#anything beyond the second half of season 5 is...hazy

[weekend-whip]

I was listening the whip of Skybound, so I'm into a pirate mood.What are your thoughts on Nadakhan and Soto? I wondered when their crew sailed, I was puzzled that neither Wu or Garm seemed to know anything about them. Although maybe they did it vaguely, maybe it happened before they born, besides that resolved itself, Soto took care of Nadakhan and sometime later he went looking for the Island of Darkness only to crash. Whatever, do you have any thoughts you can share of Cap Soto in Legacyverse?

Well, it's said that Captain Soto and crew sailed the seas and battled Nadakhan's crew about 200 years before the present day (a fact which was not affected by the Time Discrepancy), therefore actually making Soto and crew older than Garm and Wu are themselves (as Garm is currently 171 and Wu is 164). That means there's at least a couple of decades for Soto to fade from relevancy before the brothers were even born, leading to why they're not that aware about him.

Soto's quest into looking for the Dark Island becomes a much bigger plot point (the search for information on what happened to the place, as that was affected by the Time Discrepancy, leads to clashes between the Shark Army and the Order of the Ouroboros), and how his crew winds up opposing the ninja will occur differently than what originally happened too. It's a small-big thing but I'm excited for it to all play out <3

Can't speak too much on Nadakhan yet because I'm still grappling with that whole mess as we speak~

[kyberphilosopher]

Oʀᴏᴛᴜɴᴅ

Requested?: Yes. Contains allusions to sex and illness, non graphic.

Word Count: 3301

Eren has disappeared beyond the walls, finding refuge with a sick ex-soldier. 

Orotund: (adj.*) speaking or singing with fullness, clarity, or strength of song or voice. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

 The sickness had spread slowly, but surely. 

You couldn’t tell where you had gotten it from. At first, you had assumed it was simply an intensified version of the flu. However, the longer you took care of yourself, the more you realized that this was far worse. 

Dividing the time into five stages, you began keeping note of what was happening to you during Stage Two. During Stage One, you began to experience relatively short periods of a fever. They’d usually last for days at a time, with you lying in bed draping a wet rag on your forehead. So intense, you could not even get up to urinate or eat, it was difficult not to feel pathetic. 

Stage Two had made the fever die down. You were more than thankful for this, of course, but it had come with it’s own crashing, crushing waves. Stage Two had begun to make you lose weight at a rapid and inexplicable pace. You often frowned at yourself in the mirror, observing how your torso was slimming and shaping around the form of your ribs. It came before the loss of appetite, which only made matters that much worse. 

Stage Three, during which you had met him, was strange. It didn’t directly cause any physical changes to you, but it did indirectly. You grew restless in the night, and exhausted during the day. Riddled with fatigue, the daily chores you relied on for life became troublesome. Drawing water from the well strained your back, and because of what Stage Two had done to your stomach, you lacked the energy needed to keep yourself upright. 

One day, in whatever season it had been, you returned to your cabin to find a stranger inside. Instantly on sight, your pail of drinking water fell from your fingers and splashed against the wooden floors. Your boots and socks were soaked. The knocking of wood against wood made your ears ring as if a bomb had gone off. 

The boy was still, but his eyes were somewhat wide as if he was also surprised. He must not have considered someone was already living in the cabin. Yet, he was sitting at your dining table, watching you with open eyes and open ears. 

Before you could scold, yelp, or simply say hello, you collapse over. The fatigue overpowers you and you crash against your counter in a heap. 

The boy leapt forward on instinct. His right arm wrapped around your back to steady you somewhat, his left hand gripping onto your other shoulder. It didn’t help you too much, as your ankle was already rolling out from under you, but it did keep you from hitting the floor completely. Thus, the boy had at least saved you a head injury. 

“My room,” you croaked with hazy eyes. The hand attached to the arm over his back weakly pointed in the direction of your bedroom. It wasn’t too far away.  You were lucky that he craned his head to see where you were gesturing to, and understood. “I have to get to... my room...”

“Right,” the boy replied.

He hoisted you up, the both of you grunt quietly in unison. And then he practically dragged you across the floorplan of your home, stumbling and groaning all the way. The boy let you drop into your bed on your own, partially kicking him in the process. 

You hum out a sigh of relief. Your head is immediately alleviating itself, and the room is ceasing to spin so quickly. The boy is confused as to the lack of yelling or anger. Instead, he is enthralled with the calm, tired, demeanor of your form. He’d broken into your cabin, eaten your food, and you hadn’t even looked mad. In fact, you looked almost sickly. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Stage Four brought depression. Yes, you already had that. But now your sickness was piling onto the chemical imbalances, adding to the lack of calories, nutrients, and sleep. Whatever strength you had before was dwindling away faster than before, although this time, things were different. 

The strangers name was Eren. Eren Jaeger. He had large, piercing teal eyes, bold eyebrows, and dark hair. At the time of your meeting, it was the length of his shoulders. His palms were wrapped in gauze at the time, but it wasn’t permanent. He’d since removed them, and helped you work. 

Eren was strong. He could repair things that were broken around the cabin and help you with the well upkeep. Sometimes he would go hunting and bring home venison or herbs for you, which was kind. He didn’t ask for much in return, other than you not tell anyone of his presence. Not like you had anyone to tell anyways. 

Eren gave you a ride on his Titan once or twice too. That was something you loved. You were scared at first, but Eren didn’t let anything happen to you. He would lift you up in the palm of his hand so you could reach the fruits at the top of the tallest of trees. Then you’d go home and slice the fruit up for him in a small bowl. 

He slept on the bench in the living room. You’d felt particularly guilty about that part, but your weak body needed all the relaxation it could get. Eren knew that, and he never forced you to share or give more than was even remotely necessary. Really, Eren was quiet most days. He seemed to do a great bit of brooding, but you’d grown accustomed to the presence of another human being, and thus, warmth. And Eren liked you. You weren’t obsessive, didn’t yell for the way he cleaned, didn’t rip up his clothes, or remind him of a fading dream. 

Time blurs together when you’re living on your own in the middle of nowhere, but the boy was with you for more than two months, at least. He figured out that you were sick in that span of time, including that you didn’t deserve to be. There wasn’t much around your cabin to suggest much of past life. Eren didn’t blame you. That’s why he stayed in the cabin as well- hoping to leave the past for a blank space. 

You took care of each other. Your favorite example was on a morning in Spring. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Eren wore a simple brown cloak. No shirt underneath, giving you a much appreciated view of the boys abdominal muscles. Though, you’d probably never get the opportunity to admit you found the boy physically appealing, you took it in. His hair was back in a bun today. The sun broke over the horizon, illuminating his eyes. 

Jaeger held your horse by the reigns. His right bare foot was rubbing against his left shin, tired as the horse began to excrete last nights meal. Eren must’ve gotten up earlier than usual this morning for chores, because the circles under his eyes seemed more prominent. Not that it specifically mattered. He looked handsome all the same. You appreciated the view for a few minutes before starting towards the well. 

First, you set the bucket on the earth where the water is sure to fall. Then, you place both hands on the pump, digging your feet into the ground for leverage. Stage Four has made you weaker than most people. This will take a lot out of you. 

Pushing down, it takes all of your strength to get a single pump of water into the pail. It’s not enough, and sweat is already beading at your forehead. It’s not even hot yet, and something mediocre is nearing you close to death. Your heart strains against your chest, but you ignore it. You have to get the water. 

You push down a second time. Now, the container is half full of the clear stuff. It ripples in the light of the sun like a rainbow. Your head feels like it’s on fire. A slow, dull fire. You have to push a third...

With a final great heave, your blistered hands scrape against the contraption. The water gushes out like a miracle, filling the bucket again. So crisp it makes your mouth water, you kneel to the ground to catch your breath. 

Stop, your heart begs. Stop. Rest. But the responsibility is staring you dead in the eyes, and you can’t ignore it. And you can’t ask Eren to go a day without water. He deserves it. For Eren’s sake, you must do this. 

Although your world is dizzy, you push yourself to your feet. Your blistered fingers wrap around the handle, ready to pick it off the ground without issue. However, water buckets are heavy. There is nothing you can do but struggle to raise it off the ground, tears and sweat pricking at the corners of your eyes and goosebumps appearing at your arms. It’s not even really that chilly. 

Eren was like a God sent. You didn’t fully hear what he said to you, but you felt his arms slide around you to lift you up. “Y/N, do you hear me? You have to stand, alright?” You hadn’t replied. 

Jaeger connected the dots. With one half of his body, he leveraged you up and to your feet. With the other, he grabbed the pail of water and began moving forward. 

It was slow with you practically slumped against him, but he was a soldier. Eren wasn’t about to just let you drop in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn’t let you succumb to your illness that easily, if he let you succumb to anything at all. 

Eren set you on your bed. You had a fever, so he laid a wet cloth across your forehead. He stripped you down to your undergarments as respectfully as one could, laying two more rags on your forearms for extra help. Then he drew you  a bath, knowing the water would be cold for your lingering fever. He never asked for anything in return. 

But, he had set a hand against your shoulder. His thumb ran in soft circles against your hot skin, a comforting, loving gesture. You could feel his long hair brush against your chest as he leaned down to make sure your heart was still beating. Aside from a slight palpitation, it seemed in working order. 

His brushing thumb lingered a moment longer before he let you rest. Even in sleep, you missed it. You wouldn’t forget this. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This leads us into the final Stage. Stage 5. The one where you die at the end. 

“Eren,” you call out softly, watching the curtain windows sheer in the sunlight. 

In response, the boy bows his head to look down at you. His eyes are calm, but bright as always. His hair is half up, half down. Laying between his thighs comfortably, your stomach rumbles from hunger. Despite this, things are quiet. 

“Yes?” he replies.

You swallow dryly. Then you reveal your desire. “Do you sing?”

His right hand comes to rest on your forehead. Yes, you have the fever again. But Eren knows you are in the right mind. His thumb strokes your temple, catching a few wisps of your hair as he does so. 

“Not well,” he answers with the ghost of a smile. “You want me to sing to you?”

You shift, and one of your hand grazes by his knee. “Maybe,” you tease back. Then you frown. “You seem tired today.”

Eren exhales. His right hand lays against your forehead, a mix of concern and something like affection.

“Is it the Attack Titan?” you continue, gazing up at him through soft lashes. 

It was. Eren’s history- the worlds history- was churning around his mind until it seemed like a bunch of mush. You were the only thing that was clear to him at this point. But you were silent. Calm, compared to everything else in the universe. 

“No,” Eren decides to assure light heartedly. His thumb begins to circle around your sticky skin in the little way that it does. “It’s nothing.”

Silence again. 

The warm breeze brushes against the window outside, but it’s not loud. It’s warm from the light of the sun, and the hills of emerald grass span for miles ahead. The sky is as blue as the birds that soar across it. Serene. That was how you would describe the life you currently lead. And blessed be you for leading it as peacefully and quietly as the loud and complicated world would allow. 

“I think I’m going to die soon.”

The quiet was broken with another fracture of quiet. Eren’s heart gave a great, vibrating beat, and then paused. In contrast, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d heard your heart beat. 

All the violent death he’d seen, just for you to die of an unknown illness? 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You knew you were going to die at the end. You knew it for a fact. You’d just gotten lucky. 

Lucky, you think as you look up at the man above you. Yeah, I’m lucky. 

His pacing is held back for fear of hurting you. His long, dark hair sways back and forth in time with his thrusts. His face is contorted, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and determination. There’s a little clear, slick spot on the corner of his lips. It slips from between, drips down his chin, and onto your abdomen. Eren wants to apologize, but his teeth are gritted together and he doesn’t want to embarrass either of you with shaky words. 

You don’t mind. There’s no need for Eren to apologize. Eren is and always has been a sight for sore eyes, especially for you. And, blessings onto your own soul, you’re getting more butterflies from knowing he’s one of the last things you’ll see and feel than what he’s doing with you. 

Your eyes are glued to his. What color are they? Emerald, like the grass? Blue, like the sky? Could they be teal? Yes, that must be it. Though, sometimes you swear they’re gold instead. 

Lucky. 

You both end up finishing. He keeps himself from collapsing on top of you before asking if you’ll be alright if he bathes. You assure him it’s more than okay as he rubs his thumb over your temple. Some people might be upset at their partner for leaving after what you’ve done, but you understood. Physical contact is hard for soldiers. You know. But Eren promises he’ll be back silently, because he feels guilty about it. 

If you had a bit longer, maybe this wouldn’t be the only time you and the boy could do this. Actually, what had even led to it? What had taken it this long? You’d had dinner. The light from the candles came on, and you’d met his gaze. The rest was all steam and blurs. 

When your living mate returns, your back is facing from him. You’re watching the fresh drops of rain crash against the window, falling from under a dark grey cast. There will be a thunderstorm tonight. You wonder if Eren will want to stay in your bed tonight, or if he’ll insist on taking the bench. 

You feel his hands, previously burning hot, touch your shoulder, now ice cold. The mattress dips under his weight behind you, and then you feel his toned torso flush against you. 

His face brushes against your ear so you can hear him speak softly. “I’m sorry if I took too long,” Eren mutters. A few wisps of hair brush against your jaw, but he’s tied it back now. 

In one fluid motion, a hand of your own comes to stroke at his cheek. “You didn’t.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, before he pulls away to put his face in the back of your neck. His hand remains around you tight, so you know he wants you right where you are. 

You didn’t tell Eren that your time was practically numbered. Maybe it would be weeks, days, or hours. You should’ve told him before you let him inside you, but you’d been a bit distracted. Anxious, too. The moment was worth ruining with something so silly and small. But now it’s done. The only sounds echoing around the cabin is the pitter pattering of the rain, and the oncoming onslaught of booming thunder. 

You have to tell him, you say to yourself as his grip on you tightens. Before he tugs your body closer like a lover again.

Before you can speak, Eren mumbles something against the skin of your neck. “Follow my lead.”

What?

He hums for a few seconds. At first, you think it’s just the hum of insanity, random and undefined. The you realize the changes in pitch are too thought out to be random. It’s a song. 

“...always picking a fight with me...”

It feels hazy, far away. Sort of heavenly. Even with his low, muffled voice, it’s easy to hear the musical tones oozing from the whole thing. 

“...you know I’m bad, but you’re still spending the night with me.”

That line feels more like he’s speaking it into you. It’s personal. 

“...what do you want from my world?”

If you had it your way, or his way, there wouldn’t be anybody else but the two of you and your cabin. Still, this also feels like a genuine question. Maybe it is. 

There’s a dry kiss placed against your shoulder blade before Eren continues the tune. Humming. And then, “...every night I’m out... killin’, send everyone runnin'...”

Eren pulls you closer against him and inhales somewhat sharply. You crane your neck deeper into the pillow, silently wishing that you could feel his swollen lips against it.

  “I know you’re mad at me,” he sings, a bit clearer now. “I have demon eyes.”

Eren’s hand creeps up from your shoulder to your throat, able to choke you if he so wanted. His thumb strokes over your Adam’s apple instead. Eren grants your wish, raising his face so his lips brush over the skin by your jaw instead of the back of your head. A soft kiss is pressed to the area, almost as if he was nervous. 

“...they’re looking right through your anatomy...”, he seems to nuzzle against you lightly, though that feels somewhat out of character. “...your deepest fears, I’m not from here...”

Like before, he pushes his head back into your hair. He groans like he’s stretching before going on. 

“...to me, you’re clear... transparent. You have a thing for me... it’s apparent...”

The rain is falling harder now. 

“...you’re not so bad...”

Eren isn’t bad at all. He sighs against you, his fingers stroking your skin gently. 

“...it’s not something I have to try... oh, for the table, as long as I am able... I’m not trying to be bad.”

I’m going to die soon, Eren.

“No... different.”

He doesn’t continue. Only his thumb continues on, circling round and round in an unknowing attempt to express comfort.

“I thought you said you didn’t sing well,” you whisper into the darkness. 

“I don’t,” he speaks against you.

What a liar. And you, the lucky one for knowing the truth.

Eren doesn’t move positions until you’ve fallen asleep, at which point he eventually turns his back to you in his own slumber. And Eren knew that you were sick, but he also knew that you were capable. 

You weren’t breathing when he woke up. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I guess that’s that. I think I like it but I’m not sure about the ending. Mine aren’t usually so simple. Maybe I should’ve made it less depressing. Eh. 

[themattress]

Battle of the Seasons

Love Live Sunshine!: Season 1 vs. Season 2

Decided to start these posts off with something easy. Yes, I love Love Live Sunshine!, both seasons of it...but whenever I think of which season stands out the most in terms of quality, it’s actually a no-brainer. Season 1 is by far the superior season, for three major reasons.

1. Story: As I have noted before, the story of Love Live Sunshine! as a whole, but especially in its first season, is the story of a group of girls trying to chase down that exact same fantasy of triumphant underdog success that µ’s from Love Live! achieved, only to be hit hard with just what an aberration that fantasy achievement truly was, and that not even it could last forever, which leaves them faced with the coldness of reality and the challenge thus becomes how they can still find success, a way to “shine”, even from that. The difference between how this story is told between the two seasons, however, ultimately comes down to pacing.  

The first season flows smoothly and naturally. The first episode is the main set-up, then we get a Riko-focused episode in which Aqours is truly born at the end, then the episode where Aqours manages to prove themselves worthy of existing as the school’s idol club while kicking off the subplot between Mari, Dia and Kanan, then an episode where Ruby and Hanamaru join, then an episode where Yoshiko joins, then an episode where Aqours learn about the school’s predicament and truly get their hopes up of being able to follow in µ’s footsteps, then the two-parter where they go to Tokyo and are crushed by reality in the most agonizing way possible (0 votes!), then the episode where things between Mari, Dia and Kanan are resolved and they join Aqours, then the two-parter that’s been building since Riko’s debut and that finally gives the spotlight over to You, and then finally the two-parter where Aqour return to Tokyo in order to face their fears and redeem themselves from their previous performance. No time is wasted here, every episode pushes the story forward.    

But with Season 2, you could have told the story in half the episodes! Only episodes 1, 3, 7, 11, 12 and 13 as they exist are necessary, and while the events in episodes 8 and 9 are also important, they really could have been played out in just one episode rather than stretched across two. The other episodes are filler. It’s not that I don’t enjoy some of the stuff that happens in them, but the writers still could have written the season in a way that some kind of plot progression, even just a little, could have happened during them. The way Season 2 is written wouldn’t have been so bad if Season 1 wasn’t written the way it was, but given that Season 1 was written first, then the problem is all on Season 2 for not following its lead. 

2. Characters: Every character gets their due in Season 1 and develop across the course of it, in both large and small ways. I don’t know what happened, but Season 2 just couldn’t keep up their balance. It’s Chika and the third-year trio of Mari, Dia and Kanan who receive the lion’s share of attention across the second season. We get one episode - episode 5 - where Riko and Yoshiko get some focus, and two episodes - episodes 8 and 9 - where Ruby is given her due. But Hanamaru is just comic relief (”It’s the future, zura!” is basically the sum total of her character now) and dear lord, is You done dirty as a character! This was Chika’s first friend and the one who stuck with her when she tried and failed to recruit people for the school idol club at the show’s start, and yet she receives not a scrap of development here.

And beyond this lack of balance, there are also some minor issues in how the characters’ relationships are portrayed. Chika and Riko’s dynamic, which was an integral part of Season 1, is reduced so that Riko and You are now on an equal level as her pillars of support all while Riko gets more interaction with the likes of Yoshiko, which is fun at first but ultimately wears out its welcome because Riko just doesn’t have the same chemistry with Yoshiko that she has with Chika and even You. We also get some strong displays from Dia/Kanan and Mari/Kanan, but the ever-hilarious Dia/Mari interactions we had in Season 1 are in much shorter supply. The first-year trio of Ruby, Hanamaru and Yoshiko are the only ones who all stay true to their established group dynamic, but they don’t break any new ground either.  

3. Dramatic Weight: Last but definitely not least is the dramatic arcs of each season. And while the ultimate failure to save the school in Season 2′s 7th episode and the subsequent mission statement from Aqours to win Love Live and immortalize said school’s name in J-Pop idol history is a good one, it’s got nothing on what preceded it back in Season 1. The events of Season 1′s 8th episode, appropriately titled “Isn’t It Frustrating?”, and the subsequent mission statement from Aqours to “turn a 0 into a 1″...THAT, above possibly everything else in the whole anime, stuck with me long after I finished watching. Just think about that mission statement for a moment: “turn a 0 into a 1″. 1 is still a pitifully low number; people say it’s the loneliest number. But it’s better than 0, and that is all that matters to Aqours. It would take just the smallest victory, just the smallest improvement possible, to make them feel completely satisfied, to make it all feel worth it. Just something, anything, other than a fucking 0. 

That is such a damn powerful message. It’s not always the huge, ultimate victories (like winning Love Live in Season 2) that matter; often it’s as simple as doing better than you did earlier. If you have the right mindset, then all it takes is to lose with 1 point after previously having lost with 0 points to make you feel on top of the world, to feel like you accomplished something great, to feel like you were able to “shine”. Honestly, Aqour’s performance at Love Live where they triumph in Season 2 is kind of hazy in my memory, whereas I still vividly remember their performance at the end of Season 1, especially what preceded the actual song: where Aqours just throw themselves out their in all sincerity and vulnerability with a recap of everything that has happened to them thusfar. It’s just a beautiful, magical moment.

So there you have it, my justification as to why Season 1 >>> Season 2.

[whereiscaroline]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Saved My Life

When Buffy premiered on the WB on March 10th of 1997, I was a 6, almost 7, year old girl. I wish I could remember how or why Buffy caught my attention so young, but I’ve gotten older and with that my memory has gotten hazy. I can speculate though. I was a weird little kid.

Some of my favorite kids shows were of the more strange/unique variety like “Are You Afraid of the Dark?”, “AAAHH!!! Real Monsters”, “Power Rangers” and “Sailor Moon.” I, also, watched and loved “Animaniacs” which just so happened to be on the WB….so I have a feeling I saw a trailer for Buffy at some point. Also, being that I was raised by a single mother, I got away with a few things, like staying up to watch a teen show. But how or why I found Buffy really isn’t the point, what’s more important is that I stayed.

The first two seasons are a blur in my memory (though for some reason I clearly remember watching Spike get out of his wheelchair…don’t ask me why that one stands out…lol), but my love for all things Bangel is embedded deep within me. They were my first OTP. Being the strange little girl I was, I was also a hopeless romantic. Buffy and Angel’s love affair will always have a special place in my heart, for making it break so damn much!! It also gave me some of my first unrealistic expectations for future relationships. So thanks for that Joss! Lol.

While the first two seasons are hard for me to remember watching, Season 3 and beyond is as plain as day. Especially, the back half of Season 3. That’s when I started to escape into the show….

I didn’t have the greatest childhood, I spent a lot of it either in court or therapy. My parents divorced when I was 4, they were a volatile pair. They were both crazy and did their best to screw me and my 3 older sisters up. I won’t get into the personal details but they were bad…trust me…my mind took those memories and shut them behind an impenetrable door. So you would think my mother would have learned her lesson when it came to men…..

My mother re-married a man we hardly knew, just a couple days after my 9th birthday. The union was anything but happy. He was an alcoholic and they fought heavily. Sometimes yelling at the top of their lungs outside of the house.  He even attacked me just a few months into the marriage. (I would like to point out that, after all this, I grew to connect heavily with the episode, “Ted.”) You would think she would have left him after that…..but she stayed with him another 3/4 years. What made matters worse during that time was my father continued to fight with my mom and I learned the truth of all that happened to me as a child.

Suffice it to say, 1999-2003 sucked beyond the telling of it.

And I needed an escape.

Buffy was that outlet for me. I couldn’t fight the demons plaguing me and my family…but I could watch Buffy fight hers. The show and the character were a beacon of light for me during an extremely shitty time. I could escape inside Sunnydale, where Joyce was my TV mom, Giles was my TV dad, and the gang were my TV friends. Buffy, however, was a lot more than just a TV friend.

She was/is my idol. My all-time favorite superhero. I wanted to be her. She had shit thrown at her all the time. Whether it took her an episode or a whole season, she would beat back the evil and become stronger for it. Being that I was just a child, I couldn’t deal with my problems yet. So I watched and learned from her. I sure as hell wasn’t going to learn those life lessons from my mother at the time.

Not only was Buffy my idol, but by extension Sarah Michelle Gellar was too! But unlike most young kids, I knew the difference between the two. And I loved them both for different reasons. I made sure to see all the movies/shows/music videos she was in (even ones, like Cruel Intentions, that weren’t kid appropriate) and buy anything related to her. My sister even gave this to me on my 9th Birthday…..

And once I got it, I found out the best news a 9 year old can learn….I turned to the last page with all the fun facts and something popped out at me…..

WE HAVE THE SAME BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ran around the house yelling, “IT’S FATE,” over and over again. I felt even more connected to my favorite show and person.

As I have said, I have daddy issues. So I was happy to have that connection with Buffy and, as I found out when I was a little older, Sarah as well.

After my step-dad attacked me, my hatred for him was cemented deep. But since my mom didn’t leave him, I had to look at and be around him for years. Any chance I could fight and yell at him, I did. He made my blood boil. He became my own Big Bad. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t beat him. So I cherished my Tuesday nights with Buffy. It was only one night a week, but it got me through until the next episode/week.

It kept me sane.

And that’s my main point here, my sanity. With the mental issues I was just starting to deal with (due to what went on in the years I’ll never remember), coupled with the hell my mother was putting me through by staying married to a man I hated, I probably wouldn’t be here telling you this now.

The pain I kept inside during that time was unbearable. I desperately wanted to jump through my TV and be in a demon-infested town. I would have gladly taken that over what was happening inside my home. The happiness the show gave me took away that pain, even for just an hour. My mind could be clear of all the bad things life threw at me. It was my medicine.

Funny enough, in the fall of 2003 just a few months after Buffy ended, my mom decided to finally divorce him. Buffy came and went just when I needed it. Thankfully, I had all the DVDs for when all hell broke loose in High School…..but that’s another story for another day. But I will say it played a major role in my sanity during that time as well. But that is the way it will always be. It’s my comfy security blanket. When life is going wrong, I’ll just pop it in and escape all over again.

So here we are 20 years later…

I have a show I will never stop loving, that I base all my current shows against (it has to meet my Buffy standards if I’m going to commit to it), a show that molded me as a child and gave me valuable life lessons, a show that is still teaching me on every re-watch I do, a show that gave me many strong females to look up to both fictional and real, and most importantly saved me from the deep end. I really don’t know where or who I would be without it. 

So thank you to anyone who wrote, directed, was a part of the crew in any way, starred in or just guested on the show, was an extra, whoever was involved in any way during the shows run….THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART…..

But I especially want to thank two people in particular…..

THANK YOU, Sarah Michelle Gellar, for portraying with such grace and strength, my favorite TV character and superhero of all-time. And for portraying yourself in real life with the same grace and strength. I am so glad I had you as one of my role models. I hope one day I will actually meet you, but I guess this thing that I got in 5th grade will have to tide me over until then….

And THE BIGGEST THANK YOU to Mr. Joss Whedon, you created this world and these characters and are partly responsible for raising me as a child. Yes that sounds weird, but you did. You taught me through your characters. You are one of the few writers that I have complete faith and trust in. I will follow you anywhere, sir. And if one day we meet, I apologize if I cry the entire time…lol.

HAPPY 20th  ANNIVERSARY BUFFY!!!

Here are some Buffy related things I kept from over the years….

No joke when *spoiler* Buffy died the second time, I cried and tightly held on to the Buffy emblem piece from this game....lol...good times!

Another funny story...I totally stole this from step-dad’s daughter....she didn’t even like Buffy, she didn’t deserve to have it! I know, I know stealing is bad. I was just using this horrible piece of advice from Faith....Want. Take. Have. LOL!

This is the most interesting piece I have. It’s the best thing my father ever bought me (of course I pointed it out when he told me I could have anything I wanted in the store). I sadly lost the stake that went with the doll and I gave her a makeover. I thought she looked better with a skirt....I used staples by the way....I realize now that I should have left her alone, but hey she’s a lot more unique now...lol.

[ecotone99]

[NF] A Saturday in late July

Part One

The air was humid. It felt almost thick and hard to breathe. We always had a few days of hot, humid, oppressive days in the summer, but this was way above and beyond normal. The humidity in the air made the sun look a little hazy, but it still felt like it would burn through your skin. The thermometer was registering at near a record high.

As I drove the Farmall M from the field with the wagonload of hay in tow, I had some time to reflect. I was so glad for the huge changes in the last couple of years. I could see the silhouette of the barn on the hill, with the 2 nearly new silos and the 60 foot addition on the west end. Only a few years ago we were putting up nearly 20,000 bales of hay from 2 crops. Now with alfalfa being adopted, we now harvested 3 cuttings and all the first and third went into silos as haylage. It was a significant improvement in feed value and labor of harvest. Now only about 3500 bales of second crop were cut and baled dry. This was for some cow and heifer feed. And this was the last day of baling. Normally, we would do about 700 bales a day, but because this was Saturday, and we were nearing the end, and I was just dumping the hay and not stacking, we had decided to finish up the last 17 acre field, a total of close to 900 bales. so it was closing in on 5 PM.

As I pulled into the farmyard, my sister Sandy came from the house, It was her job to drive the pickup truck on the old hayfork. It was usually also her job to pull loads from the field as I stacked in the barn, but this was the last day, and I was just dropping the hay on top of the stack.

The old hay carriage system was as old as the old end of the barn, These system's were in use at that time for over 100 years, first with loose hay, then later with bales.

I hit the barn floor in 4th gear full throttle. It was necessary to have the momentum to get the 2 ton load over the lip into the barn. As always the right brake squealed as I stomped on the pedal and furiously cranked the steering wheel right at the far end of the driveway, I needed to have the tractor as far in as I was able to get it to avoid the fork load of bales from hitting it on the swing.

As I climbed to the top of the 72 bale load to arrange the cap bales to fit the fork, Sandy started the truck. She had been doing this job for four years. She was both confident and competent. By the time I had the bales rearranged into a two wide, four long pack, she was already moving forward and the fork was coming to the barn driveway. I grabbed the trip rope in my leather gloved hands and coiled it off the back of the wagon, this was her sign to continue forward and drop the fork to the wagon. I used the 3/8th's rope to reel in the fork and guide it to where it had to be. When it got within reach, Sandy slowed the decent. It was way easier to get the fork in place as it dropped to the load than drag it in place after it landed. I grabbed the two rear tines with my hands as I guided it down. It hit the bales perfect. a deft twist of the wrists dropped the tines down on the bales. I stepped forward. putting my feet on the rear tines and my hands on the setting levers and used my weight to drive the 8 tines into the bales.

I rocked back onto my heels. This was the signal for Sandy to reverse the truck and lift the hay into the mow. The pulleys rattled and the rope creaked as the 400 pounds of hay lifted upwards. As soon as the fork reached the peak of the roof, the carriage swung the bales left over the loft. when they reached the place I wanted them, a quick snap to the trip rope sent them onto the pile of hay below. Sandy quickly brought the truck forward to repeat the whole process again.

Nine forkfuls emptied the load, but a problem was developing. The pile of bales was spreading to the front of the mow, threatening to start to fall off the front, back down to the driveway below. As I tucked the trip rope to the exposed bales, I motioned to Sandy. Pointing to her and then back down to the empty wagon, signaling I waned her to get the next load. After I backed the empty wagon out I parked it by the other barn bay and pulled the hitch pin. She wouldn't need it, there was an extra wagon in the field.

After Sandy left I climbed the ladder into the hay loft. The stagnant air under the steel roof was way worse than I could have imagined, and the sweat poured off of me. I could not wait to get the 50 bale fence piled at the front of the mow and get down from there. The first stop when I got down was the outside water spigot behind the garage. It was right over the well pit and had the coolest water on the farm, and I spent several minutes running a full stream over my head.

By the time I got back to the barn, My little brother Tom was pulling into the farmyard with the 560 diesel with the baler and Dad riding on the last partial load of bales. They both looked totally spent. Sandy was right behind them with the last full load. Dad Pulled the hitch pin on the wagon and Tom took the baler to the shop to blow the knotters down. Sandy pulled the load behind the M into the barn and took her place in the truck as we started the unloading process.

By the time we had it unloaded, Dad and Tom had the baler cleaned and were parking it for the year. as we started the last load, Tom brought the Farmall H to the barn, and using the front "bucking hitch", pushed the two empty wagons into the other barn bay and shut the doors. When we finished the last load I wrapped the hay rope on the cleat nailed to the upright at the door to keep the fork suspended and unhitched the rope from the front bumper of the Chevy. I coiled the rope inside the door before closing the doors, leaving the tractor and wagon in the barn.

Even the 2 window AC units running full blast could not eliminate the humidity from the first floor of the house. Mom had made a light dinner (called supper at that time) of a chicken and rice hot dish and watermelon for desert. By the time we reached the barn for evening chores we were over a half hour late, but as a consolation, we had the seasons baled hay done.

We went about our routine. I set up the milking system. Dad put down the grain and protein. Tom went to bring in the cows. Then dad and I milked while Tom fed the calves. Then Tom took over milking while Dad filled the bunk feeder. Normally, this was Tom's job, but we had some dry, fluffy haylage and the pack drive silo unloader tended to get stuck if it was pushed too hard, And tom was not very patent, usually resulting in a stuck silo unloader, so Dad took this job for now.

The familiar squeak, squeak of the bunk auger was gone by the time we were finishing milking, so I knew Dad was done, but he hadn't come back into the barn. As I carried the first two milker units back to the milkhouse, I noticed a strange darkness in the western sky. My side of the barn was done and Tom had the units on the last two cows as I carried the second set of units in. I went outside to find Dad leaning on the fence looking intently west. I did the same.

Big and black the thunderhead stretched from horizon to horizon in the west- north-west. "My God, Look at that cloud boil", I said. "That's not what bothers me", Dad said, "its that little one off to the left". Then I noticed a cloud with a copper colored center lower that the rest, moving independent of the rest. "Last time I saw a cloud like that was August 7th 1948, moving west, just east of Harold Williams place", Dad said. Sensing there was more, I said, "And?". Dad's next words shot through me like electricity. "August 8th, Harold Williams didn't have a place". "Twister?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Kick em, Ill lock out the heifers", Dad said as he headed for the Lean to.

I went back into the barn. Tom had the fifth unit hung out and was finishing the last cow. "Take care of the milkhouse". I said. I went in front to the cows and started the process of unhitching their tie straps. I was halfway down the barn when I saw dad was already untying the cows on the other side. "Peanut!'" he called to our farm dog, "Take em out!". Peanut began his work of getting to cows out, he never let them loiter. They didn't have to run, but they had to keep moving. He would be on the barn driveway, but jump to the stall area and get ahead of the group to nip at one out front if she held up the process. After shutting the doors, we all headed for the safety of the old root cellar.

The sky was way darker and the wind whipped up dust as we headed for the house. At the house door, Peanut stopped. He wasn't a house dog, and seldom came in. But Dad held the door and whistled and he entered. we all headed down the steps to the basement and headed for the back corner. "Get the axe" Dad said to me. we had an old axe by the wood furnace for trimming too large wood blocks. Grandpa had always insisted to bring an axe or saw into the basement during a storm, in case the house fell in and you had to cut your way out. We all piled into the root cellar and shut the door. I heard a roaring sound above that reminded me of a speeding freight train.

Our root cellar was really the basement under the bathroom added to the old farm house in the early 1940's. it was 8 by 10 feet. it was on the north side of the house. It's south wall was the laid stone basement, and its east wall was the foundation of the utility room. As I sat under a heavy table, the coolness of the subterranean room hit me. In spite of the adrenalin and the intensity of the moment, I dozed off.

Peanut moved at my feet and jolted me awake. I listened intently in the dark. I could only hear the drumming sound of heavy rain in the downspouts. I heard Dad say' "I think it's safe to get out". I got up and opened the door to the dark basement. I couldn't make out anything, but I heard the sound of Peanut trotting up the stairs. I cautiously lead everyone to the steps and up into the kitchen, with Dad in the back making sure everyone made it alright.

Lightning flashes helped us find around. Dad flicked the kitchen light switch. "Power is out", he said flatly. Sandy picked up the old wall telephone handpiece. "Phone's out too" she said. A feeling of isolation hit me. We always took for granted neighbors were only a call away if we needed them. This must have been what it was like in the old days I thought, We quickly gathered emergency flashlights.

"We better check on things" Dad said, So he and I went to the utility room and grabbed our rain gear and headed out into the storm. "You check the machine sheds and the garages, I'll check the barn" He told me. We made our rounds and met back on the house porch. the rain thundered down, but the lightening had subsided somewhat. "Walk in door in the old grainery got knocked off, And it looks like we lost a few shingles, What did you find?" Dad asked. I told him of a broken garage window and a damaged piece of roof steel on the machine shed. We agreed that we got off lucky.

Back in the kitchen Mom and Sandy were playing a marbles game to the light of Grandma's old kerosene lamp. Mom had filled pots. big kettles and pitchers with water. With the power out, we would soon loose water pressure from the well.

Dad, Tom and I stripped to the waist and washed up as best we could at the kitchen sink as Mom and Sandy did the same in the bathroom. Then we headed up to bed. I found my old wind up alarm clock and used my pocket watch to set the time. I set it for a little earlier than usual, as we would likely need to set up the tractor powered standby generator to do the morning milking and feeding. I threw my sweat soaked pants on a chair, intending to transfer my belt, plyers, pocket watch and jackknife to a clean pair in the morning. I put on clean underwear and laid on the bed for a good nights rest. The oppressive heat and humidity had vanished, the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees and it was comfortable. The drumming of the water in the eves and downspouts was a lullaby. and I soon drifted off to sleep.

And so that night we went to bed thinking that we and our little neighborhood had again missed the storm and was safe.

But it was not.

To be continued....

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