#rayvanfox

[leavesdancing]

Art for Treason, Traitors, and Treachery by Kryptaria and Rayvanfox

[ao3love]

why i love: Critical Feline Mass by @kryptaria &  @zooeyscigar

This fic is an absolute classic in the fandom, as far as I’m aware. Since it has been around for such a (relatively) long time (it was posted May 2014), it also works to compare the way stucky fanfic has developed over that time, in what fandom accepts and wants and how certain characters are conceptualised. I finally got around to reading it yesterday (September 20, 2016). And it helped to actually define for myself why I (and possibly the fandom at large) love modern AUs so much for this particular pairing.

There is not a whole lot of plot to this story. Bucky is done with the war, he’s looking for a place to live, and Sam suggests Steve. Bucky is flirty and Steve is a looming character (to him) initially and shenanigans ensue. Much fluff and some mild smut, all good stuff. This is a general pattern for most modern AUs (there are definitely many exceptions as well). Canon-compliant fics, especially those set before or during the war, tend to be lower on the fluff factor (which like. the Great Depression and homophobia and WWII and all, it makes sense there is more of a permeating atmosphere of tragedy).

So I guess modern AUs work as a refuge for that pain, a way to give Steve and Bucky the happier stories and endings they deserve. But reading Critical Feline Mass I finally managed to articulate for myself it’s even more than that. Because most modern AUs also contain a certain narrative of hope in them. At the beginning of each story in this genre, Steve and Bucky tend to be on autopilot, spinning their wheels, struggling, figuring things out, generally not realizing / accepting that something vital is missing from their lives.

I’m not saying that we all need romance in our lives or anything like that. But we enjoy these narratives where as soon as Steve and Bucky come in contact with each other, they both start growing personally. They make each other better. They blossom and find their callings or even carve out a niche for themselves. And I really dig how these fics feel like they’re glowing with love and hope and the belief we can all be better and there’s good in the world and we can work to have it too.

[labelleizzy]

y’all I got like five hundred bookmarks over on the AO3 and it’s well past time I shared some of that goodness with y’all. I’ll start with the novel length, longfic (50,000 words at least) because damn there is some really good stuff out there. A Pretty Boy with a Bird Tattoo : Kryptaria…

I need to learn better how to use the html here on Tumblr, so here’s a link to my blog instead, where I can drop links and stuff more easily.

[transgendershakespearecompa-blog]

Image © Vanity Fair.

Muscle Memory

This week’s blog post is by Ray (rayvanfox/zooeyscigar on Tumblr), discussing the thin line between gender performance and stage performance. The Transgender Shakespeare Company is running a blog series written by transgender individuals on performance, theatre and Shakespeare. To learn more about the TSC and what we do, visit our Facebook. 

Things most people pay very little conscious attention to in a day: The length of your fingernails. How far apart your feet are when standing. The way you put on lip balm. How much you smile. How long you hold eye contact. The way you hold, light, and smoke a cigarette. The way you ask for a light. Who you choose to sit next to on the train/bus. How you take off a coat or sweater. How you check your pockets. Where you keep your wallet. The length of your stride. How you rub your eyes or scratch your head. How you jam out to music on your headphones. How you hold and touch your phone. Where you keep your phone. How you lick your lips. How you touch your hair, neck, face, chest.... How you shake hands. How you take a sip of a drink. How you hitch up your pants. How you hold your shoulders. How you lean on something like a wall or a railing. Thing is, I actually do. At one time or another in the past month, I have consciously thought about and made choices about each one of these things. Cuz whether you know it or not, each of these things contributes to how people assess your gender. I spend time wondering whether or not I do these things in a way that would be perceived as at all masculine. I think the reason I pay such close attention to actors is that I understand how they feel when they take on a role, trying to translate their ideas of how a character feels and thinks and functions into the ways in which they express themselves thru their bodies. Cuz it's not so much about saying the line right as it is about moving your hand, or tilting your head, or leaning in as you say it to get the desired affect. It's body inflection. and we do it unconsciously, or semi-consciously all of the time. 

However for me, it's not unconscious cuz I haven't been inflecting the same way my whole life. And changing the perception of my gender isn't just about wearing men's clothes, growing facial hair and speaking in a lower register. It's about how I ride the bus: do I let the woman get in line ahead of me? Do I sit next to a dude instead of boxing in a young lady? Do I stand up and give my seat to an older lady? Do I keep my knee or shoulder from brushing against the guy next to me? Do I say 'excuse me' instead of 'sorry' when I bump into someone while exiting? If yes, then I'm most likely seen as a young man by virtually everyone on said bus. and at this point, in this place (sorry, Midwest, but you are more dichotomy-based than the coasts) that identification is preferable to double-takes and confused (possibly hostile) looks. 

I play a part to balance feeling most like myself and keeping my day hassle-free. Cuz not being socialized as a boy/man, I've had to learn this role--like a second language. or, to not mix metaphors, like a period piece. I study the culture and customs of men in order to be true to my character. Hence why, when I see Johnny Depp with long hair, wearing a silk scarf and eyeliner, I study every other aspect of his being to figure out how he is seen as a hot man as opposed to a fucked up freak. Cuz it's all the other little things he does while wearing the eyeliner. the long practised, and therefore automatic, ease of lighting a cigarette with a zippo. Casually propping a hand on a bent knee. These things 'read' well. It plays. But I am never sure this is actually true for me. That people don't see me as a fucked up freak. So I pay attention to every little thing I do. Not that I always change how I function to fit other people's gender prejudices, but just to be conscious of these semi-conscious tells and decide if I feel comfortable with how I'm being perceived while doing them. 

Which means that I live my life in public (and sometimes in private) as an actor working to embody a new role. To use a clearer image, this means that I feel always like a guitarist who has just learned a song and is playing it for an audience for the first time, still looking at the music and watching my fingers, instead of functioning like a traditionally socialized 32 year old. He would feel like a musician who is playing one of their old favorites for their listeners, with the lyrics memorized and their hands finding the chords on their own. My problem (if I want to call it a problem, maybe a conundrum, or simply a situation--just the place I am on this journey) is that I don't have the muscle memory of being a man. This really shouldn't be called a problem because I actually welcome the chance to practice my performance and improve upon it with more and more attention to detail. It's a craft I enjoy perfecting, if only for the practice it gives me as an actor (and to be clear, this role I 'play' feels much more comfortable than the one I practised my whole young adult life, one which I also felt the need to study because it sure as hell didn't come naturally).

And now, this weekend I will literally 'take the stage' (it's really only a script reading) as a man for the first time. I guess I 'read' well enough at the bar this weekend for the folks to cast me as a young man in real life (I assume) which led them to cast me as a young man in their play. Now we will see how it feels to not just perform this role on the street, but actually make the practice work in an artistically performative venue. I must tell you I'm totally intrigued to see if my performance can hold together on 'stage' for an hour and a half as well as it does on a bus for 15 minutes. Wish me luck, I guess.

[stuckyfanficrecs]

Author(s): Kryptaria, rayvanfox

Word Count: 72,446

Status: Complete

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Summary: Fifteen years ago, a skinny kid from Brooklyn went to an arts summer camp, where he met child movie star Jimmy Barnes. Their unlikely friendship faded as the years passed. But now, a threat to Barnes’ career brings Steve back into his life, in the most unexpected of ways.

Or, the one where Bucky is a smooth celebrity, right up until Steve the snarky photographer shows up, and Bucky’s whole world gets blown to pieces.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

The street was pitch black outside the range of the motorcycle’s single headlight. Green grass grew right up to the neat concrete curbs — no sidewalks here, and no streetlamps, either. There might’ve been lights in the houses, but it was impossible to tell. Driveways led to gates set into high walls or hedges, with front lawns stretching so far into the distance that the houses — mansions, really — might as well have been on the Moon.

Steve didn’t belong here. The motorcycle was too loud, too old, too rusted out in spots. It qualified as vintage by age alone. While he had kept it from falling apart, he couldn’t exactly describe its condition as ‘lovingly restored’. He wasn’t wearing a scrap of designer clothing, he had all of two twenties left in his wallet, and his precious camera — which he’d scrimped and saved for two years to buy — was probably the equivalent of a kid’s toy, around here.

He stopped at an intersection with a hand-painted street sign that was probably ‘charming’ in daylight and useless at night. He had to check the map on his phone to verify that he should keep going straight instead of turning left.

It was almost nine. It was too late to go ringing doorbells, especially at the house of someone who was basically a stranger. Steve had left home early enough, but he hadn’t counted on getting lost in a twisting, winding maze of narrow, tree-lined streets. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he was lost until he’d come in sight of the shore, miles off his path.

He put the phone back in his jacket pocket and started driving again, just as the rain that had been threatening finally started to fall.

Wonderful, he thought, slowing to a crawl. The last thing he needed was for some pissed-off wet squirrel to come barreling out of the trees, making him swerve and break his leg. He was positive his insurance policy wouldn’t cover any hospitals within twenty miles of this zip code.

He didn’t even realize he’d passed his destination until he felt a faint buzz against his chest. He hunched over to check his phone, then made a U-turn, miraculously without going up onto the curb, to go back to the driveway.

Black iron gate. Red brick wall, hidden by ivy. One tiny little call box.

He got right up to the box and pressed the button. As he waited, he pulled off his helmet, wondering how to explain his presence to a faceless, disembodied stranger.

And when that stranger finally answered, things got worse, not better, because it was a woman who said, “Yes?”

“Uh, hi. I’m Steve. Steve Rogers?” he said loudly, resisting the urge to shout. “I’m here to see Buck— er, James?”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Barnes isn’t seeing guests tonight.”

Steve bit back a sigh. “Yeah, look, this is — It’s important, ma’am. I really need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes.”

“You’re welcome to contact his business office and make an appointment.”

Steve had already tried that, for a week straight. His calls were being routed directly to voicemail by now. “Look, could you just tell Buck that Steve’s here? Steve Rogers, from summer camp?”

“Summer camp?” He could hear the skepticism in her voice.

“Please? I’ll just…” Well, there was no point in saying he’d wait here, because what else was he going to do? Drown if the streets flooded? Get eaten by starving squirrels?

She made a soft sound, maybe a laugh, and then he heard the click as she broke the connection. It sounded very final.

Resigned, Steve thought about putting his helmet back on, but now his hair was wet. He twisted around and strapped the helmet to the back of the bike instead, over the saddlebags. Worst case, he’d find a diner where he could dry off, and then head back to Brooklyn when the weather cleared.

Assuming there even were diners in this part of Long Island.

[stuckyfanficrecs]

Author(s): Kryptaria, rayvanfox

Word Count: 39,536

Status: Complete

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: Adjusting to civilian life is hard for any military veteran — especially for one ex-sniper with a cybernetic arm, a classic Harley, and friends who keep trying to ‘help.’ When Sam Wilson at the VA sends Sergeant Barnes to rent a room from the hottest guy in the DC area, Bucky thinks maybe civilian life is worth it after all. And then he finds out Captain Rogers is everything Bucky’s not: a real hero, a Medal of Honor recipient, and an all-around nice guy. Bucky doesn’t have a chance in hell with him.

Sam was a huge help to Steve Rogers when he left the military. In the spirit of ‘pay it forward,’ Steve decides to rent out his basement room to a vet in need. But when Sergeant Barnes shows up on his doorstep, he knows he’s in for a world of trouble. Barnes is exactly what Steve never knew he wanted, from his bedroom eyes to his wicked innuendos. And he’s Steve’s tenant.

A love story in twelve chapters, including two Harley-Davidsons, a guardian angel, multiple snipers, the only woman who can scare them into behaving themselves, spontaneous kittens, and one attacking sheep.

Getting by on a medical pension plus disability isn’t easy in DC, but Major Sam Wilson at the VA is Sergeant Barnes’ guardian angel, and he has a plan for that. He’s got a plan for everything, Bucky’s learned. And he’s grateful for that, because he hasn’t lived as a civilian since 2001, and he hasn’t had to find an apartment for himself for almost a decade, when he’d last been Stateside for more than three months. His career had violated all sorts of regs once the CIA caught wind of him, and he’s been pretty much off the grid since.

Now that he’s back for good, he has no idea how to find housing off-base, much less how to handle all of the medical and outprocessing paperwork that’s piled up since he ended his last mission in a bloody, unconscious heap.

Sam shepherds Bucky through the tortuous process of VA medical exams, as if the VA doesn’t notice the missing arm, and because the damage to Bucky’s shoulder keeps regular prosthetics from working right, he even gets Bucky into an experimental program at Johns Hopkins. The prosthetic they fit to Bucky’s shoulder hooks up to his spine and brain in ways that he doesn’t want to consider, but it’s not just a clumsy claw. He actually can feel pressure from force feedback circuits, and he’s got pretty good fine motor control.

One day over coffee, Sam suggests Bucky take up cross stitch to improve his dexterity. Bucky makes Sam pay for their refills.

Sam also gets Bucky onto a housing message board, and that might be the best thing Sam’s ever done — even better than the arm — because, right as the VA finally approves his disability and he gets his first check, covering eight months of back pay, he gets an email from Sam that directs him to one particular post. The ad is for a basement apartment in a house not too far outside DC. It’s got all the standard restrictions checked: no pets, no smoking, no live-in roommates, no parties, no excessive guests. Fortunately, Bucky’s social life consists of his old field partner, Clint Barton, and Barton’s new girlfriend, Natasha. Other than that, Bucky’s only bad habit is making bets at the firing range, where guys can never quite believe a trained sniper can hit the side of a barn with only one “real” arm.

Well, two bad habits. When he came back to the States, he’d arranged for his sister, Rebecca, to get his bike out of storage, tuned up, and shipped down from Brooklyn. Now, with his smartphone holstered to the gas tank as a GPS, he leaves the parking lot of his barracks-turned-apartment and drives off into a gorgeous October day. His leather jacket and gloves cover the hand, so this landlord, Captain Rogers (retired) won’t even look twice at Bucky’s robot arm.

The commute is thirty minutes without traffic, which means mornings might be a bitch, but Bucky can probably switch his physical therapy appointment to right after lunch. He doesn’t even need them, except his therapist and the receptionist are both hot, and he figures that doubles his chances that one of them will find him equally intriguing. He can’t help but wonder if Captain Rogers (retired) will mind him bringing home occasional company. Bucky’s already gone without for too long.

The house is old and narrow, with a tree in the yard that looks to date back at least fifty years. The grass is a little worn, but there isn’t a single fallen leaf, and no weeds visible anywhere. In fact, Bucky feels a little prickle of alarm at how pristine the house is.

And then he notices the Harley. It’s a brand new Softail Breakout in the most gorgeous shade of midnight blue. He pulls his bike into the driveway beside the other one, and he can’t help but feel a little jealous that his old Harley might get a date before he will. He seriously considers petting this shiny new Harley himself, except he’s polite. Sort of. And if he walks a little too close, admiring the custom handlebars and the stitching on the seat, well, who can blame him?

He takes a flagstone path up to the front porch, where he stares in faint amazement at a porch swing. Who has a porch swing these days? It looks ancient, too, except the chains are new, and he suspects it’s due for a coat of paint any day, since the wood is freshly sanded in spots.

Since there isn’t a doorbell, he opens the screen door and knocks. And the hottest guy Bucky’s seen in about ten years opens the door.

[adsumcirrat]

Paging all 6Q7 shippers, this is your soundtrack for Alec and James getting into all kinds of cartoonish trouble trying to find out more about Q.

[slashfanfictions]

Author: Kryptaria and rayvanfox Title: Redshift Pairing(s): Bucky/Steve, Bucky/Steve/Sam Summary: For seventy years, the Winter Soldier has been a legend, a ghost whose identity was hidden from friends and foes alike. After the firefight on the bridge, Steve thinks he recognizes his friend.

He's wrong.

Redshift: A shift toward the red end of the spectrum; longer wavelengths of light emitted by an object that is moving away from the viewer. Rating: NC-17 Warning(s): PTSD Word Count: 130,502