#Ten lepers

[doesgodexist]

Ten Lepers and Thankfulness

The Thankful Leper On His way to Jerusalem, Jesus entered a village where He was met by ten lepers. They stayed a distance from Him and cried out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” Jesus merely told them, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” That seems like a strange thing to say to them. The Jewish law required that lepers keep their distance from other people. The only way to avoid that…

[paularoseauthor]

The Encounter

Wednesday, November 13, 2024 YEAR B Luke 17:17–19 The Gospel reading focuses on an encounter between Jesus and ten lepers, emphasizing the importance of gratitude. After Jesus healed all ten, only one of them—a foreigner—returned to express thanks. Jesus noted the absence of the other nine, asking, “Where are they?” This highlights a significant theme: while all were healed, only one truly…

[unopenablebox]

i know cadfael/hugh beringar is the mainline slash ship for these books and like, i do get it, but honestly brother cadfael/brother mark has certain meaningful charms

[septembersung]

Today is the Second Sunday after Epiphany and the gospel is the wedding at Cana. Reminding me forcibly that faith lives in obedience and it’s in obeying that our prayers are answered.

[incorrect-koh-posts]

"Young Baldwin seems to have possessed a naturally strong constitution, and he was also gifted with undeniable qualities of character and a strong, lively intelligence. William of Tyre, who was his tutor, says that 'in his childhood he was very handsome, with a quick and open mind, and he rode very well, better than his forebears had done.' 'Never forgetting an injury, and still less a kindness,' he had 'a retentive memory, was well educated with an excellent memory for tales and a fondness for telling them.'

The child must have realized very early that his disease was incurable, and his reaction shows great strength of character. He wanted to forget and make everyone else forget, right up to the end, that he was sick. But by the time King Amalric died, young Baldwin's disease had made such progress that it was already beginning to show, and 'the people of the kingdom felt great grief when they looked at him.'

From 1175 onward, the regent and the barons of Jerusalem were able to count on an unexpected ally, and a more valuable one than might have at first been thought. At fourteen years the young King Baldwin emerged as an intrepid fighter, capable of leading his troops into battle and later on of commanding them personally in the field. He was seen at the side of the constable and the Count of Tripoli, riding at the head of his troops and taking part in raids and diversionary campaigns [...]. At the time the King was still too young to actually command his army, and his principal function was as a symbol and an inspiration for his men. They were all happier marching under command of their lawful King. Young though he was, he was like the flag, to be protected and followed through the thickest of the fight, and he was not afraid of personal danger. [...]

When he came to the throne, he had [...] been a leper for ten years, and although the disease did not begin to make rapid strides until puberty, it must, even in early adolescence, have weakened and exhausted him. It is unlikely that anyone would have dared to reproach him had he wished to consider himself an invalid, yet he behaved as though he were perfectly well.

He had been educated, as became a prince, by knights and masters of arms and also by churchmen [...], and these had not failed to teach him patience and prepare him for the harsh trial that was to be his life, and to arouse in him a sense of duty and pride in being, despite his infirmity, King of Jerusalem and Defender of the Holy Sepulcher. Whether as a result of education or temperament, Baldwin IV seems to have had little inclination to self-pity. The young King overcame his illness with all the determination of an adolescent who knows he is physically weak and is bent on proving to everyone, himself included, that he can equal and even surpass others. He may have been a king who had the misfortune to be a leper, but he was also a leper lucky enough to be a king.

He loved power because it was all life had to offer him, and he very early evinced a wish to govern by himself, and would not tolerate disobedience. A temperament of this kind can easily degenerate into tyranny and capriciousness in one so young, but Baldwin IV had a lively and precociously mature mind, and was sincerely concerned to do his best for the good of the kingdom; and this right up to the time when his sufferings began to drive him out of his mind. [...] Up to the last moment he wanted to be a king and a general, and he wanted to be obeyed. It was his way of clinging to life, and he was a terrible fighter."

- Zoé Oldenbourg, The Crusades (1966)

[sashaisready]

Chapter Seventeen - We’re going on a little ride

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 18

Series Masterlist

You saw the engine start up to leave and you broke into a sprint as you shot across the street before they could pull away (but made sure to check for traffic this time).

You whipped yourself in front of it, banging on the hood and yelling at the tinted windshield.

“Hey!! Hey! Come out right NOW” you practically screamed. “Get your chicken shit asses out here and talk to me”.

You knew you shouldn’t speak to the terrifying mob goons like that but any worries you had were drowned by your anger, and fear for Peter’s safety. Besides, you knew most of them by now.

The door zipped open and you were surprised to see Bucky of all people step out, flanked by Steve.

He watched you carefully as he emerged. He was in one of his suits but the jacket was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His vibranium arm glinted under the light of the street lamp.

“Don’t hit the car like that, Doll. The paintwork is very delicate”.

“Doing your own dirty work for a change, huh?” you spat.

Bucky chuckled as he stepped towards you. “You have a good night, Doll?” he asked, condescension dripping from him.

“Don’t fucking touch him” you spat as you pointed a warning finger at him and then to Steve. “He’s a good man. Don’t drag him into this”.

Bucky shrugged casually, shaking his head as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“We wouldn’t hurt Mr. Quill, would we Steve?” Bucky said dubiously.

“Of course. Not our good friend, Peter” Steve replied in a monotone.

Your stomach lurched. Of course they had his full name. They probably already had his driving license and tax records on file.

“Bucky, please…” you pleaded.

He watched you attentively as you took a step towards him.

“We both just agreed to be just friends as neither of us felt a connection. Don’t hurt him. There’s nothing there” you explained calmly, trying to sound tougher than you felt.

Bucky smiled thinly. “I’m not a monster, Doll. I don’t just go around hurting people, despite what you may think. But I have to say, this is quite an impassioned defence of someone you’re ‘just friends’ with” he said sardonically, using finger quotes for your words.

Your panic gives way to anger again, his smug smirk a catalyst for your rage. The wine in your bloodstream certainly not helping your rational brain or negotiation skills in the moment.

“Well he is just my friend, alright? Not that I need to justify myself to you of all people...I don’t want him to get hurt because of me. I don’t know what sort of fucked up show you’re running here. I certainly can’t seem to get away from it, but I’ll be damned if I stand by and let innocent people get caught up in it too” you shout, practically spitting with rage.

Bucky sighs. “Doll…”

You raise a hand to silence him.

“No. You wanted to talk? Let’s talk. Steve, you can listen too if you want as James can’t seem to go ten feet without his guard dog. The fact is, I have no idea what your game is. I liked you a lot. Alright? I used to enjoy our little back and forth. Whatever it was. It was fun. And then we fucked and you treated me like a leper, cancelling our date and parading ANOTHER WOMAN in front of me days later at my own fucking workplace. Laughing at me. Watching me get upset and revelling in it. And then you send me eight million balloons and have your goons follow me. And I nearly get hit by a car trying to chase them off. And I meet a new guy. A nice guy who actually liked me who doesn’t treat me like a toy, or a cat playing with a mouse. And I can’t even enjoy that because I’m followed everywhere I go. And I tell you to leave me alone but you ignore me, just dig up information on my date and wait for me outside my house and have the gall to smirk at me like I’m crazy…”

You find yourself short of breath, the venom of your monologue catching you off guard. Your blood turns to ice as the reality of what you’ve said hits you, nervous he’ll lose it at you.

Bucky just stares back at you, unreadable as always. You briefly wonder if you’ve finally pushed him too far and you’re going to end up buried in the cement under a new apartment complex. Your stare snaps to Steve who also just returns your gaze, equally impenetrable. Bucky’s eyes briefly betray a slither of hurt too, and even though everything you’ve said is justified you can’t help but almost feel a pang of longing for him.

Bucky looks you up and down, your words ringing in his ears as guilt begins to overwhelm him.

“I’m sorry” he says forlornly.

You and Steve exchange a look of surprise. Neither of you saw that coming.

“I know I treated you badly after our night together, Doll. It was stupid. I lost my head a bit, thinking you weren’t into me. So I played a game, I thought it was going to be an extension of our banter and I misjudged it. And then I was too stubborn to apologise”.

He sounds quiet and subdued, a far cry from his usual self.

Your mouth falls open in surprise. “Oh…well. Thank-you. I appreciate that” you reply softly.

He approaches you and his hand glides into your hair, his fingers stroking the side of your head as he gazes at you. You find yourself letting him touch you, moving closer to him, entranced by his sea blue eyes as he continues.

“I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I genuinely didn’t mean to. I feel crazy around you, if I’m honest. Like I can’t keep my shit together. And it just feels like every time I try and fix it I just make it worse”.

You soften as you stroke his metal hand, intertwining your fingers with his. Your faces are so close together that you can make out every mole and freckle on his cheek.

“All you had to do was say that” you tell him softly.

Steve takes that cue to disappear back into the car, giving you both some privacy.

Bucky smiles, his flesh hand moving to your chin and caressing it softly.

“I think about our night all the time” he admits.

“Me too...” you admit, your eyes glazed with lust.

“I know I’ve got a lot of making up to do” he tells you, and you smile back at him.

“You really do” you smirk.

His lips crash into yours and you’re momentarily breathless as you allow yourself to be lost in the kiss. Every sensation from the last time comes flooding back as his tongue slips into your mouth and your fingers find their way into his hair. It’s so good. It’s perfect. It’s everything you want.

He pulls away briefly and rests his forehead against yours.

“Quill will be fine” he whispers. “He’s just going to get roughed up a tiny bit. Just to send a message. But he’ll be alright” he says soothingly.

You gasp, unable to comprehend his casual tone with the horror of what he's saying as you place your hands on his chest and shove him firmly away from you.

“What? Why?? He didn’t do anything!” You splutter furiously.

“I just need to be sure he understands that you’re just ‘friends’” he replies calmly. “And that my men see that he’s been dealt with. They know who you are to me. They can’t work for me with respect knowing I let another man take you out”.

You scoff, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of what he’s telling you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you practically scream at him. “I’m not like your fucking car that he scratched. We aren’t even together” you sneer, waving your fingers between the two of you.

Bucky shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Messages need to be sent” he said coolly as his hands moved down to your hips. “Like I said, we’ll go easy on him, you don’t have to worry”.

You gasp in horror as you shake yourself away from his grip. Suddenly all of your rage and upset comes flooding back, the kiss long forgotten.

Every instinct tells you to flee. To get the hell out of there, away from this monster - away from the man who talks about beating people so casually that you’d think he was reciting a lunch order.

But you think of Peter. And he’s the most important person to think about right now so you can’t run. You couldn’t live with yourself if he got hurt. You need to make sure he’s safe. And to do that you need to speak Bucky’s language.

“Listen” you tell him firmly, your eyes blazing. “If anything happens to Peter. Anything at all. I will never speak to or acknowledge you again. And I mean that. I will quit the bakery and move my ass to a different state just to get away from you. You understand me?” you warn him. "Maybe even leave the east coast altogether".

He blinks at you, surprised by your outburst. You take his silence as your cue to continue.

“And I will spend the rest of my days trying to bringing your down. Police. Feds. Anyone. I mean it. I’ll just keep going until I find someone not in your pocket. You hear me?”

Your mouth is dry and you’re trembling but you’ve said it now. You just hope it’s enough, that it sticks.

After a beat of silence which seems to stretch on forever, he replies.

“You done?” Bucky questions, deadpan.

“Almost. Keep the fuck away from me, you fuckin’ sociopath” you snarl.

Bucky laughs. “Always the fiery one, aren’t you Doll? Alright. I won’t touch Quill. I promise. Scout’s honour. And I’ll leave you alone like you want. That’s no problem”.

You nod, surprised he acquiesced and expecting more of a fight.

He takes a step towards you and suddenly his eyes seem darker. You step away from him instinctively.

“But Doll, trust me when I say this…” he says with a quiet intensity which chills you. “If I ever hear that you’re going to the police about me...or the feds...I won’t be half as agreeable as I am right now”.

He cups your chin and squeezes your cheeks together in his metal hand as you feel your legs nearly give way from under you. His grip isn’t hard, but you feel the impact of his threat. He places a small kiss on your lips before releasing you and heading back to the car.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work, Doll” he grins darkly.

The door slams and the car pulls away a second later. You’re left standing alone in the road, distant noises of the city gradually filling your ears as you catch your breath. You briefly fall to your knees, rubbing your fingers across the tarmac of the road in an attempt to ground yourself.

You finally stand again, exhaling. Peter is safe. You are safe. It will all be alright. You can make a new start. He won’t be bothering you now. You’ll be okay.

As you stumble towards your apartment you’re so worked up that you don’t even notice the scurrying footsteps emerging from behind you. Seconds later it all goes dark and you realise to your horror that someone has put a bag or a sack or something made of material over your head. The fibres scratch uncomfortably against your skin.

You try to scream but a firm hand clamps over your mouth and you find yourself pushed along by strong arms. You hear a car door opening as hushed voices chatter. You’re thrown inside a vehicle, crashing against the floor of either a van or a truck as you hear the echo of the engine rumbling beneath you. You try to scramble up onto your knees but someone grabs your hands, a zip tie is sealed around your wrists and suddenly you’re helpless. You desperately try to vault yourself up onto your knees again but a gruff voice you don’t recognise speaks and you stop in your tracks.

“Just stay right there, princess” the stranger tells you. “We’re going on a little ride. And you’re gonna wanna sit tight for it”.

You go to protest but feel something hard and metal pushes into the small of your back. Despite never feeling one before, you know immediately that it’s the barrel of a gun.

Finally you stay still as you feel your fear build, laying on the floor of the vehicle, waiting patiently for your next instruction.

*

Bucky’s head is in his hands as Steve drives them back to the house.

“Just had to double down on Quill, huh?” Steve asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Steve..” Bucky warns.

“Had her in the palm of your hand...after all this time and all that scheming…and you threw it away because you couldn’t resist a beating…”

“Steve…I swear to God…”

“Jussayin’. How can you literally be kissing her one moment and have her threatening to rat you out to the feds on you the next? That’s impressive”.

Bucky ignores Steve and sighs. He’s angry at you, fuming even – especially at your threat to rat him out. Not that you know a lot anyway, he has purposefully kept his world separate from you – but still, you’d been inside his home, you know nearly all of his men by name or at least by face. He was sure you still had at least some of the cash he’d given you, and it was possible a couple of the serial numbers could be linked to a job or two…

You didn’t have enough to take him down, not with his ironclad business fronts and hotshot lawyers – but you potentially had enough to make his life more difficult than he’d like.

But he knew Steve was right. He was so close to winning you round, and he blew it. He saw red when he’d seen you kissing Quill, lost his head for a second. This was how he dealt with things, it’s what he knew. Even if you and Quill had agreed to just be friends like you said, it had sent a barrel of rage through him that someone else had touched you. Had felt your lips against theirs.

Even though he knew it was all his own fault.

[maxdibert]

Don't you think it would make sense for muggleborns to be oppressed within the economic system whem they are already socially judged at minimum? So many people misunderstand muggles and it is clear that prejudice against muggleborns existed for many many years. Bigotry like that definitely inflitrates into the economy and social sphere of the wizarding world. Especially when they work so hard to hide themselves from muggles. That's why it is obvious to me that the death eaters and their ideology was fascist. They clearly wanted Voldemort on top and the muggleborns killed or enslaved in some way.

There is no evidence of it. And this is Rowling's fault because, while she may not be a Tory, she belongs to the European centrist social democracy, and culturally, this type of mindset generally supports public healthcare but fails to grasp the fundamental structures behind power dynamics and issues of class, race, or gender. It’s a conservative perspective that scratches the surface but doesn’t dig into the root of the problem. That’s why all her attempts, without exception, to create analogies between her world and real-world political issues fail miserably and are unsustainable.

For example, Rowling tries to use the concept of Muggle-borns as a parallel to racism, but it falls flat because there’s no economic or social structure in the wizarding world that treats Muggle-borns as possessions or commodities for trade, as historically happened with racialized people. Nor is there a colonialist precedent where wizards destroyed Muggle culture to impose their own. Ironically, it’s the other way around: wizards have hidden from Muggles, and wizards are the minority, with a much smaller population. The main issue wizards have with Muggle-borns is that they "taint their purity," meaning their culture.

The problem people like Lucius Malfoy have with Muggle-borns is that their pure-blood culture is based on medieval precepts, and the fact that for every pure-blood wizard, there are ten Muggle-borns threatens the foundation of that culture.

Racism is also supported by the inability of racialized people, historically, to be recognized as political subjects—that is, as mere human beings. Even after the end of the Ancien Régime and the introduction of new democratic systems based on censitary suffrage, a destitute, dying leper still had more rights and opportunities than racialized people. The leper was considered a person, while others were not—they were "properties" of the colony, even if not enslaved. They were conquests, possessions.

This dynamic doesn’t exist in the wizarding world. There is no indication that Muggle-borns were stripped of their humanity until the rise of supremacist ideas in the 20th century—absolutely none. They always had magical "citizenship," just like any other wizard. They always had access to magical education and positions in the wizarding society. The comparison to racism is absurd because, despite the strides racialized people have made to gain recognition as political subjects, they continued to lack basic civil rights. Again, this doesn’t happen in the wizarding world. In the 1970s, Muggle-borns feared the rise of Voldemort's supremacism, but there’s no evidence that this was an issue before then. Of course, many pure-blood families might have held prejudices, but that never stopped Muggle-borns from being considered wizards or having access to the same resources as any other wizard. It cannot, under any circumstances, be considered racism because it lacks the social, cultural, and economic structures that define racism.

The same issue arises with the concept of fascism in the wizarding world: it suffers from a severe lack of clear political and economic framework.

Fascism aims for total control over all aspects of human life, including the economy, education, and cultural values. Its goal is the creation of a totalitarian state that subsumes all individual freedoms under the collective will of the party and its leader. The Death Eaters do not seek a functional totalitarian state. They don’t seem interested in creating institutions to perpetuate their belief system beyond violence and terror. Instead, their structure resembles a mafia-like clique led by Voldemort. They are more akin to a cult with terrorist undertones than anything else—a gang of wealthy individuals angry about changes threatening their way of life, but still a minority. Violent, yes, but a minority, much like any nationalist splinter group that resorts to car bombs and violence.

The Death Eaters’ obsession with "blood purity" has a more feudal or aristocratic backdrop than a fascist one. It’s rooted in the preservation of ancient lineages and inherited privileges rather than a nationalist or expansionist project typical of fascism. Fascism, while racist, had modernist goals, such as promoting a "superior race" in the context of a national and global project. The Death Eaters, in contrast, are fundamentally reactionary, intent on maintaining archaic privileges against the tide of change in the wizarding world.

Fascism relies on the massive mobilization of the population, using propaganda to build a popular movement around a charismatic leader. Hitler and Mussolini, for example, built mass movements that transformed their societies. In Francoist Spain (I’m Spanish, and here we know a thing or two about fascism), a huge proportion of the population not only supported his coup and joined his ranks during the Civil War but also provided massive support during the dictatorship, which is why it lasted 40 years. The same applies to other 20th-century dictatorships like those of Videla or Pinochet: they had considerable popular support, not just from the economic elites but from significant portions of the general populace.

As far as we know in Harry Potter, Voldemort’s support comes only from the pure-blood elites and a few half-bloods, who are a tiny minority in that society. In fact, the pure-blood families’ main issue is that they are going extinct. Voldemort is not a charismatic leader mobilizing the masses. His power stems from fear, subjugation, and manipulation of a small group of followers. Unlike major 20th-century fascist leaders, he does not lead a populist movement. Fear tactics may work in an established fascist dictatorship, but no significant European fascist leader in the 20th century rose to power that way. Hitler won elections, Mussolini had significant societal support, and Franco had half the country on his side throughout the dictatorship. The terror came after the populist wave that brought them to power.

Then there's the fact that fascism, while deeply problematic, possesses an ideological complexity that combines cultural, social, and political ideas. Rowling simplifies the comparison by reducing the Death Eaters to one-dimensional villains driven solely by hatred. Those who voted for Hitler weren’t motivated solely by hatred; Hitler had a political program. He knew how to gather, distill, and synthesize the frustrations of a people morally and economically wounded by World War I. He understood the concerns of his people and used them to craft his rhetoric. Hitler had an entire team actively working on creating a narrative that didn’t just appease the elites but sought to convince the broader population, to tell them what they wanted to hear, to charm and deceive them into siding with him.

Voldemort never does this at any point. Voldemort is just a stereotypical ultimate villain, backed by stereotypical bad guys, and that’s it—there’s nothing more to it. He doesn’t draw on any of the strategies characteristic of fascism or traditional dictators. He’s simply an arch-villain, full stop. In Rowling’s work, the Death Eaters have no political program beyond their loyalty to Voldemort and their hatred of “mudbloods” and Muggles. This reduces the depth of the narrative and makes the comparison to fascism superficial.

You can’t claim that half of Germany voted for Hitler purely because of supremacism, because that’s simply not true. Similarly, people didn’t support Mussolini for that reason. And even less so Franco’s fascism, which never needed to lean on anti-Semitic rhetoric and discarded the “communist monster” narrative long before the Cold War became a pressing issue. These leaders got to where they were because they knew how to win over the people, and the discourses they employed were pure cheap populism, appealing to popular sentimentality about issues that, conveniently, affected them directly: the economic crisis, jobs, the threat of powerful superstates seeking to steal their identity, the economic enemy, and so on.

I’m sorry, but Rowling’s political understanding is rubbish, and it’s painfully evident in her work.

[myremnantarmy]

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥

Memorial of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, Virgin

Lk 17:11-19

As Jesus continued his journey to Jerusalem,

he traveled through Samaria and Galilee.

As he was entering a village, ten lepers met him.

They stood at a distance from him and raised their voice, saying,

“Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!”

And when he saw them, he said,

“Go show yourselves to the priests.”

As they were going they were cleansed.

And one of them, realizing he had been healed,

returned, glorifying God in a loud voice;

and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him.

He was a Samaritan.

Jesus said in reply,

“Ten were cleansed, were they not?

Where are the other nine?

Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?”

Then he said to him, “Stand up and go;

your faith has saved you.”

[joseph4inspiration]

(Luke 17:17-19)

God is always looking at your faith to see if you're trusting Him like you should. These ten lepers who was asking for mercy so they could be healed from that terrible disease, was told by Jesus to go show yourselves to the priests.

Now they could of said to themselves what does that has to do with my healing? But instead of trying to understand why or not moving at all because of doubt, they decided to take the Lord at His word and walk by faith. As a result they received their healing; not because of a touch from the Lord or some great miracle that was visible to many, it was because they had enough faith to take the Lord at His word.

You may be in a situation where you need nothing short of a miracle. In your own strength you're powerless over the situation, all your friends are not around, and you just feel stuck. But the Lord wants you to know that your faith in Him will usher in a miracle for you! Take God at His word and trust Him to take care of you - He will not let you down!

[arsenicflame]

or: 11 songs about divorce & 1 song about having a glove kink (while your marriage is falling apart)

(lyric snippets & audios below the cut)

5 Years Into Marriage - Matt Owens & Hannah White

5 years into marriage And it's looking like we're almost done. I love you, I'm just not in love with you any more (no, no, no) Both floated down the aisle, Started taking each other for granted somewhere between- The pulpit and those church doors. Confetti kissed your face, And I trod it right into the floor. We can stick it out another ten years, and we probably will.

Barricade - Stars

I found you on a Saturday, and that was where I lost you You had to finally walk away because of what it cost you Years later on, I saw your face In line to catch the morning train You looked like you'd been softened Like you never really loved the pain

I Don't Want Love - The Antlers

If I leave before you, And I walk out alone, Keep your hands to yourself When you follow me home.

If You Love Me, You Will Lie - Out lines

And shouting through the bathroom door You said that I was keeping score Why can't we accept that there's no more We never say goodbye

It's Beginning To Get To Me - Snow Patrol

I tried to tell you before I left But I was screamin' under my breath You are the only thing that makes sense Just ignore all this present tense

Midnight Love - Girl In Red

I hope that the right time one day arrives So, I'll be willing to let this die Able to look you right in the eyes Say I'm not your consolation prize

Mothers - Daughter

You will grow all you need to grow inside my spine And then take what you need to take, what's yours is mine And then just give all you want of it to some new thing I'll stay here, the provider of that constant sting they call love

Nothing New - Rio Romeo

So, won't you please spare me indignity? And won't you please give me some decency? And won't you please call it if our time is through? 'Cause I know that we fall apart when nothing's new

Sometimes I Still Feel the Bruise - The Mountain Goats

Making contact gets harder As the silence grows longer Why would you think of me? When you were not the one in love When you were not the dreamer When you were just the dream I'm under no illusion As to what I meant to you But you made an impression And sometimes I still feel the bruise

Splinter - Scott Hutchison & James Graham

‘Cause I always took the cutting, And you only missed my heart Although it amounts to nothing, The nothing’s left it’s mark

The Modern Leper - Frightened Rabbit

Well, I crippled your heart a hundred times And still can't work out why You see, I've got this disease I can't shake and I'm just rattling through life Well, this is how we do things now Yeah, this is how the modern stay scared So I cut out all the good stuff Yeah, I cut off my foot to spite my leg

Wedding Gloves - Frightened Rabbit FT. Aiden Moffat

Do you even remember What we said in the vows? God was watching on Saturday But He is not with us now, with us now

[daisyishedwig]

Imma share two scenes from the same fic tody because I wrote them both last night. These are both from when you hold me it holds me together, one is Seblaine focused and the other is the Hevans scene I didn't fully intend to write. First we'll start with the Seblaine scene, since it is a Seblaine fic of course.

“You’re hurt, Bas.”

“I’m fine,” he whispered into Blaine’s ear, giving a sharp nip to the lobe. 

“No you’re not,” Blaine said, gripping Sebastian’s wrist tightly and removing it from his pants. “We have no idea what condition your ribs are in, they’re still hurting you and adding stress to them could make them worse.”

“My ribs don’t affect my ability to give a hand job,” Sebastian said, and edge of petulance slipping into his voice.

“But physical exertion leads to heavy breathing and heavy breathing is bad when you have multiple broken ribs.” Blaine squirmed around so he could face Sebastian, leveling a stern gaze at him.

“Maybe I can’t get off right now, but you still can,” Sebastian argued. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“Why?” Blaine pressed. 

“Do I need a reason for wanting to jerk my boyfriend off? I’d much rather give you a blow job but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Maybe you don’t need a reason, but you certainly have one. Spill it.”

Sebastian’s bottom lip jutted out but he said nothing.

“Sebastian,” Blane hissed.

“What?” he snapped, his chin trembling. “You just… you’re so tense. And angry. And I don’t know how to fix that in anyway other than sex.”

Blaine deflated. “It’s not your job to fix it, Seb.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t that the exchange? You keep me safe, I make you forget everything for a while. Help you let go so the rest of the world goes away and it’s just us. Let me make it just us,” Sebastian pleaded. 

Blaine kissed him, an attempt to soothe, to distract, but Sebastian pulled away instead of letting Blaine pull him closer. 

“Is it because Kurt’s here?”

And the Hevans scene

Kurt turned towards the stairs to leave, to hide in his bedroom until the weekend was over and he could return to Dalton. But Sam snagged him by the elbow and pulled Kurt into him. Kurt stiffened and tried to squirm away but Sam held firm, cupping the back of his head gently until he caved and buried his face in Sam’s neck. 

Kurt was still unused to affection from men who weren’t Blaine or his father. He’d spent so many years feeling like a leper that noone wanted to touch lest they catch the gay. And sure, the warblers were generally affectionate, but in that strictly boyish way, shoulder punches and side hugs and maybe a congenial arm across his shoulders for a moment. Finn and Puck followed much the same route when it came to touching Kurt.

But something had shifted in Sam after Kurt transferred, and these kinds of hugs were typical, even if they still caught Kurt off guard everytime. Kurt’s fingers gripped the fabric of Sam’s shirt tight as he muffled a quiet sob in his shoulder. Kurt let himself cry in Sam’s arm for a count of ten before he took a steadying breath and pushed away from him. 

Sam was frowning at him as he watched Kurt center himself. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. 

“Sam,” Kurt sighed. 

“You can take the comfort, Kurt.”

“Not now, not with Blaine in the house.”

“He doesn’t care,” Sam argued taking a step forward. Kurt shuffled further away from him. “He’s too distracted by Sebastian to care what’s happening with us–”

“There is no us, Sam. Blaine’s your best friend and my ex, and whatever you think is happening here is certainly not something he can witness.” Kurt rubbed the back of his hand under his nose. “I’m going to bed.”

“Kurt–”

“Don’t,” Kurt said sharply, “don’t follow me.”

And I'll tag everyone I can think of this time since I haven't done this in forever and have no idea who is actively writing anything right now. @calsvoid, @lusthurts, @sperrywink, @annepi-blog, @bitbybitwrites @wowbright, @kurtsascot, @cryscendo, @fallevs, @katyobsesses, @backslashdelta, @leydhawk, @polvmetis, and that's everyone my brain can think of in this moment so I'll also extend an open tag to anyone who wants to share what they've been writing.

[aesolerin]

So, a dd2 class guide (of all things) ended up bringing me to some really fascinating realizations when it comes to how Baldwin and Sarmenti are foils to each other, so of course I can't help but share it with you.

Short Version: Leper and Jester as characters contrast themselves in terms of personalities compared to skills. These seemingly in-built contradictions are the exact opposite of one another, which is likely why they synergize so well from both a narrative and game mechanics perspective. The makes them a duo of complimentarily contrasting contradictory characters. (yeah, try saying that five times fast)

Long Version: As we both know/adore about him, a key feature of Baldwin as a character is his selflessness, this key desire he has to help and serve others, while his own personal happiness instead comes from the simple joys of life. In his backstory he went out of his way to comfort his sick citizens, killed off his advisors to keep his kingdom safe before abdicating, and even now the reason he wants to die fighting is to help others succeed in their goals with all the skills he has available.

It's super interesting, then, to look at what said skills actually do - heal himself, mitigate his own inaccuracy, protect himself from shuffling via immobility - all things prioritizing self-reliance first and foremost. Out of his ten DD2 moves, only two can be said to have some level of 'party support' mixed in - Purge to clear corpses, and Intimidate to weaken enemies (and remove stealth when upgraded). And even they exist first and foremost to mitigate the blindspots in his own fighting style. Altogether, even as this seems to contradict his actual values as a person, it wouldn't be wrong to frame his entire kit as selfish in nature.

To put it another way, Baldwin personally goes out of his way to help others by prioritizing himself first.

Compare this, in turn, to Sarmenti - a character narratively defined by selfishness (eg; his desires, his ignited ambitions, his prolonged suffering, his current suicidal death wish, plus any other impulse or whim he has at any given moment). And yet, his skills are almost entirely support-focused, with even a lot of the damage-dealing ones being less about the damage and more about applying debuffs and combo tokens to the benefit of the team. It's such a selfless prioritization of others that he has barely anything left in his toolkit that focuses on either his own survivability or his damage-dealing capabilities. (His main exception being Finale, which one could still argue is selfless in how it leaves him immediately vulnerable and slow after he's likely nuked an enemy from any possible rank - meaning the ideal is for other people to take advantage of this.)

As such, Sarmenti's selfish desires and goals lead him to greatly prioritizing the group's benefit over himself as an individual.

And it's this nature as foils, this reversal/mirroring of each other's innate contradictory natures, that make Jester and Leper such a complementary duo both in terms of personality and combat synergy.

idk, that's just how I came to look at 'em in my pretentious academic perspective on the ship, lol. you got any thoughts brought up by it??

oh man, this is such a fantastic analysis, i feel like there's nothing more i really need to add! i do have some thoughts though:

looking at this and thinking about it, yeah isn't it just a bit odd that the selfless Leper barely aids his team, and if anything eats up a lot of the resources they put out? man eats combos like he needs them to live because he kinda does. but oh man, if you take care of Leper he will take care of you tenfold. he rewards selflessness with his strength.

i think his skills could also be viewed not as entirely selfish, but as self-reliant. gently turning down Vestal, Occultist, Plague Doctor's, any sort of healing and simply fortifying himself, allowing them to heal someone not as strong as him or attack with their own skills. using Purge to both strike down a foe and clear corpses so someone else doesn't have to nor can their enemies take advantage of it. let him weaken a foe and draw their ire with Intimidate, he has the strength to take it.

and Jester is such a fun contrast to think about, his top-tier supportive skills vs his snarky and biting personality. all that setting up and dancing he does, the grand orchestra he plays, why doesn't he make himself the star? i think he'd insist it's because he's a twig in a clown costume, why should he be drawing the enemy formation's attention? the faster the warm bodies between him and those bastards cut said bastards down, the better. hence, a selfless skillset for selfish reasons. there is probably some element of fun/humor to it, too. man's Silly.

and together, they work perfectly in sync. Jester wants those bastards dead before they hit him, Leper will smite them out of existence if given the opportunity. Jester will give him those opportunities, Leper will strike down their enemies. also they kiss. nature is beautiful.

[anastpaul]

One Minute Reflection – 18 August – “The Month of the Immaculate Heart of Mary” – Pentecost XIII –Within the Octave of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin – Galatians 3:16-22; Luke 17:11-19 – Scripture search here: https://www.drbo.org/ “Where are the other nine?” – Luke 17:17 REFLECTION – “In our own day we see many people at prayer but, unfortunately, we see none of them turning back to give thanks to God … “Ten were cleansed, were they not? Where are the other nine?” As I think you will remember, it was in these words that our Saviour complained about the lack of gratitude of the other nine lepers. We read that they knew well how to make “supplications, prayers, petitions” since they lifted up their voices, crying out: “Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!” But they lacked the fourth thing required by the Apostle Paul: “thanksgiving” (1Tm 2:1) for they did not turn back nor give thanks to God. We see still more in our own day ,people who implore God for what they lack but a mere handful who seem to be grateful for the blessings they have received. There is no harm in imploring Him but what causes God not to grant our prayers, is His finding us lacking in gratitude. After all, perhaps it is even an act of mercy on His part, to hold back from the ungrateful, what they are asking for, so that they may not be judged all the more rigorously, on account of their ingratitude! … For, it is sometimes out of mercy that God holds back His mercy! …

(via One Minute Reflection – 18 August – “Where are the other nine?” – Luke 17:17 – AnaStpaul)

[godslove]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

The spiritual gift of healing found in 1 Corinthians 12:9 is actually in plural form in Greek. Charismata iamaton is literally translated “gifts of healings.” This spiritual gift is closely related to the gifts of faith and miracles. All spiritual gifts are to be exercised in faith, but gifts of healings involve a special measure of it. This gift is interesting in that there is no guarantee that a person will always be able to heal anyone he or she desires. It is subject to the sovereign will of God, as all spiritual gifts are.

The Disciples were given authority to heal and cast out demons, but they were not always successful. The Apostle Paul was not able to heal himself and was told that God’s grace was sufficient to carry him through his infirmity without removing it from him.

‭And lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelations, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I be exalted above measure. ⁸ Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. ⁹ And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. ¹⁰ Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

—2 Corinthians 12:7-10

This gift is given at various times and places to reveal the God of heaven to the sick and tormented. If healing is not granted, then we can conclude that God has greater plans for letting the person go through the illness or infirmity.

The spiritual gift of healing is an intimate one as it reveals the heart and compassion of God. Jesus is the Great Healer and Physician and during His ministry on earth, He healed countless people and cast out demons.

“And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all kinds of sickness and all kinds of disease among the people. ²⁴ Then His fame went throughout all Syria; and they brought to Him all sick people who were afflicted with various diseases and torments, and those who were demon-possessed, epileptics, and paralytics; and He healed them.”

—Matthew 4:23-24

‭“When evening had come, they brought to Him many who were demon-possessed. And He cast out the spirits with a word, and healed all who were sick”

—Matthew 8:16

‭“Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every sickness and every disease among the people.”

—Matthew 9:35

“Then He healed many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and He did not allow the demons to speak, because they knew Him.”

—Mark 1:34

Healings reveal that God is near to His people and He cares about their sufferings. Healings are meant to draw people to God through His Son Jesus Christ. God wants those healed to respond in faith with thanksgiving and love as the leper did in:

And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, returned, and with a loud voice glorified God, ¹⁶ and fell down on his face at His feet, giving Him thanks. And he was a Samaritan. ¹⁷ So Jesus answered and said, “Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine? ¹⁸ Were there not any found who returned to give glory to God except this foreigner?” ¹⁹And He said to him, “Arise, go your way. Your faith has made you well.”

—Luke 17:15-19

and as the demon-possessed man did in:

And when He got into the boat, he who had been demon-possessed begged Him that he might be with Him. ¹⁹ However, Jesus did not permit him, but said to him, “Go home to your friends, and tell them what great things the Lord has done for you, and how He has had compassion on you.” ²⁰ And he departed and began to proclaim in Decapolis all that Jesus had done for him; and all marveled.

—Mark 5:18-20

By God’s grace, physical healing should lead to spiritual healing (faith in Jesus) and eternal life with Him in heaven.

Those who have this gift are compassionate toward the sick and pray over them regularly. They have great faith and trust that God can and will heal some, and are not deterred when He chooses not to. They are motivated knowing that God’s revealed power will draw people to faith in Jesus. Their ultimate concern is the spiritual well-being of those being healed and their relationship with Jesus. They yearn for the day that there will be no more pain and suffering, and sin will no longer wreak havoc on the people of God.

“to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healings by the same Spirit,”

—1 Corinthians 12:9

“And God has appointed these in the church: first apostles, second prophets, third teachers, after that miracles, then gifts of healings, helps, administrations, varieties of tongues.”

—1 Corinthians 12:28

“Do all have gifts of healings? Do all speak with tongues? Do all interpret?”

—1 Corinthians 12:30

“‭Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing psalms. ¹⁴ Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵ And the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven. ¹⁶ Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.”

—James 5:13-16

[radical-revolution]

BEING LOVE

The most important aspect of love is not in giving or the receiving: it’s in the being. When I need love from others, or need to give love to others, I’m caught in an unstable situation. Being in love, rather than giving or taking love, is the only thing that provides stability. Being in love means seeing the Beloved all around me.

I’m not interested in being a “lover.” I’m interested in only being love. In our culture we think of love as a relational thing: “I love you” and “you are my lover.” But while the ego is built around relationship, the soul is not. It wants only to be love. It’s a true joy, for example, to turn someone whom you didn’t initially like into the Beloved. One way I practice doing so is by placing a photograph of a politician with whom I intensely disagree on my puja table – my altar. Each morning when I wake up, I say good morning to the Buddha, to my guru, and to the other holy beings there. But I find that it’s with a different spirit that I say, “Hello Mr. Politician.” I know it sounds like a funny thing to do, but it reminds me of how far I have to go to see the Beloved in everybody. Mother Teresa has described this as “seeing Christ in all his distressing disguises.” When I realized that Mother Teresa was actually involved in an intimate love affair with each and every one of the poor and the lepers she was picking up from the gutters in India, I thought to myself, “ That’s the way to play the game of love.” And that is what I have been training myself for the last past quarter century: to see and be with the Beloved everywhere.

One of the interesting aspects of seeing the Beloved in this way is that it doesn’t require the other person to see him – or herself as the Beloved. All that’s necessary is that I focus on my own consciousness properly. It’s interesting to notice, though, how warmly people respond to being seen as the Beloved, even if they don’t know what’s happening. (Of course, it all assumes that all your feelings are genuine and that you aren’t compelled to act on them or to lay any sort of trip on the other person. The idea is simply to live and breathe among the Beloved.

The way I work at seeing others (like the politician), as the beloved is to remind myself, “This is another soul, just like me, who has taken a complicated incarnation, just as I have. I don’t want to be in this incarnation any more than he wants to be in mine. But since I want to rest in my soul and not in my ego, I would like to give everybody the opportunity to do the same.”

If I can see the soul that happens to have incarnated into a person that I don’t care for, then my consciousness becomes an environment in which he or she is free to come up from air if he or she wants to. That person can do so because I’m not trying to keep him or her locked into being the person that he or she has become. It’s liberating to resist another person politically, yet still see him or her as another soul. That’s what Krishna meant when he said, “I’m not going to fight, because they are all my cousins on the side.” We may disagree with one another in our current incarnation, but we are all souls.

A story I have told many times reinforces this point. Some years ago I put out a set of records called Love, Serve, Remember. The records – which had music, readings from the Gospel of John, and all kinds of neat things – came in an album with a beautiful booklet with text and pictures. It was a wonderful package, and we sold we sold it by mail order for about $4.50.

I showed the album to my father. Dad was a wealthy Boston Lawyer – a conservative Republican, a capitalist, and, at the time, the President of a railroad. He looked over the album and said, “Great job here! But, gee, you know – four and a half dollars? You could probably sell this for ten dollars – fifteen dollars, even!”

I said, “Yeah, I know”

“Would fewer people buy in if it were more expensive?,” he asked.

“No,” I relied. “Probably the same number would buy it”

“Well I don’t understand you,” he pressed on. “You would sell it for ten, and your selling it for four- fifty? What’s wrong, are you against capitalism or something?”

I tried to figure out how to explain to him how our approaches are differed. I said, “Dad didn’t you just try a law case for Uncle Henry?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “ and it was a damned tough case. I spent a lot of time in the law library.”

I asked, “Did you win the case?” And he answered, “Yeah, I won it.”

Now, my father was a very successful attorney, and he charged fees that were commensurate with his reputation. So I continued. “Well, I bet you charged him a hand and a leg for that one.”

Dad was indignant at the suggestion. “What, are you out of your mind? That’s uncle Henry – I couldn’t charge him.”

“Well, that’s my problem,” I said. “If you find anyone who isn’t Uncle Henry, I’ll rip them off.”

The point I was trying to make is that when you see the Beloved all around you, everyone is family and everywhere is love. When I allow myself to really see the beauty of another being, to see the inherent beauty of soul manifesting itself, I feel the quality of love in that beings presence. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing. We could be talking about our cats because we happen to be picking out cat food in the supermarket, or we simply could be passing each other on the sidewalk. When we are being love, we extend outward an environment that allows people to act in different, more loving and peaceful ways than they are used in behaving. Not only does it allow them to be more loving, it encourages them to be so.

In 1969 I was giving a series of lectures in New York City. Every night, taking the bus up Third Avenue, I got the same extraordinary bus driver. Every night it was rush hour in one of the busiest cities in the world, but we had a warm word and a caring presence for each person who got on the bus. He drove us as if he were sculling a boat down a river, flowing through the traffic rather than resisting it. Everyone who got on the bus was less likely to kick the dog that evening or to be otherwise hostile and unloving, because of the loving space that driver had created. Yet all he was doing was driving the bus. He wasn’t a therapist or a great spiritual teacher. He was simply being love.

Remember, we are all affecting the world every moment, whether we mean to or not. Our actions and states of mind matter, because we are so deeply interconnected with one another. Working on our own consciousness is the most important thing that we are doing at any moment, and being love is a supreme creative act.

– Ram Dass

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well hi there! Here’s another chapter!

This chapter is mainly introducing the other paratrooper women. I totally made a bunch of stuff up for this chapter, just squint your eyes and it makes sense, promise xx

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: I don’t think there is any? (Correct me if I’m wrong)

Made of Glass

Chapter two: An Enigma and a Nepo Baby

The strict morning routine quickly became apparent to Bernadette. Wake up with the sun, ten minutes to change and make the bed, half an hour in the mess for a breakfast that consisted of beige slop, powdered eggs and a sorry excuse for coffee.

After her morning mush, Winters (and his shadow, Nixon) would find her and let her know where second platoon would be for the morning portion of the day. They usually started with PT exercises like stretches or laps around a large grassy field.

The first morning she met up with second platoon in her PT uniform, a white t-shirt and black shorts, just the same as everyone else, she had pretended not to notice the stares, blatant looks and hushed whispers the men shared with each other.

Birdie wanted nothing more than to tug at the hem of her shorts and stretch the material lower on her exposed thighs but she knew how important confidence was and didn't want to seem insecure or weak in front of the men, so she didn't. She let the shorts sit were they did and refused to acknowledge any set of eyes on her.

Through out the week most of the guys avoided her as if she was a leper who would infect them with one glance. A few of them shot her weird expressions and whispered as she walked by, but none had outwardly hollered at her. She counted that as a win.

At least no one from Easy company did, other men she didn’t recognise had seen her in the PT uniform and wolf whistled or on occasion screamed crude comments from across the field, she ignored everything that was hurled her way. Which wasn't hard when she had so much to concentrate on.

The company CO, Lt Sobel was constantly yapping at them, Birdie in particular. He would call attention to any little thing she did wrong, a hair out of place, a red sweaty face, you name it. She was always so focused on not pissing Sobel off that the elicit comments other company men yelled to her were often unheard. By her, at least.

Birdie spent her first week mostly alone. There was barley any time to kick up a conversation with her fellow women and the only men who would talk to her were her two tour guide lieutenants, who only spoke to her in short bursts as to not show any favoritism.

The first full day she sat by herself at breakfast and lunch, something Birdie was unused to coming from a large family, meals were typically a social gathering. So instead of sitting on her lonesome for the unforeseeable future, Birdie spent dinner that evening chatting with the kitchen staff.

She learnt their names and asked about their families, they were obviously used to being ignored by everyone else so they were glad to make small talk with her. By the end of her first week the kitchen staff were sneaking her an extra chocolate bar and premium coffee made with fresh ground beans that was exclusively for the officers and up.

July 25th and 26th were her first weekend in Camp Toccoa, all of Easy had their weekend passes revoked for running Currahee 47 seconds over the allotted 50 minutes they were given. So Easy company spent the weekend running up Currahee three times a day to make up for it, they had the rest of the weekend as down time, so it was an okay exchange.

Now, Currahee was not something that Birdie minded, sure it was a fairly steep three miles up but she actually enjoyed running and prided herself in being able to get up and down the dreaded hill with ease. A childhood spent chasing after animals and growing up with wild siblings had aided her greatly when it came to physical activity. The obstacle course was another thing all together. Most of it was basic, jumping in tires, monkey bars, a rope net to climb, all things Birdie could achieve, all except the wall.

An eight foot wall she was expected to jump over? Climb up? Scale? Birdie was yet to do any of these, it was more likely that she would sprout wings and fly over the blasted thing.

Luckily for her, Sobel hadn't noticed, or he had and was magically letting her off easy. Birdie doubted that. Sobel really seemed to hate her for a reason she couldn't comprehend, more than likely it was her gender. He went on and on about being the best company, not allowing slackers or anything less than perfect, more often than not he was staring at her when he growled those words. Which left Birdie to assume Sobel saw her gender as less than, the weaker, inferior gender.

Incapable.

That thought alone pushed her to her limits, she wanted nothing more than to exceed and see the look on his face when she did. His endless glares egged her on, encouraging her to run faster, jump higher, do better.

In the cracks between the trio of Currahee runs that weekend, Birdie found herself in her barracks with eight female strangers. They had slowly begun conversing opening up to each other but it was awkward and felt forced and in some ways it was.

These women didn't have much in common, they were all from different states and family backgrounds, the only similarity seemed to be sharing a gender and signing up for the paratroopers. But they were the only women here, they had to get along and have each others backs. Who else would?

So, at first, that's what they talked about, why they signed up and what their families thought about it.

Although Birdie kept her reasons to herself, she did learn a lot about the women she now lived with.

The redhead she remembered from Iowa; Blythe, came from Oregon and had a real hard time convincing her family to let her go, in the end they just wanted their beloved daughter happy and the paratroopers was how to chose to obtain said happiness.

Next was one of the two blondes of the group, Harriet Huntington from San Diego. She was the How company girl, fairly out going and bubbly, once she started chatting it was hard to get her to stop.

The other blonde was her polar opposite, quiet and timid. The youngest among them at just 18, Constance, who preferred to go by Connie, was a shy girl from Buffalo, New York.

Lucille Smith from Fox company was another lady that Birdie found herself talking to a lot. They got on well, Birdie and Lucy had a similar sense of humor, snarky and witty, though Lucy's was more dark and underhanded.

A couple of the other women kept more to themselves, waiting for some of the girls to pack up and quit, and there was one that none of the girls recognised.

The Baker company girl. She wasn't at Fort Des Moines and rumours were spreading that her father was a state senator who got her an undeserved spot in the program. The other women kept away from her, a sense of resentment formed pretty quickly and although Birdie tried to keep neutral toward the woman she couldn't help but feel less than happy of the clear nepotism.

As they had slightly more free time over the weekends, Birdie acquainted herself with the rest of the second battalion women in the weekends and would try to befriend the guys of her company during the week, with some US Army training sprinkled in of course.

Charlotte was in Able, her father was a ex-military man who had encouraged her to sign up when they learnt about the program. She was easy to talk to and offered her knowledge of the military freely. Birdie thought back to her first day and recognised Charlotte as the woman who gave her directions.

Barbara from Charlie, an academic who kept quite but when she did talk it was always about attending Yale, studying at Yale, the classes they had a Yale. Yale, Yale, Yale.

The Baker company intruder, Elizabeth, better known as Betty. She tried hard to fit in with the ladies but conversation dulled down when she spoke up. Birdie would often try to aim questions at her by she seemed to turn up her nose at the southern girl, so Birdie stopped trying.

And lastly, Francesca Rossi, a complete enigma. The women couldn't get any personal information out of her, she very clearly did not like chatting. She was silent and brooding. She was up and out the room before anyone else in the mornings, seemingly to avoid the other women. She was frowning or glaring almost always and answered questions with 'mmh's' or a swift shake or nod of her head, Birdie was more than a little intimated by her.

There were a few outliers (Betty and Francesca) but the majority of the women began to bond.

At the beginning of their second week, the women were told which class they would train as. Birdie, along with Lucy, Blythe, Charlotte, Barbara and Betty were Riflemen (or Riflewomen), while the two blondes, Harriet and Connie, were medics. Francesca had once again proven the unnerving aura she seemed to carry right when she was assigned machine gunner.

Their second week was when the women were given the weapon they would carry with them into war. They began by learning the weapon inside and out, not yet being permitted to shoot or carry ammunition. They had to be able to take the gun apart, clean it and put it back together before they were allowed to load it and join the men at the rifle range.

The ladies were also put on the night shift roster. The week nights were split into five two hours shifts, where the assigned solider would arrive in full uniform and pack with their weapon and relieve the solider preceding them to practice guard duty. This exercise was made to prepare them for real night guarding, it was supposed to give them a sense of responsibility and get them used to being awake and alert at night, so their fellow soldiers could count on them when the time came.

No-one looked forward to waking in the middle of the night and changing into all their gear, then standing at the guard post for two hours waiting for absolutely nothing, only to crawl straight back into bed. And now they women were graced with the privilege of the menial task.

Luckily, night duty shifts were a once a month occurrence and the women were the last people added to the roster, it would be at least a few weeks until they were called into the night.

A/N: All nine women officially introduced, some will be great friends and others…. Not so much

Is ‘night guard duty’ a real thing? Who knows? But it is in this story so just go with it okay? (maybe slightly inspired by the bob video diary but you didn’t hear it from me)

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter three