, smiling dryly. Yao froze. "Mind if I tag along?"

"W-why would you…?" he said, grimacing. "You wanted to be with the king…"

"To help calm him down. He's fine now, see? The baby is born. A nice, healthy little girl," Sokka grinned. "Are you so tired you want to go take a nap in your room? The… seventh floor, was it?"

Yao grimaced, and Sokka raised an eyebrow.

"Y-you… are you accusing me of something?" Yao asked. Sokka blinked blankly.

"Is there anything to accuse you of?" he grinned, dryly.

"No!"

"Then why so nervous?" Sokka chuckled. "Just let me accompany you to your room. I'm sure Kuei's fine on his own now that he knows his baby is alive and safe."

Yao snarled but complied. Sokka followed him, just as well. Back to the scene of the crime… to where he had started this wild, strange dalliance with Azula. And boy, he sure regretted nothing about it… but he needed to focus on more than thoughts of his new lover's delectable body and clever wit for now. He'd have more of those later, if she let him.

Yao opened the door, allowing Sokka to see inside the dark room… and yet Sokka stood outside, arms crossed, waiting for Yao to do whatever he intended to. Yao, of course, realized as much… and he entered the room slowly.

Only for Sokka to kick it shut and jam the lock by sabotaging it with his knife, violently.

"H-hey! HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

He'd track down the damn killer. He wasn't in the room, Sokka had noticed… the man was in position somewhere, no idea where, but surely within range of the room… oh, Azula. She was there too, she might be able to stop him, he hoped, and if she was…

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, feeling almost as though he were an airbender as he raced to the birthing wing once again. Yet he wasn't the only one reaching it right then and there…

"STOP!" Sokka shouted.

The shaggy-haired man, with the thick beard, froze in place for only a brief instant before attacking: he cast a smoke bomb at Sokka, but the warrior braced himself regardless, covering his mouth with one hand and withdrawing his boomerang from its scabbard. He launched it at haste, trusting his prediction of the killer's trajectory…

The man had only just opened the door when the weapon struck him on the lower back.

The happy room suddenly became a loud, messy pandemonium… but where everyone seemed to run away from the door, one servant ran straight towards it instead: a kick of blue fire slammed the already weakened enemy across the corridor and into the wall at its far end, and his head struck violently against it.

"Sokka!" she called for him, rushing towards the cloud of smoke.

It was so dense she could barely see him, but eventually a silhouette could be distinguished: Sokka crept out slowly, coughing as the unpleasant smoke bit into his system.

"Are you okay? Sokka…" Azula asked, pulling him closer. Sokka coughed again but smiled.

"I'm… alright. Better now that I'm seeing you again," he said. "Is he…?"

"Dead? Maybe," Azula admitted, casting a glance at the unmoving, bleeding tall man that had fallen in a heap on the floor. "But I've captured a suspect…"

"And I locked up Yao," Sokka said. Azula blinked blankly, surprised by how similar their strategies had turned out to be, as they heard footsteps behind them: the servants, the soldiers, and in all likelihood, Kuei, were on their way. "Which is why I think… we might just be able to spin this to our favor."

"Y-you… you saved us?! And our baby?!" Kuei asked, staring at Sokka and his companion in disbelief… a companion he had identified by her unique flames, naturally. "You… you're Princess Azula?!"

She turned around very slowly, with a rather guilty grin on her face. Kuei appeared to be on the verge of a breakdown, whether of joy, outrage, relief or confusion… and confirming that his dreaded enemy had entered his palace, disguised herself as a servant and lived amongst his people for over a week and a half, certainly wouldn't help his frequent nerves and constant anxiety.

"You sure about that?" Azula asked Sokka, uneasy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

"Just… trust me," he smiled, before stepping towards Kuei.

Iroh's teashop was yet another strange location Azula had never thought she'd set foot on, but apparently it was the only place in Ba Sing Se that would allow her safe haven, for the time being. She sat on a far-end table, sipping a drink, ignoring her uncle's confused, pointed stares… and of course, reliving the latest events in her mind.

She could have been thinking of the aftermath, with Kuei fluctuating between panic and gratefulness at the drop of a hat, especially once both Yao and his female accomplice were brought before him, and the accomplice blatantly confessed the truth of their schemes – she had been working for Kuei for over a decade, but it seemed Yao had blackmailed her into working for him by threatening her family in the western Earth Kingdom, and she was more than happy to sell him out for it now. Azula could have also been reliving the action, the rush to take down the murder operation as fast as possible, splitting up with her partner so they both could keep every threat in check…

But no. She was, of course, reliving the sensation of a certain someone's lips and caresses upon her skin, of his manly shaft tearing through her with those slow withdrawals and sudden thrusts that made her mind swim in blissful pleasure. Oh, whatever happened next, she needed more of that, so much more of that… surely being spymaster for Zuko for about five years was enough community service for her misdeeds after the war, right? She could take a break, steal that handsome man away, spend about a month or two, or a year, even a lifetime, locked up in a private room with him, as they had their way with each other… she wanted to dominate him the next time around, yes she did, and pin him to the wall, for a change, and…

The door of the teashop opened, despite it was already closing time, and most customers were long gone: Azula's eyes lit up immediately when she identified the apparent new customer, who scanned the area quickly until he spotted her. That he smiled immediately was a blissful relief.

"Well… looks like you could stand being here, after all," Sokka grinned, sinking into a seat across hers. Azula bit her lip, wishing he'd sat beside her instead… kissing him would've been much easier that way. "Kuei's calmed down."

"Hard to believe," Azula smiled. Sokka laughed and shrugged.

"He isn't completely sure he can trust you yet, which is as predictable as can be from the guy," Sokka said. "But he says he'll credit you for helping save his family all the same. That being said… you're still not allowed to visit Ba Sing Se freely."

"Heh. Well, I'll just find something else to disguise myself as the next time," Azula smirked. "I was a servant this time, I pretended to be your ex the last time… who should I be next?"

"Maybe you don't have to pretend to be my ex… and you can just be my actual girlfriend," Sokka suggested. Azula snorted, staring at him in disbelief as he grinned cheekily. "Yep, I'm asking. Bluntly. Boldly. Why not?"

"… Would that get me access to Ba Sing Se's palace?" Azula asked. Sokka snorted.

"You really need access to it that badly?" he asked.

"A spymaster needs eyes everywhere," Azula smiled. "And access to all the places that might need her attention. If the palace is within my reach, I can better understand what's happening inside it… and then advice my dumb brother on how to proceed with his own ventures."

"Right," Sokka said, sighing. "Well, Kuei says that if you come with me every time you want to be in the palace, he'll relent and allow you to stay. But not if you're on your own."

"Really? And how about if we break up dramatically over something stupid?" Azula asked, teasing him. "Will I still be forced to travel to Ba Sing Se with you even if we're on terrible terms?"

"Eh, if we ever do have a bad argument, I can always pin you to a wall and we can resolve it the old-fashioned way… works like a charm, huh?" Sokka said, shrugging cockily. Azula laughed and shook her head.

"I have no idea what we're doing, Sokka… but I do know I like it," she said, smiling at him. "You're sure about this? About me? About asking me to be your… girlfriend? It's a rather juvenile term, in my opinion…"

"Want another one?" Sokka smiled. "Partner in crime suits you better?"

"Partner could be good," Azula said. "We did make a deal when this whole ordeal began, didn't it? And while you're splendid in bed, we worked together beyond that, too… it's not quite as simple as being your girlfriend, right?"

"No. But I'll still introduce you to everyone we bump into as my girlfriend from this day forward," Sokka grinned. Azula scoffed. "And myself as your boyfriend, of course."

"How's that going to work? 'Hello there, she is my girlfriend, I am her boyfriend'? Sounds like you won't be saying anything about yourself or me by doing that…"

"Isn't that how you'd rather keep things, spymaster?" Sokka grinned. "Juvenile as it may be… no one will suspect what your true job is, head of Fire Nation intelligence, if they think you and your boyfriend are just a pair of idiot twenty-somethings who can't seem to stop having sex wherever they go…"

"Ah… a rather useful cover story," Azula grinned. "Funny how so many chaotic problems get resolved whenever those two idiot twenty-somethings who can't seem to stop having sex show up at places…"

"It's a true mystery, isn't it?" Sokka said. Azula laughed and shook her head. "So… if I may do the honors this time as well: do we have a deal, Azula?"

He extended his hand towards her, and she smiled. With a quick movement, she rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him heartily while clasping his hand in hers. A cup broke near the counter – of course, Iroh had no suspicions she was doing Sokka, no one outside the palace would've known it yet – and decided that yes, it was a good cover story. A perfect relationship to both bask in for what it was… and to wield as a shield, allowing them both to remain perfectly disguised while playing the fools and resolving the many problems their respective friends and associations expected them to fix for them. And as Azula kissed Sokka long, deep and sensually, she could see absolutely nothing harmful in the new terms he had offered. Her lips were still pressed to his, her fingers intertwined with his, when she finally said:

"Deal."

#sokkla saturdays #sokklasaturday #sokkla #sokka #azula #me every week: I'm gonna write a shorter one this time #me every week: LOL GUESS MY HAND SLIPPED #yes I do need an intervention #worse yet I always envisioned this setting to NOT result in smut there but in the future... #... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that's not how it turned out :'D #hahaha #this is pretty wild #so if anyone still wanted more smut out of me despite I've been forcefeeding y'all with Gladiator lately (?) #here you go :'D #ngl I had a bit too much fun writing that *not-so-innocent-whistling* #oh and yes Azula is a spymaster #a Leliana-worthy blast of inspiration struck me #suits her to go around sneaking into places and salvaging whole governments #while no one's the wiser

[blkgirlsinthefuture]

Control and the Obligatory Savior Role

When I first began reading Kindred, I felt dissatisfied and critical of the novel. However, after reading Sami Schalk’s Bodymind’s Reimagined I was able to view the text in a different light. One of the quotes that stood out to me suggests that understanding “how the collusion of oppressions plays out in various historical and cultural moments — and the representations which emerge from or about these moments — is key to integrating disability into black feminist theory and vice versa.” I think that reflecting on the interplay of race, gender, and (dis) ability on one’s interactions with their environment helped me to gain a better understanding the relationship dynamics between some of the characters in the novel.

 After reading Kindred, I was still left feeling frustrated about a number of things. I noticed a recurring theme throughout the novel regarding the corruption of power, the entitlement of White people, and their relation to the ascribed savior role of Black women. There are numerous instances that demonstrate the power white men hold over Black women and how they used their power to subject Black people to an unfathomable amount of violence. Even at a young age, Rufus believes that he has power to control Dana which is demonstrated by his excitability when he thinks that he may have control over Dana’s time traveling ability. As Rufus explains how he almost burned down the stable, Dana thinks to herself, “ the boy already knew more about revenge than I did. What kind of man was he going to grow up into?” This quote foreshadows how Rufus would become more corrupt as he grew to hold more power over the fates of the enslaved people on the plantation, as well as Dana as he gets older. Whenever Rufus gets in trouble, he summons Dana to help him. Dana realized that Rufus was much more powerful and manipulative than she thought, which is demonstrated by her saying that “He had already found the way to control me - by threatening others.” Regardless of how poorly he treats Dana or individuals throughout the novel, he seems to think that he is entitled to her assistance.

 As Rufus gets older, Dana realizes that he is similar to his father in the sense that he uses his power in a corrupt manner and justifies the infliction of violence upon other people. Rufus is the main reason Dana had to experience violence and trauma, yet he never really seems to appreciate the suffering she endures just to keep him alive. What was even more interesting to me is how complicit Dana was with her assigned savior role. At times, it seemed as if she was rushing to travel back in time to help Rufus even though she was aware of the dangers associated with living in that time period. Even when Rufus’ actions hurt her, she often mentioned that she still felt sorry for him.

 It frustrated me to see Dana save Rufus over, and over again after he showed little to no gratitude for the turmoil, she endured just to ensure his survival. It made me wonder why Black women often end up being saviors for people who mistreat them and people who do not appreciate the emotional and physical trauma that they face when trying to help others. Did Dana save Rufus because he was her ancestor or because it was one of the few aspects of her life where she could exert some sort of control over an outcome? Although Dana did end up killing Rufus at the end, it doesn’t really seem as if there was a good ending to the suffering she endured.

 Ultimately, the novel made me think about the impact of slavery on modern day Black Americans. Why does it seem as if Black women feel obligated to save people that harm them? Why do they feel guilty about putting their own well-being first? How much do Black people have to give up in order to protect themselves from the systems that uphold White supremacy? Will there ever be a time in which Blackness is not so heavily tied to trauma?

- Roniche Wilson

[ericdeggans]

A Tale of Two Videos: Why the Images of George Floyd Dying Broke the Nation

Why is the footage of George Floyd dying beneath a policeman’s knee the video that finally broke the nation?

I actually think the story of our current public chaos stems from two videos, brought to the public at nearly the same time, that outline both ends of a system which elevates white, moneyed people at the expense of everyone else -- especially those of us who are darker than blue.

In one, a white woman threatens a black man by telling him she will call the police and lie about him threatening her life. In another, a black man is pinned down by several police officers, pleading for help to breathe, until he dies.

One video shows the nightmare of overpolicing black bodies; losing your life because a store clerk thought you tried to pay with a counterfeit bill. The other shows a white woman well aware of the power that such overpolicing gives people like her when she calls 9-1-1. She knows – and assumes the black man she’s threatening also knows – whose interests will be defended, possibly with lethal force, when officers arrive.

Amy Cooper’s confrontation with Christian Cooper and the death of George Floyd have revealed the full scope of white supremacy non-white people live with every day in America. We have been talking about it for a long time; I wrote a book about it in 2012. But it is a reality many other Americans will not believe, until someone grabs a cellphone at a fateful moment, records it, and shows it to them. Again and again.

Because we have seen these videos before. We saw Philando Castile, a black man filmed in his last moments by his girlfriend, shot by a police officer during a traffic stop. We saw John Crawford, a black man who was going to buy a pellet gun at WalMart, shot to death by police within seconds of their arrival at the store after a 9-1-1 call. We saw 12-year-old Tamir Rice, playing with a toy gun in a park, gunned down within seconds of a police car driving on the scene.  

We saw Levar Jones, a black man who survived being shot by a cop during a traffic stop at a gas station as he was retrieving his license (the reason the cop stopped him? He was driving without a seat belt just before turning into the gas station.)

Eric Garner. Darrien Hunt. Botham Jean. The list of black people hurt or killed by police under suspicious circumstances is long and infuriating. How can a white college student suspected in the murders of two people who inspired a nationwide manhunt get taken into custody without incident, while a black man accused of passing a bad $20 bill winds up dead on a street, killed in broad daylight while cellphone cameras captured it all?

Beyond the frustration of the rising body count, there is frustration at the high price America demands before it will believe there is a problem in the first place.

People of color constantly have to rip open their wounds to prove to white America that racism is killing us. The videos are a blur of bottomless tragedy; a parade of pain where victims are often left screaming at officers: What did I do? Why won’t you help me?

And every time a new video emerges, black America asks that same question of the nation.

The challenge we face is summed up in a statistic from my book. I quoted a September 2011 study which found 46 percent of Americans believe discrimination against white people had become as big a problem as discrimination against racial minorities.

A study published in November 2017 by NPR, the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation and Harvard University’s T.H. Chan School of Public Health came up with different numbers. In that study, 55 percent of white Americans said discrimination against white people exists and 63 percent of white Americans said local police were just as likely to use unnecessary force against white people as non-white people.

This is the question at the heart of so many political and social conflicts in America: The fight over the very existence of systemic racism and prejudice.

It’s one reason conservative-oriented Fox News Channel is often so tone deaf on issues of race. Many of the channel’s pundits resist the idea that systemic racism against people of color is a serious issue. Lots of conservatives have decried George Floyd’s death; but the question of whether that death is a result of a few bad cops acting out or a result of systemic overpolicing and overpunishing people of color is the real dividing line in this crisis.

When Fox News anchor Tucker Carlson interviewed Ted Cruz on the unrest in Minneapolis, both men were careful to note they were horrified by the actions of one officer, while extolling the bravery of most police officers. But what about the notion that police officers work inside a flawed system that can shield bad cops and make it tougher for good officers, regardless of their race, to stop something terrible as it is happening?

This “one bad apple” idea – a notion expertly dismantled by comedian Chris Rock years ago – was also advanced by White House National Security Advisor Robert O’Brien Sunday on Jake Tapper’s CNN show State of the Union.

“I don’t think there’s systemic racism,” O’Brien said during one exchange with Tapper, before praising “99.9 percent” of police officers. “But you know what, there are some bad apples in there.”

Given all the videos we all have seen of black people hurt or killed unfairly by law enforcement in recent years, that sure seems like a lot of bad apples. And again the question rises: How many videos do you need to see, before you consider another possibility? How much pain leads to contemplating another explanation?  

Of course, Donald Trump has only made a volatile situation worse. I think his actions are summed up by a phrase I read or heard someone else say about him years ago: He can’t help saying the quiet part out loud.

So when Trump tweeted about the unrest in Minneapolis on Friday, he called protestors “thugs” – a word sometimes used as demeaning code for unruly black people – and dropped the phrase “when the looting starts, the shooting starts.” That’s a saying traced back to a speech by 1960s-era Miami police chief Walter Headley, often accused of racist policing tactics during the civil rights era.

In another tweet, Trump promised protestors who came close to breaching the White House fence would be “greeted with the most vicious dogs, and most ominous weapons,” invoking another terrible image from the 1960s, when segregationist police would use attack dogs to break up civil rights marches.

The quiet part. Tweeted out loud.

As cable TV news was filled with reports on looting and unrest in cities across the country, I was struck by a tweet from celebrity comic Chelsea Handler, who posted “Something for all white people to think about. Reflect on our privilege and ask ourselves if we’ve ever had to protest for the lives of our white brothers and sisters.”

With all respect, I suggested something a little different. Perhaps white people should find one element in their lives that supports or reflects white supremacy: that Fox News-loving relative, the pal who posts terrible things on Facebook or the boss/coworker who says awful things about non-white people when he thinks they aren’t listening (guess what: we usually know, anyway).

Find one element and do something to address it. Do what you can to dismantle the system where you can.

Beyond that, governmental leaders of all stripes need to learn that platitudes and the “one bad apple” philosophy will not satisfy people who feel like an endangered species in their own country.

Don’t make us rip open another wound to prove something we have been telling you for a long time. Maybe this time, when black people say they need help, you could just listen. And then help.  

[earnestly-endlessly]

hello! do you have any long, slow-burn fics to recommend? thank youuuu 💜

Dear anon, thanks for the request. I love long, slow-burn fics, so this is right up my alley. Some of these are on my favourite cherik fic list (which I am working on at the moment). I hope you enjoy these! 

                                           Slow-burn Cherik Fic Recs

Dark Embrace – blackwingsinthecold

Summary: Mutants are rare and far between. Enough so that much of humanity believes they don’t exist, despite numerous reports throughout the centuries. All that is about to change.

Charles Xavier used to be a criminal psychologist for the FBI and now he’s changed his career path to detective. Thanks to him, the crime rate in New York City has dropped over thirty percent. In large part due to Charles’s telepathic abilities that only a handful of people at the bureau know about.

Everything seems to spiral when a mysterious assassin touches down in the city and Charles can’t get a read on him like everyone else. At the same time, the loft next to Charles’s finally gets a new occupant after two years that provides a certain level of…distraction.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven’s acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

Anarchy in the U.K. – Yahtzee

Summary: “Good God, Erik thought. The Prince of Wales is gay.”

Charles lives in the unceasing glare of the public spotlight, yet keeps his sexual orientation a closely held secret, afraid he could lose his throne and force his deeply troubled younger sister into a role that would crush her. Erik, journalist and world traveler, has been a loner most of his life; he has little patience for closet cases. But a chance meeting in Kenya brings these two opposites together and sets in motion a love affair that will challenge the British monarchy – and their most deeply held beliefs about who they are, and who they should be.

The Marriage Bargain – kianspo

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson’s hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Comment: This story is amazing but is still a WIP as far as I know. Please don’t let that discourage you from reading because it’s amazing.

Sink or Swim – endingthemes

Summary: Erik is a struggling single dad of three kids with a burning hatred for Sebastian Shaw, the man who wronged him years ago. He’s tried to move on with his life, but a run-in with Shaw’s rude, spoiled omega, Charles, drags up old anger.

When Charles ends up in the hospital after an accident, Erik goes to confront him only to find that Charles has amnesia. In the confusion, Charles mistakenly assumes that Erik is his mate.

Erik knows he should clear up the misunderstanding, but how can he pass up this perfect chance for a little revenge?

(An Overboard AU)

White Nights – spicedpiano, tahariel

Summary: Duke Erik Lehnsherr of Ironhold needs an omega to carry on his line, and Earl Charles Xavier of Westchester needs an alpha to give him the political leverage he needs in order to make his sister Queen. An arranged marriage brings them together, but Erik’s lust for war and Charles’ hidden agenda threaten to tear them apart. In the frozen Northlands of Ironhold life is hard and cold, and both Charles and Erik must give up their pretense and see each other as they really are: perfect for each other, if only they’ll acknowledge it.

All the Rest is Rust and Stardust – spicedpiano, tahariel

Summary: Charles Xavier is the world’s preeminent mutant psychologist, called in to consult for the CIA when a raid on a Hellfire Club safehouse discovers a severely abused teenager, Erik Lehnsherr. Taking Erik in soon leads Charles to struggle between his conflicting responsibilities as Erik’s guardian and psychologist, and his desire to give in to the dangerous dynamic that is developing between them.

Tuesday Plays the Piper – Sperare

Summary: In a world where the population is barely holding steady, those of either gender who are capable of bearing children are considered a prized commodity. In all places beyond Westchester, their rights are few–and, with Erik Lehnsherr poised to tear down the gates of the city, even that last haven is on the brink of destruction. But, for Charles Xavier, the consequences of conquest may prove to be more personal than political. No one quite knows why Erik is so set on capturing his old friend and partner in the war against Shaw: Charles is no bearer, and he’s disinclined to aid Erik in firmly establishing mutant supremacy once and for all.

Charles, however, is all too aware of Erik’s reasons. Erik knows things about him that no one else does–things which, if brought to light, would would mean surrendering far more than just a kingdom.

Ritual in Self-Torture – TurtleTotem

Summary: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can’t find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn’t know Erik and Charles are in love.

City by the sea – Black_Betty

Summary: It never bothered Charles that he essentially belonged to someone else from birth. Ever since he could remember he had been told stories about the mysterious prince who was his betrothed, and who one day would be called husband. As he grew older, Charles caught his thoughts drifting away from lessons under strict tutors, his mind slipping into the hazy daydream of his life yet to come…

These ties, how fast they break – ikeracity

Summary: When Brian Xavier died, he left behind his widow and three children: Emma, Charles, and Raven. But having only omega-heirs, Brian’s estate is entailed away to a distant relative, Kurt Marko and his son Cain. Emma was supposed to provide for them by marrying the very wealthy Erik Lernsherr, but two days after the engagement was announced, Emma elopes with her lover Sebastian Shaw. Left penniless and their family’s reputation in shambles, the suitors stop courting and society shuns them. Charles is forced to seek employment as a governess (or the omega equivalent) to support his sister and mother.

Surprisingly, the only one willing to hire Charles is actually Emma’s jilted fiancee, who recently gained custody of his deceased sister and brother-in-law’s daughter, Anya. Erik wants the best for his niece, and recalls Charles to be a clever and accomplished gentleman, though he by no means lets Charles forget that he’s there at his charity, and one wrong move and Charles will be out on the streets.

Charles bonds with Anya, eventually bonding with Erik and then feelings happen until the Markos arrive to claim their inheritance, when Cain falls deeply in lust with Charles. Despite Cain being boorish, crude, and having no respect for social mores, Charles accepts Cain’s proposal. Now he has to deal with jealous!Erik and the humiliation of a fiancee who loudly discusses the scent of his heat in public and privately threatens to fuck him ‘til he bleeds so he can’t even walk without remembering to whom Charles belongs.

Comments: I adore this fic so much. Unfortunately, it’s unfinished but this is an amazing read, especially if you’re looking for a proper slow-burn. Also, this one is on the kinkmeme at LiveJournal, and the format is annoying. Please don’t let that stop you from reading it though! 

#cherik #fic recs #cherik fic recs #slow-burn #asks

[antiracistkaren]

On Grief and White Women

The stages of grief are well known: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

I am always surprised when I start coming out of the other side of grief, because the stages don’t feel like the typical grief cycle for me. Acceptance feels first: yeah, that person died. Or part of my life died, and it is that acceptance that kicks off my grief. And I’m angry, not in denial, but depressed, certainly.

It’s a weird depression though. It doesn’t make me sleepy, it makes me sharp and dangerous. It doesn’t keep me in bed, it keeps me focused on all of the pain. Any new pains added in are reacted to in a huge way: I cannot take any more, so I cause harm to others to force my experience of pain to be shared.

I am finding that my experience of pain--physical and emotional--are very intense. I am unsure if it is because of autism, or if it is because I have spent my life connecting my brain to my body, and notice the physical sensations that are a product of my stress much more readily than the average adult.

My threshold for physical pain is almost nil, in some regard. Especially internalized physical pain. I can deal with a cut, sometimes not feel it like others, but any internal discomfort radiates out from my body. It forces me to collapse mentally, I can’t make coherent thoughts from it, and due to that incoherence, I am then unable to figure out or communicate effectively about/around my pain.

So I had a surgery, and then I had a death in the family. Was it sudden? No, the person had been diagnosed with cancer in 2018. However, the speed with which she declined was shocking. I have an email written from her--a response from my own email where I poured out all of the love I had in my body for her--stating she felt really good, and didn’t think that she would be passing any time soon. She passed less than 10 days later.

Now I am about a month out from her death, and I am just starting to see how dark my world was for a long time. How angry I was that she didn’t fully accept my love, how angry I am for not having pushed to have my partner at her bedside sooner, how angry I am at myself for having a surgery which made it hard for my partner to get to her quickly and without concern for my welfare. I carried it all willingly, for a while. It was a welcome distraction from study. An excuse to dip into poor habits that brought out the worst of my anxiety. It was a reason to bomb the LSAT (unconfirmed at this moment, but I’m a catastrophizer), to not be able to focus.

I’m not denying myself those feelings and that time, but I couldn’t even see it until I started to see some sunlight again. Until I could start to receive some of the love my friends had been desperately throwing my way, until I could grab on to some of these lifelines to save myself.

All this to say: it makes me think about white women, a lot.

I learned in undergrad, when I was getting my PoliSci degree, that it is impossible to see the depth and breadth of oppression when you’re still in it or under it. On TikTok this week, white women have been handed a lot of flack for their inability to recognize that although they are oppressed by the patriarchy, they are not the most oppressed people, and their oppression (though difficult) is not the same as the oppression put on Black folks, and especially anyone who is LGBTQ, Disabled, or AFAB and also Black. That’s intersectionality, and white women suck at it.

Much like I sucked at seeing how my own sadness and oppressive grief was causing me to act out in ways that vented some of the physical and emotional pain, I think white women struggle in the same way. When you don’t feel pain, (and although women in general are abused, Black women are 3x more likely to be murdered than white women, more likely to be abused than white women) your introduction to it feels overwhelming.

However, it’s categorically wrong to try to compare oppression for oppression. It’s not a zero-sum game. I think of oppression like a ladder: white cis straight able-bodied christian men are at the top, with zero oppression and a society built around them. They have no notion of oppression, and mistake any pain they feel as systemic oppression and tantamount to the pain that others feel under the boot heel of white supremacy and patriarchy.

Everyone standing under them on the ladder know that those at the top of the ladder are not oppressed, and are aware that those on top have no idea.

White cis straight abled bodied christian women are just one rung below. Woke liberal white women start to wake up to their own oppression and fail to look down. They only look up at the men who are standing on their shoulders keeping them down, and have not a care for the myriad of people below them on the ladder. They can’t even conceive of a person who is LGBTQ, homeless, disabled, BIPOC, and a sexworker as someone who even exists, but they do.

When white women start to attempt to equate their unhappiness with oppression, it is tone deaf and very similar, if not exactly the same, as when a white man feels pain and starts screaming oppression.

Yes, we are oppressed by the patriarchy... but so are men. Yes, we are more likely to be murdered by a partner than a man, but Black women are 3x more likely than we are to be murdered by a partner or family member. Fight for women’s rights, yes, but not White women’s rights. Oppression has an additive effect: that’s what intersectionality is. Oppression has layers, and the more oppressed you are, the harder it is to find you in American Society, the more your voice is buried. The more you’re erased from consideration.

White women, if they are to participate in the liberation of all women or in smashing the patriarchy, have to take a long hard look at themselves, the ways they have upheld the patriarchy when it suits them, and the ways they benefit from specifically white patriarchy in their own lives.

Half-woke white women are dangerous allies. They scream “me too!” when Black women or Indigenous women start talking about their struggles, often over those women who are trying to share their harder, deeper, and more intense experiences. Half-woke white women who fly the banner of ally are dangerous to BIPOC. They’re the ones who will scream that a Black man is threatening because he is a man, without a care to the racism that lives in their minds alongside their fear of men.

And most of all, most white women--especially those are are not close to being awake--have no idea what the depth of oppression feels like. In order to even come to the table with BIPOC, it is our job to examine our own grief, our own mistakes, our own anger and work on that before we step out trying to lend a hand in the community. Getting triggered as a white woman can get a person of color killed in America. Only when a white woman has done her research, committed herself completely to uplifting the voices of women of color--over her own most of the time--can she really start to be effective.

Only when the healing is mostly done can we start to see the overall oppression. Until then, we are a double-edged sword that will swing back on BIPOC every time, to their detriment.

#socialjustice #whitewomen #blm #actuallyautistic #oppression

[themyskira]

Lockdown recs - Superman Smashes the Klan

Superman Smashes the Klan is the best Superman comic I’ve read in a long time. Gene Luen Yang and Gurihiru’s reimagining of the 1946 Adventures of Superman radio serial “Clan of the Fiery Cross” is a truly beautiful, heartfelt book.

It follows the parallel stories of Clark Kent, early in his career as Superman, unsure of his heritage and hesitant about embracing his full power; and Roberta Lee, a Chinese American girl who has recently moved to suburban Metropolis with her family and is struggling to fit in.

Many comic writers have touched on the idea of Superman as a refugee and immigrant, but none have explored it quite so brilliantly as Yang does here, digging into the pressures both Clark and Roberta feel to assimilate, how hyperaware they are of the parts of themselves that might be deemed alien and threatening, how they hold themselves in for fear of standing out in the wrong way and being rejected for it.  Ultimately, it’s through helping each other to embrace their differences that Clark and Roberta are able to stop the white supremacists who are terrorising the Lees’ neighbourhood.

The original serial was created in the midst of a 1940s resurgence of the KKK, written with the express intent of stripping away the Klan’s mystique and showing them to be the pathetic slime that they were. Yang, too, is keenly aware of the environment in which he’s writing: the book’s rebuke of the fictionalised 1940s Klan is written with an eye towards modern white supremacy, and its discussion of racism both overt and covert is thoughtful and layered.

Gurihiru’s artwork is, as always, a delight, dynamic and expressive and vibrant.

And it’s a book suffused with a deep love of Superman, his history and his creators, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.  The way in which Yang pays tribute to one of the character’s real-world inspirations — the brightly-costumed circus strongman, and in particular the “Superman of the Ages” Zishe Breitbart — is particularly poignant.  On every level, this comic is just wonderful.

#recs #lockdown recs #comics talk

[africanization101]

I'm wondering your thoughts on the idea that interracial porn is a form of "hero worship" that brings us back to an earlier, more primitive lifestyle. In my view, earlier in time strong alpha males would take the females of the tribe and fuck them. In many cases, beta males and lesser males would simply have to endure watching the alphas go to work. I'm sure they ended up enjoying it too! To me, IR porn is a throwback and reinforcement of this idea. What do you think?

If by “earlier in time”, you mean the neolithic/stone age era, your description of what happened is sort of true, but misses a key point about the interracial fascination. As far as I know, the early humans of that era lived in groups without fixed monogamous relationships; loosely polyamorous communities, if you will. Physical attraction being what it is, I’m sure some members of those groups had more sexual success than others. And that meant those other group members spent more time sitting in the corner touching themselves, I presume.

But I don’t think they had an understanding of how pregnancy worked in detail and that they were jerking it to another guy breeding the females of the group, nor did they have the complex social hierarchies that would make for great cuckold humiliation. So I doubt they “endured” anything. It was just normal that some men had more frequent sex than others and there wasn’t any shame in not being one of them.

What fascinates white men about interracial porn today is not just the fact that some other guy is having sex with a woman, but that it’s a Black man and he is quite frequently having rough and passionate sex with a white woman who looks like she just stepped out of some viking village. Don’t think the people behind Blacked aren’t keenly aware of those aesthetics; they know how to trigger your anxieties and turn you on.

Unlike the cavemen of yesteryear, we associate a lot more psychological and cultural information with a scene like the one above. First of all, it consciously excludes you, the white male, center of the world, and that’s both infuriating and tantalizing to you. Her longing gaze also informs you that she’s clearly into this outrageous interracial dalliance, which triggers your sexual jealousy and tickles your humiliation bone. You’re also aware that this kind of romance produces mixed children, whom society parses as Black–and you as a white man are keenly aware that this threatens white supremacy and thus your status in the world, which is a very abstract source of arousal, but arousal nonetheless.

So it’s precisely your existence as a modern person in 2019 with all these centuries of race relations baggage attached to you that makes you love this aesthetic so much. If you invented time travel to show this picture to a caveman, he would probably mostly be confused because depending on where he lived, he wouldn’t know that either white or Black people or both even existed. Maybe some mild arousal would follow the confusion, but nothing like you’re experiencing.

Even your more recent ancestors wouldn’t be able to relate to you in this matter, given that they would have been mostly outraged by that kind of scene. However, unlike your racist forebears who were too uptight to give in to their interracial arousal, you’re progressive or just submissive enough to accept it. And that’s just great. That’s you doing your part to aid the Africanization of white society and aren’t you quite proud of yourself for that?

[ecolivia]

Let’s Eco-face-it:White Supremacists Pose a Grave Threat to Climate Justice

Klein begins her essay “The Specter of Ecofacism” by setting a vivid and inspiring scene: a climate strike organized by teenagers in New Zealand. She includes quotes from organizers and attendees describing the passion and righteous motivation of everyone there. Then, much in the way the rally was interrupted, Klein abruptly contrasts the rally with a horrific mass shooting that took place at a mosque blocks away. From this point, Klein makes the case that both events were “mirror opposite reactions to some of the same historical forces.” The Christchurch killer identified himself as an “ethno-nationalist eco-facist.” Klein warns that the trend of ecofacist activity could continue because the solution to climate change requires redistribution of wealth, sharing of resources, and payment of reparations to those affected. None of these ideas are compatible with capitalism and they are especially abhorrent to right wing conservatives. Klein reiterates her point from “The Right is Right:” that conservatives are aware of climate change and afraid of its threat to their power and way of life, causing them to discredit climate change as a socialist conspiracy. In the six years since Klein published “The Right is Right,” though, denial has become (and will continue to become) less and less feasible. Klein predicts that as it becomes impossible to deny the reality of climate change, former deniers will shift towards climate barbarism. The countries that have contributed most to the climate crisis will not only face the fewest consequences but also play an active role in exacerbating the consequences for the rest of the world by ignoring their moral obligations. Klein supports this claim by citing the harsh laws, hostile attitudes, and inhumane conditions that immigrants to the United States, the European Union, Australia, and Canada all face. Finally, Klein concludes her essay by returning to her opening subject. She cites a journalist’s report that the Christchurch killer’s manifesto contained similar language to that of Donald Trump and other racist powerful leaders of the countries doing the most harm to the planet. Readers are left with the ominous implication that the far-reaching political discourse surrounding climate change in America and the rest of the Anglosphere has the potential to radicalize and mobilize more climate terrorists.

Overall, I agree with Klein’s assertion that first world conservatives have moved past denying the reality of climate change and are now using it to craft a malicious and irresponsible  “us versus them” narrative. Another of Klein’s pieces, “The Right Is Right,” was written six years ago and this essay seems to pick up from where the earlier one left off. In “The Right Is Right,” Klein claims that conservatives denied and ridiculed climate change because they were aware that acknowledging it would threaten their power. Now, as it becomes less and less possible to call climate change a socialist hoax, the right wing’s rhetoric has shifted to one of self defense, white supremacy, greed, and neglect of moral duty. This shift can be seen in the manifestos of the most extreme embodiments of these ideologies. The mass shooter at the Norwegian summer camp in 2011 (who the New Zealand shooter referenced as an inspiration) was reacting to “Environmental Communism,” but by 2018 the Christchurch killer in New Zealand was calling himself an “ethno-nationalist-eco-facist.” Even though Klein traces a clear path of development between the two, these terrorist attacks still feel only vaguely connected to climate change. I agree that the perpetrators of ecological destruction are neglecting their moral duty to those most affected. But I also think the reasoning the Anglosphere uses to justify their aggression toward immigrants stems from many sources-racism, intolerance of other religions, etc. Climate refugees will certainly be met with hostility, but this hostility towards anyone who is not a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant has a history long predating the climate crisis. Similarly, extremists have been influenced by racism and xenophobia for decades. The ecofacism Klein alerts her readers to is merely a new name or new rationalization for the violence committed by white supremecists for hundreds of years. This is not to say that I disagree with Klein’s condemnation of climate barbarism. America’s (and many other white wealthy carbon emitting nations’) policies and treatment regarding immigrants is despicable and cruel. Unfortunately, as climate change forces people to migrate, these attitudes will only become more vicious and victims will suffer more. Of course we need to change this way of thinking. Of course we need to treat the victims of the climate crisis humanely and compassionately and fairly. Of course we need to hold the corporations and governments responsible for the vast majority of climate change accountable. However, I do not find these causes to be as intertwined as Klein purports.

Klein calls for an inclusive Green New Deal, but lays out no plan for how it can be brought about. What concrete steps can individuals take to make meaningful change?

Word Count: 815

[rushmanatalie]

falling like the stars || ch. 3

Rating: E

Summary:  Natasha remains haunted by demons from her past, but Steve is there to remind her that she’s not alone.

Notes:  So it’s been *checks watch* a LONG time since my last update, but hopefully the slight fluff, smut, and angst make up for it? Once again, thanks for reading. Feel free to leave comments on things you want to see in the future :)

Read on Ao3

Tchaikovsky plays softly through her headphones. A simple four four count, soft violins, and a touch of piano. Her feet sting with blisters underneath the satin shoes, her muscles aching with every leap and turn, but she loves every second of this. 

If Natasha ever truly had a permanent home in her life, it would be here: somewhere between the music and the movement, where agony meets beauty and art is made in the blood shed when she steps over that edge.

The music ends as softly as it began and she chases her fatigue with a swig of rum, relishing the burn as she’s learned to accept all forms of pain. 

She’s used to it by now: all the hurt in her life, and she has the Red Room to thank for that. They taught her to think that it was all she could ever have, that it was all she was worth. So when she had finally found her family, when she had found Steve, that warmth, acceptance, and dare she say, love, felt completely foreign.

Undeserved.

The road to redemption isn’t easy. Every time she takes a step forward, it’s as if there’s a force pushing her back, and rarely does she find herself winning the battle.

Natasha catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and takes another swift sip of alcohol before throwing the flask aside. Pulling the headphones that hung around her neck over her ears, she allows the music to swallow her thoughts, her eyes fluttering shut as she gets a little more lost in the melody of the strings. When she opens her eyes, her body follows in movement with a perfect, practiced fluidity.

“Again!” Madame B shouts from the corner of the room. 

One of twenty-eight young ballerinas with the Bolshoi—

The memory comes so suddenly, Natasha falters on her turn.

“Again!” A gun goes off. The gun in her hand, smoking as she points it at a target. 

The training is hard—

Head pounding, heart racing, her legs nearly give out beneath her.

“Again!” She holds a knife to the throat of the girl who sleeps beside her. She’ll make her death quick, but it wouldn’t be painless. The blade runs against her neck with an awfully guttural scream. 

But the glory of the soviet culture—

Her fist smashes into the mirror. When her hand comes away from the glass, it’s slick with blood as broken shards cut into her skin. She pulls a piece of glass out from between her knuckles and watches the redness flow down her wrist. 

The glory of the soviet supremacy—

The sound of her heart hammering behind her ribcage fills her ears until the thumping is so loud it hurts. She’s suddenly aware of the way she struggles for every breath, gasping for air. Everything blurs, and before she can catch herself, she’s falling to the floor. Natasha barely registers the front door opening before her vision goes black. The last thing she hears before she finally drifts is Rhodey shouting her name.

—————————

The drive home seemed longer than the forty minutes it took, but Steve manages to get back to the Avengers facility with his motorcycle in one piece. 

Three years ago, Steve never called the place home. He still doesn’t, not the way Natasha does, and sometimes it pains him that this is it for her. 

He finds her in her room, or what’s become their room. Rhodey stands by the door, his back against the wall as he rests a concerned glance at Natasha, who lies curled up on the bed, asleep. Steve quickly notices the bandages wrapped around her right hand, blood seeping through the gauze around her knuckles.

He turns to Rhodey, careful to keep his voice down. “What happened?”

Rhodey shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I was coming by to drop something off and I found her in the studio. She just...collapsed. Think she hit the mirror.” He sighs, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. “I’ve seen Tony go through similar episodes—PTSD, anxiety, addiction—I’m worried about her, Steve. Thanos hurt everyone, but Nat…”

“I know.” The words left unsaid hung heavily in the air.

Ever since the Battle of New York, the Avengers had become Natasha’s family. She never admitted it out loud, but Steve could see how content she was around them: the way her shoulders would soften, her walls seemingly down. And when the Sokovia accords had broken the team, she had watched it fall apart and tried desperately to put the pieces back together.

Until Thanos ripped away everything that remained.

Maybe that’s why even now she clings to the job, to the work. It’s all she has left.

“I can stay to keep an eye on her tonight.” Rhodey offers softly. The suggestion almost comes as a surprise to Steve, and he’s suddenly reminded of the fact that no one knows. No one knows about them.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s okay, I’ll stay. Thanks Rhodey.”

Rhodey shoots him a somewhat knowing look, a sad smile on his lips. Before he leaves, he puts a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You take care, Steve.” Take care of her.

Rhodey’s footsteps are still echoing down the hall when Steve turns his attention to Natasha. Her fiery red hair is splayed over the white pillows in soft waves, a few tendrils falling over and framing her fame. His old, worn cotton tee almost swallows her small frame, but it’s one of his favorite looks on her. As he walks to her side, he can’t help but notice how peaceful she looks like this, caught in a dreamless sleep, her chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. It’s almost out of a force of habit that he pulls the comforter over her shoulder, gently enough to not wake her, but her light hum of satisfaction lets him know she knows he’s there. 

They’ve been like this for two years now. Whatever this is. For Steve, it’s hard not to want to define it. After all, he came from an age where people were quick to “go steady” and eager to settle down. And for a while, he had wanted that with Peggy.

But that was before.

Before the war.

Before what seemed like the end of the world.

Before Natasha.

With the ice, HYDRA, and Thanos, Steve hasn’t much luck with love, but he’s had enough experience to realize that whatever this is between himself and Natasha, it might be the closest thing to love he’s ever had. Their bond, connection, relationship? It goes beyond romantic love or lust. To him, she’s a partner: the one person whose loyalty never falters, who’s always there, and perhaps the only constant left in his life, and he clings onto it with all of his stubbornness, all of his hope. And despite everything they’ve been through, everything he’s been through, sometimes he catches himself wondering if it was all fate’s cruel way of bringing them together.

“Steve?” Natasha’s green eyes flutter open in a haze of sleep. 

“Hey.” He kneels down next to the bed, pulls her bandaged hand to his lips, and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I’m here.”

“Where’s Rhodey?” 

Steve almost smiles because it’s so damn her to worry about other people first. “He went home.” There’s a small beat as they both avoid the topic of what happened before.

“What time is it?” Her brows furrow with the question.

“Six. You hungry?”

She shakes her head. 

“Okay. I’ll spare you the tragedy of me cooking dinner, then.” He’s aware that it’s a half-assed remark on his own culinary skills, but it wins him a smile.

“Come to bed?” It isn’t so much of a question as it is a request, a plea, and he obliges, kicking his shoes off before climbing under the covers next to her.

Natasha tucks herself into Steve’s chest and he brushes his nose against the crown of her hair. The lavender scent of her shampoo has become unknowingly familiar over the years and he finds it somewhat soothing now. He traces a finger down a strand of hair, caressing her jawline. They lay in the peace and comfort of each other's breaths for a moment, relishing in the warmth until he breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a second of deliberation, but she responds nevertheless, a soft breath against his chest. “Me too.” 

“Don’t be.” Steve tips her chin up to meet her eyes and it’s all there: years of pain and fear, hundreds of unanswered questions, a million unnecessary apologies, welling up in tears that threaten to fall. He knows she’s not ready to put it in words, not yet, but he knows he’ll be there to listen when she does.

For now, that’s enough.

And all he can do is kiss her. At first, it’s sweet, slow, delicate, his lips barely ghosting over hers. But the contact is apparently exactly what she needs because the next thing he knows, her lips are crashing into his and it’s messy, all teeth and tongue, but he lets her take and take and take.

With a single push on his shoulders, she flips them around so that he’s pinned to the bed while she straddles his growing hardness between her legs, not bothering to suppress a heady moan at the much needed friction. Her hands are deft, desperate, as she reaches down to undo his jeans, but before she can pull out his length, he grabs her by the wrist to stop her.

“Natasha.” They’re going too fast. He usually wants to take his time with her, only she has other plans in mind. 

Gently peeling his hand from her wrist, she guides his fingers down to the ache between her thighs. His throat catches when he feels her wetness through the thin fabric of her underwear. “I just need you inside me.” She leans down to kiss his jawline. “Please.” Her voice is thick with wanting, so he lets her have him. All of him.

Her underwear comes off in a moment no longer than their lips leave eachothers’ for breath. This time he doesn’t stop her when she reaches for his length and slips it inside her heat with a lewd moan. She’s tighter than usual without the foreplay, but the way her face contorts in pleasure gives him confirmation that she enjoys the stretch. His hands move to her waist as she rides him, his hips rising to meet hers as she sets an unrelenting pace. It’s crude, the way their skin sounds against each other, the smell of sex in the room, but it just brings him closer and closer to the edge. He knows she’s nearly there too, so he drops a hand to her clit and watches as she comes apart seconds later, a string of Russian curses on her lips. His own release follows closely and she holds him tighter as he spills inside her.

They lay spent, still clothed, with her collapsed over him, face buried in the crook of his neck, for what seems like eternity. As their breaths even out, she rolls over to his side, pulling the blanket to her chest.

Just before Steve is about to drift off to sleep, he feels her lips murmur against his arm. 

“Today was Lila’s birthday.”

He opens his eyes. She’s staring off into the corner of the room, sadness lurking through the greens of her irises. 

“She would’ve been sixteen.” Natasha pauses at the thought, but he doesn’t speak. He just listens. “And I just can’t shake the thought of him being alone.”

A few months after Thanos took his family, Clint had gone off the map. No phone calls. No emails. Not a single word. They checked everything. Bank statements. Search histories. Print records. License numbers. But the only clues to his whereabouts were the brutally dismembered bodies he left in his trail.

Steve remembers the first time they found it: the connection between the massacres. All the victims had been gangs, mobs, and human trafficking organizations, the kind the Avengers would have taken down anyway, except the hooded katana-bearing vigilante didn’t seem to care about making a mess and showing no mercy.

Natasha drank herself to sleep that night.

It hurts him to see her like this, but he knows not to make promises. He can’t guarantee they’ll find Clint. Can’t guarantee if they’ll want to. So he says the one thing he knows is certain. 

“He’s never really alone. Not while we’re still here.”

The words linger in the air, and he watches her take it in as the lines between her brows unfurl.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I guess no one ever really is.”

#my writing #ficrec #romanogers #stevenat #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #fanfiction #romanogers fanfic #marvel

[loudlytransparenttrash]

This Week Within Our Colleges: Part 22

Students at George Mason University spent days protesting the hiring of Brett Kavanaugh as a visiting law professor at GMU’s Law School. Some students complained to campus leaders, telling them students’ mental health is threatened by the Kavanaugh hire, despite the Law School being located 3,500 miles away from the university. “This decision has really impacted me negatively. It is affecting my mental health knowing that an abuser will be part of our faculty.” Another female student gave similar comments to the board, “As someone who has survived sexual assault three times I do not feel comfortable with someone who has sexual assault allegations like walking on campus.” A third female student told the board, “we are fighting to eradicate sexual violence on this campus. But the hiring of Kavanaugh threatens the mental well being of all survivors on this campus.” The next day, students marched around campus chanting “kick Kavanaugh off campus” and holding “cancel Kavanaugh” signs while some stuck blue tape over their mouths.

University of Colorado Denver brought back a 2016 course, “Problematizing Whiteness: Educating for Racial Justice.” Students will learn “the plight of people of color and how white people are complicit.” The course details explains, “The study of whiteness has always sought to challenge racism, racial privilege, white supremacy, and colorblind racism. However, to overindulge in the spectacle of ‘white racial epiphanies’ overlooks the ongoing work whites must do to participate in racial justice. Beyond the feel-good of momentary White racial awareness lurk enormous concerns about how to continually examine Whiteness in order to uphold antiracism, moreover the fruition of a more racially just society.” It also, understandably, tells students that recording any of the lecture is forbidden.

A State University of New York College at Old Westbury professor wrote an article which he states it makes him happy when he sees poor white people on the street begging for food and often wonders how hard he should kick them in the head. “White people begging us for food feels like justice. It feels like Afro-Futurism after America falls. It feels like a Black Nationalist wet dream. It has the feels I rarely feel, a hunger for historical vengeance satisfied so well I rub my belly.” White people, he says, are a Rorschach test: “I see in them the history of colonization, slavery and mass incarceration that makes their begging Black people for money ironic - if not insulting. You wasted your whiteness! Why should we give to you?” The professor admits that this isn’t a “good look,” however, when he thinks about Martin Luther King Jr.’s “be thy best self” and “show compassion to those who spite you,” he retorts “go f**k another secretary Martin!” 

A University of Utah student reported her business professor to campus administrators for assigning too many books written by male economists and philosophers. “Many of these figures are of great importance. But at what cost do we continue to plant the seed of sexism in the minds of individuals? But especially in a course and college that is already deemed to be a ‘boys club,’ continuing those teachings, and those teachings being delivered by a professor of his character is dangerous.” The student also took issue in her bias report about a joke the professor made about how, “while all our jobs will be taken by robots,” he will be “retired living in Tahiti surrounded by 40-45 beautiful women feeding him grapes.” The student complained, “Not only did the professor willingly and openly objectify women, but he also objectified women of color. Women of another culture.”

University of Texas at Austin freshmen were threatened to be doxed if they considered joining the Young Conservatives of Texas or Turning Point USA. “Hey #UT23! Do you wanna be famous? If you join YCT or Turning Point USA, you just might be. Your name and more could end up on an article like one of these,” the tweet said, linking to previous doxing posts of conservative students at the school. “So be sure to make smart choices at #UTOrientation.” They went on to encourage other students, “if you begin to spot the young racists trying to join YCT or TPUSA, send us a tip so we can keep our reports up to date.” The anarchist student network have already released extensive personal information of pro-Brett Kavanaugh demonstrators at UT Austin, including their names, photos and contact information. It went so far as to post some of the phone numbers of the employers of students and urged them to be fired.

Webster University offered its white faculty and staff a chance to “witness their whiteness” in a program that seeks to eliminate racism. According to the event description, Witnessing Whiteness is about “white people voluntarily coming together to do work around racism in a supportive, non-threatening setting.” It’s also about “learning to speak about race and racism, exploring white privilege, and practicing allying with sisters and brothers of color.” White attendees also were taught how to commit to positive change in their lives, workplace and region and understand and practice interrupting racism and developing skills to act as agents of change.

University of North Georgia hosted several "safe zone trainings" to make the school a “safer, more inclusive environment for members of the LGBTQ+ community.” Students were given handouts which featured a ‘gender unicorn’ cartoon and encouraged attendees to use “LGBTQ-Inclusive Language” by giving them a list of “Dos and Don'ts.” They asked students to not use words such as “mailman” and “ladies and gentlemen” or phrases such as “both genders” and “opposite sexes,” instead suggesting that they use “all genders.” Attendees were also shown a YouTube video from Franchesca Ramsey called “5 Tips For Being An Ally,” which instructed them to understand their privilege.

Middlebury College were forced to soothe upset and angry students after Polish conservative scholar and politician Ryszard Legutko was invited to speak on campus about totalitarian temptations within liberal democracies. Ironically, the school canceled the lecture just hours beforehand after some students complained, then later held a reflection meeting with the student protestors, where administrators told them, “I hear you, and you should be outraged, and we should acknowledge that and apologize, because that’s the least we can do right now, because we can’t make it right in the moment. But in the future we will do everything we can to make it right.” As the safe space meeting was going on, unbeknown to the protesters, a political science professor allowed Legutko to be ushered into his classroom and address students in secrecy. 

At University of Texas at Austin, a pro-life speaker’s event was disrupted after someone set off a smoke bomb, triggering the building’s fire alarm and forcing attendees to be evacuated. The event went forward in another building.

A Canadian University of New Brunswick professor said he is in favor of taking a variety of actions against “white supremacists” who speak on campus, including publicly shaming them, firing them from their jobs and driving them from restaurants. What’s concerning about this is the professor’s definition of white supremacists. He said the "Make America Great Again" hats will carry the same shame as the uniforms worn by the Ku Klux Klan. “Every time I watch a documentary about the civil rights movement and all the hateful violence they faced, I wonder what the white people who were doing those horrible things were thinking... We are living in an era with Donald Trump and the Republican Party and the right-wing movement in America where things of similar gravity are happening. The entire sentiment of 'Make America Great Again' implies that there was a time when America was great and it's not any longer... America for Trump and his supporters is no longer great because black people have too many rights or there are too many women in the workplace."

A City University of New York professor was interviewed on radio where she stated the “ideology of racialized terrorism” is the responsibility of every white person in the United States. She criticized America for building "mental health hospital beds for white home-grown terrorists, but concentration camps and high-level security prisons for Black, and Black and Brown immigrants.” She goes on to wonder why we pay tribute every September 11 to “the pillars of American capitalism,” but never to “the young Black and Brown” victims. She also claims she's suffered in capitalist America after being designated a “other, non-white" on her arrival into the country and "white America has damned this democracy into the hands of white terrorists.” 

A University of Arizona student live-streamed herself on Facebook harassing two Border Patrol agents who were giving a lecture to Criminal Justice students. The female student stood near the door of the room, zooming in on the officers repeatedly while calling them murderers and saying they were an extension of the KKK on campus. “They allow murderers to be on campus where I pay to be here. Murderers!” In the second part of the video, the student follows the Border Patrol agents to their vehicle, repeating the phrase “Murder Patrol!” and also yelling at them in Spanish. At the end of the video, she films a protest apparently against the appearance of the officers. The student also launched into a rant about the “white woman” who attempted to talk to her. 

Gonzaga University’s Women and Gender Studies and Native American Studies departments hosted a screening and discussion about Disney’s film, Moana, titled, "Is Moana about rape?" According to the flyer, the professor behind the lesson discussed how Western patriarchy and masculinity attack “the feminine,” indigenous cultures, and the environment and nature. “Layne will ultimately also suggest that the film is Neocolonialist. It excuses Western culture from oppressing women, degrading the environment and erasing/murdering indigenous people,” the flyer says. It also came with a trigger warning, stating that racism, sexual assault, genocide and colonialism will be addressed.

Tufts University decided to remove a historical mural after students complained that the paintings depicting only white people eroded the school’s commitment to diversity and inclusion. The Alumnae Lounge mural, which depicts “the great names of men” of the school’s history, does not include “a single image of a person of color" which has lead students to complain that “they don’t want to receive awards in Alumnae Lounge because they feel excluded.” Tufts Senior Vice President said. “We want to attract a diversity of people to the university. But no less important, when they arrive, we want them to feel they belong here.” Tufts Africana Center Director applauded the decision, saying “the murals create an unwelcoming space for current students of color.”

Also at Gozaga University, an assistant professor wrote an op-ed where he blasted one of his white law students and accused him of deliberate “racial antagonism” because the student wore a MAGA hat to class. Without naming the student, the assistant professor wrote, “From my perspective as a black man living in the increasingly polarized political climate that is America, MAGA is an undeniable symbol of white supremacy and hatred toward certain nonwhite groups. I was unsure whether the student was directing a hateful message toward me or if he merely lacked decorum and was oblivious to how his hat might be interpreted by his black law professor. I presumed it was the former. As the student sat there directly in front of me, his shiny red MAGA hat was like a siren spewing derogatory racial obscenities at me for the duration of the one hour and fifteen-minute class. As my blood boiled inwardly, I jokingly told the student, ‘I like your hat.’ Without missing a beat, the student mockingly grinned from ear to ear and said, ‘Thank you.’” The professor concluded by arguing that “‘making America great again’ suggests a return to the days when women and people of color were denied access to these very institutions.”

A George Mason University assistant professor took to Twitter to ask white parents across America: “Why are you producing so many young white male terrorists?” “What is going on in your households? How involved are you with your sons? Are you missing signs their racism is filtering out of commonplace household racism into ‘I want to murder strangers’ racism?” She followed up with a reply to the white parents declaring their devotion to making sure their child isn’t a white terrorist, “I appreciate the testimonials of white parents doing the work of raising anti racist children. You give me a bit of hope.” 

The University of Michigan revamped its already transgender-friendly student health plan to include more services on top of sex-change operations. The school already covers mastectomies, genital surgeries, hormone therapy and counseling for transgender students. These plans now also accommodate “facial feminization surgeries,” as well as facial hair removal and “Adam’s apple reduction.” Another addition is “fertility preservation” for transgender students whose transition efforts result in infertility.

A Massachusetts school superintendent told a community audience that white people in our “systematically corrupt system that oppresses black individuals” need to “rewire their brains” in order to overcome their biases. The Pittsfield Public Schools chief (who is white) also blasted Trump, blaming the president's “daily hate” for the rise in racism and hatred on a national level. The event was planned to announce the implementation of African American history courses in local high schools. The course will delve into African American oppression and plans on stopping the normalization of seeing “black people being beaten on TV.” A teacher who worked on the curricula design at the schools said her eyes had been opened after participating in implicit bias training and reading the book "Waking Up White." 

Hofstra University students protested a statue of Thomas Jefferson at an annual event, titled “Jefferson Has Gotta Go!” which was co-organized by local Planned Parenthood staff. For the past few years, students have defaced the statue with “DECOLONIZE” and “Black Lives Matter” in an attempt to pressure the university president to join the long list of schools removing or covering up “traumatizing” statues and artwork. So far, the statue remains. 

An academic conference in Toronto focused on “Critical Becky Studies,” with multiple professors and faculty from American universities participating. “This session aims to characterize ‘Becky,’ a term specific to white women who engage whiteness, often in gendered ways,” the session description states. “Explorations of Becky and implications of educational practice from a variety of perspectives and contexts will illuminate the dynamics of power, privilege, and oppression tied to the gendered and raced mechanisms of whiteness enacted by Becky,” says the session description. Another paper discussed in the panel was titled “Border Becky: Exploring White Women's Emotionality, Ignorance, and Investment in Whiteness.” According to the description, the paper focuses on white women who must undergo a battle in order to extract themselves “from the white supremacist alliance.” 

At University of South Dakota, a planned ‘Hawaiian Day’ themed event had to be changed to ‘Beach Day,’ due to a cultural appropriation complaint from a single student. The student group planning the party were told to make the name change and to ban handing out leis as it violates the school's policy on inclusiveness. The group posted, “It was determined that these (leis) are culturally insensitive by the administration after doing research based off of the essay written by the initial complainant.” 

Williams College student activists demanded the Board of Trustees "commit to a complete process of reparation and reconciliation to indigenous peoples." The open letter states, “Many junior faculty of color are considering medical leave due to the unmitigating stress of living in an unsupportive and callous environment and to avoid the emotional detriment of existing here.” The students then demanded a “complete process of reparation and reconciliation” to the indigenous peoples, “approve a request of $34,000 as well as the increase of $15,000 additional funding for incoming Minority Coalition groups.” ”Offer free weekend shuttles for faculty and staff" and provide separate housing for black and queer students, as well as for all other marginalized groups. Lastly, “hire more therapists, especially trans and racial minority therapists.”

Dominican University in California has added a new major, wholly focused on social justice. The school created the major after a “growing number” of students became interested in social justice “careers,” according to the university news release. Students who major in social justice will have the chance to “examine the links between well-being, social justice, and diverse worldviews.” Additionally, students will “analyze social injustices and work toward positive social change.”

The State University of New York-Plattsburgh offered students the chance to de-stress with therapy donkeys during their Wellness Fair. 

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