#no i'm not naming Sir Not Appearing in this Article to anyone

[bloodcrosses]

Funny thing, whenever I defend Nolan or try to out an actor I know to be a horrible hypocrite I get the same response: yeah, sure, you totally know them.

It's nor untrue I suppose. But here's the thing. I DO know people who have worked with them. Nolan is largely regarded as lovely (if finicky at times) while Sir Who Can't be Named for Legal Reasons is regarded as the kind of asshole who would waste everyone on set's time so he could fuck his lead actress and they could do nothing until he was done. He's also made promises to up and coming actors that he made solely so he could fuck them (never came through with anything, big surprise). Yet he still stands on his platform of sand claiming he's a feminist and respects women.

I get he hasn't done anything illegal, but you don't get to have a wife and family to hide behind when it suits you. And his fans will not listen to anything I say. Even though I know women, women that he's pulled this shit on, some of whom were messed up by said manipulative relationships. He treated a male partner with known mental health problems like shit too.

But as I said, every time I try to defend Christopher Nolan or out Sir Who Cannot Be Named I get the same bullshit response.

I mean, let's take the people I know who worked with Nolan out of the picture for a second - for what reason do people have to keep hounding this relatively quiet and well liked guy for? Not writing the best women characters is really not a good reason at all. And yet, people keep trying, as though if they keep going people will finally agree.

It won't work.

As for Sir Who Cannot be Named, until his victims step forward (I know some tried. Online media refused to do it because he's so popular. I wish I was kidding) or he fucks up big time, I guess I'll have to accept I won't get anywhere there either. Even though Nolan won't work with him anymore after what happened on one if their films together (sorry, the details are not known to me, just that Nolan sudden became angry and hostile towards him after having been the total opposite literally days before) and his career dived out of nowhere.

Then again, I hated Matt Damon for years. I hated him because nobody who is truly a nice person needs to tell you that over and over. I was mocked in the exact same way I am now over SWCBN. Eventually Damon slipped. Interestingly, I stopped hating him after that. Once the mask was off, I saw that he was a prick, but a surprisingly likeable one.

I doubt that will happen with Sir. But who knows. He's an actor after all.

I feel compelled to note I have never gone after Sir over a relationship noted here. I only know what people told me about that one.

[strawberry-whorecake]

One Hell of a Star | C.B.

pairing: Charlie Barber x fem!reader

summary: Being an aspiring actress, fresh off the press of Julliard, Charlie Barber’s theater company was the first place you put your bets on into making it. However, your audition doesn’t go quite how you’re used to, not that you’re complaining.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: swearing, power dynamic, abuse of power, PinV sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, slight dubcon

A/N: i’ve been writing so much Kylo, i decided to take a break with Charlie

Charlie Barber was the most sought after director in New York. His theater company, Exit Ghost, was exactly where you found yourself being a young, aspiring actress. It was the first place you figured you had a real shot, and after hearing nothing but good about Charlie Barber, it was worth that shot.

The halls glowed a soft orange as your shoes echoed against the linoleum with every step you took. It was mostly empty, only passing about two other people who paid you no mind as you walked along.

Reaching the main theater doors, you took a reaffirming breath as you pulled them open, the doors groaning in response. The theater was dimly lit and barren of anyone except for the back of a head containing raven colored soft waves.

Upon the doors' announcement of your arrival he smoothly turned his head and peered over his shoulder. "Can I help you?"

You'd recognized him in local papers and from website articles critiquing him with high praise for his work. "Oh, I'm so sorry to disturb you," your eyes flashed to the notebook he'd previously been scrawling his thoughts away in. "Uh, hi, are you Charlie Barber?" you asked, taking a few steps into the theater. He set his preoccupations aside and stood, swelling to his full 6'2 height.

"I am, and you are?" He looked you over as you two approached one another, taking in every aspect of your appearance while you introduced yourself. He stuck out his hand, giving yours a shake. His grip was firm, confident, and your handshake in comparison felt weak. Just as weak as you felt in the knees taking in the sight of the handsome man.

"I've heard all about your theater company–I saw your play on Broadway, Electra, it was excellent." He smiled at your praise and nodded his head in thanks. "I'm an actress–er, I'd like to be." You lowered your gaze, holding out your makeshift resume of previous productions you'd been a part of. He took it from your grip, letting his eyes graze over the paper.

His brows furrowed softly as he made mental note of everything you've done thus far. "You've never been a part of a proper play?" His tone was gentle despite his words being vaguely critical. "No sir, Mr. Barber, I've just graduated from Julliard, I've only done college productions..."

He raised a brow, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Julliard, huh? They're tough to get into." You nodded, but he spoke again before you could get a word out. "And please, call me Charlie, Mr. Barber was my father and makes me feel much older than I am." he chuckled softly, easing you into a gentle smile.

"Charlie," you familiarized yourself with the feeling of his name on your lips. "I know I'm asking a great deal from you, being rather inexperienced, but I'd like to ask you to take a chance on me."

He considered you, his eyes grazing over your appearance again. His gaze drifted across your features for a few moments before he allowed himself to peer at your frame only for a second–meeting your eyes again.

"So you're looking to audition then?" You nodded, "Truth is, I'd be honored to be a part of your company, even if I'm not on the stage, just being a part of Exit Ghost would be an incredible privilege."

"You've brought a piece to audition with?" You nodded once more, shuffling through the papers you'd held in your hand and outstretched another one toward him, which he immediately looked over. "Ah, Juliet's most famous monologue from Act 2, Scene 2." his words were butter-smooth, and you suddenly flushed.

"It's not too stereotypical, is it?" you chewed at the inside of your lip in nervousness, immediately second guessing your monologue decision–out of every monologue to ever exist you went with perhaps the most well known.

Charlie immediately took note of your sudden nerves and bid you a sweet, consoling smile. "No, no. It's good to play to your strengths, Romeo and Juliet is a classic for a reason, is it not? It's, uh, timeless."

You smiled, relief washing over you in waves. Charlie's gaze lingered to the stage for a moment before his lip curled slightly in the corner. "We can take this to my office, the stage's just been polished–it might be too slick to stand on currently." His hand lightly pressed against your lower back, guiding you back out the doors of the theater.

Following behind him, you made your way through the hall coming to a stop at a door that had a golden plaque hanging dead-center labeled, 'Director'. He pushed open the door, gesturing you in with his strong hand.

You took a few steps in, looking around at the office as Charlie followed in after you, shutting the door, making you look at him. "Oh, I'm sorry–would you prefer I left it open?" His brows raised softly as he spoke. "No, that's okay. It's your office."

He chuckled, his tone was mellifluous, a slight playfulness hung on his voice when he spoke. "It's your audition." You bid him a smile as he bypassed you, rearing around his desk and taking a seat in his chair, folding his hands together.

"Whenever you're ready to begin, you can." He gestured to you once more with a roll of his hand as he crossed his leg over his thigh and placed his hold onto his calf with one hand–effortlessly draping his other atop his opposite arm. You took a deep breath, and softly cleared your throat, mustering up your stage persona.

You lifted your head confidently, swelling your chest, and feigned your best love-stricken look–though in the presence of this admittedly handsome man, looking lovestruck was nowhere near impossible.

"O, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?" Your voice was desperate, calling out. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn, my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet."

"Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" Charlie's voice was gentle, taking you slightly off-guard as you hadn't expected him to take Romeo's lines, but you were oddly relieved he had–filling the silence between Juliet's monologue. He ran his hand through his hair, cocking his head slightly as he looked at you.

You wet your lips, keeping your gaze on him because you just couldn't help yourself, he was elegantly handsome.

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art myself, though not a Montague–" you began the following part of Juliet's monologue, performing with great ease as it came naturally for you, while simultaneously watching Charlie's reactions to your audition.

As your chest would swell with confidence, he'd gently lean his head back, his eyes drifting over your frame, likely judging your stage presence. "What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot," you took a step forward, contemplatively. "Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man."

Another step forward, your fingers clutched the edge of his desk as you cried out desperately, "O, be some other name!"

Charlie's eyes studied you the entire time, your expressions were one he lingered on the longest. You pulled away from his desk, wrapping your arms around your own shoulders. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet."

Continuing the monologue you watched as Charlie stood, breezing around the side of his desk as he placed himself upon the corner, closing more distance between you two as he studied you. You took a great chance and pulled yourself closer to him, closing in more distance as your heart beat faster.

"-take all myself." the final line of the monologue ghosted off your lips, your voice nothing more than a hushed whisper. Your eyes interlocked with his. You didn't speak, awaiting your feedback and criticisms, and the silence that echoed throughout the room as you two both beheld each other.

His hand snaked up, fingertips gently caressing your cheek as he drew your face nearer to his. "I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth. I will never be Romeo." he muttered, words gliding off his tongue with ease.

His thumb traced up to your lips, your face burned with heat as he stroked your bottom lip with his thumb, your chin resting in the crook between his index finger and thumb as he held your gaze firm to his.

His thumb edged deeper into your lips, splitting them apart. You allowed his action, intoxicated with his touch and his attention, but you gently nipped at the tip of his thumb with your teeth, watching as his lip curled into a soft smirk.

Your heart skipped a beat–this was surely never the way any previous audition had gone down, and you convinced yourself if any other director had done this to you, you would've kicked him where it hurt... but Charlie...

Charlie had you enamored. You craved nothing more than his recognition, his touch. You were putty in his hands, and little did you know he planned to shape you into the budding star he saw you as.

"Quite the little Juliet you are." his words came out as a breath as he gently pulled your face closer to his. His nose touched your skin first, dug delicately into the plush of your cheeks before his lips made contact with your jaw–his thumb and forefinger pinching at your chin to keep your face close to his.

"Tell me..." he whispered against your flesh, "How good do you think Romeo made Juliet feel?" You couldn't stop your breath from hitching in your throat as he spoke. Your hand inadvertently grabbed hold of his leg as your thighs squeezed together.

He chuckled breathily as he watched your desperate attempt for friction, but he was in the lead, diving his knee between your legs and drove them apart. He took the opportunity to let his free hand snake around your waist, resting against the small of your back as he pulled you closer to him.

The smell of Charlie's cologne filled your senses, it was robust and masculine with undertones of leathers and wood, while being incredibly elegant and lavish. The scent alone made desire burn through your core.

His hand teased lower, cupping your ass and shoving you flush against him. "Charlie-!" you squeaked out in surprise. His fingers squeezed your chin, making you look up into his eyes through your lashes.

"How badly do you want to be an actress?" he purred, drawing his thumb back to your bottom lip again as he gripped your chin against his palm.

"M-more than anything..." you squeaked again, using all your control to not whine. His face zeroed in on yours, his eyes narrowing and darkening slightly. "Prove it."

He shoved his thumb into your mouth and you closed your lips around it, drawing in your cheeks and sucking on his digit. His eyes locked in on the sight of your mouth around his thumb, watching the way your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked–his own lips parting in awe. He pulled it free with an obscene pop before smearing your saliva across your bottom lip.

His hand trailed down your body, his eyes following the movements of his hand. "We need to take these off. I need to study you."

His hands clutched at the fabric of your shirt and despite your embarrassment you raised your arms, allowing him to pull your top over your head. You were taken aback as he folded your shirt in half and placed it with care on his knee. He wasted no time to begin fidgeting with the clasp of your jeans, working with his thick fingers to unbutton them.

The craving in your core forced your own fingers to assist him, kicking off your shoes before sliding your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans, dragging them down the plush of your hips, then your thighs, until you pulled them all the way off.

He took the pants from your hands, folding them with the same care and placed them on top of your shirt. He stood to his full height making you raise your head to keep your eyes on his. He placed your clothes in the chair that sat kitty-cornered to his desk, using his foot to sweep your shoes in that direction.

He swept around you, leaving your back vulnerable to him as you peered over your shoulder as he took you in. His brows furrowed softly, "No, not good enough. I need to really see you." Big warm hands grazed the small of your back again before tracing up and unclasping the hooks of your bra. He then grabbed onto your side, spinning you rather harshly to face him.

His eyes draped over your chest before meeting your eyes–locking in on your wide-eyed expression as he pulled your bra off your body, your nipples pebbling in the open air of his office. He draped it over his forearm as he indulged himself in looking at your breasts, his tongue darting along his bottom lip as he took in the sight of you.

"Almost." he hummed, looping his fingers into the waistband of your panties. His thick fingers pressing against your pelvis made your body burn with a mix of need and embarrassment.

This was definitely not how any other audition played out.

With an easy tug, he pulled the fabric down your hips, offering you his other arm to steady yourself as you stepped out of them. He placed the two articles in the chair with the rest of your clothing before returning his attention to you.

You bit your lip to silence the whimpers that leeched in your throat at the sight of him observing you fully bared for him, before he caught wind of your nerves and met your eyes again. "Stunning." he purred.

Your cheeks flooded with warmth the second his fingers reached out and trailed down your side, starting just below your ribs before stopping at your hip. He drew you closer to him, pressing you flush against him and you felt the tent in his pants from his half-hard cock prod against your lower belly.

"Let me spoil you like a real star." his words fell off his lips in a breathy grunt. His eyes searched yours for a moment and when you nervously nodded your head he dove his lips into yours.

The feeling of his plush pink lips against yours shot shockwaves through your nerve endings. It was hot–full of fervor–the way his lips worked. His chest fell as he exhaled against your lips, his thick fingers trailing around your waist, and he squeezed at the plush of your ass.

He kissed you heavily, pressing his hips firmly to your body as your hands rose up to his chest, gently dragging your fingernails down his shirt. You desperately wanted him to remove his clothing too–if anything, just to ease your nerves over being the only one so exposed, but you knew you were in no position to ask, forcing you to swallow down the thought.

The hand not fondling your ass rose between your breasts, circling itself around your throat before gently squeezing at the sides. You didn't have the time to stifle the breathy moan you pressed against his lips.

He smirked as he pulled away from you. He took in the sight of you once more before he grabbed hold of your waist and spun you around so your back was to him.

He trailed his thick fingers down your flesh, following the line starting at your shoulder blades and ending at the dimples in your waist. His hips rutted against yours forcefully, making you gasp and stick out your hands to his desk to balance yourself.

"You're perfect." he hummed, diving his hand around your waist as he reached between your thighs, his thick fingers sliding though your slit. Feeling how wet you were for him pulled a breathy chuckle from his throat.

"Oh you're quite the little star already, aren't you?" his words felt slightly jeering, making you whimper in protest. His fingers worked at your core, drawing meticulous circles around your clit. His hips rutted into yours again, pressing his hardness against your ass, and eliciting a moan from your throat.

He pulled his hand away from your folds and you bit down on your lip at the loss of contact, missing the feeling of his thick fingers on you until you heard the clack of his belt coming undone.

You peered over your shoulder to look at him, watching as he unbuttoned his slacks and pulled them down just enough to free himself from his boxers.

You gaped at the sight of him–his cock was much bigger than you'd anticipated, the vision of it made your thighs tremble and your cunt clench around nothing.

He caught sight of you looking, seeing your knees wobble softly and he chuckled again, "Don't worry, you can take it." He stroked himself a few times, swirling his precum along his length. He grunted softly as his fist worked him for a moment, before he grabbed hold of your hips again.

His hand trailed up your back, gently shoving your body downward and urging you to arch your back. You swallowed down a whimper as his tip slid between your slit, gathering your slick on the tip of his cock.

He teased you a few times by thrusting through your folds, making you whimper out and clench around nothing again. Another mocking chuckle escaped his throat. "Okay, I'm done teasing."

His tip aligned with your entrance, and you bit down on your lip as he dug his fingers into the plump flesh of your hip, easing himself inside of you.

"Fuck–" he huffed, "You are tight."

His explicit words made you moan out as your cunt throbbed, pulling him deeper into you. He withdrew slightly, making you whimper. "C-Charlie... p-please..." you pleaded.

He hummed in response before slamming his hips into yours, making you cry out at the sudden intrusion that seared between your legs. He repeated the action, groaning as you whined again.

Once he bottomed out inside of you he gripped your hips, pulling you against his length as he thrust in and out of you.

"Sh-Shit-!" you panted.

He filled you up so well, his cock nestled itself perfectly in your pussy, taking up all the room you offered him–which compared to his size–wasn't much.

"Language." he hissed through his teeth, ramming his hips sharply into yours again, making you cry out at the force.

He found rhythm, methodically unsheathing from you before thrusting in again. "God–you feel so good." he praised, squeezing at your hips.

Your brows knit as he hit spots of you no guy ever had before, all thanks to the sheer size of him. His cockhead nestled itself against your cervix, prodding it insistently.

His hands wrapped around your waist, moving toward your lower tummy where he felt himself inside you. "Filling you up so good, aren't I?" he hummed.

"F-Fuck... Charlie..." you moaned, earning another hiss through his teeth as a response. "I need to fill that filthy mouth of yours."

He hastily shoved his middle and ring finger into your mouth, making you gag at the intrusion before humming against them. "There... isn't that better?"

You whined in reply, sucking on his digits as you rocked your hips in pace with his, your brows knitting again in pleasure.

The drag of his hips was agonizing, and every time he withdrew your cunt clamped down around him, not wanting him to leave you. He groaned every time you pulled him back in, driving his fingers deeper into your mouth again making you gag once more.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, quickly placing them on your waist, "Turn around, I need to see that pretty face." He simultaneously pulled out of you, making you whine as a brief emptiness settled over your insides. He spun you around so you now faced him, leaning against your arms for leverage, and he wasted no time to bury his cock deep inside you again.

He watched as your eyes nearly shut and your brows furrowed together, absolutely drunk on his dick. He leaned forward, placing sloppy open-mouthed kisses on your breast, keeping one hand on your hip as the other kneaded at your opposite. He groaned against your flesh, his hot breath exhaling from his nose as it dug softly against you.

He pulled away from your chest, moving his lips up to your neck as he fucked into you. "You're absolutely gorgeous like this–" he panted against your skin. You could only moan in response. "You take me so, so well."

You were already teetering on the edge of ecstasy, which you hardly ever did off pure penetration, but he hit every fucking mark.

You looked up at him rather pathetically, the knot in your core tightening incredibly as you looked at him. His brows were furrowed in focus, his forehead had a soft sheen of sweat, and his lips parted as he breathed heavily.

His already dark eyes looked black from being blown with lust as they caught yours and his lips curled into another smirk, eliciting a whimper from your throat. "You want to cum, is that it?"

Your mind was fuzzy from your impending orgasm and the sheer sight of him. You whimpered as a response. "No–use your words."

"P-Please!" you cried out, cheeks burning in embarrassment at your haste. He chuckled breathily, "Good…good girl."

Catching you by surprise he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before diving into your lips again. His thick fingers snaked between your legs, pads finding your clit again. You moaned against his lips, making him swallow down your noises as he drew tight organized circles against your bundle of nerves.

Your thighs trembled at the added pleasure. "Fuck! Charlie!"

His grip on your waist spared, still using his other hand to tease your clit, his fingers dove into your mouth again. "What did I say about that mouth, hmm?" His digits pressed against your tongue, gently pulling your mouth open as you panted around them.

Your walls clenched, the knot in your core unbearably tight. "C-Charlie-" you attempted to speak around his fingers but it came out all muddled. His eyes met yours beneath his heavy brow. "You gonna cum, gorgeous?"

You nodded, feeling his thrusts and fingers around your clit pick up pace–moving frantically–the fingers in your mouth prodding against your tongue as you moved your head. "Cum on my cock, pretty girl." he purred, his eyes hungrily staring into yours.

As if he'd uttered the magic words, the knot in your core unraveled and your arms that held you up shook as your vision blurred, waves of white flooding your brain as your crescendo hit.

You cried out, trembling in intensity as he pulled his fingers from your mouth, steadying you with his grip again. Your cunt throbbed against him, as he continued pace, chasing his own orgasm. You listened as his breath hitched in his throat, grunting between breaths and he quickly withdrew his fingers and pulled out of you, frantically taking himself in his hand as he stroked himself off.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and harshly pushed you to your knees, groans and expletives pouring past his lips. "Open." he ordered. You obliged, propping open your jaw as you looked up at him from your knees, looking between his hand pumping his cock and his face.

You watched as his chest stuttered, his tip twitching and he quickly used the grip on your hair to bury himself into your mouth–making you gag again and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You could barely close your lips around his girth, but did you surely try your damnedest.

His essence flooded your tongue, overwhelming your tastebuds with sweet saltiness as he let out a strangled groan. You swallowed as best you could around him, which he bid you the courtesy of pulling from your mouth as you struggled against his size, but not for long before he pressed his tip to your lips again, making you clean him off.

You pulled him from your mouth with an obscene pop, before taking him in your hand and lapping your tongue along the underside of his cock, eyes looking up to him. He groaned at the feeling, prying open his eyes to peer down at you.

He released your hair, grabbing for your hand as he helped you to your feet before immediately smashing his lips against yours, tasting himself off your tongue. His hand smoothed over your ass again, reveling in the softness of your flesh before he pulled away.

"Rehearsals start Thursday at noon. Be there on time." he huffed as he shoved himself back in his pants. You stood speechlessly for a moment–recounting what just happened in your head. His eyes met yours, his brows raising slightly, "Do you understand?"

You quickly nodded your head, "Yes. Thursday, noon sharp." He smirked softly. "Good." He turned, grabbing ahold of your clothes and outstretched them to you.

You redressed, your skin burning in embarrassment as his eyes kept their focus on you. He only stopped looking at you once you pulled your jeans back up your waist, rebuttoning them.

He reared around his desk, grabbing the papers you'd given to him when you first arrived in the theater room, and he outstretched those to you too.

"I'm gonna make you one hell of a star." he hummed, shamelessly running his hand along your backside again as he saw you out of his office.

You bit your lip nervously, begging you weren't walking funny from your 'audition'.

"What time Thursday?" he called after you, making you spin on your heel. "Noon."

He grinned. "Perfect."

You bid him a smile as you spun back around, your mind racing as you left the building. If your audition consisted of Charlie burying his cock in you, you couldn't wait to find out what was in store for you during rehearsals.

[finnlongman]

All right, time to talk about the Maines. I apologise that this is so delayed -- I've had terrible pain-related brain fog lately, but today I can at least think, even if I'm typing this from bed because sitting up at a desk is Bad.

A couple of weeks back, a friend sent me this AskHistorians question:

This is very much my area of expertise, but I don't use Reddit, so I said I'd answer it here, for the benefit of @llwhn (and anyone else who is interested).

First of all, context: I published an article about the seven Maines in Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 83 last year, which is one of the only pieces of research published on the topic in recent years. Unfortunately, I can't share this article online due to the copyright restrictions of the journal, but it's my research there that I'm drawing on. The Maines are a complicated bunch -- although we're told there are seven of them, they actually number between six and eight in any given list, and their names vary noticeably.

To show how much they vary, let me show you the table I produced for my CMCS article:

As we can see here, there’s considerable variation in a) how many of them there are, b) what their names are, and c) what order the names are in. This last point might not seem important, but it’s going to come up later.

Now that we’ve had a chance to appreciate that the ‘seven’ Maines are a far more complicated bunch than they appear, let’s get down to the specifics of your question. You wanted to know whether Maine Cotagaib-Uile’s epithet is implying that he’s nonbinary (or perhaps intersex?), especially as it talks about inheriting traits from both parents. This is a really interesting question, and not one I’d thought about before – surprising, since I also work on queer readings of medieval Irish texts. Having thought about it for a while, I don’t think that’s what’s being suggested here, but let’s look at it in more depth.

‘Cotagaib-Uile’ is probably the epithet to have received the most attention of those in this list, although given how little has been published about the seven Maines, that isn’t saying too much. This is interesting, because as you can see, it’s not in all of the lists, and some of the omissions are significant.

Quick Maine backstory: in some traditions, we’re told that the Maines originally had different names, and were renamed because of a prophecy Medb was given that her son Maine would kill Conchobar. She had no sons called Maine, so she renamed all of them (and one of them ends up killing a Conchobar, but not the one she wanted dead). This story is found in Cath Boinde / Ferchuitred Medba, as well as in a couple of manuscript fragments by itself; the first four columns of the table above show the lists of names given there.

In fact, let’s have another table, this time showing the ‘original’ names of the Maines and the epithets they were given when renamed, according to these four manuscripts:

Yep. As we can see, these manuscripts can’t agree on anything, which is funny, since they’re all versions of the same text. It just goes to show what a complicated question the Maines’ epithets offer. The fact that Cotagaib-Uile isn’t in this list is interesting, though, because some scholars have attributed quite a lot of importance to this name.

Introducing: Sir John Rhys. John Rhys was the Jesus Professor of Celtic at Oxford in the 19th century, and yet despite this distinguished academic background, managed to write a lot of absolute nonsense. That’s the 19th century for you! Rhys has the dubious honour of at least being creative in his wildly unsupported arguments; I love the confidence with which he’ll assert “this undoubtedly means X” when there is definitely a great deal of doubt and in fact it almost definitely doesn’t mean X.

Rhys is, however, one of the only people apart from me to have spent much time looking at the names of the Maines, so I was forced to consider his arguments for a while when I was writing this article. As we’ve seen above, there are often more than seven Maines, and Rhys, who had a theory that the “secht Maine” represented the days of the week (“sechtmain”), was keen to understand why there might be eight of them. He said that the epithet ‘Condagaib-Uile’ should be read as suggesting that this Maine ‘contained or comprehended all the others’. In this way, he’s functioning as a ‘superlative eighth’ to the seven – all the others are contained within him, just as sometimes triads give three examples of something and then a fourth that’s better than all of them.

But that’s not what the explanation given in Táin Bó Cúailnge suggests it means, is it? Now, I’ll note that Faraday’s translation is pretty old, and I wouldn’t generally use it. However, I pulled out Cecile O’Rahilly’s translation of the same line, and it’s pretty similar:

‘Their names are Maine Máthramail, Maine Aithremail, Maine Mórgor, Maine Mingor, Maine Mo Epirt, who is also called Maine Milscothach, Maine Andóe and Maine Cotageib Uile—he it is who has inherited the appearance of his mother and his father and the dignity of them both’

Cóir Anmann, a treatise on names, gives an explanation that seems to encompass Rhys's interpretation while saying the same thing as TBC:

‘who includes them all’, ‘i.e. had the appearance of his mother and father. For he was like them both’ (trans. Sharon Arbuthnot)

It's clear that even when Cotagaib-Uile is referring to "them all", it's not quite in the manner that Rhys argued, so his interpretation isn't particularly convincing. (He also attributed a lot of important to Cotagaib-Uile being the last in the list, which we can see very clearly from the table above is not always or even mostly the case.)

Instead, it definitely seems to be the “appearance” of both mother and father that the text claims Maine has inherited. Let’s look closer at that, because we don’t want to be misled by translations. Faraday uses ‘form’ instead; the difference there is negligible, but it might be significant, if we’re trying to read into this regarding gender and bodies.

The Irish word in TBC is ‘cruth’ meaning form, shape, appearance; beauty of form, shapeliness. It does refer to physical appearance, but it doesn’t seem to be a particularly gendered term referring to physical traits. There is no evidence, for example, that this is implying an intersex body containing both male and female traits. The simplest way to read this is just “he looks like both his parents”, which is a normal thing to say about somebody.

Moreover, it’s worth considering this name in the context of two of the other Maines in the list:

Aithremail, ‘like his father’, ‘i.e. he was like his father, i.e. like Ailill son of Máta’ Máithremail, ‘like his mother’, ‘i.e. he was like his mother, i.e. like Medb daughter of Eochaid’ (again from Cóir Anmann, translated by Sharon Arbuthnot)

If one brother takes after their father, one takes after their mother, then suggesting that a third brother might take after both of them doesn’t seem like a particularly loaded statement.

Indeed, if it was a loaded statement, we would expect these Significantly Gendered Traits to show up somewhere else. After all, Maine Mingar and Maine Mórgar get a whole story in which the “duty” (gar) of their names is positioned as central – that’s Táin Bó Regamain. So we might think there was a story in which taking after Medb or Ailill was significant, but there’s certainly no surviving story in which that happens.

That doesn’t mean there never was a story in which that aspect of their epithets was emphasised, but although Maine Mathremail and Maine Athremail are present in every list (a rarity among the Maines), I’m not aware that they ever get to take a starring role in any text that survives today. Likewise, there isn't a story in which Cotagaib-Uile’s superlative or combinatory nature is foregrounded.

All of that is a very long winded way of saying that I don’t think they are implying anything about this Maine’s gender: I think they’re simply saying that he has inherited traits from both Medb and Ailill. Since Medb is notorious for behaving in an “unwomanly” manner by trying to lead armies into war and so on (something some medieval authors were not impressed by), this also probably isn’t suggesting any of those traits were especially feminine.

But. That doesn’t mean this epithet, and the textual explanation given for it, doesn’t create space for a nonbinary reading of Maine. I’m all in favour of exploring queer possibilities regardless of the authors’ intentions. I think it would be challenging to argue for a trans reading overall simply because Maine Cotagaib-Uile does nothing else in the text except be included in this list, and therefore has no personality or behaviours to draw on, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t choose, in your own creative or exploratory works, to explore nonbinary possibilities.

Moreover, although I don’t think this Maine is being portrayed as ambiguously gendered on purpose, Táin Bó Cúailnge is not a text where gender binaries are neatly demarcated and always maintained. Crucially, Cú Chulainn himself is a deeply ambiguous figure whose masculinity is constantly questioned, undermined, and problematised by those around him, and his own behaviour challenges their assumptions and their definitions of 'man'.

As people who follow me here know, I have an article which will be available in the next month or two about the ambiguities of Cú Chulainn’s gender and what this says about TBC as a text. I tend towards a transmasculine reading, and suggest one in this article, but that’s certainly not the only possibility. The value of queer and gender theory is that once you start dismantling assumptions about gender in this story, you can have a lot of fun looking at how it’s actually being constructed, rather than just how we assume it’s being constructed.

So I definitely think there’s potential for exploring more facets of gender in TBC than the ones that have already been discussed (by me or by others). And perhaps looking at epithets like this and what they tell us about personalities, appearances, and gender would be a good place to start – because clearly, medieval authors didn’t think it remarkable that a son could inherit the appearance or nature of his mother, or neither Maine Mathremail nor Maine Cotagaib-Uile would have the epithets that they do.

tl;dr: This passage in Táin Bó Cúailnge is probably not implying that the character in question is nonbinary, but there is lots of space for queer readings of this text.

For further reading on the seven Maines and the meaning of their epithets, you might enjoy my CMCS article; there’s a link on my website, which is also where I will also upload the article about Cú Chulainn and gender as soon as it’s available.

I hope this has been useful/informative, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get to it!

[therobertfrasergang]

Robert Fraser in the Evening Standard, June 8 1967

Modern art: The currency between the financier and his son

This article appeared in the Evening Standard on June 8, 1967. It was part of a series on fathers and sons. Part 4 profiled the Fraser family, focusing on Lionel Fraser and Robert Fraser.

The entire article is transcribed below the cut.

A Name to Live Up To, by Tom Pocock

Modern art: The currency between the financier and his son

The rebel son being so essential a stock figure in family lore it would seem that Robert Fraser has all the qualifications of a particularly fine specimen. Seldom can the worlds of father and son have been in such stunning contrast and seldom can father and son have seemed, to outsiders, such opposites.

Robert Fraser is the son of the later Lionel Fraser.

At 29, Robert Fraser is founder and proprietor of the Robert Fraser Gallery in Mayfair, the most avant garde, far-out art gallery in London.

Currently, he is awaiting an exhibition by Mr. Andy Warhol, the American experimental artist, which, it can safely be forecast, will be unlike anything yet seen in an art gallery, or, possibly, anywhere else.

Mr. Fraser has suffered a lot of publicity recently having been fined £20 under the Vagrancy Act of 1838 for exhibiting “obscene” drawings and collages by the American artist Jim Dine, whose work is represented at the Tate.

Mr. Fraser was duly credited in Time magazine’s memorable discovery of swinging London. Mr. Fraser’s scene is one to make British squares close their ranks. His father, who died two years ago, was a man for whom the inescapable adjective was “distinguished.” Tycoon was too vulgar a word for Lionel Fraser. A financier, who made money-making seem like high diplomacy, he ranked high among the City’s royalty.

A self-made man (his father was butler to Gordon Selfridge, the department store emperor) Lionel Fraser carried himself as if born to wealth and position.

His influence in banking, investment trusts, insurance and industry came primarily through Helbert Wagg, the merchant bankers, Thomas Tilling, the industrial holding company and Babcock and Wilcox, the engineers, but his photograph—a dignified face, white hair and an immaculate bow tie—often appeared on City pages in connection with anything from publishing to cars, take-overs to mergers.

Tragedy

The Fraser family was, and is, conventional in a prosperous and intelligent way. Living In Belgravia and, like a surprising number of their like, Christian Scientists, the Frasers lived a contented life until touched by tragedy.

Ten years ago the only daughter, Janet, a beautiful, vivid girl, who, at the age of 21, had been secretary to Sir William Haley, then editor of The Times, was killed with her fiancé in a road accident. Then at 69, Lionel Fraser died.

Robert Fraser's mother and his brother, a stockbroker, continue to lead the lives to which they were accustomed. But not Robert Fraser.

Robert Fraser's quick, delicate person is so different from his father’s stately presence; his accent, Anglo-American; his conversation, stream-of-consciousness.

“Did I rebel? I never thought of that. I just do what I like doing. That's what everyone tries to do. I try to avoid doing things that I don’t like. Did my father influence me? I don't think that parents do have influences—the best parents don’t have influences. I might be influenced by ideas but not by parents. I never thought heredity plays a great part except that you react against it. It’s environment that matters.”

Robert Fraser was first sent to a Christian Science school but “could not get attuned to it. I feel religious but not interested in religion.”

Then to Eton, “which is better than anywhere else because it is eccentric. But English boarding schools are insane. Education is teaching but you are not taught. In 15 years learning Latin I never heard anyone stop and say: ‘This is a beautiful poem.’ I'm glad I was educated, but it would have been nice to have been taught."

But, by what Robert Fraser would put down as environment, his father did influence him. Lionel Fraser was a patron of modern art and, as a trustee of the Tate Gallery did, in his son’s view “much to improve that stale atmosphere. Many American cities have better collections and Americans who hear about the Tate go there and ask: ‘What’s it all about?’

The dust

“My father wanted the Tate to shake off the dust and tried to align it with the present. But this is not so much an indictment of the Tate as of England. In England it takes time to change things.”

After Eton, Robert Fraser went to New York and joined the art scene. Five years ago, he returned to London and, with his father's encouragement, opened the gallery in Duke Street. Then, says Robert Fraser: “London was very boring. Suddenly, around 1964, it was all happening. An eruption, you know. A social revolution.

“What the Beatles call The Beautiful People. These people—these young artists, writers and musicians—these people are the privileged class now. They used to have no voice. Now they are blowing off the dust.

“All this youth paraphernalia came from here. These people are original. These ideas are mainly coming from England. New York is sterile, uncreative, l mean, you go to the States— they have a fantastic industry for everything: machine-guns, cosmetics, Lichtenstein paintings. It’s an industrial thing. The English give them the idea and they make a thing of it.”

Robert Fraser thinks that his father would have understood and enjoyed 1967 scene. “He was a Victorian but the best of the Victorians were like really important business people today: they had imagination. My father's mixed with some very conventional people but he never belonged to them. He would never do things because they had been done before. The Victorians were like that before the calcification began. My father was one of the few people in this country who liked new things. Most people distrust new things.”

Balance

The obvious differences between father and son seemed less important. And as Robert Fraser talked he sounded less like an arbiter of the arts but more like an adventurous tycoon. “Art dealing the way l do it needs a fine balance of judgement. Most dealers buy something because they know they can sell it at a profit. I back my own taste. I show what I like.”

Robert Fraser refuses to have what he likes labelled “because people love to be able to pigeonhole things. I like to keep people on edge. Anything new is uncomfortable. I like people coming into the gallery to feel uneasy. A picture that makes you happy now may have made people acutely uncomfortable when it was first painted.'” Currently he is thinking of forms of art-dealing outside the gallery, something that he cannot yet define but obviously something of which Mr. Warhol would approve.

“As art widens its scope,” he says, “so must galleries.” The next move is the Warhol exhibition. After that, perhaps films. The Fraser imaginatlon roams farther and farther out.

The son of the discreet financier then reveals another of his father’s traits. “Some people who meet me say that they didn't know there was a person called Robert Fraser. But they still came to the Robert Fraser Gallery because they knew they'd find a certain kind of thing. I liked that.”

I suspect Lionel Fraser would have liked that, too. It is called reputation.

[ranvwoop]

☆, Ranbutler please.

HELLO MY FRIEND I APPRECIATE YOUR ENTHUSIASM AND HAD FUN ANSWERING THEM but I am going to condense this so I do not spam as much :3. Hence why it took a little bit to get back to you. Anyways. All of your ask game answers :D

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon, Ranbutler.

    I do love the Ranbutler plays piano headcanon because I am biased and currently taking piano lessons and need that amount of projection in my life to get through my nightmare of a piano class.  

☆ (happy headcanon), Ranbutler please.

    Butler likes space. He finds a few books about it in the mansion, and likes to stargaze, and even make his own documents recording the sky with some drawings. Not necessarily that he’s good at drawing, but he can copy the space between celestial bodies. But he just thinks the sky is beautiful. A bit of an adaptation on the Moon hc, since I don’t give him that name :).

▼(childhood headcanon), Sir Billiam.

    I think he had an okay childhood. He wasn’t really anything special or noteworthy or even remarkably bad, just average. He could have lived an average life. I think he took regularly trips to the Wild West town, as I hc Sherman to be an uncle of his (for some reason? He has uncle vibes what can I say). But overall he’s just a guy. Everything he’s done is self-inflicted.

♥ - family headcanon, Ranbob please.

    I don’t actually have many! In modern crossover AUs i have him as part of a greater ranboo spinoff family headcanon, but I'm not sure whether the rest of them are related to him in canon. Even Ran is a strong “hmmm” as he appears almost fully an enderman except the eyes. In which case, I think that Ranbob has a sibling, because if the pit is in the future far enough for the “other side” features to not present themselves so strongly that would imply that Ranbob had kids and I once again do not want to think about that. 

ൠ - random headcanon, Hubert please, we don't talk about him too much. / ൠ, Hubert, please.

    Hubert! Tbh I like to think of Hubert as a manifestation of the egg. He presented himself to Billiam to help guide him in his New Life. He was very strict, even with himself, and essentially just believed in doing things that were useful. This helped shape how Billiam is pretty sure he’s supposed to act, what with his Actual Canon Appearance. That isn’t to say that he’s Bad or contributing to the harm to the other two, he’s just a tool to ensure things go smoothly. And it applies to himself, too — when he feels that he’s outstayed his usage, Butler is a fine attendant, he’s not seen again.

    Another one, though, in trying to help the transition to egged life ™ I think that he spent a lot of time with Butler. Since he was comparatively there less of his own will, but also to teach him how to actually be helpful. They’d cook together, for one.

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon, Sir Billiam please.

    I don’t think he really cares too much for travel. I also think he’s a big fan of reading the news, and gossip type articles. He also reads the news looking to see if anyone is talking about his crimes. He likes attention <3.

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon, Sherman. 

    I think he’s already older, at the least. He retires! But it’s a bit hollow. Though he’s never particularly cared for his job, it was a bit of a purpose. And with the casualties, and Crops running away (not that he should mind, but yknow, he needed the company), the town is a bit solemn for quite a while. And he could travel, being retired, but. it wouldn’t really help.

[the-villian-i-seem-to-be]

[Flower .2]

[1.]

It was around 9:00 in the morning, the sun had risen with it's bright light. All the while gossip had stirred in the streets of London. Louis had brought his brothers breakfast and the morning newspaper. The youngest Moriarty was silent as his brother thanked him for the meal and read the paper. "Phantom Thief (T/N) once again terrorises nobility.."

William read aloud, his ruby eyes scanning the newspaper article. "How peculiar, very peculiar." The blonde headed man mused, still reading out the rest. "(T/N) had stole from Lord Henderson and Mrs. Henderson's, a married couple and are in the high ranking class. Phantom Thief (T/N) had stolen a priceless emerald ring that was to be auctioned off at their estate for a private gathering."

A cryptic smile appeared on William's face. "(T/N) has still yet to be captured by authorities, the only trace left by them was a small peice of paper that reads: "Good luck next time."" William tilts his head back and joyfully laughs once he finished reading. "My goodness, I wish I could of seen this up close." The second eldest Moriarty looks back at the newspaper.

"(T/N).. What a perfect adversary to have." William says with complex expression. Louis nods, his brother was a very smart man. Cunning and calculated, so his decision would be as well. William grabs his tea cup and takes a sip of the warm drink.

His eyes focusses to the tiny vase next to his breakfast tray. The vase it self was a pretty pale blue, though the single flowers inside it stood out the most. A simple red rose was in the vase, the same one from (Y/N)'s bouquet that she had given to them the day before. William slowly reaches towards the rose with a singular hand and touches one of the plush petals gently. He let's go moments after.

~°~

"Phantom Thief (T/N) once again terrorises nobility.." (Y/N) reads over the newspaper with bland eyes. Sighing, she placed the paper underneath her counter. Deciding to watch people pass by her shop for entertainment on this slow day.

(Y/N) puts her elbows on the counter and props her head on her right hand. Leaning lazily against the counter. (Y/N) watches the outside through her glass window.  Middle class and nobles alike stroll down the sidewalk, with the occasional carriage on the road. Which didn't change the boredom she felt.

It was the same old view whenever it was a slow day. Though before (Y/N) could curse the lack of life in her shop. She  hears a horse cry and a man shouting. Gainging her curiousity, she saw something new for a change.

Police were arriving to the farther side of her street. Something must of happened, but what? (Y/N) contemplates on whether or not to check it out. It would be better than listening to herself breathing. But if she left her shop and a customer comes in..

"What a bother, I might as well wait until whatever is happening outside to pass than be in the mess." Just as those words left her throat. A two men walk into her shop. A smile crossed the females face as she greets them. "Hello, is there anything I can help you with today gentlemen?"

The first man looks around her shop. Starring at the wide variety of flowers. The first man responds to her, "yes actually. Can you please tell me about the murder that happened just down the street." The mans dark blue eyes meet her own shocked (e/c) ones.

"A murder? Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." (Y/N) says with confusion, the blue-nette falters after her words. "Oh.. I see." The air was now tense.

"Did.. Did a murder occur." The female asked with fright. The second man turns a bit solemn, "yes" he said. The first man speaks up again. "But I'm a detective, detective Sherlock Homles. And here beside me is Dr. John Watson. We are here to investigate the murder that has occured. So that is why I am asking for any information that you have."

"..." (Y/N) was silent at the introduction Mr. Homles had gave, though responds to him. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe I know much about what happened, but I will answer any question you give me."

Dr. Watson asked the first question, "do you know Mr. Edward Samuel?" (Y/N) hums in agreement. "Yes, I do. He must of been murdered, correct?" The two went silent at her accusation.

"How did you,-" "I could tell by the look on your face Dr. Watson. Your very easy to read." The female says with a weak playful smile. Mr. Homles starts to snicker quietly while Dr. Watson turned embarrassed. Muttering a few words, most likely telling his companion to be quiet.

Sherlock stopped his chuckles and asks the intriguing woman another question. "How do you know Mr. Samuel? Was he a frequent customer of yours?"

"Yes he was, Mr. Samuel bought flowers from me twice a month or so. He would by a bouquet of red roses for his wife." "His wife? Was he a helpless romantic?" "No, his wifw had passed away two years ago. He visits her grave twice a month."

"Has Mr. Samuel told you this personally?" "Yes, I grew curious of why he kept buying flowers from my shop so often. And he told me that he visits his wife grave twice a month so he can change the flowers for her."

"What flowers did he buy so frequently?" "He always bought orchids." "Do you know the last time you saw him?" (Y/N) nods, "yesterday. A few minutes after I opened, he told me his son was graduating college that afternoon."

Mr. Homles sapphire eyes scan (Y/N)'s (e/c) orbs. Looking for any trace of weakness in her words. The woman stood proudly and stares at him blankly. Waiting for him to back down, Sherlocks lips turn into a smirk. "I see. Thank you for your cooperation."

"It's not a problem sir, I hope you can find the culprit who killed Mr. Samuel." (Y/N) said with a sad smile. Dr. Watson says a small "of course."  But Sherlock stares at the female with clouded eyes. As if he was trying to figure her out with his eyes alone.

"Anything else I can I help you with?" Sherlock stops his analyzing once her voice called out to them. "No- I mean yes. Can you please give us your name?" "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), you can call Ms. (Y/N)."

"Thank you, Ms. (Y/N) for your cooperation."

"Of course."

The two walk out of her shop and vanish from her sights. (Y/N) takes in a deep breath, and forceful giggles erupt from her throat. "That wasn't what I was expecting today.." The (h/c)-nette wipes away the tiny tears in her eyes.

(Okay, I made a part two! To be honest, I have no idea where this is going, I just type whatever is on my mind and try to find a puzzle peice that may or may not fit the puzzle. Who knows? Hope you enjoyed a part of this installment, will there be more in the future? I dunno. If I could make a part two, it's anyone's guess. Thanks for reading! Ps. anyone saw ep six?)

Peeps who wanted to be tagged, @im-way-too-many-fandoms

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Sam x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rated: Story will be over all MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and some eventual smut once the story reaches that point.

Chapter 2

I stood outside the door of the "avengers tower" as Steve had called it. The building truly was a tower. I'd never seen anything like this in my life. Steve gently pulled my hand to lead me inside. I'm sure he felt like he was dragging a child behind him. All I could do was stare. I tried to look at everything. There was just so many odd things that looked familiar yet completely foreign.

"Welcome back Captain" a pretty blonde woman said as she smiled wide at Steve.

I noticed the deep 'V' in her shirt's neckline. She was wearing a very tight and short skirt as well. My father would beat the absolute hell out of me if I even thought about wearing something like that.

Steve lead me down a small hallway that stopped at some closed metal doors. Steve pushed the lone button on the wall next to the doors. The next second the doors came open. We stepped inside letting the doors close again. It's an elevator but where's the operator? I heard Steve chuckle as he pressed one of the numbered buttons.

"It's completely self efficient now. They no longer need an operator." He smiled down at me.

"How?" I asked him.

"I'm still not entirely sure I just know technology has come a long way. A lot of things have changed."

I nodded staying quiet. I already had so many questions but I didn't want to bombard him with all of them especially since he's only been here for two years.

The metal doors opened up to a very large living space. It was so elegantly decorated. Something you'd see in a film or in a rich person's home possibly. I've never had the luxury of knowing what the finer things in life are.

"I'll introduce you to everyone." Steve smiled walking towards the small stairs leading down to the sitting area.

"Jarvis" Steve said looking up towards the ceiling.

"Yes, Captain?" An odd monotone type of voice sounded like it filled the whole room.

I didn't see anyone at all that the voice could have came from.

"Can you tell everyone to meet me in the living room please." Steve said back to the unknown voice.

"Of course" the voice answered.

"Who was that?" I asked as I stepped farther into the open room.

"Jarvis, he is an AI. Tony created him."

I turned to look at Steve. I know I looked completely confused because I felt completely confused.

"An.. AI? This Tony created a person?" I asked in bewilderment.

"I'll let him explain it." Steve chuckled.

A few minutes later as I walked around the room I heard the footsteps of a few people coming towards us. I turned around to see a small group coming down the few steps to put them in the sitting area.

"Ok, all of you guys already know about Willow but I thought I'd introduce her to all of you." Steve explained.

I walked back over to his side as the others each took a seat around the room.

"This is Natasha Romanoff also known as Black Widow." Steve gestured to the gorgeous red head in extremely tight and revealing clothing.

The woman waved and smiled.

"That's Clint Barton also known as Hawkeye." Steve pointed to the man sitting next to Natasha.

He smiled and nodded.

"The timid genius over there is Bruce Banner who is also the Hulk so I'd avoid irritating him." Steve said with a humorous smile.

Bruce looked embarrassed by what Steve said as he gave me a small smile and wave then looked anywhere but towards me.

"Lastly, this is Tony Stark." Steve barely gestured to the man standing by the counter on the other side of the room.

"Stark?" I questioned remembering that name.

"Capsicle, you forgot to tell her I'm also known as Ironman. I'm also a genius billionaire." Tony said with a cocky grin in place.

"Stark" I repeated the name.

Why can't I remember how I know that name? Wait, of course, Howard Stark. How could I forget him.

"Do you know Howard Stark by chance?" I asked him.

His face fell instantly. I knew I had struck a cord without meaning to.

"Howard was my father." He said simply.

"That's amazing! I met him a few times. My father worked with him on several occasions. He is a great man." I smiled widely.

It was an odd thing to see the son of Howard Stark standing in front of me looking the same age now as his father was the last time I had seen him.

"Well, Willow, what exactly happened to you? Do you remember anything?" Natasha asked leaning forward.

I shook my head. The last thing I remembered it was 1946 now it's suddenly 2013. I'm at a complete loss for 67 years. I should be an old woman right now or maybe even dead.

"I can show you what happened." Tony said suddenly.

"You can?" I asked excitedly.

Tony nodded as he walked to the center of the group.

"Jarvis, open the Hydra Research file." Tony ordered.

"Certainly sir" the voice answered.

Suddenly images appeared to come out of the table Tony was standing in front of. I watched as he moved his hands around which also seemed to move the images. He made one image larger. It was a newspaper article with my photo on it.

The headline read "Local Woman Still Missing After Months of Searching".

The picture was originally of myself and Steve as well as someone else it seemed. I remembered the picture partially. Steve and I were at the Stark Expo. I could see his arm draped around me in the photo but the rest of him was cut out. What I don't remember is who the other arm draped around me belonged to. I only remember being there with Steve.

Tony moved his hand and the photo changed to a moving picture. It was of the same man I met earlier. Fury. He was sitting behind a desk staring straight at me.

"Your mission is simple. This is a research Intel gathering job. You are going in to one of the former Hydra bases in the Swiss Alps. I want as much information as you can gather. We will meet at shield headquarters in 24 hours."

The picture stopped then Tony changed it again. It was another moving picture. I saw several people in head to toe black gear. Most of their faces covered. They carried large weapons. They were walking threw some kind of cave. There was odd equipment everywhere. I recognized a few things. The image seemed to change suddenly to a different area.

"What the hell is that?" I heard a man ask.

Ahead of them were some kind of chambers. There was two of them. One was open and empty while the other was closed with something over the glass to shield what was inside from view. I watched as they used tools to break the door open. It looked like a cloud of smoke that came out of the chamber. Once it cleared I felt every bit of color drain from me.

"That's me" I whispered in shock.

"What the hell?" One of the men questioned in the image.

"We need immediate extraction! I repeat immediate extraction! We found something!" A man shouted loudly.

Two men worked carefully to pick me up out of the chamber and carry me back threw the area they had come threw.

The image changed again. This time I was laying on a table. My skin looked to slowly be gaining color again. A few people in white lab jackets stood around me.

"Do you have any idea who this is yet?" One of them asked.

"I do" the voice came from somewhere unseen.

The video moved to show Fury standing in a doorway. He walked over to where I lay and looked down at me.

"This is Willow Roffe friend of our very own Steve Rogers." He stated.

"What would Hydra want with this woman?" One of the doctors asked.

"That I do not know. Not yet anyway." He seemed bothered by that.

The moving picture stopped and Tony turned to me. He waved his hand and the images disappeared.

"Any questions?" He asked.

"Yea, actually, a lot of them." I answered honestly.

---

Masterlist

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Okay, let's try this one more time. This story was given feedback by the talented @cailannuesugi and @voltage-vixen. Thank you, ladies, for your help and encouragement when I felt like giving up.

Title: Meeting the Mogul

Ikesen Modern Day AU

A/N: This is my first fic, so please don't expect it to be perfect. I also don't own Ikesen Nobunaga and the other characters except my OC. Cybird owns them.

This is inspired by the artwork I commissioned from @shrimpalompa 💕

With her eyebrows furrowed, Mia allowed her feet to drag along the length of Manhattan's busy streets. Despite the crowd of busy professionals hurrying to buy their lunches from the food trucks lined up along 50th Street, and the incessant honking of cars and taxis stuck in traffic, all she could think of is how badly she messed up her last interview.

The delightful scent of sauteed garlic and onions wafting in the air made her stomach growl slightly louder than usual. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to eat a nice gyro sandwich at Lil Zeus Food Truck, but with only fifty dollars to tide her over until she finds a job, she took a deep breath, turned away from the food truck, and continued to walk. She took one step after another, until the concrete pavement was replaced by a patch of green, and the sound of car horns was replaced by the catchy melody of a marching band practicing nearby.

Central Park was beautiful at this time of day - mostly because the afternoon crowd and the throngs of tourists don't frequent the place at this hour.

She sat on the grass, defeated. She had one shot at getting employed as a clerk in the prestigious firm, and she totally screwed her interview. "Seriously, who asks about the President's background during the interview anyway? " she wondered out loud still feeling bitter about her failure at the hands of Azuchi Inc's, Vice President of Human Resources, Hideyoshi Toyotomi. She sighed again, took out her mobile and typed in the keywords 'Nobunaga Oda, Azuchi Inc'. Pages upon pages of news articles about the President and CEO appeared on her screen, much to her surprise. As her finger hovered over one of the articles, she silently cursed herself for not having thought of doing this yesterday before she finally gave in and pored over the details on the mysterious mogul.

***

He watched her as she sat on the grass with her back turned to him.  He winced at the last thought; then again, she didn't seem like the type who'd pick out her dates online.From where he stood, it appeared like she was playing a game on her phone or browsing one of those social media sites his employees are so fond of... Or maybe checking out a dating site. Though she didn’t seem like the type to rely on other sources to help her find a date. His thoughts drifted to their first encounter yesterday, and he smirked.

In an attempt to avoid the possibility of listening to his Vice President of Human Resources' complaints about his decision to ride his bike to work, he opted to enter the building through the ever-busy and usually crowded Talent Management Hub. Donned in a black button-down shirt, which he wore untucked with a pair of dark denim jeans, he handed his helmet to the seemingly dumbstruck guard and made his way to the exit leading to the main lobby. Just as he was about to step into the main lobby, he felt someone grip his wrist tightly.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're going?"

He turned and saw a girl - not more than twenty-four if he had to guess - looking sternly at him while she gripped his wrist tightly.

He heard collective gasps around them, but she didn't seem to have noticed. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the managers make his way towards them, but he stopped him before he could get any closer. The clock on the wall read 9:25 am, so he had a good five minutes before his weekly meeting with Marketing, but the girl holding on to him intrigued him so much, he didn't mind canceling. Just what was she trying to get at by stopping him, he wondered.

"Didn't you just arrive, Sir? You don't have an ID, so you must be an applicant, too," she said gently, as she tugged him to follow her to the waiting area. Still confused, he glanced at the other people who were quietly seated, trying to avoid his gaze. "It's unprofessional to cut the line, you know. Let's wait for our turn here."

He chuckled at the realization that she didn't know who he was. He decided to humor her by sitting beside her, but it didn't take long until she was called for her initial screening. It was at that moment that he decided they needed to hire her. However, when Hideyoshi dished out his infamous rapid-fire "Oda Fast Facts" on her, there was no doubt she wasn't going to be signing a contract with them.  The dashing dark-haired mogul frowned as he recalled the report he was given on the status of her application. He recognized potential when he sees one, and knew they had just let this one slip away. He left word that he was having lunch elsewhere, and took off with his Vice President of Operations following closely at his heel.

"You know what you should do next? You should buy that Lil’ Zeus food truck. Have you seen the line? It felt like ages before I got us some of these!" A familiar voice brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced sideways to see that his executive had just arrived carrying a gyro on each hand. "It's about time you got here. What was the matter, couldn't charm the ladies to get ahead? You must be losing your touch, Mitsuhide, " he teased.

The silver-haired executive smirked as he handed one of the gyros to his boss. "I'll have you know I snaked my way to the front of the line in less than 2 minutes. The cook ran out of oregano and they had to get a fresh batch." He paused for a second or two to take in the scenery before him. "So is there a reason you wanted to have lunch here?"

"No reason, " the dark-haired debonaire responded, his carnelian colored eyes sparkling with mischief as he stared at the girl whose back was turned at them once again. "I see, " Mitsuhide said, thrusting the other gyro at him. "Good luck, boss. I'll see you at the office." He flashed the young executive a dazzling smile before he turned and made his way towards the unassuming girl.

***

"That's funny, he has no pictures, " she mentioned, after opening yet another news article about the mysterious Nobunaga Oda - the sixth since she started - and there still wasn't any photos of the man in question.  

"Usually that’s the case when the person's not very good looking."

Startled at the sound of his voice, she jumped and turned around. Standing a few feet away from her was the man she met in the interview. Though she still didn't know his name considering she never asked in the interview, and he never introduced himself. Today, he was wearing a white button-down shirt, which was still untucked and a pair of khaki trousers. She never noticed how attractive he was until today - more like a model, with his tall and well-toned physique, which was evident in the cut of his clothes.  

"It's you, " she said. 

"Yeah. Me, " he replied. "Had lunch?"

"Yes, " she nodded, but her stomach wasn't having it. Her face flushed red as soon as her stomach growled. 

He snickered. "You know, I happen to have an extra gyro."

"Do you always happen to carry a spare gyro around?"

Her retort made him laugh, as he really didn't see that coming. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're hilarious, " he asked. He plopped down beside her in the grass and handed her one of the gyros. "And to answer your question, I carry them around in case I get lucky and see a pretty girl who is in desperate need of lunch." 

"My hero, " she smiled. "Thank you for this. I'm Mia, by the way. And you?"

He shrugged, ignoring the fact that she had introduced herself. "So, what were you doing on your phone, looking for a date or something?"

"Of course not, " she said, as she munched on her sandwich. "I was curious to see what Nobunaga Oda looks like."

"Why would you want to know how he looks?" 

She took out her phone with one hand and showed him the search results. "See these? I've read six articles about him, and not one of them contained any pictures of him. Isn't that strange?"

He scanned the titles and frowned. "Maybe he doesn't want his picture taken." 

"Why though? I think he's amazing. I mean, he's not even from here, yet he made a name for himself and he's been helping boost Japan's economy even from offshore. He's made a name for himself in a place where people least expected him to. His achievements are known all over Japan, and that's why I wanted so badly to come to New York and work at Azuchi Inc."

He cocked an eyebrow at her passionate response. It sure wasn't the first time he's heard people sing praises about him and his organization, but it felt different hearing it from someone who had nothing to gain from sharing this with him because she absolutely had no idea who he was. 

"Speaking of which, whatever happened to your application?" It was her turn to ask. For a moment, he almost forgot that she thought he was an applicant, too. She cleared her throat. "What's the matter? You know you don't have to be embarrassed if you didn't make it. I mean, I didn't -"

"Why did you fail?"

She frowned. That was twice he ignored her questions, yet he had the gall to ask her such a rude question. What kind of person is he exactly, she silently wondered. 

"If you're done trying to assess whether I'm trustworthy or not, would you mind answering my question?"

Rude. This man was just plain rude, she concluded. "Why do I need to answer that?"

"Because I gave you a sandwich, " he said, as he lay carelessly on the grass with his hands behind his head.. "And because you look like you're going to tell me anyway."

She sighed. Well, he wasn't wrong, she thought. "I suppose it was it because I didn't know a thing about the President and CEO of Azuchi, Inc, " she said, hanging her head low. "Except for his name, I didn't know where he came from, what his philosophy was, his advocacy, why he prefers to drink tea from Japan…"

"Don't you think that information is useless?"

"I used to. I'm not gonna lie that I felt really bad after the interview with Mr. Toyotomi. I felt bad because I thought those questions he asked me were ridiculous, " she said, as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I realized something while I was reading through the articles about Nobunaga Oda. I now understand that Mr. Toyotomi only wanted to make sure I knew and understood Mr. Oda's vision because it is only when you understand that you can actually contribute to that vision by working hard. I didn't really know that this morning, but now, I'd do anything to get another shot at that interview."

His eyes never left hers as she spoke, and with each topic, he found himself more and more entranced by her - perhaps it was the way her face lit up and her hands moved as she spoke about the things she was passionate about, or her wistful smile as she stared at the lake in between topics. He was captivated, so much so that he hadn't noticed that time has gone by until he felt his phone vibrate. 

Frowning, he took out the sleek gadget from his pocket and was briefly surprised. It was 3:00 pm - way past his supposed lunch break. Hideyoshi would have a fit, he silently thought, smirking. 

Sighing, he sat up and brushed the dirt off the back of his shirt. "As much as I'd like to stay and talk some more -"

"You have to go, " she said, cutting him off. She watched him quietly as he straightened his clothes up and ran his hand through his messy black hair. She had never been so drawn to a person before, but there was something about him that spoke to her - maybe it was the way he listened to her like what she was saying was important or the way he challenged her opinion every now and then… or even the way she saw her reflection in his eyes when he smiled. 

The light clapping sound that resonated in the air as he dusted off his clothes faded, and she suddenly felt her heart grow heavy - like all three weeks worth of homesickness had finally kicked in. 

"You look like you're gonna cry, " he teased, as he stood and offered his hand out to her. "Are you gonna miss me?"

"Am not, " she replied while he pulled her to her feet. "But did I get you in trouble?"

"I'm late for a meeting. Nothing I can't handle, " he winked. "I'm just gonna tell them that I met an interesting girl in Central Park."

"You make me sound weird."

He snickered. "Okay. How about I say a cute girl held me hostage?"

"They're not gonna believe you, " she replied, her face turning slightly red. 

"Here, " he said, handing his phone over to her. "Let's take a picture, in case they require proof."

"And make me the laughing stock of your team, "she retorted but allowed him to take a picture anyway.

"They wouldn't dare laugh, " he assured her as he checked their picture and smiled. "This is a good picture."

"Yes, it is." She peered at his handsome face in the picture and smiled.

"I don't like having my picture taken because I always seem to look strange, but I like this one, " he smiled back. "Well then…"

"Yeah, I guess this is goodbye."

"I'll see you tomorrow at 8."

"What? Here?"

He laughed, and the rich sound tickling her ear. "At my office, silly. Tell Mr. Toyotomi I sent you there. He'll be able to give you an orientation, " he said casually and then turned to leave. 

"Mr. Toyotomi - as in the guy from Azuchi, Inc? I'm confused… Whom should I say sent me, " she called out as he started to walk. 

"Oh. Tell him I sent you, " he turned to face her once again and exaggerated a bow. "Nobunaga Oda. I never told you before, but it's a pleasure to meet you, Mia. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she watched him disappear in the distance, she almost failed to notice a new text message that read: 

'We are pleased to offer you the role of Assistant to the CEO. Please report to Mr. Hideyoshi Toyotomi's office at the 41st floor of Azuchi, Inc tomorrow at 8:00 am sharp. - Mitsunari Ichida, Director of Talent Management.'

End. 

[joneshartright-blog]

The Other Side (Part 3)

Summary: a story about reincarnation, past lives.

Warnings: swearing, bad grammar, insults,

»Let me know if anyone wants to be tagged!«

The warmth was something new to him, London was grey for the most part of time, the sun appearing rarely.It was like he was lost, everything green around him, the wind touching his hair and right in front of him the ocean.It took him, some minutes to realize he was holding a old notebook and dressed with victorian clothes.He touched his chest feeling the texture of the blue wool coat trought his fingers, trying to understand what was going on.

That's when he realized, he only could be dreaming.He moved his hand to his hair examaning the ambient, confused and frustrated.He opened the notebook running trought the pages, searching for something that could give him a hint about what was happening.

“1st, July, 1809

Her hands were in the piano, playing slowly, Beethoven echoing trought the house, making it way outside into my ears, blessing them as I keep writing about her”

He looked at the sea, for a moment, licking his lips.

“This is not right" he looked down, the page of the notebook displayed in front of his eyes.

“For the moment I could swear I saw an angel in form of a woman.In form of you, my love."

He closed the notebook, sighing nervously, his toughts being disturbed by a voice.

“Sir?"

He could feel his head geting heavy as he tried to look in the right direction.

“Sir"

Sir.Sir.The words kept playing continuosly in his mind, and the notebook touched the ground as his hands started sweating.

Beep.Beep.

06:00 a.m.

The alarm, brought Ben back to reality, making him shiver, hands in his eyes covered by sweat.

“Fuck"

He murmured, feeling how lucid his dream was.

[...]

“All that I'm asking for, is to look at some registers, of 1800”

“I'm sorry, sir, but you don't have the permission to see these documents"

He shifted his weight, feeling irritated by the way the woman was being, calling him, 'sir', pushed him almost over the edge.It was the seventh time he asked.

“Bloody hell, why can't you give me the fucking papers!”

“Watch the way you're talking to me, or I will have to call the security"

“It's not necessary, someone just wake up in the wrong side of the bed today."

Ben recognized the voice of his friend, as a hand tapped on his shoulder.

“Thanks for your attention, Mrs?"

“Aubry"

He smiled blinking at the middle aged lady, returning to his friend, slamming his back.

“What's wrong with you today?Hangover?Bad hook up?”

“As if I have time for that, would be more easy if I even had a hook up"

“In which you didn't have, because your great study about woman or your twisted dreams?”

“I'm not a manwhore.”

“Of course 'Mr, Woman Only Find Me To Have Sex, Nothing Serious'.”

Ben laughed, shaking his head.

“I'm serious, everytime I ask their phone, they tell me 'they'll find me around here', or leave before I wake up"

He was right.It wasn't like he didn't tried to start a relationship with someone before - which he did a lot - but woman, always seemed to look at him just as a handsome guy, with a hot body, something that made him wait patiently for a girl who would really aprecciate him, by who he was, and not what he looked like.Well, until there at least there will be some companies, he thought.

“Oh right, oh right, but that doesn't explain why you're being so eager with the poor lady today”

“Poor?She denied me the fucking papers, even I saying it was for the journal"

He picked a cigarette, nervousily, trying to light it up.

“And it was really, for it?I don't remember having a new story"

Benjamin looked at him, cigarette in his lips shaking, eyes rolling.His friend worked with him, he would knew if it had something new to write about.

“You can't smoke here, Sir."

“Could you stop, calling me Sir?” his veins were appearent trought his neck, and he putted the cigarette back in his pocket.

“I'm sorry but no, Sir"

The lady smiled cynically, vitorious by seeing anger in his face.

“Benjamin"

He looked at his friend, sighing.

“No, it wasn't"

“It was for personal studies"

“What kind of studies?”

He frowned, squeezing his lips.

“Are you really on this again?"

The brunette tall man stood hands in his pockets.

“Gwilym, this gonna sound crazy, but I was there, and in, in someway it wasn't me?...The notebook.It had a notebook with an old letter, telling a story, almost like a poetry, about a woman...And I think it has something to do with the woman I dreamed about"

“You mean the dead one?Mate, look I know you find out these story about Walter Hartright, intriguing, and I admit it is, but ... You're being so obsessed with that, that maybe those dreams are nothing”

He shaked his head.

“I had those dreams before I even found about that story, and someway know it looks clear, it-"

“Mate, you need to take a break.Look at you, your face looks like a wet weekend.”

Ben sighed looking at the clock.

“I need to go back to work.”

He made his way outside denying the company of his friend, saying that he needed time to think about.

Lighting a cigarette, he took a deep inhale feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of the smoke in his nostrils and lips.

“Hey excuse me?”

He looked up at the direction of a woman.

“You're Benjamin Jones, right?"

He nodded holding the cigarette at the opposite side.

“Could you give me an autograph?I'm your big fan"

She handed him a paper and a pen, smiling wide, he in the other way looking unfriendly.

“You know I read your articles almost every morning and I think it's really amazing the way you tell stories and news"

“Yeah" he looks at her checking, seeing expressions that he already saw before in the girls at the bar: lip bitting, cheeky smiles, sexy glances. “What's your name?"

“Anne"

He threw away his cigarette, turning around catching a quick look at the lady in the other side of the street.

“Could you write a dedicatory?"

He stopped imediatally his actions, a little frozen at the sight.It couldn't be.

“Sorry" he mumbles under his breath running, horns echoing as he tried to surf the traffic.

“Hey!"

Not figuring out what to do, he decided to yell at the woman who was now, walking in the opposite way.

“Hey!"

All the attentions were on him, he looked like a creep stalker, but couldn't care less.Running he was stopped by the amount of people who was walking, pushing all of them, or trying.

“Hey!!!"

The woman in the green olive jacket was nowhere to be seen, swallowed by the wave of people.He tug his hair tightly.

He was positive sure, he wasn't dreaming this time.

He really saw her.

Tag;

@destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @jdroman5432 @strangemaximoff @parkersroses @benshardy @alosthufflepuff @kurt-nightcrawler @lizgarxo @wint-er-voices @imaginesbyme @eyeballchambersgirl @imamazzellhoe

[thegoodquotee]

I BEG EVERYONE IN THIS PLATFORM ESPECIALLY THE MALE AMONG US TO READ THIS ARTICLE TO THE END.

👇👇👇👇

*Eat Cassava*

Good news for those who have issues with their prostate, be it enlarged or cancerous.

I've stumbled upon a solution, given me by a priest.

Let me begin by sharing my own experiences with my prostate.

My father and his younger brother died from prostate cancer, and I've been living with an enlarged prostate since 2006.

I've tried both orthodox, herbal and food supplements with varying degrees of success, but my bladder is never empty, and I have been embarrassed a few times by incontinence.

However, the turning point appeared while on the way to Wa and Jirapa for the burial of Most Respected Lady Sis Victoria Yellu on Thursday, 8th April 2021.

Sir Kt Bro Ernest Amoako-Arhen, Sir Kt Bro Rev Fr James Buor-Mensah, an Assistant Supreme Chaplain, and I found ourselves at the same table during breakfast at the STC terminal at Oforikrom in Kumasi.

Before we boarded the bus, I remarked that I would be asking the driver to stop for me to pee along the way, because of my enlarged prostate.

This provided an excellent opportunity for Sir Kt Bro Rev Fr James Buor-Mensah to give us the remedy, which he said his own father as well as Archbishop Sarpong have been using.

Very simply, cook cassava over a charcoal or wood fire.

DO NOT COVER THE SAUCEPAN . ALLOW THE STEAM TO EVAPORATE FREELY

You can eat the cooked cassava with any stew of your choice.

I must tell you that right from our return to Accra, I've had cassava cooked for me as prescribed.

I'm in Tsiame, without access to a coal pot, so I use gas to cook the cassava.

Since Friday when I got here, my breakfast has been lemon grass +ginger tea and lemon.

Lunch is boiled cassava.

Previously, I woke up after every two hours in the night to pee. Sometimes, I peed twice within the hour. And this affected my health.

But since I started the cassava therapy, I wake up only once in the night.

I don't feel the heat/pain associated with peeing.

I don't feel the urge to rush to the washroom in order to avoid spillage.

I know there are a number of elderly Brothers who have issues with the prostate, and I recommend the cassava therapy to them.

Try it, or recommend it to anyone with prostate issues, and thank God for putting Sir Kt Bro Rev Fr James Buor-Mensah and I together on that day.

CASSAVA & CANCER CELLS !!!

Don't stop, please read to the end !

After doing some investigations, it turned out that apricot seeds contain vitamin B17. While being treated for cancer, I would look for food that also contains vitamin B17. It turned out that cassava has vitamin B17. So I ate 10 grams of cassava three times a day.

After eating cassava for one month, my doctor checked my bladder for cancer. He was surprised because my bladder was completely clean and normal.

As long as I kept eating cassava, I feIt very fit and very healthy. Every three months I would go for a check up and my results remained clean. Since then, I only ate cassava and did not continue other cancer medications.

Summary of vitamin B17 active ingredients of cassava are:

The scientific name of vitamin B17 is Amygdaline.

Cancer cells are immature cells. They have different enzymes compared to normal cells.

When vitamin B17 is combined with normal cell enzyme, B17 will turn into 3 types of sugar. But when combined with cancer cell enzyme, B17 turns into:

1 sugar,

1 benzaldehyde and

1 hydrocyanic acid.

This hydrocyanic acid kills cancer cells locally.

Apricot and cassava seeds both contain vitamin B17.

Mr. Pereira, a 70-year-old man, was diagnosed with prostate cancer. His wife at the hospital happened to read my article. They had no money for the cancer treatment and the injection given made Mr.Pereira very weak. His wife gave him cassava to consume. After eating cassava for a week, his situation started getting better. After a month of eating cassava every morning, his PSA test result reduced from 280-290 to 5.89!

They visited me with the test results before and after eating cassava. Pereira no longer had any symptoms of cancer after continuing eating cassava.

There was another person who had liver cancer and had to undergo surgery. But from the MRI scan results, the cancer cells still existed. So, she started eating cassava after surgery. A month after eating cassava or ubi kayu, doctors told her there would be no need to undergo surgery anymore because the MRI scan did not show the existence of any cancer cells in her liver.

So why not try cassava for curing cancer? It is cheap, easy to get, easy to cook and very tasty.

It's very easy to prepare:

1. Choose fresh topioca or cassava, which has no bluish colour on its surface.

2. Boil some tubers and do not cover the pot during cooking. This will help evaporate the excess midrosianic acid.

3. During eating tapioca, do not eat ginger/ginger foods, such as ginger biscuits, ginger beer, gin, etc, at the same time.

I would encourage everyone to read above article. My own brother, 2 months ago, went to check his PSA and it was 2000. They rechecked it later and it was 3000. My sister called to inform me.

The first thing we did was to pray. I remembered the above article which someone had sent me some time ago. I forwarded it to my sister. She tried it on my brother in law.

After a month of eating cassava, his PSA decreased from 2000 to 6.65. He repeated the PSA test on 28 May, 2018. Guess what his PSA was: 0.63. Is this not wonderful? The Lord has been faithful. This stuff works.

SHARED AS RECEIVED !!

This may help someone; please pass it on. (You may try it.)