#this bitch was so deeply in love with the same woman after everything for decades like he a sweetheart

[everythoughtihave]

If a character adamantly believes that they will never be liked/loved/cared for to the point where it makes them incredibly bitter on the outside, please know they will be the kindest and most loving person on the inside. Like they just want love :(

[idratherdreamofjune]

@sunheart wrote in her tags on another post:

Genuinely hate being alive ... I completely understand on so many levels why you would hate being a woman. Its horrible. And then as a Christian there's this whole really ugly dynamic- that i know is probably a lie i just haven't worked out how yet- that we're the 2nd best. The afterthought. The mediocre option. Almost everything in life men are better at and it's hard to believe it's just cultural-  math logic leadership writing cooking writing physical activities on and on, and women are good at being Nice :)   Which ok i like being nice   but it's like that's my only option   I feel like any other impact i might wish to have upon the world   will be paltry in comparison to what i could do   if only i was a man.   I feel incompetent. Irrational. Emotional. Obnoxious.   I feel like I'm supposed to be a plaything for the beings that were *actually* created to be in harmony with God   like I'm not supposed to have a connection with God-  only through my husband   which what does that make me as a single childless bitch?   I can't even fulfill the main point of my existence. Jesus interacted with women but did he care about them like he did the men? David and John were named his favorites not Deborah or Hannah. And like i said i'm sure none of that's true but i don't know how and it feels awful. hate it.

   Hopefully others have shared encouragement on this already, but just in case I wanted to give some thoughts. Please know that if I sound riled at all (and I’m going to try to avoid that) I’m not upset at anyone who feels this way but am deeply upset by the enemy’s lies that so many are hurt by. As a younger believer I did struggle with some of these questions myself, and for a long time it was difficult to reconcile these concerns with the promises that God loves me.

   Your instincts are right - it is a lie that women are second best. And before I go any further let me also agree that yes, we are physically weaker than men and have other weaknesses too. But since when has weakness meant that someone is any way “less than” others? Men have weaknesses too, just different ones. That’s the nature of humanity: every person is a mixed bag of strengths and weaknesses. I’ve never heard before that men are better at cooking?? My dad literally struggles to cook a hotdog in the microwave and has never touched a grill in his life. And okay men may (possibly, not sure on this one either) be inherently better at math, but which gender is drastically underrepresented in the nursing field? I suspect there are fewer male teachers, too, though not as huge a disparity. Men are more prone to recklessness and violence - part of the reason married men live longer (gotta get that stable influence). Again yes men are physically stronger but have you watched ballet dancers (oooh i mean ballerinas, sorry there’re so few ballerinos that I forgot to differentiate) or female gymnasts? Nothing “less than” there! The famous Proverbs 31 woman is a good insight into Biblical support of female abilities and value: “strength and dignity are her clothing”, “she opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” “Let her works praise her in the gates.” (The gates were essentially the city hall or forum of ancient Israel.)

   Going back to the beginning - women were created second, true. But did God not know His own plan? He was always going to create women. And the really amazing thing that I learned in the last couple of years is that, when God says He’s going to make Adam “a helper” (Hebrew ”ezer”), that’s the same word that is used to describe God’s actions for His people throughout the Old Testament: - Exodus 18:4 “The God of my father was my help.” - 1 Samuel 7:12 “Ebenezer” means “rock of help” and is a memorial of Yaweh’s help. - Psalm 30:10 “Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper!” - Psalm 115:11 “You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord, He is their help and their shield” - Psalm 121:2 “My help comes from the Lord” - Hosea 13:9 “‘You are against Me, against your helper.’“

It is a common word for “help” used in other settings, yes, but the fact that it’s used of God illustrates that this is no poor or second-rate role. Helping - aiding - supporting - incredibly important! In fact this article I just found puts it this way:

In two cases it refers to the first woman, Eve, in Genesis 2. Three times it refers to powerful nations Israel called on for help when besieged. In the sixteen remaining cases the word refers to God as our help. He is the one who comes alongside us in our helplessness. That's the meaning of ezer. Because God is not subordinate to his creatures, any idea that an ezer-helper is inferior is untenable. In his book Man and Woman: One in Christ, Philip Payne puts it this way: "The noun used here [ezer] throughout the Old Testament does not suggest 'helper' as in 'servant,' but help, savior, rescuer, protector.'

   Moving on to the New Testament, and the topic of John, who is known as “the disciple whom Jesus loved”. John is the one who wrote the book which tells us that (under the direction of the Holy Spirit, yes) and he only uses that wording as a title, in place of his name. Nowhere does it say he was the favorite disciple, or even most loved, just that he was loved. To me it seems more as if John is saying “Jesus loved me! Can you believe it?!” It has a feeling of awe and thankfulness as opposed to superiority.

  Getting into marriage specifically, I do believe that a wife should be under the headship of her husband ...mainly in the sense of letting him have the last word on decisions and plans. This is in part due to differing areas of strength, and in part because in some situations it’s better to have a family leader - most groups of humans need a leader, and following an assigned (or picked) leader does not make one inferior. All that being said, a wife should be able to provide input, advice, and feedback to her husband, who should take into strong consideration his wife’s needs, insights, and concerns (Ephesians 5:25-29).

   The lie that women cannot be connected to God outside of their husband is refuted not only by all the vibrantly faithful single or windowed Christian ladies of history (Amy Carmichael, Gladys Aylward, Mary Slessor, and Elisabeth Elliot are some of my favorites) but also Scripture itself. When Christ spoke with the divorced Samaritan woman the disciples were shocked not because she was a Samaritan but because she was a woman (John 4:27; she was shocked on both counts - John 4:9) - I hope they got used to it because Jesus spoke with women a lot. Despite the culture of the time, Jesus clearly had very warm and caring direct relationships with Martha and Mary, Mary Magdalene, and other women. Anna the Prophetess in the temple had been widowed for decades and was serving God alone “night and day” (Luke 2:37). Incredibly, in a culture where women were looked down upon, the Lord chose women to be the first to discover the empty tomb, and Mary Magdalene to be the first to see the risen Christ! I love that passage so much (John 20:11-18).

   Another example is when Jesus stopped on His way to heal Jairus’ daughter (i.e. He put aside a powerful man’s urgent request) to lovingly interact with the woman who’d suffered bleeding for years - a terribly personal and female problem (Mark 5:21-35).

   To try to wrap up, I’ll return to David in the OT, who was a “man after God’s own heart”. But again, it doesn’t say that he was actually a favorite - it does say David was chosen by God though, to lead Israel and establish the family from which Jesus would ultimately come. You know who else was chosen? Esther - “for such a time as this”. Once she realizes the task she must complete, she tells Mordecai how it’s going to go, and “Mordecai then went away and did everything Esther had ordered him.” Esther gets a book named after her and is remembered in the holiday of Purim to this day. Also note that Esther was married to an unbeliever. Likewise Ruth was chosen, as a young foreign widow, to be part of the Messiah’s kingly line. As an aside, my favorite thing about Ruth’s story (besides all the faith and beauty of it) is the simultaneous deep respect and protectiveness Boaz shows towards her (okay enough mush). Anyhow what it comes down to is that God chooses and loves both men and women, and both have a place (singly and married) in His plans and kingdom. See also Galatians 3:28 “ There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

   This post has all over the place, and I probably forgot a bunch of things I wanted to add (if anything else comes to mind I’ll add it later), but I hope it’s been encouraging. Yes I’ve struggled with some aspects of how women are portrayed in the Bible, but what I shared above, plus the love and blessings I’ve known as a single woman are more than enough evidence that we are known and loved. If anything is unclear or anyone has any questions please speak out/send an ask! Anon asks are on too. Also if anyone wants to add or amend anything do so without hesitation!!

[ask-the-cordium-crew]

The performance of a decade.    (A WKTC Story)

Robyn came face to face with Tyrian and soon enough Qrow and Clover came out leaving Tyrian to look worried backing up slowly,

but soon enough he noticed a red glint out of the corner of his eye Qrow was the first one to speak up looking angerly at Tyrian 

“you’ve got nowhere to run Callows. You could make this easy for us, but I already know you won’t so come on already attack.”

Tyrian laughed out loudly as he looked at the three, “Oh! Did you really think I wouldn’t plan for something like this!? You must not know who you're dealing with. I am not alone, you know,” Robyn and Clover looked around, but soon, a young woman came stumbling behind them crying.

Qrow kept his eyes on Tyrian while Clover and Robyn looked at the woman “miss, please evacuate this area. We’ve got this under control,” the woman cried loudly, coughing up blood and managed to speak up “...I am so sorry about this” the two looked confused before she pulled out a sword and ran towards them and swung her blade. Robyn held her off and pushed her back Qrow and Clover got to fighting Tyrian.

Clover looked at Qrow, confused as they held off the scorpion faunus “why is that girl trying to fight us? Why would she apologize like that?” Robyn soon screamed loudly as she cut the head off the woman and looked shocked and scared, crying herself, “N-No no, no, I didn’t mean to!” Qrow then turned to look at her “don’t worry about it. You didn’t do a thing that woman was already dead SHOW YOURSELF COWARD!” 

A loud chuckle could be heard thru out the whole alleyway as the actor himself walked up walking over the dead woman's body and using the sword she was using to cut his veins off his wrists so they would no longer be attached to her he then looked at Hill who was still shocked and upset. 

“Oh, don’t look that way he’s not wrong I gut the bitch before you fought her oh your face when you thought you killed someone! HA HA HA now I wish I could be so shocked by death like that really I do being shocked from death is one of the better things an actor can have sadly death doesn't phase me anymore...” He then turned his head to Tyrian and softly waved.

“Oh hello you disgusting piece of garbage your lucky I got here in time otherwise you’d be scorpion soup” he chuckled gently Tyrian slashed at the two in front of him knocking them away 

“Oh, hello yourself, dear actor just in time. I was worried!” he chuckled. “OH, I BET YOU’D LOVE ME BEING TURNED INTO SOUP WOULDN’T YOU?” Mark then let some of his veins cover his fingers creating hardened blood like nails before she slashed at Robyn 

“you know me so well which is horrible to think about considering your a faunus” they both laughed before they went back to fighting the three huntress and huntsmen 

Robyn panted out loudly, looking deeply confused at Qrow, “and WHY is the brother of our dear colonel working for her?! I thought we weren’t hiding things?” Qrow groaned before shooting at Tyrian and looking at her quickly doing a backflip and slashing at him, and soon enough they were both wrestlings on the ground 

“You never asked who worked for her, so I wasn’t hiding anything” he groaned slamming the faunus into a wall and soon after Tyrian did the same

Mark groaned gently as Robyn sent him flying, hitting him with her weapon. He stomped into the ground before he got sent too far and ran back towards her, cutting upwards and growling. 

“OH WILLIAM THIS WILLIAM THAT JUST BECAUSE HE’S MY BROTHER DOESN'T MEAN I LIKE EVERYTHING HE DOES FOR FUCK SAKES I WORK FOR HER FOR REASONS YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ABOUT NOW SHUT THE HELL UP AND DIE.”

the three then continued fighting Tyrian fighting off Qrow and Clover and Robyn fighting off Mark.

[artificialqueens]

don't play the fool now (multi) - chapter two - lily2

adore isn’t too interested in attending the famous and ever-so popular: club katya however, she bumps into someone who leaves a lasting impression. meanwhile, shea breaks the most basic rules of her job and katya definitely cares for her sister more than she should.

— ✧*。

Adore stood, locking arm’s with Scarlet and Courtney who were on both of her sides, both of them completely dolled up and wearing their finest and cutest sequin dresses, the new employee stuck out like a sore thumb with her long hair down, a short and black v-neck dress and of course some fishnets and bright red lipstick— she didn’t want to be polished, it was a casino and a club after all, as if someone could get through a sentence or even speak to her about her possibly questionable style choices as they sat, gambling their life away and utterly wasted.

“Well I don’t see the others but we are a bit early.” The Australian speaking up and brushing her hair back gently, not wanting to ruin the shape before she heard a whistle and saw the rest of the girls from their unit walk up, Adore clearly the odd one out as even Yvie decided to dress in whatever she could find that wasn’t too casual. “Let’s do the damn thing ladies.” Aja spoke over the gaggle of girls who all interlocked hands, it almost looked like a cult; an extremely attractive and undercover (but not really) cult. 

First Scarlet and Courtney walked through, waving to the suspecting and familar bartenders and staff who greeted them oh-so-sweetly as expected from two glamorous regulars though Adore couldn’t help but notice the security’s eyes follow her before she turned the corner, clinging a bit to her two new teammates, not due to fear however, Azusa was far more tramuatic and terrifying as a thought than this entire casino: it was more the feeling of being so unaware, everything was bright and the lights a bit dim, people of every kind wanting the same two things: money and alcohol, music blasting as Yvie and Tatianna moved as they walked, feeling themselves to the song. 

“Obviously we aren’t gonna stick together forever so do we want to have a time and place to meet?” Scarlet raising her hand to stop the other seven girls from walking past her, raising a good concern. “The fact you think we will be sober enough to even remember.” Yvie cackled, amused that Scarlet really, truly believed picking a place in the middle of the night, at a casino was a good option for the unit of girls, trying to run away from the stress of their jobs and welcome Adore (in possibly the worst fashion possible) as they gambled and drank the night away, atleast that was what Yvie was planning to do with her time.

“It’s a genuine question, I’m sorry I don’t actually get wasted every time I go out somewhere and besides we’re not on the job, not like I have radios to talk with you guys!“ 

Tatianna held her phone up and nervously gave a smile to the two already beginning to start the usual bickering session, “But we all do have phones and I’m sure some of us will stick together, if anyone goes wrong let’s do that me and Brook Lynn are the ones to call, I know she doesn’t drink too often anhway and I’m pretty responsible so we’ll be the good parents today.” The Canadian shrugged, utterly and completely okay with that little suggestion, “That’s fine by me, I know I’m always the type to get bored and be on my phone anyway." 

"Why did you come then?” Yvie asked, gripping her arm, “Because someone has to be the responsible one like Tatianna said and I don’t trust any of the rest of you to be at Club Katya, we saw how that saga turned out for you and for Aja last time.” Adore wasn’t exactly sure what story that was about but judging by Aja’s cheeks beginning to glow red and Yvie’s stammer, she assumed it wasn’t the most pleasant situation or maybe it was the fucking funniest thing ever, she had yet to find out and maybe she never would.

“You’re coming with me!” Scarlet winked at Adore, speaking up over the rest of them and dragging her along with Courtney, the two of them giddy as can be, they seemed to legitmately enjoy the aesthetic and double life, not like anyone would ask what job they had and if they didn’t they certainly wouldn’t answer a private investigator or detective, what a damn downer.

“The first night of your job and you’re gonna spend it with us gambling, wonderful!” The chipper tone from Courtney’s voice enough to speak volumes of how this night was about to go, she was either going to earn a fuck ton of money or die on the balcony roof and both seemed like acceptable, viable options at this stage of the game.

“Let’s get our money ladies!" 

*.✧

Bianca, Shea and Jinkx gathered in the car, all dressed about as nice they ever would going to Club Katya though Bianca always attempted to atleast look decent, wanting to make a lasting impression and also show off her clothing, it was a win-win! Shea’s fingers tapped the window of the car she she stared blankly, the window of the black Tesla dimmed, Jinkx claiming it was for protection— not wanting others to make any assumptions but Shea knew it really came down to what was probably a sponsorship and the fact that Jinkx could barely drive if the sun was glaring, she probably got tired of wearing glasses in the car, claiming always it made her look older than Bianca.

"You’re really hilarious for someone who can’t even stay awake doing a simple task, why do you think I only give you the exciting shit? It’s not because I love you, it’s because I know you won’t fucking sleep and pass out on the concrete.” The Auburn haired woman had to laugh, gently clutching Bianca’s arm, Jinkx knew the mutual love and respect they had shared for over two decades was enough to make her atleast go a bit easy on the Seattle native, she twirled her own auburn hair around her fingertips before giving a blank stare at Shea, who turned and met her eyes.

Jinkx wasn’t exactly sure what to think of Shea just yet, she had been very promising and apparently Bob’s word of her was so generous and so incredible that Bianca already trusted her with Katya: Manila had been scared after only meeting her at Bianca’s own living space, though she had a few, once a few boys and drugs got involved so to see someone as new as Shea being trusted to handle the dirt and task to come was definitely terrifying and impressive enough.

“You nervous?” Bianca asked, crossing her legs as Shea’s eyes darted away from Jinkx, her hands interlocking with themselves as she shut her eyes, running a hand through her hair. “A little, but nothing I can’t handle, I’m here to show I’m ready for the job.” For someone who had only joined five months ago she was definitely a shining beacon of what the future was in store atleast that was how Bob put it and Bianca would definitely trust her word.

“Well, don’t stress yourself out before we’ve gotten there.” Was the only piece of truth Bianca could offer before she turned away from Shea who only gave a polite nod, wishing deeply she had just been sent with Aquaria and Violet instead, she had heard a lot about the infamous Katya Zamolodchikova.

Katya Zamolodchikova who had been in prison for drug abuse, Katya who had escaped Russia due to her family and the growing and rampant terror of government, Katya who now was a mogul in the Eastern United States for her line of casinos, clubs and whatever downtrodden thing she could possibly imagine, living on her own and hanging around at her own established area’s, staying hush and quiet about any business or disappearance of men or women who had messed with the wrong people. 

All she had to do was laugh or smile and she had anyone who was willing around her finger, her thick and curly long blonde hair covering almost all her beautifully and consistently painted face, wearing lots of lace and lingerie on her downtime and spending her growing fortune on beauty products, animal charities, her new projects and sometimes saving a stack or two for Bianca who had helped her break into the business and gave her a place when she was just a bedridden, ill immigrant, lost in New York City and barley able to communicate in proper English.

“I miss Katya!” Jinkx pouted, smiling at the thought of seeing her fellow Eastern European at her own club, she knew the meeting was for business but nothing a pack of cigarettes couldn’t do for sweet and dear Katya, Bianca had already figured out every mark and weakness she had and she really would be a difficult character to crack if it wasn’t for the fact she is the reason the bitch could even communicate in English. “I don’t.” Bianca laughed, hitting Jinkx before coughing and handling herself up again realizing Shea was still in the car and she had to keep up that “leader” and “supreme boss” act up. 

✧*。

The three exited the car, Bianca giving her driver direct and clear instructions when and where to come before he was on his way off, she walked in the middle of Shea and Jinkx, the latter auburn haired woman adjusting her dress and making sure it hit the floor in just the right light before she shook a bit to ease her own personal stress and begun walking closely to Bianca, Shea following in pursuit, knowing better than to open her mouth and ask questions. 

Music blasting, lights dimmed, flashing and bright colors everywhere, alcohol splattered on the floor everywhere they seemed to look and the constant image of people grinding or kissing or attempting to dance: this was definitely Katya’s club and her own doing.

Bianca’s heels hit the tile of the hallway right next to club, her two girls following, many knew this as the gateway from the Club to the Casino or vise versa but the hallway also housed dressing rooms for any kind of entertainment that showed up, Katya took after these rooms like her own and had even converted one into her personal space, knowing her entire life was work and the occasional times she went home and didn’t have to ring down ten shots of vodka. 

A smattering knock from Jinkx, credit to her, had the Russian cursing before she opened the door and her dull and otherwise threatening expression changed into a soft smile, her eyes raising in surprise as her lashes fluttered, shrieking then which made Shea almost collapse into the pavement in surprise, still grasping the door handle she quickly pulled the three of them in and locked the door— Bianca impressed with how well decorated and insulted the room was. 

The Russian quickly grabbing Bianca in her arms and laughing wholeheartedly, the two giggling and rowdy like two high schoolers, “красивая женщина!” She cooed in Russian to her dearest and nearest friend before taking Jinkx and planting a kiss on both of her cheeks as she reciprocated the favor, “красивое платье.” Jinkx flushing and waving her off, knowing more than enough Russian to realize she called her dress beautiful, “Спасибо!” The half-Ukranian replied with a soft glow across her face, Katya wearing nothing but a gorgeous red, feathered sheer robe with a thick black bra and spandex.

“Looking like a whore as usual.” Bianca teased as Shea stood a bit awkwardly, not exactly knowing how and when to introduce herself to the not-so-mysterious Russian mogul. “Oh yes!” Jinkx clapped noticing Shea, “Katya, this is Shea, she works for us and is a very good and promising employee." 

They shook hands though Katya was never into the formality, she’d rather kiss someone on the cheek than shake their hand and hope the other person didn’t have a strong grip. "Any friend of Bianca is of course a friend of mine, I trust you are new? I have yet to see or hear of you around.” Her sniffing was absolutely correct, Bianca explaining she was of Bob’s finding and is very dedicated to her line of work and extremely intelligent. “Likes leather to boot.” The comment from the blonde referring to her skin-tight leather emsmeble, “I like it!” She slapped Shea’s shoulders and flashed that endearing and famous Katya smile.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure." 

The four of them sat before Katya stood again, pouring four glasses of genuine Russian vodka she had gotten yesterday from her deliveries, "Just some taste of the motherland!” Handing a glass to the other three they cheered and took down the shot, Katya giving herself another sip straight from the bottle just for fun.

“So of course there is some business to speak of, we love you but we have a task to finish.” Bianca spoke first, Katya leaning in her chair and staring curiously, “Well yes, it’s what you must do, please tell me more.” Bianca opened her mouth before giving a signal for Jinkx and Shea to leave, an unusual turn of events they both gave eachother a disheartened look before they stood and went out the door, Bianca scooting closer to Katya, “I want them out because this goes back to you." 

"To me? Has my family finally caught up to me and the Russian government wants the money I stole back?" 

"Not exactly but I fear it has something to possibly do with your sister." 

Katya’s face bleached itself white, her breathing a bit slower but her heart racing almost three times as fast, her greatest and only fear in life wasn’t being killed, death, nothing like that; it was her sister being in harm and somehow poking herself at the underground and what was there, Sasha had majored in forensics and political science last Katya had heard, their brief and discreet conversation during their mother’s funeral at St. Petersburg more than enough of an indication that Sasha would absolutely become some kind of hero, politician or worse— detective.

"Bianca you swore to me she would never, ever get hurt or wind up in your cases.” The tone in her voice nothing but pure anger and disappointment, Bianca quickly grabbed her hands and shook her head, “And I’m keeping that promise, I’m a cold hearted bitch but jesus christ, you know I would never do that shit.”

The Russian breathed a much needed sigh of relief before letting go of her hands, “So what, I’m guessing she is a detective now? My worst fear.” Bianca could only nod and see Katya’s eyes flash with nothing but utter fear and worry, she knew that meant her sister was safe but at a distance— they weren’t going to just dismiss her and go easy if she tried to harass and meddle in what she didn’t need to even if she was Katya’s sister but: the promise would always be kept, Katya was absolutely sacred and her sister was untouched territory, that’s how it would stay.

“She is but from our files it shows she really hasn’t broken out on us specifically, she is doing the easy work, not the dirty work, anyone can take someone to court for a single count of murder and analyze the results." 

"So what about her is so important then?" 

Bianca snuck a file folder covered in sticky notes, throwing it to Katya for her to open and investigate herself.

"We need you to help us out and pull some strings." 

✧*。

Shea had decided to take the chance as she walked herself over the casino, knowing Bianca was someone who would take her sweet, sweet time if she was talking business and things with Katya: Jinkx insisting on just staying by the club and getting alcohol. Giving herself a grand tour, Shea gagged at the sheer amount of wealth and power and beauty the casino showed off, clearly Katya was intent on showing every penny she had put into her business and buildings, it showed from the outside to the inside.

Alcohol was the only thing really on her mind and she wanted to overpay for a speciality cocktail to atleast make herself feel a bit fancy and important, not wanting to be in the club lights and blasting music, the Casino had music but was definitely not loud and not obnxious party and dance music, it was a nice welcome in the moment.

Her eyes immediately caught eye of a stranger, short haired, curly blonde and tall who was leaning against the bar and speaking to someone next to her who had long, thick and black hair. The blonde’s soft gaze almost instantly gravitating Shea towards her, she prayed that she wasn’t married and this wouldn’t be awkward fast, she simply wanted a drink and the opportunity to buy her one. 

"Excuse me.” Shea spoke up, gently tapping the blonde on her shoulder, she turned in the barstool and her eyes met with Shea’s and the two completely melted, Sasha incomprehensibly silent before Adore nudged her a bit, smirking seeing her new co-worker and fellow friend so caught in midst of the gaze. 

“Oh I’m sorry, that was so rude.” The Russian speaking up once Adore gently shook her out of it, the two smiling at eachother as Sasha leaned on the bar counter, telling that the mysterious and new girl clearly was struggling to speak, “I…" 

Shea put her hands around her own waist and gave a glistening grin and wink, sliding in-between her and her friend, Adore raising her hands a bit frustrated that she might already turn into the third wheel. "I was wondering if I could buy you a drink." 

"I would be very glad if you did." 

Thank god, Shea begun to calm a bit, pulling out an 100$ bill and sliding it to the bar tender who quickly took it and waited for whatever drinks they wanted to purchase, "I just want straight vodka.” She must’ve been Eastern European judging by her choice in alcohol, it wasn’t sterotypical, it was just what she had come to understand from Jinkx and barely meeting Katya twenty minutes ago. Not to mention the not too obvious but still noticable punch of an accent

“Gin and tonic.” She instructed while still staring at Sasha, entranced, she was already breaking ten rules in the non-existent handbook of being in the mafia but not like Bianca was even wondering where she was, if she was she would’ve called anyway. “I’m Sasha.” She giggled, Shea taking her hand and giving a small wink in reply, “Shea." 

Adore didn’t know whether to throw up and just leave, let her be or see where this went but she decided on the usual, giving Sasha a discreet tap of the shoulder, a nod from her and she was off on her on.

Ten minutes of aimless strolling had showed that Scarlet and Courtney were both gambling as if they had any good amount of money to lose so freely, flying by the hem of their dresses. But they genuinely seemed to be loving their lives and the game they were playing.

"Oh shit!” She yelped, feeling herself fall into someone as she stared backwards, not paying attention to whatever was in front of her, an entire bag dropped but she more focused on helping out the poor person she had knocked down.

“Jesus Christ!” Yelled the other, distinctly female voice, before Adore gently took her hands and helped her up, making sure she didn’t trip on her heels before they both begun to speak, quickly letting go of their hands. 

Bianca couldn’t help but glance at her, she was gorgeous. She would usually rip someone in fishnets to pieces and destroy them on sight but damn she looked good and everything fit her to a t, clearly she had her own eye for fashion, her dark eyes and dark hair only helping her to blend in with the dark wall of the casino, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t watch where I was going—" 

"I know, I know, I got that.” Bianca dusted herself off and only hoped her heels didn’t suffer any damages, they were expensive and a gift from Raja which meant she either bought them or stole them but either way, same attachment to the perfectly snug white heels. Adore snapped back, “I’m sorry?" 

"Listen don’t worry about it, really, thank you for your help.” Bianca raced off as fast as a normal person could look trying to run in heels across a casino at night but Adore blinked, finally shying her eyes away from the woman. 

She was beautiful.��

Black hair, styled very nicely to add onto the overall package, white heels, a tulle skirt and either handsewen or what Adore assumed was designer for a sequined top that matched and coordinated so well with her entire outfit, she was either the most important person in the world and Adore was oblivious or she was just someone’s arm candy for the night who needed to make themselves into a beauty queen for the occasion.

Adore didn’t believe too badly in many things but she would definitely pray and hope that somehow, somehow she could find that same girl again, someday

[bi-lullaby]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! 😂. Okay, a nicer one: Jetra

No need to apologize, I love rambling!

• when or if I started shipping it: My bi little heart always loved them a lot more than normal friendships, but I was caught up in Cordueva. Them after Michael died and Petra glowed tf up and so did Jane and they had lots of storylines about them as mothers and friends and co-parents and  found the online fandom for them... I was free-falling. My fave JtV couple.

• my thoughts: I swear to God they will be the death of me. They have the softest moments ever. Jane was maybe the first person to reach out to Petra without a single second-intention or expectation, and the way her kindness and stubborn love and will to see and do good bought out the same qualities in Petra makes me melt. I swear to God, in that ep when Jane asked Petra to bring over Mateos lovey and A) it was a ploy to give Petra a nice moment in family, and B) A very pregnant Petra rushed there as fast as her waddle would take her and gave Jane the biggest smile in the world when she opened the door and C) looked so happy at being asked to stay, it made me ugly cry. Petra’s a woman that’s overcome decades of abuse at the hands of her mother, her partners, who’s been neglected, abandoned, used, who has had to have her survival mode switched on all the time. She deserves someone like Jane, who gives out such a fierce but kind love, who is protective and centers her, who’s willing to see past her deflections and facades and rougher edges and keep working on their relationship when others would give up. And Jane, my precious Jane, deserves Petra sparkle to ignite her, someone who recognizes her strengths and values her opnion them without letting it override their own self, someone that can love so deeply and sweetly as she can. Plus, they make each other better, be it with gentle pushes, wise advice, or fierce competition. They are the most willing to work their internal struggles out (More than Cordueva or Jafael or Jafetra). They deserve better, and better is each other. And Yael and Gina make sure we know it, damn their heart eyes and adoring gazes.

• What makes me happy about them: That they have each other. That their fandom is so big and loving. Their scenes together. Their growth. The fact you can use only canon scenes and make it seem like they’re really together because the love and the flirting and the development and the chemistry is there. The kids and how adorable their dynamic is. That they fit together so well in looks.

• What makes me sad about them: That they won’t be canon because of a ship that I dislike. That they keep pushing us the “Jetra are enemies and hate each other and don’t interact and are jealous of each other but OH! they actually don’t hate each other so much!” storyline repeatedly and every five seconds when they’ve been friends for as long as season two, and been arguably best friends, or at least really good friends and each other’s support system, for years. That they are perfect for each other and in a better world, the show would realize that.

• things done in art/fic that annoys me: Their characterization can get so. Extreme. Jane’s either the perfect saint-angel-lovely-goddess to Petra’s mean, rude, angry and borderline abusive bitch, or she’s the bitchy Judgy actually-always-wrong self-righteous unlikable person who never ever ever gives even an inch to poor Petra, who’s simply misunderstood and trying her best and actually right in every single aspect and incapable of mistakes. Like, the fun is their balance, the subtleness, how they are more similar than different but different enough to push each other and bring out the best in each other. Why screw that and make them so flat and stereotyped and incompatible and awful for each other? 

• things I look for in art/fic: HEIGHT D I F F E R E N C E. I get weak. Jane’s so teeny tiny next to Petra. I die. Plus, co-parenting fics make me all gooey and mushy.

• Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Petra - JR. Jane - Michael.

• My happily ever after for them: Happily married, successful in their own personal careers, travelling the world as a internationally-acclaimed author and a hotel-industry-powerhouse. Still bickering and competing and being absolutely in awe of their gorgeous wife. Watching the kids grow into happy, loved, successful people as well.

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?: Arguing, going on dates, cuddling, talking about everything and nothing. If possible, all at once.  

send me a ship and I’ll tell you

[jazzviewswithcjshearn]

A detailed look at Stanley Nelson’s Miles Davis documentary: “Birth Of The Cool” (2019)

The following is an in depth review of the New York premiere weekend of Stanley Nelson's Birth of the Cool which I attended on Sunday August 25th, 2019.  Where applicable I have added some additional information about Miles' history and career to give context for new fans in the Davis orbit.  

Introduction

Miles Davis.  All you need to do is say the name and many adjectives are conjured-- restless innovator, genius, temperamental, swagger, fashion icon, tenderness, mentor. All of  these themes and then some are explored in famed director Stanley Nelson's fantastic new documentary Birth Of The Cool. For casual music lovers and devotees of Davis' extensive genre breaking career, there is a lot on offer.  Initially when the film was announced, following Don Cheadle's  creative  vision of the trumpeter's retirement period with Miles Ahead in 2015 the thought in my mind as a lifelong Davis fan was what could possibly be covered that I don't already know?  The answer is quite a bit. Through combinations of interviews with those who knew him best, musicologists, fellow musicians such as Jimmy Cobb, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, Wayne Shorter, Lenny White, Carlos Santana, family friends, and ex wife Frances Taylor Davis, it creates quite an intimate portrait.

By far the most impressive feature of the two hour documentary is the coverage of Miles the man, not as an mythical superhero figure as some documentaries or biopics are wont to do with their subjects.   Nelson covers virtually the entire spectrum of his career and life: personal reflections from Davis' joys  following Dizzy and Bird to 52nd street, meeting ex wife Frances Taylor, the unbearable suffering of his heroin habit quitting cold turkey, the relapse into drug use to deal with intense physical pain, his thoughts on creation, the freedom of being a black man in Paris, and the disappointment of coming home and seeing the racism again, among other topics. Davis is approachable and endearing to the audiences voiced by actor Carl Lumbly reading portions from both Miles: The Autobiography and interviews from his later years.

The Music and Film Production

Nelson's interspersion of decade specific footage to track the trajectory of the trumpeter's varied career is incredibly clever featuring stock footage, fast cuts of classic films, and significant political events.  The use of Wayne's Shorter's “Paraphernalia” from Miles In The Sky (Columbia, 1968)  as the director announces the decades through slick headers is striking. It is striking in part because it drives home the point of how the trumpeter was always moving forward.  Though he always went forward musically seeking to change with the times and grow, Miles' previous musical breakthroughs from Birth of the Cool (Capitol, 1957 rec. 1949/50) Round Midnight (Columbia, 1956) Kind of Blue (Columbia, 1959) Sketches of Spain (Columbia, 1959) Miles Smiles (Columbia, 1966) On the Corner (Columbia, 1972) The Man With the Horn (Columbia, 1981) and Tutu (Warner Bros, 1986) just to name a few, informed EVERYTHING he did; and that's important to realize for newcomers should they wish to make the deep dive to access his entire catalog.  The use of  “Agitation” from E.S.P. (Columbia, 1965) as Frances Davis was discussing the domestic violence she experienced, as well as during the recounting of the brutal beating by a drunk police officer outside Birdland shortly after Kind of Blue was issued made the viewer almost feel those incidents.  A wonderfully smart choice by Nelson to use  selections from Round Midnight, Workin' (Prestige, 1956) Kind of Blue, Sketches of Spain, Bitches Brew and On the Corner at the appropriate moments was masterful and lead a gentleman to remark at the post film Q&A that the film's totality was a composition and the director was on par with a musician.

The reasons for having an actor voice Davis was due to the fact that although Nelson had access to 40 tapes of Davis in conversation with Quincy Troupe for Miles: The Autobiography, the director explained at the post film Q&A that the interviews were recorded on a cheap tape recorder, with quite a lot of background noise, so the tapes were unusable.  It was decided to use portions of the autobiography and later interviews to tell Miles' story.  His actual voice is heard in the documentary via session reels from Freedom Jazz Dance: The Bootleg Series, Vol. 5 (Columbia/Legacy, 2015) the 50th Anniversary edition of Kind of Blue and there is some gold there.  The archival photos and footage are stunning.  Davis' friend Corky McCoy had brought two reels of film, and had a 16mm camera for which he took a class at UCLA and provided a lot of source material.  The scenes of Miles boxing are phenomenal, and one sees that he had as much passion for the sweet science as he did for music, and cooking.  He had a terrific left jab!  There were many previously unseen non performance photos that were obtained through photographer estates, and friends that add another deeply personal dimension to things.  Also essential to the narrative arc is that contrasting views are presented.  Stanley Crouch's frank admission of not getting, liking or understanding the 70's period met by a harsh, but true rebuttal by Carlos Santana is just part and parcel of the documentary's mission to feature everything.

Miles' Humor, Stance as a Civil Rights Activist

Over the course of the film's two hours, there are some hilarious bits of the trumpeter's blunt commentary on life experience, and thoughts on other musicians.  For those with a deep knowledge of him, there are no new revelations, but they are quite funny just the same.  Miles is heard in session reel audio “I can't play that shit, man!” and even more uproarious in a story relayed by Wayne Shorter of a well known episode, the trumpeter's response to black folk playing the blues out of suffering is classic: “you're a GODDAMN liar!!!” Finally, tenor legend Archie Shepp discussed wanting to sit in with Davis to which he was met with a stone cold “fuck you!!” which brought a unison chuckle from the Film Forum audience.

As funny as his remark was regarding his teacher's naive comment, it boldly demonstrated  Miles' commitment to  exercising the civil rights of black people, and the pride of being black.  In 1957 when Miles Ahead was first issued, Columbia chose a white woman sailing on the cover because they felt that it would show that the trumpeter crossed over to a mainstream (read: white) audience.  When Davis saw the cover, he incredulously asked “who is this white bitch on the cover?”  The album was promptly reissued with an image of him instead.  In 1961, he demanded that Frances Davis be photographed on the cover-- the first in a series of covers featuring black women on the trumpeter's records which for the time period, an incredibly progressive move. Cicely Tyson was featured on the cover of Sorcerer in 1967, another emphatic statement on the beauty of black women.  As the film discussed early on, Miles saw his dark complexion symbolic of power, and that is something he exhibited time and time again. Although not covered in the film, the famous February 12, 1964 concert that produced My Funny Valentine and the companion Four and More brought forth a rare passion from the players involved because they had learned Davis had waved the fee for the show as it was an NAACP benefit.  Also he had felt strongly about the apartheid in South Africa during the 80's and refused to play there.  He was committed to the civil rights of African Americans up until the day he died.

Transition to Superstar in the 80's

As Miles started back on the road to health in the early 80's after the 1972 car wreck that caused him considerable physical pain and causing him to  dive back into substance abuse, he emerged a new man in the 80's.  He cut Man With The Horn with a new band, diving into the new decade's vision of funk. Along the way he tapped into Caribbean flavored grooves, synth pop, and hip hop.   He did interviews (most memorable, his appearances with Bill Boggs and on the Arsenio Hall Show) television shows like Miami Vice, and played a leading role in the film Dingo. Nelson's choice of footage and commentary from musicians during this period show him as positively ebullient, Davis was healthier, painting and cooking, his passions with increased zeal.  The footage of the Tutu session, showing the trumpeter's investment in current pop music of the day, and with Prince is quite jubilant.  

Touching Moments

There are several touching moments scattered throughout the film that Nelson uses to truly allow the audience to identify with Davis and those who loved and cared about him.  Three particularly stood out. The star of the film was without a doubt Frances Davis who had detailed a few stories previously unbeknownst to me.  When Miles fell in love with her after seeing her in a production, she was heavily courted by top Hollywood and Broadway actors of the day, with unshakable confidence,  and wry humor she professed in the film that as a dancer, her legs were her best asset and that  was like with everyone else, won Miles over.  Though he had many romantic partners, he and Frances clearly had something that was beyond special.  He admitted due to his drug use that he was a bit jealous of the attention she received after being cast in West Side Story and made her quit the show.  The emotion she felt when retelling the regret she had when leaving the show, and  her career behind was palpable and heartbreaking.  She would frequently disappear upstairs in their apartment and gaze longingly at her ballet slippers between bouts of cooking.  Lumbly, as Miles intones in his signature rasp how he wished he knew years later that Frances was the best thing to ever happen to him-- a fact he was unaware of when they were together.

The second really touching moment of the film occurs towards the end of Miles' career during the famous 1991 Montreux concert conducted by Quincy Jones where he revisited classic Gil Evans arrangements. There was no musician closer to Davis from 1983-1991 than Wallace Roney.  In the film, Roney explains his feelings at Miles indicating he wanted to get the quintet with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and Tony Williams back together but also revisit the Gil Evans material, he had the sudden realization Miles had little time left. The rehearsals for the July, 1991 Montreux concert were vigorous, and Davis showed up for only a few.  One of the most challenging pieces was “Pan Piper”.  Roney, sensing what his mentor and dear friend was feeling physically jumped in to assist.  The piece was not rehearsed but called at the concert, and Davis, summoning the strength of his youth plays a remarkable solo, sharing phrases with Roney.  At one particularly difficult passage, Roney jumps in, but Miles is also playing the same phrase.  Like Muhammad Ali winning the title a third time in the 1978 rematch with Leon Spinks, Davis managed to reach back and heroically play through the tune, as he did the rest of the concert, providing a memorable late career moment.

The third deeply emotional moment is shared by Miles' last partner, friend Jo Gelbard.  As the trumpeter was rushed to the hospital, she detailed some of their last moments as Miles was in his bed prior to having a stroke.  The moment has a gut wrenching, aching beauty similar to a great solo like on “Blue in Green” or “Time After Time”.  She tells of a conversation that she and Miles had where he said “God doesn't punish you, you get everything you want.  You just have limited time.”  Indeed, a provocative thought on mortality.

Closing Thoughts

Attending the Birth of the Cool New York City premiere weekend was a marvelous experience.  While fans can quibble about what was not included, what albums were glossed over, the lack of bands represented, etc the documentary set out what it was supposed to do; present a balanced, comprehensive portrait of Miles Davis the musician, and human being.  While it would have been nice to hear from band mates like George Coleman, Keith Jarrett, Airto, Kenny Garrett, Foley, Marilyn Mazur, Benny Rietveld, Jack DeJohnette, Chick Corea or Dave Holland, many of them are featured in the Miles Davis Story (2001) and those interviews can be used as a supplement to this new film.  Stanley Nelson treats Davis with respect, and veneration detailing the human experience at each point. The wealth of unseen photos and film footage are a nice bonus for diehard fans, and the well known stories that they all know, will be enlightening to casual and new fans of Davis. The Q&A on the Sunday, August 25th matinee was incredibly insightful, with probing detailed audience questions, with an added treat:  The ageless 95 year old drumming pioneer Roy Haynes in the audience!  One of the few surviving titans to have played with Charlie Parker.  The documentary is on a par with Jaco, Chasing Trane and Bill Frisell: A Portrait.

Rating: 8.5/10

(c)2019 CJ Shearn

[keyofjetwolf]

Elisabeth: Bellaria

In “Bellaria”, we have another Essen exclusive. It’s a dour number (show me anybody on earth who has had this stuck in their head), featuring Franz Joseph and his mother, Sophie, as they clash and finally have a falling out over Elisabeth.

IT ONLY TOOK YOU LIKE A DECADE GOOD JOB FRANNY JOJO

The more I think on it, the more I think excluding it from the Takarazuka version was a good idea. Not because it’s not important, but because it doesn’t really have a place in the story the Takarazuka is looking to tell. Franz Joseph develops a backbone, in a sort of crunchy bug exoskeleton way, and Sophie actually finds a sympathetic toehold.

There’s no place for either of those things in the Takarazuka. Elisabeth isn’t entrenched in a mutual bitter power struggle with Sophie, she’s a victim of low-key villainy in the Evil Stepmother vein. Franz Joseph isn’t grappling with his inherent weakness and isolation, he’s a cardboard figure playing as Death’s romantic rival. There’s nothing this song can bring to what the Takarazuka wants to be, and as it’s entirely character-driven, we don’t even need it for plot purposes. TO THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR WITH YOU

So let’s take a look at what it does for its respective characters in the Essen version. It falls just after The Last Chance/Malady, so when Elisabeth learns of Franz Joseph’s adultery and decides to make it an opportunity for her to do whatever the fuck she likes. Which, if you recall, is to wander around Europe for the next couple decades, as you do.

That decision hasn’t yet been made (or at least not revealed), so while I can’t imagine Franz Joseph doesn’t expect some consequence for his dick-sticking choices, I’m not sure he foresaw his personal life becoming twenty-something years of postcards. In a rare gesture toward him, I’ll say that I’m not sure he would do anything different here, even if he did know.

I do believe he means it, as much as I believe that the fact he had sex with someone else isn’t the full stop on the sentence. Elisabeth has done her level best to push him out of her life, even after he’d done what she asked, and after years of this with no end in sight, I can’t fault him for looking elsewhere. I don’t think fucking someone else was the right band-aid to grab from the troubled marriage fix-’em-up box, so I’m not shoving all this on Elisabeth either, just that there’s enough blame to go around.

So yeah, I’ll hand it to Franz Joseph for saying “I fucked up huge, and to try and make it right, I’ll give Elisabeth whatever she needs from me.” AND THEN DOING IT. He immediately puts this into practice, by telling his mother that he’s done with her copious amounts of bullshit. 

GOING TO BET SOPHIE DIDN’T WAKE UP THIS MORNING THINKING SHE’D HEAR THIS

Sophie tries (and also doesn’t try) to defend herself, and now to pop her a little bit of credit too, SHE DID NOT MAKE YOU HAVE THE SEX FRANNY JOJO THAT WAS YOUR CALL FRIEND. She also makes the entirely valid point that her and Elisabeth’s hatemance has actually nothing to do with him.

IT’S NOT EGO WHEN IT’S TRUE

They have a back and forth, with Sophie saying she’s fighting against Elisabeth (”And me!” Franz Joseph says NOT INCORRECTLY) for the sake of the monarchy, and here’s where things with Sophie get extremely interesting.

Agree or disagree with Sophie and her methods, she’s been consistent in her motivations since literally Day One of their marriage: Elisabeth is Empress now, that is the role she willingly accepted.

REMEMBER WHEN THIS HAPPENED SEE IT WASN’T JUST A THROW AWAY IT’S A CENTRAL POINT ABOUT ELISABETH. Nobody forced her into this role, she embraced it with open arms, already knowing she longed for MORE freedom not less, and despite being directly and specifically told that this was was going to take a fuckton away from her. “To live with me will not often be easy for you,” Franz Joseph tells her well ahead of their marriage. “Under the yoke of duty, many dreams are lost.”

“We aren’t like the others, born to be happy.”

ELISABETH LISTEN

I FEEL YOU AREN’T LISTENING ELISABETH

BITCH THIS IS IMPORTANT SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR TWO SECONDS

Nobody tricked her, nobody lied to her, every card was on the table, and she sat down anyway, with a teflon arrogance that’s almost impressive. “Oh none of this will actually apply to me, it’ll be fine!”

Spoiler alert: IT WAS NOT FINE

Sophie’s demanded one thing of Elisabeth, and that was for her to take on the duties and responsibilities of the Empress she agreed to be. Obviously what that means is defined and policed by Sophie, and we can discuss the fairness or unfairness of that, but it’s a separate conversation. What Sophie was after from the start was Elisabeth holding up her end of the contract she willingly entered into.

And by god, that’s STILL what she’s about here at the end of her time in this story.

She even sings it to the same music from that first morning, an excellent and very intentional call-back. I wouldn’t ever try to claim that I think Sophie wasn’t petty and didn’t take some personal delight in making Elisabeth miserable whenever she could; as this scene is showing us, Sophie was human, and we humans fucking love to be petty. But I do believe that the empire, not herself, was at the core of every choice Sophie made and every action Sophie took.

Everything Elisabeth has done and will do is for Elisabeth.

Sophie’s a smart woman, though, and she knows she’s finally lost. Franz Joseph will no longer hear her, and whatever happens from this point forward is out of her hands and away from her influence. With her loss, however, comes a touch of the freedom Elisabeth has spent her life pursuing, and Sophie comes as close to regret as I think she would have ever.

It’s the only hint we get of the struggle Sophie herself has carried. It’s a suggestion that she, too, wanted something else out of life, that her actions have been intentionally crafted, not naturally born. Sophie has demanded so much of Franz Joseph, and Elisabeth, and their children, but no more than she’s ever demanded of herself.

I was surprised by how deeply I responded to Sophie in this moment. It’s so small, but so good, and I must give credit to Sophie’s actress as well, for the way the strength and defiance just bleeds out of her. Before our eyes, Sophie shrinks, going from an indomitable force to an exhausted, defeated old woman.

Before she leaves, Sophie has one final bit of advice for her son. “Those who forget their duties must perish. Only when it is too late will you understand that.”

“Understand me,” Franz Joseph replies, holding firm and finally refusing to capitulate to her.

Then this, which UGH, is just played SO SO WELL. Sophie doesn’t look at Franz Joseph when he says this. Instead, she bows her head, accepting her defeat, and you can see how it just GUTS Franz Joseph to see it. He reaches out for her, unable to stop himself, but she’s already turned away.

She hasn’t noticed and slowly begins to leave the room. She’s been using her cane the entire scene, but now it’s particularly noticeable as she leans her entire weight into it. (It’s a brilliant example of using a prop to build a character.) Franz Joseph takes the opportunity to gather himself. Near the door, Sophie turns to him for one last look, a silent appeal perhaps, or an opportunity for him to change his mind and undo some of what’s been done.

Instead, he’s standing at attention, and gives her one last formal bow.

AND I’M SCREAMING. Everything Sophie’s been demanding of Franz Joseph, everything she’s drilled into him (”Be strong. Be hard. Be cold.”) has finally come to full bear, and against her.

They say nothing. Sophie leaves, and Franz Joseph stands alone, dwarfed by the Hapsburg crest.

[dtissagirl]

I fought the war but the war won

Warning: all the spoilers for Avengers: Endgame.

OF COURSE I have no doubt Natasha would sacrifice herself for the world in a heartbeat.

And between her and Clint, it's obvious her thinking is he can have a future with his ~family~, and she's obviously been insanely isolated these last five years, and filled with regret, and sacrificing herself for her found family [and saving the universe in the process] is worth it for her.

But my problem is I don't acknowledge the existence of Clint's family because that's a dumbass story idea from the worst movie ever GO AWAY LINDA CARDELLINI.

And watching Nat and Clint back together made my heart ache because those two belong together -- romantically if you prefer it so, but mainly together as in partners that work insanely well together in a fictional narrative. They have had this lived-in chemistry from the first Avengers, and I didn't realize how much I had missed it until this movie.

[Fuck Joss Whedon with a cactus forever.]

[Someone make me that Black Widow movie and show me Budapest. I DESERVE IT.]

...

And then the scene with all the dudes in the lake angry-mourning Nat looks REALLY REALLY BAD because the only thing that emotionally rings out of that scene is HOLY SHIT THEY FUCKING KILLED THE ONLY WOMAN OH MY GOD PLEASE END ALL MEN WRITING SUPERHERO STORIES BECAUSE THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW HORRIBLE THE OPTICS ARE WHEN THEY FUCKING KILL THE ONLY ORIGINAL WOMAN AVENGER IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE MOVIE THAT'S SUPPOSED TO CELEBRATE THEIR LEGACY. HOLY FUCK.

...

Holy motherfucking shitballs what they did to Thor was a supreme case of extreme fatphobia. So fucking embarrassing. And they could have done the exact same depression/PTSD shit without a fat suit. Fatness is NOT a character flaw, and for this movie to think it's okay to portray it as such, and for most people in the audience to not even realize how horrible this is... well, that's the fatphobic world we live in everyday wherein thin people don't realize how fucking horrible they are about fatness ALL THE TIME. Ugh.

And hey, I think Hemsworth is a comedic genius at this point, and I'm super glad Hollywood at large has realized he can run circles of funny and comic timing around everybody else [THANKS, GHOSTBUSTERS!], but the fat suit soured it forever in this movie.

...

Look, I know at this point Goop is a hazardous danger to women's health at large, and call me a hypocrite for separating actor and character this particular time when I usually don't, but I love and adore and cherish Pepper Potts with all my heart.

SHE is the reason I'm so connected to the MCU. My hook wasn't any of the superheroes, it was Pepper in the first Iron Man movie. She's the glue that has made me engage with this universe so deeply for the last ten years. All the fanart, all the fic, all the fanworks ever I've created or consumed in the last decade, it has been all about how much I adore Pepper.

And to see her in the Rescue armor in the final battle, I just. I wasn't expecting it. I hadn't even thought it was ever gonna happen, but THIS was the true culmination of the past ten years for me. From now on, I can say it without a doubt every single time someone asks me who's my favorite Avenger. It's Pepper Potts.

[I also kept thinking about my friend S. She would have been so fucking ecstatic about this. It hit me right in the face when Pepper showed up in battle -- I so dearly wish S were here to see this.]

...

Okay, so, disclaimer: I don't have a horse in the Steve Rogers 'shipping infinity wars. I crack 'ship Steve with Maria Hill forever and ever because they would make the prettiest babies on the planet and I don't even like babies. The only part of Ultron that I acknowledge is Maria wearing Steve's jacket at the party. It's the ONLY thing that happened in that movie, NOTHING ELSE DID.

And I don't even blame Steve in any of this mess, to be honest.

The problem here is structural. The narrative went OUT OF THIS WAY to establish HOW time-travel works in this universe. They even got all gloat-y about how every movie ever made was wrong about the ~quantum physics~ of it. They even had bald Tilda Swinton MAKE A POWER POINT PRESENTATION about the rules of time travel.

They set up ONE very specific rule -- changing the past doesn't alter one's own future, it creates a separate timeline of events. O-kay. Pretty simple rule.

...And then Old!Cap who looks scarily like Joe Biden broke that one rule.

Because he did. He went back in time and put all the stones in their proper place in the timeline[1]... and *after that* he went back to the 40s to live happily ever after with Peggy[2], THUS ***CHANGING THE PAST*** and *****CREATING AN ALTERNATE TIMELINE*****.

So there's no. fucking. possible. way. he could have grown old in the original timeline.

And like. They could have fixed that by having Joe Biden Old!Cap legit come back IN THE TIME TRAVEL SUIT IN THE QUANTUM PLATFORM. THAT WOULD HAVE FIXED THIS PROBLEM. But they didn't, so they broke their own story.

And the consequence of this fuck up is... Steve a horrible person. [And even writing that makes me sad because he isn't? He wouldn't ever?] But by breaking their story and their own time-travel rules, it fucks up Steve so badly I wanna cry. So what, he lived a whole life in this same timeline, and did nothing to change anything? Did he marry the future DIRECTOR OF SHIELD and never told her about Hydra? About Bucky? Did he open a newspaper one day and read that Howard and Maria Stark died in a car accident and went, oops? Did he pretend he was sick when his wife told him she was going to the funeral of her lifelong friend?

Do you see how badly it looks? It's bad. The Steve I know and love doesn't deserve this. Please go punch the Russos in the face, Cap.

Notes:

[1] HOW did Steve even put the stones in jewel form back in their proper places in the timeline when they stole the Tesseract in cube form, the mind stone with the scepter, the whatever stone that was they got from Star Lord that was inside an orb... HOW do you even put the soul stone back, like, does Cap go to Vormir and goes, oh hey, RED SKULL MY OLD BUDDY, MY OLE TIME FELLA, here's your soul stone back? Does he get Natasha back for the stone? Isn't it a soul for a soul? Does it work in reverse too?

[2] Hey, so if Steve lived happily ever after with Peggy in this timeline did he erase her future kids? This is Barry Allen levels of fuckupdness, Steve. Gah. And also -- I would pay actual monies to watch time-traveler Steve explain to Peggy that after he went to her funeral he kissed her niece. This is why I 'ship Steve with Maria Hill, man. No complications. Only pretty.

Also: STEVE ROGERS ERASED THE ENTIRETY OF THE AGENT CARTER TV SHOW. That's pretty unforgivable, man. They even had TV show Jarvis right there in this movie driving Tony's dad around in the 70s to make THIS BETRAYAL hurt more.

...

Four hours after I watched the movie I remembered Tony died and started ugly crying again. I'm glad he had those five years of a good life, I'm so glad he had a kid -- that kid, so obviously HIS kid it hurt, I'm so glad Pepper and Rhodey and Peter were there with him in his last moments. I'm glad he got the proper hero death. It still hurts like a son of a bitch.

...

Professor Hulk is a forever delight and he and I need to become besties so we can talk about quantum physics and eat hulkish amounts of breakfast foods every day.

...

I find Thanos to be a complete bore, so every time he sat and started monologuing I stopped paying attention because I DESERVE TO NOT have to listen to giant purple incels pretending they ~know best~ about anything.

But I did appreciate that there was a difference in tone. This was 2014 Thanos, before he went full on cray cray with the monologuing, so he spoke less [bless], and he went full nihilist I AM GOING TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE instead of only half of it ~for balance~ or whatever. Because Infinity Wars tried to make it like Thanos wanting to kill 50% of the universe had some sort of ~logic~ behind it, and that was way too close to ~both sides~ shit, and, no, son. Him wanting to destroy EVERYTHING put him in the right proper category of batshit crazy bananapants deranged, and that's where he should have been ALL ALONG, no ~he has a point~ arguments ever valid, he doesn't, he never did, shut the fuck up.

...

I actually really really enjoyed the pacing of this movie. Granted, I'm not stupid and I took a muscle relaxant beforehand so that I could sit still for one hundred and eighty two fucking minutes, but I honestly didn't feel it drag at all at any time [and I felt all the other Avengers movies drag at some point or another].

I appreciated it so much that the set up for the final battle took waaaaay longer than the final battle. [I know people go ga-ga for battle scenes, but eh. I prefer my superheroes as pretty people who talk really fast, and battles make them stop talking.]

My favorite sequence was the revisiting of the previous movies. I loved every single piece of it, and I know in my heart that I'm gonna rewatch those sequences over and over and over again for the rest of forever. THE CAP 2 ELEVATOR SCENE REENACTMENT BUT NOT REALLY OH MY GOD THAT WAS GLORIOUS.

Also Loki stealing the Tesseract [again!] was aces. Sure it was to set up extra time-travel shenanigans, but still. Loki and the Tesseract belong together. Please let this be the premise of the Disney+ series.

...

Even though battle sequences aren't really my thing, I would like to express my DEEP ABIDING LOVE for the part when all the women got together to help Peter move the Big Glove of Kitsch towards the van. My packed theater clapped so hard. I cried.

...

HOW DOES PETER PARKER GO BACK TO SCHOOL FIVE YEARS LATER AND HIS BUDDY IS STILL THERE DID HIS BUDDY FLUNK HIGH SCHOOL FIVE YEARS IN A ROW? WHAT?

...

Also Cap and the Hammer, the actual true love story of this movie. Thor's little "I knew it". I knew it too, buddy.

...

I'm gonna need Marvel to release the behind the scenes footage of the filming of Tony's funeral. I hope the cast had an actual party right there, all somberly dressed in black and everything.

...

After a full season of 22 episodes of television in a movie screen, this was a pretty great finale. Congrats on making the most expensive tv show of all time, Marvel. Excelsior!

[vestedbeauty]

Scared of Fading Away in Midlife? Empower Yourself Now to Do What You're Here For

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/scared-of-fading-away-in-midlife-empower-yourself-now-to-do-what-youre-here-for/

Scared of Fading Away in Midlife? Empower Yourself Now to Do What You're Here For

Midlife is the time to step into your purpose, to empower yourself to fulfill your mission, to become everything you were meant to be – and to do what only you can do.

“Men age like a fine wine, and women age like milk.” The whole idea of women becoming invisible in midlife reminds me of the fish that doesn’t know it’s swimming in water. It’s like some weird myth, an odd and awful fate we’re told is coming for us all. 

Sure, we all hear stories of the middle-aged woman who got passed over romantically or professionally. Or others who feel unheard or dismissed. Some get up in arms and rail against being deemed irrelevant. Some retreat quietly to the wings. Totally their choice. 

But I’m going to call bullshit on this so-called inevitability. I think it’s a cop-out. We were each put here to find and fulfill our purpose. Into every one of us, greatness has been sown. It’s our responsibility – duty, even – to nurture our gifts and unleash them in the world.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the past few months. Now, it’s time to share. Maybe it’ll help you, too.

Timidity Spawns Invisibility 

As a little kid, I was so shy that my dad finally took me outside to meet the kids when we moved to a new neighborhood. The thought of just walking up to them, introducing myself, and playing kickball with them was terrifying. Eight-year-old me remembered earlier rejections and decided it was safer to stay home and read instead of taking another risk. 

I’d somehow gathered that blending into the background was the safer choice. Well, if by ‘safer’ you mean lonely, isolated, and robbing the world of your unique gifts, talents, perspectives, and presence… sure. So, while I was mortified at the moment, that forcing out of the nest was absolutely the best thing.

I wish I could say I learned that life lesson for good at age eight. But no.

That preposterous timidity grew like an invasive plant species in my life. It led to lots of people-pleasing, kept me on the sidelines when a big part of me wanted to join the game, lured me into lots of self-induced isolation, and probably cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Life is too short to play small. There’s a big difference between playing not to lose – and playing to win.

So, Timidity, you’re on the shit list. Sure, you meant well, and I appreciate the good intentions. But it’s time for you to scram.

Behold, four challenges I have thrust before your eyes! Should you accept, you will utterly transform how you show up in the world and what you create in it.

Challenge #1: Know Thyself, Own Thyself 

You can’t empower yourself to live a wildly satisfying second half of life where you make your best contributions to the world if you don’t even know what you want. Ask a hundred midlife women, “What do you really want?” and the most common answer you’ll hear is, “I don’t really know.” (Doubt it? Ask where they want to go out to dinner! You’ll get the same answer.)

Some of them are lying.

They know. They just don’t feel comfortable saying what they want – even to themselves. Maybe, like me, at some point, they taught themselves that resilience and strength meant getting by on life’s scraps, essentially saying, “I require no maintenance or care. I’m fine.” Try that with your car and see how it goes.

Some have put others’ desires before theirs for so long that they don’t even realize they no longer hear their own wishes’ voice. They’ve heard how unselfish they are, what a great mom because they live to serve, what a great woman behind the man… that kind of invisibility-inducing false compliment might be the deadliest of them all.

Ask little kids what they want, and they’ll rattle off a list like they’re paging through the old Sears catalog at Christmas. (Remember them?) They haven’t learned the warped rule that you aren’t supposed to want anything. 

Getting back in touch with what you want… what you REALLY want… takes practice. 

Like when atrophy sets in, it can feel weird exercising your “what I want” muscles. It can even feel selfish and wrong to verbalize what you want. But I’ll challenge you on that. Your desires don’t disappear just because you won’t admit them. And that’s a good thing. What you want is unique to you, and it’s part of what drives you to make your extraordinary contribution to the world. Becoming aware of what you want will propel you to make it so.

Do This to Empower Yourself: Get quiet with yourself (getting outside helps). Imagine there’s absolutely nothing stopping you from having whatever you really, really want. Then say it. Write it. Even tell someone about it.

Challenge #2: Watch Your Mouth (and Keyboard)

Self-deprecation works great for comedians. But in real life, it’s a cop-out. 

How’s it show up?

Mild insults we use to belittle ourselves

Ways we undervalue ourselves

Excessive modesty

Always asking permission

What is self-deprecation, really? It’s a way to kick yourself first, so nobody else feels the need to do it. It’s bowing and scraping before a perceived audience of ruthless critics so they can see you’ve already eviscerated yourself… so they won’t. After all, it somehow feels less painful if you cut yourself rather than someone else doing it.

But here’s the thing.

There is no audience. Not one that matters, really. And certainly, not one that knows the truth about you better than you do. Haters might hurl insults at you, but the old “I’m rubber. You’re glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you” saying is dead-on here. Seriously, humans typically criticize others for the same flaws they’re trying not to see in themselves. That becomes clearer as we age (both when we give and receive criticism).

You do not need to hide. Certainly not behind a wall of your own insults. The words you use about yourself will empower you to stand sure or leave you cowering. Be careful which you choose. 

This may be a tough habit to break. It will take practice and vigilance.

Do This: Start with what you write – particularly on social media or in emails. Draft your words normally, whatever way your brain sends them to your fingers. Read what you wrote. Would you want some stranger to say these things about someone you love? If so, delete those bits and rewrite them in a way that empowers you. Write with abandon; edit with ruthlessness.

Challenge #3: Rock Those Big Kid Pants

We all have weird leftovers running our lives. (Not that plastic container in the back left corner of the shelf in the fridge.) Somewhere along the line, someone made an off-handed remark or otherwise slighted you – and you tucked the memory away so deeply you might not even remember it. Find them and you’ll empower yourself to break into a new level of freedom.

I have a weird example. 

When I was a kid, I remember our family getting a gas grill. My dad told my brother and me not to touch it – a smart and reasonable safety warning.

I obeyed. Until I was like 45 years old! It wasn’t a conscious thought, “I’m not allowed to touch a grill.” But it was in there – this hesitance to ignite a propane grill.

I remember telling a friend in Fiji about my weird aversion to grills. She’s a no-nonsense, very bold woman. She kind of looked at me like I was nuts, then said, “Sue, you’re a big girl now.” And, of course, I am. It was time to recognize that bizarre ‘rule’ I was living under and choose what works better.

Maybe you have some similar holdovers from childhood that you’ve bizarrely held onto. Worth looking at and challenging. 

Confession: I still have never watched “The Bad News Bears,” but I have watched “Grease” (waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike!).

Do This to Empower Yourself: If you encounter some weird resistance that takes you back to childhood, take a look at it. Maybe it serves you, like “Don’t touch the hot stove.” But perhaps it’s a limit you can lift safely. Doing so can empower you in a surprisingly satisfying and seemingly small way.

Challenge #4: Be Your Own Champion

“What a bitch.” Many women (myself included) surrender a lot of personal power because we don’t want people to perceive us as bitches. That avoidance keeps us quiet. It leads us to ignore red flags. It puts us in unsafe situations.

As a college student at Rutgers, I remember walking through New Brunswick to get from one campus to another. Sometimes men would whistle or call out. It felt terrifying. I’d just grab my pepper spray tighter and walk faster, hoping they’d lose interest and go away.

But looking them in the eye and saying, “Fuck off” or the equivalent never crossed my mind. Standing my ground seemed more dangerous because they might see it as a challenge (maybe it was).

That same aversion to offense contributed to me going bankrupt decades later. I ignored red flags with the two men I’d partnered with on a real estate investment. I didn’t feel comfortable saying, “Wait. No fucking way. You guys are nuts if you think I’ll be the only one at risk here.” But, I told myself I didn’t know as much as they did… and that they were probably right and this was probably normal… and that I couldn’t speak up without risking the deal.

I’m not suggesting we should go around screaming like shrews. There’s more power in quiet strength. I don’t feel like I need to shout to be heard. But there’s also no reason to stay silent when I’ve got something to say. 

If you take a self-defense class, they’re going to teach you to shout something like,

“NO! DON’T TOUCH ME.”

There’s a reason they have to TEACH that – especially to women. Many of us have learned to be quiet – even when there’s a lot at stake. It can feel bizarre to hear yourself shout like that. Do it anyway. 

Do This to Empower Yourself: Next time you’re alone in your car or home, practice. Stand your ground. Use your deepest, strongest warrior-like voice, and shout, “NO. BACK OFF” or whatever you want to say. Repeat until you feel strong. You would do this to protect your kids… learn to do it for you, too.

Trust Yourself, Empower Yourself

Hey. This second half of your life is going to go fast. Faster than the first half – and that’s crazy even to consider. 

You aren’t done. If you were, you’d be gone.

You’ve got exciting adventures ahead, lives to touch, creations to make, delights to enjoy, crowning glories to achieve. Midlife is not the time to shrink back. 

Everything you’ve learned and done until now has perfectly positioned you to find and fulfill your purpose. You’re here for a reason. Deep inside, you have a voice that’s urging you onward. It may take practice, but you can learn to hear yourself – and trust yourself. You owe it to yourself, your loved ones, and the whole wide world to empower yourself to be and do and have what’s on your heart.

[shamelessnerd]

I just want to say the following headcanon thing LEGITIMATELY was inspired by this thing I saw on a random Google search I don’t even know how it was there, Google is watching me. I typed it all out in a caffeine-fueled frenzy. If you know who made this pic/headcanon thing, let me know so I can give credit. This is the offender:

OKAY SO I NEED TO ADD TO THIS THING ABOUT HOW JASON WAS DIANA'S FAVORITE ROBIN. I NEED TO ADD TO THIS, AND IT'S GONNA BE REALLY FAN-DORK-TASTIC AND IT'S FINE, EVERYTHING IS FINE.

We need to examine this more. Brace yourself for the headcanon feels train. Choo choo, bitches.

I don't think Jason just adored and was respectful to her, no no, he fucking worshiped her. When every Robin has met the others of the Trinity it's always said something about them. When Jason met Superman, he was appropriately awed and flustered, you know, as boys do. It's Superman for shits sake, he's like a myth. How do you talk to a mythical freakin' god?

But Diana? Now she's a bit different. Sure, she flies, she's fast, she's got super strength and sword skills no one can touch, but she doesn't shoot lasers from her eyes or sneeze and make a tornado. She talks to kids, she treats them with respect, as equals. Jason likes that. He grew up fast. He hates being talked down to.

But this really didn't start with Diana being his favorite just because she doesn't ruffle his hair and ask if his studies are going well. No, this goes back to long before he was a Robin. When he was just a little kid with an abusive father and a mother that loved him but couldn't fight back.

Jason has always been a tootin' masculine character. Look at him, he's got all the traits, up and down. Bad boy look, check. Guns, check. Fast cars, check. Street rat punk, check. He's the tallest out of the Robins, and so much goddamn muscle he's got fifteen pounds on Bruce. (Suck it, old man.) There's memes about his thighs ffs. But on the same token he's always related to and sympathizes more with women than any other Robin. Why would that be?

Because his mother loved him. Really, deeply, adoringly loved him, even if he was adopted. She probably always wanted kids and a family but she just chose the wrong man to do it with. Things probably weren't always so bad, they never are when you start out but it got worse steadily, it snuck up on her and by the time Jason was five, she was a convenient punching bag whenever Willis Todd had a bad day at work.

It didn't take long before every day was a bad day at work.

So Jason grew up in a place that started out as pretty nice, they were poor as hell but he never lacked for love from his mom. She made games for him so he wasn't afraid. Charity clothes weren't shameful, they were adventuring gear and he could be anything he wanted, even a wizard or a ninja. She didn't eat her portion of dinner because a spell had been put on her and the only way to break it is if he ate everything instead, and then defeat the dragon guarding her and give her a kiss before bedtime. Then she would eat. When they couldn't pay the utility bills, the candles were the only light they had and they were adventurers exploring ancient caves and had to be very careful to sneak around and find the magic stones she'd hidden everywhere.

Catherine Todd loved her little boy and always sacrificed whatever she could to make sure he wasn't afraid at night. While he slept, she'd cry very quietly.

But no amount of pretend and stories could really hide the fear in her eyes when his father came home. Jason had to hide under the table his arm the around a street mutt, Sparky, and a phone clutched to his chest while his mom tried to hold back her screams as the leather belt, then the fists and the boots came down on her again and again.

His mother ALWAYS took the beatings from him. When Jason was getting a little older and taller and starting to outgrow his clothes faster than they could steal or trade from the charity banks, he started looking like a target. But she never allowed his father to beat him, she wouldn't have it. She made a deal, she'd take the beatings and he wouldn't touch Jason dammit, not him, not her little boy.

Afterwards, when his scumbag father sat down in front of the TV with a beer and some food while his wife cried on the floor, Jason would crawl out of his hiding place and put band-aids on the cuts and bruises. Then she'd hold him in her arms, sobbing, and tell him it's okay, she loves him and she'd never let anything bad happen to him.

But things always got worse for Jason. He loathed his father, he felt furious he couldn't fight back but he knew if he did, his mother's sacrifice would be for nothing. He learned to control his rage early, he had to. But that doesn't mean it didn't burn.

The look of defeat and apathy in her eyes is what hurt him most. He wished she wouldn't just lay down and take it all the time. He wanted her to get up. Fight back. He'd have these dreams where his mom beat down her husband and told him if he ever touched her or her son again, she'd kill him. But he always woke up.

Catherine Todd was Jason's first real hero. Even when she started taking heroin to get through the day, to not feel hunger and not feel pain.

And then there's Wonder Woman. Princess of Themyscira. Amazon Warrior. She was the best fighter in the world and she fought with a grace like poetry and a savagery like vengeance. She was amazing. A woman that was strong enough to throw monsters through walls. Monsters just like his father. He wanted his mom to be more like Wonder Woman.

He wanted Wonder Woman to be his mom.

Now lets fast forward a bit. When his father abandoned them, Jason became the man of the house and his mother was so deep into addiction she could barely function. She'd lost so much weight over the years, pushing her food onto his plate. She'd always cared for and protected him, now he could finally return the favor. He was an 11-year old with a baseball bat and zero tolerance for any assholes that wanted to hurt his mom. She couldn't fight anymore but he could. Any drug dealer stopping by learned that the hard way.

But he couldn't protect her forever. The will had been beaten out of her for over a decade. While he was out stealing food, she overdosed. The pain had been too much. He failed her.

Fast forward again. He's Robin now, he's learned to survive on his own before now, he's not shy about sticking up for himself because dammit, he's not going to sit on the sidelines ever again. That was a helpless feeling he never could get away from. He meets Wonder Woman for the first time and he's just struck dumb. Alfred and Bruce are amused, because this Robin has never held back what's on his mind or given any ground. But after he gets over the awe of meeting his childhood idol (nevermind the fact that he's still technically a kid) he can't stop talking to Diana. He chatters eagerly to her.

Soon it's clear he's something of a fanboy. He asks how she threw this punch from this battle and how she disarmed that villain in that fight. She's more than happy to show him. Then he asks other things, like if she can be such a great fighter, other women can too, right? What if the best way to defeat crime is by preventing it? Like giving women and other common targets of criminals the ability to defend themselves. Couldn't women and children's shelters offer training and classes for free? She loves the idea and promises to see what she can do.

Jason probably writes letters to Diana whenever he can and she responds when she has time. It's not often because they're both so busy, but it's a slow sort of pen-pal thing they have going on. She's easier to talk to than Bruce and learns more about his family from before.

Even though he loved his mom, he also resented her. She let herself become a victim and he'll never quite forgive her for that. He's bitter about it, the idea of 'What if she'd fought back?' always in the back of his head. He'll never know and it's her fault and he misses her but he misses what they might have had. One day he accidentally lets this slip in one of his letters and Diana sends him two pages back, all of it laying out that a mother's love thinks nothing of sacrifice and it's okay for him to be angry but he shouldn't let it taint the good memories he has. He was loved right up until the end. Instead of being angry, be inspired. It wasn't fair, to her or to him, but he can still make his mother proud by making sure no one else has to go through what he did.

How would she know his mother is proud of him? Because Diana is proud of him. Very proud. And she knows what mothers want for their children.

Had she not been off-planet at the time, Diana would've noticed the lack of his letters when he started feeling displaced and needed family to connect to. When he found out he was adopted. When he left to go search for his real mother -- maybe a mother more like Wonder Woman.

When Jason died and Diana found out several weeks later, she was furious with Bruce. Absolutely. Livid. She refused to work with him or speak to him for a month. It was a major cramp in their relationship, as friends and as colleagues. 

She did go home and cry in her mother's arms because he was such a fine boy, dammit. Man's World was cruel and savage and did the worst things to the most innocent people and it turned them into beasts. It broke their hearts and twisted their minds. But not Jason. He came out stronger and more determined than ever to be better. Yes, he was lost and hurt and didn't know where to direct his righteous anger but he was learning so fast and she was so proud of him for it. Crime wasn't a vague thing to him, he grew up in it, lived in it, and he knew exactly why it should be put down. Just like she knew the stakes of war and why it must be fought. He was a warrior. And he died because he was still a kid that wanted a mother who loved him.

She blames herself a little because if she'd been there more for him, given him the mom he really really wanted, he might still be alive. She neglected him, just like everyone else and she will never forgive herself for that.

When Jason came back as the Red Hood, she'd only heard vague rumors from Gotham. It was years before she found out who it was and that's only because Dick was struggling with a guilty conscience for putting 'Jason' into Arkham Asylum. When this 'Red Hood' turned out to be the young Robin who had her action figure and always ran to say hello to her, she gave Dick a look that could kill a chimera. For the first time, he realized why Bruce could fear her so much.

She sat down and started to write a letter to Jason but didn't know where to start.

It hasn't happened yet. She's often run ragged with all her duties, and she hasn't figured out how to tell Bruce she wants to see Jason for reasons too many and complicated to put into words without seeming rude to the other fine boys he's mentored.

But when she does finally meet her favorite Robin she'll hug him and not let go for a long time. Then they'll spend the whole night talking about everything, and for tonight, crime and missions and duty can wait. She'll tell him about the countless women that have fended off their abusers because of the ideas he came up with so many years ago. And he'll be confused at first because doesn't she know he's insane? A killer? A psychopath? Well, she's killed too and she knows why he's doing what he's doing. There are as many battlefields as there are battles, in the mind, in the streets, in the long history of a life. She knows that this is his battle. She's proud of him for fighting what he believes in because that's what he's always done. His methods may not be her own but that's okay. Life has given him the tools and insight to do what he does and she must respect that. War is never pretty.

For a while, Jason is so damn unbalanced by all this, he can't really speak because there's a knot in his throat.

Then she drops another bomb on him by apologizing. For not being there for him, for not realizing that he needed more than a pen pal and for neglecting to tell him all these things before it was too late. There's tears in her eyes and he starts to panic a little.

The next day, she gets a letter from Jason.

So there. There you have it you ugly heathens, feels headcanon train! I think this is why Diana has Jason as her favorite Robin and why he has always looked up to her. I think the fandom somehow recognizes the neat and fitting parallels here. Maybe not ever put down in words like this (or if it has been, I haven't found it yet) but definitely there in the back of the brain. You don't see fanart with Jason wearing a Wonder Woman shirt, or pajamas, or coffee mug for no reason. It's not just because it's funny that the bad boy punk of the BatFamily is a huge Wonder Woman fan. It's because she means something to him that the other Robins never needed in their lives like he did. She was a role model early in his life and still is today. 

Jason likes Wonder Woman because she's overcome and proven herself in a world stacked against her. Women can't fight? Wrong. Women can't be strong? So wrong. Women can't hold important positions in government? She's an ambassador. Women must be sexual, they must defer to their male compatriots, if they do fight they're butch and can't be feminine and beautiful, and if they don't fight they have to stand back and sit in the kitchen.... You might wanna shut up now.

Wonder Woman has defied every single unwritten rule the world tried to put on her and she's broken every single barrier that her 'superiors' have put in front of her. She gives society's expectations an amused little smirk before she breaks them in half. She doesn't let anyone define her. She does what is needed and she doesn't apologize for it. She's a rebel like that. She's powerful but feminine, she's a warrior but also motherly, she fights for peace, but she will fucking kill to protect her loved ones.

Diana's story and Jason's story are so much alike and that is why these two have this unspoken, undefined bond. They know the gritty realities, they know that ideals won’t stop hunger and abuse and exploitation, they know fire sometimes can only be fought with fire. I think the fandom understands that, even vaguely. They recognize she would naturally be his #1 role model. And it would genuinely put me on cloud 9 if DC recognized that too and decided, 'Know what? Let's go for it. Let's make this happen.'

'Let's make this impossible and bizarre idea seem wonderfully human.'

Isn't that what comics are really about?

[snickerl]

Blutendes Herz II

XF fan fiction

Same scenario like in Blutendes Herz (Bleeding Heart) - Mulder has to face another man in Scully’s life - different plot.

Part I can be read here.

You wipe your palms on your thighs and stare at the numbers at the apartment door: three - seven - nine. It’s your first time here and you’re suddenly not so sure anymore that this is such a good idea. You thought it was a splendid idea about an hour ago when you left your house, climbed into your car and drove over here. You still thought it was a very good idea fifteen minutes ago when you started looking for a parking space, cursing the constant lack of it in the downtown area. You kept thinking it was a solid idea ten seconds ago when you knocked.

And now?

Now you’re convinced that this is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but now it’s too late. Even if you started running down the hallway this very second, she’d notice it was you. You hear her footsteps approaching the door on the other side and in a blink of an eye the door will open and she will be able to see who knocked. All you can do is take a deep breath and try to stay calm.

She won’t tear your head off, will she?

The door swings open and the woman you haven’t seen in almost a year is standing in front of you, looking flummoxed as if she was seeing a ghost. Well, maybe you are a ghost.

“Mulder?”

“Uhm, yes. Hello, Scully,” you mumble self-consciously, staring at your feet.

“What are you doing here?”

The consternation in her voice hurts you a bit.

“I…uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you this.”

You hand her the little paper bag which has been clutched in your hands. It’s crumpled and damp from your sweaty palms. You know now that it’s so silly but a few hours ago it seemed to be the perfect pretext for you to drop by here.

She takes the bag from you, peeks inside, and frowns. “My shower gel and shampoo?”

“You forgot them when you…when you…uh,” you stammer helplessly.

What have you been thinking? That she wouldn’t survive without her shower gel and shampoo? That she hadn’t known what to do without them all those months? That she wouldn’t be perfectly able to walk into the next Walmart and get a new set? Actually, you notice she did fine without them because a scent of coconut and peach reaches your nose. Oh, how you love that smell! It’s unmistakably a mixture of Dove Coconut & Cream and Herbal Essences Peach Blossom. When you missed her so badly that you were hardly able to cope with her absence, you would take a sniff at those started bottles in the shower, the ones you never removed just in case she returned.

“And you thought I was so much in need of them just now?”

“They’re your favorites. At least, they used to be.”

“They still are,” she sighs and with a slight smile she eventually asks you, “do you want to come in?”

“Thank you,” you say before you take tentative steps inside her apartment, the place she fled to after she’d left you. You look around. It reminds you of her place in Georgetown all those years back. Same decorating style, same ambiance. You feel beamed two decades back to the beginning of your partnership when invading her private space felt awkward.

“Nice place,” you hear yourself say. ‘I hate it’ you want to add but you swallow the words.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t know how to handle the situation just like you, you realize.

“Am I coming amiss?”

Of course, you are. You came here unannounced, what did you expect? That she would fall into your arms whispering a relieved 'finally’ into your ear as if she’s only been waiting for you to show up?

“No, I…uh, I was just getting ready for…uhm… Well, don’t bother,” she mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Oh boy, is she tensed-up and nervous. This is definitely inconvenient for her. She was getting ready for something. For what? A shift at the hospital? A ride to the grocery store? A meeting with her mom?

“Something important? Do you want me to leave?” you feel obliged to ask and pray she’ll say no.

“No…uhm, you can stay. There’s still some time before I have to…” She inhales deeply to steady her voice before she looks at you, asking with her exhale, “tea?”

You nod. She doesn’t want to tell you where she’s supposed to go, that much is clear. But why?

You don’t know what to say so you look around while she fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. The way the apartment is decorated is so Scully, from the antique wooden furniture, the comfortable couch with the thick pillows, the plushy rugs, the floral patterns of the drapes and the candles everywhere. What stings is that you don’t recognize anything from your house, not a single item. No crystal vase, no picture frame, not even one of those dust catchers she found at one of the many flea markets she dragged you to. There’s nothing here that would remind her of her life at the house you finally settled down in after years of running from the devil. You have to acknowledge that there’s nothing here to remind her of her life with you.

And then you notice it. There’s a huge bouquet of red roses residing in the middle of the coffee table in front of the couch, and suddenly everything makes sense.

The coconut'n'peach smell on her comes from the shower she had just taken. Her hair is nicely blown-dry and her makeup is immaculate. She wears the pearl earrings her parents gave her for her graduation from med school. She’s still barefoot, in sweat pants and t-shirt, but there’s a black cocktail dress draped over the sofa’s backrest waiting to be slipped on and a polished pair of stiletto heels is standing next to it. Even if you weren’t a highly skilled profiler, solving this riddle wouldn’t be too difficult. She was getting ready for a date.

“You’re seeing someone,” you state.

She sucks in a sharp breath. A look in her face is enough for you to understand you’re right.

“A doctor?”

“Mulder,” she moans instead of an answer.

“Tell me, Scully, I can handle it,” you insist but you’re not really convinced of what you just said.

“Sit down, Mulder. Here’s your tea,” she tells you handing you a steaming mug.

You let yourself fall onto the couch. It’s nice and comfortable but you feel as if you’re sitting on a bed of nails. You stare at the flowers. Three dozen, you count. Three dozen of long-stemmed red roses. How cliché!

You never bought her roses. You always thought she didn’t attach much value to such token gestures of romance. You drove through half of the city to get bee pollen for her, you billed more than one motel room to your private credit card to accommodate her in a nicer surrounding than the usual fleabags the FBI was paying for, you donated sperm for her to become pregnant at a time she was still just your co-worker, but you never brought home flowers, let alone red roses.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the flowers with their deep red petals exuding a scent almost overshadowing Scully’s. They look perfect, like from a Valentine’s Day ad in a flower shop window. They practically scream at you how much the person who gave them to her adores her.

“So, tell me about this new guy in your life.”

You feel like a masochist asking for corporal punishment. You know what you’re about to hear is going to hurt like hell. She also seems to be aware of what her words are going to do to you. She’s hesitant, reluctant even to tell you, but you won’t be convinced to let go. You’re going to pry until you know the complete truth, no matter how painful it will be. You know it, and she knows it.

She inhales deeply, chews her bottom lip and eventually sighs in surrender. “His name his Mark. He’s a real estate agent. We had dinner a few times.”

“Dinner…I see.”

Her eyes follow yours which are going back to the roses again, and she obviously decides it’s useless to go on beating around the bush. The bouquet speaks for itself.

“Okay, Mulder, if you really need to know, here you go: yes, Mark and I are dating.”

Mark and I. Three three innocent words, actually, but the combination of them coming out of her mouth does something to you. You swallow. You knew there was a man in her life from the moment you noticed those roses, but having her say it feels like she’s stabbing a knife into your heart and twisting it. You don’t understand why you’re so baffled since you’ve been expecting it.

Your Scully is dating someone. God, she hasn’t dated in ages. The transition of your relationship from one of platonic fellow agents to passionate lovers had come along without a single date and throughout the seven years prior, she had had exactly three dates. Yes, you were counting them, you sorry son of a bitch.

“For how long?” you ask although you know it’s none of your business. You have no right to interrogate her about a life you’re no longer a part of. You’re surprised she even answers.

“Just three months.”

That’s apparently what the three dozen are for.

“How did you meet him?”

When you imagined what she was doing in this new life of hers, her life apart from you, you somehow expected her to be working day and night. She’d always buried herself with work to distract herself when something in her private life went wrong. You pictured her eating, sleeping and working, having dinner with her mother once in a while at most or going to Sunday Mass. Socializing, with men, outside the hospital was outside your imagination. Where the hell did she meet a real estate agent? Maybe this Mark was a patient who developed a crush on the pretty lady doctor who relieved him from the pain of his hernia.

“I was looking for an apartment and he was the real estate agent at the other side of the desk. He showed me a few properties, including this one here, and after I signed the lease he invited me to dinner. That’s it.”

“A first date?”

“It was just dinner, Mulder. Do you really believe I jumped into another man’s arms two weeks after I moved out?”

“But now you’re dating. Officially.”

“If you want to call it that, yes.”

There’s an awkward silence spreading in the room. Funny, back then, the silence between the two of you was never awkward. Even if it was an angry silence, it was just angry, not awkward.

Your contemplations are interrupted by a knock at the door. Three short knocks followed by a longer pause and then another two knocks. Like a Morse code. You have an idea who it might be, and so does she. You see her suck in her breath. She tries to suppress a moan but it slips out of her throat anyway.

She thinks you can’t handle meeting him, fears you’re going to make a scene. She didn’t want the two of you to meet for sure, but you almost burst out of curiosity. What kind of man has been able to conquer Dana Scully’s heart? Is he a bit like you or a completely different person? You don’t know what would bother you more.

Your eyes follow her on her way to the door. She seems to move in slow motion clearly dreading the encounter of the former and the current man in her life. When she’s in front of the door, her shoulders rise and fall with one last deep breath, then she turns the knob and opens the door.

“Hi there,” she’s greeted cheerfully.

He can’t see you because Scully is standing in the way, and despite her tiny body your slouched figure on the sofa is completely hidden by her.

“What’s taken you so long?” you hear the man ask. His voice is deep and strong, tinted by a slight accent you can’t quite figure out. “Am I too early? Why aren’t you dressed, baby? I thought I was to pick you up at 6:30.”

Baby? She lets him call her baby?

You called her that once, a few days after your first passionate night together, and she wholeheartedly laughed you in the face. 'Seriously, Mulder?’ she said to you, 'you really think you’re in a position now to use this idiotic word about me just because you made me come last night?’ You never called her that again. It remained to be Mulder and Scully between you no matter what your relationship consisted of - partnership, friendship, romance, something resembling a marriage and consequently a divorce. She had dozens of different ways to pronounce your name and only from the sound of it you could tell whether she was amused, scared, annoyed, mad, horny, disappointed, worried, content, or experiencing one of a million more sentiments.

She leaves his questions unanswered, ushers him in instead. He walks into the living room without any hesitancy or awkwardness, much more self-confident than you earlier. He feels comfortable here, steers directly to the spot where you’re sitting at the coffee table, the table his red roses are decking so prominently. When he sees you, he stops in his tracks.

“Oh,” he utters in surprise, “I didn’t know you had a visitor, Dana.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m running late,” she says.

He makes a step forward and stretches his hand out for you to shake. “Mark Finlay,” he introduces himself without any discomfort or rejection in his voice.

Mark. What a nicely normal name, you think. Not peculiar like yours, one people furrow their brows at.

“My name’s Mulder, Fox Mulder.”

“Nice to meet you, Fox. Are you a friend of Dana’s?” No brow-furrowing whatsoever from him.

“I go by Mulder, actually, and yes, Scully and I used to be friends, although I can’t really say if we still are.”

“Mulder…” she sighs.

“Mulder and Scully,” Mark repeats with some surprise, letting your names roll off his tongue. “You call each other by your last names? That’s weird.”

“We used to be partners when we were with the FBI. It’s not so weird there,” you hear her telling him only half the truth.

“I see. How long haven’t you seen each other?”

“Eleven months, two weeks, and five days,” you hear yourself say, unable to tell what made you. Scully moans and now Mark does furrow his brows.

As soon as the words have tumbled out of your mouth you know it was a mistake. You made yourself vulnerable to him, and what’s even worse, you put Scully into a compromising position. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together to figure out that Mulder and Scully were more than just co-workers, and Mark is able to do the math.

“Uh, what was that, man?” he asks, his voice not so gentle anymore. You can’t blame him.

“Mark,” Scully starts, looking at her…at her…her what? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? “Mulder and I worked together but we were also a couple for fifteen years. We separated-”

“You moved out,” you cut in and correct her, worsening the situation even more.

“-I moved out about a year ago. That’s why I came to your agency. I needed a place to stay.”

“Oh, so the long-term relationship you told me about, the one you were having troubles leaving behind you, that’s him,” he concludes, tilting his head in your direction.

Scully nods silently.

“And today is the first time you see each other after eleven months-”

“-two weeks, five days, and,” you look at your watch, “eight hours.”

“Yes,” she confirms again, probably not your precise time specification though. Actually, she shoots you a warning look. You’d even be able to tell the seconds - forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven - but you already overdid it, so you keep the seconds to yourself while they pass stoically. Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five.

“I see.”

You’re an Oxford graduate with a degree in psychology, you have no problems following this man’s train of thought. He takes a closer look at you to assess you and your intentions, trying to evaluate whether you are a threat to him or not. Obviously, Scully hasn’t told him anything about your relationship other than that it was difficult for her to get over the failure of it. He’s as curious of you as you are of him. He asks himself what kind of man she had fallen for before and he questions your presence here.

“Ah, well, I guess you have a lot to talk about then. Do you want me to leave you alone?” As neither of you tells him to stay, he clumsily turns to Scully. “I’ll call you tomorrow, honey,” he says, “maybe we can meet for lunch?”

Your insides tie a knot when you hear him use another affectionate nickname for her. The credit he’s giving you impresses you, though, or maybe he knows Scully already well enough to trust her. If manners weren’t so damn useless right now, you would offer to leave. You are the intruder here, not him. He had a date with her, you came unannounced, but you want to talk to her so badly and you fear you will never get another chance, so you let him go through with it. You gladly notice that she nods at him.

“It was nice meeting you, Fox…uh, M-mulder,” he says, looking at you with an intense stare that makes absolutely clear he’s leaving only for the moment and not for you to take her back.

“Yeah,” is all you reply. He’s a nice guy, no question about it, but you wished you would’ve never had to make his acquaintance.

Scully walks him to the door. You’re polite enough to give them some privacy and turn your back to them, although the suspense is killing you. You’d like to watch them interact, it’d give your psychologist’s mind more information about the quality of their relationship and level of intimacy, but you also have manners. They don’t keep you from straining your ears though to eavesdrop on their whispered words.

“I’m so sorry, Mark. He came here totally unexpected. I was just getting ready when he knocked at the door.”

“It’s alright, love. That is, if you want me to throw him out, I’ll gladly do so.”

“No, we do actually have to talk. Life hasn’t exactly been good to him, to neither of us. He’s been to dark, depressing places and I’m glad he’s made the first step out of his shell. It’s just that the timing’s not perfect.”

“You sound very compassionate, Dana. Do I have to be worried?”

“No, there’s no need for you to worry about anything.”

“But you still care a lot for him, don’t you? Although you left him.”

“If you knew what Mulder and I have been through, you’d understand. You have to trust me, Mark. I need to sort a few things out with him. I want…I need us to be friends.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine wanting to be friends with my ex. I’m a bit anxious about leaving you alone with him, to be honest.”

“You wouldn’t be if you knew all the circumstances.”

“Enlighten me!”

“Not now, Mark. I will. One day. I promise, but it’s very complicated and parts of our history together are very sad. I can’t do this in passing, and certainly not whispering to you while Mulder’s sitting in my living-room.”

“Alright, I content myself until you’re ready to confide in me, if…you promise to wear that breath-taking black dress I spied on your couch when you do.”

You can hear the sly grin in his voice and the smacking sound of a kiss shortly thereafter.

“Call me when it gets out of hand or ugly. I can be here quickly if he dares to lay a hand on you.”

You catch a soft chuckle from Scully. “That won’t happen, Mark. Ever. Mulder might seem a bit deranged to you but he’s a good person. He’d rather cut his hand off than hurt me.”

The way she defends you makes you warm all over.

You can’t blame him, though. He’s about to leave the woman he loves alone with a man who makes the impression of, to put it mildly, not being totally clear in his head. Your meticulous timekeeping of the moment Scully moved out didn’t exactly help him to trust in your intentions. You can’t decide whether his leaving astonishes you in a good or in a bad way, whether he’s an idiot quitting the field for another man or someone who deserves admiration for the trust he has in her. If you were in his shoes, you’d most certainly take yourself by the scruff of your neck and throw yourself out. Maybe he’s just not such a pathetic alpha male like you are.

There’s another smacking sound and you hear him hum delightfully.

“Mark,” she whispers somewhat out of breath. God, did he kiss her that hard? The cinema in your head makes you dig your fingertips into your palms with so much force your nails leave deep dents in them.

“Love you, baby.”

Your self-control is put to a severe test. 'This baby belongs to me,’ you want to yell at him. At least you’re spared to ear-witness her say the same to him as she answers him with only as much as an non-committal 'uh huh’ before she closes the door, probably out of consideration for you. You hear her take a deep inhale before she steps back into your field of vision.

“I’m terribly sorry, Scully. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

Honestly, you’re glad the guy is gone.

“You’re not ruining my evening, Mulder.”

“What were you guys up to?”

“A vernissage. Mark has a friend who is an artist with an exhibition at Monroe Gallery. Well, I guess we can do it anytime, save the free champagne.”

She smirks at you and you actually do feel bad that you confounded her plans. You know that she likes the fine arts, that she enjoys going to classical concerts, galleries, and book readings. You’ve never taken her, it’s not your cup of tea. It’s his, apparently.

“I didn’t come here to mess up your evening plans, Scully. I should’ve been one leaving, not your…” No, you can’t bring yourself to pronounce the word.

“Well, Mulder, what did you come here for?”

“I…”

“Yes?”

You might as well say it. “I needed to see you, Scully. It’s been a year, for Christ’s sake. I missed you, that’s all.”

She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and swallows hard before she speaks. “I missed you too, Mulder.”

“Seriously?”

She looks at you, her eyes pleading with you. “Tell me you know why I left, that it wasn’t because I didn’t care for you anymore.”

“I kinda figured that out together with my therapist. Took me a while though.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

“Yes. Twice a week.”

“That’s good, Mulder. That’s very good. Are you getting better?”

The honest concern in her voice makes your stomach flip.

“I am. You were right with everything you said, Scully. The shrink, the medication, the getting more sleep and eating healthier food. I even started running again. I haven’t turned the corner yet, but I’m getting there.”

She spares you a triumphant 'I told you so’. Actually, there’s nothing resembling triumph or smugness in her eyes, no 'I knew it’ or 'you should’ve listened to me’ on her face, instead tears are pooling in her eyes mirroring a heavy sadness you can’t make anything of.

“What? Aren’t you happy for me?”

“I’m very happy for you, Mulder. I was so worried. You didn’t answer my calls, you never handed in the prescriptions I sent you. I feared you’d sink deeper and deeper into this depression up to the point you’d…” she trails off but you know where she was going with this.

You won’t tell her that you’ve actually been at this point she’s unable to speak out. You remember that night you didn’t see any fair reason to go on. You had no job, no family, your Scully was gone. You didn’t have a life, all you had was this house she’d left to you and a miserable existence that caused you far more pain than anything else. The gun in your hand felt like the ultimate solution to your suffering, the cold, hard steel against your hot skin soothing in a way. You thought that if you ate a bullet, it would relieve you, would lift all the burden off your shoulders and give you final peace. Then a brief moment of sanity came over you and in front of your mind’s eye you saw how Scully would take the news when some blunt police detective called her as your next of kin. You asked yourself how much more pain you wanted to cause her and suddenly the road you had to take was crystal clear. You secured the hammer, put the gun on the coffee table in front of you and stared at it for hours. This lonesome night marked the beginning of your healing process.

“So, then why are you crying?” you ask while brushing a tear off her cheek with your thumb, thrilled that she lets you.

“I’m crying because I had to leave you for you to admit to yourself that you needed treatment. My being there couldn’t do it, only my absence. Why, Mulder? It used to be just the other way around all those years. We used to give each other strength, not paralyze each other.”

“I’m still trying to find the answer to this phenomenon, Scully. The shrink is not letting me off the hook with this, I can tell you. What I have already figured out though is that you are the sole reason I’m still here. Your absence left a hole so vast in me that I couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. Believe me, I had tried many ways to numb it, none had worked. One day I decided to give it a shot and called the number you’d written down for me. It was still stuck to the fridge.”

“Imagine where we could be if you had called Doctor Summers the day I gave you her number. We could still be together.”

How often have you asked this what-if question yourself? Hundreds of times? Thousands? You’ve learned from said Doctor Summers that what-if questions are not only useless but counterproductive. They keep you from accepting what is and from changing what’s in your power to change. The past can’t be influenced anymore, only the future, and that’s what you’re determined to do. You want to build your future life, and you want her to be in it.

“We could work on getting back together. That is…if you want us back together.”

She looks at you with a mixture of astonishment and incomprehension.

“What?” you ask. “Would it be so out of the realms of possibility?”

“I’m in a relationship with a very gentle man who has been very patient with me. I can’t drop him like a hot potato.”

No, of course, she can’t. She’s far too decent and kind to treat another person like this. She hadn’t jumped into this new thing light-heartedly, she really likes this very gentle, patient man. She’s gotten involved with him for his sake, not to get over you.

Nausea makes itself felt, you have problems swallowing because of the lump forming in your throat. Has it taken you too long? Have you lost her to another man because you didn’t get your act together fast enough? Does she not only like him but has she fallen in love with him? Scully doesn’t fall in love easily - head over heels and love at first sight are not her concepts really - but when Scully loves, she loves unrestrictedly and unconditionally. You were at the receiving end of her love and she defended it against everyone who dared to question it; her peers, her superiors, her brother. You won’t stand a chance against Mark if she loves him, so you have to ask.

“You can’t drop him or you don’t want to?”

“Both. Mulder! You can’t just come here, tell me you want us back together, and expect me to leave everything and everyone behind and follow you home.”

“So…it’s over. Between us, I mean.”

You wince.

“That’s not what I said.”

You gasp.

“Then what did you say, Scully?”

“I like Mark, and I enjoy being with him.”

She likes him - okay. She enjoys being with him - this you need to be clarified.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

You look into two crystal blue eyes so boring through you they make you shiver. Of course, you know you overstepped the mark. It’s absolutely none of your business, but you need to know, so you insist regardless.

“Are you?”

You tilt your head and peek at the roses on the table, pursing your lips and arching your eyebrows. She follows your line of sight, still clearly pissed off by your question. She keeps her eyes on the flowers for a long moment, then sighs audibly.

“Okay, Mulder, if you feel like you want to know…not that I owe you any explanation…but yes, Mark and I have sex.”

Now that you know you wished you hadn’t asked. You give a short, bitter chuckle.

“What? Are you expecting me to live in isolation just like you?”

“Maybe.”

“I wasn’t looking for this, Mulder, believe me. But you know what? It’s nice to be paid attention to. You didn’t even look at me anymore. You took for granted that I was there but you didn’t notice me anymore, let alone reciprocate in any way.”

“And he looks,” you state, unable to keep that disparaging ring out of your voice.

“Yes, he does. He looks at me, notices me, realizes I’m there. He’s made me feel like a desirable woman again.” She holds your gaze for a moment and you see more pain in her eyes than you’re able to deal with. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I didn’t make you feel like a desirable woman?” The question leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

“Oh, you did, Mulder,” she breathes, and you see the sweet memory flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. “God, you made me feel so alive at a time I didn’t want to live. After William was gone, I feared I’d never be able to feel anything again, that I had become completely numb inside. It was the intensity of your love and passion that gave me the strength to love you back and to go on living, but your passion eroded over time. Not your love, I was always sure of your love for me, but I didn’t feel your passion anymore. In the end, your world had shrunk to this little room full of dusty files, blurred photographs, and yellowed newspaper clippings. I could step into this room but I couldn’t enter your world. You didn’t let me in, neither did you come into my world anymore. You’d drifted away from me so much, I didn’t know how to reach out to you. We’d lost our connection.”

Her voice has become very quiet, the last words were a mere whisper. It speaks for the suffering all of this caused her. You don’t have anything to say to this. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

“I missed our physicality, Mulder, and you didn’t even realize it. In the end, I craved it so much, it ached. It’s a good feeling to be again touched and kissed. I enjoy being looked at, being told I’m beautiful and wanted.”

Every word feels like a slap in your face. You deserve it, there’s no doubt about it. You didn’t give her what she needed, so living with you had become unbearable for her. You drove her away from you and finally out of the house. It’s all your fault.

This insight doesn’t come as a surprise to you. You’ve already figured all of this out together with Doctor Summers. She’d put her finger right in the wound and poked at the raw flesh until you were honest with yourself. It was a difficult step you refused to take for quite a while, but after having walked down that road you started getting better. It had been the first step forward of many and there are still hundreds more for you to make. If you want to heal completely, you have to run a marathon.

“I’m in the process of becoming the person I used to be, Scully. I can make up for the way I made you feel, I promise I will. You’ll be treasured and desired like never before. I’ll do whatever you want me to do…meditate, eat bee pollen, burn every single X-File in the filing cabinet. You name it, I’ll do it. Just give me a chance to prove how much I’ve returned to my former self in the past year, to the person you once loved. Please!”

God, you’re pathetic, begging for her affection like this. But what else can you do? You’re desperate and scared to death that you’ve irretrievably lost her. Not to cancer, the aliens or any dark forces but to another man who happened to be there for her at a time you could only deal with your own issues and with nobody else’s, not even hers.

Oh, how you hate this fucking depression!

She sees what’s going on in your head. She’s always been able to read you like a book, your separation hasn’t changed that. Your plea has touched her. Tears are brimming in her eyes.

“Don’t do this for me, Mulder. I can’t be the sole reason for you to be willing to heal. It’s too much of a burden. You have to do it for your own sake, because you want to get better. And by the way…” She cups your face with a hand and caresses your cheek gently with her thumb, “I’ve never stopped loving you, even when this damned depression had turned you into someone I didn’t recognize anymore.”

You’re paralyzed. You forget to breathe. “You still love me?” you finally croak.

“Of course, Mulder,” she tells you with a smile, “that will never change. But we can’t be together unless you have this illness completely under control. I couldn’t help you back then and I can’t do it right now. I see your progress, but you’re far away from being through, and you know it yourself. I’m more than willing to support you as your friend and physician, but I can’t be more than that. Not now.”

“But…one day?”

“If you expect me to give you a guarantee, I can’t. There are no guarantees when it comes to personal relationships. I once thought ours was indestructible, but it wasn’t. I can’t foresee our future, Mulder, all I know is that you will always be a part of my life. As my best friend, my partner in crime, my son’s father. You’re the one and only person who knows every scarred side of my soul. Maybe…maybe one day you can be my perfect other again. It’s not impossible, but it depends on so many factors that I don’t dare to predict let alone promise anything. I don’t know how far Mark and I will go. What I do know is that I’m humbly happy as it is right now and that I want to give this a try. Can you live with that?”

Can you?

“No promises, Mulder, only chances.”

You have to let this sink in for a moment before you’re able to answer, but then you know exactly where it leaves you.

“When has the fact that I didn’t know where the road ahead would lead me to ever stopped me, Scully?”

The corners of her mouth rise into one of those lovely smiles that make the bridge of her nose crease and you’re thrilled because this smile is genuine, and it’s meant for you, and the best thing is, you have elicited it from her. You haven’t done this in a very long time. After having made her sad for you don’t know how long, you eventually made her feel good again, you made her smile. If that isn’t a valid first step. There might be a million steps more for you to take, but you’re willing to face every single one. Uphill, downhill, through the desert or the Antarctic, you might do a step or two backward at times, but you will keep going. And you will be your former self again. Maybe you’ll end up with a reformed version of Fox William Mulder even, freed of some of the traumas of your past that had pushed you to the dark place of complete hopelessness you’d been in a few months ago.

“You know me, Scully. The smaller the chance, the more unlikely the theory, the more determined I am to show you I was right.”

“Yes…yes, I know you do, and I rely on it.”

You lock your eyes with hers in one of those looks you used to give each other in another life, before the loss of a child and the impediments of an existence in seclusion had taken their toll on your relationship. You connected gazing at each other like this at a time you were each other’s touchstones, and maybe this means that you still are.

All has been said, that’s why you stand up and move in the direction of the door. When you reach it, you desperately try to think of something else to talk about - the weather, the last book you read, medical research - it doesn’t matter, something, anything, just to have a reason to stay. You turn around and find her right behind you, her delicate hand already reaching for the door knob. It seems you’ve missed your chance to prolong your being here, but then she catches you off-guard when she leans in. For a split-second you think she’s going to kiss you on the lips which she isn’t doing, of course, she’s in a relationship with another man, but she kisses you on the forehead.

The nerve endings start shooting electrical sparks through your body the moment her soft lips make contact with your skin. The forehead kiss has lost nothing of its magic, you realize. It’s as intimate an act as ever. You shared a lot of those before you turned your relationship from one of co-workers into one of lovers. More than once, you wanted to travel from her forehead to her lips but never dared. Once you almost did it, but then a bee carrying a deadly virus came in the way. You can’t explain why today of all days you feel bold enough to make the journey, but before you’re able to rethink, your lips are on hers and the familiar, much longed for sensation is your undoing.

You cannot do anything against it, your body acts on its own. Your hands go into her hair, your body presses her small frame against the front door she wanted to usher you out of mere seconds ago, and your tongue slides over her lips. You’ve ceased thinking, you’re acting on pure instinct and the sensation is too overwhelming for you to be able to stop. You hear Scully moan quietly. Her knees buckle and bump into your shins. When you feel her tongue caressing yours and her body melting into yours, all you want to do is carry her into the bedroom and devour her.

From the depths of your conscience, various memories make it to the surface with a vengeance: how soft her naked skin feels, how her warmth used to envelop you, how you became one when you were buried deep inside her. You’ve lost your grip on the world around you, of time and space. You plunge head-on into the sensation the moment offers you, although there’s this voice at the back of your head telling you that this is not right. It’s yelling at you that overwhelming her with your yearning for her is not fair. You’re playing her off against her emotions, taking advantage of the soft spot she still has for you.

Not fair!

The voice is demanding of you to stop, to stop it right now before she lets you carry the matter too far and compromise her. It’s the most difficult thing you had to do ever, but you grab her shoulders to push your bodies apart and pull back, your mouth leaving hers with a loud smack. Her head falls back and bangs against the door. She’s panting with her eyes closed. Her hair is disheveled, her cheeks rosy and her lips swollen. She looks so alluring that it takes all your willpower not to crush your lips right back onto hers.

Both of you are gasping for air, Scully with her back leaned against the door, you frozen into a pillar of salt. You can’t believe what you just did. You wronged the women who offered you her friendship overpowering her with your frenzied, base lusts. You stare at her, guilt-stricken and self-conscious. In the not so unlikely case that she throws you out of her apartment and tells you that she doesn’t want to see you ever again, you couldn’t complain.

It takes her a while to recompose herself and to get her breathing back under control. You startle when her eyes suddenly jump open and two pools of blue transfix you. “God, Mulder,” she breathes and you hear shock and disbelief in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Scully, so sorry. I’m beyond sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please, forgive me. You have to forgive me,” you beg.

She takes another deep inhale without taking her eyes off of you. You can’t read from her face. There’s no way for you to predict how she’s going to react. When she starts to speak, you hold your breath.

“And I thought I would have to go to bed unkissed tonight after Mark had left,” she says with a deadpan expression.

“I’m such an asshole, Scully. I don’t know what had gotten into me.”

Her left eyebrow shoots up. “You don’t know why you kissed me?”

“Of course I do, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

Another moment of silence occurs, the unspoken words billowing between you before she speaks again. “Mulder, don’t look at me like you’ve been told you can’t have ice cream for breakfast.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. I didn’t exactly fight back, did I? It was…nice. I’ve almost forgotten what a great kisser you are, but…” she licks her lips, “…this doesn’t change anything of what I said earlier.”

“I listened to what you said, Scully, and I understood. I’m not going to get this wrong, but I will live off it for a long time. The memory will keep me going. The notion of being allowed to kiss you like this again some day in the future will push me further.”

“Mulder-”

“No promises,” you interrupt her, “only chances, I know. That’s enough for me. For now.”

Her lips rise into a tight-lipped smile. “You never cease to amaze me, Mulder.”

“I should jolly well hope so!”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “What I would’ve missed if I hadn’t accepted that assignment to work with one Fox Spooky Mulder all those years ago.”

“You would’ve been spared quite a bit, Scully.”

“But I would’ve missed so much more. Mulder…I regret nothing.”

She keeps telling you this, using different words like 'I’d do it all over again’ or 'I wouldn’t have wanted another life’, but always meaning that she’s happy with how everything has turned out. Despite her reassuring you, sometimes you have problems believing it, picturing the life she could have had as a mother to a bunch of beautiful children and a wife to a nice guy. To someone like Mark.

Mark.

Time for you to quit the field. Leaving you alone with her, Mark had demonstrated a certain amount of trust in you, a trust you bitterly betrayed. He’s most certainly waiting for her to call him to let him know everything is alright.

Will she tell him about the kiss? Probably not as it isn’t the beginning of something, it’s no threat to their relationship. You tasted a bit of what your past relationship consisted of when times were good and being together was all that was important. Maybe - maybe - you’ve also tasted some of your future, you don’t know. You hope, but you can’t be sure.

You’re willing to let her try a normal life. A life with a well-situated, good-looking real estate agent who asks her for dates, who brings her flowers and calls her by her first name. You face the risk of losing her to that mundane kind of life, to a life without monsters and conspiracies where the darkness retreats with every sunrise and doesn’t linger on for the entire day, darkening the sky with its heavy, gray clouds. With that risk you have to live, it’s the only chance you have to win her back.

“What if you put that beautiful black dress on and I gave you a ride to the art gallery you told me about? Call Mark and tell him you’re going to meet him there. The night is still young, you can still have a glass of free champagne.”

She tilts her head and squints one eye suspiciously. “Mulder, are you serious?”

“I materialise in front of your door out of thin air with the lame excuse of bringing you two half empty bottles of shampoo and shower gel, I chase your spiffy date away, I yammer about how tough my life is without you, and as if this wasn’t enough, I pin you to the door mounting some kind of kissing attack on you…I’d say I owe you one.”

You meant every word you said and are therefore veritably flabbergasted that your admission is obviously amusing her. A grin tugs at the corners of her mouth she desperately tries to suppress, in vain. Eventually, she chuckles.

“And I told Mark you’d never lay a hand on me.”

“Yeah, well, a slight misconception from your side. I would cut my hand off, though, rather than hurt you.”

She gasps. “You heard us?”

“It was impossible not to hear you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Good, good. So…uh, what about that lift to the gallery?”

“Thanks for offering, but no. I’d rather spend the rest of the evening alone. I need to contemplate a few things.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhm…are we good?”

“Sure, Mulder, we’re good.”

“Great. Would you mind if I ever dropped by again? I’d even issue a pre-warning.”

She emits another amused chuckle. “I’d appreciate an announcement, but don’t call it a warning. I don’t need to be warned of you. Just let me know when you’re on your way over so I can get dressed and have the tea ready when you get here.”

“You could also drive out to the house. There’s still some of the organic green tea in the pantry, the one you like so much.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” you reply shyly.

Like it? You’d be thrilled to entertain her. You might even bake an apple pie for her following her mother’s recipe which Maggie wrote down some years ago for you on the inside of one of the few cookbooks you had.

“Bye, Mulder. Thanks for stopping by. Despite the…uh…unexpected circumstances, it was good to see you. I’m glad we found a common ground again.”

She turns around to open the door, exposing her reverse side and the special spot you’ve touched a million times at the small of her back. Your hand goes there as if remote-controlled. You could swear you feel her shudder and it feels so familiar for a moment, but this time you come to your senses in time. Everything is different now, so you remove your hand and give her shoulder a friendly squeeze when you walk past her through the door into the hallway.

“Bye, Scully. Thanks for everything.”

“Take care, Mulder.”

You exchange one last look, then she closes the door and her face is replaced by the numbers you stared at two hours ago: three - seven - nine. You look at your watch and set it to stopwatch mode. The timer tells you it’s been eleven months, two weeks, five days, ten hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-five seconds since she left. You press the little button again to reset, it says 0:00:00 now. You press it again and the time starts running.

[checkyesifulikeme]

this is just me being emo over my boyfriend because a month or so ago we decided today’s our one year and i Love him so you don’t need to read this like at all but if you want to....b my guest! 

i never in 1 million years thought i would meet someone like dorian. NEVER. never never never. listen. the ~year or so before we met was my first time being single and feeling completely okay. feeling happier than i’d ever felt before just exploring my interests and making new friends and doing new things, i’ll always cherish that time because i really feel like that’s when i began to know me as i am today. i always felt so detached from who i was growing up. i never made many friends, throughout middle school i was almost completely alone save for my online friends who i love with my whole heart and am still friends with almost a decade later like.........what. but anyways i was so alone and feverishly rejected every aspect of myself that i felt made me so alone. i was too quiet, too shy, too anxious, too sad, too ugly, too hairy, not smart enough, not funny enough. i’ve criticized myself like this from as early as i can remember. on my 5th birthday i walked away from the little area in the park we’d cleared for my party and played alone by my favorite tree, probably pretending to be a jungle cat or something like that. only within the past couple of years did i realize that all of these things ‘hindering’ me are not actually hindering me at all. the only thing hindering me is my repetitive thoughts of “don’t be like this. you are *insert negative thing here* because you are like this. be like them. be like anything Other. just stop doing what You are doing.” and for a very long time i didn’t realize how damaging this was. i always looked up to my father as a child, like he could do no wrong to me i loved him so very much. but he used to be colder than he is now (he’s softened a bit w age/being w a pisces woman for 10+ years) so he had a very deadpan sense of humor and sometimes made remarks that dug deeper than i think he knew into my soft skin. my dad was never abusive, moreso just disconnected in a way many men are, i think. insensitive is a good word. and i’ve always been hypersensitive yet longed so deeply to be exactly like my father. calloused, but funny. able to pick up and play any instrument i wanted to. good at math. all of that! he built his own bass guitar. i think some of my intense obsession with self critique stems from that idealization of a semi-callous man from a very young age. i’ve always been deeply sensitive and easily bruised but i pretend not to be. i downplay my pain. i downplay my scars. i laugh while i tell stories of being blind-sided by my best friend all while i have a symbol of our friendship inked into the back of my arm (no i don’t regret it). i sat alone with the thought of my mother going to prison. i downplayed my pain. my ex cracked a joke about being my “new mom.” i went home and cried for hours.

but anyways. i’m so off track i really didn’t mean for this to turn into my life story but i have always been super self reflective as i said before. but ANYWAYS. dorian and i began talking after that year or so of being alone. i went from an abusive relationship i’d been in from ages 15-17 to dating an alcoholic 4 years my senior to dating his co-worker who i secretly couldn’t stand. and then i was alone and i was happy and i felt like Me for the first time since i was 15 years old. i was done running from sitting with myself. after said year went by i decided i wanted to say fuck it and just talk to some boys i thought were cute cause i knew i had it like that and was like let’s just be a silly lil ho! but that shit is hard first of all idk why boys do That like i was exhausted from it all bitch it wasn’t even fun. but anyways one of the boys was my Now bf dorian and i thought he was the biggest fuckboy like he exhibited prime fuckboy behavior. before that we’d followed each other for like over a year on twitter and i’d curved him twice so i didn’t rly want to DM him (i thought it would look suspicious of me or something) so instead i found his insta and followed it and played the Waiting game and it worked! we started talking and basically we had like the worst compatibility ever over text imo so i wasn’t that into it but he was cute as h*ll to me so i said fuq it baby! we ended up meeting a few weeks later when i drove 2ish hours up to his city with my then best friend to go to a *** *** concert (i will not expose who this is LMAO) so we had like. 30 minutes to meet beforehand and he was highhhhhhhh off his ass when he rounded the corner of the cafe we were meeting at bitch was toasted bitch was fried out his mind i’m telling U..and the entire time he just flamed my shit. and i literally could not tell for the life of me if he liked me or if he was just saying fuck it and doing whatever. oh also i bought him baby pink nail polish as a surprise because he’d mentioned missing having pink nails but he ran out of his polish so i was like ! on the drive up and stopped at a target to find him one (pretty big move for me TBH i’m so shy about people enjoying their gifts especially a STRANGER like..). but he liked it and i was happy. then that night we were texting once i got back to my city and we teased each other a lot but then the teasing turned into making actual solid plans for him to come stay at my house for a couple of days. i was extremely nervous as you can imagine like i’m a Woman and he’s a Strange Man from another City coming to stay in my Home but my crackhead ass did it anyways and i didn’t die and this all has a happy ending so! that’s good. great even. but yes he came down and stayed the night. the next morning while we were getting breakfast and talking was when i realized oh damn i might actually,,really like him? the night before i’d just felt sorta on edge and paranoid because i have a lot of #trama and don’t trust my own judgement very well due to prior abuse so i was just extremely on guard but my walls came down a tiny tiny bit the next day. we agreed on almost everything and liked a lot of the same stuff, like every other sentence was “me too!” to the point that i thought he was fucking w me just to impress me or something/i was worried he thought i was doing the same. we drove back up to his city that night w a friend of mine to go to Another concert (lana del rey, i’ll expose this one) and i just remember having this feeling deep in my chest. not even butterflies. like when you stick a marshmallow on a branch and shove it into the flames of a campfire and the fluff bubbles and pops and drips the coal below, coating it in a sticky hot glaze. that’s how my heart felt. i listened to the shadows by peter & kerry and chanel by frank ocean and passion fruit by drake (lmfao) and felt like a marshmallow perpetually engulfed in flames. i felt so happy i could cry. i felt a little scared too but mostly happy. that’s also something i’ve read before that always stuck with me. something to do with when you meet the right person it’s not supposed to feel like an excited delirious fit of insects in your belly it’s supposed to feel calm and warm and comforting. and that’s kind of how it felt. i don’t know if that’s a 100% worldly truth because i don’t believe there is ever any one right way of Experiencing anything but i just remember thinking about that quote sometimes and being like “huh.” 

after that initial feeling of falling in love it just kept going. we saw each other for 2ish days every week from then on, until he evntually moved down here at the beginning of august. we’d only been dating for 6 months but a combination of unexpected situations just sorta pushed things along rather quickly. but i wasn’t nervous. which was strange because both of my longer term relationships got a bit rocky around discussing our futures together. i always claimed to dislike thinking too far ahead but in reality i disliked thinking about being tied to said people in said way. but with dorian i just felt joy. we stopped at ikea “just to look” on the way down and bought a vegetable knife, a cat bed for winnie and wesley,  a collapsible tunnel they never played in, 2 giant asymmetrical mauve plates, tupperware with yellow lids and lots of other miscellaneous stuff we didn’t really need nor did we have the money for.

as hard as 2018 was for me i would never reverse a second of it. not for anything in the entire world. i slowly lost all of my high school friends. i slowly lost my mind a little bit too. but he stuck with me through every bit of it. i can’t even begin to get into every wild ass thing that went down throughout the past year but we stood together through it all and that feels so fucking good. i sat on the phone before we lived together and listened to him cry because the world is too cold and i cried with him because i was freezing. he picked me up and carried me home when i ran out of the house crying so hard my head was spinning and i couldn’t see past my tears after the end of one of my longest friendships. a man stared at us from across the street and i sobbed until i couldn’t breathe. 

we’re not perfect people and sure anything could happen. we could break up tomorrow. sure. believe me i know that anything can happen. like i said earlier, i have a sizeable matching tattoo with an ex best friend who i essentially thought i’d end up buried next to. but like i said earlier, no, i don’t regret it. and i would never regret love like this. but i also don’t think i will have to. never have i met someone who wants to understand me so fully. who loves me so unconditionally. who gave me the time to open up and decipher my thoughts and feelings and didn’t get tired of it. who helped me to realize that it isn’t me not functioning like ‘every one else’ that’s the problem, it was the self hatred bred from me believing that in the first place. acceptance. he accepted me as i was and i accepted him as he was. i remember saying i felt like i needed someone like me when it came to relationships. growing up i was very drawn to “opposites attract!” and sayings like that, most likely because of my self deprecating disposition, but after the end of my second relationship i knew i was wrong. my whole life i have felt misunderstood and disconnected and alone in my head and like the butt of every joke like a punchline on loop. he was the first person to ever really take me out of that. to sit there while i cried and babbled incoherently about how i just couldn’t put the words together to express why i was upset or tell anyone where it hurts. why i was anxious. why i was mad. i remember clearly sitting with him in my old apartment while my ex roommate/best friend was at work and  crying and saying i didn’t know how to ‘say it’ and him explaining back to me everything he’d heard from me so far and his interpretation and i cried and cried and cried and i felt seen for maybe the first time in my entire life. i don’t know what’s in me to make me feel so incredibly separate, and to in turn isolate myself out of this immensely penetrating sense of isolation, but he was the first to extend a hand and actually mean it. i’ve been too many people’s empty shell of a girl to project everything they wanted to see onto. it’s easy to do that with someone who rejects themselves because what is there to lose if you’re not afraid to lose it? i wasn’t perfectly healed when we met, i will never be ‘perfectly’ healed. he was not either and i do not expect him to be. i’m only 20 so really what do i know about life at all. nothing lmao. but i know that dorian is my fucking rock. and i’m his fucking rock. and if i asked him if he wanted to move to another city tomorrow and build a house out of rocks we collected on the drive there he would say yes. and i know i’ve never felt afraid with him. i know i’ve never felt demeaned or belittled or laughed at. i know we play like teething puppies who roll around and bite at one another but are always having fun and if one of us goes too far the play immediately stops and we lick each other in apologies and forgiveness and start our play again. i know we can say ‘i’m sorry’ without the slightest bit of hesitation or resentment because what’s the point of meaningless pride in all of this. don’t we hate that shit anyways? i know i stopped off the freeway and chased a dog with you and both of our best friends at the time a mile or so down the road but he just kept running farther and farther away until we eventually gave up on catching him. i know after that we drove back to my city holding hands and listening to the playlist i made you while we drove 80 mph through the inky black desert. i know i glanced over at you mouthing all of the words to a few of the songs. this is one of my favorite memories. the beginning of our love in it’s most raw form, to me at least. i know we texted each other paragraphs and you couldn’t pay me to take me away from those conversations. i know the entanglement of my volatile emotions and pride gets in the way of things sometimes but i also know when to cut it because that shit’s stupid anyways. i know our composite chart has our moon, mercury and venus in the 7th house and that made me smile because the girl on twitter who read sza’s chart said that was a favorable aspect for marriage. i know that i don’t really believe in marriage but i wouldn’t mind celebrating our love and making the playlist for the wedding and probably getting mad over people talking over “this part!” i know that you’ve never once discouraged me or limited me. i know that we’ve been through things together that would cause most to trip and break a bone or two, at least. but not once have i questioned my love for you. i’ve said doubtful things once or twice, but please understand and believe me when i say that it was only out of habit. isolation. i push back when things hurt. it’s easy for me to leap to worst case scenario in the blink of an eye. my formative teenage years were spent with someone who yelled at me and guilt tripped me and demanded and demeaned and demanded and demeaned and when i left for the second time they didn’t demand anything from me that time. it was a couple of hours later when i got a call from my mother telling me they’d attempted suicide immediately after leaving my house. i felt as collapsible as the tunnel our cats never used. everything i was afraid of came true. i’ve lived in fear for a very long time. you’re the first person to show me there is nothing to be afraid of and to love me with no strings attached. you just wanted to understand me as much as i wanted to understand you. you made me feel wanted, but after i’d began wanting myself, too. i’m just happy we met when we did, and i hope you are too. we’re both damaged in different places but maybe the damage only allows for more love to leak out and accumulate in our bloodstreams- just in different ways than we expected. i love you dorian. and i can’t end things i just ramble and connect and ramble and connect until i stop somewhere suddenly. i just love you i love you i love you i love you i love you. i know that i saw angel numbers before we ever met and that angel number turned out to be my life path number (which i found out about a year later). 333. 333. 333. 333. i know if you add 1 to either digit of my birthday you get your birthday (17 & 28). i know we both loved my chemical romance and fetty wap when we were younger. i know your moon is my sun and your rising is my moon and in some strange way that correlates to you telling the same jokes i’m thinking but don’t always have the energy or will to say. i know that i played you a song off the playlist i made for you before i told you it was made for you and you knew it and had sampled it previously and i thought you were fucking with me because it’s not a very well known song. i know that you texted me telling me you found the song and scrapped it and rewrote and recorded it for me and named it after the color of my nails. i know that you are everything i’ve ever wanted in love but could never put into words much like everything else i’ve felt deeply in this life. i know you don’t rush me at thrift stores because you like them as much as i do. i know you and you know me and that’s all i’ve ever wanted. i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you. 

--

The Shadows / Peter & Kerry

Relax my hands on the table Uncurl my fingers to reveal superficial indentations Crescent moon shapes mark the surface of my palms It's twilight: your shadows lurking over again Your shadows lurking over again Try to hinder foolish pride From shooting out my mouth like a gust of wind And blowing out your light All I want is you to shine And I'll wait here with you until sunrise I'll wait here with you until sunrise I'll wait here with you until sunrise I'll wait here with you until sunrise I am blinded by your light Your dark shadows always lurking behind you I am blinded by your light Your dark shadows always lurking behind you And I'll wait here with you until sunrise

[tsfrbss]

Paper Moon Part 11

MB - @thecountessakasha - back again. I hope you’re ready for Part 11!

A/N: Bucky and Steve end up at a venue that has a 40s night and meet an OFC, Melissa Rose, a singer in a local club. They both are smitten by her, and start to vie for her affections. They end up finding out more about themselves in the process.

Word count: 3200+ because I am a wordy bitch.

Warnings: MEGA SUPER SMUT. Yes it’s unprotected. M/M and F/M/M. Melissa being that slightly Domme woman she is. Oh, and cussing. Like always.

STEVE’S POV

I cannot believe this is actually happening. I’m sitting at Melissa’s little kitchen bar with her and Bucky while we eat Chinese and laugh and talk and spill secrets. Everything is feeling right and perfect. It’s as if my world view righted itself and everything fell into its proper place. It feels… like home. Finally like home.

I look between them as they laugh at something or another, and she’s punching his arm at something he’s said and it doesn’t matter because - Oh my god they are a vision together. And they’re mine. They’re both mine.

They stop when they realize I’ve been quiet for a while, just watching them and I hear her silky voice. “Steve honey? You alright?”

Her brows are kinked upward, looking a little worried. Bucky’s head is tilting to the side and he’s looking at me slightly concerned. She’s beautiful. He’s gorgeous. And they’re mine.

“Yeah, doll. I'm…. I’m perfect. I’ve never felt this good in my life.” I shake my head as if I can’t believe it. “I’m just admiring what this grand universe has granted me.”

She reaches over and brushes her thumb against my flushed cheek. Bucky matches her action and I breathe out the most contented sigh.

“I know, pal. I never thought, never dreamed I could be this happy. Certainly not after everything I’ve done. But I look at you and I look at her, and I’m rocked to the bottom of my soul…” Bucky trails off as he looks down.

I know he doesn’t believe he’s worth this, like she doesn’t. And they are, they deserve so much happiness. And I want nothing more than to give it to them as long as I breathe.

I reach for his hand, grasping it before brushing the back of it lovingly with my thumb. He looks up, eyes meeting mine as his lips curl into a soft, sad smile. “We’re going to make this work. We are. You and I have waited far too long. We deserve this.” Grabbing her hand, I add, “We all deserve this.”

Melissa gives a soft sigh of disbelief at the last part, brushing off that thought. I look directly at her, “You do. You deserve happiness. After everything you’ve told us, I’ve never been more sure of anything.” I pull her off her stool quickly and into my lap as she yelps. Chuckling at her reaction, I bury my face into her neck, nipping at the soft skin there making her squirm.

Bucky is behind me suddenly - our food abandoned as he wraps his arms around my waist, lips against my jaw making me moan softly against her.

I link my fingers through his at my hip, letting my head loll to the side to allow him more access. I can feel him inhale deeply before his tongue darts out to taste my skin.

Melissa leans in closer, her lips brushing mine in a gentle kiss before joining Bucky’s at my jaw. Their teeth nip at me, at each other’s lips, then me again and I’m losing all train of thought.

Bucky tugs my hips back against him, and I can feel his arousal pressing against me. Melissa swings her leg over my lap to straddle me, and our breathing quickens. She’s grinding her heated, damp, naked core against the bulge on my jeans each time Bucky pulls me back against his own trapped in his sweats.

I lift my arm and grab behind me pulling Bucky closer by the back of his neck, lost in the feel of him molded to me. Hips, chest, lips, tongue, teeth, his metal hand digging into the flesh of my left thigh. Melissa’s rocking on me, the fingers of my other hand tangling in her hair as we share a rough kiss. This is better than I ever imagined.

She cries out suddenly, her mouth opening fully against mine and it’s then I realize that Bucky is reaching around the other side to tease her wet folds. “Have you tasted her, Steve? Have you tasted our Angel?” His lips brush the skin behind my ear, rutting his swollen, cloth covered cock against my back.

“I have but it will never be enough. Never.” I pull away from her kiss and he’s sliding his fingers over my lips, coated in her slick, rolling the pads of them onto my tongue. Roughly, he takes the same hand and grabbing a thick hank of my hair at the crown, bending me backward to assault my mouth with his as we share her flavor between us.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life. I suck at his lips, nibbling them before letting him slide his tongue over mine. We kiss with an ease and passion like we’ve been doing it for a hundred years. Little whimpers of pleasure are coming from Melissa as she watches us from her perch atop my lap, Bucky’s hand having returned between her legs, teasing her.

He’s toying with her clit, I can tell by the noises she’s making so I slide a hand under his, dipping two fingers into her leaking entrance. The kiss between he and I becomes more hungry and heated and I pump my fingers in and out of her leisurely, loving how she feels around them.

“Angel,” he murmurs against my mouth, “Can you cum for us, right here, right now? You’re close, ain’t ya, sweetheart? I know you are. I can feel you swelling. Your tiny pink little bud, so delicate, so sensitive. She’s tightening around your fingers, isn’t she, Steve?”

I don’t move my mouth from his to answer, “Yes she is, Buck. Christ, she feels so good.” As I lick into his mouth, savoring him, I curl my fingers toward her front wall as he pinches and rolls her little bundle of nerves.

That’s all it takes and she’s falling apart for us, shuddering, “Oooohhh fuck… oh god, Steve, Bucky yes fuck yes my good boys…” Her nails rake down my back and his arm as we bring her through bliss, until she can no longer move.

Her mouth is slack, head slung to the side barely able to hold onto us. She’s collapsed on my chest, and I slip my fingers out of her, mimicking Bucky’s action from earlier and sliding them against his lips before kissing him roughly. I can feel her shaking, little tremors rocking her body while Bucky keeps brushing her clit with his thumb.

“Non, non. Too much,” and she’s sliding off my lap onto her wobbly legs. I catch her, helping her to her feet her robe still halfway open.

Bucky chuckles as he pulls away, “I think we should take her to bed, don’t you?” He’s placing little kisses on my neck, pulling Melissa in close to his chest.

The next thing I know she’s grabbing my hand as she heads down the little hallway, “Well, I certainly agree.” Her laugh echos as we all scramble toward the bedroom.

BUCKY’S POV

We’re all three fumbling toward her - our?- bedroom, giggling like school kids, unable to keep our hands off each other. I pick her up easily and toss her onto the bed, which makes her laugh and it’s SUCH an intoxicating sound.

I take advantage of Steve being distracted by it too, to grab him and kiss him full force, tugging his shirt off over his head. We’re fighting to get each other undressed. His shirt, my shirt. His jeans, my sweats. To our mutual surprise, neither of us are wearing any boxers. We grin, finally getting to feel one another, skin to skin for the first time.

I feel drunk, like back in the day when I could really get drunk, and I can’t stop kissing him. My hands explore every inch, feeling each exposed piece of flesh while he makes little sounds of pleasure doing the same to me.

His fingers find my scar, and he pauses here. It feels like everything slows down suddenly. He gingerly touches it, his eyes tinged with hurt and regret and a deep sadness as he looks me over.

I grab his wrists, stilling them, “It’s not your fault, Steve. Please don’t do that to yourself. It’s not your fault.” I let go of his wrists, cupping his face in my hands, “You didn’t know. You couldn’t know.” I pull him in for a deep, loving kiss, soft yet unyielding.

I can feel him fully relax, then press against me, needy, wanting. Our cocks brush against each other’s and we both moan softly before he’s kneeling suddenly, grasping mine in his hand.

He looks to Melissa, kneeling up beside us on the bed, and she nods, “You want to taste him, don’t you, mon bon petite Captiane?”

A grunt comes from him and I’m getting harder and harder as he grips me tight. My fingers slide into his hair, my legs trembling and she reaches out, pulling his head back so she can look at him, “Steven. Use your words.” Fuck, that tone she uses makes my knees weak.

“Oui, Maîtresse, I do.”

“Then taste him. He wants you to. Look at him, so ready to feel your mouth on him. He’s waited for decades for this, indulge him. You don’t need my approval.”

And he does and I am lost. That I can have him, her, both of them, either of them, all of them. The feel of his mouth on my sensitive head is enough to make me nearly collapse. Seeing him on his knees before me, wanting nothing more than to give me pleasure has me nearly cumming instantly.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted and now it’s happening and I still can’t believe it.

Steve is taking his time, his soft insistent tongue exploring every dip and ridge and and I’m trembling violently. It’s like he’s memorizing me, the feel of me, my scent, my sounds and reactions. Like I did with Melissa.

He looks undeniably beautiful. His mussed blonde hair all spiked in different directions from our hands, skin perfectly flushed pink in all the right places, mouth surrounding my cock as he stares up at me. His grip on my base hasn’t lessened. He keeps pumping, obviously doing to me what he knows feels good to him.

And GOD does it feel good. His tongue runs over my slit tasting the precum that gathered while we were in the kitchen and continues to flow. He lets out a moan at the flavor and I’m only moments from exploding.

“Steve…fuck..” my knees are buckling, “I’m gonna cum Steve, baby, so if you don’t want a mouthful you’re going to have to move.. Oh god..” my hands grip his hair and try to tug him backward, but he snarls possessivly and doesn’t let me back away. He keeps sucking and pumping and finally I release into his mouth, uttering a string of unintelligible words in Russian and English mixed with growls and grunts.

He swallows everything, though it takes him a bit, grinning widely, so proud of himself. I drop to my knees once he’s done, hungrily kissing him, tasting myself on his tongue. “Greedy boy, ain’t ya, jerk?” I murmur lowly as I finally pull back for a breath.

“You’re goddamn right I am, punk. I’ve waited too long for this, I’m not missing a single drop. You’re mine. Every bit of you.” And his hands are suddenly in my hair roughly pulling me into yet another fierce kiss.

We both turn and look at Melissa who has propped herself up against the pillows on her head board, merely watching the show. She’s tossed her robe on the floor somewhere because she’s gloriously laid bare, knees splayed, finger slowly strumming her delicately sensitive clit as she’s taking us in. Her teeth pressing into her bottom lip, a wicked little grin playing at the corner of her lips, she raises a single brow at us.

“You two… are going to be the death of me yet.” Giving a little whimper as she dips a finger inside her deliciously tight entrance then bringing it back to her clit slowly, she looks from me to Steve to me again, merely waiting. Watching. Studying.

It takes about two seconds for Steve and me to scramble up on the bed, both of us lunging for her like wolves stalking prey, burying her beneath kisses and nibbles and strokes and licks. She’s laughing madly beneath us between gasps of pleasure and surprise.

Steve and I each take a leg, spreading her open and begin to kiss slowly up, starting at her ankles, passing her calves, tickling the crooks of her knees with our lips. She’s shaking, the contact from the two of us perhaps overwhelming her.

“Now boys… be gentle with your old lady.” she manages to murmur as her fingers slide into our hair. She tugs at our strands hard before he and I meet at her core. My eyes lock with his and we both begin to feast on her, sharing her between us, kissing each other, then licking her, repeating this over and over before she starts pushing at our heads.

He and I pause our actions, peering up at her as she’s shuddering beneath us. “What’s wrong, Angel?”

She’s looking back and forth between us with a scowl. I’m starting to get worried. I look at Steve and he seems worried, too.

She puts her hands on her hips and intones in a low husky voice, “If one of you don’t fuck me right now I’m kicking you both out.”

MELISSA’S POV

I’m trying, but I can’t hold the frown. I start laughing and I pull Bucky toward me as Steve leans in to capture my lips in a deep, slow kiss. “You keep saying we’re gonna be the death of you, but I think it’s the other way ‘round, Maîtresse.”

I feel Bucky position himself between my legs, his already rock hard cock nudging my entrance gently before sliding all the way in, making me groan against Steve’s mouth which makes him kiss me even harder, my back arching up off the bed. “Fucking hell…”

My fingers tighten in Steve’s hair as Bucky starts the slow drag in and out, already moaning about how good I feel around him. Steve kisses a lazy path from my chin to my jaw to my neck and down my chest before capturing a taut nipple in his mouth, teeth scraping it gently as he tugs on the barbell there. His hand finds my other one and the stimulation is just… fucking incredible.

I feel his mouth suddenly disappear, Bucky having grabbed his hair and pulled him into a deep, heavy kiss. God, I love seeing them together.

I can feel Steve’s arm working his cock as they kiss, hearing Bucky grunt and groan into it as he plows into me. I watch them above me, and between my own moans and whimpers, I manage to get out, “Suck his cock, Sergeant.”

Bucky breaks the kiss to look down at me, teeth pressing into his lower lip. “He’s waited as long as you have. You want to, I know you do. Do it.” I raise my hands to trail down his belly, simply enjoying the feel of him being inside of me.

Suddenly, Bucky flips us around to where he’s on his back and I’m riding him. I reach behind him, propping his head and back up on the pillows against the headboard and Steve crawls over to us. He looks down at Bucky who’s wearing a huge smirk, “Get over here, jerk.”

He reaches out and grabs Steve by the ass, pulling him forward and instantly wrapping his lips around Steve’s swollen head. He growls against him with a particularly sharp buck of my hips, sliding him deeper inside of me.

I watch Steve’s head loll backwards at the initial contact, his hips jerking forward, Bucky’s name tumbling off his lips like a quiet prayer. His long fingers slide into the dark strands of Bucky’s hair, but he doesn’t tug. He just rests them there.

I start to move my hips again and I lean forward to press my lips against Bucky’s collarbone as he works Steve’s cock with that wickedly skillful tongue of his. I make little marks up and down his flesh, whispering what a good boy he is, how well he’s pleasuring Steve and me.

Each time I thrust against his hips he groans against Steve’s cock, and Steve is starting to tremble. “That’s it, come on my good boy, show Steve how much you want him, how much you need him. Look at how well you’re doing, he’s a wreck, Sergeant, and that’s all because of you.”

Bucky must be doing something right, because Steve is already warning him the same way Bucky warned Steve. Not to be outdone, Bucky digs his fingers into the flesh of Steve’s ass, holding him in place as Steve releases into his mouth, a babbling incoherent mess at the end.

He collapses beside Bucky, spent for the moment as Bucky works to swallow what Steve has given him.They’re kissing each other softly now, foreheads pressed together. I pick up the pace, renewed into the moment by what I just saw. Bucky gives a low growl and starts to pound up into me, sitting up to press me against his chest.

He attacks my neck, my shoulders with nibbles and kisses, then moves back a bit as Steve’s nudges him to get at my breasts, mouth latching to my nipple, fingers tugging on the other.

I toss my head back, lost in the pleasure when I feel Bucky’s metal hand slide down to my hip to guide me faster and his flesh hand snake between us to capture my little bundle of nerves. My whole body is trembling and I hear them, chanting for my release, mixed praises, each name for me, “Come on, Angel, let go for us…” “That’s it, Maîtresse, give us what we need, what we crave…”

I can feel it build, it’s right on the edge and finally the thread breaks as I cum around Bucky’s cock, white spots popping in my line of vision. I feel as if I’m floating, disconnected as my mouth tries to frame words and cannot. Something in French, intermingled with their names and a myriad of screams and whimpers, my nails digging into Bucky’s abdomen. His release is immediate once he feels me tighten, spilling into me all he has. “Holy shit, Melissa …. Oh fuck…”

They watch in awe as I come apart for them, one of Steve’s hands now cradling my head so I don’t fall backwards. I can feel his lips tenderly kissing the corner of my mouth while Bucky is licking along my jawline. My bones feel like jelly and I collapse forward onto Bucky’s chest, my head rolling onto Steve’s shoulder as they sit side by side.

“My god, my Angel. I have never seen anything more beautiful than that in my life.” Bucky’s brushing his thumb along my lower lip as he curls the backs of his knuckles against my cheek. Steve is running his fingers through my hair, cooing soft praises against the crown of my head. They lean their heads against each other’s as they cradle me, their faces matching masks of adoration.

I regain my breath, my power of speech and mumble, “Who’s going to be the death of whom?” I laugh softly, still feeling weightless in the strong arms of my two boys.

Exactly where I’m meant to be.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

A Blind Path Home, Part 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: I obviously took some liberties with the storyline, but I tried keeping it as true as possible to the canon history. No beta used this time around, so excuse my mistakes.

Summary: It started with a blind date. A date you had skipped out on, but fate had led you right to the man you stood up. Steve Rogers, a man small in stature but big in heart. A chance meeting set everything in motion, but decades later when he is unfrozen, he has been told you have died. But when a mission to retrieve Hydra plans turned up some interesting information, Steve’s left to wonder whether you are still alive. Or is this all just false hope?

Masterlist

The cool breeze hit Steve’s face as he pulled down on his blue cap and zipped up his jacket. It was the same routine he had followed every Sunday, for a few years now. Started when Tony had retrieved his file from S.H.I.E.L.D and gave it to him. Inside, along with other important papers, was a black and white photograph of one of the best days of his life. You were wearing a simple white dress that came a little past your knees, holding a bouquet of purple tulips. Steve was wearing a black suit, that looked a little too big on him. The two of you were standing in front of city hall, holding hands with big smiles on your faces. The file also included a short summary of how in the summer of 89’, ovarian cancer had taken you from the Earth. Nowhere in the report did it say you remarried or had children, only that you had continued to live in the same basement apartment in Brooklyn until your death.

Steve had beaten himself for months after reading that, angry at himself for leaving you behind. He’d lie awake on his bed many nights, picturing the lonely life you must have lived. The only way he could get some sleep was to convince himself otherwise. But he'd wake up the next morning with the weight of your loneliness on his shoulders once again. He should have never left you, he should have stayed home.

You never wanted him to join the army, but respected and admired that he wanted to do his part. But everything had changed the night before Bucky had to ship off to England. That night had changed the course of the future you thought you’d have with Steve.

“Eat up Sgt. Barnes,” you encouraged the handsome man, scooping another helping of mash potatoes on his plate.

He groaned in pleasure and held a hand to his heart. “A woman after my own heart.”

Steve shook his head and took a healthy bite of meat loaf. “Watch it, Bucky.”

“Ah, come on! We all know Y/N’s your girl,” Bucky winked at you. Laughing at his nonsense you felt a pang of sadness seeing the man, who had by extension was like a brother to you, in his uniform ready to go off to war.

“How are you feeling?” you asked taking a seat next to Steve.

Bucky grinned ad shrugged nonchalantly, “Ready.”

“I’ll be ready too, so don’t win the war without me,” Steve reached for a dinner roll, avoiding eye contact with you.

Your eyes fell to your plate and you could feel Bucky staring at you. “Yeah, well I’ll save a fight or two for you, punk.”

You knew Steve had spent the last few weeks going to every enlistment center in New York  trying to get accepted into the army. You had watched him walk into the apartment everytime, shoulders deflated, but heart undefeated.  Although you wanted him to stay home safe, it was important for you to be supportive. And Steve could be stubborn, no determined, when he wanted to. So even though you prayed he’d stay home, each time he left the house to try at another center, you hoped he’d get in, because you believed in him.

“So a hot date tonight, Buck?” you teased lifting the glass of wine to your lips.

“It’s my last night in the city for who knows how long, so I made a date with the prettiest girl in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sorry Buck, you can’t take Y/N out,” Steve smiled at you, reaching down to take your hand. You squeezed it tightly and beamed at  Bucky, whose eyes smiled at the pair of you. “You’re out of luck, Sergeant.”

“I guess I am,” he chuckled wiping his mouth with a light green cloth napkin. He sighed contently and placed the napkin on his empty plate. “Ma’am, this was the best going away dinner a man could ever have.”

“Ma’am?” you snickered. “What has the army done to you?”

Steve stood up and started collecting the empty plates, but you placed a hand on his wrist. “I got it, Steve.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead before turning to his friend. “So where are you headed tonight?”

Bucky stood up from his seat and started helping you pick up the dishes. “I’m taking my date to the Stark Expo, why don’t you two come along?”

Thirty minutes later the three of you, along with Bucky’s date Edith, were walking around the Stark Expo. Your eyes widen with Bucky’s, the two of marveled over all the newfound technology, even Steve was having a hoot. He held your hand, letting you pull him along toward the exhibition Howard Stark was leading. When Stark came on stage and started talking, Steve’s eyes had wandered off to an Uncle Sam poster, pointing to an enlistment center nearby. Feeling the need and want to go try his luck once more, he pulled you by the waist into his side.

“There’s an enlistment center here,” he nodded to the sign. You smiled at his determination and kissed him on the lips.

“Good luck, soldier,” you tidied up his jacket and rubbed his cheek with a thumb, “When this is done, I’ll meet you there.”

“Sounds good, beautiful.”

You watched him fade in the crowd and wished him luck. You turned back to the exhibit and stood next to Bucky as Stark demonstrated his new invention.

“Your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all!”

You watched as the show ladies removed the tires from the red car and Stark pressed a button on his control pad. You gasped as the car lifted off the ground.

“Holy cow,” Bucky muttered.

“Amazing,” you sputtered out, looking over your shoulder to where the Uncle Sam sign stood. Bucky caught you looking and let out a hard sigh when he realized Steve was gone.

“He didn’t just leave you, did he?” Bucky’s jaw clenched and he pulled down on his uniform jacket.

“Buck,” you started, but he had pushed passed you and moved into the crowd. You inhaled deeply and took Edith’s hand. “Come on, let’s go get the fellas.”

By the time the two of you reached the enlistment center, Bucky and Steve were talking closely. Even from a few yards away, you could see the intensity in Steve’s face. He was telling Bucky how it was, you were sure of it. Telling him how it wasn’t fair that plenty of men were risking their lives and he was doing nothing. You were sure Bucky was trying to talk him out of it, but it would do no good. Steve was adamant on joining the fight and you knew somehow he would. Edith called out to Bucky and  started to walk toward the two friends, but you grabbed her by the elbow. “Give them a minute.”

A wave of relief fell over you as the two men embraced and Bucky started walking toward Edith and you. You said goodnight to Edith and met Bucky half way.

“He’s a stubborn son of bitch,” your friend shook his head roughly, but a smile appeared on his face.

“No. He has heart, Buck,” you placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, be careful out there.”

His smile faded and he embraced you tightly against his chest. “I will. I’ll miss you two lovebirds. Take care of him.”

You pulled away and looked him in the eye, “I should say the same to you, that man’s going to be joining you. I bet it.”

“Ah, well. Then I’ll make sure he’ll get home safely.”

“You too, okay? You get home safely.” Tears started to form in your eyes and Bucky shook his head.

“No crying, go on. Steve’s waiting for his girl,” he pressed a kiss on your forehead and took a step forward, but you called out his name.

“I almost forgot,” you rummaged through your purse and pulled out a small envelope. “Rose asked me to give this to you. She hoped you’d think of her when you’re overseas.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in joy, he took the envelope and quickly peeked inside. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, oh wow. Guess who had to take the photo?”

“No!” Bucky laughed, tucking the envelope into his jacket.

“Yes! So you better take care of that photo.”

He smirked and made his way to you once more, he gave you a quick hug and walked off with Edith. You made your way over to Steve, who was standing there with his hands in his pockets. He asked if you were okay and you nodded, taking his hand in yours. “I’m going to miss that kid, but not as much as I’ll miss you when you get enlisted.”

Steve’s blue eyes flickered to you. “If they eventually break down and take me.”

“They are damn fools if they don’t.”

What you didn’t know was during the argument Steve and Bucky had, an older gentlemen had witnessed the entire exchange. And not just any man. A german scientist named Dr. Abraham Erskine, who had been working on a super soldier serum. He took notice of Steve’s tenacity as he spoke about wanting to fight along with his fellow Americans. A few weeks later, he had gotten in touch with Steve to recruit him into the ‘Strategic Scientific Reserve’ program he was leading.

“Steve, what if this doesn’t work? What if it goes wrong and you die,” you bellowed out into his arms. He smoothed down your hair as the two of you sat on the blue couch, he wanted to forget the whole thing right then. But deep down, he knew he had to do it.

“I’ll be fine, I always am,” he lifted your chin making you meet his gaze.

“I don’t want you to change, I love you as you are,” you placed a hand on his face. “I fell in love with this Steve.”

“I’m the luckiest man alive for that,” Steve moved his head down to you and pressed a warm kiss on your lips. “But I have to do this.”

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you playfully pushed your husband away. “You’re lucky I don’t believe in divorce, Rogers.”

“Lucky me.”

“I’m going to be there when it happens,” you stated.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Steve smiled at you.

You smirked and pushed back into the couch, pressing a hard kiss on his lips. His hand immediately went to your waist, “I’m a very very lucky guy.”

His blue eyes beamed at you, a hand went to your face. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Rogers,” you pressed little kisses from his lips to neck. “Now, can we get started on making little kiddos?”

“We’ve only been married for a few years now,” he laughed running his fingers through your hair.

“But I know you’d make a great dad, I just know it,” you started to unbuckle his belt.

“Ma’am, that is my belt you're unbuckling,” Steve teased.

“Well, then I’ll just stop,” you pushed off him, trying to hide the smile on your face. Steve’s hands gripped at your waist, using all his strength to pull you back down.

“Three kids in this apartment,” Steve steadily unbuttoned your dress top. “Might be a little cramped.”

“We’ll get a bigger apartment, I could never leave this city,” you undid his shirt and revealed his thin frame.

On your wedding night, it was Steve who was a bit shy. At least at first, until you laid next to him and caressed his chest up and down. You had told him to stop the nonsense, that you had married him because you loved him and that was that. You exact words to him were, “So take me like the man I know you are.” And boy did he.

“A bigger apartment than, two girls and one boy,” he murmured under your touch.

You hummed in response and straddled his hips. “Sarah, Ana and Joseph James.”

“Really?” Steve chuckled in disbelief.

“After our mothers, your father and of course Bucky,” you slipped the blue dress over your head and tossed it to the floor. Steve marveled at your body, it left him breathless every time.

“Have I told you how perfect you are?”

You moved down onto Steve’s body, your hair fell over his face. He lifted his fingers to your face and sighed in content. It never failed. Whenever your eyes set on him, Steve felt like the strongest man alive.

“Tell me again.”

“How about I show you?” Steve’s voice came out with strong confidence, making you melt. You moved off him and stood up from the couch, he watched with hungry eyes as you slipped off your silky pink bra. You turned to walk toward the bedroom and shimmied off your matching underskirt, leaving yourself completely bare. Looking over your shoulders, you winked at the panting man on the couch. “Coming?”

“Lucky man, I’m a lucky man,” Steve muttered under his breath as he jumped off the couch and rushed to the bedroom.

You laid on the bed as Steve walked in, his blue eyes flickered to your nude body. He fidget with the zipper of his slacks, pushed them off. You sighed softly, anticipation built up inside you. His fingers guided his white boxers off and his knees made indents on the mattress as he made his way to you. His body hoovered over yours, you felt his hardness against your bent knee. You murmured his name, sending chills down his spine. He pressed a kiss on your neck, working his way to your lips. A hand went to your face, another moved down between your legs. He adjusted himself against you, Steve gazed down at you for permission. You breath out a yes, pressed a hand on his back. He took his time, delicately pushed his way into you. He stilled when he was all in and brushed hair from your face. He asked if you were okay and you pulled him down to you, giving your answer. He grinned sweetly and the two of you started to move together.

This was your favorite part of being with Steve Rogers, he was gentle, loving and always gave his all. And it was always enough, each time. Everytime. Your head dropped into the feathered pillow, you called out his name over and over. His fingers touched every inch of your skin, making you pant like someone who had just ran 25 blocks right through Hell’s Kitchen. His touch entranced you, brought out the vulnerability you hardly showed. You whimpered under him, rising and falling until it was all too much. You begged him to never leave you, tightening your leg around his waist. Steve whispered sweet words into your ear, telling you he’d never leave you. You were his everything, his light. His only home.

The two of you danced together all night long, until it was too much for Steve. It ended with your bodies entangled and sheets on the ground.. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and slid his hand into your hair. He gently massaged your scalp and listened to the lulling of your breathing, until the two of you fell into a deep relaxed sleep.

Steve stood in front of the iron gate of the cemetery, this time without your purple tulips. A few yards away, he saw Bucky standing next to Nat. To the right, a bulldozer and a few work men. Steve inhaled deeply and made the short walk over to your burial site. Bucky caught Steve walking up from the corner of his eye and turned to face his friend.

“They were just about to-”

“I know,” Steve sighed, giving a nod to Natasha. She nudged him lightly and walked over to one of the workers.

“What if she’s not in there,” Bucky questioned.

“And what if she is?” Steve replied, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Which would you prefer?”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes, thinking long and hard. He wasn’t sure. Apart of him wanted the casket to be empty, so he could have that hope of seeing your face again. The other part of him wanted you to be inside it, because he couldn’t bare the thought of you somewhere alive possibly suffering.

“I don’t know, Bucky,” Steve confessed, running a hand over his face.

“Boys,” Natasha called out to them, it was time.

Bucky patted Steve on the shoulder and the two men walked over to the dug up grave. Steve’s heart pounded rapidly as two of the workers moved down into the pit. One of them looked up to Steve, who nodded for them to continue. He held his breath as the men lifted up the maghony wood coffin lid. Steve noticed the perfectly white lining right away and immediately thought how much you would have hated it. You despised anything that was plain white. If he had been there to chose the color of the lining, he would have gone with a light pale blue or even a soft pink. He knew he was focusing on the wrong thing, but his eyes were afraid to look anywhere else, until he felt a hand on his back. He looked to Bucky, who had a soft smile on his face.

“It’s empty, Steve. She’s out there somewhere.”

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[joereid]

Top 10 Movies of 2016

I wrote about my favorites in movies and TV over at Decider last week, but here’s my straight-up Top 10 movies of the year. With apologies to movies I haven’t gotten to yet, most prominently Toni Erdmann, Fire at Sea, Aquarius, and The Love Witch. Also I ranked O.J.: Made in America as my #1 TV show of the year, so it felt redundant to put it here too. No judgments if you ranked it as a movie. Obviously. 

Runners-Up: I thought this turned out to be a GREAT year for movies, best exemplified by the fact that I had a bitch of a time keeping these 15 movies out of my top 10:

#25 The Lobster (director: Yorgos Lanthimos) #24 The Witch (director: Robert Eggers) #23 Kubo and the Two Strings (director: Travis Knight) #22 Everybody Wants Some!! (director: Richard Linklater) #21 La La Land (director: Damien Chazelle) #20 Hunt for the Wilderpeople (director: Taika Waititi) #19 Love & Friendship (director: Whit Stillman) #18 Sing Street (director: John Carney) #17 Lion (director: Garth Davis) #16 Other People (director: Chris Kelly) #15 Fences (director: Denzel Washington) #14 Julieta (director: Pedro Almodovar) #13 Certain Women (director: Kelly Reichardt) #12 Cameraperson (director: Kirsten Johnson) #11 Mountains May Depart (director: Zhangke Jia)

My Top 10 Movies of 2016

10. Jackie (director: Pablo Larrain) It took me a while to get into the headspace of Jackie, and what a strange little animal it seemed then. Natalie Portman's accent seemed insane, the scenes felt overly gauzy and frustratingly vague, the score felt overworked. But the more time I spent with Jackie, the more intoxicated I was by whatever fog the movie exists in. Portman's performance clicked, the specificity of Larrain's focus felt more and more revolutionary, and the whole enterprise felt an exhilarating experiment on memory, idolatry, and the spaces at which our politics and our myth-making converge. 9. The Invitation (director: Karyn Kusama) I write a lot about movies on Netflix for my job, but by FAR my favorite discovery of the year was the meticulously built suspense of The Invitation. From the opening credits winding ominously through the Hollywood Hills to the slowly dawning terror of the final moments, I haven't felt this tense through the entire run of a horror movie since The Strangers. Featuring some great performances (in particular Tammy Blanchard, Logan Marshall Green, and John Carroll Lynch), and a premise that draws upon every time someone at a party told you they just started seeing a new yoga instructor.

8. Silence (director: Martin Scorsese) A nearly three-hour, racially dubious meditation on faith from a director who's provided me with more peer-pressure guilt trips from film critics than actual movies I've enjoyed over the last decade was not adding up to something I figured I'd enjoy. But Silence is more than just the best Scorsese movie since ... The Aviator? Goodfellas? It's a committed, rigorous, and deceptively complex story about faith and imperialism, anchored by an Andrew Garfield performance of such thoughtful vulnerability that it makes you incredibly grateful that Marty took a break from Leonardo DiCaprio. Also Rodrigo Prieto's cinematography is breathtaking.

7. Hail, Casear! (director: Joel and Ethan Coen) I like when the Coens are having fun. I know the knock on them is that they're supposed to be looking down their noses on their audience and having a laugh at their expense, but all I found in Hail Caesar! was an affection for people who dedicate their lives to something as silly and often contradictory as the movie business. Josh Brolin is probably doing better work than I give him credit for at the center, but I won't apologize for all of my attention going to Channing Tatum's dancing and Alden Ehrenreich's rope tricks. 

6. Manchester by the Sea (director: Kenneth Lonergan) When the narrative about this one got boiled down to a) it's unspeakably sad, and b) it's white-male feeeeeelings pornography, I was confused. Well, maybe not confused; I know how Twitter works. More dismayed. To me, Manchester by the Sea is Kenneth Lonergan at his finest, and that means so much more than simple grief or patriarchy or for Pete's sake "Oscar bait." Lonergan infuses his movie with so much more humor, so much more complexity, so much more recognizable feeling than you're expecting by the description. The relationship between Casey Affleck and Lucas Hedges's characters defies any kind of prescribed arc, instead presenting two characters who fit at impossibly odd angles.

5. Little Men (director: Ira Sachs) Ira Sachs has become so good at making movies about how the Big Things in life — love, family, fellowship, generosity, power, resentment — are inextricable from the small things. In the movies, we tend to gloss over things like rent or income or expense. Making it work is a matter of will or serendipity, usually both. In Little Men, Greg Kinnear and Paulina Garcia are good people whose resentments would usually be overcome in a movie by a grand act of love or charity or luck. Sachs knows better, but he also knows that the sum of life and the beauty of lives isn't about it all working out. And that's only the groundwork in this lovely movie featuring a central friendship of boys that is as beautiful, sweet, and gently painful as anything this year.  

4. Moonlight (director: Barry Jenkins) Moonlight features such strong, simple storytelling, and that economy of language is all Barry Jenkins, and he deserves all the praise he's getting for it. But that's not the reason we're talking about this movie. There's something truly remarkable when strong filmmaking meets revelatory acting meets the kinds of stories and lives that we are STARVING for. There's sadness here, yes, and tragedy, but I can't help but feel an undercurrent of celebration just for the radical act of making poetry out of lives that are usually not even afforded prose. 

3. 20th Century Women (director: Mike Mills) What a difference it makes listening to Annette Bening narrate about the universe and mortality versus listening to Ewan McGregor talk about same. I could never latch onto Beginners, despite the fact that its subject matter was targeted right in my general direction. But in his follow-up, Mike Mills had me cast under a spell from moment one. Bening is superb, playing a woman who's both incredibly wise and incredibly aware of how much she doesn't know. Any shot of her silently reacting to another character is to be treasured forever. And my darling Greta Gerwig does such wonderful, beautiful work as a scene partner here, taking her moments when they come but also as supportive an ensemble player as she's ever been. But it's those moments of narration, where the plot of the movie gives way to the longview, and we get to ponder a bit about the long arcs of time, and it was so beautiful, I nearly melted into my seat.

2. American Honey (director: Andrea Arnold) Andrea Arnold's great big American road trip is sprawling and sweet, dangerous and and desirous. It doesn't work for everyone, and I think I get that. But even if Arnold isn't seeing America through a photorealistic lens, the version of America she's showing us feels true in its emotions and textures and jealousies and desperations and explorations. Sasha Lane, Shia LaBeouf, and Riley Keough are standouts in the cast, but the movie truly comes alive in the group scenes, where the energy of a whole generation explodes into something visceral and charged.

1. Arrival (director: Denis Villeneuve) I first saw Arrival at the Toronto Film Festival in September, and I was blown away by its emotion and intelligence in service of a sci-fi story that became a story about language and bridging unbridgeable gaps. I next saw Arrival a few days after the election, when the film's ideas about facing fearsome and unknown futures and seeing the end from the beginning were all the more moving. What's beautiful about Arrival — besides the photography and the music and Amy Adams — is how our only salvation grows out of achieving complete and total empathy and nothing less. Thats what unlocks everything. It's a beautiful message in a movie that might normally have merely been an exquisitely crafted, deeply emotional sci-fi tale. I didn't see anything else that year that blew me away so thoroughly.

[ricardotomasz]

Such is life! Behold, a new Post published on Greater And Grander about Interview With Filmmaker Willow Polson

See into my soul, as a new Post has been published on http://greaterandgrander.com/2019/10/interview-with-filmmaker-willow-polson/

Interview With Filmmaker Willow Polson

Willow Polson is an award-winning writer-producer with decades of experience who creates entertainment that educates, inspires, and makes the world a better place. When not working she enjoys growing African violets and doing crafts like embroidery and beadwork. She lives in Northern California near Yosemite with her husband, son, a few cats, a variety of wild animals, and an infinite number of pine trees.

Why did you get into the entertainment industry?

It was a combination of two things happening at once. I was reading Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury, which got the idea 50% through my head that you should write what you love, because there's always a market for passionate and well-told stories. The other half of the equation was that the TV show Heroes came out, and I was in awe. “People write this, and it actually gets made, and other people can watch it?” It was incredibly inspirational to me. I've been a writer for nearly 30 years, but primarily in non-fiction “how-to” books and projects, so 2007 was the year I let myself shift focus into storytelling on a professional level.

How old were you when you made the decision?

The decision-making process for the entertainment business overall was more of a series of small decisions and experiments to see what made sense to do. The writing came first, including comics, novels, and scripts. Actual on-set production experience came in 2013, and directing after that. There actually is “the moment” when I decided that I wanted to work in TV/film for the rest of my life. I had become friends with Tim Kring, creator and showrunner of Heroes and had met up with him at an event in August of 2012 (making me 46 at the time). As I was walking him back to his car, he said “Hey, we're shooting at the beach tomorrow, do you want to come?” Obviously YES, so the next morning I found myself at Santa Monica Pier, sitting in video village next to Tim, watching them film episode 2.01 of Touch. I was there all day, and one of the last shots was where Jake draws a spiral in the sand at the beach. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and I'd just spent all day watching this incredible process, talking to everyone I could, and I'm sitting there in a director chair next to the showrunner. That was “the moment.” I turned to him and said “This is what I want to do for the rest of my life.” Tim, being the charming smartass that he is, replied, “What, sit on the beach?” “Haha... no... I want to do this,” I said, gesturing around at the crew. “I want to make TV shows.”

What was the first project you worked on?

In terms of production, actually being a producer for the first time on a working set, it was Vintage America with Ginger.

We made it ourselves. I had met Ginger Pauley through Heroes, she played Peter and Nathan's grandmother in a 1960s flashback episode. She was musing how she wanted her own vintage show, and I said “why can't you?” So we pooled resources and a few months later we were shooting footage at the Oviatt Building in downtown LA. 

What are your future goals?

To make my own stories on my own terms, to be showrunner on my own shows outside the old studio system. The old model is a dinosaur that's still deeply entrenched in a rigid gatekeeper framework. It's not designed for creativity or innovation or fairness. It is not the meritocracy a lot of people think it is.

Did you go to film school?

I did not. Everything I've learned has been through direct experience on sets, including Tim letting me observe the process as much as he could, making our own shows like Vintage America with Ginger, and working on other productions.

What did you do for a day job while looking for showbiz work?

I worked at the front desk of a boutique hotel near Yosemite, then moved into Marketing Manager which also meant running the hotel's live event slate. A lot of those skills direct translate into filmmaking, because when it's 8:00 pm and the show lights go on, everything has to be ready to go at that moment. It's the same with film. Pre-production is key to making sure everything is where it needs to be when the director says “action.”

When did you decide to stop working for free?

That's still sort of a moving target. It's very difficult to get paid work in my area, and for a woman over 50 at all anywhere. I'm also rather done with the experiences of getting bitched out on set over things I had no control over, and being set up to fail, so at this point I am also extremely selective about taking paid work from people I don't know well.

What are you currently working on, and how did you arrive here?

I currently have it narrowed down to a slate of four things: Vintage America with Ginger (22-minute lifestyle non-fiction series), Hidden Gems (11-minute travel/history web series), Manos: The Debbie Chronicles (11-minute supernatural dramedy web series), and Triune, my passion project (1-hour supernatural/sci-fi drama series). Each of them has a Facebook page and Hidden Gems has a Patreon. We're doing a PBS “viewers like you” funding model for Hidden Gems, giving individuals the opportunity to support the show for as little as $2/month because they love the concept and the content. https://www.patreon.com/hiddengemstv 

What are the biggest mistakes a person can make when they first start working in the industry?

Thinking you know everything and/or specializing in one department to the point that you don't know what other people on your set do exactly. Talk to each other, especially between departments. Watch and listen. If you don't know something, ask. Every set is different, every group has their own lingo and methods. Every shoot is an opportunity to learn something new. Stick your ego in a coffee can and bury it in the yard, nobody is impressed by namedropping some person you met once when you have another setup to get through ten minutes before lunch is called.

Did you ever come across a project or a person that looked promising, and then the whole thing blew up in your face?

Not “blew up in my face” levels of failure, no, but I've definitely come across people who turn into nightmares to work for. At first they seem fine and reasonable, so I think what happens is they either crack under the pressure of production, or get comfortable in their position of authority over you, or probably both. I've had people demand that I be available 24/7 so they can message/text/call me at all hours, gaslight me, interrupt constantly and become extremely condescending, literally get right up in my face about things that weren't my fault, not give me the information I needed to do my job, and take tasks away because they didn't trust me to do the job they had just hired me for. Life's too short for this level of crap, and I deserve better. I have walked from a few jobs as a result. 

Were you ever put in a position that you were asked to compromise your artistic integrity?  What did you do?

This has really only happened when pitching shows to production companies. For example, with Vintage America with Ginger, one company said “Can you trash it up a little? Maybe we follow Ginger to her house and she gets in a fight with her husband...?” We said NO. I will compromise on a few things on some projects if it makes sense for the market, but something like that? Gross. And no, I will not make one of the three Mason brothers randomly a girl just so there's a girl sibling in Triune. Both of these examples fall under the heading of “they absolutely do not get what this project is.”

Were you ever put in a position where you were asked to compromise your moral integrity?  What did you do?

Yes, there was one shoot where I felt there was a very real danger that someone was going to get killed on set. I walked away early on from that one because I wasn't being listened to about safety, and I did not want to be there when it happened (fortunately everyone made it out alive).

What’s been the highest point of your career so far?

Probably being on the Television Academy ballot for the Emmys. There are a lot of great moments that make me smile which aren't “the highest point of my career,” but honestly those moments are just as important for different reasons. We have to always remember why we got into this business in the first place. 

#California, #Film, #Screenwriting, #ScriptWriting, #Television, #Writing