#like ive lived most of my life without getting to see a fat woman be the serious role of smth no joke

[3416]

k but it is so hard to exist when youre not skinny i swear i

[mrsjadecurtiss]

What do you think of Robert? What are your opinions on him, do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

I think Robert was fundamentally not made to be a king - He has the charisma and the looks and is an able warrior, but his negative character traits are indulged and enhanced by his position and led him down an almost unavoidable path.

Robert is someone who above all wants to enjoy and live an easy life:

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. [...] Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat.[...]" The king laughed happily. Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. - Eddard I, aGoT

"Robert wanted smiles and cheers, always, so he went where he found them, to his friends and his whores. Robert wanted to be loved." - Sansa IV, aCoK

He has just enough of a moral understanding to at least know when he is doing wrong and to even feel bad about it at times, but not enough to actually change anything about himself.

The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and scared. "I should not have hit [Cersei]. That was not … that was not kingly." He stared down at his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. - Eddard X, aGoT

Robert desires to have an easy life, he wants to be loved, he wants to have fun, but he does not want to deal with the hard and unpleasant things. In times of crisis, he wants to take the easy way out, and he prefers to avoid uncomfortable truths.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "[...] When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert's relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar's children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children." - Tyrion VI, aSoS

"Well, now I know Jaime's dark sin, and the matter can be forgotten. I am heartily sick of secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned." - Eddard II, aGoT

"Most likely the king did not know," Littlefinger said. "It would not be the first time. Our good Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see." - Eddard IV, aGoT

He feels most comfortable when he is surrounded by people who love him and know how to handle him/want the best for him, and steer him onto the right path in a way where he can still feel good about himself.

"These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace." - Eddard I, aGoT

In an environment that works against him, or goes against his wishes even if it is for the better, it creates a destructive energy in him. He cannot stand dissent to his wishes because it robs him of a pleasure he desires, and creates unwanted conflict. He also cannot handle constructive criticism because it makes him confront unpleasant truths - he always wants the easiest path with the least tension. If he is presented with a situation that strains his limits as there is no amiable solution to a difficult/disturbing problem, his reaction is a toxic one; turning to rage and violence even towards his own child.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. - Eddard II, aGoT

He may act against what he knows is right, because it is the easiest route; like when he has the wolf Lady killed to please Cersei:

“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.” [...] "We have a wolf," Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph. It took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king shrugged irritably. "As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it." - “Robert, you cannot mean this,” Ned protested. The king was in no mood for more argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more." - Eddard III, aGoT

"I am sorry for your girl, Ned. Truly. About the wolf, I mean. My son was lying, I'd stake my soul on it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And when Ned reprimands him about Daenerys he will not hear dissent, even though he knows deep down that it is wrong:

He gave the king a long cool look. “Would [the man who spared Barristan] were here today.” Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.” - “Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.”

[...] “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?” - “No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?” - “Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned."

[...] “I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to  it.” For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. [...] “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.” - “I wish him every success.” Ned [...] laid [his badge of office] on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.” Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “[...] Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!” - Eddard VIII, aGoT

“Gods have mercy,” he muttered, swallowing his agony. “The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the boar . . . sent to punish me . . .” - Eddard XIII, aGoT

Robert is a man who always wants it easy, he wants his demands to always be fulfilled, to be loved and have fun without dealing with the bad things; but an important theme that is repeated over and over in asoiaf is that you can only act good if you are willing to face the bad that may come with it, and if you cannot live with the consequences, your action might not be justified.*

Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" - "That is the only time a man can be brave." - Bran I, aGoT

"Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice." - Davos VI, aSoS

"The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." - Bran I, aGoT

Ned stood, gently disengaging himself from Sansa's grasp. All the weariness of the past four days had returned to him. "Do it yourself then, Robert," he said in a voice cold and sharp as steel. "At least have the courage to do it yourself." - Robert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as lead. Silence filled the hall. - Eddard III, aGoT

This is why putting him on the throne was poison - all the power in the world, and noone who would dare go against his wishes. It indulges all of Robert's worst traits, and buries anything he had inside him that was salvageable.

Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up. "Your Grace," he said, "it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?" - "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk your displeasure by hurting you." - Eddard VII, aGoT

I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king had insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. - Eddard IV, aGoT

And Robert knows it - he knows being a king isn't for him, that he doesn't enjoy the actual work that goes into governing, that he doesn't have the personality for such politics or to deal with the people involved, and that he would much rather spend his time enjoying life and doing what he loves...

"Look at what kinging has done to me. Gods, too fat for my armor, how did it ever come to this? [...] I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne, or so dead as now that I’ve won it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people … there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell … and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but …" - Eddard I, aGoT

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." - Eddard I, aGoT

"Let me tell you a secret, Ned. More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And yet he doesn't do anything about it and keeps staying at the position he hates - he does not want to deal with the uncomfortable consequences that would come with upsetting the status quo, or making changes to his own personality and going through growth, or confronting ugly truths about himself in a productive way, etc etc.

He does make a talk of changes at times during aGoT, and seems to have a sense of responsibility about his Job, but as it is his desire for changes came too late, and what responsibility he felt mostly served to paralyze him in place.

"The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?" - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I'm still young, and now that you're here with me, things will be different. We'll make this a reign to sing of, and damn the Lannisters to seven hells." - Eddard VII, aGoT

In a way Joffrey is to Robert what Ramsay is to Roose: an exploration of the inherent flaw in their way of life, demonstrated in the most extreme case. In Joffrey's case, it shows what happens to give someone unlimited power with noone daring to oppose them.

Do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

It's a little unclear which war you mean, so I will briefly touch on several points:

There could have been ideal circumstances where he might have worked out as a king, if he was surrounded by people who know the perfect way to deal with him and make him work past his flaws (intuitively doing the work of a modern therapist), but the average life is not ideal and grrm shows the realistic fate of a man like Robert.

I think by the time Ned arrived it was sadly too late to change - maybe if the Lannisters didn't exist, or this or that event hadn't happened, but Grrm shows that most of what lead to Robert's downfall was in the end caused by himself. Cersei kills him because she came to despise the man he was, and for good reason as he abused her during all her marriage - and while he has some scenes of feeling bad or even apologizing for it, he never made any attempts to actually change the terrible way he was treating her.

If Robert's Rebellion never happened, he would have probably made an able enough Lord of Storm's End; delegating his "boring" administrative duties to his advisors and maester, enjoying the privileges of highborn life, and having just enough responsibility to feel like the alpha male of his society yet not enough to do as lasting damage as he did for the throne. He would not have been the best Lord, but sadly there are many worse in Westeros, since the entire dynastic ruling system is inherently flawed. If he would have been a better person depends on who he is surrounded with, if circumstances would have motivated him to change, or if perhaps his position of power and outward influences would still just have indulged him into the man he was in aGoT. Ultimately, there are a lot of butterfly effects leading to different results that i’m sure have been explored in many fics.

"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." - Eddard IX, aGoT

This was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he'd known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran, prove that they had murdered Jon Arryn, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would smash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so clearly. - Eddard VII, aGoT    

What do you think of Robert?

Since i am someone who frequently enjoys morally grey and villainous characters, despite his many negative traits i have a fondness of Robert; I think he is an interesting character and very human in his flaws, and there is a lot of melancholy to his story that makes me somber about him even if it obviously does not excuse his bad actions. I also think he has a great character design that's fun to draw and some fun boisterous scenes, and some of his positive qualities remind me of people i know.

*Stannis is an interesting character as Robert’s brother, as he is the opposite to him in this regard, as well as in many aspects of their personality and even their outward presentation (like how Stannis crops his beard short to contrast Robert’s wild one)

[safflowerseason]

My Seven Comfort Movies

Thanks for the tag, @thebookofmaev​! You’ll see we have some overlap ☺️ (anyone else who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged.)

In no particular order..

10 Things I Hate About You: I rewatched this movie recently and couldn’t believe I had gone a few years without seeing it because it is literally perfect. (personal trivia: I have either lived in or visited a decent number of the neighborhoods and sites in the Seattle/Tacoma region where they filmed various external scenes). The chemistry between Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles is soooo good. The scene where Patrick and Kat go paintballing and make out all over the place and then their conversation on the porch about prom seamlessly segues into them fighting again? INJECT THIS CONTENT INTO MY VEINS. I love how this is also a movie about sisters, in addition to being the perfect romantic comedy, and also the way the movie allows for Kat to be ACTUALLY ANGRY and still also love getting dressed up and going to the prom was (and frankly still is) revolutionary. 

You’ve Got Mail: Why do I love this movie so much? Joe Fox is basically a sociopath in the final half hour and the climax is a little rushed and its version of New York doesn’t really exist anymore and also only ever existed for very privileged white people anyway. Fox Books gobbles up an independent bookstore and it is basically framed as an inevitable good thing and is not even the main conflict of the story. AND YET! The way Tom Hanks looks at Meg Ryan when he tells her that the only thing they would ever fight about is what movie to rent on a Saturday night. “Who fights about that?” “Well, some people…not us.” *screams* It is frankly a crime that Tom Hanks was in this piece of neoliberal propaganda because he makes it feel wonderful and romantic and not actually like a horror movie. Kathleen Kelly’s apartment is also my dream apartment. 

My Big Fat Greek Wedding: The simplicity of this movie is its strength. It’s just a perfect little gem of a movie about a woman trying to take control of her life while learning about the strength of her family’s love. Plus she finds the perfect soulmate who is willing to do literally anything to be with her. A+ forever. 

Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. This is the “easiest” film in the trilogy to watch because none of the battle scenes are too intensive and its scope is objectively much narrower than the other two films. It is bittersweet and heartwrenching, yet also poignant, uplifting, and sweetly funny. The music and cinematography are especially outstanding. Just a great movie to watch when the world feels dark and like nothing will ever get better. Honestly the right film for these times. 

Pride and Prejudice (2005): This is a gorgeous and soothing two hour adapation of a classic piece of literature and it is the perfect thing to put on when you are feeling fragile and want to feel transported to another time with rustic scenery and golden lighting. The music is especially exquisite. It doesn’t need to be anything else. (Also, the “American” ending is bad and the film rightly ends with Mr. Bennet laughing in his study. The main reason I am sad this movie is not a six-hour television miniseries is because we get less of the supporting cast.) 

The Sound of Music: The above gif explains everything you need to know about why this movie is one of the best films of all time. I watched it twice over the Christmas holidays—that’s how much of a comfort it is to me. Also, the most underrated musical arrangement in this film is the moody, minor-key version of My Favorite Things that the children sing before Maria returns. 

Star Wars, Episode IV: A New Hope. This movie is a perfect unit unto itself. If it were the only Star Wars movie ever made, we might be better off as a society. What is so great about this film is how absolutely NOT SERIOUSLY it is taking itself, unlike every other Star Wars film produced since. It’s just another bonkers science fiction move from the seventies. But somehow it all works! It is more than the sum of its parts! Bonus: Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher’s unintentional but absolutely scene-stealing chemistry, probably fueled by their offscreen affair. You know George Lucas is standing behind the camera going “oh shit, what is happening here.”

[detransexual]

Im struggling with femininity at this point in my detransition. I have so many thoughts about it, ill try to not go on forever but bear with me.

I know i dont have to be 100% gender non conforming, i know a long flowy dress in summer isnt exactly anti feminist, but it certainly isnt rejecting the ideals that are already in place either. I dont like wearing makeup, it fucks with my perception of myself, but being able to cover up the ever present shadow of facial hair is really relieving. I dont like wearing bras, but a very slightly cupped/padded sportsbra makes a (surprisingly) big difference in making me look like a flatchested woman rather than a dude. I dont like the concept of plastic surgery or surgery in general, but i would love to look more normal even without prosthetics or just a bra, i would to look a little closer to what i should have been like. I miss them the most in the context of sex, and it makes me sad that i always bound and hid them from my girlfriends rather than allow my whole body to be loved and seen as acceptable. Even though im happier about my chest now than i was pre surgery, i wish it had just been a reduction, scars (even of the size i have now) wouldnt be nearly as painful a reminder than the (almost, there's still like, a little more breast tissue than a bio male with my body weight/muscle/fat ratio would have? ) complete lack of tissue.

There are things im happy about, and i was actually a bit sad to notice my body hair has gotten lighter and that my clitoris is not as sensitive or quite as "full"/big as it was on T, because im still really happy about those changes, they've both made me feel MORE comfortable as a woman and in my body.

I dont think id dislike my voice as much if people, particularly (or perhaps exclusively?) other women, still recognised me as a woman with it. Its not a bad voice, its just not really mine, and its not a voice i can freely use without thought or consequence. my voice was already quite deep, especially if i wanted it to be, so it would have been better as it was.

There's still a lot that i dont know where i stand, and since ive always been unsure of who i am and shit, and since ive been so certain in things i was wrong about, its hard to commit, its scary. Both permanent changes and coming out again are very distant, both because i need time and because it takes time to get help again.

But all of this is making me struggle with femininity, it makes it easier to pass, and in turn not be reminded of the whole ordeal, although it also makes me more focused on it, which is probably gonna turn out just as harmful as when i was focusing on the opposite in my original transition.

I dont want to buy into exploitative and objectifying behavioirs, but i feel very very isolated and alienated from other women, something ive felt since i was very, very small, but this is different.

Feeling alienated as a kid was rough, and i desperately clung to what was expected of me, trying to fit in, trying to make myself "right", and ofcourse it was painful, but it was more internal than external.

During my trans-identified years, the alienation became explainable, and being alienated from other girls and women felt like a given, ofcourse thats how it was supposed to be since i was a boy! And i didnt feel trult alienated from boys until i was in my late teens and early 20s living stealth, and suddenly i had to pretend to be someone else in order to fit in. there was a huge difference between being the tomboy friend and actually being "one of the boys". You hear and see very different things when they dont think there's any girls or women around.

But after realising i neither could nor wanted to fit in with men, i gradually realised i was no longer just feeling alienated from other women, but i actually was. Its hard to connect with other women, make friends or exist in female spaces when you're no longer seen as a woman if you open your mouth, and i know thats nothing that overt femininity would change, but i honestly dont know how else to "compensate".

Meeting other detrans women has been wonderful, and i definitely wish i knew more gnc and butch women, but i just cant seem to find any in real life, ive yet to find any real women's spaces that arent "for women and anyone who doesnt identify as a cis-man :)".

I dont want to have to be feminine to be seen as a woman, i dont want to reinforce to myself or others that womanhood=femininity, i dont want to reinforce or portray detransition as meaning becoming genderconforming or like "accepting" and falling into stereotypes or "becoming a REAL woman" through femininity and gender roles. I dont want that, but i dont know how to balance what i want for myself with what would make my own existence less painful and what i think is "right".

I want to be able to be a visbly gender non conforming WOMAN rather than being seen as a gender conforming man, but being a gender conforming woman often makes ne appear and sometimes feel more like a gender non conforming man anyway. I dont know how to balance it all, and im torn between wanting to be a boghag and wanting to perform excessive femininity.

[lo-lynx]

A brief defence of Selyse Baratheon (kinda)

CW: sexism

Spoiler warning: All A Song of Ice and Fire books

Now, I’m the first one to admit that Selyse Baratheon née Florent is an extremely unpleasant, filled with racism and internalised misogyny (see for instance Jon XI in ADWD… or any ADWD chapter she’s in… or any chapter she’s in generally). But nevertheless, I want to offer a brief defence of her, mostly because I’m tired of seeing her joked about in particular ways (both in story and in the fandom), specifically regarding her looks. This essay will most likely be shorter and have slightly less depth than my usual work, but I just wanted to get my thoughts about this out there.

When we’re first presented to Selyse in the prologue of A Clash with Kings she’s described thusly:

Lady Selyse was as tall as her husband, thin of body and thin of face, with prominent ears, a sharp nose, and the faintest hint of a mustache on her upper lip. She plucked it daily and cursed it regularly, yet it never failed to return. Her eyes were pale, her mouth stern, her voice a whip.

So, the reader immediately gets a description of her that’s not exactly flattering. In Storm of Swords we get a similar description from Davos’ fifth chapter:

Queen Selyse, a pinched thin hard woman with large ears and a hairy upper lip.

By A Dance with Dragons this has evolved to rumours of her having “a great dark beard” according Val (in Jon XI). Jon assures her that it’s only a mustache, but later Val counters:

You lied about the beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs.

So, it seems pretty established that most characters think Selyse is ugly and notice this mustache of hers. In the Clash prologue that I started quoting, we also get one of the many mentions of how bad Stannis’ and Selyse’s marriage is:

Stannis had always been uncomfortable around women, even his own wife. When he had gone to King's Landing to sit on Robert's council, he had left Selyse on Dragonstone with their daughter. His letters had been few, his visits fewer; he did his duty in the marriage bed once or twice a year, but took no joy in it, and the sons he had once hoped for had never come.

So, Selyse’s marriage isn’t great, and she hasn’t been able to give her husband the sons he had wished for. Later, in Tyrion III, Littlefinger talks of Stannis’ and Selyse’s marriage like this:

Lord Stannis has spent most of his marriage apart from his wife. Not that I fault him, I'd do the same were I married to Lady Selyse.

So, further confirmation of the unhappy marriage, and further insulting of Selyse (probably of her looks, though it’s not made entirely clear). Then in ASOS Davos IV:

The throne is mine, as Robert's heir. That is law. After me, it must pass to my daughter, unless Selyse should finally give me a son.

My point with all of these quotes is basically to prove two things:

1)    Selyse is continually described as ugly, with prominent ears and a mustache.

2)    It’s continually pointed out how she hasn’t been able to give Stannis the sons he wants (one could of course argue that this is hardly just her fault…)

This, I argue, essentially makes her a failure as a woman in Westeros (and to a certain degree in our world).

As I’ve written on numerous occasions before, the gender norms of Westeros are very restrictive, and those who break them are generally punished. Based on how much different characters comment on Selyse’s, and other character’s, looks, beauty ideals seem to be part of those gender norms. We can see that Selyse’s body, particularly her ears and mustache, makes her ugly in many people’s eyes. Her body and looks doesn’t confirm to the norm, even less so the ideal. Researcher Denise Malmberg describes how the normative body in contemporary Western society is defined what it is not, for instance too fat, too tall, too short etc. I’m pretty sure we could add hairy and having prominent ears to the list of things an attractive body should not have. As Malmberg points out, women who are not seen as attractive, who aren’t sexualised, is in some ways seen as less of a woman. They’re not womanly, not feminine, not a proper lady. I also find it interesting that Selyse’s mustache in particular is pointed out so often. To me, it immediately brings associations of so called “bearded ladies” who often figured in the “freak-shows” of the 19th century and have remained in the public imagination ever since. As for instance researcher Clare Sears have pointed out, such shows often included people who in some ways broke gendered (and racialised) norms of embodiment, and in that way policed the borders of gender norms (2008). By showing for instance bearded ladies as “freaks” it became apparent to the public that having such a body was unacceptable. I’m not saying that GRRM purposely drew on such history when describing Selyse’s mustache, but I think the description of her looks have a similar effect; that is to show what is unnormal.

 When it comes having children, loads of feminists and feminist researcher have written about motherhood’s significance for womanhood, for instance this is something Denise Malmberg mentions as well. Malmberg writes that a “normal” woman is expected to become a mother, and a woman who doesn’t have children is therefore exempt from true womanhood (this is also something I explore in this essay about disability and gender in ASOIAF). Authors such as Jack/Judith Halberstam, Sara Ahmed, Anna Siverskog etc. have all also written about how having children are expected by the heterosexual life script that we’re all expected to follow (2005, 5; 2006, 85; 2016, 14). I did a quick search for scientific articles about childfree women and got an overwhelming amount of results, and to write a complete overview of the topic would take ages. But, for instance, a 2011 article about childfree women in Australia found that childless women were seen as “unnatural” and unwomanly” (Rich, Taket, Graham, Shelley 2011). So, I think that we can conclude, that in general in society, women are expected to have kids. To not have kids is unnatural and unwomanly. The fact then, that Selyse is seen as not capable of giving Stannis a son, contributes to her being a bit of a “failed” woman in the eyes of Westeros.

So, in conclusion, the way Selyse is described in story makes it clear that she fails to live up to the norms and ideals of womanhood. For that I feel sorry for her. That’s it, that’s the defence. As I pointed out in the beginning of this essay, that doesn’t make her less of a horrible person with her racism against Free Folk, and internalised misogyny. That part of her personality should be critiqued, and harshly so. However, her looks are not part of that. It should be possible to criticise her without making fun of her mustache or ears. Such jokes only contribute to already existing sexist views of how people of different genders should act and look.

 References

Ahmed, Sara. 2006. Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others. Duke University Press: Durham

Halberstam, Judith. 2005. In a Queer Time and Place. New York: New York University Press.

Malmberg, Denise. 2012. “’To Be Cocky Is to Challenge the Norms’: The Impact of Bodynormativity on Bodily and Sexual Attraction in Relation to Being a Cripple.” lambda Nordica, 17:1-2, 194-216.

Martin, George RR. 2011. A Clash of Kings. Harper Voyager: London.

Martin, George RR. 2011. A Storm of Swords. Harper Voyager: London.

Martin, George RR. 2012. A Dance with Dragons. Harper Voyager: London.

Rich, Stephanie., Taket, Anne., Graham, Melissa. & Julia Shelley. 2011. “‘Unnatural’, ‘Unwomanly’, ‘Uncreditable’ and ‘Undervalued’: The Significance of Being a Childless Woman in Australian Society”. Gend. Issues, (2011)28:226–247.

Sears, Clare. 2008. “Electric Brilliancy: Cross-Dressing Law and Freak Show Displays in Nineteenth-Century San Francisco”, WSQ: Women's Studies Quarterly, 36: 3-4, 170-187.

Siverskog, Anna. 2016. Queera livslopp. Att leva och åldras som lhbtq-person I en heteronormativ värld. Linköping: Linköpings universitet.

[ill-skillsgard]

Blue and Yellow - Part 1 - Axel Cluney

Title: Blue and Yellow

Characters: Axel Cluney x female OC

Warning: 18+ sex/mature themes/medical themes/mentions of blood+injuries/hospitals/violence/drug and alcohol use

Description: A new nurse finds herself entangled in the complicated life of an underground boxer with a slew of problems she cannot fix.

Note: I've wanted to write Axel as a boxer for a while now and finally came up with a storyline I could put him into. I hope you enjoy it and please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging! Patreon subscribers got to read this last week as part of the early access benefit.

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A nurse stood outside room 2817, reading over the tattooed man’s chart. He had come in—unconscious—and woke up in a bloody daze. She remembered seeing his swollen head and thinking there wasn’t a chance he hadn’t sustained a brain injury, but the man was alert and became responsive not long after. That was several hours ago when she began her third shift ever at Featherfall General.

The man with the black and blue face was awake and sitting up in his hospital bed. At the request of others, they pulled over the curtains to shield eyes from prodding at the swollen knot of an eyeball enclosed beneath a grotesque protrusion. His bottom lip had swelled to twice the size, and he couldn’t move any facial muscles without pain shooting up his nostrils. His nose stopped bleeding an hour ago and hadn’t sustained any injury beyond an unsightly bruise.

When she shifted the curtain aside, one squinting eye looked her over while the other remained concealed in a mountain of raw skin and broken blood vessels. She hadn’t seen anyone come in with a face like that yet. It made her stomach flip.

He couldn’t smile, but he wanted to. The nurse stood at the foot of his bed, her large brown eyes landing on every object in the room before taking a skittish scan of his face. The navy blue bubble of his closed eye ballooned to his temple and bled down to his cheekbone like an oil spill. It made the contusions on his shoulders and arms look like faded pinches. The bridge of his nose raised an inch off his face, puffy and tender. 

“You turning me loose, Saberrah?” He rasped, angling a look at the badge on a clip hanging out of her scrubs pocket.

“We will keep you a few more hours, on account of your concussion. The doctor will come to go over your CT scan. Would you like another ice pack?”

“Yes, ma’am, ‘ppreciate it.”

“All right, Mr. Cluney. You hang tight and try not to move around. Lie back and rest.”

“Can’t lie down,” he muttered. “Can’t sit up either.”

“That’d be your cracked rib,” she informed him. “Looks like you took a bad beating.”

He squirmed, wincing from the pain shooting through his lung. “Is it a good time to say ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’?”

She took his humour with a small smile. “I don’t want to know what kind of trouble you found for yourself. I just hope it doesn’t happen again. A concussion is a serious thing, Mr. Cluney.”

“Axel, please. You make me feel old,” he said.

“Says here you’re twenty-nine. Not old yet. But dirty thirty is coming up. You might not heal up as quick as you used to when you were a younger trouble-maker.”

Axel grimaced through a weak chuckle. “Dirty thirty. I like that.”

“Hopefully, you live to see them.”

“And what makes you say I’m the trouble-maker? Maybe I was minding my own business.”

She acknowledged him with a nod and a muted smirk. “I’m sure you were, Mr. Cluney.”

“Axel,” he corrected her again.

The voice slipping out of swollen lips was warm, but to look at his face still made her heart twinge. By anyone’s assumption, the man with the beaten face, a broken rib and tattoos was a sucker in a deal gone wrong. Featherfall was no cottage town with walking bridges and newly paved streets. Despite the pleasant melody of its name, it was no more a city than it was a village, but something in-between. It was big enough to get lost in, yet everyone seemed to know each other. It had its fair share of drug problems, and Axel Cluney was the fourth guy she saw that raised more than an eyebrow or two.

Her trained eyes fell to his arms, seeking any inflamed injection sights along his arms or puffy purple fingers. She found nothing out of the ordinary but scraped knuckles and tattoos to make a mother mourn.

“Hello, Sabi,” a voice greeted her from behind.

She turned to a man in standard indigo scrubs. It was the doctor charged with the late evening rounds, a man named Rufus Farber. Sabi relinquished the clipboard to the young doctor and stepped back.

“We meet again, Axel,” Dr. Farber spoke through a tight smile. The shadow in his eyes told of little sleep and too many occupied beds for a Wednesday morning. Though he was fresh out of med school, he had the tired look about him of a man twice his age. 

“Good to see you. Well... What I can of you,” the patient’s words flubbed out of fat lips.

Sabi left to find a cold pack and came back to them laughing like old pals. Dr. Farber was wrapping up and taking inch steps away while scribbling on a prescription pad.

“Your rib should heal up fine if you can keep still for a while. I suggest telling Eugene to take you off the night shift for a couple of weeks,” the doctor said with a wink.

“I reckon I’ll take some of that advice,” Axel replied. “I could use a little vacation.”

The injured man swung a slow gaze at Sabi, then saw the cold pack in her hand. She handed it to him, and he nodded a silent thanks.

The doctor signed the bottom of the note with a flourish of his pen. “Get yourself some painkillers, my man. Check-in at the pharmacy across the street.”

“Thanks, Doc. And thank you, Sabi.”

Sabi flinched at the sound of the patient using her nickname, but not so much that he noticed her reaction. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Cluney. We’ll come to get you in a couple more hours. Do you have somebody who can give you a ride home?”

“Sure do,” Axel replied.

“All right. You take care now.”

~*~

Featherfall General wasn’t the most state-of-the-art facility Sabi had ever worked. The rooms—often packed with patients — overflowed into the corridors. There were entire wings lined with beds, and everyone ran around like headless chickens in a crowded coop. It cut her work out for her, and a dull moment never sat right. There was always somebody screaming, children crying, women giving birth, blood to be mopped, and disruptions in the waiting rooms. 

Outside of the hospital—on the sidewalk and no closer—was where Sabi found a minute of rest. She could smoke a cigarette and forget that a patient had vomited blood on her. Sabi wasn’t alone on the sidewalk—far from it. Patients permitted leaving their rooms lined the walkway, smoking as many cigarettes they could fit into a ten-minute window. Some still hooked to their IV stands. One man with cracked red skin and starch white hospital sheets plastered to his arms and legs took puffs from a rancid gold-band cigarette that his companion held up to his chattering lips.

Sabi looked across the street at the pharmacy and the adjoining pediatrician’s offices. The building was a squat, rectangular structure next to a multi-level parking lot, of which she always heard the family members of patients complaining. The most frequent complaint was the seven-dollar parking fee. People who had dying relatives shouldn’t be expected to pay such a steep price to avoid getting a ticket.

New as she was, Sabi didn’t want to get on wrong sides by taking long breaks, and she chose the perfect moment to return as an ambulance flew into the emergency bay. Strapped to a stretcher, they hauled a tiny woman out of the back and rushed her into the hospital, followed by a tall man in blue jeans and a black tank top. Sabi only saw his side profile before he was halfway down the hall, following the EMTs and the female doctor who had intercepted them.

“It’s another overdose.”

“Fourth one tonight.”

“Third time for her. Can you hear me, Mrs. Cluney?”

They disappeared around a corner and left Sabi blinking in the corridor while others tried to catch glimpses. Most of the folks waiting in the lobby had nothing better to do than gawk at the people with real problems; broken legs, failing hearts, deep gashes, bright yellow skin, and when somebody came in with a worse ailment than them, a chorus of scoffs warbled in the room. They drowned out the only television tuned to the local news and grimaced at each other.

“‘Scuse me? When can we see a doctor? My kid’s sick!”

The triage nurse glared through the glass window. 

“I’ve been here for three hours!”

“Do we have to hack our limbs off to get some attention in this place?”

Sabi ducked out of the waiting room and went to where she was needed most, but she couldn’t be in half a dozen places at once. She tried her best.

It was a long, hectic night, and the sickness she saw didn’t end until the early morning. She dragged her feet and tired eyes into the hospital cafeteria and made for the coffee machine for a cup that might get her home. If she had to get into her car and drive, she would need the caffeine to keep her eyelids drawn; otherwise, she’d be another person getting rushed through the doors and into intensive care.

An old couple sat in a corner, and the same tall man that came in at the end of her first cigarette break occupied a table in the centre. She squinted at him and realized that she knew his face from somewhere. He turned, and a faded crescent moon of bruising arced from his brow to his cheekbone. It was the man with the black and blue face, more yellow and green now that the swelling disappeared. Two large hands dwarfed a paper cup of coffee as he stared off into outer space. 

Before he snapped out of his deep thoughts, Sabi made her way to the table and gave her best comforting smile. Without the swollen balloon of a head, she could make out his facial features. He had sharp cheekbones and two eyes that reminded her of the foggy marshes on her grandparents’ land. He looked up at her and his placid face glimmered with a hint of welcome.

“Oh, hi,” he said, lifting the paper cup to his lips.

“Hello again, Axel. How’s the head? And the rib?” She asked.

He knocked on his temple, tossing out an amused laugh. “All’s well.”

“I saw you come in earlier. I hope everything is okay.”

Axel sighed, a hopeless air leaving his broad shoulders deflated. It was odd to see him dressed in civilian clothes with nothing but a faded bruise on his face. His knuckles still bore scrapes, and dark bags of exhaustion hung beneath his marshy eyes, but he looked healthy. Sabi’s eyes coasted up and down his tattooed arms, habitually looking for signs of drug use and found nothing but vulgar symbols.

“It’s my ma. She’s in a coma, I guess.”

“Oh, jeez. That’s terrible. I’m sorry. I hope she comes out of it soon.”

He shrugged and sipped his coffee again. “Might be the best thing for her. She did it to herself.”

“Oh?”

“I guess that’s what happens when you mix Percs and alcohol for three days straight.”

Sabi gave an understanding nod. It no longer surprised her to learn the extent of drug abuse inside the walls of Featherfall General. Axel looked off into the unknown again, absently drinking his coffee until the cup was empty.

“Are you doing okay?” Sabi asked, unsure if the stranger would take offence to her questions.

“I’ll be all right. My hopes are that she’s okay.”

“I hope so, too.”

Axel raised his empty cup, slid his chair out, and stood up. Sabi’s eyes followed his, and soon she was looking up. He seemed much taller than when he had been a crumpled thing lying in a hospital bed. 

“Well, I should head out. I’m done for the night. Or morning, I guess. Sorry to hear about your mom, and I hope I won’t be seeing you in here again soon.”

“I know, I’m a sight for sore eyes.” Axel pointed at the cloudy bruising around his eye.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Sabi, shaking her head with a smile. “I mean... I hope you don’t find another reason to come back here.”

“If I don’t, how will I ever see you again, Saberrah?”

[cryxmercy]

‘Tis But a Flesh Wound || Mercy & Erin (Flashback)

Beer and knives and immortal secrets, oh my. 

When: A Saturday night in the recent past, before the Season One Finale Where: Mercy’s apartment Who: Mercy and Erin @corpse--diem

TW: violence, blood (non-medical), stabbing, mentions of stabbing, alcohol, drunken shenanigans, mentions of hypothetical murder, mentions of manipulation

Mercy couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this drunk. Hell, Mercy couldn’t remember what she’d done that morning. Not after nearly a dozen beers. Which was honestly more than she usually drank. But when someone else was drinking with her - Erin had finally had time to come by and do some basic self-defense training - it was easy for Mercy to get ‘into her cups.’ Which is exactly where she was now. Metaphorically speaking. 

Physically, she was standing in her living room, what furniture she had pushed to the side (beer bottles stacked neatly in a tower on the coffee table) trying to teach Erin how to do a proper choke hold. “See…. you gotta… you gotta compress both arteries…” Mercy - who was the one in the chokehold - adjusted Erins arm so that it wrapped around her neck properly. Or as proper as possible when the two of them were drunk off their asses. Which wasn’t very proper at all.  “Make sure aaaaalll the blood’s gettin’ cut off to their brain. Just make sure when they pass out you let go or well… I guess it’s win/win for you since…” Mercy snorted a laugh. “You’d get another customer if you kill a guy…” 

There was no question that this was a bad idea. Of all the bad ideas that Erin had lately, this one was the best. She didn’t expect to learn a whole hell of a lot, especially after she watched Mercy knock back her eighth (or ninth?) bottle of beer. Honestly, she’d lost track. But that had been about the time Erin was finishing up her fifth when the blonde storm yanked her up and started moving furniture around. Oh. Right. She’d almost forgotten this part. 

Yep. Bad idea confirmed the very second she tried to stand straight. “Listen, I know arteries,” she argued, a teasing laugh in her voice. But she did her best to reel herself back in while Mercy maneuvered her arms. Every ounce of her concentration went into following her directions very carefully. “Let’s see about this before I go propping up my own business, yeah?” She laughed, her arms firm but not squeezing yet. “I can’t decide if you’re brave or stupid for letting me do this right now,” she paused, a grin taking over her face. “Ready and--GO!” In the next beat, she was squeezing exactly how Mercy had shown her. “Am I doing it?!” She asked, trying to peak over Mercy’s shoulder.

Bad ideas could be good ideas. It was all a matter of perspective. And Mercy’s perspective was that this was a very good idea. Mercy had no idea how many beers she’d put back. She just… drank them. A thousand years of drinking plus a Fury metabolism made her tolerance… pretty high. But not so high that she wasn’t drunk off her ass at this point. 

Mercy snorted a laugh at Erin’s assurances about her anatomical knowledge, but took her word for it (as much as one could while piss drunk). “Why not… why not both?” she laughed in between maneuvering Erin’s arms. “I’ve never been… a coward… not a day in my life…” That wasn’t exactly true. But Mercy wasn’t thinking all that clearly. Which explained why when Erin applied pressure to Mercy’s neck again she still continued to giggle. Or tried to… since Erin was apparently a quick study. So the laughter sounded a bit choked off… because it was. Though Mercy gave her an excited thumbs up in answer to her question. She tapped her arm to signal her to let up a bit. “I can show you… how to get outta this… or I can show you how to stab somebody... and not kill ‘em?” Because sharp objects were perfectly safe in their current state. 

There was a gleam in Erin’s eye as Mercy’s voice and laughter started to sputter out in short chunks. She was doing it! Oh shit--she was really doing it. She let go as soon as she recognized that the hand smacking her arm meant can’t breathe, please stop. “Oh fuck, sorry,” she responded quickly, though the bellowing laugh that followed didn’t hold as much regret as it should have. And why should it? She’d gotten it right on her first try--she was allowed to be proud of that, right? She stepped back, a little pep in her step as she snagged a fresh beer, bringing out another one for the blonde while she was at it. 

“Here--for your throat,” Erin teased and took a long sip of the cool beverage. This was nice. She was actually having fun, which was a far cry from most of her stress-filled days lately. She’d enjoy it as long as she could--probably until one of them actually got hurt or the alcohol got the better of them. It was her turn to sputter, nearly choking on her beer. “You want to show me how to stab someone?” Right now? In her state? She’d seen a thousand fatal stab wounds but a nonfatal one was new. Given her general anatomical knowledge, she could probably figure it out once she was a little more sober. But this way sounded way more fun and she decided to let the chaos that came with her sixth beer take over. “Oh, hell yeah,” she quickly moved, jabbing her in the side with her finger. “And the other thing too. But I’ve gotta know the stabbing thing first.”

Mercy laughed as Erin released her. “It’s good… it’s all… good…” She rubbed her neck, showing Erin no harm done. “You’re a quick study… you’ll be chokin’ dudes out for real in no time…” Mercy took the offered beer with a grin of thanks and turned it back, draining half the bottle in one go. It wasn’t often she did… this. This being… just hanging out with someone she considered a friend. No overhanging dread, no threat of imminent death or dismemberment. Just two women being drunk and silly for a little while. 

She set the bottle aside with the other dozen and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Uh, yeah… I do… ‘cause sometimes you just… gotta stab a guy. But you might not wanna… kill a guy. Though sometimes you gotta do that too.” Mercy waved a hand. “But ‘s’fine…. ‘s’alright… ‘s’a little knife…” She pulled said ‘little knife’ from her pocket. And it was just a short, fat pocket knife. Probably couldn’t do much damage unless you… stuck it in someone’s neck. Or their eye… or… the base of the skull… 

But anyway. They were talking about nonfatal. So. Mercy waved Erin closer. “You gotta… stick it somewhere an’ then… twist it-” She made the motion - sort of - with her hand. “- so the wound won’t close good. They’ll bleed…” Mercy giggled. “And it’ll fuckin’hurt… but it won’t… it won’t murder nobody. Probably.” After showing Erin - as much as one drunk person could show another drunk person anything - how to properly hold the little knife, as well as where to strike non-lethally, Mercy backed up a bit. “Now… come at me…” She motioned with both hands as she took up a mostly defensive position. “Try to stab me… it’ll be fine…” 

Because this was a good idea. It really, really was… 

Oh, this was a bad idea. Erin knew that already, and from the look in Mercy’s eyes she could tell that she knew it too. Especially when she brought out the fucking knife. “Oh, this is dumb,” was her immediate answer, wagging her finger over at her friend. She said the words and knew in her bones that this was very dumb. Didn’t stop the logical part of her that she killed two beers ago from taking the knife anyway. “Right. No murder,” Erin echoed Mercy’s words, practicing the manuever and gestures she’d just seen her do. “Alright, alright. I got this,” she nodded, maybe a little too confidently. But she wasn’t that stupid. Drunk, sure, but not--

Her entire body froze. One jab. It had taken one fucking jab for the blade to sink effortlessly into the skin of Mercy’s arm. “Oh, fuck. Oh fuck,” she hollered, wide eyes bouncing between the knife in her arm and Mercy’s face. Yet still, her hand still on the hilt, did she move. “What do I do?” She stared intensely at the other woman, panic setting in where her good sense should’ve been to begin with. “This was dumb,” she suddenly added, breaking her stillness to point a finger at the blonde. 

“‘S’fine,” Mercy said, gesturing vaguely. It was dumb. Considering their states. It was also a bad idea. But as bad ideas went, it wasn’t that bad. Mercy had had way worse ideas when under the influence of alcohol or other things. RIP the City of London that one time, amiright? Besides, Erin had this. She was practical. Smart. Knew her limits. It’s not like she would really be able to-OH. Oh.

Mercy froze at the same time Erin did. Well that was unexpected. “Okay… okay… just…” Mercy did her best not to giggle under breath at the situation, knowing Erin was probably Not Okay right now. So she held up her own finger at her friend. “Okay. One: don’t freak out, m’kay? ‘S’fine. Two-” Mercy blinked slowly. “-OW. Three: imma show you somethin’, hm?” She waved Erin’s finger away. This wasn’t dumb. Mercy had been stabbed before. The wound wasn’t deep, and it hadn’t hit anything important, even though it was bleeding down her arm. What happened next was dumb. And in hindsight, it could’ve been very, very dangerous. But Mercy trusted Erin. 

“Watch…” Without much preamble, other than to make sure Erin was paying attention, Mercy pulled the knife out of her arm and wiped the blood away with her hand. “Look…” She pointed at the stab wound. “Don’t freak out…” As they both watched, the bleeding slowly stopped, and the edges started to mend back together until there was only a thin, pink scar on Mercy’s arm. That too would likely fade with time. “‘S’cool, right?” 

Staring at the knife in Mercy’s arm sobered Erin up faster than a pot of coffee through an IV. Felt like it anyway, the longer she looked. Was--was Mercy laughing? Did she not feel the whole ass knife sticking out of her? Maybe it was a good thing she was as drunk as she was--maybe she didn’t even feel it at all. A small miracle in the midst of this idiocy? “I’m not freaking out.” A lie, clearly, and she backtracked. “Okay, I am. And you’re not. Which is weird. Really weird. If you stabbed me I’d definitely--” Mercy was shooing Erin away and she watched the blood trickle down her arm. 

Oh no. “I don’t think you’re supposed to--” But before she could protest, Mercy yanked it out and Erin couldn’t hold back the horrified gasp that overcame her. “Jesus, you just--” She cut herself off again. Between the panic and the alcohol, forming full fledged sentences felt impossible. But her brain started catching up with her common sense. She was bleeding. Just when Erin was about to turn and run into the bathroom for anything to clean her up with, something changed. 

The wound was healing. It was quiet for a good few minutes as she watched. Blinked a few times to make damn sure she hadn’t actually just passed out. But this was happening. It was healing. Slowly, but it was happening. When Mercy spoke again, Erin’s eyes jumped back up to meet hers and all the urgency rushed out of her. “Cool, cool, cool,” she repeated incredulously. It was pretty cool, actually, but she was still playing mental catch-up. So--Mercy wasn’t human. Seemed to be a common thread between most of her friends. Just not any she’d known as long as the one in front of her. Her head tilted to the side, hands resting on her hip. “We’re… gonna talk about this, right?” She glanced back down to her arm, then back up. 

“Nahh…” Mercy waved off the ‘not freaking out.’ “I’ve been stabbed… doze- no. Hundreds of times. Maybe thousands.” Mercy proceeded to yank the blade out of her arm - it really was fairly shallow, and had missed anything important - and wipe the blood off on her pants. If she had been sober, Erin’s own panic would’ve been far more concerning, but since neither of them was anywhere near clear-headed, Mercy just reached out and patted her friend on the arm. 

“‘S’fine… see?” She pointed to the slowly healing wound. “All better.” The knife was folded shut and tossed onto the couch, where it bounced and disappeared into the cushions. Mercy laughed to herself before turning back to Erin. The other woman was looking at her with an expression that for some reason caught Mercy’s attention much easier than any of the previous ones had. Mercy’s eyes followed Erin’s, down to her arm and back. Her own head tilted to match her friends. “Waaaiiiitt a minute… are you…” Mercy narrowed her eyes. “You know about… things. Dontcha?” Her expression turned to an excited grin. “Holy shit! Why didn’t you tell me?! This is… fantastic! What d’you know about? Like… vampires and fae and shit? Tell me.” 

For someone who’d just been stabbed, Mercy had been incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. Even the way she brushed the blood off and tossed the knife away like it was some toy had been handled with little care. “Didn’t that even hurt?” Erin had to ask, narrowing her eyes, which were still glued to the small pink scar that had formed. 

Erin straightened her back at the woman’s question. “Yeah, I uh--I know things,” she nodded with the authority of a woman who knew more than what Erin actually knew. This whole… supernatural thing was an ocean she was still just belly deep in. She could still see the beach but there was a big blue vastness far ahead of her. “Vampires, fae, the whole shebang,” she confirmed. Alcohol. Oh, she just remembered alcohol existed. She turned for the first time since they’d started practicing back to her beer. Eyed Mercy the whole time she took a sip, gesturing towards her with her other hand. “So, what does that make… you?” She winced as soon as the question left her mouth. “Wait, sorry. Is that rude? Can I just... ask that?”

“Sure it hurt… it’s a fuckin’ knife in my arm,” Mercy snorted. “No point cryin’ over it though.” Mercy was used to pain, and to pushing through it. Pain meant you were still alive. That whatever had caused it hadn’t killed you yet. Not to mention the slight numbness that came with consuming as much alcohol as Mercy had. 

So Erin only received a slightly narrowed gaze from Mercy instead of the full-on look of skepticism she might have received had Mercy been sober. But after a moment, Mercy’s expression turned to a  grin. “That’s awesome.” It was always an interesting thing, meeting someone who already knew about the supernatural. And for it to be Erin, someone that Mercy considered an actual friend… a good friend at that… was even better. Though Mercy was still forever cautious. And she never revealed the identity of others like herself, no matter how drunk or impaired she was. 

Mercy snagged her own beer and flopped down on the couch, blinking heavily. “‘S’not rude. I wish more people would just… fuckin’ ask. Instead of…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Beatin’ around the bush. Course not a lotta people know about… things. So… there’s that. But, we’re friends, right? You’re like… my only real friend. ‘Cept Arthur. Who may or may not lament that title - among others - at this point in our…” Mercy huffed, “relationship. But… since you asked, and I know you’re not a hunter… since… you know… the whole stabby-stab freakin’ you out bit...” A long sip of her beer followed, the coming revelation hanging heavily in the air. “I… am a Valkyrie.”

Erin shifted uncomfortably under Mercy’s gaze, until at last she got that look of approval. She wasn’t about to forget that whatever Mercy was, she’d been able to heal herself in a matter of minutes. Could vampires do that? No, no--she was definitely alive. She’d been warm to the touch during their brief training session. Fae? She didn’t know what the hell constituted a fae exactly but… maybe? She wasn’t afraid, though. If Mercy had any ill-intent towards her, they wouldn’t have been friends for as long as they had been. 

“You’re right, I am your friend,” Erin lamented, slipping into the spot beside her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.She was her friend though, even if Erin hadn’t been the best one lately, she could admit that. Her world had turned on its head and taken her for a ride, so she had some making up to do. “I don’t think your boyfriend likes me much though,” she smirked, recalling the way he’d very quickly skedaddled away from her. But if Mercy was supernatural, and considering how he’d run away from her at the mention of his identical-looking family members, maybe there was something else going on there. That was quickly forgotten when she got lost in Mercy’s dramatic pause, leading into a confession. Valkyrie. Erin sat there for a moment, eyes wide, searching her friend’s face for more clues. “Okay,” she nodded slowly, still staring, realizing she was about to expose herself on how little she actually knew. But she had to ask. “What’s… uh, what’s that?”

One of the advantages of Mercy’s species was that she looked absolutely human. No one would ever know the difference in everyday life. She had been human once, after all. So Mercy watched as the cogs in Erin’s head started to turn. She was processing, thinking over things, and so on. Mercy half-expected her to leave. But she didn’t. Instead, she plopped down beside Mercy on the couch. 

Mercy was… surprised. Pleasantly, for once. And despite her inebriation, her expression said as much, and that she appreciated it more than Erin could know. “Thanks…” Mercy told her, giving her own arm a bump. Mercy gave Erin’s smirk a small, confused frown. “Boyfriend? Wh- OHhhh. You mean Arthur.” Mercy snorted and shook her head. “Nooo… no, he’s… he’s not my boyfriend… he’s… mmm… he’s my…” Her brow furrowed, as it suddenly became very hard to classify her oldest friend at that moment. So Mercy’s brain took the easiest route. “Ex-hus- No. Fiance. Ex-fiance? … since ya know. We almost got married…” Mercy held up a single finger. “...once. ‘S’like… 200 years ago now? It... didn’t work out.” Mercy fiddled with her sleeve, the fact that she’d just told Erin that both she and Arthur were at least two centuries old not even phasing her. “But… I still love him, ya know? It’s… pretty pathetic I guess. Since… I don’t think he even… notices me like that anymore. He was… pretty mad at me for a long time.” Mercy gave Erin a tight smile. “So… yeah. Not my boyfriend.” Her rambling had completely lost the plot on why Arthur didn’t like Erin, so she didn’t ask about it at the moment. 

Besides, Mercy had just revealed what she was to Erin. There were certain to be questions, raised eyebrows, maybe even an exclamation or two. Mercy waited for it… watched Erin’s expression as it started to sink in… and then… nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Mercy visibly deflated. “Valkyries?“ she asked, raising her own eyebrows. “Female warrior figure from Norse legends? Choosers of who lives and who dies in battle? Transporting worthy souls to Valhalla? Big fucking wings? Unkillable?” Mercy sighed. Of course not. “I don’t… do the soul thing. Or… the wing bit - not really - ... because no one read me the fine fucking print, but I-” Mercy touched her fingers to her chest. “- am older than I look. And virtually unkillable. Chaos and discord make me strong, and I can… exert certain influence over people… if I want.” There was more, of course, but Mercy paused there, needing another drink.

The cold beer in her hand was more grounding and necessary than Erin realized as Mercy continued to pour her secrets out between them. And maybe it wasn’t fair of her to think this, but she couldn’t help but feel some type of way about being left out of so much of her friend’s life. But then again--there was a whole side to Erin’s life she wasn’t about to spill to anyone right now. So she cinched those feelings and tossed them away, absorbing and going into listening mode. 

“Did you just say two hundred years ago?” Her eyes scanned her friend’s features, as if something would give her true age away. Things were falling into place though. Why Arthur’s face kept popping up in his family’s old photos, why he had bolted like he had out of the coffee shop that day. She’d touched on something he didn’t want anyone to find out. What was he though? “Wait, how old are you?” She asked as delicately as she could muster. She turned further, resting her elbow on the back of the couch. Her mouth opened to say something, one of the thousand questions bouncing through her brain, but all she could do was stare (not impolitely) as she pictured her friend as the ancient female warrior figure she’d just described. “Huh,” was all she could manage for a few moments. “What do you mean? What, uh--what kind of influence?” She tensed a little as that descriptor, certain fae-related memories in the form of water-logged promises and pheromone eggplant parm dinners rushing back to her.

It was rare that Mercy shared certain things about herself. Not because she didn’t trust most people (she didn’t) but because it was dangerous. Both for her and the people that knew. Arthur was one thing. He was OG immortal like her. Among other things. But Mercy hadn’t told anyone else in… years. Something about Erin made her want to tell the other woman. Maybe it was because they were friends. Erin never judged her too harshly for her choices. She might tell her they were stupid or fucked up or absolutely insane, but Mercy genuinely trusted her. Had she been sober, it might’ve been different. But it had been a long few weeks, and Mercy needed to tell someone about it. About herself. About Arthur. About… everything. Maybe it wasn’t fair to Erin (it wasn’t… not one tiny bit), but Mercy was hardly in a state to think that deeply. 

“Yep.” Mercy made a popping sound on the ‘p.’ “Two hundred years.” She watched Erin watch her, watched as her friend’s beer-soaked braincogs started turning… processing it all. She didn’t know Erin was researching Arthur’s family just yet, and that so much of what Mercy was saying was connecting those particular cogs. But even as drunk as she was, Mercy wouldn’t let out Arthur’s secret. She never had. So she waited, and when the inevitable question about herself followed, Mercy sobered ever so slightly. Something about answering this particular thing always seemed… well, sobering. 

She mirrored Erin’s posture, propping her arm on the back of the sofa. “This year... will be my 1200th summer since I was born. I was human then. My parents were human. My brothers and sisters too. But… when I was…” Mercy shook her head slightly. It was hard to remember exactly. “... thirty-five… thirty-six? I became what I am now. I chose it, so… it wasn’t a bad thing.” The trepidation that settled on Erin’s face wasn’t lost on Mercy, who sighed. “We have the ability to influence certain emotions. To… push… people to do things. But that emotion has to exist inside them already. Things like… hate, fear, outrage… love... can’t be created from nothing. But if there’s a spark… if we’re strong enough, we can fan that spark into an inferno. But even then… on some people… it doesn’t work.” She took a long drink. “I prefer helping people help themselves. To fight back… to… be stronger than the things that wanna hurt them…” She looked at her friend. “And before you ask… no. I haven’t used it on you. Not that you would know if I had, but… no. I haven’t.” Mercy grinned. “You stabbed me all on your own, lady.” 

Two hundred suddenly seemed incredible tame in comparison to what Mercy revealed to be her actual age. 1200. It didn’t feel real and Erin had a feeling it was going to take some time for that number to be tangible. Wasn’t gonna happen now, she knew that much. She listened, quiet but intently, anxious hands drawing the bottle to her lips until it was nearly empty. Her friend didn’t seem super thrilled to have to explain her ability, or that she hadn’t used it on Erin, and she understood that. She’d seen that look before on the faces of her other supernatural friends, which at this point seemed like practically all of them at this point. All of those discussions had readied her for this one, as much as they could at least. 

“That sounds kind of… cool, honestly?” she finally spoke, stumbling a little, the sincerity was there. “You don’t like--do it against their will though, do you?” Erin narrowed her eyes curiously, lifting the bottle to top off the last of the beer. Cringed when she brought up the stabbing. Considering the jaw-dropping information dump she’d just received, she’d nearly forgotten that crucial turning point in the evening. Her hand covered her forehead, sliding down slowly along her cheek. ��I’m going to be sorry about that forever, I hope you know.” The corner of her mouth lifted into an innocent smile and she shrugged warily. “Thank God you’re unkillable, right?” 

Erin was quiet for a few moments more, sitting up slowly, pondering over the empty bottle in her hand. “Alright,” she nodded firmly, trying to push past the initial shock of this and into a clearer train of thought. She set her hand on Mercy’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to get us more drinks and then we’re going to sit here, and you’re going to tell me more about this fucking millenium-old lifetime you’ve been hiding from me all these years.” She smiled, trying to show her support here the best she could. Her friends were supernatural. That was just how this worked for her now. And she’d do her damndest to roll with this punch like she had with the others. It wasn’t like she didn’t have some of her own secrets anyway. “Sound good?”

The problem with revealing what she was to others wasn’t always how dangerous it could be. It also meant Mercy risked losing a friend. More often than not, people revealed their true nature when faced with something that they didn’t understand. Or that scared them. Or both. And Mercy understood. She really did. But even after a thousand years it never got easier to see someone that you’d trusted enough to tell your biggest secret to look at you with either revulsion, fear, anger, or an entire list of other very complicated emotions. And nine times out of ten, Mercy lost. And for someone that didn’t trust or make friends easily, each time one of those relationships crumbled, Mercy felt a bit of her faith in humanity fall away. 

So she answered Erin’s questions and waited for the inevitable, even though the other woman said she already knew about certain parts of the supernatural world. When it didn’t come, and Erin asked more questions instead of exiting the premises as fast as humanly possible, Mercy knew a look of earnest surprise crossed her face. And despite her reticence and her total inebriation, Mercy was grateful to Erin in that moment. “No… not really… it’s-” Mercy found it hard to explain. “More like the power of suggestion? The want to is there, already inside someone… however small… I’m that little voice - a muse, if you like… - that says ‘you know you want to,’ or… ‘you can do this.’ I can’t make people do things… that’s more like vampire compulsion… but I can heavily influence their decisions.” And even that wasn’t a good explanation in Mercy’s mind.

But again, Erin took it all in, and Mercy was still a bit unsure where they stood. So when Erin nodded and made a decision, Mercy let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Sounds perfect.” 

They would drink, and they would talk. Like normal people on a normal Saturday night. 

And for the first time in a long, long while, Mercy felt exactly that: normal. 

 ~

[mskinkykitty]

The Beginning Chapter 1

Pairing- Bucky/Winter Soldier x Mutant Reader

A Winter Soldier/Reader Alternate Timeline Fan-fic. This is book 1 of my series, The Spring Soldier. Takes place after Captain America: The First Avenger but before the Avengers.

A/N: So, I started this fic in 2017, so when reading, please keep that in mind. It’s still not complete, but I’m working on wrapping it up!

Summary:

The reader is a mutant, who has been hiding her abilities since they manifested, she’s never told anyone, not even her parents. She was too afraid they would turn on her or register her and she’d be taken away. She’s a veterinarian living alone on her farm. Both her parents are dead, having left the farm to her. She lives in a small rural town outside New York City.

One night, she hears gun shots and assumes it’s poachers she knows she won’t find anything if she goes out during the night and also risks the poachers turning on her, so she waits til morning, to see if she can find the potentially injured animal. She goes into the barn, having followed her cat and finds an unconscious and injured Winter Soldier. Having a soft spot for injured strays, she decides she’s going to help him until he wakes.

When he does finally wake, everything changes and her secret is exposed. She never expected her life to go in such a drastic direction, but, now that she’s on this path, she’s determined to travel it with him.

First Meetings

She had heard the gunshots and the dogs late last night, which she assumed were from poachers.  She knew there was no point in going out to find them, so, instead, she got up early to find the animal that more than likely got away.  Hopefully she'd be able to find it and nurse it back to health, before releasing it.  Worst case scenario, the animal had gotten away and been so wounded, it had died during the night, she hoped that wasn't the case.

While walking to her barn, her cat walked up to her, weaving between her legs.  He always greeted her whenever she came outside.  He was another animal she had rescued, he had been hit by a car and she found him on her way home one evening. She brought him back, fixed him up and he hasn't left since.

Who is she, you ask, her name is ___ ___, a veterinarian living in the rural area near Long Island, New York.  She had a private practice on her farm there, she saw a few animals at her home, more often than not, she made house calls for the animals that were too large to be brought in.  It was something she loved and had wanted to do her entire life.  When her Father died from a heart attack, she moved back in to help her mother who had had a stroke a few months before.  Her mother's health quickly began to decline and she died a few months later.  Now, it was just her, alone on her farm and she wouldn't have it any other way.  Of course, that didn't stop some of the local busy bodies in town, from trying their hardest to set her up with their sons and nephews.  They just couldn't understand how such a young woman would be happy living alone without a man to help her.

Of course, there were other reasons as to why she preferred to stay single.  She was what they called, a mutant.  She was one of the lucky ones, though, her mutant power wasn't obvious, so as far as anyone knew, she was a normal human. She had even kept the secret from her parents, she knew that if they found out, they'd send her to one of the mutant camps to have her “cured”.  She rather liked her power, it allowed her a lot of freedom.  She was one of the mutants blessed with the gift of wings, but her wings weren't like the others.  They weren't always exposed, she was able to absorb them into her body, the downfall to that, the mass of her wings had to go somewhere, so it would be distributed through her body as excess fat cells, which made her a little on the hefty side.  There were many nights, when she couldn't sleep, on those nights, she would just fly around instead.  She would fly to clear her head, to help her stop thinking about how her life hadn't gone the way she had thought.

Like now, here she was, out in the snow, getting ready to find the animal some poachers had been hunting last night.  She followed her cat, who she had named, Lucky, not the most original, but he was lucky she had come across him, otherwise he wouldn't be here to greet her every time she came outside.

“Hey, Lucky, you're awfully affectionate this morning.” She smiled, bending down to pick him up.  He nuzzled against her face, always happy to see her, he let out a small meow, then squirmed out of her arms and ran into the barn.

“What's wrong, Lucky?  You're usually a little more affectionate than that.” She asked, following the black and white cat into the barn.

When she opened the door, Lucky was standing there, waiting for her, he let out another cry and ran further into the barn, towards the back door.

“Lucky, what are you doing?” She asked, continuing to follow her cat.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw where Lucky had stopped.  He was sitting on the lap of a man.  A very injured man.

“Oh, shit!  Mister, hey mister!  Are you ok?” She asked running over and kneeling next to the man who had managed to sit himself in the chair she left by the back door. She quickly grabbed his left arm to feel for a pulse, but it was cold and very firm.  She pulled the glove off, gasping at the metal that was shinning back at her.  Remembering she needed to know if he was still alive or not, she decided not to take the chance his other arm was also metal, she felt for a pulse on his neck.  She found it. Faint, but it was there.

“I think we've found another Lucky.” She smiled down at her cat, who was still sitting in the man's lap.

“He doesn't look light.  How am I going to  get him into the house?” She asked, moving his hair out of his face, so she could get a better look at him.

“Handsome.  Shit, I bet he's who the dogs were looking for last night.  Whoever was looking for you, I sure hope you're the good guy.” She sighed, kneeling with her back towards him, pulling his arms over her shoulders, so she could carry him on her back.

It took all of her strength, but she managed to stand up with him on her back.  Slowly, she made it into her house and to her bedroom on the first floor.  Normally she would have given the guest one of the bedrooms on the second floor, but she knew she wouldn't be able to carry him all the way up the stairs.

Once she got the stranger situated in her bed, she took a minute to look him over.  He was covered in blood, she assumed most of it was his.  She went to her office where she kept all her veterinary supplies, grabbed a few things and headed back to her patient.  She lay everything out on her dresser, the IV, needles, gloves, scissors, cotton swabs, iodine, and various other things she would use to clean him up.  She was prepared to give him stitches, but once she got his shirt cut open and off, she found no open wounds, a few scratches and bruises, but nothing too serious.

“Wow, you really are one lucky guy. Got away with just a few scrapes and bruises.” She then looked at his metal arm and took it in her hand.

“I wonder if you were running from whoever did this to you?  Don't worry, mister, you're safe from whoever wants to hurt you, here.  What kind of monsters did this to a person?

” She sighed, gently placing his metal arm back on the bed so she could begin cleaning the few open wounds he did have.

It didn't take her long to clean him up and get him all set up with an IV, she figured he was dehydrated and since she wasn't sure how long he would be out, she didn't want to take the chance of his recovery not going as fast as it could because he wasn't getting the nutrients his body needed.

Now that he was fully treated, she began to take off his shoes.  While she was looking up at him, she noticed a hole in his pants, it was wet, with what she assumed, was blood.  Looking up at Lucky, who was laying on the man's chest, watching her, she sighed and  asked, “How did I not think to look at his legs for injuries.  Mister, I'm really sorry about this, I'm not trying to be a perv or anything.”

She got up and grabbed the scissors that she had set on the night stand next to the bed, then back to the bottom of his pants and began to cut them off.  Lucky let out a little meow to remind her that he was watching.

“I know, don't worry, I'm not going to do anything.  Damn, this is embarrassing!” She replied, thankful the man was out cold and couldn't see the inevitable blush that was forming.  Sure, she had studied some human anatomy in school, but never on an actual person.  There was a reason she became a vet instead of a doctor, besides trying to keep her mutant ability a secret, the thought of having to deal with naked people, made her extremely uncomfortable.  More specifically, having to deal with partially naked men telling her about their ailments.  Nope, animals would be much easier to deal with, no chance of embarrassment there, and no judgmental thoughts to worry about.

Once she finally managed to cut his pants away, that's where she saw it, there was a bullet hole in his leg.  Sliding her hand under his leg, she felt for an exit wound, she didn't feel anything, which meant the bullet was still inside.

“Looks like I'm gonna have to dig that out.  Lucky, don't let Lucky 2 get up.” She said deciding to give the stranger some kind of name.  Running back to her office to get some foresnips to try and dig the bullet out.  She wasn't gone long, Lucky was still lying on the man's chest, continuing to watch her.

“You know, we really should call him something other than mister or Lucky 2, how about we just call him Luke until he wakes up to tell us his real name?” She asked Lucky as she began to dig inside the wound for the bullet, Lucky just replied with a soft meow.  As she was digging in his leg, he began to groan and squirm, she looked up, seeing the look of pain on his face, she felt bad, but there was nothing she could do about the pain.  She could feel the bullet and didn't want to go back to the office to find the local anesthetic she had.  It would take to long to wait for it to kick in, not to mention, she almost had the bullet out.  He began to fidget his leg more, so she had to put part of her weight on it to finish pulling the bullet out.

“I'm really sorry, Luke, but the bullet is almost out.  Just bear with me a little longer.” She grunted as she finally pulled the bullet out of the wound.

“There!  Got it, now, let's stitch that bad boy closed.” She said, placing the bullet on a towel she had lying next to her on the floor.  Once the bullet was out, Luke had calmed down and stopped moving, his breathing was slightly labored, but he seemed to be calming down.  Looking back at the wound, she had a thought.  “You know, maybe I should numb this first.  Don't want to risk him waking up and freaking out on me.” So again, she got up and went find the cream of local anesthetic, she hoped it would numb the area just enough so she could get the stitches in without him squirming all over the place.  If she was going to do the stitches right, she wanted him to be as still as possible.

“Ok, almost done!” She smiled at Lucky, who had jumped back on Luke's chest, he had jumped off when Luke started squirming while the bullet was being removed.

___ rubbed a fair amount of the cream into Luke's leg around the wound once she got it cleaned up and added a cauterizing agent so it would stop bleeding.  She gave it about five minutes, before she started stitching the wound closed.  Once closed, she wrapped his leg to prevent any infection from getting into it.  She stood up and looked at her handy work, she was quite impressed with herself, especially considering she'd never done any kind of procedure on a human before.  Then, realizing the man was half naked, she blushed again and turned away.

“Right, we need to get you some pants.  I think I still have some of my dad's old sweats upstairs. They should fit well enough.  Be right back, Lucky.” she said, leaving the room and making her way upstairs to her parents old room.

After their deaths a few years ago, she had decided to leave their room the way it was.  She just couldn't bring herself to change it.  Even though they were gone and she knew they were never coming back, it still brought comfort to her, knowing their room was still there, just as they had left it.

She stood in the doorway a few minutes, after opening the door, to look at the room.  It had been a few months since she had last felt the need to enter.  On the nights when she would have really bad nightmares, she would come in here and sleep.  The room still smelled like her parents and she found it comforting when she would have nightmares, it was like they were still here, helping her.

She took a deep breath and walking into the room, straight to the dresser.  She didn't have to look for long, since she knew where her father kept all his clothes.  She used to help her mother put laundry away when she was still too small to help with the outside chores.  Once she had a pair in her hand, she closed the drawer and walked to the door.  She stopped and turned around, taking one last look before she closed the door and made her way back downstairs.

“You know, Lucky, maybe I should finally get around to changing mom and dad's bedroom.  I've always wanted a library and I think mom and dad would like it if I turned their room into a library.  What do you think?” She asked as she walked back into the room, looking at her cat, he just gave her a slow blink in response.

“Yea, you're right, maybe once spring rolls around, then we can consider turning it into a library.” She chuckled, as she struggled to put the pants on Luke.  “Man, you're heavier than you look!” she grunted as she finally got them up to his waist.  The she stood up and took a step back, looking over her work, smiling.

“That should do it for now.  I'll be back in a few hours to check on you again.” She said, as she threw a blanket over him, covering Lucky, who didn't mind at all.  He'd crawl out from underneath when he was ready.  Now that he was all cleaned up and tucked in, she cleaned up the mess she had made, with everything in the bowl she brought in, she took one final look at the man, before shutting the door, leaving enough of a crack so Lucky could come and go as he pleased.

  The next couple of days were quiet, she went about her daily routine, checking on Luke every few hours, changing his bandages as needed and cleaning up the mess from when he would urinate in his sleep.  Now she was really wishing she had learned about catheters in school, but you usually didn't use them for animals, so she saw no need to keep any on hand.  She made a note, that the next time she ordered supplies, she would definitely be ordering catheters.  She doubted she would ever use them, but she'd rather have them on hand anyway.

  It was early evening on the fourth day after she found Luke in her barn.  She had come home from a particularly messy job and just finished her shower.  Now that she was all clean, she made a fire, since it had started to snow and it was her main source of heat in the house.  Once she had the fire going, she decided to cook dinner.  She was reheating left over spaghetti.  She had her favorite mix tape playing while she cooked, singing and dancing along with it.  Completely oblivious to the movements that were happening in her bedroom.

Luke had woken up.  He blinked a few times and looked around the room.  This was definitely not a HYDRA installation.  He sat up and cringed when he felt the pinch in his arm and pain in his leg.  He looked at his arm first, seeing the IV, he quickly pulled it out.  Though it didn't look like HYDRA, he wouldn't put it passed them to put him in a setting like this to test him, make sure he was loyal.  He winced as he moved his leg, feeling the pain from the bullet he remembered being shot with.  Even though he had been injected with the super soldier serum, it didn't do to much in helping him heal faster.  It helped a little, but not as much as he would have liked.

As he tried to get up, he heard a meow, looking down next to his feet, there sat a black and white tabby. They starred at each other for a minute, before the cat got up and rubbed up against his legs.  He smiled at the action and wondered what kind of HYDRA agent would have a cat as a pet.  Then he noticed music coming from the other side of the cracked door.  He slowly got up and did his best to limp over to the door, upon opening it, he was hit with something he wasn't sure if he had ever smelt before.  Just what kind of HYDRA agent was this?  They had a cat, listening to music and cooked their own food?  His curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly and as quietly as he could, crept to where the music was coming from.

He was shocked when he saw her.  She was definitely not an agent he had ever seen before.  She was short in stature, with long (h/c) hair and a little on the chunky side. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt with shorts that came to mid-thigh and she was dancing and singing along to her music while she cooked.  This was definitely not the normal behavior of a HYDRA agent, not to mention she would be considered unfit as an agent and would never be allowed in the field.  Her guard was down and she was alone, this also went against all HYDRA protocol.  Then he remembered how he had gotten injured.  He had disobeyed a direct order during a mission and managed to get away.  He remembered running through the forest and being chased, but the memory starts to get fuzzy after he was shot.

Though he doubted she was  HYDRA, he couldn't be to sure and felt it best to keep his guard up.  Lost in thought, he quickly looked up when she screamed and he heard glass shattering. His presence clearly startled her.  Did she expect him to stay in bed after he woke up?

  ___ was definitely not expecting her patient to be up so soon.  She thought he would have been out a few more days, so when she turned around and saw him standing in the doorway to her kitchen, she couldn't help but scream and drop her bowl of spaghetti, jumping back as the hot sauce hit her legs.  She fell when her foot landed on a sharp piece of ceramic, falling on the food and shattered ceramic, getting a few more cuts as she tried to get up.  He cautiously walked over to her and offered her his flesh hand.  She looked up at it, then him and smiled.

“Sorry, you startled me.  You'd been asleep for so long, I was beginning to think you weren't ever going to wake up.” She said, scooting back so her back hit the cabinet behind her.  Once she had her uninjured foot stable and not on any sharp ceramic pieces, she took his hand and let him help her stand up.

“Thank you.” She said as she adjusted the weight on her good foot and placed booth hands on the counter behind her to help stabilize her.  “How are you feeling?” she asked before limping over to her fridge and digging out the broom she kept in the space between the fridge and the wall.  All Luke did was watch her, still certain this was a ruse to get him to drop his guard.

She stopped and looked at him, waiting for an answer, but all he did was stare back at her.

“You look better, that's for sure.” She still smiled as she hobbled back over the mess she had made, stopping to get something from under the sink, he tensed and was ready to attack, thinking she was getting a weapon of some kind, he relaxed a little when he saw her grab a dust pan and a towel.

“How's your leg?  I did the best I could getting the bullet out and did a decent job on the stitches. You'll have a scar, but something tells me you don't really mind scars.” she said as she looked at his left shoulder, where metal met skin.  He, too, looked at his bare shoulder, then back at her, wondering why she wasn't fazed by it at all.  She had bent down and was picking up the large pieces of the ceramic bowl she had dropped.

“You can sit down, you know.  I'll have this cleaned up in just a minute, then I can set up a bowl for you.  I hope you like spaghetti.” She said, not even bothering to look up at him as she continued to clean up her mess.  She did find it odd at how quiet he was.  If she was in his shoes, she'd be asking all kinds of questions about where she was and who he was and what happened.  She just figured he was still a little confused and disoriented from being unconscious for so long.  She was sure he'd talk when he was ready.

She smiled a little when she heard the chair move and give a small creak when weight was added to it.

“My name's ___, by the way.”

He just looked at her quizzically and his brows furrowed.  Was she expecting him to tell her his name in return?

“I didn't know your name, so I've been calling you Luke.” She said, sitting on her haunches and looking up at him.

“Luke?” He said, it didn't sound or feel familiar, so he was sure that wasn't his name.  His concentration was broken by a small meow and something brushing up against his legs.

“And that's Lucky, he's the one who found you in my barn and he's been keeping watch over you while you slept.  Only left to go to the bathroom and eat, otherwise, he was in the room with you the whole time.  He doesn't usually take to strangers so quickly, but I'm glad he likes you.” She said with a small chuckle.

He groaned and clutched his head in pain, slamming his fist on the table as images of people quickly flashed in his mind, it was as if they were screaming to be remembered.  ___ looked up at him, startled by the loud noise. Seeing the distress he was in, she quickly got up, forgetting about the pain in her own foot, and ran over to him, kneeling next to him. Her hand on one shoulder, while the other one ran through his hair, getting it out of his face so she could get a better look at him, trying to see if there was a wound she had missed that might be causing him pain now.  She didn't see anything.

“Luke, are you ok?  What's wrong?” She asked, her hand quickly moving down the side of his face, over his cheek and under his jaw, lifting it up to look at her.

Once the pain had gone and the images had stopped, he opened his eyes and looked straight into hers.  They were full of nothing but concern.  Not a look he was accustomed to seeing.

“I don't remember my name, but I know that's not it.”  He opened his eyes when he heard her let out a small chuckle, the look of concern was gone and was replaced with a smile.  Again, not something he was used to seeing on the people he worked for.

“I figured as much, but sadly, it's gonna have to do until you remember yours.  Are you hungry?” she asked, standing up and limping over to the stove.

That's when he noticed the trail of blood her foot was leaving.

“You're bleeding.” He said, looking up at her.  He watched as she turned to look at him, then at the floor, seeing the blood she left as she stepped.

“I guess I am.  Well, let me make you a bowl, then I'll go patch my foot up and join you.” she said, returning to her original task of getting him something to eat.  Once she set it down in front of him, she sat down as well, clearly forgetting about her foot again.

“It's been a few days since you've had anything solid in you.  Make sure you eat slow, so you don't throw it up right away.  You're stomach needs to get used to having solids in it.  If this is too much for you to handle, I have some soup that I could heat up instead.  I probably should have tried that first.” she mumbled the last part more to herself than to him.

He looked at her, still smiling at him. He was a little weary of the fact that she wasn't eating anything. It made him think she had put something in his food.  Even though he watched everything she had done, and didn't see her add anything, he couldn't be too sure.  She was a stranger and for all he knew, she wanted to kill him.

“Is it too hot?  Should I heat up the soup instead?” She asked, worried as to why he wasn't eating.

She went to get up, but he stopped her by grabbing her wrist, looking at the contact, she sat back down and looked at him, that look of concern gracing her features once again.

“Why are you being so nice and helping me?” he asked, his grip on her wrist tightening, she winced at the increase in pressure.

“I don't know.” She replied, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp, only causing him to hold it tighter.

“Did they order you to help me?  Is this some kind of test?” He asked his voice harsher, his grip tightening still.

His eyes never left hers.  He watched as they began to water.  Watched for any indication she was HYDRA, that this was a test of loyalty, a test to see how he would react if he thought he wasn't being monitored, if he thought he had truly succeeded in escaping them. He watched as panic took over her features, as she struggled to free herself.

“Ow, you're hurting me!  Let go!” She said, her voice laced with the first signs of panic and the look on her face quickly changing to that of fear.  He watched as she tried to pry his hand off her wrist, but she was no match for his strength.

“Who are you working for!” He demanded as he practically yelled at her.

She could feel the panic as it began to bubble up to the surface.  She knew that if she let it take over, she wouldn't be able to keep her wings hidden.  The last thing she wanted to do was expose her secret to him, but the tighter his grip got and the angrier he looked, the harder and harder it was to keep the overwhelming feeling of panic under control.  Then, when he yelled at her, demanding to know who she worked for, she lost it.

“I SAID, LET GO!” She screamed as wings exploded from her back.

Luke was bowled over and pushed across the floor by the wind that her wings created as they burst forth from her back, hitting the wall behind him.  Eyes wide, he looked up to see the girl standing in front of him, her shirt barely hanging on to her shoulders, her shorts in tatters on the floor.  She was panting and her eyes conveyed nothing but fear and panic as she crossed her arms over her chest, cradling the wrist he had been holding and also preventing her shirt from completely falling off and exposing all of her to the stranger laying on her kitchen floor.

That's when he knew.  He knew there was no way she was a HYDRA agent.  If she was, he would have heard about her, he would have gone on missions with her.  He would know if HYDRA had an angel on their side.

Luke never took his eyes off her as he eased himself up into a sitting position.  Leaning against the wall, letting it support him as he tried to process what had just happened. He let his eyes wander up and down, noticing how her appearance had changed.  She was slimmer now, her face still held that look of panic and fear.  He had seen that look many times in people before he killed them.  She was afraid for her life.

“I'm sorry.” Luke said as he finally moved to stand up.  Once he was stable, he went to take a step towards her, but she only limped back.

“I thought you were trying to hurt me.” He said as he bent over and set the chair he had been sitting in, up right, then sat in it.  Trying his best to show her that he wasn't going to hurt her.

“Why would I fix you up, just to try to hurt you later?” she asked, after a few minutes of silence and once she was sure he wasn't going to try and hurt her again.

“Because that's the kind of thing the people I work for would do.” He answered, letting out a heavy sigh as he did.

“The people you work for are messed up.” She scoffed as she took a few hesitant steps towards one of the chairs sitting at the table.

“I know.  It's ok, you can sit down. I'm not going to hurt you.” he said as he looked down at his metal arm.  He really hated that arm.

“Are the people you work for the one's who gave you that arm?” she asked, finally sitting down in the chair.  Luke just nodded.

“Are they also the one's who shot you?  And the reason I found you passed out in my barn?” She asked, pulling the shirt up on her shoulder, as it had slid down a little when she walked to her chair.

Again, he just nodded.

“The people you work for really suck!” she huffed.

He couldn't help but give a small smile at her words, the smile quickly disappeared as he realized they would be looking for him.  Which meant, she wasn't safe and if HYDRA found out about her and her ability, they would stop at nothing to have her.

“I should go, you're not safe if I stay.” He said with a scowl as he stood up.

“What!  No, you can't go!  You're not fully healed.” She almost yelled as she did her best to run towards him and grab his arm.

“It doesn't matter, as long as I'm here, you won't be safe.” he said, not bothering to turn around and look at her.

“I don't care who you work for! You're not leaving here until you're fully healed.  Besides, I'm sure they would have found you and captured you by now if they were still looking for you.” She said, stepping so she was now in front of him and giving him a small smile as she blocked his way to the backdoor in her kitchen.

He really did want to stay. He couldn't remember anyone ever having been this caring towards him. It made him feel almost human.

“Come on, at least stay until that wound on your leg closes up.  Then, once it's all better, you can leave if you want.  Besides, it's snowing outside.  How far do you think you're going to get, dressed like that.” She smirked, looking down at his sweatpants and bare feet.

He looked down, realizing she was right and sighed.

“You're right.”

“I know.  Now come on, sit back down at the table and I'll heat your dinner back up.” She said, grabbing his hand and turning him so he was now facing the kitchen.  He had almost forgot that she was hurt until he saw her limp to the table and grab the bowl she had made for him, then quickly looking away as it dawned on him that her backside was completely exposed, parts hidden because of her wings. He was fascinated by her wings, they were almost as long as she was tall and they reminded him of a Raven, the color a deep, glistening onyx. He wanted to touch them and see if they were as soft as they looked.

“Your foot.”  He said, remembering her limp and forcing himself to not focus on her wings, as he was still standing there, now staring at the floor.

“Hmm, oh yea.” she said as she looked down to see how she was favoring the injured one.

“Guess I forgot with all the excitement.  But, hey, at least it's stopped bleeding.” She joked as she walked to the microwave and put his bowl in.

“You should go take care of it.  I can heat my dinner.” Luke said as he walked to where she was standing, he wasn't quite sure how to address her shredded clothing, Trying not to get to close, as her wings were a little intimidating.

“No, it's fine.  What kind of host would I be, if I let you heat your own food?” she chuckled, then gasped and stood rigid as she felt a hand run across the edge her wing.

“They're beautiful.” Luke whispered, not able to contain his desire to touch them. Then, noticing her stiff reaction, he quickly removing his hand. “Sorry, I didn't mean to...”

“No, it's ok, it just surprised me, is all.  No one's ever touched them, let alone seen them. You can touch them, again, you know, if you'd want to.” She said, almost in a whisper, relieved he couldn't see the heat that was spreading across her face. She opened the microwave door and gave his food a few stirs, before placing it back in the microwave for another minute.

“How did you get them?” Luke asked, allowing his flesh hand to reach back up and run along the edge, then over her soft feathers, he couldn't help but stare as he did. He didn't see that she had placed her hands on the counter, supporting herself as she went weak in the knees. She appreciated how gentle his touch was. Wanting him to touch more, she let her wings expand as much as they could in the kitchen. Understanding what she was asking, he brought his metallic hand up and ran it along the arm of her other wing, she hung her head forward as she let out a low moan. The sensation wasn't sexual in nature at all, it felt more like when someone lightly massaged aching muscles.

“I guess I was just born with them.” her voice light and airy after letting a few minutes of silence pass, before answering him, allowing herself to enjoy the sensation of his touch. It was a completely new experience, hands gently caressing her wings, she had no idea they would be so sensitive.

“What do you mean?” he asked, reluctantly pulling his hands away and letting them fall back to his sides. It took a moment for her to realize that he had removed his hands. Once she did, she took a few deep breaths, clearing her throat as she focused her attention back on heating up his food.

“I'm what they call a mutant.  Mutant abilities don't usually manifest themselves until puberty.  So, I didn't know until I was about fourteen.  Um, can we talk about something else?  I'm not very comfortable talking about them.  Like I said, you're kind of the only person who's ever seen them.” she couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the pseudo-affectionate moment they had just shared

The microwave beeped, signaling it's job was done.  ___ took out the bowl and stirred it a few more times, then turned to hand the bowl to Luke.

“It should be hot enough, if not, just pop it back in the microwave for another minute or so.  I have to go take care of my foot.” she said, avoiding making eye contact with him, her voice still very quiet.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.” He said, taking the bowl from her.

“It's ok.  Like I said, I've just never talked to anyone about it.” she turned to leave, but then stopped and added, “If you'd like something to drink, there's cups in the cupboard next to the fridge.  I'll be back in a minute.” Then she limped out the door and headed to what he assumed was the bathroom.  He watched her go, realizing her shirt had been shredded by the exposure of her wings.  He also noticed the scars on her back, he assumed those were from when she drew out her wings and he couldn't help but wonder if the process was painful or not.  Coming out of his thoughts, he stirred the contents of the bowl a few times, then set it down on the table before getting a cup and filling it with water.  He felt bad for asking about such a sensitive subject, but he couldn't help himself.

  Luke was washing his bowl and cup when she came back into the room.  He noticed that her wings were gone, her mood seemed to be brighter and she was fully dressed.

“How was it?” she asked, sitting at the table across from where he had been, acting as if nothing had happened.

“Good, thank you.” he answered as he walked back to the table and sat down.

“I'm sorry about earlier.” She said, looking down at her hands that she played with nervously.

“It's ok, I'm the one that should be apologizing.” he said, watching her fidget.

“Let's just say we're both sorry and leave it at that.” She replied with a nervous smile, hoping he would drop the issue and they could talk about something else.

She was relieved when he nodded in agreement and let out a heavy sigh.

“So, where are you from?” She asked, trying her best at making small talk.

“I don't remember.” he replied, looking to the side.

“Then how do you remember who you work for?”

He let out a heavy sigh, deciding to take the chance and trust her.  If she really was a HYDRA agent, the worst that would happen is he would be beaten and wiped before being put back in the cryo-freeze.

“Before you found me.  The people I work for, after my missions are complete, freeze me until I'm needed for another mission.  I have no idea who I was before or how old I am.  They have a way of erasing my memories after every mission before I'm put back to sleep.”

___ listened in horror as he told her of the things he's remembered doing and the people he works for.  She listened as he told her about the events that led up to her finding him.  Once he was done talking he looked up to see her hand covering her mouth and tears falling down  her chubby cheeks.

He was surprised by her reaction.  The sorrow that was written across her face was not the look he was expecting to see when he looked at her.  He expected to see disgust and disdain, not sorrow and sympathy.

“Oh Luke, that's absolutely horrible! No wonder you ran away.” She said, reaching her hand across the table and resting it on top of his flesh hand.

“I want you to know, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want.  I will keep you as safe as I can, for as long as I can.” She gave him a gentle smile as she looked up at him.

“Thank you, but like I said before, they'll be looking for me, if they aren't already.  If they find me here with you and they find out about your wings, they will take you.”

“Why don't you let me worry about that.  Like I said, you can stay here as long as you want.  I mean, I could use some help with some of the outside chores.” Her smile got a little bigger as she sat back in her chair.  He couldn't help but give her a small smile back.  The chance to do some normal tasks was very appealing and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of feeling somewhat like a normal human being.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Christmas Eve

I rocked back and forth in a glider chair, eyes scanning the wall murals around me. Cute images of foxes, owls and deer peeked behind tree trunks and bushes. Little raccoons hung out in the branches. A bear reached for a hive of bees for the small bead of honey dripping out the bottom. Each image was painted in loving detail and in good humor.

I shifted my vision to the corner of the room where a small artificial tree twinkled with simple white lights. Gifts were piled under it, mostly for the baby. Each toy had marked on it a name and a brief description. 

“Ru’yi’s duckling.” 

“Ru’yi’s bear” 

“Ru’yi’s Hello Kitty”

On the door hung a simple plaque. 

“Ru’yi’s room.”

I checked my phone. It was getting close to midnight Oslo time. My eyes shifted to the table next to the rocking chair. A white unopened envelope from Comemnus Corp lay waiting. I turned it over face down, next to a box of tissues.

 I didn’t want to open that envelope alone. 

My phone buzzed. I exclaimed with delighted surprise. It was Johann and he wanted to video chat!

I immediately accepted and his face filled my phone screen. I grinned. “Heeeey!” My smile faded when I noticed the dark rings around his golden eyes and his pale complexion. “Wow you look sleepy...”

“Jet lag..." He shook his head. “The mission itself was simple. No problems.”

His expression softened, looking into my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, it’s definitely getting harder.” I rested my hand on my round, distended belly. “She’s sitting really low on me right now so I waddle like a fat penguin...” I rolled my eyes. “...and yeah going to the bathroom every half hour is no fun at all.”

“That’s disturbing your sleep.” He observed.

“Yes, but I sleep a lot during the day. I’m trying to get as much as I can, while I can get it. At least, I can breathe now that her head isn’t under my chest.”

“Any contractions?” 

I shook my head.

“Bleeding? Pain?”

“I’m fine. I promise.” I raised my arms, flexing the muscles I’d managed to cultivate over a year of training. “We made sure I’d be strong for this. Remember?”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“So... I have a bit of a surprise.” I reached over to the envelope. “I got this last week but... I haven’t opened it yet.” I held it to the phone camera.

“Is that the prenatal dragon blood purity assessment?”

“Yep. It’s either good news or bad news...” I turned it over in my hands. “I didn’t want to open it without you here... just in case... you know.” My eyes shifted downward, voice trailing off.

“No matter what the news, I know we’ll be able to handle it. Go ahead and open it.”

“Okay... drumroll please?”

Johann obliged, lightly drumming his fingers on the desk. My words were light hearted, but I bit my lip as I tore open the envelope.

I unfolded the letter. “Thank you for choosing Comemnus for your genetic testing needs... we take pride in the accuracy of the results...blah blah...” My eyes scanned down the page. “...keep in mind that prenatal checks are just a marker to establish a history and not entirely predictive of the future...” I took a breath. “It’s recommended to do continual testing to monitor fluctuations.”

“We regret to inform you that Ru’yi’s dragon blood purity is 48.5%... putting her at... high risk...”

I set the letter in my lap. Disappointment welled up in my eyes. Warm tears slipped down my face. “I knew it... I knew it... I knew this was going to happen...”

“Meixiu.” Johann’s voice was gentle.  “You know you have a stabilizing effect...”

“Yes but after she’s born? When she’s separate from my blood?” I reached over to the tissues and wiped my face. “If she tests over 50 percent they’re going to take her.”

“No one’s going to take her. At most they’ll have to monitor her for a while.” He reached out to his screen. “No one’s going to take her. I won’t let them.”

I wished he could reach through the screen. I rested against the back of the rocking chair, willing the tears to stop.

He brought the camera a bit closer. “She’ll be fine. Your Soul Skill can help her. She’s not going to end up constantly dying like Erii. And even if that were the case, you’re in a unique position to help her live out a long healthy life. But I don’t think she’ll be like Erii.”

I put the letter back on the night stand. “What do you think is going to happen?”

A small smile played on his lips. “I think she’ll be born beautiful... and very strong. We’ll have to train her early and often. We’ll have to protect her and watch her very closely. Our lives won’t be our own for quite some time. But... that’s alright.”

“Will we be shipped to the quarantine island...?” I asked him.

“She’s a baby, she’s not that dangerous. Meixiu, relax. Take a deep breath. Please.”

I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. 

Johann’s eyes didn’t shift away from me.  He breathed with me, helping me calm down. He stared, intent and serious, holding my gaze like an anchor. “Don’t let this stress you out, not in these final days. Make sure you’re getting enough rest. If you feel your mind racing, just remember it’s going to be fine. Alright?”

“Okay...” Relief flooded me. 

“Everything else is okay with her, right?” He asked, his soft voice guiding me through my panic.

“Yeah. She’s otherwise normal.”

“Good. Meixiu... Now... there’s something else.” He hesitated.

I detected a shift in mood from the way his brow creased when he glanced away. “I finished the mission a bit early. I should have called you earlier, but I was thinking about a lot of things... and I couldn’t sleep.” 

He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I met someone who... was doing all this work for a woman who was stuck in a coma in a hospital. And I thought... he should be by her side. And it hit me... that I was not at your side.”

I hurried to reassure him. “I said it was alright...”

He held up a hand. “Please... hear me out.”

I bit my lip. “Okay.”

He sat for a bit, eyes distant. “To be honest... I forgot it was Christmas until I saw the decorations here. I’ve been that busy. Right now in Norway the sun doesn’t come up. It just flashes below the horizon. People have to work for their bodies to function normally. They spend a lot of time together to pass the time. I... I was alone.”

“A year ago. I would have been fine with nothing but my sword and a suitcase. But now... I’m not so sure.”

“The whole reason I joined Cassell was out of my own desire for revenge over something that happened to me when I was younger. I obsessed about it every day. I didn’t care what I did, so long as it kept me getting closer to my ultimate goal.”

“But I have gotten no closer.” He rested his forehead against his hand. “And I’ve left you alone. I’m sorry, Meixiu.”

He looked at me again. “I’ve been getting offers for where I will be stationed as official commissioner with the Executive Department. I haven’t answered any of them.”

“I’d just keep doing what I’m doing now, rising through the ranks of commissioner, to special commissioner, to senior... until I’m given a desk job when I’m too old or injured to take on missions any more.”

“I might never find what I’m looking for. And what’s more... I... I’m not sure if I want it as bad as I used to. When I fall asleep all I do is miss you.” He looked away suddenly.

Did he not mean to say that? I wondered. Was he ashamed?  I tilted my head in confusion. This way of thinking was nothing like the man I knew.    I held my breath, following his line of reasoning. I had kept my silence before such an unusually long speech, stunned at what I was hearing. Was he thinking of ending his dragonslaying career? 

“You want to quit?” I asked quietly, gently.

“I’m not sure... this is the first time I’ve felt like this. I don’t know how to tell Schneider.”

“You’re tired...”

“Yes...”

“Come home... get some sleep. Give it some time.”

He looked at me through the camera. The desperate, frustrated look to his eyes began to fade. “I just know that so long as that...” His jaw clenched. “... thing is out there, there’s a risk it might come after you.”

We sat silently a few seconds. “I’m strong, Johann.”

He shook his head.

“Then why don’t you tell me what we’re dealing with?” I asked. “You’ve been hiding this from me for years!”

I watched as the thoughts ran across his expression, his eyes shifting, weighing the pros and cons. His breath became shallower, his lips pressed together. Was what happened to his father really that hard for him to talk about?

“Please...” I said.

His voice was halting and soft. “I was... in the car with my father. It was raining so hard, we could hardly see the road...” He suddenly stopped.

I leaned forward. “Yes... and?”

He didn’t move or speak. A notification popped up. “Connection Lost.”

I sighed. “Are you kidding me!” I checked my wireless signal. “Johann? Are you there? Can you hear me?”

The screen went black. I clucked my tongue. I sat waiting and waiting for the connection to re-establish, trying again and again to call him.

“Unable to Connect with Chu Zihang.”

I sighed loudly and growled to myself. It was so rare for him to open up like this. Maybe he’ll get back online. I propped the phone up on the table and watched for his call, rocking back and forth. In an attempt to keep myself awake, I  sang to myself. Johann’s song, a very familiar tune.

The trees, they grow high, and the leaves, they do grow green Many is the time my true love I've seen Many an hour I watched him all alone He's young but he's daily growing...

I patted my stomach as I sang. I got to the end of the song, but there was no sign of him.

I got up to go to the bathroom. I turned out the lights to the rest of the house, showered and changed into my night robe, checking back after each activity for a return call. Thirty more minutes had passed but there was none. The connection was truly out.

“Come on... Johann...” I whispered, sitting back down in the rocking chair.

I picked up the phone to dial again.

“Relax Meixiu... what time is it?” I checked phone time. I hadn’t heard back for nearly an hour. I continued to rock myself and wait. I told myself to give him a few more minutes. He was clever. He was working on it.

 My eyes suddenly grew heavy but I forced them open. I had to stay awake in case he called.

The lights in the apartment flickered. My vision blurred and my eyes shut. I tried to force myself to open them. Twisted images swirled behind my eyelids for a moment before they opened again. 

I hadn’t moved from the room, but it wasn’t the room I’d just been in. The walls were different. They were just plain pink. The paintings were gone. The toys were different toys. The tree lights were multicolored!

Confused and frightened, I reached for my phone. I looked at it but it wasn’t the same color or the same model as I’d just been using! I dropped it.

“Johann!” 

A cold chill ran through me from top to bottom, followed by a profound numbness. There was no response from Johann through my soulbond any more. His presence in my mind and heart had been as large as a mountain. Now it as snatched away, leaving an agonizing vacuum. In desperation, I reached out to him again and again. “Johann! Johann!”

I grabbed the unfamiliar phone and flipped through my recent contacts. I couldn’t find his name. I threw it across the room.

“Where is my phone?! Where’s my phone?!” My words blended together until I was just screaming, crawling on the floor, knocking things over trying to find it.

My howling was like a wounded beast and a crying baby blended together. The unearthly wailing and crashing furniture carried through the walls, the ceiling, the floor and window. 

I lay my back against the wall, one arm over my eyes. My sorrowful pleas squeezed my lungs until my voice thinned to silence. Only for them to billow open again for me to cry out. “My love! Oh, my love! My love! My love!”

My love was gone. 

Johann, my beautiful Johann, was gone.

[lit--bitch]

Current-Reads (20/04/2020 - 26/04/2020) 🍓🐢

(Disclosure: I don’t know anybody I’ve been currently reading this week. 😊)

Adding the preface again here: every Sunday without fail I throw up the freshest literature and photography I’ve read over the week, sometimes it’s a book, sometimes it’s a piece I saw in a magazine or an online zine, sometimes it’s something I saw on social media, etc. Sometimes I add ‘RECOMMEND’ next to a few of the titles, but that’s not to say I don’t recommend all of them, I just love some pieces more than others. Not everything will be everybody’s cup of tea, yanno, c’est la vie. And any titles that you see in bold are hyperlinked so if you click or tap them they’ll direct you straight to the source… or shopping basket. 

This week I’m gonna throw in a red herring and tell you about something I’ve been watching as well as what I’ve been reading, because I think it’s really cool and definitely appropriate for the age we’re living in at the moment. 

So I’ve been reading: Susan Sontag’s As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh (Diaries 1964—1980) which was edited by her son, David. I also read an interview on Granta from March between Rachel Long and Morgan Parker. I’ve also tucked into a couple pieces on Fence, Lexi Welch’s ‘Astroturf’ and Anthony Michael Morena’s ‘The Whale’. I also saw Cecelia Knapp’s poem in Bath Magg Issue Three (but the whole issue is an absolute smacker, it’s great). Last but not least, I’m up to episode 5 of a brand new thing called The Midnight Gospel. It is crazy good. And it’s on Netflix right now. 

***

Cecilia Knapp, ‘I Used To Eat KFC Zingers Without Hating Myself’, Bath Magg Issue #3: I really loved the whole of Issue Three, I guess I was quite struck by this particular poem for its “staccato-ness”. This poem is buttered with present-day references. But they’re not necessarily about creating a familiar environment. Rather the object of familiarity is found within the assemblage of places, snacks and thoughts, all of which compound the grief ‘I’ is experiencing. The ‘I’ ruminates on life’s banality and their personal insecurities in living banality: ‘I need a thigh gap. I use emojis / to avoid conflict. Worry I’m a gentrifier. Watch docs about murdered women’. The vapidity is funny. The pain is not. The insecurities deepen. Your body, your life, continues the ache of day-to-day routine, and finds no resolution in the things which may or may not stand to comfort oneself when ravaged by loss. The poem feels quite loose, and disinterested. It’s a sore poem, but its array of references make it colourful. It sort of reminded me of Édouard Levé’s work a little bit? But if Édouard Levé had been a pop culture fanatic chewing HubbaBubba bubblegum on the London Overground.  Bath Magg is a pretty exciting new magazine, (been around just under a year I think?) and they’ve published a lot of great writers, many of whom are emerging and I’ve spotted some quite established peple in there too. Kudos to their rubber ducky logo. It’s run by Mariah Whelan and Joe Carrick-Varty. 

In Conversation with Morgan Parker and Rachel Long, Granta Magazine: I deeply love Morgan Parker’s work, she’s, in my opinion, the master of titles. I can’t think of anybody who titles their work as well as Morgan Parker does. And I love the depth of honesty and charisma in this interview. Like yeah, it appears to be a generic Q/A but, it genuinely feels like a conversation, and it’s welcoming and unpretentious. Rachel Long asks some penetrating questions, and Morgan’s answers are so detailed and self-aware. Most of the discussion revolves around the action of writing poetry in general and where does that impulse arise from, but they do discuss Morgan’s latest collection Magical Negro which came out February last year. It’s a narrative on black womanhood, on micro-aggressions and reoccuring violence, it’s about breaking down white perceptions of blackness, and dissolving those projections. What I love about Morgan Parker is she’s tackling this fucking idiot thing where (mostly) white people think she’s attempting to represent all black women in her writing, which is, by Morgan’s own admission, impossible. Her work is a duty to herself, to the background she’s lived and lives, and to unpack that discourse in her own way. And if it resonates, then great! I felt all this was inherent in the interview and only adds to my respect for her, and to Rachel for being such an attentive interviewer. BTW Rachel Long has a debut collection coming out this July, My Darling from the Lions.

Anthony Michael Morena, ‘The Whale’, Fence Portal (Streaming) (RECOMMEND): I can’t tell you how much I adored this beautiful mass of whale and word. It’s an essay which references the American Natural History Museum’s Blue Whale model. The writing is thick with feeling and fat with concern. It blends monologue, memoir. It’s non-fiction and documentary. It’s elusive, enigmatic, fragmented. It’s like broken biscuits and blubber. To me it felt like a note on the offences of climate change, the emotional response and grief as we bystand erosion and corrosion, the loss of life, and the urge to merge something back together as it dissolves and fragments before our eyes. It’s as personal as it is public. A gorgeous and complex piece.

Susan Sontag’s As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh (Diaries 1964—1980) (RECOMMEND): I felt so afflicted reading Susan Sontag’s diaries, because y’know, it’s the equivalent of invading an Ancient Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb. Like, leave people alone. At the same like, this woman. These diaries are still shaping me, and each section leaves you with the weirdest aftertaste. Her personality permeates through every detail, every line-break, every reference and articulation of feeling. You learn so much, you gain so much from her perceptions and observations. How do I contain Susan Sontag? How do I describe these diaries? Not at all. Just buy it. 

Lexi Welch’s ‘Astroturf’, Fence Portal (Streaming) (RECOMMEND): My eyes locked onto this piece and just didn’t really stop reading. Lexi’s voice is enamouring and hypnotic. It’s so violent too. You’re lunged into friction burns and sports injuries, time and progression, the tensions between collectivity and individuality, family and sexuality, or as Fence put it, ‘lesbian eros’. This piece felt acidic. At times you can’t tell if the ‘I’ is indifferent or hurting to the point of numbness. It straddles so many different thematics, and breaks down a lot of conventions pertaining to the “ideal experience” of family relationships and team work. The resolution seems to be that in spite of people, our collectivity is defined by our collective solitude. This essay kicked me around a football field. It takes a good few repeated reads to appreciate its kaleidoscopic shifting, but it’s definitely one of my favourites.

The Midnight Gospel, from Pendleton Ward and Duncan Trussell, Netflix: (RECOMMEND) So the other day my friend Ben linked this to me and I had seen the trailer ages back and thought “Oh yeah I really wanna watch that”, but just forgot. After his reminder, I started watching it and ever since I’ve been saying to loads of other friends “Have you watched ‘The Midnight Gospel’ on Netflix?” because I’m d y i n g  to talk about it with everybody. 

I literally can’t categorise this “TV show” to you. It’s like if animation had a baby with a philosophy podcast and then put that baby onto an IV drip of psychedelics. It’s this swarm of different stimuli which you kind have to zone in on and absorb individually and yet somehow collectively. 

So like, “Clancy” is a spacecaster who sets up “spacecasts” (podcasts) with creatures from other simulated worlds and he interviews them. But when Clancy transports himself into these worlds, it’s not like they’re sat down on some cream sofa with two glasses of water like it’s animated Oprah. No, his interviewees are like in the middle of fighting off a zombie apocalypse or meditating on a mountain or trying to find and save their lost lover. And Clancy just joins them on the journey and interviews them about their “specialism”. These are real people that are being interviewed like, the first episode is with Dr. Drew Pinker. And when you’re watching it, you think that the animation is totally separate to the conversation exchange the characters are having, but that’s not true. They have intersections, they have meaning. It only becomes obvious that it has meaning right at the end of each episode, but if you lock on you’ll see it’s all relevant throughout. 

One of my friends was like “Oh I might stick that on tonight and have a joint” and I was like, don’t fucking get high when you’re watching this because it’s already intense enough as it is, like you know that Pendleton Ward and Duncan Trussell have felt some real shit to create this absolute rare jewel. In my opinion, you don’t need cannabis to appreciate these discussions. But if you wanna do it, then hey it’s a “free country”. And it’s not as though there’s a serious, central core plot like there is with Rick & Morty, I mean there is a kind of overarching plot but it’s not always integral. Like ultimately we’re invested in Clancy’s story but also all the stories of all the other people that come his way. There’s multiple plots, there’s multiple dimensions and ways of seeing. It’s a programme which delivers on multiplicity, which manifests itself in everything and everyone we see and know and touch and hear, etc, etc. 

This production articulates some of the revelations that psychedelics can give you. Psychedelics don’t make you see the world literally like these animations do, but the sensations of the animation are reminiscent of an acid trip’s oscillating moods and sensitivities. It’s really cool, and it’s very poignant, and it’s my new favourite show to watch. And what’s so great about it is that, it requires multiple watches in order to really absorb everything in its entirety, so it’s a series you can just keep going back to even after you’ve seen them all. It’s re-watchable. Just fundamental goodness all round. Best way to indulge in it is with ice cream. 🍨

***

So that’s it for this week, next Friday’s review is Annie Ernaux’s A Girl’s Story translated by Alison L. Strayer, published with Fitzcarraldo Editions. 

Stay safe and well as always, my little caramels. 💁🏽

[adriannaelle]

Treehouse and Chill

The Simpsons reached another milestone this year with the recent airing of its thirtieth “Treehouse of Horror” special which, coincidentally, is the show’s 666th episode. While certainly not the best installment of this annual series, “Treehouse of Horror XXX” was pretty funny. Still, even the funniest jokes in this episode pale in comparison to some of the classic “Treehouse of Horror” specials. To this day, iconic segments such as “The Shinning”, “The Devil and Homer Simpson”, “Nightmare Cafeteria”, and “Citizen Kang” are still hard to top.

So, in honor of Halloween, thirty years of scary tales, and 90’s nostalgia, I want to briefly discuss my favorite five episodes of the Treehouse of Horror series. As always, ranking articles like these are subjective and are based on personal taste. Therefore, I don’t care if you nor yo’ mama thinks “Treehouse of Horror III” was trash. It’s still going on this list!

Alright, let us continue.

Honorable Mentions: “Treehouse of Horror II”, “Treehouse of Horror VIII”, and “Treehouse of Horror X”

Number Five: “Treehouse of Horror VII” (Season 8, Episode 1; 1996)

Although “The Thing and I” was a strong first segment, I enjoyed it least in “Treehouse of Horror VII”. Don’t get me wrong, I thought the story was pretty funny, I just like the second and third stories better. However, I do have a bone to pick with the ending of “The Thing and I”. Instead of confining Bart to the attic, why not keep both Hugo and Bart around after they discovered Bart was the evil twin? I mean, the family already lived with Bart for 10 years. They might as well kept the mistake going.

“The Genesis Tub” was amusing.  It may be the creative in me, but I really enjoy the concept of creating your own world and overseeing it.  Still, I felt the ending of “The Genesis Tub” was a bit abrupt.  I feel like the writers could have done so much more with the concept of Lisa creating and ruling her own Universe. Maybe she could have assaulted Bart with more fighter pilots. Maybe she could have built a massive ray gun a la the ray gun seen in “Citizen Kang”.  The ideas are limitless.

Speaking of “Citizen Kang”, this story is one of my favorites in the entire Treehouse of Horror series.  It's a brilliant satirical take on elections in the United States and the country’s politicians.  I especially like how the writers make fun of our ridiculous two-party system.  Like really, are our only choices between a drooling, Gangreen Gang, cyclops squid, and his twin sister?  Ross Perot should have brought up Kang’s and Kodos’ emails.  That always works.

Number Four: “Treehouse of Horror III” (Season 4, Episode 5; 1992)

Akin to my feelings about “Treehouse of Horror VII”, I’m only a big fan of two of the three segments in “Treehouse of Horror III”.  “King Homer” was just a’ight to me. Granted, the segment did have a great exchange between Mr. Smithers and Mr. Burns about the former’s distaste of seamen and women mixing.  Yet overall, I didn’t get a kick out of this story as much as I did the other two.

“Clown Without Pity” is a parody of the lauded Twilight Zone episode “Living Doll”.  This segment had its share of funny jokes, particularly the line from Patty about losing the remaining thread of her heterosexuality after seeing Homer horrifically run through the house butt naked.  I also like how the key to turning off the Krusty doll’s murderous rage, is switching the lever from “evil” to “good”.  Like, what happens if the lever accidentally switches back?  What if it breaks and he gets stuck on “evil”?  Take the doll back and get a refund!  Like, what are y’all doing?!

Finally, there is “Dial ‘Z’ for Zombie”.  No matter how self-aware I am about the absurdity of my kinemortophobia (fear of zombies), I still have it.  That is why I hated this segment as a child.  But as a grown woman, I find this story very funny.  It’s a pretty simple zombie story, but the jokes strewn throughout are what make it a highlight of the series.  The joke about Homer being immune to the zombies because he lacks brains is one that stands out in particular.  Also, what are George Washington, Albert Einstein, and William Shakespeare even doing in Springfield?

Number Three: “Treehouse of Horror IV” (Season 5, Episode 5; 1993)

Choosing between “Treehouse of Horror IV” and “Treehouse of Horror V” as my second favorite episode of the series was the hardest.  Ultimately, I prefer V ever so slightly over IV, but IV is a heavyweight in its own right.  “The Devil and Homer Simpson” shows just how far our dimwitted protagonist is willing to go to get his favorite, sugary snack.  You got to be desperate as all hell to sell your soul for a donut!  Other than Homer’s enjoyment of his ironic punishment, the best part of the segment is the trial itself.  The Devil’s voir dire game is trash.  How do you select the jury and still lose the case?  Never hire this man for anything.

“Terror at 5 ½ Feet” is yet another hilarious spin on an old Twilight Zone classic. This parody of “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” stays true to the basic horror elements and story structure as the original tale, but, of course, adds its own Simpsons brand of humor to it. However, unlike the original, Bart is still tormented by the gremlin after he’s hauled off to the psych ward.  Side note, Ned Flanders really took a lot of L’s in this episode.

I’ve never seen nor read the original Dracula, so I do not know how faithful “Bart Simpson’s Dracula” is to the original story.  Well, I guess that doesn’t really matter here because this story is so funny and scary that it holds your attention from beginning to end.  From the super happy fun slide that leads to the vampires in the basement to Homer staking Mr. Burns (Burnscula?) in the crotch, this story provides many laughs that make this story a classic.  Also, the plot twist that Marge (Margecula?) is really the head vampire is funny as hell.  Sorry if that was a spoiler but in fairness, this episode is 26 years old now.

Number Two: “Treehouse of Horror V” (Season 6, Episode 6; 1994)

“Treehouse of Horror V” is solid from beginning to end.  “The Shinning” is firmly in my top five list of favorite Treehouse of Horror segments.  This segment has several hilarious moments, from Homer taking three days to make the voyage to the cabin due to his forgetfulness to the blood not getting off at the right floor, to that scene where the complete lack of television and beer made Homer go . . . something . . . hmm.  Well, anyway, I can definitely say that every time I watch “The Shinning”, I’m feelin’ fine.

“The Shinning” is not the only highlight of this episode.  Homer’s time-traveling escapade in “Time and Punishment” introduced us to numerous interesting alternative timelines that ultimately drove Homer to a pure state of “IDGAF” at the end.  Still sucks that he missed out on that donut rain.  That timeline would have smacked!  

This episode’s final segment, “Nightmare Cafeteria”, truly is the stuff of nightmares. I mean, it’s super funny now that I’m grown, but this segment used to legitimately scare me as a child.  It also didn’t help that I was a fat kid.  Like, imagine living your best life and then the next moment, you’re Ms. Wilson’s Fried Adri.  Woo, chile.

Number One: “Treehouse of Horror” (Season 2, Episode 3; 1990)

It’s often said that nothing beats the original, and in the case of Treehouse of Horror episodes, this sentiment rings true.  The very first Treehouse of Horror is the greatest episode of the series.  One of the highlights of this episode is the dulcet baritone of James Earl Jones as the mover, Serak the Preparer, and the narrator of “The Raven”.

The first segment “Bad Dream House” is a comedic spin on the classic haunted house movie trope.  The quintessential 80s style horror music that accompanies the story throughout greatly adds to the mood of the piece without overdoing it.  The conclusion of “Bad Dream House” is what makes this story so funny.  The house destroys itself rather than live with the Simpsons. I don’t know what it feels like to be curved by a house, but it must make you feel all kinds of insecure.  

“Hungry Are the Damned” is our first introduction to Treehouse staples Kang and Kodos.  It is also our introduction to the sorely missed Serak the Preparer, who definitely needs to return at least once in this series.  This segment parodies the classic Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man” and gives us a humorous plot twist at the end.  I suppose this episode also serves as a sort of origin story of Kang’s and Kodos’ beef with mankind because this is the only episode where they are genuinely nice.  Dang, all Lisa had to do was sit down and eat her food. Literally.

Finally, there is “The Raven”, which is absolutely my favorite segment in any Treehouse of Horror Episode.  What I like most about “The Raven” is how the crew manages to add comedy to the piece without losing any of the mystique of Edgar Allen Poe’s riveting poetry.  It also made this poem a bit easier to understand, which I greatly appreciate.  It’s a refined piece of television without the pompousness of the bourgeois.  In short, I like it. 

Honestly, no matter which of the thirty Treehouse of Horror episodes you like best, all are great for watching on Halloween for squeamish, easy-to-scare people like me.  So for those of us who aren’t bravely equipped to watch the more realistic, gory, and scary productions, I highly recommend binge-watching these episodes for some softer scary vibes and lots of laughs.

[cherrymoonvol6]

some avengers endgame Thoughts cause i saw the movie yesterday and can't stop thinking about it

of course..... spoilers ahead

nebula and tony playing!!!! i just love how nebula's personality comes through without it being ooc

also... nebula carefully sitting tony up. she Cares so much :(

steve immediately going to tony :( like im a stucky kind of gal but holy shit i love them

which was completely erased in the next scene where tony drags steve up and down and after that passes out, which is a confrontation Mood

i wonder how they made tony look so skinny and sick. if it was cgi then i applaud them cause it looked so good

the way they killed thanos so fucking quickly here... i don't know how to feel lmao. like cutting the gauntlet arm and then slicing his neck... that's what we were all screaming at them during infinity war. it's good to see them learn from their mistakes, i guess ?

(can't remember the order in which things happen from now so forgive me if i make a mistake)

i told my sister "that's one of the russos!!!!!" so it took me ten seconds to realize that the russo was the gay character everyone was talking about (i thought it would be fury for no other reason than it being shocking and fury having very little to do with the plot, but)

and steve being supportive of that :( man out of time said gay rights!

carol's new hair!! holy shit!!!!!

rocket insinuating carol has been experimenting with more hairstyles... i would like to see it

don't think i missed that carol x rhodey nod. i support it.

don't wanna say it now... for now ill just state: i love what they're doing with natasha in the movie. she truly feels like a friend to steve. like that small gesture of her sliding the plate towards steve is just so domestic and beautiful! it really makes her feel so human and complex at the end. i was so worried about her being wasted but i loved her throughout the film

it was a fucking rat who got scott out. i have to laugh.

also is that the guy from that old "gayyyyy" meme????

cassie is all grown up!!!!!! i can't even imagine how hard it had been for her

also what happened to her mom? and the stepdad??? are they fine????? i hope so

i was hoping we would get more tony as a dad in this movie and it delivered!! tony is so fucking good with kids. the bond between him and morgan was so well portrayed

also the place they live in is so cozy and that's what he deserves

when steve stepped down the car in that black outfit with the leather jacket on i gasped... he's fucking gorgeous

i kept wanting him and tony to kiss lmao tf is wrong with me

OKAY my hawkeye rights. i missed him so much

the stylish subtitles on the middle of the screen felt like too much. this isn't a tumblr gifset honey, just write them down!

thinking about the whole clintasha conversation really foreshadows the whole thing. natasha cares so deeply about clint and really puts his needs before hers. it's so beautiful to see

honestly... my clintasha rights!

i think the hulk/bruce scene was kinda endearing but then the ant man banter dragged on for toooo long

the dab i YELLED. these poor kids have to stand this man on 2023 pulling out 2016 trends to appear Hip and Cool

fat thor...... i hate how it was handled. hate it so fucking much.

new asgard! that's so cute. i hope that's on norway

miek and korg are alive!!!!

the thought of thor insulting a possibly 14 year old on fortnight is too much for me. it sounds like bad fanon talk. i still laughed (bc noobmaster69??? that's fucking hilarious)

tonys reaction to i love you 3000 is so beautiful. like the way he looks taken aback and so happy. i love irondad

steve in a white shirt and jeans!!!! i gasped again. he's delivering, the fucking model

i know they were like, barely being decent to each other again, but i still wanted my stony hug:(

when they're discussing their infinity stones memories and natasha and tony are laying down together on a table???? adorable. amazing.

also why tf didn't nebula said the soul stone required a sacrifice??? i thought that's what she got from gamora dying in volmir

as soon as natasha and clint arrived to volmir i began chanting "nonononononononono"

fuckkdjdksndk fucking nebula. cue to more nononono chanting

rhodey knocking out quill with a single hit is the funniest scene in the movie

clintasha calling on bullshit on the sacrifice thing was also quite funny

the forehead touch :((( im so weak! so sad!

clintasha literally fighting each other to be each other's sacrifice!!!! kill me now!!!!

jeez now i can finally say it: scarjo shined so fucking much on this movie!!!! her delivery was amazing, i really felt a connection between her and the avengers, it really showed her growth during the five year time jump. she fucking killed it. she did her best and she's the best black widow we could've ever gotten.

clint mourning her :((((( probably the third time i cried during the movie

thor's panic attack being used for cheap laughs was the most uncomfortable moment for me... or any scene where people only saw thor as Fat and Lazy (basically, two thirds of the movie)

the freya + thor reunion was so sweet though!

okay. okay. hear me out. tony was on a very serious mission to regain an infinity stone. and the first thing he does is check out steve's ass. and aknowledge how glorious it is. i couldn't believe what i was watching!!!!!! like that actually fucking happened. consider me a fully formed stony bitch.

and scott joining in to say it was "america's ass" ???? poetic cinema

so it's canon that everyone checks out steve's ass and appreciates it as a national treasure. that's all i never thought id needed.

steve saying "hail hydra" i YELLED. it was a nice nod to the whole "cap is a nazi" mess

and steve fighting himself... hot

using his bucky trauma to shock himself is :/// but also :((((

i loved that for one moment i knew everyone on the theatre was staring at steve's ass

and steve being appreciative of his own butt!!!! ok that's all i have to say about steve's ass

i loved the reminder that thor was still kinda goofy back in avengers 1, for everyone who says taika completely changed his character. and the little tony + thor moment was adorable

"howard..... potts" i can understand tony being a mess but how did howard not suspect of anything??? elevator lady took one look of steve's face and all of her alarms started ringing

peggy carter... ive missed my wife so much

did peggy marry souza. i hope she did. steve tf are you doing staring at a married woman (jk)

clint kicking the stones away as soon as bruce is done with the snap is the biggest mood

also... the hell was scott looking at that made him think it had worked? just... more birds outside? i was really curious

the irony of the only avenger without superpowers being left with the stones

"i know you" *hands out stones* how can you not love clint, he's so pure

nebula killing his 2014 self is a power move. that would be me if i met my 2014 self

thor with a braided beard!!!!! beautiful

thanos is like, a real threat and i love that

okay. i kinda saw it coming. i saw thor leave mjolnir behind and i thought "oh????". and then the shock of thanos being able to wield stormbreaker. and then fucking mjolnir moving!!!!! i was the only person in the theatre who yelled

but seriously!!!! steve wielding AND fighting with mjolnir!!!!! couldn't stop thinking about it all day!!!!!!!!! STEVE IS WORTHY!!!!!!!

parallels to thor going for the chest. it never works babies!

and just.... this was steve's moment. steve i-can-do-this-all-day rogers really fighting with every ounce of his body and soul against the most powerful being on earth. justice for him getting knocked after touching thanos for one second in iw!

and steve getting up again! all dirty and wounded!! trembling with exhaustuation and resolution!!! with his broken shield on his arm!!!! just him facing the biggest army of the universe!!!!! so powerful

sorry to destroy this epic moment, but like, okay. people had been reintegrated to life like, twenty minutes before. and i understand that they were all confused and out of place. but sam really needed ALL that time to just... try to communicate with steve????? ok

the "avengers..." *brings mjolnir with one hand while bracing his shield with the other* "assemble" moment was... oh my God. chills all over my body.

that One Moment where steve has stormbreaker on his hand... so fucking hot

the tony and peter reunion holy shit. the hug was everything i needed! like please just hug tony stark for ages

and tony and pepper fighting together!!! that's a power couple right there

i felt it when quill looked at gamora and just... stopped. im so sad his moment was played for laughs when it was obviously such an important moment for his character

thanos was so fucking scared of wanda that he put his own troops at risk to stop her for a little while. strongest avenger right there!

and carol coming back!!!! i was like

i felt so relieved at that point. i was like "yeah thanos is fucking over what's next"

no need to talk about all the women coming together to defend peter :')

thanos getting the gauntlet again... the nonono chanting came back

fucking CAROL trying to stop him. looking at him with such a determined face, like "you can't stop me from stopping you". it was so powerful he had to snatch one stone to stop her

and strange giving him the one finger to tony.... i knew what was coming holy shit. i knew it. they knew it.

tony really proved himself there. it was his best scene on the entire mcu, don't argue with me!!!!!! the way he stood there and took all the power of the stones, unmasked, unaffected, powerful and almighty

"i am... iron man" cue to ugly sobbing

tony knew there was no other way. pepper did, too... she knew exactly what she had to tell him. she was right. tony spent all of these years moved by selfishness first, then fear, then guilt. an endless battle since thanos was on his head. but the war was over. what mattered was that he saved everyone, and he sacrificed himself for everyone. a complete 180° from last movie's ending.... wow

gotta said... peter there felt a little bit out of place for me. i think it would've been more powerful if he didn't say anything, though peter is a teenager, i can get it

his arc with steve felt unfinished, too. i would've liked to see steve's reaction as well, since tony had told him he wanted everyone back and also for his family so survive. but whatever

im not against tony killing thanos instead of gamora and nebula but i would've liked if we saw them react to his death, at least:/ like a little parallel between nebula's reaction at the beginning and the end of endgame

the One stucky interaction here was pulled from cap1 and iw. i feel betrayed

bucky Knew what steve was going to do. i wonder if steve told him before or bucky just sensed it

you can't convince me steve would go back and carelessly dance with peggy knowing his friend is being used like a weapon by hydra and bound to kill tonys parents. nah nah. it all felt wrong

my steggy rights!!!

love that the russos foreshadowed cap!bucky on tws just to give the shield to sam at the end

anyways what the fuck bucky was all steve had but he lived the happiest life without it and left him alone on the 21st century? okay fuck y'all

[gvaf-radio-blog]

I was laying in bed trying to not think about the rejection when the crying fit started, normally it goes away after a bit but this welled up and I felt an emotion like onto a rage induced tornado surging through me and I pounded the floor screaming like I lost a limb to a bear trap and started to pray to God, keep in mind I am a Satanist, to either help me find a way to get the love of my life back or to give me the means to end my life.  Satan was very understanding but reminded me to call them first next time since Satan never told me I was damned for being born pansexual and they did turn me on to better fashion and literature, sorry Satan.

It had been going on like this for the better part of July and there were several things going on in my life at the time one of those was a firm belief that I had grown too old, too fat, too broken to be any use to anyone other than to make others feel better and be target practice for the Russian Cupidi who seems very intent on making others fall in love with me on the other side of the continent, little fuckers have surprisingly deep laughs I found out . There was a person I was convinced was the love of my life because they seemed to understand me, never made unreasonable demands of me ( I thought)  and to put it simply we could not be in a room alone ever. We worked well together in fact each time we would meet it ended in us kissing and tearfully saying I love you to each other  while holding each other head to head crying. Everytime I heard a slight Russian tinged laugh. We were for a short time had an almost family, an almost family is where things are just off and need adjustments. I wanted tp make us a full family badly I wanted this family to happen because these kids were at one time treated like mine own, I am a  simple and boring man except for the Cupidi and a stalker with cat ears who keeps leaving dead birds on my front stoop.  

So yes I was that fool everyone has laughed at in a heart break fueled misery that pop songs and movies lie to us and say “ AH but tis only the third act! The two distant lovers will be reunited and the love song with start after the credits”. I want to start rounding up the con artist that make a living by filling empty headed children with these notions of true love or that love conquers all and sodomize them with live lobsters.  I don’t want to violate ethically challenged people with shellfish everyday, just on those days when I have to deal with the doll eyed masses, ok so basically every day I was trying to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  The Ex had asked me if the reason I wanted to get back together was because they were a “sure thing” I told her that they were really a long shot but if I didn’t try then I couldn’t live with myself. Fast forward a few weeks and several insulting explanations later and I am now turning over all the reasons I am broken goods and that I should not rise above my station because I deserve to be alone, i’m scum, I’m why baby jesus cries and milk spoils when I walk into the room. I started taking pot shots at the local Cupidi with my compound bow but it was hard to aim with eyes full of tears and the edible kicking in finally. I don’t know how to say fuck you in Russian but I think I know the sound of the word. 

Next we find me red eyed muttering some gibberish that’s been fueled by what I would find out later to be a suspected mental illness that is only half way being treated with medication and therapy. To give you a funny and disturbing visual. After not eating or sleeping for several days  I looked like what could be described as a  cross between a fat Reinfeld and a goth George Costanza , or Meatloaf on a bad day. I give you options for your visuals, am I not merciful?

It’s now sometime between one and five A.M and I am looking up the price of the least expensive .45 handgun because I’m poor and I’ll be getting some extra money soon because I turn thirty nine in a week I do not want to be thirty nine so I start looking for american style solutions, happy fucking birthday. I chose this caliber because having some medical training and studying the wonderful world of trauma  I got to see in full detail what a self inflicted head wound looks like and what a person's life is when the bullet doesn’t take enough grey matter. I didn’t want to be alive then I sure as hell didn’t want to live as a joke character from a Garth Ennis story so I was going to get a bigger bullet .  America, fuck yeah.

so I started to make my final birthday plan and feel at peace with having my last ride of Clove’s, bourbon and a good pub hamburger then, Tchüess. BANG! Obviously I didn’t buy the gun to end my misery and embarrassment as my brain was telling me I needed, because instead my brain going into OH FUCK mode was throwing everything it had at me to save the ship. Then it hit pay dirt. I rediscovered a natural emotional energy that put my mind into a laser focus clearing the fog and lies away  just enough to stop my self destruction and restart the rebuilding I began in the winter. The emotional energy that saved me from turning my head into goo goes by the name of pure fucking spite.

I realized that my idiocy levels had reached a critical mass when the Cupidi in hazmat suits who seem to be , in Russian , bitching about extracting me to go get recharged . They came down to take me back to a containment unit that will refill my cynicism back to optimal and lethal fuck off capacity. After my IV of coffee and Monster™ grape was removed I was set loose again into the wilds of Southeast Portland to reconnect my brain with seething hatred that I somehow misplaced my hatred during the heartache attack between Southeast Division and Southeast Clinton street where I  was bludgeoned with a baseball bat by the woman who was wearing cat ears. I was on a time limit because I had to do this quickly and retract my steps before my appointment with a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner at two P.M later that day. I managed to find my hatred , my senses and a new found desire to attack any human with those fucking anime cat ears on their head and entered the office and was treated like a human being not a Cro Magnon sociopath who might try  to kill people on the train, it was a nice change of pace honestly.

We talked about my past trauma and some of the diagnosis that where off base and some that came close to the mark but the main thing we talked about was the depression, the depression that had me looking for a gun as a treatment plan. This Nurse Practitioner pinpointed everything that I had to hide from others or train myself not to do in less than thirty minutes, Let me give you a bit of perspective. 

Most of the mental health professionals I worked with in the past used a method I call flow chart counseling, example:

Therapist sees me walk into the door, therapist will ask if I drink if yes how many drinks in a week, if no move on to the next question. Therapist: Mister Cromag do you drink?

Me: yeah, I like a good beer, or wine I take a shinning to good bourbons as well.

“Therapist now flows to follow up questions”

Therapist: How many drinks per week?

Me: Well, I like to have a drink that pairs with my dinner and some weekends I’ll have a bit more during games or socialization depending on who’s around.

“Therapist now moves down to alcoholism”

Therapist: how long have you been an alcoholic?

Me: I’m sorry what?

Therapist: You binge drink Mister Cromag, more than four drinks per week means substance abuse.

Me: No it means I like the taste of a stout. “Moves down the chart to denial”

Therapist: We need to find you an addiction specialist.

Me: You think my drinking is bad, wait until I tell you about my porn collection.

After that exchange I was referred to a physical therapist to help with carpal tunnel and after a traumatized therapist had to call security all while frantically  trying to find a flowchart for the psychotically horny they made a suggestion about me having an Oedipus complex.

So you now see what I mean, a lot of professionals never got to the heart of it and there are other stories where I’ve had the professionals all but sneer at me when my symptoms are presented. So this Nurse Practitioner was a nice change of pace and with the discussion about my issues, what I thought I might have been dealing with  (sometimes people see that I do have some form of intelligence and not just hit thing with club real hard unga bunga) we then worked out what medication I needed to treat  the thing I was dreading, being diagnosed with  Bipolar 1.

Bipolar and ADHD share many of the same characteristics and as I’ve learned if you have one the other is more than likely there it just needs to be screened for. Bipolar is also a hereditary form of mental illness which makes it a bit unique where others are mostly trauma induced but Bipolar just kinda waits for something to happen and when nothing does it creates its own fun. To add to this good time Bipolar  is classified as a “mood disorder”  your highs are hyperactive boarderlining and often going into a full true manic state of mind and body, not nearly as fun as it sounds. Then the lows are soul crushing affairs that amplify the depression and then takes the lies you brain tells you and creates a story based on people around you, your fears, past trauma and then makes you this poisoned lullaby cake that tastes like candy feels like medicine until you fall to your knees paralyzed and the fangs sink into your back and you see too late what is having you for dinner tonight.

So that’s a quick and blurry on Bipolar 2, I have Bipolar 1 which means I get all of that plus the added fun of hallucinations, and not the type Terrence Mckenna taught us about. These are things that just manifest as if they are real life like if you were in a  film and it was edited without  warning and in this new situation  you now have to improvise a reality, any  reality, this is why I take *drugs prescribed and other. The other issue is that it feels like my memories get remixed and things that happened now have a new twist, a paranoid hurtful twist.  Good example of this is when I was making a terminal wishlist and believed that there were people who truly wanted me to die because I interpreted their actions as malicious. Another example is I was walking home to the apartments  around ten or twelve years ago, I was walking home at the time with groceries and when I got through the front door there was construction going on at the apartment above me. I sleep days and at best i’ll get four hours due to shit employer, new born child, a girlfriend that was Sybil the next generation who completely refused to get treatment because she was a psych major and thought she was the heroin to overcome all odds  in a lifetime movie.  So on top of this my mental illness is not in check, no insurance and if I mention medication at work I could get fired. 

 I wish this was a part I made up  but I mentioned I was on antidepressants at one time and they removed me from two positions back to entry level until I got clean off celexa, Not allowed to do the fun drugs and then punished for using the boring ones no idea why I stayed there for eight and a half years. 

Back to the construction, I get home try to put my groceries away and one of the workers says he needs to do something in the bedroom I tell him to get bent , he calls me a fat fuck and I proceed to beat him bloody! Except it never happened, I woke up beating my fist bloody onto the tiled floor of the kitchen where I had started to put away my groceries until I jumped into this other reality, I’m just happy the kid wasn’t home because it might have scared her and made her cry and knowing I made her cry hurts the worst, I would have attempted that second suicide earlier. This freaked me out I’ve never had an hallucination like this I was scared, when I told then girlfriend hoping to get support or at least pointed in the direction on where to look she labeled me a schitzophrentic started talking to me as if I was going to flip out  and that I was even more dangerous.  I let that turn around in my head for years thinking that this was the linchpin to me being broken and with the way she talked to me I believed I didn’t deserve help. This was one of the main reasons I had to kill myself after she took my daughter away.

Like a few million other miserable , confused people out there I didn’t know a blessed thing about what was happening, I remembered the mental abuse and emotional abuse from the church, and some had argued physical and neglectful abuse I recieved at the hands of my family or my mother’s husbands who told my mother to no provide for me but instead buy him a new toy car. My step sister who somehow hates the knot headed reprobate more than I do stole his precious camaro and rear ended a Semi. After learning she was ok I fell on the floor laughing because all I could think about was this NASCAR addicted stunted man child calling his mommy to whine about a broken toy, to add to this mental image he was wearing a blue jean diaper and clutching a plush Richard Petty teddy bear.

There’s more but I don’t feel the need to talk about school bus drivers and me losing memory of one full  year of my life, bullying at the hands of adults and children alike. I feel like that would be redundant and unfortunately all too common a story I’ve heard from so many people in my life, friends, lovers , coworkers the fucking homeless people who talk with me after I give them beer money. Leaving some of the genetic issues aside you bastards need to understand how wide spread some of these traumas are for fuck sake my motley of misfits are all walking trauma case studies and instead of getting help YOU people ridiculed them, or gave them the greatest useless sentence in the english language which is :

 “Just get over it.”

Do you know what I would like to see? I want to see all of us survivors roaming the streets like that piss poor movie they claimed was a horror movie the Purge and with a list not unlike the list owned by the man that comes around Johnny Cash sang about during his song of the rapture, and I see men, women, and nonbinary people going to the address of those passive aggressive twits and beating them within an inch of their life, then carving into their chest (backwards) “get over it” then we move on to the homes of the rapists and tell them “you asked for this” before destroying their cocks with battery acid. The screams in the night would be glorious with the bats acting like percussion and the screams keyboard swells it would be like Front 242 unplugged. Maybe then the sniveling pretentious nra members out there will learn a bit. At best, it would be fair warning not to be passive aggressive asshole and learn a bit of compassion and mindfulness or to just get their heads out of their ass about battles they know nothing about if they want to avoid severe head trauma that one can not just simply get over. 

Living with mental illness is not easy at any level whether a small bit of depression after a breakup or full blown PTSD after a brutal rape that leaves one unable to leave their house. Whomever has these afflictions are the ones suffering and your feelings of inconvenience or fear  of those sufferers need to be thrown into the Willamette river, I would say you need to follow suit  but there’s enough garbage in this river you can fuck off into a trash compactor.

Living is the hardest thing I do but I keep finding ways to stop the thoughts from taking over and I will and have done whatever it took to not die and sometimes the only way I was able to beat the mental illness was being bat shit insane. Some people think I’m a drug addict, others just think I need to talk to my old invisible friend, a few well meaning souls have suggested psychedelics and these people are pure and I will castrate any who try and stop them from their holy work from the almighty Bob. what I do need is to find that bitch with the **baseball bat and introduce them to a proper bonfire that I’m going to roast one of those little commie Cupidi on, oh yes I want my revenge for St Louis. 

*the drugs in question are cannabis for the most part, when I’m spinning hard it helps tune me down and when the depression hits it shuts up the thoughts that plague me. Not a cure all nor is it a replacement for proper medication and therapy. I like to think of it a supplemental medicine that has the added effect of making Tool sound even more epic and letting me sleep peacefully. 

** all wildy violent, funny and or cartoonish descriptions written about are there to be funny and entertaining no Cupidi do not exist and the Cat ear person does but the assault was less bloody and didn’t involve a bat  but it was far more traumatizing.

[fauzhee10069]

JoJolion’s main villain? Will it be female?

Okay, so whenever I find a discussion about JJL main villain, who will it be? And with the thirst from fans who wanted the first female main villain in JJBA, a popular theory emerged that Higashikata Caato would become the main villain. Yeah, so far… she is really popular, lots of hints point towards her, I can see some reasons of why:

Her motivation, she is currently in conflict with her ex-husband, Norisuke IV. Their conflicting views of how they have to sacrifice to save their son from the curse. Her sacrifice made her imprisoned for 15 years and separated from her children (how sad when her three children did not know her as their mother). Now, she returns and demands a payback.

Her persumably dominance over her son, Jobin. Jobin who previously was hyped as potential main villain is now overshadowed by his mother. Especially, it was pretty much confirmed that Jobin isn't the mastermind by Dolomite and Rai. “Jobin sweetie, remember that I went to jail to protect you, to save you, all for your sake. Imagine she says, ”I can see that Jobin must feel very indebted and grateful to her, that’s why he looks very respectful to her.

Her first impression of Gappy!Josuke was that she doesn't like him, regards him as freeloader (a potential enemy?)

Her Stand being a space-manipulating related type, often being regarded in the same boat with D4C (though I see that it’s more similar to Enigma currently).

Despite being 52 and a granny, she looks attractive for no reason, Araki’s habit of creating his main villains. Look how he changed fat!Valentine into the hot 48 years old president. Caato could be the antithesis of Lisa Lisa. Both are hot milfs in 50s and supportive to their sons, only the side is reversed.

Advanced points:

Norisuke IV he is one of the people closest to Josuke but the one who is likely most despised by Caato. I can see the potential conflict between Josuke and Caato or even her conflict with her other children.

The race to obtain Locacaca fruit, Caato’s side (Tsurugi, Jobin and Mitsuba) are fighting to cure Tsurugi. Josuke is fighting to restore himself to normal and save Holy.

Now, enter my personal opinion...

Actually, I like Caato as villain, or even major villain. But to be honest, though I also crave for the first female main villain, I don’t really like the concept of Caato as the one. Reasons:

Her conflict/motivation is too domestic, a household disputes; an ex-wife who wants to take revenge on and punish her ex-husband for the sacrifice and misery that she have to endured and demands payback (she openly asked for half of the household fortune). Basically, she wants to take back what's rightfully hers,  probably dethrone the patriarch to dominate the family business and fortune. This sounds like a plot taken out from Korean/telenovela family drama (with revenge as its main theme) only that it involves Stand battle, could be good for side plot but not for main plot. I wish the Rokakaka fruit, Rock humans, scientist and the curse will be a greater focus than this family drama bullsh*t.

Her background itself is too ordinary, a former housewife with no visible past career or other interesting things, unless she had other past background that is still hidden, maybe a past career that hasn't been revealed yet, ala Izumi Curtis. Though she could be a counterpart for part 4 main villain, being ordinary salary man.

Her flashback and motivation in the past, in my opinion, is too sympathetic (something that Araki claimed to avoid whenever he writes a main villain). To save her son from her curse, rather than sacrificing her life, she preferred to sacrifice the life of other (stranger). To be honest, I prefer her method than Norisuke IV, therefore Jobin (and her other children) do not need to lose a mother figure (which ironically happened). This is a husband’s common mistake; assuming that his wife is not different with his mother, hoping that his wife will do the same thing with what his mother has done. Basically, a mom who did sacrificing her own contented life for the sake of her child, imprisoned for 15 years away from her children, she had just been released and is still reorganizing her life. Unlike other JoJo main villains, in which their trouble pasts had become a past completely (that happened years ago) as their current life in the present storyline is much better but Caato still had to face her ex-husband who seemed to abandon her and had to try re-bond her relationship with her children again (idk why but her story kinda reminds me of Cookie Lyon from Empire). She just barely regains her life back.

Her personality that is too obvious for a villain. Being very two-faced and deceptive, showing her true calculating personality to those she deeply trusts yet truly capable of however seems to intimidate and inspire fear, but in public, she comes off as charismatic and loving person. It’s like “Oh looks… she is evil… she must be the main villain!!” I mean, just as she first appeared (which is not long ago), she already acted menacing, intimidating and declaring her objectives. Whereas JJBA main villains in general were acting pretty casual.

Most likely, Araki did the Principal and The Pauper to Norisuke IV’s character. From the fun & loving dad and a supportive father figure for Josuke to be an asshole husband who is disregarding his wife for the sacrifice she had made and even refused to pay her alimony. Now I am confused whether I should cheer for Norisuke IV (Josuke’s side) or Caato. This will potentially rival my disappointment over Xiao Fan ruining Zhao Yun and Xiao Meng’s dynamic. >:(

She doesn’t have any moment that can be mocked over and meme’d. Also, all of her appearance so far is like a boss. If she constantly stays like this till the end, I’m afraid that she would potentially ruin the funny dynamic between The Main Villains gang in fandom!!!

I don’t need another mom archetype in JJBA main villains gang, we already have Kira as the mom.

Her determination to live free from the men (read: husband)’s control and decision yet seems to be in control of her son (and possibly grandson) makes her sound like feminazi. I hope I’m wrong though, hopefully Araki doesn’t write her to be main villain only to fulfill the quota (due to the lack of female main villains) or as political correctness. I just want my first female main villain to be just a character of her own without being the feminist advertisement (though that’s what you likely will get from a character with just housewife as background). I have faith in Araki though because in my opinion he was quite successful as he wrote Jolyne, she is very likeable for the only female JoJo as she is simply being who she is without promoting feminism.

A mother controlling her children (in this case, Jobin). Though this is personal, I’m never into this kind of villain. I think it is very cheap, there is a teach that children must respect their mother who had nurtured and raised them and one mom decided to take this as an advantage to control her children. Most likely, Caato could be the main cause of Jobin's authoritarian attitude to his son, Tsurugi.

Mom: “Okay son, remember that I had carried you in my womb and suffer for 9 months for it, I had painful labor to bear you, I had taken care of you when you were a helpless baby, teaching you everything and saved your life from the curse, even saved you from your crime, by letting myself go to jail and lost my 15 years of life… all because I love you. Now, do me a favor and never question it!” Son: “No, sorry mom.” Mom: “(How dare you!) Why not?” Son: “Because I never ask to be born (especially by you).” (I don’t think Jobin would ever say that, probably Joshu).

So, if Caato turns out to be the main villain, she could be my least favorite main villain despite I am being a female myself. Though it's still too early to judge, there is still a hope that she will deliver something more interesting than those 5 points above. One of them is the theory and possibility that she is the mysterious head doctor or the Rock human’s leader.

My other personal wish is that Holy Kira is the actual main villain. This is purely crack theory and something that is even less likely than Caato, but I think Holy Kira will deliver something more interesting than Caato:

Her more interesting background as an Ophthalmologist, emergency doctor, and guest professor. A woman, a mother and A PROFESSOR!!!

Her more direct connection with Rokakaka fruit, it is revealed that Holy created the hidden Rokakaka lab at T.G University Hospital, she was researching the fruit! Therefore, A SCIENTIST!!! There is a possibility that she was part of the Rokakaka Research Organization (though probably she just did the research independently).

She is a direct descendant of Johnny Joestar, therefore… a Joestar! Imagine being a Joestar and a main villain at the same time!! Okay, despite being a Joestar, Holy is not a JoJo. But this will be hilariously the greatest irony ever, a main villain is descended from a JoJo.

Her, tricking Josuke, the main protagonist (who is also part of her son) to cure her is something far more brilliant than a mom straightly controlling her son through intimidation. Perhaps her illness is part of her master plan (“計画通り/keikaku doori!!”ala Light Yagami or Aizen), it’ll be a greater troll than Joseph trolling Jotaro as reincarnated DIO XD.

Holy Kira might be the antithesis of Holy Kujo, the purest and most loving milf ever in JJBA to be the worst and ambitious mom.

Holy Kira might fit the theme of the villain being the opposite of the protagonist, what is the opposite between Josuke and Holy? One being the guy stitched together from two other guys and one being a woman who has a lot of missing parts (in this case, her brain).

She already had her possibly funny/crazy moment when she was trying to use a nurse like a pair of boots and a magazine XD.

Personally, I think that Holy has better design than Caato. While Caato looks like the older version of Jolyne, her messy appearance looks like a middle-aged woman who couldn’t let go her teenage years (that’s why she can’t beat Lisa Lisa as a hot milf in 50s imo, her appearance is tidier and more elegant). Look at Holy Kira, she is trendy and the dark cape looks fabulous for a villain’s design.

Holy may possess a more interesting Stand, I’m sure she is a Stand user if she can see Paisley Park and knows about Killer Queen. Please, Araki… show me what her Stand is capable of!!

If Caato stays the same until the end of the story, she will be the most deviated villain in JJBA history besides being female, Araki might breaks the pattern with her. But isn’t using Holy Kira as main villain would be a greater pattern breakers??

Besides Holy Kira, I found another crack yet brilliant theory of Yasuho being actual main villain without her realizing it, played it like an alter ego ala Doppio. Disclaimer, it is not written by me. While this is very interesting (and I support this theory tbh), this could be another case of The Principal and The Pauper in Yasuho’s character.

Hopefully, Caato is just a red herring for the actual main villain (as she is too… obviousss), but the possibility of Holy as the main villain is even smaller. That’s why I keep my expectation of evil!Holy so low, she could be just a straight SBR counterpart for Holy Kujo (the purest mom in critical condition that needs to be cured asap) with slightly bigger role, nothing more. Perhaps, the main villain could even be neither Caato nor Holy.

Now, let’s countdown the villains we had so far and how Caato or Holy will fill it up:

A vampire (and an ex-lawyer student)

A Pillar Man, boss of his own kind

A vampire… again (at least he is hundred years old now)

A salary man and serial killer

A mafia boss

A priest (and the vampire’s lover best friend)

A president of alt!US

A former housewife and former inmate / A mad scientist and a Joestar / A Rock human and head doctor (another mad scientist), assuming the third possibility of main villain is a guy / The main villain is a concept (not a person), the Locacaca fruit itself (I love this one tbh)

Pick your choice!!

Summary: I welcome Caato as villain, even as major villain. She is the first female villain who has her own motivation without being a mere pawn for the main villain. She deserves a big role, but not the biggest role. Gappy!Josuke deserves a greater villain to fight than a greedy and vengeful milf who is wronged (by her husband) in the past, someone who hasn't even reached the top (and her own happiness). The mystery of Locacaca’s fruit, the origin of the Higashikata’s curse;the rock disease, what’s up with the Rock humans and the Wall Eyes should be prioritized over the game of throne inheritance fight drama of the Higashikata family’s property and power. To be honest, I still prefer the main villain to be a man… again rather than Caato (even if it is Jobin).

TL;DR Caato will still be my most favorite female villain but potentially becomes my least favorite main villain in JJBA.

[ifightmywarswithfingerguns]

People say life teaches you the hardest lessons of all and you shoudl learn from those lessons. (insert qupte herer) However, I feel that it isn't life teaching you it is you, you tech yourself these things because they're your experiences and only you can decide how you feel and how you want to live your life. Yes, these are always outside influences. Up the unlimited decisions are always made.by you and you're the one who has to live with said decisions. No one else I the world knows what you want and no one else but you knows how you feel. So why shouldn't the person who is with yo the most by the one who lobes you the most? Life is full of old but I feel the most important love one should feel is the love for themselves. How much you love yourself depends on how you perceive yourself and who you think you are. If you base your self perception on the feelings of others you'll always be unsure of who you are because you are differ t and hold different meanings for different people. Your mother sees a different person than your best friend and you teacher may know more about you than the. Other combined but only you know who you all. Who you are is. On prized of all these things, it is the whole picture not just the pieces taken by different people.

A lot of this perception takes place in our own minds because how we see ourselves is reflected in all of our actions, someone who feels poorly about themselves may nto stand as straight or walk with a certain swager as soemone else who is confident in themselves. And in today's world with the ever constant attack on your girls in the media I find it more difficult to find girls who can honestly say they lvoe themselves and take pride in how intelligent, beautiful, and witty they are. If you ask a woman if they are aware of their beauty they shy away and find 50 things ":wrong" with themselves within twenty seconds because they have a list in their heads of their flaws. It is alwyas there when we're out buying clothes or watching a movie there is a pressure to look, act, and dress adn certian way to be considered attractive. Go to the store and pick up a tabloid and i gaurentee you'll see it plastered everywhere of "how to loose weiht, makeup tips to look better, and hwo to get/please a man." We are tarught that it is our goal to confomr to what the male gaze desrires fom us adn become that no matter how unrealistic. I vividly rememebr thinking if i read all the magazines and dress like them and looked like them aht boys owuld like me and i would be completley happy with every aspect of my life. Thankfully that never happened because I am a different person nwo and how I fel about myself is how every girl/woman shold feel about herself and that is loved. Every woman should love herself for all that shee is because all the media we see isn't real and none of it will ever make you happy with yourself. The media is made that way to make you spend money trying to look like these women who are photoshopped or diet and starve themelves in order to look the wway they do. It is a vicious cycle but it is on ethat can be broken. So that little girls don't grow up and skip meals because it'll make tem prettier. So they grow up to be women who own thier bodies prudly and aren't afraid to say "yes, i am beautiful.". I love body positivity and sein women lvoe thier bodesi no matter how much hair, fat, or stretch marks they have on them. I also love seing women complimenting each other instead of competing to be the prettiest in the room to gain male attention. There is so much propoganda tearing women down that it is empowring and heatwarming to see them wake up and shun the idea that they should be anythin other than what they are. That they should o to extremes to "fit in". Quit frankyl if you don't love yourself of rall that you are you will never be happy ith how you look there will alwyas be somethin ot be fixed. As soon as oyu stop lookin on the ouside for balidatio your life will imporve and your confidence wil improve because if you build youself up with the compliments from men thier criticisms will tear you down. So you become your own bricks abd rebuild yourself and your self image to one taht you like. So you take a look inside yourself and hwo you are to amke taht person better and make thsat person one who loves themelf. 

I am so adament about htis because I was trapped in the world of pandering to the male gze and constnaly fhanign my appreacne to get them to like me which  nveer worked or bsing my self confience on how others saw me and i was miserable. I was depressed, suicidial, and quite frankly i ahted myself and my body image. I still  struggle with my body image because it has been engraved into my brain dn way of thiking of hwo i hsould look adn i have to stop myself form thinmkin gthat way. I am admaent about his becaue i wasted years of my life and destroyed my body for a peive of mind i never got. I am a recovering annorexic and although it has been four years since i "quit" it has never left me. It is an ever looming shadow on my life because it is a constant thing when you have it. I was always counting calories and doing anything not to eat to avoid gaining weight. I exercised excessivly and i remember almost passing out at every workout session i would go to because i hadn't eaten htat day. I had a system of going three days without eating and on the third day maintaing a one-thousand calorie limit. It was toture but i was losing weiht and i gauged the weight by how easily you could see my bones. I pradiesd myself everytime i could see them a little bit more. I cursed myself whenever I did eat on the third day calling myself names like fat, worthless, and weak. Not only di di curse myself i punished myself for eating so much with mroe exercise or waiting an extra day to eat. I thin that was the biggest struglle of all, eating. Every bite felt like i was getting fatter and it was as trule ot force myself to eat a single bite. Every swallow felt like it was stuck in my throat and like i should go vomit ot keep it from getting ot my stomach. it was an awful feeling in multiple asy but mainly becase i love food i love eating and tastin things but i oculdn't llow myself the one htin i lvoed. An incidnet i had where i felt the weakest were When my mother made my favorite mamwhich which i love to death but i couldn't brin myself to eat it even though th esmell was intoxicating. So i went o bed with no dinner that night to get up in the morning and get ready for shcool. I wasso desperate for it i got a spoon adn just tastd it. It was loruious they savyory and salty i even chewed it a little bit but i could not le tmyself swallow it. So i we tot eh sink and spat it out and even went as far as to wsh ti task out my mouth because i couldn't even swallow that it woud be cheating. It was constant and thw rost part was i ot compliments on ym weiht loss. The compliments pushed me to continue even further because i knew it was working. I thrived off of the compliment sbecause it meant my heard work was paying off. Adn you don't get that kind ofprasie from reovery you get digusted looks like " you really let youserlf go". Or irls would be nasty in school like the usually are and i heard comment on haw faat i've gotten and horrible giggles from these gaggles of girls. Recovery is one of ht e toughtest things I ever had to go through and i had to go through it alone because no one knew about it. I coudn't let anyone know about my anorexica and peopel to this day don't know abut it because i kpeti tso well hidden. Although my eatin habits are back and i'm at a normal weigh tnow i still feel the thoughts creep up on me. i still ahe htoughts of "wow you're fat" and i have to tell myelf "yes, i have fat but i'm happy and fat is not a negative thing ot be. Fat is not a person or a noun it is an adjective to describe something and shoudn't define my entie person and how i fel abiout myself. i have fat and taht is kay and the more i accept that the happier i am with myself and the tiem i spent worryign about hwo i looked turned into learnign about why i felt that way and learnig more about myself and the wordl aroudn em. In the years since my recovery I have become mroe eduacted and acepting and aware of the world around me and I feel better for it. I feel mroe empathethic adn it gives me hope fora brihter future where i can be even better than the prson taht i am nw. I always want to learnadn grow ad I hope to ive that experince to someon eelse via my time in college and far after. I want ot encourage women to love themselves and every part of them becaue they desreve to. Because no one should have to go through what i went thorugh and because these girls are worth much mre than thier measurments. They are doctors htey are mothers they are terachers and daughters firefighers senators and presidnets. Women are amazing and capable creatures who deserve to feel some self love  and that is not soomething life will teach you. that is something you ahve to teaf. to love yousrelf deeply and with no bounds. The love the should feel for thiemselves should equal the ones they read about in reomance novels  unconditional.  It took some a long time to get where I am in loving self and who I am and I even falter sometimes when I overheard mean comments and I start to think badly of myself. I have to physically and mentally stop myself and dispute whatever it is that was said about me because I can't let myself jnternalize it. If I internalize it Nd take their opinion a truth I begin to be,I e it and become self deprecating. And now that I am in a better place i still see. Y peers whose still I the negative space that I was in and I even hear my mother and sister picking at their bodies and h Ow they wish they were different or skinnier. And I want to explain how it is a via thing to search for and to try to be. Skinny and healthy do no correlate nor does skinny and happy. It is a long process to love yourself. It is a daily regime of stopping negTive behaviors and correcting them. Small comments like oh I'm so fat or I couldnstandtk lose weight wear your self sped teem. It's about stopping yourself from those thoughts and placing them with I'm amazing and wonderful. Another thing is a denoting compliments 9/10 women will deny any compliments as if they aren't true but accepting them is accepting yourself and agreeing that ueah I am cute or adorable or whatever it is. I never wit any girls to go through the struggle that I went through especially. Yniece. These little things these Mir agrees ions add up over time and really affect how you see yourself and it starts at a young age. Children can be cruel especially she it comes to weight and Eve. Adults are cruel. I remember as a child it was a joke in the family how fat I was but it really stuck with me as I grew up that this I show people see me and bow people see me matters. And I've learned that it doesn't that it is how I see myself and how I h

[redditnosleep]

I Took A Walk For Seven Years

by theoddcatlady

It was August 9, 2010. I was thirty eight years old. My oldest daughter Avis was twelve, and the younger pair, Joanne and John, were nine year old twins. I’d been married for fifteen years. I worked at an insurance firm. And every Sunday, while my wife and Avis went to church and the twins went to my mother’s house, I took a walk.

It was a clockwork sort of arrangement. My wife knew never to push me into going with her, I was an atheist and set on staying that way.

Of course, given what’s happened, my views have changed.

It was just a normal day. Avis gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me to not forget my coat, even if it was an abnormally warm day. I’d say it was maybe sixty five, maybe sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit. My mom picked up the twins. And I started down my walk.

We lived off the beaten path, so to speak. Our road was never busy and most of the area was taken up by farmland. A truck passed me on the road and I waved. I was pretty sure it was Art, although it could’ve been one of his sons on his way to church. Either way, he waved back.

I took a turn to the right onto Hensel. Hensel was a dirt road but it was never travelled except by farmers, and today it was quiet. Good time to collect my thoughts.

Every other time before this, I’d turn back around once I reached Art’s farmhouse, although occasionally his wife would pull me in for lemonade and gossip.

But August 9 would be the day I took the longest walk of my life.

I was passing by the cornfield when I heard laughter. To be more specific, it was a child’s laughter. I paused and looked into the cornfield.

A pair of forest green eyes looked back at me.

The girl looked to be no older than seven, had red hair tied into twin braids, and I assumed she was one of Art’s grandchildren. She smiled broadly.

“Catch me!”

She darted back into the corn and I could hear her giggles slowly fade away.

Normally I would’ve scoffed at going into the field, as I’d have to cross the ditch and I didn’t want to get dirt on my pants. But I felt a little bit of concern, a small child running around the field by herself. So with a jump that I knew my knees would feel in the morning, I jump into the corn field.

Using the sound of her laughter, I started pushing through the corn. The dry leaves scratched at my face and hands, and dust kicked up into my face.

I knew she couldn’t outrun me for long, even if she was a child with boundless energy, I had longer legs.

However, I exited the cornfield in a place I didn’t know.

My house was nowhere to be seen. And there was a light layer of snow covering the ground.

I spun around but the corn was gone, replaced by frosted evergreen trees. The temperature had significantly dropped and I was now thankful that my daughter insisted I bring a coat. I shivered and spun around a few more times, trying to make sense of this dream I’d apparently fallen into and where was that little girl?

“Hey! Mister!”

I finally spun around enough to see her, peering past a branch. She grinned.

“You catch me, I’ll show you the way out!”

That began the chase.

Getting smacked with tree branches was far worse than the corn, the needles tearing at my skin like knives as I pushed past them to find that little girl. Whenever I got lost, I’d hear her laugh. She was having fun. I was not.

The wet snow beneath my feet made it impossible to gain traction, and forget running- I’d slip if I so much as stepped wrong. With every minute I got colder and colder. My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached.

Then I broke from the treeline into a grassy meadow.

I didn’t expect the change so I ended up toppling over. The grass smelled sweet as honey. A fat bumblebee trundled past my head and landed on a Black Eyed Susan. It was heaven.

But the peace of the meadow was broken by that girl laughing again.

“Awwww, are you already giving up?”

The warm sunlight made her glow, like a tiny angel, but as I stumbled to my feet, I caught something behind those big eyes I hadn’t before.

Malevolence.

She was toying with me and she knew it.

I can’t tell you how many times the environment changed. One minute it’d be across a meadow, then a desert during a sandstorm. I’d have to rely solely on hearing her in places like that. Sometimes we’d be back in the cornfield, and I’d shout for Art to get me out of here but no help ever came. Sometimes we’d be running across barren tundra, where she’d be just out of my grasp.

She wasn’t always a little girl either. Sometimes she was a young teen, with a gap between her teeth and who’d hum sweet tunes. Sometimes she was a ravishing model of her early twenties, with fiery hair and a flirtatious grin. And the times she wasn’t any of those, she was an ancient crone, with a bent back and arthritic hands that clutched to her cane but still managed to hobble away from me.

She called herself Clarice occasionally. Other times it was Lolita, Dixie, Isabella, Hope… I lost count of her names too. A straight answer was impossible. She’d never lie to me though, just avoid answering any of the questions I’d ask her.

So I knew she was my key out of there.

It was in the meadow where I finally got her.

She was a little girl again, and her taunting was beyond cruel this time. She’d stop, pick flowers, and run on before I could grab her. She’d throw the flowers about and sing ridiculous nonsense songs and I knew I couldn’t ever win like this.

So I dropped to the ground.

The little girl stopped.

“Oh, are you really giving up now? You’re sooooo close!”

Nothing. I remained still as I gasped for breath.

I heard her get closer and closer.

“Mister? Are you okay? Do you need a break? You’ve been going on a really loooong time…”

Once I saw her shadow I lunged.

She almost got away but my hand wrapped around her braid and I pulled her back so hard I could’ve snapped her neck. I embraced her in my arms and breathed out, “I got you.”

I’d never felt so successful in my entire life. I’d finally gotten her.

She turned around and smiled sadly.

“Can we play again? We were having fun. You don’t have to go back, we can stay here.”

No way. I was done with this. “Nope. You let me out of here right now or I’m strangling you with your own braids.” A little dramatic, perhaps, but I gripped tighter onto her hair to make clear my point.

She sighed before she kissed my cheek. The same place Avis did before church.

“Okay.”

When I woke up, I was in the middle of the plowed cornfield.

It was spring time, the ground was churned to mud and the water freezing cold. I peeled myself off the ground and began stumbling home.

It was then I noticed how tired I truly was. My mouth was parched as the deserts I ran through. My body was stiff and ached like I’d run a thousand miles, and there was a chance I had. I had one goal in mind though, and that was home. I could finally go home.

Despite tripping through the mud a dozen times, I caught sight of my house and immediately began to cry. Barely able to move, I just pointed myself to the backyard. My wife should be home about now. She’d see me and come to my aid.

Two teenage boys were on the back porch, one was smoking while the other was playing on his phone. I couldn’t recognize either of them. Had my family moved? I raised my hand and attempted to speak, but it came out as a raspy moan.

Both boys jumped out of their skin, the one smoking dropping his cigarette and they backed off. The shorter one raised a hand. “Sir, you’re gonna have to…” He trailed off and his eyes widened.

The eyes that looked exactly like my wife’s.

“… Dad?!”

I passed out on the ground, just a few steps from the back door.

I woke up in the hospital. I’d been cleaned up, had an IV running into my arm, and a woman was sitting next to my bed. Fast asleep. With a tattoo of a bird on her neck. A sparrow, to be exact.

Avis always loved her sparrows.

I’d been gone for a little over seven years. When I didn’t return from my walk, my wife reported me missing. At first law enforcement assumed I’d just ran off with another woman, but when that line of investigation went dry, they realized I’d been the victim of foul play.

Search parties were made. People were questioned. No one was imprisoned. They never found me. And life marched on.

Art apparently died about a year after I went missing. Stroke. The farm went to his sons, who ended up selling the whole property to another family. A family who stayed oblivious to the fact that was the place I was last spotted.

The boys on the back porch were in fact my boys. I just hadn’t been around when Joanne announced he was now James, at the age of thirteen. I wish I could’ve been there to help him become a man.

I apparently had a good replacement though.

After four years and it looked like I was gone for good, my wife met someone new. His name’s Clark. They’d gotten married six months after they met. Clark was a real outdoorsman, hunter, fisherman, and loved to go camping. As I chased a fairy child through her playground, he was taking James and John out on trips every weekend and putting away money to help James afford his surgeries and the like. Clark had two kids of his own, and I was soon a memory in this house. They could survive without me.

Avis was the only one who hadn’t given up on me. She pursued every lead. Every dead end. Every chance that I could be there, she was chasing it. Stubborn girl. My girl. But she’d grown from a girl to a woman since I’d been gone, and it was like talking to a stranger. A strange who had my chin and nose, but a stranger nonetheless.

My wife did want to help me adjust though, and kindly offered the guest bedroom for me while I recovered. I’d apparently been through hell, bones were broken and healed, muscles torn and strained beyond their limits. I was malnourished and could barely stand without my walker, and I just had nowhere to go.

It was not a place I could stay though.

Clark’s kids looked at me like I was some bogeyman that lived down the hall. Clark and I tried to be polite to each other but things became tense as my now ex-wife was struggling whether or not she should officially put down on paper who she would divorce.

I was just in the way.

But the little girl wasn’t gone.

Nightly I’d see her outside my window. She’d peer in, with those big eyes, and mouth the words,

“Come with me.”

I’ve told my wife I’m just going out for a walk.