#to someone so globally dangerous and so beautiful and so in control

[manlarp]

Accessible radfem ideology masterpost

This post is for anyone who wishes to learn about true radical feminist or ‘TERF’ principles without trawling through academic reading or sources biased against us. The linked posts are of varying lengths and it is not a complete list; I may add more in the future. Other radfems, feel free to add your own links and categories.

Terminology:

TERF - Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist (refers to excluding trans women from feminism because they are biological males, NOT excluding trans men)

SWERF - Sex-Worker Exclusionary Radical Feminist (refers to the belief that sex work is not ‘work’ but rather, rape, and we do not support it. We include all women in our feminism, ESPECIALLY prostituted women.)

TEHM - Trans-Exclusionary Homosexual Male (essentially the same as a TERF, but males cannot be radfems.)

GC - Gender Critical (someone who does not believe in or agree with the socially constructed concept of gender, someone who believes only in biological sex, not gender roles)

TIM - Trans-Identified Male (trans woman, MTF)

TIF - Trans-Identified Female (trans man, FTM)

AGP - Autogynephile (a man who is aroused by seeing himself as a woman)

AAP - Autoandrophile (the far rarer case of a woman who is aroused by seeing herself as a man)

HSTS - Homosexual Transsexual (for example, a trans man who is only sexually attracted to other biological females)

TRA - Trans Rights Activist 

SSA - Same sex attracted 

OSA - Opposite sex attracted

What is a TERF? What does it mean to be gender critical? What is a radical feminist?

“Radical Feminist theory analyses the structures of power which oppress the female sex. Its central tenet is that women as a biological class are globally oppressed by men as a biological class...” read more about the definition of radical feminism at radfemcollective.org

radicallyaligned radfem masterpost

Plain and simple

What we say, vs. what you hear

What TERFs actually want

Radfems supporting trans rights

Porn

Radical feminists oppose pornography that exploits women and contributes to their exploitation. 

Why are you against porn?

A short quote from John Stoltenberg, the husband of Andrea Dworkin

If porn was so empowering...

Porn is NOT consensual

Porn ruins relationships

Proof that porn is harmful

Porn vs romance novels

Porn is exploitative

Abortion and pregnancy

Radical feminists are pro-choice: women should never be forced to carry a baby.

Criticising pro-choice arguments

If a man has sex with 100 women...

Why women’s opinions on abortion matter the most

Surrogacy

Pregnancy Math

The dangers of pregnancy

Women as a class

Birth control

Makeup, clothing, physical attractiveness

Radical feminists oppose the way that women are forced into wearing makeup, wearing sexualised clothing, and judged solely by their physical attractiveness. 

‘Makeup is a choice’...

The U word

The problem with girls’ clothing

Dieting

Shaving

Sexualised sport uniform

Sex-specific beauty standards

Plastic surgery

Men hate all women

Prostitution

Radical feminists believe no man should ever pay a woman for ‘sex’ (we believe it is a form of rape, through financial blackmail).

‘Sex work is real work’ - so?

Prostitution is a WOMEN’S issue

Catharine MacKinnon: If prostitution is a choice...

A truly deranged take courtesy of Twitter

Another deranged take

When prostitution is glorified

This is more common than you think

What exactly is a woman? Circular logic and sexism galore

Most radfems will quote the phrase ‘adult human female’ in response to questioning what is meant by ‘woman’. Female is defined as ‘ of or denoting the sex that can bear offspring or produce eggs, distinguished biologically by the production of gametes (ova) which can be fertilized by male gametes.’

Trans women: a caricature of femininity

Uterus havers and chest feeders

Breastfeeding, hair, etc.

Male strength

Sexist language under the guise of inclusivity

Representation / The Female Experience

Radfems believe in ‘sex based oppression’.

Female experiences

Girlhood

Google searches

Misogyny begins from conception

The objectification and sexualisation of women through media

Language and Gender

Climbing trees

‘Real men protect’

Menstrual huts

This is a post which made me lose the will to continue living

Men don’t want you to realise you’re a woman

‘Not all men’

Drag queens

Victim blaming

Female characters

Female characters are supposed to be role models women and girls can look up to, but as the majority of the time they are written by men, they end up being sexist caricatures of what women truly are.

The sexual appeal of ‘childish’ female characters

Why was Teen Titans cancelled? The ‘female market’

GNC women in media

Female characters that create dysphoria

Sexist psychology

There is a long history of the field of psychology contributing to the subjugation of women through false and misleading ‘research’.

Stockholm Syndrome myth

The ‘highly therapized abuser’

Mental illness and barriers to ‘help’

More men claiming women have it easier

On the medical transition of children

Radical feminists are opposed to the transition of children, especially medical.

If you’re not old enough to consent to sexual intercourse...

‘Transing kids’

The suicide myth

Sex, BDSM, heterosexual relationships

Radfems are acutely aware of the standards forced onto women by men, be it during sex, division of labour in the household, emotional labour, etc.

Men being praised for the bare minimum 

Oral sex double standards

BDSM is harmful

Dee L. R. Graham, “Loving to Survive: Sexual Terror, Men’s Violence, and Women’s Lives”

Even Louis C.K, a known sexual abuser, gets it

The link between self harm and BDSM

Is the missionary position boring?

The way that the sex positive movement was derailed

‘Aftercare’

On ‘pick me’ girls

Man breaks his girlfriend’s spine during sex

Rape

Almost all rapists are men. Almost all rapists rape women.

Consent

Women are most likely to be rape victims

Safewords, roleplay 

Power and rates of sexual violence/pedophilia

Statistics on sexual assault

Necrophilia

Same Sex Attraction / What does it mean to be gay?

Radical feminists believe that being homosexual is being attracted to the same sex. Trans women cannot be lesbians and trans men cannot be gay men, because of their biological sex.

The only universal gay quality

Being T is a trend, being LGB is not

Lesbianism

Many radfems are lesbian, but not all of them. The community has strong ties to lesbians.

Children of same sex parents

Renée Vivien

The Ellen/Elliot Page situation 

Lesbians and gender

‘Queer’ is a slur 

This is not a specifically radical feminist idea but it ties in to the social contagion of identifying as LGBT despite not being same-sex attracted.

Bitch Studies

Queer as a catch-all term

Transition and internalised homophobia, misogyny, and body dysmorphia

Radical feminists believe gender dysphoria is comorbid with many other issues, and transition is not the best way to treat it.

Trans men who don’t want to be lesbian

Treating Anorexia vs Treating Gender Dysphoria

Transmasculine culture

Backwards logic

How can you be a trans radfem?

How to deal with dysphoria

Being trans is a mental illness

Regression

Joan of Arc was a trans man

Non-binary

Radical feminists recognise the two biological sexes. They do not agree with the socially constructed concept of gender.

Two types

Two types AGAIN

Anything but a woman

Trans lies and guilt tripping

Trans people are time and time again caught manipulating others for sympathy and gain.

Criticising trans women is dangerous

Being ‘stealth’

Trans women doing absolutely nothing to support women’s rights 

What trans rights actually means

Conversion therapy 

Conversion therapy part II

The truth about the violence TERFs pose

Death threats and other vitriol received by radfems

Radical feminists are often the targets of death and rape threats.

Double standard

Propaganda and lies about radfems

‘Punch a terf’

‘You must hate men’

An example of how something can be both funny and horrifying

Why transition and trans identities are harmful

The very concept of a trans identity is sexist and uses sexist rhetoric like ‘girls like pink, boys like blue’ to justify itself.

Genital surgery

Whatever this is

Autogynephilia

The history of the trans movement

Knitted penises for babies and toddlers

Grooming people into trans identities

More grooming

Detransition

People who detransition no longer identify as transgender. Some become radical feminists and/or gender critical.

JK Rowling shares an article on detransition by Laura Dodsworth

Detransition statistics

Babying men

Men seem to be coddled over issues they themselves created.

Male suicide myths

Men’s rights activists

MEN SUFFER TOO!

When the patriarchy backfires

More on male suicide and why they do it

The Devil’s Advocate

Women can rape too!!!11

Male violence

Male violence is the most common type of violence by an enormous margin.

Myths on female violence

What do all male murderers have in common?

By whom are women abused?!

Serial killers

Rates of female offenders

Mass shooters

You cannot blame women for reproducing patriarchy

Trans women committing violence

Trans women are portrayed as an oppressed demographic prone to murder, but they are actually one of the safest demographics out there. Most trans women who are murdered are sex workers, which further supports radfems’ anti-prostitution stance.

Articles about trans women committing crimes against women and girls

More articles

False equivalence between race issues and gender issues

Comparing trans issues to racism is insensitive and unhelpful.

Hypocrisy 

Intersectional feminism

Radfems believe other factors come into women’s oppression, such as race, sexuality, class, and ability. 

Maya Angelou on the difference between White American womanhood and Black American womanhood

Living in fear as a Black person

#IfTheyGunnedMeDown

‘Angry black woman’ stereotype

Cultural relativism

Evolution and genetics

‘White people invented gender’

What is misogynoir?

Women’s rights in Afghanistan

Women’s rights in Afghanistan under the Taliban

The similarities between Jewish e-converts and trans people

The pressure to marry in desi culture

Religion is not feminist

The major religions of today are found to perpetuate sexism.

Islam

Subservience is not natural

Atheism

Body positivity and body neutrality 

Learning to love yourself as you are is an important tenet of radical feminism.

Being kind to yourself

My body will not be censored

Our bodies are for living

In favour of separatism

Many radical feminists discuss the idea of separatism, where women live apart from men.

Why I love radical feminism

Men are parasites

Liberation

Pure misandry

Let’s face it; women are superior.

Physical strength isn’t the only advantage...

Men are the inferior sex

Radfem memes to make you smile

Who said feminists can’t be funny? (probably men...)

If your feminism doesn’t include...

Serfs

Something smells terfy

Transfemme Asks

Transmasc Asks

When I was aborted

Tumblr in a nutshell

Ronald Reagan says trans rights

Thank you for reading. You can send me an ask or DM if you have further questions.

[archangelsquill]

to hell and back || damien darkblood x reader 

pairing: damien darkblood x partner reader (gn, no y/n)

fandom: invincible

word count: 1448

summary: after omni-man flees earth and things begin to settle down, cecil feels he owes you -- the demon detective’s partner in solving crime -- a favor.

warnings: none

a/n: a sequel to this. darkblood deserves better, and by the gods, i’m giving it to him! enjoy, my fellow simps.

———

“If anything happens to them, on your head it will be, Cecil!”

Those were the final words of the demon as the pits of hell called him home, and as Cecil met his gaze, he knew it was no threat. It was a promise, and though he considered himself a bastard, Cecil saw no need to keep you in danger. He knew without Darkblood around, you were a target for Nolan. He’d already had security detail on you, but against Omni-Man, he knew it was useless. If he ever decided he wanted you dead, there’d be nothing stopping him.

Then, if Cecil was lucky (or maybe unlucky) to stay out of the warpath, he’d have Darkblood breathing down his neck, even with such distance between this world and his.

Sending him back to Hell wasn’t something Cecil wanted to do. It was a necessity. He owed him big time for that, and he’d start with keeping you off Nolan’s radar.

The official report was that you’d gone to stay with an imaginary Aunt Sue, somewhere in the Dakotas, but the reality was you were to be kept in the Global Defense Agency Headquarters -- well hidden, out of sight, and away from Nolan Grayson.

No one told you a thing. You’d been in your apartment, waiting for Damien to show up with those coffees he’d promised. Evidence, photos, and papers of theories and notes were scattered around the small space, occupying every inch of surface area, as you paced, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger and stronger the longer your demon detective was away. Something was wrong, and as Cecil Stedman appeared suddenly before you, making you jump out of your skin, you knew for sure. 

“You’re the demon’s partner, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I guess you’re Cecil.”

“You guess right. You need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“You’re not safe anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t answer your questions now. Pack a bag. You won’t be coming back for a while.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have a choice.

The Global Defense Agency took care of your monthly expenses while you were gone, as if that made any of this less scary or confusing. All you’d been told was Damien was back in Hell, Cecil put him there, and you were in danger.

No one told you much else. Cecil had acted civil toward you -- kind, even -- but it didn’t help. Damien was gone, it was Cecil’s fault, and life may never be normal again.

All because you two asked questions.

Because you wanted the truth.

And you both had paid the price: freedom.

Meanwhile, Omni-Man roamed free, ready to kill again.

You lost count of how long you’d been at GDA HQ when Nolan finally struck.

Initially, you’d been barred from the control room, but Cecil let you choose to watch the chaos or stay blind to it.

You choose not to watch. No one needed you to be in the room when all of the ruin, disaster, and chaos you and Damien knew would happen happened. Based on what Cecil told you after, you were glad you decided to stay out of it.

All of those innocent people, now dead. All of that destruction. All of that carnage, and for what? Omni-Man had fled.

It was for nothing.

And Debbie…

You’d offered as much comfort as you could. You knew how it felt to lose a loved one (it took all you had not to look pointedly at Cecil when you told her that) and the woman needed someone to lean on. Someone not quite so cold as Cecil.

And he’d watched you. Despite everything, you comforted Debbie and Mark, putting on a brave face as if you haven’t lost everything, too. Cecil knows you’re still hurting -- why wouldn’t you be?

Cecil was many things, and a man who paid his debts was absolutely one of them.

He’d been searching since he put Darkblood back in Hell for it: the spell to undo what he did. To summon him back. His plan was always to bring him back, if such a thing existed. He’d had his people looking for months with no luck, and he’d already given you the all clear to go home, with the promise your rent and utilities were paid for until you could get back on your feet.

Yeah. Right. How the fuck do you do that? Your partner -- not only in profession but your partner -- was gone, your office had been trashed, and your apartment felt so empty it was somehow suffocating.

For weeks after you’d returned, you’d laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, jumping at any change in the temperature, hoping one day you’d look up and see him, only to find it was the apartment complex’s shitty circulation.

The news talked about things going back to normal, yet normal sounded like a foreign language now. How was the world supposed to be any kind of normal again?

Cecil made a few visits to check on you, but you regarded him with coldness that could rival that of Damien’s. He couldn’t blame you.

You’d lost track of the days when the sigh that escaped your lips was accompanied by a small fog. You froze, sitting up from your temporary home on the couch before exhaling again. Just to be sure.

And there it was again: the small visage of your breath indicating the decrease in temperature you’d been ignoring out of lost hope.

“Damien…?”

“Yes, amare?” the gruff baritone was music to your ears as you turned toward your kitchen. There he was: red, large, and intimidating -- yet that soft look in his gaze remained, as if no time at all had passed.

“Damien!” you leapt over the couch, nearly tumbling to the ground before two strong arms grab you, pulling you into the warmest yet coldest bear hug you’ve ever gotten.

“Sorry for delay. Had to...speak with Cecil...” he rumbles, clawed hand carding through your hair, “Need to be ‘debriefed’ but...had to see you.”

“I can tell you what you missed.” you mumble, burying your face in his arms. He pulls you tighter still, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Later,” he says.

And for a moment -- how long, you’re not sure -- you both just sit there on the living room floor, holding each other in a silent, loving embrace. Tears stream down your face, stinging from the cold emanating from Damien. His hand moves to brush them away, and the contact makes you cry more. You missed him. It had been so long.

After what felt like forever, you part -- just enough to look at each other. He, of course, looks no different. Demons didn’t age like humans did. You, however, probably look like shit. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in forever, but you knew your hair was much longer. You hadn’t bothered to get it cut in...how long had it been? It wasn’t like you could’ve gotten it cut, anyway. The city had been rebuilding, and getting anywhere was...well, hell.

“Beautiful as the day I lost you,” he says, and your tears well up again.

“I know I look like shit, Damien,” you say, trying to laugh off the sudden absence of your grief. He smiles slightly -- a rare sight.

“To me you look like heaven, amare,” he replies.

Amare. His nickname for you. You think its Latin, but you’ve never looked into what it means. You never asked, either, assuming he’d just tell you one day.

But you almost lost him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into it after he was gone, and now that he was here again….you decide to ask.

“You’ve called me that since we became partners. What does it mean?”

“Supposed to be a detective.” he replies. His own attempt at a joke, you muse. You’re in no mood for it.

“Damien, please.”

He looks at you fondly, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“Love. It means love.”

You should’ve figured, yet you find yourself crying again, and his arms wrap tighter around you in a protective, loving embrace.

There was more to be said between you two. You both know it. What happened to Damien in Hell? How did everything with Nolan go down here? Now that Cecil knew how to banish and summon Damien as he pleased, what would become of your demon detective?

All need answers. Resolutions.

But not now.

Now was the time for healing: for the world, for humanity, and for you and your demon in that tiny apartment.

You had him back, and though so much hangs in the air, that was enough.

[angstsfordays]

Beautiful Pain (1)

Chapter One- A post-Blip world

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Post-Blip, you find yourself more alone than ever as old friends are forever gone. You and Bucky struggle with finding life's purpose while trying to move on.

Warnings: Angst. A lot of guilt and self-blaming. Spoiler for ep 1 if you haven't seen it!

Word count: 2.4k

Notes: Here's the first chapter of the series! Check out the prologue if you have not done so! It gives you an insight into the OC's background and history with Bucky before TFATWS.

Hope you enjoy this read!

Opening up a tag list for the first time since I have gotten a request! Message or comment to let me know!

Leave a like, reblog or comment to let me know what you think! 🥰

Previous: Prologue | Next: Chapter Two |

-------------------------//---------------------------

Present-day

Bucky felt his heart stopped for a moment when he realised what he was about to do to the terrified man from his dreams. Before he could imagine the next scene, his eyes flew wide open and he immediately sat up.

Assessing his surroundings to see that the television was still on, he realised he was home and have woken up from a nightmare. Even though Hydra’s brainwashing has been removed, the memories from his dark past continued to plague him.

The summer blanket you got for him pooled around his waist, his right hand reached out to give it a soft squeeze. The soft texture of the fabric comforted him emotionally as he sat on the cold hard floor. As he regained steady breathing, he looked around to see that it was still the early hours of the night.

He reached out for his flip phone- the one you couldn’t believe he insisted to buy over a regular smartphone. Pressing the buttons, he went to his inbox to see an unread message from you. Bucky contemplated opening it but decided to continue when he decided he wanted to hear from you.

Ever since the blip occurred, the days and weeks seemed to be a blur. Sooner than he realised, six months had just passed like that.

When Steve decided to go back to the past for good, all three of you including Sam were at a sudden loss. Bucky was disappointed but not surprised at Steve’s decision. Sam wanted the best for Steve and showed his support.

However, you were the most affected out of the group. He knew that despite putting a brave front, you were struggling with the loss of your friends in a short span of time. After all, you had spent a good amount of time with the Avengers and had a developed a close relationship with most of the team.

Bucky remembered how you immediately slumped to the floor when you heard the news about Natasha. You were at a loss of words before you started to break down when Steve went to comfort you. You always regarded Natasha as an older sister so her death hit you hard.

He recalled how you held back your tears at Tony’s funeral as you did not want to further bring down the atmosphere when Pepper and Morgan were there. He remembered how Tony was like an annoying but endearing older brother.

When Steve was disappeared from his spot, you didn’t think much of it thinking he would return in a matter of seconds after returning the stones. However, when all three of you looked to see an ageing Steve, you were the first to run up to him. Despite the astonishing expression that painted your face, you reached out to hold Steve’s hands to check if he was real.

Steve’s decision to pass Sam the shield was no surprise to Bucky. Even though Bucky found Sam irritating at times, Bucky knew he was a good man.

While you chose to accept Steve’s choice, it started to sink into your mind that the people once closest to you were gone or getting further. Bucky remembered how you were reluctant to let Steve walk away and Steve let you hold onto him longer.

You and Bucky decided to not let each other be alone that night. You two figured that at least you had each other and you wanted to cherish that.

-------------------—---//----------------------------

Moving forward, Sam had decided to find work with the U.S air force. Sam checked in on Bucky from time to time but Bucky contemplated to respond. After being pardoned for his past, Bucky found himself compensated but he still felt like a prisoner.

He was required to attend court-mandated therapy sessions to make sure he was doing well. You know that it was just a way for the government to have him under surveillance and in check.

He might be the oldest prisoner of war but he was still a super soldier and one with a vibranium arm. Bucky knew he was still deemed as dangerous in their eyes.

When you and Bucky discussed how to move forward, he confided that he wanted to make amends and you showed your support. When he asked about you, you seemed hesitant and a little lost for an answer.

The Avengers are gone. There was no more S.H.I.E.L.D.

Who were you now? What are you fighting for? What is going to be your purpose moving forward? These were all the questions swimming in your head.

You were reluctant to tell Bucky yet but a government official had paid you a visit while you were waiting for Bucky to finish his therapy session.

You were offered a position in a task force to maintain global security in light of a post-blip world. Given your abilities, you were viewed as an invaluable asset. However, you knew better than to take their words for it.

Revealing your hesitance, the official took a harder approach and laid out the truth. You were viewed as a potential threat if you were to not co-operate with the government. You are an unsupervised enhanced individual that is roaming freely. They do not want to allow that in the event that you were to do anything out of your own jurisdiction.

It was the Sokovia Accords all over again, you thought. The official added that you no longer had the Avengers team to fall back on. His words only added to the ache in your heart as you were reminded of your lost friends.

Additionally, he let off that Wanda had been involved in an event that caused the government to review their management of enhanced individuals in the country. Wanda was out of their reach but you were still around. They knew that you have been sticking by Bucky and thus decided to come for you.

Remembering Steve's words from the times of the civil war between the Avengers, you were not able to let yourself trust any words that the official said.

You didn’t want to let yourself be controlled especially by the government whom you knew had hidden agendas that they would not reveal to you. Their words of praises of how you would be a great addition made you felt like you would be nothing more than a tool in their master plans.

“What if I refuse?” You spoke to the official. The official's eyes hardened and his jaw clenched.

“Then Ms L/N, we will have to view you as a threat to national and global security.” You scoffed at his words when you stared dead into his eyes.

“You forgot that I was one of the many to help fight Thanos and brought the world back. This is how you decided to treat me after giving my service to this country? To this world?” You shot back in distaste.

You turned your back on the guy and walked off without giving him a chance to answer.

--------------------------//--------------------------

Hey Buck, I managed to find Wanda and decided to accompany her for a bit. She needs someone now.

I will let you know when I am back.

Don’t miss me too much ok! ;)

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face at your last sentence. He missed you but he knew that you had things to attend to. He understood how much you valued your remaining friends. Wanda, being one of them.

-----------------—-----//---------------------———

Bucky sighed when he realised that he was not going to get away easy with today’s therapy session. Dr Raynor was really trying to push his buttons and even took out her darn notebook again.

That ticked Bucky off the most and he reluctantly gave in. He began to share about how he crossed another name on his list of amends. Dr Raynor then gave her opinion about how even making amends wasn’t able to help with his nightmares.

Bucky continued to deny that he had any at all but he knew Dr Raynor was not convinced. Glimpsing down briefly with an unconvinced look, Dr Raynor looked back up to Bucky.

“Look. One day, you’re gonna have to open up and understand that some people really do want to help you and that they can be trusted.”

“I trust people.” Not all but maybe just one. Only one person came to his immediate thought.

“Yeah, give me your phone.” Dr Raynor put aside her notebook before reaching over to take Bucky’s phone from him. As she searched up his contact list, she remarked that there wasn’t even ten numbers in it.

“Oh, and you’ve been ignoring the texts from Sam. Look, you gotta nurture friendships.” She spoke before noting that she was the only person Bucky called all week and how sad it was.

Dr Raynor was going to continue before she stopped herself. She opened up the chat with your name and read your last message to Bucky.

“What about Y/N?”

“What about her?” Bucky retorted.

“Seems like she’s someone you are close to?” Dr Raynor tried to imply something.

“She’s a friend,” Bucky answered firmly. Dr Raynor gave Bucky a glance before probing further. “I’ve seen her around before when she accompanied you at the beginning of your session. She seems nice.”

“She is,” Bucky answered curtly once more before deciding to shoot back, knowing his therapist was trying to probe more than he was willing to share. “What are you insinuating, doc?”

“Nothing. I am glad you at least have one friend. But you need to make more connections with other people.” Dr Raynor tried explaining. Bucky drifted off in his thoughts for a moment, thinking about how he didn’t need more people. He was fine with just you but he didn’t want to let on more than he wanted to.

He didn’t feel the need to explain about his relationship with you when you knew you two were solid. Bucky sighed internally when his therapist asked him what he wanted. Bucky thought of the calm and peace he had in Wakanda, his mind replaying the moments of you and him living a carefree life on the farm.

When he was told that he was finally free, he questioned “to do what?”. Was he ever truly free? The memories from his past, the long list of amends he had in his notebook. Could he ever truly be free from the guilt that constantly plagues him?

As Bucky made his way back to his apartment, he spotted his neighbour, Yori arguing with another neighbour, Unique over the trash. He reassured that he could take care of Yori to this Unique fellow before catching up with the grumbling old man in the alley.

Bucky convinced him that he would give a treat at their usual sushi place and that managed to pacify Yori’s mood.

-------------—-----——//---------------------——

When they were at Izzy’s, Yori mentioned how no one made it past 90 years in the obituary of the newspaper. The familiar waitress came up to the two and remarked if they were feeling adventurous since they did not order the usual.

Giving him a slight smirk, Yori suggested that Bucky should ask her out. Bucky immediately shook his head and gave Yori a bewildered look like he was crazy.

“Why not? Are you seeing that pretty friend of yours that always come to visit?” Bucky knew Yori was referring to you and immediately tried to refute the notion.

“Y/N’s just a friend.”

“Could have convinced me otherwise. You two seem really close.” Yori scoffed at Bucky’s statement.

“Such a pity. If I were 50 years younger, I would have made a move already.” Bucky chuckled at how Yori, despite being a grumpy senior most of the times, actually tried to make a witty joke. He silently agreed that you were indeed a catch and how it was crazy you have not been with anyone.

Well then again, you have always been with him all this while. Of course, as a friend, Bucky tried to convince himself that there was no way he would have a shot with you. You were too good for him and you definitely deserved someone better.

Even though he tried to convince himself, Bucky does not know what to do if you had managed to find someone and will eventually leave him to be on his own. He shook himself out of his inner thoughts and before he knew it, Yori spoke to the waitress.

“He would like to take you out on a date.” Bucky’s eyes shot wide open when he realised what Yori had actually done. Bucky tried to apologise on behalf of Yori for his bizarre behaviour but the waitress did not seem to mind. In fact, she was game and agreed.

After she went off to attend to other customers, Bucky shook his head and couldn’t believe Yori actually became his wingman. Yori then suddenly went silent for a moment. Bucky was nervous before hearing how Yori spoke of his beloved son who had passed away due to an incident.

Bucky listened intently with the guilt gnawing in his gut, his heart heavy with all of the weight of the world.

------———------------//------------------------—

Bucky convinced himself to go on the date with Leah. He decided to give himself the chance to make more connections as Dr Raynor had advised. The date was going well in fact. Leah seemed like a great gal but Bucky felt himself holding back.

There were just too many secrets he was holding in. What would she think if she knew who he really was? Would she even want to be in the same room as him then?

While he tried the whole online dating thing (much to your masked disappointment and amusement), he was not convinced if he could really make a romantic connection with anyone. Who was he kidding? Could he ever?

When the topic of conversation turned to Yori, the overwhelming sensation started to descend onto Bucky’s consciousness. Before he could stop, he immediately tapped out. Giving a pathetic excuse, Bucky rushed back to Yori’s apartment and had the urge to tell him the truth.

However, when he saw the altar that Yori had dedicated to his son, Bucky withdrew himself. He did not want to lose a friend in Yori even though he was dying to say the truth.

Bucky pretended to come up with an excuse to a confused Yori by paying his half of lunch before stalking off. When Bucky returned to his place, he opened up his notebook and stared at Yori’s name.

What was he to do?

A ring on his phone averted his intense thoughts and he reached for his phone.

Hey Buck, I am done on my side.

Would be back soon!

Can’t wait to see you again, missed you!

Bucky clutched his phone tighter and brought it close to his heart. He started counting down the hours till he could welcome you back in his arms.

-------------———----//------------------------——

[rockislandadultreads]

New Releases in Fantasy just in time for Summer

The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo

Immigrant. Socialite. Magician. Jordan Baker grows up in the most rarefied circles of 1920s American society—she has money, education, a killer golf handicap, and invitations to some of the most exclusive parties of the Jazz Age. She’s also queer, Asian, adopted, and treated as an exotic attraction by her peers, while the most important doors remain closed to her. But the world is full of wonders: infernal pacts and dazzling illusions, lost ghosts and elemental mysteries. In all paper is fire, and Jordan can burn the cut paper heart out of a man. She just has to learn how. Nghi Vo’s debut novel The Chosen and the Beautiful reinvents this classic of the American canon as a coming-of-age story full of magic, mystery, and glittering excess, and introduces a major new literary voice.

For the Wolf by Hannah F. Whitten

The first daughter is for the Throne. The second daughter is for the Wolf. For fans of Uprooted and The Bear and the Nightingale comes a dark fantasy novel about a young woman who must be sacrificed to the legendary Wolf of the Wood to save her kingdom. But not all legends are true, and the Wolf isn't the only danger lurking in the Wilderwood. As the only Second Daughter born in centuries, Red has one purpose-to be sacrificed to the Wolf in the Wood in the hope he'll return the world's captured gods. Red is almost relieved to go. Plagued by a dangerous power she can't control, at least she knows that in the Wilderwood, she can't hurt those she loves. Again. But the legends lie. The Wolf is a man, not a monster. Her magic is a calling, not a curse. And if she doesn't learn how to use it, the monsters the gods have become will swallow the Wilderwood-and her world-whole.

Girl One by Sara Flannery Murphy

Josephine Morrow is Girl One, the first of nine “Miracle Babies” conceived without male DNA, raised on an experimental commune known as the Homestead. When a suspicious fire destroys the commune and claims the lives of two of the Homesteaders, the remaining Girls and their Mothers scatter across the United States and lose touch. Years later, Margaret Morrow goes missing, and Josie sets off on a desperate road trip, tracking down her estranged sisters who seem to hold the keys to her mother’s disappearance. Tracing the clues Margaret left behind, Josie joins forces with the other Girls, facing down those who seek to eradicate their very existence while uncovering secrets about their origins and unlocking devastating abilities they never knew they had.

A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark

Cairo, 1912: Though Fatma el-Sha’arawi is the youngest woman working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities, she’s certainly not a rookie, especially after preventing the destruction of the universe last summer. So when someone murders a secret brotherhood dedicated to one of the most famous men in history, al-Jahiz, Agent Fatma is called onto the case. Al-Jahiz transformed the world 50 years ago when he opened up the veil between the magical and mundane realms, before vanishing into the unknown. This murderer claims to be al-Jahiz, returned to condemn the modern age for its social oppressions. His dangerous magical abilities instigate unrest in the streets of Cairo that threaten to spill over onto the global stage. Alongside her Ministry colleagues and her clever girlfriend Siti, Agent Fatma must unravel the mystery behind this imposter to restore peace to the city - or face the possibility he could be exactly who he seems....

[crossdreamers]

Trans women use facial feminization surgery to get a face they recognize as their own

We talk about hormones and we talk about genital “bottom” surgery, but the fact is that as far as some transgender women go, facial surgery might be equally important.

The reason for this is that testosterone may change your face quite significantly throughput and after puberty, which makes it harder for many transgender women to pass. This especially applies to jaws and brows.

Other parts of the body will also be “masculinized”, as in body length, the broadness of your shoulders and the size of your hands, but these are more easily understood as examples of natural female variation.

I understand that trans women are women regardless of how they look, and that they should be respected as such. Obviously! But trans women, like all women, live in a world were you are judged by your looks, and I am not going to judge anyone who tries to “blend in” in order to avoid stares, harassment, violence and transphobic slurs.

In an article over at The Guardian Jenny Kleeman writes about Sophia Drake’s journey as a transgender woman:

For Drake, the surgery was about correcting her face so that, when she looked in the mirror, she no longer felt the profound discomfort of gender dysphoria. “I’m not trying to make a supermodel face, I just want to see the person I always saw in my head,” she said....

Drake manages a global competition for independent games developers, a job that involves travelling around the world and speaking on panels to audiences of up to 1,000 people. She is proud of being trans, she told me, and her public-facing job means her transition could never be secret. But it takes her to places where being trans can mean being very exposed.

She said she has faced aggressive transphobic comments, and lots of stares: “Sometimes quite disgusting stares.” The greatest pain comes when people with no malicious intent misgender her. “When you are called to get on a plane and someone calls you ‘sir’ – that’s a huge dysphoria trigger. It’s like a sickening in your stomach, a pit, a crunching. I find it hard to breathe.” To discover that she has not passed is to be reminded that her identity may still exist only in her mind, and not the minds of other people.

Expensive

Facial surgery can be very expensive, sometimes costing twice as much as genital surgery.  Drake  had to take out a bank loan to cover two-thirds of the £14,500 (US$ 19,000) cost of her facial feminization surgery.  Sometimes such surgery may cost as much as £20,000-£25,000. 

Needless to say, this is not an option available to all trans women. In some countries such surgery may be included in public health care. This is the case in Britain, but the waiting lines are long.

The week before Drake’s surgery, her doctor  operated on someone who had “a thyroid shave, forehead reduction, brow lift and scalp advance (bringing the hairline forward), jaw angle shave, lip lift, cheek implants and rhinoplasty.” 

Drake was having pretty light work done, which was why her surgery was cheaper than average.

Drake says:

“I’m not trying to make myself beautiful. I see testosterone as a poison in my body, a poison that I had to deal with for 20 years. I want to put my face to the way it would have been if testosterone had never been pumping through my body. And that’s it.”

Not all trans people agree:

Juno Roche, author of Trans Power, argues that being recognizably trans means refusing to allow gender norms to control you. “The history of the trans journey is a cis male, heterosexual, often white, middle-aged, middle-class doctor saying he’s going to make you look as close in proximity to a woman so that you can pass without being noticed, so you can blend into the background.”

In other words: Trans women faces the same sexism and beauty pressure as cis women.

The fact that such surgery is not available to all definitely leads to a kind of class divide in the trans community. This is unfair and dangerous. We need policies that take care of everyone.

Read the whole article here!

Photo: Sophia Drake in March this year. By Christopher Thomond/The Guardian

[saragheitanchi]

Reflection

It is unbelievable how we blindly follow stereotypes. We think just because someone is from Africa that they are only good for being African. We believe that just because a woman is wearing a hijab, she is a terrorist, and we should not acknowledge her. We think that just because we have a definition of colonization that there is no other way. Well, I have some news, it is up to us to break down those stereotypes. There is no need for us to judge someone based on their appearance or not acknowledge a country as progressive because they do not adhere to our western definition. The danger of these stereotypes can be detrimental to the diversity movement globally.

I think this idea has stuck with me because I have related it to my own life. I have caught myself judging someone based on the stereotypes I grew up hearing. I educated myself on these matters through this class, and I realized that I had the wrong idea about these topics. Stories or stereotypes affect people's thoughts and do not always give people a well-rounded view. People do look different in other parts of the world compared to westerners. That is a fact, not a thing to look down upon. The rest of the world can have a very different definition than what we are familiar with. Western culture has come up with these single stories that westerners naturally believe to be true.

The danger of a single story TED talk by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie from the first week has stuck with me for the course duration. Stories teach us so much of what we know, whether we realize it or not. In Adichie's words, "is how impressionable and vulnerable we are in the face of a story, particularly as children (TED Talk)." I enjoyed the TED talk the first week because I felt like I was constantly challenging myself to be open-minded and soak up knowledge to promote a well-rounded education for myself for the rest of the course.

Adichie read stories from America and England, so the characters were white with blue eyes. Until she discovered African books, she did not realize that people that looked like her belonged in literature. Due to her books, Adichie learned about other cultures even though she never left Nigeria. Since Adichie had read multiple stories from the western culture, she had a good idea about the way of life in those places.

On the other hand, her college roommate knew nothing of Adichie's culture. She thought she did, but she was never really taught what goes on in Adichie's home country. Her roommate thought of Africa as "a place of beautiful landscapes, beautiful animals, and incomprehensible people, fighting senseless wars, dying of poverty and AIDS, unable to speak for themselves and waiting to be saved by a kind, white foreigner (TED Talk)." Her roommates' thoughts on Africa show how dangerous a single story can be. The roommate categorized and judged Adichie presumably because of a story she heard about Africans. It may not seem essential to educate yourself on specific issues because of a lack of interest or whatever the case may be. However, it is imperative to be educated and have a well-rounded point of view. Both girls had very different experiences with stories that shaped their thoughts about the other's culture and way of life.

In Dalia Mogahed's TED talk, What it's like to be Muslim in America, she pointed out how Muslims were stereotyped by a single story. The single-story around Muslims is the false label that all Muslims are terrorists. This example is possibly the best example of how detrimental a single account can really be. The terrorist attack on America that took place on 9/11/2001 has defined Muslim's life ever since. The attackers were from a Muslim background. Mogahed pointed out that ever since the attack, the media has been portraying people who look like her negatively.

Mogahed was wearing her hijab during her talk. Her first comment was, "What do you think when you look at me? A woman of faith? An expert? Maybe even a sister. Or oppressed, brainwashed, a terrorist. Or just an airport security line delay. That one's actually true (TED Talk)." She is challenging the stereotypes right from the beginning. Her comment was meant to make the audience pause and realize how wrong it is to judge someone based on their appearance. In this case, people would judge her based on her hijab. She would automatically be categorized into the brainwashed group. Mogahed is working to break down the stereotypes and fight for herself and fellow Muslims.

As part of Mogahed's TED talk introduction, she introduced herself. Her introduction was very typical because she tried to prove that she is just like all other women of different backgrounds. She is trying to make the audience realize how similar she is to each of them by making her introduction relatable. Mogahed is raising awareness that her religion does not define her personality. She used light humor to engage her audience at the talk. However, Mogahed was striving to point out behind the humor that Muslims are ordinary people and should not be discriminated against due to their beliefs.

Different countries can define terms in a foreign way from how America defines terms. For example, in Under Western Eyes by Chandra Mohanty, the word colonization was used in third-world countries. Six different students responded, saying that they had never heard a third-world country described as colonized. We have only heard of the western definition of colonization. In reality, there can be multiple versions of colonization, especially in other parts of the world. I feel as if the Western definition has broadly defined terms and ways of life. However, other countries may disagree and want to live their lives based on their own customs. Both ways are acceptable. However, members of western cultures should be learning about the rest of the world's ways and become educated to come to our own conclusions when applicable.

Personally, when I think of the word colonization, I think about a well-off country with little to no issues. When I think about third-world countries, I imagine that they are destitute and need help from stronger countries. Mohanty is suggesting that colonized countries range from significantly evolved to countries that are in need. Mohanty brings this point up to demonstrate that this phrase represents a wide array of countries. She goes on to analyze the women in third-world countries. She tried to connect women from all different places, using colonization to point out their biological similarities.

I was curious what the definition of colonization actually is. According to Oxford Languages, colonization is "the action or process of settling among and establishing control over the indigenous people of an area" (Oxford Languages). People in third world countries are settled among themselves. They all also have some government or leadership. Someone has taken charge of the indigenous people in third world countries, so they are colonized. After educating myself about what colonization means, I realized that third-world countries are, in fact, colonized. The danger is that western cultures believe their definition to be true. However, there are other stories out there, if you will, that define colonization differently. It is essential to listen to more stories to understand the complexity of colonization.

With all three examples from these different Perusall annotations, it is undeniable how detrimental a single story can be. Western culture has come up with these single stories that people naturally believe to be true. Adichie pointed out in her TED talk that she has been perceived as no more than an African due to the western view on Africans. The consequences were that she was judged before someone even got to know her as a person. Mogahed faced similar consequences due to appearances. Because of her hijab, people automatically thought that she was brainwashed, oppressed, and a terrorist. Third-world countries are considered weak and uncolonized. However, third-world countries are actually colonized because they meet all the requirements of colonization.

Stereotypes need to be broken. The premise of this course was to educate the young generation to break down these ideas and replace them with the truth. The stereotype is that all Africans are the same because they all faced hardships and a low level of life. The stereotype is that Muslims are terrorists and not "normal" humans. The stereotype is that third-world countries are not colonized because they face misfortune. The danger of these stereotypes can be detrimental to the diversity movement globally. We need to initiate a change with this world and make it a place we can all be proud of.

The biggest thing I learned from all of the authors from this course is that the best thing you can do is act and inspire the change you wish to see. All of the women we read from are solid advocates and super passionate about their given expertise. I have been inspired to spark change and motivate my generation to take charge of the future of our world. The authors have demonstrated the things that need to be changed in the world, and now it is up to each and every one of us to make it happen!

[honeyoongiah]

Most beautiful coincidence

Pairings: Yoongi x Elly (reader)

Genre: Bookworm! Yoongi AU, fluff

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: none!

Summary: Yoongi spent most of his time in the universities library with his nose in some books to escape from reality. At least until Elly decided to sit on the other side of the shelf and showed him that love stories don't just exist in books.

A/N: another Oneshot that has a special place in my heart. I hope you'll feel the warmth that I felt during the writing process.

It was a surprisingly hot november day as Elly walked down the hallways of her college. Packed with countless books, she made her way to the library to learn how she always did for exams.

The room was cold because the air conditioner tried its best to fight the heat, so she quickly started to shiver in her top and cursed the long summer.

"Isn't it supposed to be a little colder outside?", she mumbled to herself while walking through the library searching for that one book she knew she'd need. Everyone was silent so she tried to be as well, but apparently someone on the other side of the shelf noticed her.

"Global warming."

It was the voice of a boy, but she couldn't see him through the books. He sounded a little annoyed but maybe that was just his normal tone, she wouldn't know.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't want to disturb you.", she said in worry. Most of the people here got really mad for being interrupted and she understood. This was a place of silence to study, but she couldn't control her mumbling sometimes.

The voice buzzed something that sounded like "it's okay" and Elly started to relax again. Just as she looked for a table to sit on, she realized that she was a little too late with that. Every single chair was already taken and she ran her fingers through her hair.

What should she do now?

Well, obviously there were people sitting on the ground in between the shelfs just as this mysterious boy she couldn't see. "Hey uhm, sorry for bothering you again but would you mind if I sit here? The library is full."

"No.", he answered shortly before there was silence again. "Thank you.", Elly answered and smiled friendly until she realized he wouldn't see it.

She had to admit it was somehow calming to know that there was someone right next to her, even if they weren't talking and didn't even know each other.

Sitting down and taking some notes, she didn't realize how time flew by.

"Ohh god I gotta go or I'll miss my lecture.", she talked to herself again and got up, packing her things in a rush.

"Don't run with books in your hand, though. It'll be dangerous for them... and for you too.", the boy answered again, sounding a little amused by his own comment.

"I won't be a threat to the books, I promise. I don't know if I can say the same about me, though.", Elly chuckled. She didn't feel right to just go without saying anything. "So uhm... Goodbye."

"Bye."

With that said she began to rush, but without running, so she wouldn't miss informations that were relevant to her exam.

____

Just a day went by and she had to visit the library again. Without really thinking about it she ended up in the same spot she was yesterday. It had something calming not to sit together with all that stressed and desperate students.

Elly sat down again and leaned her back against the shelf made of wood. She was curious now. Was she alone, or did he happen to be here too?

"Mysterious boy from yesterday? Are you here?"

First there was silence and she already thought that he wasn't here, until she heard a dark chuckle from the other side. "Mysterious boy, huh."

"Oh hello, you're actually here again."

"Well, actually this is my favorite spot since I first entered this college. So I'm rather surprised of you being here again.", he explained and Ellys eyes grew big. "Oh I didn't intend to steal it from you, I'm sorry."

"You didn't. You're on the other side of the shelf."

"Well that's true."

The silence broke over them again, although she began to like talking to him. It had something carefree and noncommittal. So unlike what she felt at the university. He cleared his throat and seemed to be focussed again to what Elly couldn't see from here. Again many minutes passed before he was the one breaking the silence for the first time. "Are you doing well? The subject should be particularly difficult this semester."

Elly sighed and when he heard that, he immediately laughed. "Okay, I have my answer."

"No joke, it's terrible. But I can do it. Thanks for asking."

Suddenly she felt an object pressed against her back, but without hurting her. Amazed, she looked at the book the boy had handed her through the shelf. His hand was thin, his fingers long and also narrow and defined by bones and veins. "Here, that helped me a lot last year."

Fleetingly, she flipped through it and realized immediately how useful it would be for her. "Oh my god, thank you, that will help!"

"My pleasure."

"By the way, my name is Elly. You said the book really helped you last year, so you're a year above me?" For a few seconds she had to wait for an answer and thought he hadn't heard her or didn't want to talk, but then she heard him. "My name is Min Yoongi and yes, I am one year ahead of you."

Elly gave a low ah and nodded her head. "I have never heard of you, although I know so many students here." A few students tried to pass her, but with so many books in the way it was a lot harder. Elly looked at them with an apologetic look. "That doesn't surprise me. I don't even think my lecturer knows that I exist. At least they can't connect my name with a face. I don't go to many lectures, because I rather teach everything myself and spend my time here."

"It's impressive that you can teach yourself.", she marveled, shuddering just at the thought of trying. Sure, she was good at learning on her own but it helped immensely if someone explained it to her. "I just don't like being around People much, I prefer the company of books of all kinds."

"You just weren't around the right People then, Yoongi.", she spoke her thoughts out loud and hoped she didn't cross a line. "You're probably right but I don't even try anymore."

"That's sad though. You might miss someone very special."

The usual silence greeted them again as Yoongi thought about her words.

He really didn't have much emotional connections since he was young, he early began to bury his nose in books he found interesting. The genre didn't really matter to him as long as it had a happy ending.

Yoongi knew that sounded cheesy but he just didn't feel right when stories ended with heartbreak or other pain. He liked to feel that comfortable warmth of satisfaction when everything turned out to be okay.

It was so far from reality, maybe that was what kept him reading all day. He found the real world terrible, not knowing if there will be a happy end for anyone and not being able to skip through the bad parts if he'd like to.

Books never hurt your feelings or leave you behind.

Books were so much more comforting than dealing with his actual life and the people around him. It was definitely way more fun.

"I have to go now.", he told her and got up from the ground. Elly heard the rustling noises next to her and tried to see him through the mass of books next to her, but besides his black pants she didn't see much.

"Okay Yoongi. I hope we'll talk tomorrow?", she asked casually which made him froze in his movements. Why would she want to talk to him again? "Sure. I'll be here.", he answered though, a light smile gracing his face.

_____

A few weeks passed by and Elly couldn't imagine not being in the library every day anymore. She started talking to Yoongi in her free time on the same spot as the day before. And they talked about everything.

The topic didn't really matter, they always managed to find something to say. Either they discussed something and shared their opinions, which were very often the same, or they opened up about personal issues and feelings.

He opened up about his past and why he became so distant, the whole issue with his parents and how they never understood him the way he needed.

Yoongi never did that before. But it felt right to finally do and when he heard Elly saying that this wasn't his fault he knew that he needed to hear that at least once.

Elly talked about her past broken friendships and relationships who hurt her deeply and made her insecure. She told him that she often felt she wasn't enough and he reassured that this feeling wasn't valid.

To him she was enough.

He held her hand through the shelf when he heard her snuffling and brushed his thumb over her skin to calm her a little.

Sometimes they just enjoyed knowing the other one was right beside them when they had tough days or were feeling like a more silent day. They didn't need to talk.

Slowly they became really close although they still didn't know how the other one looked like. It didn't matter to them, they found it funny and special.

Even her grades got better because he always helped her when she needed someone to explain it again. He was calm, patient and didn't set her under any pressure. She felt comfortable telling him when she had a problem.

"Hey Yoongs, I'm back.", she greeted him and sat down on her favorite place in this university. Maybe even in general. "Hey Elly, I've missed you."

"I missed you too. How was your day?", she asked and placed her hand in the shelf which he immediately took into his. That was a new habit that neither of them knew how it began but they enjoyed it.

"It was fine. I took a look on the new curriculum for my semester and learned a few things in advance. Then I started a new book and read it until you came. What about you?"

"You're incredible. How do you teach yourself the whole fucking curriculum? I'll never understand. Can I have your brain please?", she grumbled but still with admiration for him. "You're incredibly intelligent Elly. Don't put yourself down so much." - "T-thank you."

He squeezed her hand and chuckled when he noticed that she was flustered. "It's the truth. I really think you are amazing in any way possible but you need to see it yourself."

"You're so kind. So supportive and caring. I think you are amazing too Yoongi.", she answered while smiling and stared out of the window.

"Would you mind coming over to the other side and sit next to me?", Yoongi asked and took her by surprise. It wasn't that she didn't want to, but that somehow made her nervous. "How come so suddenly?"

"I don't know... I just feel like it. You don't have to though."

"N-no I want to! Wait I'll come.", she quickly said and let go of him to stand up, which made her feel incomplete for a moment. With these words Yoongi felt nervous now too.

He would look the person who knows him best now, with his good sides but all his flaws too, in the eyes for the first time.

Elly was thinking about the same things too. It was somehow scary, but in a good way. She was curious how he looked like, but she was insecure about showing herself. Will he think I'm pretty? Why does that matter to me?

Slowly, but not too slowly for Yoongi to notice how unsure she was, she walked around the shelf that separated them for the past months now and immediately met two dark brown eyes looking at her.

She smiled shyly and sat down next to him.

Yoongi was too overwhelmed to really hide his staring. He admired every inch of her, trying to imprint the details of her face in his mind. She truly was beautiful to him.

He gently stroked a wisp of hair behind her ear and made her blush. Without him noticing she was admiring him too. His blonde hair she'd really like to touch, his brown eyes which sent out warmth and looked so vulnerable and his soft looking red lips.

"So... uhm what are you reading at the moment?", she tried to break the tension between the two, even though it felt good having his eyes on her. "Oh, I'm reading a novel about- wait do you really want to know?" - "You like the book don't you? So yes I do want to know."

His lips parted while he thought about where to start. He took the book in his hands and let his fingertips run over the cover. "Well, it's about a young detective who tries to solve a murder in the city he lives in, near his own home. He consults a lot of people and there is where he meets this woman for the first time."

Elly listened to him with honest interest and Yoongi didn't feel so good in years. He wasn't used to people caring about what he was reading, but she did. "He starts to develop feelings, but she's the prime suspect in his case. Although he really wants to believe her that she is innocent, everything speaks against her. So he's in a big discrepance."

While he continues talking about how they try to find the real murderer and that Yoongi still isn't sure if she is innocent but hopes for it because he wants a happy end, Elly noticed the sparkle in his eyes.

She could see how comfortable and happy he was feeling right now and she couldn't suppress a loving smile. "And then he- wait why are you smiling?", he interrupted himself and looked at her confused.

"You just look so happy. It makes me smile.", she blurred out and felt shy about it right away. "I uhm... yes I am. I enjoy spending time with you."

Elly didn't know how much time passed while she looked into his eyes, she could drown in them. Only his voice brought her back. "Would you like to spend time with me outside of this library?"

"Y-yes! Of course. I know a better library only 20 minutes away from here.", she teased him and he laughed. It took every nervousness away. "I'm serious Elly. I don't know much about these things, but I know that I want to spend more time with you. Would you like to go eat something after lecture today?"

He found her so cute with red cheeks, it suited her overall cuteness he thought. "Yes Yoongi, I'd love to."

Her words made him weak, he never experienced something like this before. Yoongi only read about it in books.

Was it really his turn this time? Is it possible that he could be as happy as the characters in his books? Was he really blessed to experience something like that too?

These thoughts didn't leave him when they both left the university for today. Yoongi suggested to go to one of her favorite restaurants if she has one, since he didn't really go out much.

Quickly they figured they didn't want to sit inside though, but just get something and go to a place Yoongi told her about a few times. It was a single bench in the middle of nowhere but with a beautiful view of the city.

"You said you like reading here if you're not in the library, right?", Elly asked when in between her bites. "Yes. It's so calming and silent here. It's my special place."

Elly put her box down and parted her lips, just like she wanted to say something, but remained silent. "What did you want to say?", Yoongi asked because of course he noticed. He looked only at her, even though his favorite view was right in front of him.

"It's nothing. I'm embarrassed to say it.", she admitted and buried her face in her hands. Yoongi was sure he never saw something so pure. "It's okay, you don't have to be ashamed of anything. Just tell me.", he said and came a little closer.

He took one of her hands and held her just as he did many times while they were hanging out in the library. Both thought they were fitting into each other perfectly. "I think you made the library to my own special place, Yoongi."

If she was a book, Yoongi would read her again and again. He thought she was so perfect, every little bit of her. She was that type of girl people were writing books about he enjoyed and he never thought they existed in reality.

But it seemed like he found her and therefore his own story.

"I'm glad I started talking to you out of the sudden and got to know you. You are the most beautiful coincidence of my life.", he confessed and stroked her cheek with this thumb.

She smiled at his words, her heart beating so fast when he leaned over with half closed eyes and his nose brushing against hers. "Can I kiss you now?", he whispered and she felt his breath on her skin.

An almost not audible "yes" left her mouth and he gently lay his lips on hers. He felt so soft against her, she could feel how careful and loving he was treating her.

After separating again he kissed her nose and made her chuckle before saying: "I really like you, Elly."

[avengerscompound]

She Sets the City on Fire - Father Knows Best

She Sets the City on Fire: A Bruce Banner Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Square:  @brucebannerbingo​ - U3 Free Space

Rating:  E

Warning:  Age Gap, asshole parents, anxiety, smut (MF, light ds, oral sex, throat fucking, rough sex, a small amount of spanking, vaginal sex, gags)

Word Count:  4380

Pairing:  Bruce Banner x OFC (Summer)

Summary:  Bruce is drawn to Summer.  She’s everything he wished he could be.  Carefree, exciting, and she knows exactly who she is.  There are so many reasons a relationship with her wouldn’t work.  So why can’t he stop thinking about her?

A/N: On the first chapter

6. Father Knows Best

Bruce and Summer walked up West 88th hand in hand.  They were driving out to Westchester so Bruce could meet Summer’s parents.  He was nervous.  Neither Summer nor Aiden talked about their parents much - at least not with Bruce - but after Tony had hinted it was someone famous, he had looked it up.

Summer’s father was media mogul Chester Martin.  The man who’s media empire included every single right-wing and anti-superhero outlet from New York’s Daily Bugle to the Globe-News.  It was his publications that helped the government cover up the Hulk and had Bruce listed as public enemy number one and pushed as some kind of global terrorist.  With that and what he had heard about him buying affection and ignoring Aidan’s existence for most of his life, Bruce was not foreseeing a warm reception.  Bruce was just thankful that he was actually younger than Chester.  He could only imagine how much worse it would be if they were from the same generation.  Even though the age-gap between Chester and Summer’s mother was over 30 years, Bruce didn’t think that hypocrisy would be enough of a reason to not use the age thing as a reason that Bruce wasn’t good enough for his daughter.

Summer had assured him that there wouldn’t be a problem.  That at worse he probably wouldn’t even notice that Bruce was there and that her mother liked everyone and she’d be welcoming to him.  Aidan had confirmed that Summer wasn’t lying about her mother, but that there was no way their father would like him.  He would pretend for Summer but in Chester’s eyes, no one was good enough for Summer, let alone some middle-aged, liberal, with an anger issue.  Aidan had left him one piece of advice, don’t let Chester get him on his own.

“Summer, are you sure what I’m wearing is fine?”  He asked for the eighth time that day.  He had not been able to decide if he should go formal or casual and ended up landing on a strange mix of both, with navy khakis, a dark purple button-up shirt that he left loose at the collar, a dark brown suit jacket, and because it was cooling off a long black coat.  Summer, on the other hand, looked like she stepped off the silver screen in a vintage skirt suit in pale pink wool with black trim.

“You look just like you.  And I love you.  So he’ll love you.”  Summer said, lifting his hand up into the air and spinning under it.  “Just relax, Brucie. I’ll protect you.”

They reached the garage where Summer kept her car.  A valet came out and she handed him a card.  It wasn’t long before he re-emerged driving a vintage MG Roadster in dark burgundy.

“Wow,” Bruce said, as Summer exchanged her keys for a tip.  He ran his hand over the hood of the car.  “Tony would love this.”

“I’m sure he could afford to buy one if he wanted.”  Summer joked.

“Do you think…” He paused and fidgeted with his hands.  Tony never let him drive one of his cars and he always wanted to.  Tony wasn’t Summer though.  Maybe she wouldn’t have that little hang-up about needing to be behind the wheel.  “Could I please drive?”

“Can you drive stick?”  She asked.

He nodded.  “I learned on the run.”

Summer threw him the keys and got into the passenger seat, digging in the glove compartment and pulling out a silk scarf that she wrapped around her hair while Bruce got into the driver's side and started the car.

“This is such a beautiful car,” Bruce said.  He wasn’t exactly what you’d call a ‘car person’.  Not the way Tony was.  He wasn’t into the engines or horsepower except for the basic way he was into that kind of science in general.  He could appreciate aesthetics though, and the rumble of an engine and the way he just felt like maybe the cool factor might rub off on him just a little.  Oh god… was he going through a midlife crisis after all?

“Thanks,” Summer said, hanging her arm over the door.  “My dad got it for my 21st.”

“He bought you a car that’s older than you.”  Bruce mused.

“It’s older than you too, Grandpa.  She’s a ‘63.”  Summer teased.

“You got a thing for the elderly?”  Bruce teased.

Summer laughed and leaned over, kissing his cheek.  “You know it.  I’m a grave robber.”

As they drove the 45 minutes to Westchester, Bruce kept stealing glances at Summer.  Something about the vintage suit, the scarf around her hair to protect it from the wind and the large round sunglasses she’d put on made her look like a 50s starlet.  She was in particularly high spirits today too, which was saying something for the ever carefree Summer.  She didn’t stop smiling the entire trip up.  Her hand was usually somewhere on Bruce, often sliding it’s way up his inner seam, sometimes on his hand, or playing with his hair.

Summer provided the directions and as they made their way into Westchester the houses just kept getting bigger and bigger and the space between each one became more vast until they became more like compounds than simply mansions. When they reached what was the biggest one yet he turned, entered the code at the gate and drove up the winding drive to the enormous mansion.

They got out of the car and Summer came around and took Bruce’s hand.  “He’s nice.  I protect you anyway, but he’ll love you.”

Bruce sighed.  He wasn’t so sure that they’d think much of each other, to be honest.  Chester Martin was a hateful bigot who had no concept of what it was like to struggle at all.  How Summer and Aidan had come out of that family even half the decent people they were was impressive, but Bruce was no stranger to good coming out of such bad.

As they made their way up the steps Chester and Abigail came out the front to meet them.  Summer let Bruce’s hand go and ran to them, hugging them both tightly.  Bruce continued his way up alone and when he finally reached them, Summer pulled back and introduced him.

Abigail greeted Bruce warmly, hugging him and kissing his cheek.  She was still quite young, in fact, the thought slipped into his head that Abigail was actually 2 years younger than Bruce was.  The thought freaked him out a little bit and he pushed it away and smothered it.  Abigale was slender and wore her long red hair in a bun.  She had the same clear blue eyes as Summer. In fact, Summer had taken after Abigail to the point it looked like she’d been cloned.  Which was good for her really, because as beautiful as her mother was, Chester Martin looked like a bloated, wrinkly toad.

He greeted Bruce with a firm handshake and a patronizing tone.  The followed him inside where Bruce met Summer’s sister Dakota.  Dakota looked a lot like Summer, though she had the dark hair and eyes of her father.  She barely even looked up from her phone when Summer walked in but when Summer said Bruce’s name her eyes snapped up.

“You’re Bruce Banner!”  She said, putting her phone away.

“That’s right.”  He said, feeling a little awkward.  Summer took a seat on a large leather couch and patted the spot beside her.

Dakota immediately moved from where she was sitting and sat down next to Bruce, pressing herself against him.  “I didn’t know you were dating an Avenger, Sum.  Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I told you his name was Bruce,” Summer said.

Dakota leaned towards her sister, her breast pressing against Bruce’s arm.  “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t, Dakota,” Summer said.

Dakota sighed and her knuckles brushed up the side of Bruce’s thigh.

Chester took a seat in one of the wing-backed chairs opposite them while Abigail took a more comfortable looking sofa seat next to him.

“How exactly did the two of you meet?”  Chester asked.

Thus started the grilling.  Most questions seemed to try and pry out how long they’d been dating, what they did when they were together, and how serious they actually were.  The amount the Martins seemed to know about their daughter could fit in a thimble.  Chester’s questioning seemed to imply that Summer was an innocent young girl and Bruce was just there to corrupt her.

At some point, a staff member came in and poured everyone drinks before disappearing again.  After what felt like they’d been questioning forever, Chester looked at his watch.  “Girls, can you check and see what’s taking the kitchen so long with lunch?”

Summer jumped to her feet and practically skipped from the room after kissing Bruce on the forehead.  Dakota slouched after her.  When they were out of earshot, Chester turned to Bruce.

“I am not having my daughter being dragged into your Avengers lifestyle.  I know the kind of things Stark gets up to and I don’t want her life to be put in danger for associating with the likes of you,” Chester seethed.  “When you leave here today, you will break up with her.  You’ll let her down easy, but I don’t want to see you here again.”

Bruce’s heart started hammering in his chest, and he could feel the pulse in his ear and a shove from the Hulk in the back of his head.  “E- excuse me?”

“You heard me.  How dare you put my daughter in danger of being hurt by that thing inside you?”  Chester snapped.  “What is she doing with you anyway?  She’s a straight-A student, she is above being corrupted by some lecherous middle-aged man.  I won’t allow it.”

The hypocrisy was so thick that Bruce could almost taste it.  Anger started bubbling up inside him and he couldn’t seem to get it under control.  “Don’t you think Summer should get a say in this?”

“No.  I don’t.”  Chester said.  “You will be breaking up with her.  If you don’t there will be consequences.  And if you think for a second I can’t make your life a living hell, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Bruce’s mind raced.  Memories of how the press had treated him when he was on the run mixed with headlines about him hurting Summer.  He couldn’t hear anything above the thud of his pulse in his ears.  There was a shove from Hulk and he was sucked into the dark.

Hulk roared and swung his fist, shattering the coffee table in front of him.  He wasn’t sure where he was exactly or what was wrong.  There was no gunfire or explosions to point him at his target.  All he knew was that Banner had been angry and scared and it was time for him to step in.  

The couple in front of him was backing up against the wall, but the woman who looked so much like pretty Summer hand her hands up in placation.  “Please don’t hurt us.”

Hulk huffed.  Usually, when they were begging not to be hurt it was a pretty good sign they needed to be.  The door crashed open behind him and he spun around and growled.  In front of him was pretty Summer and he felt something in him relax a little.  Behind her stood a younger girl with dark hair who looked both surprised and scared.  He took two steps towards Summer, hoping she might have an answer to why Hulk was here.

“Big guy?”  She said, a little confused.  She put her hand on his arm and stepped around him, standing in front of him like she wanted to shield him.  “What did you do to him?”  She yelled.

“Us?”  The old man argued.  “Your boyfriend just turned into a monster and somehow that’s our fault.”

“Daddy!”  Summer snapped.  “I know you think I don’t know what you say to the people I bring home.  But I do.  I hoped you might not be stupid though.  What did you say that upset him so much?”

“I told him to break up with you!  You’re too good for him Summer!  He’s older than your mother!”  The man argued.

Summer took a deep breath and balled her hands into tiny fists.  Hulk squared up behind her, breathing heavily.  “Daddy, I love you, but you can be a huge asshole sometimes.”  She turned to Hulk and touched his wrist.  “Hey, you want to come outside with me.  We have horses.  I want to show you.”

Hulk smiled and wrapped his large hand around Summer’s tiny waist.  As she led him out of the room, Summer stopped at the girl who was still looking at Hulk stunned.  “Can you get some of Daddy’s clothes and bring them out to the stable?”  She said quietly.

The girl nodded.  “Yeah… yeah okay.”

“Thanks, Dakota,” Summer said and led Hulk outside.

He lumbered after beautiful Summer through the grounds.  “I’m sorry about my dad.  He can be a bit much.”  She said.

“Hulk not mind.  Hulk used to it.”  He rumbled.

“You shouldn’t be used to it though.  It’s mean.  Did Bruce get really upset?”  She asked.

Hulk nodded.  “Puny Banner.  Not like being questioned.  Hulk here now.”

She led him into a stable and Hulk began to look at the horses.  He always liked being around animals.  Animals never judged him.  The horses all let him pat them and feed them hay.  Summer introduced him to each one and gradually Hulk calmed completely and was just enjoying that he got to spend some time with her.

The brown-haired girl showed up with her arms full of clothes.  “You think this stuff will be okay?”  She asked as she handed them over to Summer.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.  Thanks, Dee,” Summer said and put it on a bench.  “Hey Big Guy, this is my sister Dakota.  Dakota, this is the Hulk.”

Dakota raised her hand in a wave.  “Nice to meet you.”

Hulk huffed and nodded his head.

“You’re not scared of him?”  Dakota asked her sister.

Summer shook her head and patted Hulk’s hand.  “He’s my friend.  It’s nice getting to see him.  I just wish it wasn’t because of something dad said.”

Dakota shrugged.  “You should have seen him with the last guy I bought home.  Didn’t even try and chase him off in private.”

Summer giggled.  “I get he’s trying to protect us… I just…”

“Yeah…” Dakota agreed and looked up at Hulk.  “Can you introduce me to Cap?”

Hulk furrowed his brow.  “Don’t know.”

“Dakota, you’re 17!  He’s over 100!”  Summer yelped.

“Yeah, yeah.   And he’s hot as fuck,” Dakota said.

Hulk could feel Bruce niggling at the back of his head and he huffed and put his hand on Summer’s back.  “Banner want back.  Hulk go.”

Summer leaned up and kissed Hulk’s cheek.  “It was nice to see you.”

He nodded and stepped back and sunk back into the dark.

Bruce groaned and blinked around.  “Summer?”  He said, covering himself with his hands.

Summer grabbed the pile of clothes and gave them to him.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.”

“Where are we?”  Bruce asked.

“The stables.  I thought it would be a good way to calm Hulk down,” she explained and looked at Dakota.  “You think we can have some alone time?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dakota said, looking Bruce up and down before spinning and heading back to the house.

“Did I hurt anyone?”  Bruce asked as he started getting dressed.

“No, Brucie,” Summer said rubbing his back. “Just smashed a coffee table.  But he can afford to replace it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said with a sigh.  He was starting to think maybe Chester was right after all.  Anything could have happened and it would have been his fault.

“No, Bruce.  I’m sorry for letting him talk to you like that.  I shouldn’t have left you alone,” she said.

He paused as he buttoned up his pants.  “Summer, this isn’t your fault.”

Summer wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled into his back.  “I’m not stupid, Bruce.  I know who my dad is.  I try and keep him accountable, but he sees me as this… perfect little flower and he doesn’t really listen to anything I actually say.  He’s still my dad though.  I knew he probably wouldn’t like you.  I knew I shouldn’t let him be alone with you.  But … it seemed to be going okay.  I slipped.”

Bruce turned and pulled her close.  “You don’t have to protect me from that.  I should be able to keep the anger under control.”

She leaned her forehead against his.  “Hulk didn’t hurt anyone.  I promise,” she said.  “What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home to bed and start thinking of ways to pretend none of this ever happened,” Bruce said.  “But we should probably go back inside.  I can’t just run from people like that.  Especially not when they’re your family.  Because… I love you, Summer.  I want you to be my family.”

Summer smiled.  “What if… we go to my room first.  We can do some of those things first,” she teased.  “Besides.  I wanted to show you my poster.”

Bruce smiled and kissed her nose.  “That sounds really good.”

Summer led him back inside through the back door and upstairs to her bedroom.  It was everything he’d hoped it would be.  Everything was pink and floral.  Shelves were littered with snow globes and ceramic unicorns.  There was a twin bed with a white metal frame in the middle of the room with a garish pink, floral bedspread that looked like it came right out of the 1970s.  Around the edge of the room acting as a kind of wallpaper-border, were pictures of various scientists, including, Nikola Tesla, Albert Einstein, Ada Lovelace, Alan Turing, and above her bed, a photograph of him.

“Look at that, you weren’t kidding, were you?”  He said, looking around at the photos.  “If you were so into science, why are you studying classics?”

Summer shrugged.  “I liked the history about how the discoveries were made more.  The lives of the people who made the grand discoveries.  How Évariste Galois died in a duel.  And the way Tesla was treated by Eddison.  I still cry when I think about how Turing was treated,” she stepped over to Bruce and put her hands on his chest.  “How Bruce Banner fell in love with some crazy redhead.”

Bruce chuckled.  “I thought you were going to say something about the accident.  Or being hunted.  Or becoming an Avenger.”

Summer shook her head.  “This bit is much more interesting.”  She brought her lips to his and they kissed deeply.  His arms circled around her and he pulled her tight against him and she began to unbutton his shirt.  “Bruce,” she whispered.  “I want you to fuck me so hard.  Use me like he thinks you must be.”

Bruce choked on air.  “You’re sure?”

“Yes, please,” she hummed, kissing just under his ear and pulled his shirt open.

He pulled back and looked at her, “I’ll do my best.  With the Hulk out I might have to pull back though.”  He said seriously.

“I understand, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

“Now, for me to feel okay about it, you need to be as quiet as you can.  Okay, sweet one?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“Then take off those clothes and get on your knees.”

Summer pulled back and took off her jacket and blouse.  She folded them in half and laid them over her desk.  She slipped her shoes off and shimmied out of her pencil skirt.  She was wearing a white lace bra with matching thong, a white garter belt and shimmering white stockings  Bruce hummed as he looked her up and down and pulled out his cock.

“Look at you,” he growled softly as he pumped his cock.  She bit her bottom lip and sunk to her knees in front of him, looking up at him with those clear blue eyes.

She ghosted her lips up his shaft and kitten licked along the slit.  Bruce hardened fully and wrapped her hair in his hand.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, centering himself.  When he let it out he looked down at her and pulled her hair.  “Open wide, honey.”

Summer opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out.  Bruce pushed his cock in past her lips and she closed them around him, engulfing his shaft in the warm, wet of her mouth.  She sucked up and down his length with that perfect amount of pressure to send a shiver running up his spine.  For a moment he just watched her and enjoyed the way that a dull tingle coiled up through him from his cock.

He pulled her hair back and looked down into her eyes.  “Hold still, honey.”

Summer opened her mouth and Bruce began to thrust down her throat.  “That’s it,” he purred.  “Take it.”

She moaned and gripped his thighs, breathing through the assault on her throat but never gagging or choking.  He brought himself right to the edge of orgasm with her mouth.  His cock throbbed and his balls tightened, ready to release  Just when he thought he’d gone too far, he let her go and pulled back.  Summer fell to her hands and knees panting.

“Fuck,” she gasped.  “That was so hot, Bruce.”

Bruce helped her to her feet and kissed the side of her neck.  “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.  If it was hot, it was all you.”

She hummed, carding her fingers through his hair and making him purr softly as she unhooked his bra, tossing it aside.  “Fuck me hard, Bruce,” she whispered against his ear.

“You be good and stay quiet,” he said and spanked her ass.  He spun her around and bent her over the bed.  He yanked her thong down, snapping the clasps of her garters as he pulled them down.  He crouched as he dragged them down, kissing the insides of her thighs and nuzzling at her pussy.  When he stood again he ground against her and palmed her cunt, massaging it and slipping his fingers between her folds.  She mewled and wriggled against him, and he grabbed her thighs, tearing her stockings as he pulled her back flush against him.

“Please, Bruce,” Summer whined through clenched teeth. “I want your dick so bad.”

Bruce reached into his pants for his wallet and then remembered that these weren’t his clothes.  “Damnit.  Summer.  I don’t have any protection.”

Summer gripped the sheets and groaned.  “Have you been sleeping around?”

Bruce shook his head. “No.  Just you.”

“You know you can if you want to,” she said.

“Are we really having this conversation right now?”

Summer started laughing.  “Sorry.  My last test came back clean and I’ve only been with you since.  Cassie went down on me one time and I gave this guy I met at school a handjob, but I used a latex glove  So if you want to...”

Bruce blinked and shook his head.  “You’re on birth control?”

“Yes, sir,” she purred grinding her dripping cunt back against his cock.

Bruce took a few deep breaths, massaging her ass as he pictured how her cunt would feel as he fucked her raw.  His chest rose and fell as he pushed Hulk back, the deep rumble of his primal need pushing against him.  He gripped her hips and sunk deep into her.

She groaned and bit the quilt cover as she squeezed her pelvic floor around him, the warmth and wetness of her encompassing his shaft as it pressed down from every side.  It was the first time he’d even attempted sex without protection since Betty before the accident and he’d forgotten how different it felt.

“God, Summer.  You feel so good,” he groaned.

“Fuck me with that huge cock, Bruce,” she moaned in response.

He leaned over and started to rail into her.  She cried out and gripped the sheets as he pounded into her, each thrust, pushed her twin bed across the room a little more.  “Summer, quiet,” he growled, spanking her ass.

“Feels so good,” she mewled.  “You’re gonna have to gag me.”

He grabbed her panties and shoved them in her mouth to muffle her cries, and she groaned and clenched around him.  He picked up his pace, slamming into her and groaning as her cunt massaged his cock.  She reached between her legs and rubbed her clit.  It made her lose control completely.  Her whole body clenched up and she cried out loudly as her cunt spasmed around Bruce’s cock.

“I’m close, Summer,” Bruce moaned.  “Where do you want it.”

“Come on my tits, Bruce,” she begged.  “Paint me with it.”

Bruce groaned, gritting his teeth as he pulled out.  Summer slid off the bed, onto her knees and turned to face him, looking up at him as she squeezed her tits together.  He pumped his cock quickly as he looked down at her, completely overcome by lust.

He grunted and released, painting her breasts with hot ropes of come.  Summer hummed and ran her fingers through the mess.  As he helped her back to her feet she stuck her fingers in her mouth and sucked them clean.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Bruce said, pulling her into his arms.  “With your parents downstairs and right after a Hulk out.”

“I’m a bad girl, Brucie,” she hummed, nuzzling at his neck.  “You should punish me next time.”

“Maybe I will, you dirty thing,” Bruce said.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  “Did you want to get cleaned up and try having lunch with them?”

Bruce nodded.   “Yeah.  If they’re okay with me being here.”

She looked up at him and frowned a little.  “I’m sorry he was like that.  You don’t have to see them again if you don’t want to.” 

He held her close to him.  “No, Summer.  I love you so much.  I would spend every day with them if it meant I could be with you.”

// NEXT

[honeycrispapple]

Week 8 10/14

Why is technology gendered?

When computers were just beginning to gain popularity, there was a cultural myth about artificial intelligences that they were too intelligent and hyperrational, like the Terminator, and so computers began to be conceptualized as friendly and also integrated with humans. According to O’Riordan, “The gendering of the interface… points to a conceptualization of digital hardware as actively friendly, nonthreatening, desirable, and malleable” (O’Riordan, p. 248). When technology simulates a human female, we can more easily accept it as familiar, and they are specifically women, O’Riordan argues that they culturally, can be seen as more emotional and less rational than men, which helps to dispel the myth that computers are too dangerous and intelligent and helped to make people more comfortable with the idea of a personal computer in their home.

What are some issues with the female simulation?

The simulation of female bodies in technology are intended to make us feel more comfortable with technology, but to do this, the simulations are an imagined version of human females that do not and will never exist, and just because they are virtual does not mean they do not affect the reality that actual human women exist in. According to Daniels, “my concern is that these bodies reproduce deeply problematic versions of identity and bodies, renewing old templates against which normality beauty and legitimacy can (again) be judged” (O’Riordan, 250). Similar to how we as a society have more recently began to push back against photoshopped images of women for portraying unrealistic beauty ideals that real women could never meet, the simulated female does not even start with the image of a real human woman. They are entirely created in cyberspace, and their creation reinforces visual encodings of what it means to be female. In this way, they are as real as any other women that we perceive, because they affect the reality in which we live.

What is “translocal whiteness” in the context of digital-era white supremacy?

There are a couple of major shifts in how white supremacist ideology changed when it was transferred to the digital world. One is the phenomenon of “translocal whiteness”, which Daniels defines as “the possibility that whites from a range of nations and disparate global regions choose to identify as, first and foremost, white” (Daniels, p. 66). The internet allows for much greater opportunity for people to communicate internationally, and because of this, individuals of different cultures and geographical regions can connect over their perceived similarity in being white, even if in other contexts they might be considered different races. One interesting example of this in the article was of a white supremacist man on the Stormfront forum, in the discussion of the inspiration for his nickname, mentioned that he dated “white Hispanic” women, implying that regardless of racial background, whether someone is white is debatable in this context.

How has white supremacist rhetoric changed in the digital era?

During the print only era, the rhetoric of white supremacists was controlled by a handful of men who had publishing capabilities. Ideas would be limited to printed media created by a few white men, and then distributed, from leaders to followers. According to Daniels, “What shifts in white supremacy in the digital era is that now this sort of racist rhetoric is no longer simply ideology that is distributed in one direction, from movement leaders to movement followers, but instead is interactive and participatory” (Daniels, 70). Now that it’s interactive and participatory, the movement followers can see many different points of view, and participate, like in the Stormfront discussion board about abortion. In the print-only era, this same question might have been distributed as an opinionated pamphlet, but in the digital era, the board is started as a question (“should abortion continue to be legal?”) and instead of reading about one opinion, readers will see many different opinions and also have the ability to consider and compose their own opinion, and then participate in a conversation about it.

Sources: Daniels, J. (2009). Gender, White Supremacy, and the Internet. Cyber Racism: White Supremacy Online and the New Attack on Civil Rights (pp. 61-86). Rowman & Littlefield.

Haraway, D. (1991). A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (pp. 149-181). Routledge.

O’Riordan, K. (2006). Gender, Technology, and Visual Cyberculture. Critical Cyberculture Studies (pp. 243-252). New York University

[dendroica]

As a reporter, in general I’m not supposed to say something like this, but: The president’s statements to the press were terrifying. That press availability was a repudiation of good science and good crisis management from inside one of the world’s most respected scientific institutions. It was full of Dear Leader-ish compliments, non-sequitorial defenses of unrelated matters, attacks on an American governor, and—most importantly—misinformation about the virus and the US response. That’s particularly painful coming from inside the CDC, a longtime powerhouse in global public health now reduced to being a backdrop for grubby politics. During a public health crisis, clear and true information from leaders is the only way to avoid dangerous panic. Yet here we are. Most of the deaths from Covid-19 in the US so far have been in Washington state, concentrated in a care facility for the elderly in Seattle. At the CDC, the president said of Washington’s governor Jay Inslee (who has declared a State of Emergency), “That governor is a snake … Let me just tell you, we have a lot of problems with the governor and the governor of Washington. That’s where you have many of your problems, OK?” That animosity doesn’t seem to be related to Inslee’s handling of the outbreak. The president may have been reacting to criticism from Inslee on Twitter about the way the outbreak has been handled, and until last summer Inslee was a candidate for the Democratic nomination to run against Trump in the November presidential election. Azar started talking about the tests health care workers use to determine if someone is infected with the new coronavirus. The lack of those kits has meant a dangerous lack of epidemiological information about the spread and severity of the disease in the US, exacerbated by opacity on the part of the government. Azar tried to say that more tests were on the way, pending quality control. Then Trump cut Azar off. “But I think, importantly, anybody, right now and yesterday, that needs a test gets a test. They’re there, they have the tests, and the tests are beautiful. Anybody that needs a test gets a test,” Trump said. This is untrue. Vice President Pence told reporters Thursday that the US didn’t have enough test kits to meet demand.

Trump’s Coronavirus Press Event Was Even Worse Than It Looked | WIRED

[kennedycatherine]

things may be shitty but sometimes I'm shittier

I’m overheard retelling half a joke my friends have heard 30 times over. One of the greats in my rotating stock of five. 

“Wait, what’s this about?” Asks someones boyfriend and I lean on an elbow, angle myself toward him with a grin.

“It’s actually a really funny story.”

His girlfriend rolls her eyes, “it’s not funny.”

My eyebrows go up, in, “I think it’s funny?”

“Kennedy,” she begins and looks at me with even eyes, “it makes people uncomfortable.”

She says it like a mother warning her toddler not to pull his pants off in front of the dinner guests, not again. And I feel a lot like he might;

Defiant - it is a funny story, I’ve done the math on which details can stay in, which have to go out, I know where to pause for a laugh or a sigh. He’d probably like it. 

Ashamed - it probably isn’t funny to everyone, perhaps my math was just enough to keep people engaged, the pauses great for a sympathy laugh. He probably wouldn’t like it.

“Another time,” he whispers with a soft, consoling smile and I silently curse his girlfriend. 

Fuck you, Kierstan, you don’t know the first thing about comedic timing.

The story in question is about the time I found my sister cold and unconscious. I thought she was dead. The punchline about my being in a pink velour costume when the EMT’s arrived and the bit about the stolen laffy taffy, oh and her not being dead - fully worth the undeniable emotional lows. 

Believe me when I say that in some circles, it’s a funny story. There are branches of comedy, Netflix specials, peoples entire careers and livelihoods that are rooted in dark comedy - there is a vast market for illuminating and lightening the horrifying. Also trust me when I say I know how deeply unfunny it is to watch someone you love overdose. 

The story is funny now. A few years ago it wasn’t. It was a nearly unspeakable thing. An experience that happened and it wasn’t funny. 

But life goes on. 

You have no choice. 

Around the time of the pink velour tracksuit and the laffy taffy, I found myself laughing uncontrollably at my desk. I’d just left the job I’d gone to college for and found myself in the pit of broken dreams - an 8 to 5 desk job. The absolute thrill of it all - somedays you might file, somedays you might answer a few more calls than usual. Somedays your boss might ask you to bend over and pick up his pencil while you wear the skirt it was gently (but firmly) implied was mandatory. Mandatory only in the sense that no one could tell you that you couldn’t wear pants but they sure were more forgiving of car naps running 15 minutes over if they could glimpse a knee. 

And boy, did I need the car naps. 

It’s funny because I thought I was doing great. Really, for awhile I thought I was the best I’d ever been. I was laughing pretty much all the time, at everything. I’d never found the world more funny. By all accounts, I was having a great time.

So imagine my surprise when one day I found my eyes full, my face damp and my car hurdling down the highway past the exit to my work. When I did arrive, this time with pants, therefor low forgiveness - I was asked to my boss’ office for a closed door meeting.

Why was I late?

Somehow telling my boss that I wasn’t exactly sure the reason but my brain was telling me I should just keep driving, maybe to the next town, maybe for hours, maybe until the border, didn’t really seem like an option. “I think I have the flu.”

Despite all the things I didn’t know, I did know I didn’t have the flu. I found myself laid out in my doctors office anyway.

When he finally threw the door open, all white coated and anxious, just like I like em’ - I sat up. We made a sort of frenzied eye contact and he asked me what was wrong. 

“I think I might be, like, totally fucking losing it.” 

I left with a plan and antidepressants.

It all sounds kind of simple and quaint.

But it wasn’t.

Stopping to consider if you’re a danger to yourself or anyone else so your doctor can qualify if you need counselling, pills, maybe a psychiatric hold isn’t charming. Those first few weeks of pills, even though you’ve been told and you know you’ll feel worse for awhile, they’re simply awful. This isn’t some beautiful woman on HBO popping a white pill with her chardonnay, suddenly noticing a pink bloom on her neglected cactus. This is ugly and painful before it’s anything else.

And slowly it did become “anything else” … most of the time. 

Depression isn’t a joke. But it is a static way of being that loses it’s edge. 

It softens. Like a shitty haircut, you come to expect the blunt, harsh edges. Your body adjusts to the sight of it. It’s still kind of scary to look at but you know what to expect.

Life goes on.

It’s just not precious anymore. 

I could barely say I’d been diagnosed. I only told the people who were close enough to see the new medication was wearing me out. Now it’s an introductory fact, “Hi, Kennedy Catherine, daughter, lover, lesbian, writer, major depressive disorder.” 

I felt for a long time like it was all behind me. The worst was over! Family, outside of some trick hearts, healthy. Depression, diagnosed, plans made, helpful medications on standby. Experiencing another dark episode seemed dull,  ya know? Just a tad fucking redundant. Been there, done it, bored by it. 

Then: March 2020. 

There was a period of limbo. I still had a job, I just couldn’t be there or do it until things got better - hardy har. I packed up my truck and settled into my families cabin for five or six weeks. It was fine, I was fine, I thought. One day I went out for a walk and awhile later watched my sister rumble through a long stretch of prairie toward me on an ATV. My phone was dead and I’d be gone, oh, three hours longer than expected?

“What happened?”

I just kind of… lost track of time? Lost my sense of direction? I don’t know, I thought. I was here but I sort of went away from myself for a second. When I sunk into the bath later with achy muscles and a blister, I felt nervous.

Now, I haven’t scared myself in years. My depression isn’t so severe that I feel unsafe with myself. Anything I did or have done to effectively terrify myself, I shed by the time I was 20. Because that can happen, you can do that. You can change coping mechanisms and learn real, healthy ways to parent yourself. The mood instability that came later, the dark times, I still felt mostly fortified. I felt like I could figure it out, like I still had access to myself to do the figuring out. 

But I could feel myself slipping away this time. 

I was talking fast about something or another when I finally said to my mom, “I think I might need help.” I wasn’t sure exactly what I meant because I didn’t really know how to help myself and I wasn’t really sure what was wrong. 

And that in and of itself is a problem. I didn’t know what was wrong? 

I was out of the job that got me out of bed Monday to Friday for three and a half years, I left the house that had become my comfort cathedral, I hadn’t seen any of my closest friends in months, I was living with my sister and my mother who I hadn’t spent longer than a handful of days with in like five years. There was global fear and uncertainty and the risk of contracting a virus that could or could not kill you but I didn’t know… what was wrong? Well that’s just deeply moronic. 

Sometimes when you need help, or when I need help, that does come in the form of professional counselling or medications or an anonymous support group. Sometimes, it’s just circumstantial and circumstances can change.

I went home.

And in a few weeks, when I’d more or less returned to myself, I could clearly see the hills and valleys my mind had just wandered. I felt strength again, a sense of renewal and excitement about my imminent return to work and society.

Then I actually lost my job.

I know, redundant. I’m tired of myself too. But bullshit is cyclical, that’s just a fact. 

And if there is one thing I’ll give myself credit for, it’s my ability to immediately concoct a backup plan in the face of a threat. Moments after I was officially terminated, texts and emails went out. The idea of not knowing where my next paycheque would come from and how much it would be, having lost the place I strolled into everyday with a sense of purpose and not knowing when and where I’d have that again was simply not an option.

My head went down, I narrowed focus and the efforts resulted in… enough. I’m living. Which wasn’t and isn’t the hope for life. Unstable stagnancy is deeply uncomfortable.

So, generally speaking, things are not great. 

I lost my humbly secure job. A place I comfortably could’ve lived and died if I’d prioritized everything other than work and my sort of crippling ambition. This effectively led me down the path of questioning every decision I’ve made past the age of 16. First and foremost, choosing radio. An industry that was at it’s peak in the 1930’s and on the decline ever since was perhaps not the most lucrative or secure of career choices. 

My romantic life developed far enough to remind me that often times I am a crusty, avoidant crustacean human and suddenly all those popular tweets about my deep emotional inabilities and intimacy issues seemed, well, not that funny.

I decided I probably shouldn’t drink. I don’t have a drinking problem but I do have a problem with drinking. Namely, waking with no memory, my legs shaking and my stomach clenched so tightly I could sense my body wanted to flee - itself, mostly. And let’s not forget the part where I get fighty and mean.  

When shit hit the fan and then shot off the blades into the face of life in my early twenties, it wasn’t my fault. To be clear, mental health is a no fault area. I was always predisposed to depression, mental illness is genetic. I had no control over that. But there were plenty of variables, extenuating circumstances if you will, that I also had no control over but sure as fuck could and did blame other people for.

This is not the same thing. 

This is a moment where it is necessary to discern illness from circumstance and living from coping. 

Like I said, bullshit is cyclical. And it this point, it’s pretty much just my own bullshit on repeat, forever and ever amen. At twenty or twenty three, when the circumstances weren’t my fault, it also felt like my reactions weren’t my fault. I was floundering, I didn’t know better. I learned some hard lessons about how I cope and handle things. I learned that I didn’t really like the person I was when I was figuring out how to survive myself and life. 

I was unkind, a lot. 

I hated the way that felt, I hated the way it affected my relationships and decided to learn from it.

Except, I didn’t learn. I said, great, noted. Dashed a nice little ~fini!~ at the end of that chapter, closed er’ on up and bypassed the bookshelf for the dusty box in the corner labelled, “garage sale.” Because surely no one would need to read that again! 

And then a few weeks ago when I had a breakthrough in counselling, I dug that chapter back up and allowed myself a few days of surprise. Bitch, you been done knew the WHOLE time. This isn’t news, this isn’t shocking. This is the part of you that developed somewhere along the way and it didn’t work and you didn’t like it but! But. It was comfortable. So you gave it a few years and then when things fell out of control again, let it settle back in all warm and snuggly.

You know what they say. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I guess I need to financially prioritize a CBT therapist. 

So here I am, again. 

Only this time feels deeply, deeply different. Because it’s not the first. 

I sat down with a friend to tell her how I was feeling. How much I felt like I needed and wanted to change my default settings. 

I need a factory restore. 

“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”

No, no, I have grace for myself! I actually have a lot of understanding. I’m parenting myself through this which includes showing myself love while I also discipline.

“I just feel like maybe you were doing the best you knew how.”

Well, I mean, sure? Sometimes? But there were moments where I knew I was saying or doing the wrong thing, where I was even challenged by someone else but I wasn’t challenging myself, you know?

“Well maybe that’s just who you are?”

Right… but this is also who I am? And we do actually have a say in that, you know? Like how I evolved from throwing toddler tantrums on the grocery store floor? I could actually just keep doing that, no one is stopping me, but I don’t.

“I think you’re being self deprecating and that is not healthy.” 

Since when is self identifying a problem self deprecation? 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

… but change is hard? 

I appreciate that people want to protect me from myself or from bad feeling or whatever they perceive that all to be. More often than not, I think they, we, you, I, we’re all just trying to protect ourselves. But it’s not helpful. Pretending that everything is fine and that we’re fine and adopting an overarching, “I am perfect as I am, namas-fucking-te” mantra isn’t actually helpful.

What’s the harm in me saying I have been shitty? That I have acted poorly? That I have neglected to be better when there was clearly a different option? That I wasn’t honestly showing myself to people when I could’ve or allowing them space in me?

That it’s… not nice? That just like the joke about my sister not being dead, it’s not comfortable to listen to? It’s true and it is compassionate to view yourself as a whole, to know yourself and think I actually do like myself and this life enough to want to be better.

Just like what is coined the unfortunate evening of Velour and Ambulances or the depression diagnosis or life being turned on it’s head by a plague sent from hell, once it was deeply painful and then it wasn’t. None of this is precious. Being a shitty person sometimes isn’t a rare affliction. You’ve been shitty before, you’ll do it again, I’ll do it again, hey, you might even be shitty right now! Isn’t that something? 

Things are not great right now. They’ve been not great tens of times before. Only this time it isn’t taking me 2 to 4 years to talk and laugh about it. Because this is a muscle, the shit muscle and it’s exercised. It’s buff. 

And you know what? Things could be worse. They could even get worse now! I’m hoping they don’t but they certainly could, and in the thick of it, we’ll always have that glimmering possibility to hold onto. 

[maren-as-an-adult]

The 2020 Experience, Part 2

When I flew back to New York a few days later (yes, I braved the airports and a plane) I could not stop crying. What should have been a loving and heartfelt reunion between myself and Graham turned into an awkward situation for him, with me bent double in the front seat of his car sobbing inconsolably.

And suddenly I had to adjust back to life more or less on my own. I couldn’t have friends come over, my family who lived in NYC were too far for me to get to them without public transit, and Graham’s mother was immunocompromised so we couldn’t spend much time together. I was back to sitting at my computer, taking online surveys for the promise of money and sending out application after application. Jena and Julia, my other two roommates, were still not back, so it was just me and Polina.

Things started to get a little better though. I had applied for Medicaid so I had some health coverage again. I scheduled an appointment with my new doctor, I started talking to a therapist again in August, and I stopped budgeting for birth control and got it for free. The after school program was up and running again, this time remotely (only one of my schools was able to host their program though, so my work hours were still cut). I looked forward to every other weekend, where Graham would drive out and pick me up to spend a few nights at his place. Jena came back and announced she was moving out, and our new roommate Michelle moved in. Michelle and I had a lot in common, and I found it easy to talk to and connect with her.

I even got out to see my family. I braved the subway to see my family up in Astoria, and Polina told me about the ferries I could take that brought me to my family on the Upper East Side.

One day in late September, however, I woke up with abdominal pain. It was pretty mild at first, but it kept getting worse. As someone who has periods, I assumed it was just week-early cramps brought on by stress combined with a poor diet that didn’t include much fiber. I tried to assuage the feeling by eating an apple, but after a quick trip to the bathroom it made a reappearance coming back up the way it went down. I decided to do what most people do (and what doctors hate) and look up my symptoms online to try and self-diagnose. The two big contenders for what I was suffering from were IBS or an ulcer. I texted Graham and told him what was up, and he asked what I was going to do. My current plan was to try and wait it out, and if things still felt bad in the morning, I would go to the ER.

If it wasn’t for Graham’s suggestion that I go to an urgent care center (which I had completely forgot existed at this point in time) I may have died.

At 7:12pm I grabbed my bag and walked three blocks to the urgent care center closest to my apartment. Unfortunately, they were no longer taking walk-ins for the day, but told me that another urgent care center was open until 8 and would take walk-ins.

It was 17 blocks away.

I walked 17 blocks with severe abdominal pain to this urgent care center just to be seen and tell a health professional I wasn’t feeling well. I knew there wouldn’t be much they could do, but maybe they could give me a better idea of what was wrong with me. I called Graham and gave him the address of the urgent care center, asking that he come out to be with me. Whatever was happening to me, I did not want to go through it alone.

I made it to the urgent care center fifteen minutes before they closed. I was taken to an observation room where a brusque young Russian woman took down my vitals and information as we waited for the RN to come see me. When he finally did come in and I started telling him what was wrong, I barely finished explaining what happened after I ate and failed to keep down the apple that he interrupted me saying, “You need to go to the ER immediately, because what you described sounds like you have a GI bleed. You’ll need an endoscopy, where they take a camera on a long, thin tube and feed it down in through your stomach and into your intestines to see if you’re bleeding internally.”

It was getting late, I was alone, and I was TERRIFIED.

I was told where the nearest ERs were, was given a printed referral, and then dismissed for the evening. All I could do was wait for Graham and tell him what was going on... and then call my mother and tell her.

I love my mom. I’ll likely never not love my mom for the rest of my life. But sometimes she takes a bad situation and makes me feel even worse. When I told her I had called Graham to come get me, she pointedly asked why I didn’t call any of my family who lived closer than Graham. Well, of my family who live in the greater metropolitan area of New York City, we have:

- My Aunt Barbara and Uncle Danny, currently NOT in NYC and instead staying out in Milford, PA

- My Uncle Brian, Aunt Corinne, and cousin Nikki up in Astoria. My aunt cannot drive and gets panicked easily, my cousin only has her learner’s permit, and my uncle (though I love him) would not be the most comforting presence to me at the moment, being VERY pro-Trump Republican and a FIRM anti-masker

- My Uncle Mike, Aunt Gloria, and cousins Maura (and her husband Andrew), Brendan, and Kevin. Maura, at this point in time, was nine months pregnant and due to give birth any minute, and I was not going to be responsible for pulling my aunt or uncle away from the birth of their first grandchild

With this information presented to my mother, she did concede that calling Graham had not been a terrible idea. Continuing to fret, however, she said I should at least have called them to let them know what was happening. She took it upon herself to do that, and additionally call my father and tell him (dad was on the road at that point and so missed my initial call of “Hey, jsyk, I’m going to the ER, wish me luck!”). Graham pulled up, I ended my mom’s call telling her I’d keep her posted, and headed off to the unknown.

As we were driving to the closest ER, my dad called. Thankfully, he gave advice that calmed me down. He listened to my symptoms, told me it was likely an ulcer, and told me what would happen when I went in: I’d be admitted to the ER, they’d take my vitals, I’d explain my symptoms over and over and over to multiple people, they’d probably admit me overnight, knock me out and do an endoscopy, and in the morning I’d be sent home with a prescription to help with the ulcer. I felt better.

Graham and I made it to the ER at about 8:45pm. I was admitted immediately, my vitals were taken, I was given a cup to pee in, an IV was placed in my arm, my blood was taken, and I told my story to two different doctors and a few different nurses. I went in for an ultrasound to rule out pregnancy, endometriosis, and ovarian cysts. I waited, with Graham by my side.

The doctor came back at about 11:30pm and told me my urinalysis and ultrasound came back unremarkable, but my bloodwork showed a high white blood cell count, which meant my body was fighting off an infection somewhere. This is absolutely something I did and did not want to hear in the middle of a global pandemic. On the one hand, go immune system! Keep me safe, you beautiful, hard-working bitch! On the other hand, what was it my body was fighting off?

The doctor said if I wanted to leave at that point, I could, because nothing obvious was found. “But,” she said, “I would strongly recommend we do a CT scan just to be safe.”

It was late, both Graham and I were tired, and my abdominal pain wasn’t awful to the point where I was bent double anymore. I could stand and walk around with only a slight discomfort. The thought of getting out of the ER, a frankly dangerous place to be in these COVID times, was deliciously appealing.

“What the hell, lets do the CT scan.”

I was given almost two liters of fluid to drink to prep for the scan. It didn’t taste bad, actually, kind of like a flat lemon La Croix that had been left in its aluminum can too long. At 12:30am I went in for the scan. Two hours later, Graham and I were still waiting for the results. At around 2:30am Graham turned to me and said, “Honestly, I’m ready to go. I won’t leave you here alone, but I’m exhausted and ready to get out of here.” I responded, “Honestly, I am too.”

At that moment, a doctor walked around the corner into our area and said, in a too cheery voice, “Hi there! You have appendicitis.”

I swear in that moment I could feel the cosmic force of the universe tremble with suppressed laughter at this finely crafted moment of ironic timing. My only response to the doctor and Graham was, “Well... I guess I’m staying here for the night?” Remember when I thought it was IBS? Couldn’t we go back to that?

I’ve mentioned before the idea of surgery scares me. I’d hoped I’d only have to experience anesthesia from getting my wisdom teeth removed. I fully expected to break down in hysterics then, but I guess I was just too tired and overwhelmed to react in such a big way. I called my mom and told her what was happening, and the first suggestion she made was for me to come home and heal in Chicago.

...mom, I love you, but getting on a plane immediately after major surgery in the MIDDLE OF A GLOBAL PANDEMIC FROM AN AIRBORNE VIRUS is frankly the DUMBEST IDEA EVER.

After realizing that would be a bad move, she suggested she come out to be with me while I heal. While an appealing process, it ultimately wouldn’t be of much use, because she’d have to quarantine for two weeks before seeing anyone at that point. Eventually, she offered to book a hotel room for me and Graham for a long, extended weekend to help me recover. It was extremely generous of her, and I’ll forever be grateful she did it.

I was hooked up to antibiotics to prep for surgery, and the attending surgeon explained the procedure to me. Everyone was so calm and sure of themselves that I felt okay, and the inevitable wave of panic was held off. At 4:30am, I was wheeled up to the operating room. Graham stayed by my side as long as he could and walked all the way to the doors of the OR hallway with me and the attending. I made sure he and my mom had each others’ phone numbers so he could give updates. I was wheeled through the doors, and met with my operating team.

The anesthesiologist and practicing surgeon assured me that they felt fine, well-rested, and at the top of their game, and I was able to relax some as I moved off of my gurney onto the operating table. Once I was on the table, clad only in a thin hospital gown and gripper socks, my body started to shake. Whether it was from the cold or the panic had finally set in I wasn’t sure, but I calmly told the doctors that I thought my fight or flight response was kicking in, and they might need to consider restraining my shaking limbs.

They did, and they also put a heated (and somewhat weighted) blanket over me which relaxed me so my limbs weren’t shaking so violently. An oxygen mask was placed on my face, sealing my nose and mouth into a thick plastic chamber. I tried to breathe deeply and evenly, forcing myself to think of pleasant thoughts and not spiral into a headspace of worst case scenarios. I think what helped most was actually an attending nurse reading out loud my patient chart for posterity and recording’s sake, and he said, “Patient is a twenty-seven year old female named Maureen Ford.”

The annoyance I felt at being misnamed (again as Maureen) cut through the second wave of panic buildup, and my only goal was to correct him. The oxygen mask muffled my voice, but I like to think if you were to listen to the audio recording of my surgery, you would hear, very faintly in the background, me indignantly stating, “It’s pronounced MAREN!”

My last thought before I went under was that I need to make sure that nurse was corrected.

When I woke up, I felt more comfortable than I had in a very long time. The only thing that kept me from being in a total state of comfortable bliss was the slowly incoming knowledge that my mouth was drier than the Sahara desert at noon in July. Despite this, and the residual effects of the anesthesia still in effect, I was pleased to find that not only could I clearly hear and understand the conversations happening around me, I could also coherently speak and communicate with people. I asked for water as soon as I could, and the nurse told me that they’d have to work me up to water. We’d start with a lemon swab in my mouth, followed by ice chips, and then I could get water. The attending surgeon came in to tell me the surgery went smoothly without complications, and I asked her if she could make sure whoever called me Maureen was corrected on my name pronunciation.

I really hope it wasn’t written off as a sleepy patient’s delirious request, because I was absolutely serious about it.

After eating some very powdery eggs and drinking an apple juice, I was discharged and told to get my medications, rest up, avoid lifting anything over 15 pounds, stay away from submerging my sutures in water, and to schedule a one week post-op follow up with my primary care provider and a two week post-op follow up with the attending surgeon.

Graham drove us back to Bay Ridge, and I gave him my keys to go grab some essentials from my apartment. I gave Michelle and Polina a heads up that he was coming up (and I had let them know what was happening before I went into surgery) and that I’d be gone recovering through the weekend and partway into the week. They both wished me a speedy recovery, Graham grabbed a few essentials for me, and we drove up the street to pick up my meds from Rite Aid.

For some reason, they had only filled two of the four prescriptions. One they didn’t fill because it was a controlled substance and the hospital hadn’t submitted the proper authorization for it, and the other prescription (one of two laxatives) I have no idea why it wasn’t filled. Eventually, I got both my pain medications and one of the laxatives, with the other laxative to be filled and picked up at a different Rite Aid, closer to Graham’s work.

Exhausted, sore, hungry, and (in my case) in desperate need of a shower, we made it back to Graham’s to spend one more day there before going off to the hotel my mom had booked us. Graham had been scheduled to work that day, but after calling into the office was told he should only come in if he thought it was absolutely necessary. He ended up catching a few hours of sleep before going in for the late shift at work. I managed to take a shower and fell asleep on his couch as his bed was too soft and sent my abdomen into absolute agony. I blinked in and out of consciousness for the next few hours, waiting for Graham to come home with my last bit of medication. In that time, my dad called to check on me and ask how I felt, what I was prescribed, and what was expected of me. As we were talking Graham called, and I excused myself so I could answer the call. Nothing could have prepared me for what Graham was going to say to me.

“I was just hit by a truck.”

*click*

[sciencespies]

The Dangers of Space, Military Rivals and Other New Books to Read

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-dangers-of-space-military-rivals-and-other-new-books-to-read/

The Dangers of Space, Military Rivals and Other New Books to Read

Reading astrophysicist Paul M. Sutter’s latest book, How to Die in Space, will surely help any adult erase regrets they may have about their failed childhood dream of becoming an astronaut. As the SUNY Stony Brook professor observes, outer space—populated by such threats as black holes, acid rain, asteroids, planetary nebulae and magnetic fields—is, to put it frankly, “nasty.”

The latest installment in our “Books of the Week” series, which launched in late March to support authors whose works have been overshadowed amid the COVID-19 pandemic, details the many ways one might meet their demise in space, six notorious military rivalries, the Italian Renaissance’s dark undertones, the history of swimming and the culinary implications of so-called “wild foods.” Past coverage has highlighted books including Karen Gray Houston’s exploration of her family’s civil right’s legacy, St. Louis’ racist history, James Madison’s black family, and modern conservatism’s roots in the antebellum South and post-Civil War westward expansion.

Representing the fields of history, science, arts and culture, innovation, and travel, selections represent texts that piqued our curiosity with their new approaches to oft-discussed topics, elevation of overlooked stories and artful prose. We’ve linked to Amazon for your convenience, but be sure to check with your local bookstore to see if it supports social distancing-appropriate delivery or pickup measures, too.

How to Die in Space: A Journey Through Dangerous Astrophysical Phenomena by Paul M. Sutter

Despite its macabre title, How to Die in Space is a surprisingly lighthearted read. Adopting what Kirkus describes as an “informal, humorous persona,” Sutter—host of popular podcast “Ask a Spaceman!”—guides his audience through the cosmos’ deadliest phenomena, from Jupiter’s dense atmosphere to radiation, solar flares and exploding stars, which he deems “slumbering dragon[s], just waiting for the chance to awaken and begin breathing flame.”

The book also dedicates ample space to speculative threats, including dark matter, extraterrestrial life, wormholes and “other relics of the ancient universe.”

How to Die in Space’s description emphasizes that while “the universe may be beautiful, … it’s [also] treacherous.” Still, Sutter’s musings cover more than simply doom and gloom: As the scientist writes in the text’s closing chapters, “It’s really an excuse to talk about all the wonderful physics happening in the cosmos. … There is so much to learn, and we need to study it as closely and intimately as possible.”

Gods of War: History’s Greatest Military Rivals by James Lacey and Williamson Murray

Following the release of their 2013 bestseller, Moment of Battle: The Twenty Clashes That Changed the World, journalist James Lacey and historian Williamson Murray started brainstorming topics to explore in future books. Eventually, the pair landed on the premise of rivals, defined in Gods of War’s introduction as “military geniuses who … fought a general of equal caliber”—or, in the cases of World War II commanders Erwin Rommel, Bernard Law Montgomery and George Patton, multiple generals.

Bookended by essays on war’s “changing character” and the role of military genius in modern warfare, the six case studies read like a Who’s Who of global history. Representing the ancient world are Hannibal and Scipio (the latter of whom the authors describe as “the better strategic thinker”) and Caesar and Pompey. Crusader kings Richard I and Saladin; Napoleon Bonaparte and Battle of Waterloo victor Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington; Union Army commander Ulysses S. Grant and Confederate officer Robert E. Lee round out the list of 13 featured men.

Lacey and Murray liken their approach to chess strategy. “There is only so much you can learn by playing someone inferior to you or by revisiting the games of neophytes,” the duo writes. “There is, however, much to absorb, think about, and learn from studying games that [pit] one grandmaster against another.”

The Beauty and the Terror: The Italian Renaissance and the Rise of the West by Catherine Fletcher

As alluded to by its title, Catherine Fletcher’s latest book juxtaposes seemingly discordant aspects of the Italian Renaissance: its aesthetic brilliance and, in the words of fellow historian Simon Sebag Montefiore, the “filth and thuggery, slavery, sex, slaughter and skullduggery behind [this] exquisite art.” Framed as an alternative history of the much-explored period of creative rebirth, The Beauty and the Terror contextualizes the Italian Renaissance within the framework of European colonialism, widespread warfare and religious reform. Rather than focusing solely on such artistic geniuses as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and Botticelli, Fletcher lends a voice to the women writers, Jewish merchants, mercenaries, prostitutes, farmers and array of average citizens who also called the Italian peninsula’s competing city-states home.

The “lived reality” of 15th- and 16th-century Italy involved far more violence, uncertainty and devastation than widely believed, argues Fletcher. Forces beyond its residents’ control—a series of wars, the rise of the Ottoman Empire, the advent of the Protestant Reformation—shaped their lives yet have been largely overshadowed by what their greatest minds left behind.

“We revere Leonardo da Vinci for his art but few now appreciate his ingenious designs for weaponry,” notes the book’s description. “We know the Mona Lisa for her smile but not that she was married to a slave-trader. We visit Florence to see Michelangelo’s David but hear nothing of the massacre that forced the republic’s surrender.”

Splash!: 10,000 Years of Swimming by Howard Means

In lieu of visiting a swimming pool this summer, consider diving into Howard Means’ absorbing exploration of aquatic recreation and exercise. As the journalist writes in Splash!’s prologue, paddling, floating or wading through water can be a transformative experience: “The near weightlessness of swimming is the closest most of us will ever get to zero-gravity space travel. The terror of being submerged is the nearest some of us ever come to sheer hell.”

The earliest evidence of swimming dates to some 10,000 years ago, when Neolithic people living in what is now southwest Egypt painted individuals performing the breaststroke or doggy paddle on the walls of the Cave of Swimmers. Swimming endured throughout the classical period, with ancient texts including the Bible, Homer’s Odyssey, the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Chinese Book of Odes all containing references to the practice.

The advent of the medieval era—with its rising “prudery” and insularity, as well as its lack of sanitation and efficient infrastructure—quickly brought this “golden age” of swimming to an end; in Europe, at least, “swimming slipped into the dark for a full millennium,” writes Means.

During the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries, swimming was more closely associated with witchcraft than leisure. The practice only regained popularity during the Enlightenment period, when such prominent figures as Benjamin Franklin and Lord Byron reminded the public of its merits. By 1896, swimming had regained enough popularity to warrant its inclusion in the first modern Olympic Games.

Feasting Wild: In Search of the Last Untamed Food by Gina Rae La Cerva

Part memoir, part travelogue and part culinary adventure, Feasting Wild examines “humans’ relationship to wild food and the disappearing places and animals that provide it,” according to Publishers Weekly. Broadly defined as fare foraged, hunted or caught in the wild, the “untamed” foods detailed in geographer and anthropologist Gina Rae La Cerva’s debut book hail from such diverse locales as Scandinavia, Poland, Borneo, the Democratic Republic of Congo, New Mexico and Maine. Once “associated with poverty and subsistence,” writes La Cerva, wild foods including broad-leaved garlic, bushmeat, sea buckthorn flowers and moose meat are now viewed as luxuries, reserved for five-star restaurants that cater to an elite clientele.

La Cerva argues that this shift in perception stems from the onslaught of “settler-colonialism,” which used the dichotomy of wild versus tame to “justify violent appetites and the domination of unfamiliar cultures and places.” Within a few centuries, she adds, “the world [had] traded wild edibles at home for exotic domesticates from abroad.”

The flipside of this “fetishization of need” is the standardization of humans’ diets. As wild places across the world vanish, so, too, do undomesticated or uncultivated plant and animal species. Preserving wild foods—and the knowledge imparted by the women who have historically collected and cooked them—is therefore “fundamentally about recovering our common heritage,” writes La Cerva. “The urgency of the environmental crisis is precisely why we must slow down, take time, [and] become complicated in our actions.”

#Nature

[violetsystems]

#personal

Because of the Internet, cycles of things don’t really follow the same pattern as the older generation is used to.  They think they know obviously.  Their favorite game is called human capital and we are the pawns, bishops and knights on the chessboard for them to sacrifice.  I’m forced to read a lot of financial opinions as an outsider.  For somebody in the aforementioned camp, Mario Gabelli had at least acknowledged that the Fortnite generation has been slowly growing up.  Apps like Robinhood have opened the market up to steal your hard earned pennies.  And then accounts get hacked, money gets stolen, and the older generation laughs and shakes it’s head.  You stupid kids and your lack of motivation.  If you didn’t spend all your time living your life instead of making us money.  I think he forgets like most boomers do that there’s an entire generation after them that was born and bred on Tron.  I didn’t land into the stock market after playing Call of Duty with my bros to be honest.  I melted down a twenty year pension from a place of employment that ghosted, derezzed and ignored my entire identity.  Other people might have traded online through simulations, harvested their bitcoin at the behest of their electric bill or just have rich parents,  I’m not like other people.  We all have figured this out after how many years of writing these to an invisible tribunal of amazing people.  I often read these other perspectives about the financial industry controlled by pundits, investors, and people who generally talk down to the little person like me.  We are what people refer to as “the retail investor.”  We’re written about like the plague mostly because nobody can really control our strategies or bully us into submission.  Much of the idea of retirement is hinged on investments in America.  Social Security is about to run out at some point.  My generation will probably be the first to see my government stiff the bill and run away.  Corporations and working for them at times can be a whirlwind of interconnected dots.  Money and loss on paper becomes a zero sum shell game for the rich.  It’s not about the work you do.  It’s about the money you spend for them.  Donald Trump took a loss for almost two decades which is incidentally how long I was gainfully employed.  A typical artist in America can take a hobby loss for up to five years.  The same artists with no healthcare to speak of.  The fiscal cliff that we all dread is nowhere reflected in the markets.  Neither is the actual driving force behind their profit.  America is a consumer based economy and America is simultaneously shrinking and bursting at the seams.  These are all stitched together by a frail, aging ideology that doesn’t want to let go.  Generation X’ers like myself are used to being forgotten about.  I travelled the world looking for someone to look at me as more than a number.  And now people follow me around because I’m a name on their company registry.  But nobody really ever speaks to me directly.  I’m a dataset and a demographic that only speaks as a number on paper.  Until I do things that the financial elite can’t stand.  I make a decision that is based on things they don’t value.  I choose to put my money elsewhere.  And this is why people hate us.  Because you can’t speculate on chaos that you do not control.  And America is simply profit off of speculation which is a value amounted to 20.83 trillion dollars in debt.  Which doesn’t sound much like it’s in control of anything except printing money.

I grew up on computers.  My mother helped me start my first bulletin board system.  I had my very first phone line in my bedroom around the time wargames came out.  I used to post the number on boards before I had even set up a system like Telegard.  I would advertise it like a mysterious military site out of a Gibson book.  People would call and the modem would pick up the carrier tone and dump them to a blank monochrome screen.  From there my twelve year old self would punk people into thinking I was an AI.  Years later I found a twenty year career in Information Technology in the Arts which abandoned me in a wholly disturbing way.  My knowledge of computers still stayed and those skills kept me alive in these times.  I grew up playing games because I had no friends and suffered horrible bullying.  I was an only child who was ridiculously intelligent but often quiet and ignored.  Years later it’s not so much different.  The bullying is still out there.  America rewards the loud and the forthcoming mostly because it is too lazy to seek out the nuances.  Convenience has warped America’s attention span beyond the regular flow of time.  Computers and connection over the years have rapidly accelerated the dominance of these ideals.  Jobs exist all over the world these days.  Most of the ones I’ve been interested in have been in China.  But due to the circumstances of my situation, I was forced to take a larger sum of income this year than I would have liked.  Sounds terrible right?  No shortage of people trying to scam me into spending it.  Any further income accrued this year becomes taxed horribly.  Ironically, the Illinois fair tax law changes the game even further as retirement income was not taxed before the amendment.  If passed, any retirement income that was not with held will be owed.  Another round of layoffs to liquidate pensions from the bottom line in cities like ours will definitely affect people worse than me down the road.  I’ve been stumbling through the process alone since the end of July.  A lot of what I had done was to part out and budget money in my own way playing a waiting game that I’ve grown used to in my life.  I am at the peak of stagnancy at the moment.  Staring out at another blank screen typing into the void every week while people lift bits and pieces for their own convenient narrative of me and my value in human capital.  Headhunters no longer stalk the internet.  They follow you around in the street with forced intimidation expecting you to read into what they think you deserve to spend the rest of your life doing.  All the while trying to wrap you up back into an ecosystem for less pay, shrinking benefits, and an economic ecosystem of investments of both human and monetary.  Debtors are paired with debtors.  Marriages are arranged for tax purposes and rich oligarchs with political ties find more ways to pay less.  And yet they never really understand the power of connection they do not have.  They don’t communicate.  They project.  They expect you to believe that we’re all in this together when they never hear a word you say.  The only time they listen is when you take your money away.  I’m single.  Never been married.  An only child.  And pretty much an exile on Wall Street with more liquidity and equity suddenly than most people in America.  And much like everyone paying more taxes to a government that has basically turned into a formulaic limp dick reality show.

A reality show that treats me like the Babadook at best these days.  I can’t even leave my house anymore without somebody following me or watching me.  I realize this might just be the hazards of my next pivot into global employment.   I thought these long forms of prose were enough of a background check for the FBI at this point.  It’s called “transparency and accountability” Scully.  I realize ethics aren’t a valuable skill in America.  But the utter lack of human emotion for my situation speaks volumes to me.  And it should be a wakeup call for most who live and work in this dangerous time.  They really don’t give a fuck about us in such a comedic way that they don’t realize our power.  Our power is confidence and they find ways to undermine it.  Tell you that you aren’t beautiful enough so that you spend more money on things you do not need.  Ignore and isolate you until you breakdown and ask for their help.  Until you treat yourself in bankruptcy so they can print more money.  These times are abusive at best in a way that I have never been prepared for.  But those on top don’t really understand how it feels to be under the thumb for years.  I do.  Corporations aren’t human and neither are most rich people.  I realize that life here is literally all about money.  Last night was a very good example of that when I read the news about a game I played shutting down.  I cried because it was the only thing connecting me to anything social without being overbearing and weird.  And I had invested a sizeable amount of my pension in the thought that this might keep the ecosystem alive.  The lesser of two evils of investing.  Put money where you think it will be used fairly and wisely.  Water the garden and watch it grow.  The amazon stock is literally over three grand per share.  They own everything.  They’ve shattered their profits due to the shift from COVID to delivery.  Small businesses shutter.  Hard artistic work is pissed to the wind.  And people like myself are left to wonder why the fuck Jeff Bezos needs any more money from me to treat me like a fucking lab rat.  These companies do not give a fuck about you as a person.  They want your money.  They want to leverage your image, your words, your narrative to push something that doesn’t benefit you at all.  There is no excuse for me to be invisible after all these years let alone from what happened to me in July.  And yet, there is no real way to get back at it.  Other than to completely divest from something that only hurts.  Capitalism is funny that way.  It desperately wants your participation to stay alive.  A two trillion dollar company like Apple cares only about the cut for their investors not the art that drives these bricks that become obsolete in two years.  The reason the old generation is contentious to us is that we see the scam in broad daylight.  We trolled you behind the scenes.  And when we learn the truth, it hurts.  We can always hurt back.  I divest.  I decouple.  I wonder what motivates me as a human being and not a bottom line for some rich fuck who got their way scamming people into thinking they’re worth less so they could have more.  The internet moves pretty fast.  It can all fall apart in a keystroke.  And these people will still be making excuses and not staring us point blank in the eye.  I’ll still be playing video games and you’ll still be investing in what you think you know about me.  Which last time I checked is jack shit other than the fact that it’s safe enough to plant a nuclear physicist under my apartment for a year without me knowing.  Shall we play a game?  See you at the opening bell Jeff!

[presidentrhodes]

Spider-Man Far From Home spoilers

I just finished watching it and, honestly, I’d say it was a pretty good way to bid farewell to the first three phases of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. 

Spoilers under the cut. This is pretty long and rambly. 

1. Midtown high is supposed to be a school for geniuses but these little shits use comic sans in tribute videos and steal watermarked Getty Images pictures to put in them. I loved it, particularly with the song choice and the fact that Vision’s picture was from the Civil War airport standoff in Leipzig — that means only Peter could’ve provided it and no one bothered to ask how he got it. 

2. Tom Holland really wasn’t kidding when he said the film was a love letter to RDJ/Tony Stark. He was everywhere, his sacrifice was being recognised around the world: they even had a documentary on him, which was available in the in-flight entertainment, plus, there were murals and photographs in Venice and Prague. He was very much present throughout the film. 

3. EDITH. In a nutshell, it’s an augmented reality-enabled AI that controls a tactical and defensive system Tony built to protect Earth in the aftermath of his demise. Think Ultron’s perfect self minus the winning personality — EDITH controls a bunch of massive Stark Industries satellites in orbit that are equipped with thousands of weaponised drones. It can remotely target individual threats and take them out with simple voice commands. It also is able to connect to any network in the vicinity, so, Peter was able to see what his classmates were doing on their devices. 

I’ve already seen so many angry posts comparing EDITH to Project Insight without taking into account a) intent; and b) the reality of the MCU. Tony didn’t build EDITH for the same reason Zola built Project Insight. The former was meant to be a last or first line of defence, controlled by an Avenger Tony personally trusted. The latter was a means to subjugate the world population to Hydra’s will. 

All tech in the MCU is dangerous when it falls into the wrong hands — that’s why they’re called the wrong hands and why Steve once said the safest hands are their own. The supersoldier serum gave us Steve Rogers; it also gave us the Winter Soldiers, a bunch of dangerous, invincible highly-trained assassins. Pym particles gave us Ant-Man and the Wasp as well as time travel; it also gave us Yellowjacket, who immediately wanted to weaponise the tech. The Iron Man suit gave us Iron Man; but also gave us Iron Monger, who wanted to build an army of metal soldiers. Wakanda’s highly-advanced weapon systems were able to withstand a full-scale invasion from the Outriders, but those same weapons almost started a global war in Killmonger’s hands. Project Insight and Ultron showed us the bad side of AI; JARVIS, Vision, FRIDAY, Karen and EDITH, to an extent, showed us the good side of AI.

The point is, technology in the wrong hands will always be a bad thing yet people only seem to gripe about Stark tech while ignoring every other piece of advanced technology we’ve seen weaponized or misused. I wonder why. Since the MCU canonically isn’t made up of one big Luddite colony, there’ll always be new technology being developed and bad guys finding ways to abuse them. 

Just look at the holographic tech Mysterio designed while at Stark Industries. Even before he was fired, his ambitions were grander and afterwards, he weaponized it and willingly sent people to their dooms so that he could play a hero. When 16-year-old Peter Parker, MJ and Ned — literal children — found out the truth and Mysterio risked being exposed as a fraud, he actively tried to kill them. Mysterio beat the shit out of Peter and threw him in front of an incoming high-speed train, so, no, I don’t care if Tony Stark was mean to him by firing him, he was a piece of shit who tried repeatedly to kill a kid. 

Tony, meanwhile, spent $600+ million on the holographic tech to design B.A.R.F — a technology with some really promising applications in the MedTech sector to help people overcome their PTSD and trauma. That’s the fucking difference between a superhero and a supervillain.

Sure, EDITH also has massive privacy concerns. That’s on Tony, but after the Decimation, I think people have bigger problems to worry about than whether Peter Parker is snooping on their text messages. Ultimately, EDITH offers Peter, and whoever else is going to fill up the Avengers roster in the future, a plan B to strike the bad guys from a safe distance. I

4. Tony left Peter in charge of EDITH. Not the Avengers, not SHIELD, and definitely not the US Department of Defense — a fact that actually pissed off Mysterio. Tony left it in Peter’s hands because he knew Spider-Man took the meaning of responsibility far more seriously than he ever did. All those years ago, Peter told him if one could do the things he could, and they didn’t, and then the bad things happened, they happened because of them. And, honestly, if anyone deserves to have control over such a potentially dangerous piece of tech that can help in future battles, then it’s Peter — even more so than Tony. 

5. Again, Peter is 16 in this film and still coping with loss and trauma. He willingly gave controls of EDITH to Quentin because Mysterio had everyone fooled, including Nick Fury/Talos — they’re both highly experienced soldiers. Fooling them wouldn’t have been easy and Mysterio’s plan was extremely well thought-out and perfectly executed. Peter redeem himself in the end and takes back control of EDITH. 

6. Peter and MJ were super adorable. Spider-Man is the only franchise apart from Iron Man, where the secondary lead characters are allowed to grow without it all being about the main hero. MJ is allowed to explore her feelings for Peter and measure them against Brad’s affection. Ned is allowed to also grow in his character and be more than Spider-Man’s best friend/guy in a chair. 

7. Happy and May were also adorable.

8. Happy ruined a perfectly good bed of tulips just to rescue May’s nephew and give him the TLC/pep talk he needed after, again, Beck pushed Peter in front of a high-speed train that would’ve killed an ordinary person. 

9. Peter confusing ACDC with Led Zeppelin is the most Gen Z thing ever. Happy watched Peter design his own suit and it reminded him of the times he spent watching Tony tinker in his lab. You could feel Tony’s absence pretty viscerally in that scene on the jet. 

10. Peter tingle. Lol. 

11. Happy’s words about Tony were beautiful. He said something along the lines of, “Tony was my best friend. He second-guessed everything he did. He was a mess. But the one thing he didn’t second-guess was picking you.” That really furthered the Iron Dad Spider Son narrative.

12. Iron Zombie was the w o r s t thing ever. Again, Beck emotionally manipulated 16-year-old Peter Parker and said if Peter was any good, his mentor would still be alive just as he projected an illusion of a decaying Iron Man corpse attacking him. To give you a sense of how manipulative he really is, he told his guy in the chair that Peter’s blood will be on his hands because he had failed to report a missing drone part that MJ had discovered in Prague. 

13. Peter finally understanding that he doesn’t have to be the next Tony Stark or Iron Man. He just needs to be the next Spider-Man and Peter Parker. 

14. Peter choosing to safeguard EDITH. 

15. J. Jonah Jameson and J.K. Simmons. That is all. He’s the MCU equivalent of Alex Jones and I love him so much. I wonder if this means we’ll see Doctor Strange offer Peter his help to erase everyone’s memories about the reveal of his secret identity. 

16. Every Nick Fury scene automatically becomes 2000x funnier when you realize it’s Talos posing as Fury and 90% of the time, he has no idea what the fuck is going on and he’s just winging it as he goes along. Also, he was furious that he and his wife, as members of a shapeshifting species, were unable to detect Mysterio’s ruse. 

17. Mysterio was a douchebag. Apart from trying to kill actual kids because he feared they might expose him, he did nothing worthy of a hero. He was jealous and angry about Tony, and he wanted to usurp Iron Man without doing any of the hard work. He willingly put people in danger, was prepared to sacrifice people to make his actions seem more realistic and wanted to take credit for saving the day and preventing an Avengers-level catastrophe. I’ve already seen reviewers trying to sympathise with Mysterio, and his persistent attempts to kill a 16-year-old kid because Tony was apparently mean to him. 

18. And, no, Tony did not steal B.A.R.F tech from Mysterio as some review sites are claiming. The narrative is unreliable at best because we hear only Quentin’s point of view — the same Quentin who had been using his holographic tech to deceive people and put them in harm’s way because he wanted to shake the Queen’s hands or some misguided bullshit. He deserved to fired. Plus, he was a Stark Industries employee. Tech companies almost always own the patent to whatever tech you design or invent for them when you’re on their payroll. It’s how corporations work.

19. Tony quoted Henry IV to Fury when he told him to give EDITH to Peter and said Spidey wouldn’t get the reference (Heavy is the head that wears the crown) because it’s not Star Wars. It was a nice, poignant moment — made funnier when you realize that’s Talos in disguise, which means at some point, Fury had to have a conversation with him about Shakespeare and Star Wars. Someone pls write the fic. 

20. The most important thing is that this film actually tried to address the Decimation. Endgame pretended to gloss over it to give Gay Joe Russo his 15 minutes of fame. But this film actually started with May and Peter organizing an event to help the displaced. Pepper sent a huge check and apologized for not being able to make it in person. :( 

20a. I love Jake Gyllenhaal. I had expected Quentin to be a dramatic thot but he really brought a lot of depth to the character. 

Overall, I liked the film a lot more than I had anticipated. Some people are going to scrutinize this film to death to prove Tony was the ultimate MCU villain and, hey, if that’s the hill they choose to die on, I don’t really care. After 11 years and 23 films later, if they still think that Tony was the real villain all along, then nothing we say or Marvel does, will change their mind. 

Personally, I thought this film was a good send off to Tony, now that they’ve firmly established that Peter Parker/Spider-Man is going to be the new face of the MCU and will carry with him the Iron Man legacy. He wasn’t always right and a lot of his choices tended to backfire but, in the end, his motivations were good and he still went out as the man who saved the world. He, unlike Beck, or Vulture before him, never tried to kill a child, not even when he brought him to a parking lot brawl among friends. 

Now, if only Marvel can just leave Tony’s legacy alone and let Peter, and the rest of the MCU, thrive on its own instead of retconning established Iron Man lore to fit new narratives. 

[clearlydeplorable]

To the Leftists:

If you are a liberal who can’t stand Trump, and cannot possibly fathom why anyone would ever vote for him, let me fill you in.

It’s not that we love Donald Trump so much. It’s that we can’t stand you.

And we will do whatever it takes — even if that means electing a rude, obnoxious, unpredictable, narcissist (your words not ours) to the office of President of the United States — because the thing we find more dangerous to this nation than Donald Trump is YOU.

How is that possible you might ask?

Well, you have done everything in your power to destroy our country.

From tearing down the police, to tearing down our history, to tearing down our borders.

From systematically destroying our schools and brainwashing our kids into believing socialism is the answer to anything (despite being an unmitigated failure everywhere), while demonizing religion and faith, and glorifying abortion, violence, and thug culture.

From calling us racists every time we expect everyone of any skin color to follow our laws equally to gaslighting us about 52 genders, polyamory, grown men in dresses sharing public locker rooms with little girls, and normalize the sexualization of young children, you simultaneously ridicule us for having the audacity to wish someone a “Merry Christmas” or hang a flag on the 4th of July, stand for the national anthem, or (horror of horrors) don a MAGA hat in public.

So much for your “tolerance.”

(See why we think you are just hypocrites??)

We’re also not interested in the fact that you think you can unilaterally decide that 250 years of the right-to-bear-arms against a tyrannical or ineffective government should be abolished because you can’t get the violence in the cities you manage under control. That free-speech should be tossed out the window, and that those who disagree with your opinions are fair game for public harassment or doxing. That spoiled children with nose-rings and tats who still live off their parent’s dime should be allowed to destroy cities and peoples livelihoods without repercussions. That chaos, and lawlessness, and disrespect for authority should be the norm.

This is your agenda. And you wonder why we find you more dangerous than Donald Trump?

Your narrative is a constant drone of oppressor/oppressed race-baiting intended to divide the country in as many ways as you possibly can. You love to sell “victim-hood” to people of color every chance you get because it’s such an easy sell, compared to actually teaching people to stand on their own two feet and take personal responsibility for their own lives and their own communities and their own futures. But you won’t do that, you will never do that, because then you will lose control over people of color. They might actually start thinking for themselves, God forbid!

This is why we will vote for Donald Trump.

Not because he is the most charming character on the block.

Not because he is the most polite politician to have ever graced the oval office.

Not because he is the most palatable choice, or because we love his moral character or because the man never lies, but because we are sick to death of you and all of the destructive crap you are doing to this once beautiful and relatively safe country.

Your ineffective and completely dysfunctional liberal “leadership”(?) has literally destroyed our most beautiful cities, our public education system, and done it’s damndest to rip faith out of people’s lives.

However bad Donald Trump may be, and he is far from perfect, every day we look at you and feel that no matter what Donald Trump says or does there is no possible way he could be any worse for our country than you people are.

We are sick to death of your stupid, destructive, ignorant, and intolerant behavior and beliefs — parading as “wokeness.” We are beyond sick of your hypocrisy and B.S.

We are fed up with your disrespectful divisiveness and constant unrelenting harping and whining and complaining (while you live in the most privileged nation in the world), while making literally zero contributions of anything positive to our society. Your entire focus is on ripping things down, never ever building anything up. Think about that as there is something fundamentally very wrong in the psychology of people who choose destruction as their primary modus operandi.

When Donald J Trump is reelected, don’t blame us, look in the mirror and blame yourselves.

Because you are the ones that are responsible for the rise of Donald Trump. You are the ones who have created this "monster" that you so despise, by your very actions. By your refusal to respect your fellow Americans, and the things that are important to us.

You have made fun of the “fly-over states,” the people who “cling to their guns and religion,” the middle class factory workers and coal miners and underprivileged rural populations that you dismissively call “yahoos” and “deplorables.” You have mocked our faith and our religion. You have mocked our values and our patriotism. You have trampled our flag and insulted our veterans and treated our first responders with contempt and hatred.

You have made environmentalism your religion, while trashing every city you have taken responsibility for. You scream from the rooftops about “global warming” and a “green new deal” while allowing tens of thousands of homeless people to cover your streets in literal sh!t and garbage and needles and plastic waste without doing a single thing to help them or solve the environmental crisis your failed social policies are creating. But we’re supposed to put YOU in charge of the environment while gutting our entire economy to institute this plan when you can’t even clean up a single city??

You complain — endlessly — yet have failed to solve a single social problem anywhere. In fact, all you have done is create more of them.

We’ve had enough. We are tired of quietly sitting by and being the “silent” majority. So don’t be surprised when the day comes when we finally respond. And trust me it’s coming, sooner than you might think. And also trust me when I say it won’t be pretty. Get ready.

When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because you and your “comrades” have chosen to trash the police, harass law-abiding citizens, and go on rampages destroying public property that we have all paid for and you have zero respect for.

When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because we are sick of your complete and utter nonsense and destruction. How does it feel to know that half of this country finds you FAR more despicable than Donald J. Trump, the man you consider to be the anti-Christ?

Let that sink in.

We consider you to be more despicable, more dangerous, more stupid, and more narcissistic than Donald Trump. Maybe allow yourself a few seconds of self-reflection to let that sink in. This election isn’t about Donald Trump vs. Joe Biden.

This is about Donald Trump vs YOU.

So if on the morning of November 4 (or more likely January 19, by the time the Supreme Court will weigh in on the mail-in ballot fiasco that we are headed towards), and Donald J. Trump is reelected?

The only people you have to blame is the left-wing media drones and yourselves.

You did this.

We don't believe in Wealth Distribution, we work hard for our money, and if anyone else wants to make more, they can too.We don't believe illegals should be taking American's jobs. We don't think everyone should get free this, free that.