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kiribaku-queen · 4 years

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You’re Not the One

Pairing: Todoroki x reader, Bakugou x reader

Drama, Angst?, pregnant!AU, happy ending

Word count: 6.4K

A/N: I was supposed to upload this multiple Friday’s ago… But enjoy this quick but long oneshot I have made! Let me know what you think! Do you like having oneshots like this or the series better?

Summary: No one prepared you for motherhood. You didn’t even know the first step to being a parent. What’s even worse was that you were doing it all alone. Will you let a knight in shining armor save you from distress or will you let the father of your child come back in your life and have the perfect family you always wanted?

Bakugou arrived at your apartment all busted up. It was a rough day at work and all he wanted to do right now was lay in bed with you in his arms. He didn’t want to think about how he let a villain get away. Or how he had to defeat a group of people all on his own with no backup, causing all those cuts and bruises. Or how management came running and yelled at him for his attitude towards his fans. He didn’t need anymore chaos. He didn’t want anymore problems. But that’s not how life works does it?

“I’m pregnant.”

Of course you were. Bakugou took a deep breath in and violently let it out, running his fingers through his hair. No, he wasn’t happy. He was already overwhelmed with trying to become the best that he could be at his job. He didn’t need another inconvenience in his way.

You frowned upon seeing his reaction. That definitely wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for. You were expecting shock, for sure. But mad? Angry? Disappointed? Never in a million years.

“What’s with that reaction? Are you not happy?” you asked, shaking a bit. You already knew this wasn’t going to go well when you saw that he wasn’t scooping you up in his arms. He was pacing around the room now.

“I just can’t deal with this news right now.” He told you. You furrowed your brows in concern. Seeing how he was acting right now, you could tell it had to do something with work. Bakugou sat down on the edge of the bed and you joined him, gently holding onto his arm.

“Was it work again?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. I’m already stressed out. I don’t need this pregnant news stressing me out even more!” he started to raise his voice. It wasn’t the first time you heard him raise his voice. You know he doesn’t mean to sometimes, but it always frightens you. He never put a hand on you when he was mad but when he gets like this, you just never know when he’s about to snap and finally do it. That’s how scary he could be sometimes.

“Well, I was hoping that me being pregnant would lessen your stress? Because it should be happy news?” It made sense to you. Having a baby with someone you loved should be the happiest news of your life. And after having a rough day at work, you would think that coming home to good news would be the highlight of the day. But it looks like you were wrong. Did you just make things worse for him?

“I don’t even know how to take care of a baby,” he huffed. You got up from the bed and comforted him from behind. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressed your chest up against his back, and laid your cheek on his back.

“You think I know either? We can both learn,” you tried to convince him. But it didn’t look like it was working. You started to become anxious and fidgety. This was not supposed to happen tonight. You pictured it so differently in your head and it was all going down the drain.

“No, I can’t take care of this baby,” he shook his head. That left a tight feeling in your chest.

“Cant? Or don’t want to?” you dared to ask.

“Don’t want to,” he replied softly.

“Katsuki!” you desperately called out his name. You heart was breaking. A lump was forming in your throat and tears were threatening to spill over.

“(y/n)!” he called out just as desperate. “I’m so overwhelmed right now! I’m loaded with paperwork. I’m constantly working over time. I don’t get days off. I don’t get breaks. I’m at the peak of my career right now. I can barely take care of you, how can I take of a child that requires more attention than you need on a daily basis?” That last one hurt. You stood there in awe at how he could say that so easily. You didn’t even know what to say. All of this was coming out of nowhere. You both stood still in silence. Bakugou was huffing and puffing by himself while you were trying to process everything he was saying and weighing out your options. If Bakugou didn’t want this baby, you had a few options ahead of you. But before you could think too much, your boyfriend said something that was beyond forgivable. “Get rid of it.”

“Bakugou Katsuki.” Your eyes snapped at him, sudden anger took over you. Out of all the things he could say, he just had to say the most hurtful thing. You could take the criticism. You could take all his anger, his confusion, and his fright. You could take his uncertainness right now because it was sudden news. Both of you never talked about having kids. It only makes sense that he was uncertain about his abilities about being a father. But this. This was going too far. It was unacceptable. No matter how much he didn’t like the idea of you being pregnant or how much he was unprepared to be a dad, he treaded across a forbidden place that was never meant to be crossed. “You take that back right now.”

“No. You either get rid of the baby or I’m leaving,” he gave you the ultimatum. But it was a no brainer.

“I’m keeping the baby,” you say confidently. You were more confident in your answer, more than ever. But that didn’t stop the crushing pain in your chest. The feeling was getting more intense the more you kept looking at him. Bakugou nods his head in acknowledgement. He picks up his work stuff and heads straight to the door. As soon as he opens the door, you scream out his name causing him to stop in his tracks.

“You walk out that door and I swear on my life, you will never see this child,” You threatened. You were shaking with anger, eyes glaring in his direction. Bakugou hesitates. He’s paused at the opened door. And for a split second, you could see a sliver of hope that he comes back to you. But you were wrong. He’s out that door, out of your apartment, and out of your life just like that.

You were left utterly devasted and completely alone to raise the baby. Honestly, being pregnant was the easy part. What comes after that? Now that was a challenge. It was probably an understatement to say that raising your baby was a challenge. You were struggling. Raising a baby by yourself was hard. There were times when you didn’t know why your baby was crying in the middle of the night. Was he hungry? Did his diaper need to be changed? Did he just want to be held? But sometimes, you would do all that and he would still be crying, making you stay up all night and not get a wink of sleep. There are days were you can’t function properly because of the lack of sleep you would get.

And if that wasn’t enough, you were having a hard time financially keeping you stable. Diapers, formula, and other baby necessities were expensive. You were barely left with enough money to buy food or buy groceries. Maybe a few times a week, you wouldn’t get to eat anything because you didn’t have enough money. And you had to juggle between having a full time job and being a full time mom. You were constantly working around the clock. Everyday, you would be left physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. You can’t even spend time to yourself because you have to tend to your child.

You were rocking your child to sleep, watching as his eyes got heavier and heavier. A sad smile reached your lips but tears trickled down your cheeks.

“Mommy’s having a hard time,” you whispered to your son, sobbing. Yes, the pressure of being a mom got to you. It got to you so bad that you cried every night. God, you were so stressed out and miserable. But even though there were so many hardships that you faced, it was all worth it. It was worth going through all that just to see your son laugh and smile and grow. Despite all the frustrations you went through on a daily basis, you knew it was going to pay off in the end. You loved your son. He captured your heart as soon as he came out. Mommy was having a hard time but you wouldn’t change this for the world.

Just when life was about to get you down, things started to lighten up. You bit your lip and internally cheered when you found out that you had enough money for groceries. You actually had a lot of money left over to buy whatever you wanted. But you were starving. As soon as you got to the grocery store, you made up your mind to stock up on supplies in case you have one of those days again.

You put little Ryota in the seat of the cart and proceeded to go down all the aisles, getting everything you deemed necessary to store in your pantry. While you were at it, you might as well get ingredients to prep yourself a nice dinner for tonight. It’s been a while since you had an actual, homecooked meal.

“Alright, which one should I get baby?” you asked your son, Ryota. He wasn’t old enough to speak yet. Only babbling here and there. Yet, you were constantly talking to him like he could understand you. It was somewhat comforting. You held out two options for him to choose from. Ryota stuck out both his hands, gravitating to the one on the left. You smiled.

“Yeah, I thought so. Good choice, my love,” you squeezed both his cheeks and smothered him with kisses. You then put Ryota’s choice inside the cart and put the other option back. When you went to put that away, another hand was reaching in the same direction, making both of your hands bump into each other.

“Oh, I’m sorr – Shouto?” you began to apologize but once you looked up, you recognized that iconic hair and scar anywhere. He was tall. Taller than you remember. The middle of his hair was swooped backwards, showing his forehead. His build was as impressive as ever and he was carrying a basket of groceries.

“Ah, (y/n). It’s been a while,” he was just as shocked as you were. It’s been what, 7? 8 years? You haven’t seen each other since your school days.

“It has, hasn’t it? Have you been well?” you struck up a conversation. He gave you a soft smile and stuffed his free hand in his pocket. He hummed in response and looked over you shoulder to see your child.

“Looks like you’ve been doing well, too. What’s his name?” he asked, going up to your son and trying to make him laugh. It was working because Ryota seemed to look like he liked him.

“Ryota,” you responded, admiring the way Shouto was playing with your son. It was a weird feeling. You were the one always around your son. Sure, some people held him but it was rare for Ryota to be interacting with a male. It was weird, but a refreshing sight.

“He’s cute. Ah,” he stood up and faced you. “How’s Bakugou doing?” Ouch. He opened up a wound that you were trying to suppress for all these months.

“Oh, um… We’re not…” you tried to explain without it being too awkward, but it wasn’t working. Immediate regret showed on Shouto’s face. He looked back to Ryota and back at you, the realization sinking in. You guess you couldn’t blame him though. Ryota looked exactly like Bakugou. Dirty blonde hair and fiery, red eyes. A mini me of the man who broke your heart. But it’s okay, because now, a new man came into your life. Both of you also weren’t public about your breakup. It was messy anyway. Only a few people really know what happened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay!” You interrupted him, waving your hands in front of you. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know. “Where you trying to get this?” you changed the subject, lifting up the box that you were putting away. Shouto glanced at the box in your hands and nodded. He took it from you and added it to his basket. Now you were both awkwardly standing there together, not knowing what to say. Ryota was huffing and puffing behind you, letting you know that it was time to go. You excused yourself and headed towards the check out aisle.

You bagged all your groceries and groaned in agony. You walked to the store and you really underestimated how much you bought. How were you going to carry all those groceries and carry Ryota. He can’t even walk yet. But you got to do what you got to do. You grabbed one bag and all of a sudden, it was pulled away from your grip. You looked up to see Shouto grabbing all your groceries.

“What are you doing? I can handle it,” you reassured him, but he wouldn’t budge. He continued to grab everything, and soon, all of your groceries were in both of his hands.

“You need to carry him. I can carry this for you,” he offered. Well, it wasn’t really an offer. You bit your lip because you did need help, but you also felt bad for making him carry your belongings. But Shouto was already at the exit, waiting for you to catch up to him. Not wanting to waste any more of his time, you picked up Ryota and chased after him.

Thank god your apartment wasn’t too far. Shouto graciously carried all those bags for you, setting them down on your kitchen floor. You rushed to put Ryota in his crib since he fell asleep on your shoulder on the walk home. When you set him down and made sure he was comfortable, you returned to your kitchen where Shouto was standing.

“Thank you so much, Shouto. I really appreciate it,” you thanked him, still feeling bad and guilty for allowing him to do such a task.

“It’s no problem. It looked like you were struggling,” he says, letting you know that he didn’t mind at all. “Well, I should get going. Call me if you need more help.” He says before making his way to the door. Before he exits your apartment, you were quick to stop him.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? As a thank you for bringing up my groceries?” you offered. He stood there for a minute, debating on whether or not to take the offer. But you gave him those pleading eyes because you had no else to thank him. After much facial persuading, he eventually took up on your offer and stayed for dinner.

Halfway through to making dinner, Ryota woke up crying. You were about to go comfort him when you saw Shouto already on the move. He cradled Ryota in his arms and rocked him back and forth until he calmed down. That shocked you. You weren’t expecting him to take action like that.

“Ah, I can take him” you tried to take Ryota away from him but Ryota was holding onto Shouto tightly. Huh? Your son didn’t know Shouto yet he was hanging onto him like his life depended on it. You playfully frowned and Shouto chuckled.

“I can take care of him while you cook,” he said. You were reluctant at first, but eventually agreed. There was no use fighting Shouto when he already has his mind set on something. So you continued cooking, checking up on the boys once in a while. Bu seeing Shouto play and laugh with your son made you smile. And when you say smile, you’re smiling hard. Like grinning from ear to ear. The sight was cute and heartwarming. You couldn’t thank him enough for looking after your son because you finally got a break to yourself. Even if you were cooking, you were put into a state of mind where it was just you. And you could focus on yourself and just enjoy the cooking process.

Having Shouto over for dinner and letting him look over your son was a great break for you. But it was time to get back into the groove again. You were about to go grocery shopping again for tonight’s dinner when a knock was heard on your door. Strange. You weren’t expecting company. You opened the door with curiosity and was surprised to see Todoroki Shouto waiting at your door.

“What are you doing here?” you questioned him with surprise. He lifted a bag filled with different kinds of ingredients.

“Let me make you dinner,” he says. “To thank you for cooking me dinner yesterday.” You smiled at his kindness, but you had to respectfully decline.

“But dinner yesterday was to thank you for carrying my groceries!” you explained but he wasn’t having it.

“And now I’m thanking you for thanking me,” he shakes the bag, waiting for you to let him in. God, you couldn’t say no to that face. And so you let him in. From then on, he was coming over every day. Cooking dinner started to become a routine, both of you alternating nights on who cooks when. Sometimes you would even cook together. With Shouto coming over, you were able to get more alone time and relaxation from taking care of the baby. But that also means you were spending more time with him. The more he came over, the more you bonded with him. Let’s not forget Ryota. It was an understatement to say that he liked Shouto. Every time he’s over, your son would cling to him every chance he got. And soon, Shouto was coming over for more than just dinner. You thought it was because he wanted to spend time with Ryota. Afterall, he was treating your son like he was his own. But you soon came to realize that that was only half the story.

4 years later

Bakugou had the day off so he made his way to his nearest grocery store for some snacks. He hadn’t heard from you since that day. After he walked out, he needed a while to get back to his senses and calm down. But by the time he was ready to face you again, you had disappeared from his life. You blocked all types of communication from him and moved apartments. He didn’t think of you often. But whenever he saw a child with their mother, that’s when he started thinking of what ifs. And if you were doing okay. Did you have the baby? Or did you end up losing the baby? Was it a boy or girl? What was their name? Did they look like him? Many questions ran through his mind that he knew won’t get answered any time soon.

He grabbed a basket and went straight to the snack aisle. On the way there, he noticed a woman was having trouble getting something from the top shelf. He was thinking about ignoring her and keep on his merry way. But there was something about her back side that seemed familiar. And he couldn’t ignore his hero instincts to help those in need. He went over to her and grabbed the she was reaching for and handed it to her. But when he looked at who the woman was, his heart skipped a beat.

It was you.

Looking at him with wide eyes.

“(y/n)…” he muttered your name out of instinct. You quickly grabbed your item and stuffed it in your cart.

“Bakugou… thank you,” you muttered right back. God, he hasn’t seen you in so long. And you looked great as ever. Healthy. Happy. He looked around you. No baby.

“You’ve been good?” he asked. Shit, why was this so awkward. You nodded, giving him a small smile that was obviously very forced.

“Mhm, you?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

The curiosity got the better of him. He just had to ask.

“What about the baby-”

“There is no baby,” you interrupted him very abruptly. Bakugou physically felt his heart crack. There… was no baby? Fuck, now he felt like the worst person in the world. He stared at you, completely and utterly devastated by the news. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth hung low. He wanted to say something so bad, but the words just got caught in his throat. Bakugou just couldn’t believe that there was no baby. And after he said all those awful things to you. The end result was no baby?

“(y/n), I’m-” he wanted to apologize so badly, but was interrupted by the shouting of a young child.

“Mommy! Can I have this one?” the blonde child asked you, showing you the bag of chips he found. Both of you looked down at the child. Wait a minute. Blonde hair. Red eyes. It was like Bakugou was looking in a mirror. You, eyes wide with panic, looked down at your child then back at Bakugou. You grabbed the bag from your son and gave him a sweet smile.

“Sure, honey. Let’s go home now okay?” you told your son. You looked back up at Bakugou, giving him a curt bow and took your sons hand. Your son was looking up at Bakugou with big, curious eyes but eventually followed you out. Bakugou didn’t have time to react. All he could think about was, that was his son. He looked exactly like him. There was no way that wasn’t his son. And it was too late. You were gone. He was gone. He ruined everything. A single tear dropped down on his cheek as he realized what he missed out on.

You took your son to the playground so he could get some exercise in. Sitting on one of the benches, hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, Shouto, you watched as your son played tag with a few of the other neighborhood boys. Since that day you ran into Bakugou, your mind was running wild. You straight up lied to his face about Ryota. But he didn’t say anything. Maybe he thought it was someone else? God, but he said ‘Mommy’ right in front of him. Maybe he thinks it’s not his? But they look exactly alike. You internally groan and leaned your head on Shouto’s shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” he chuckled at you, petting your head lovingly.

“Just things,” you reply shortly. You didn’t want to bring up the topic of your ex-boyfriend, who just happened to be the father of your child. Shouto would get jealous and you didn’t want to cause anymore drama.

“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” Gahh, he knew you too well. He squeezed your hand in his in reassurance. “Look, if he wanted to be in Ryota’s life, he would have tried to contact you by now. And even if did contact you and wants to be in his life, then, I would respect that.” You look up at your boyfriend with a pout and concern eyes.

“Are you sure?” you ask. He looks down at you and gave your cheeks a nice, hard pinch.

“Yes. Ryota deserves to have his biological father in his life,” he reasons. Okay, fair enough. But he didn’t even want to be in your son’s life in the first place. It was so simple for him to abandon you while you were pregnant. And after all the hardships you had to go through, now he wants to be a present father?

“He doesn’t have to know who his real father is,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest.

“(y/n),” Shouto says your name in a warning tone. But you put your defenses up.

“What? I don’t know if I even want him in Ryota’s life,” you confess. Shouto wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close.

“Well, think about it. And if Bakugou comes around, you can either accept or reject him. I will be there to support you every step of the way. And if he tries to make a scene, I’ll be there to stop him,” he promises you. That comforts you a lot to know that Shouto will be there for you no matter what. He was always like that. From the moment he entered in you and your son’s life.

“Okay, I love you,” you whispered, puckering out your lips. He laughs and kisses your duck lips.

“I love you, too.” And gives you a few more kisses. You look back at the playground to watch your son play. Panic starts to rise in you. You look to the left. Ryota wasn’t there. You look to the right. He wasn’t there either. You sit straight up and scan the playground one more time for your child, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Ryota?” you call out his name. Shouto also realizes that Ryota was missing. He’s already up on his feet, calling out your son’s name and searching the playground. Your lips began to quiver and your legs began to shake. This was not happening right now. Shouto frantically whipped his head around, trying to see if he could get a glimpse of Ryota running off. That’s when he saw him. As soon as he turned his head to the side, he saw Ryota heading into an alleyway. Immediately, Shouto was running full speed in that same direction. You saw Shouto running and ran after him. He was too fast for you to catch up, but you ran anyway

Bakugou was on patrol duty for the day. He hated these days because all he had to do was roam around the city streets to make sure everyone was kept safe. He would catch villains here and there, but patrol duty was so boring for him. Until today. He was walking down the sidewalk in his hero costume when a little boy suddenly came out of nowhere, almost making him fall on top of him.

“Oi, kid! Watch where you’re going!” Bakugou scolded the young one. The child looked up and Bakugou froze in his tracks. This had to be fate. His son… Your son just so happens to run into him. Today out of all days? The blonde boy is looking up at Bakugou in awe.

“Mister? Are you a hero?” he asks. Bakugou smirks and kneels down so that he’s at his level.

“I am. What’s your name kid?”

“Ryota!” Ryota says his name in full confidence, grinning from ear to ear. Ryota… so that’s his name. Bakugou could feel his heart warm up at the sight of the boy.

“Little Ryota, where are your parents?” he asked. He looked around but it looked like Ryota ran off by himself. Looks like it was his job to help find his parents. That means finding you. He was starting to get his hopes up. If he ran into you, then he could try to apologize and maybe, just maybe, start things over.

“Ryota!” a man shouted the boy’s name. Bakugou looked up and an old classmate of his was scooping up Ryota in his arms. “Don’t run off like that! You had us scared to death!” he scolded the boy, but was relieved that he wasn’t hurt.

“Sorry, daddy,” the boy apologized. Ha? Daddy? Bakugou looked at the man and scoffed. Both men looked at each other and the atmosphere got chillingly cold.

“Bakugou,” the man said his name as a greeting. Bakugou frowned.

“Half-and-Half bastard,” What a surprise. So you were dating Todoroki now? It was like a staring competition between you two. A deadly staring competition. Todoroki cleared his throat and adjusted Ryota on his hip.

“Thanks for stopping my son,” Todoroki thanked the pro-hero. But he said it in the most monotone voice ever. No emotion behind it whatsoever.

“Tch,” Bakugou just scoffed and looked away. Todoroki’s son? Nah, that wasn’t right. That was his son. Todoroki took that as a sign of ‘you’re welcome’, and walked away with Ryota in hand. Bakugou just stared off in their direction. Thank god he did because Ryota laid his head on Todoroki’s shoulder, but he was waving at him.

When Ryota was returned to you, you held him in your arms, falling to the ground in tears. You scolded him for running off without telling anyone and to never do it again. But refused to let him go because you were so afraid for his life. You couldn’t let anything happen to him.

All three of you returned to your apartment. After a year of dating, you and Ryota moved in with Shouto in his apartment. You felt bad because his apartment was so big, nice, and fancy but he insisted you both move in. So that Ryota can have a better space to grow up in. If it was for Ryota’s sake, you couldn’t pass up on the offer.

Shouto was putting Ryota to bed while you were finishing up cleaning the dishes. You finished up the last dish and dried your hands when a knock startled you. You looked at the clock. Why would someone be here at this hour? You weren’t expecting anyone. When you opened the door, you were shocked to see Bakugou standing there.

“Bakugou! What are you doing here? How did you know I lived here?” you questioned him, stunned.

“He’s mine, isn’t he?” Bakugou ignored your question with a question of his own. He was staring at the floor. You wanted to deny, deny, deny. But you were too ashamed to say anything. So he tried again. “Ryota.” He said, this time looking up at you. “Ryota is my child, isn’t he?” You bit your lip and nodded your head. You heard him sigh and he ran his fingers through his hair. “You lied to me.”

“What choice did I have?”

“You could have said the truth,” he argued.

“And then what!” you raised your voice, your emotions started to get the better of you. “So you could come running back to be in his life?” your voice cracked at the end from your throat tightening up because you refused to cry. And you tried your hardest not to get too loud, in fear that your boyfriend was going to overhear. But little did you know, Todoroki was leaning against the wall in the hallway, listening to everything.

Bakugou didn’t say a word. Because it was true. He wanted to be in his son’s life. He knows that he fucked up big time. But now, he wanted to right that wrong doing. But you shook your head.

“No. No, I’m sorry Bakugou. That’s not going to happen,” you denied him.

“That’s not fair,” he whispered, his heart breaking once again. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t know it was going to hurt his bad.

“Not fair?” you let out a soft laugh. Unbelievable. “You want to talk about not fair? You left me. Alone. While I was pregnant. And I had to raise that child all by myself,” you were sobbing now. You were remembering all those hardships that you had to face alone and it was all pouring out. “Do you even know how hard it was? How hard and exhausted I was every single day? And now you want to show up when he’s all grown now? That’s not fair.”

“I know. I know. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I messed up big time. But I want to make it right now. If you let me be in our son’s life, I’ll prove it to you that I can be a good dad. That you can trust me and-and,” Bakugou was so desperate. But you stopped him.

“You were my everything, Bakugou. I was so excited to start this small little family with you. But you destroyed all my hopes and dreams.” Bakugou bit his bottom lip to try to stop himself from crying, but was failing miserably. No matter how hard he tried, the tears wouldn’t stop coming. He violently wiped his teary eyes with the palm of his hand. You gave him a sad smile as you reminisced what you two had together. “I think it’s best if we… if you just forgot about us.” You suggested. Bakugou couldn’t accept that. At least not yet.

“Please, please just think about it?” he begged, his eyes telling all. When you looked at those eyes, you could tell how serious he wanted this.

“Fine,” you said after giving a bit of thought. “I’ll think about it. Go home, it’s late.” You told him. Agreeing with you, he nodded his head and went on his way. You gently closed the door and took a deep breath in. You weren’t expecting this. You guess you were, but not this soon. You turned around to go to you room, quickly wiping your tears away before Shouto could see. But when you looked up, Shouto was already there, arms wide open and eyes looking at you with concern.

“You okay?” he asked as you embraced him in a hug. He kissed the top of your head hugged you close.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, barely managing to say anything. But you weren’t. That night you couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing with thoughts. This whole situation was bothering you and you couldn’t seem to think of anything else. There was only one way to relax your mind. Sneaking out of your shared bed with your boyfriend, you quickly put on your bathing suit and took a dip in the pool. Did you mention that his apartment came with an outdoor pool right next to the living room? It was convenient when you needed a place to clear your mind. You rested your arms on the edge of the pool, looking out into the city. You let the city lights and the noise of traffic distract you. So much that you didn’t even hear Shouto come up behind you. You squealed when you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist. He laughed in your ear, slowly kissing the back of your head, making its way down to your neck and then you shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” his deep, husky voice whispered in your ear.

“No. Did I wake you?” you softly asked back and he shook his head. He held you in silence, both of you looking at the city of lights. Now you were able to relax. His touch was comforting. It was as if his touch put a spell on you to make you relax.

“Hey,” Shouto started.

“Mhm?” you hummed in response. He took a pause.

“Let’s have a kid,” he proposed. You looked up at him and he was already looking down at you with the most loving eyes. It took you off guard, but it was somehow making your heart flutter.

“Us? Like you and me?” you asked, just to make sure you were hearing things right. He nodded his head and cocked his eyebrow.

“Why? Don’t like that idea?” he teased you. Your face flushed red and you waved your hands in front you, then rested on his chest.

“It’s not that! I was just thinking we would…” and you started to trail off. You’ve discussed this topic before but not too much. You were nervous what he was going to say. “…get married first?” You glanced up at your boyfriend and his expression remained unchanged. God, sometimes you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Finally, a smirk was plastered on his face.

“If you were just a little patient, maybe you wouldn’t have ruined the surprise,” he says which leaves you confused. You saw him take out a frozen block from his trunks. Confusion still prominent on your face, he unfreezes the block to reveal a beautiful velvet box. Shouto froze the box to keep it from getting wet when he was in the water. And when it was time, he would use his other side to unfreeze the box. He opens the box easily with one hand and a gorgeous diamond ring was sitting inside.

“Shouto,” you gasped, admiring the ring. He takes it out the box and slips it on your ring finger.

“Marry me?” he asks. You cup both of his cheeks to bring him into a smothering kiss.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” you kept repeating, every time giving him another kiss. You loop your legs around his waist and he traps you in between his body and the edge of the pool. Both of you spend the rest of the night making out and having a bit of fun in the bedroom.

Bakugou shows up at your apartment the following week while you were eating breakfast. His eyes were puffy and he looked a mess. Your heart goes out to him and felt like you had tortured him enough. After talking to your fiancé about the whole situation, he convinced you to let him in and allow him to step up as the father to your child. But with conditions.

When you answered the door, Bakugou immediately saw the ring on your finger. He swore he didn’t see that before. If he was being honest with himself, seeing that ring on your finger broke his heart a little bit. Seeing you engaged to Todoroki, seeing you happy made him jealous that that wasn’t him. Because he should have been in his place. He should have been the one you were engaged to. He should have been the one you were happy with. He should have been there the entire time. And he wasn’t. For what? Because he was having difficult times in his work? At least he was relieved to hear the news that you were going to give him another chance at raising your son together. He was going to make up for what he missed out on. Todoroki joined you at the door and stuck his hand out for Bakugou to take.

“Welcome to the family.”

#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #katsuki bakugou #todoroki shouto #bakugou imagine #todoroki imagine #bnha bakugou #bnha todoroki #bnha imagines #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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tellerford13 · 3 years

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MO ASTOR- CHAPTER 36

We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.” The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC. We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us. A/N: Oh My God We’re Back Again. It’s been a long time, but we never lost our love for Mo Astor. We’ve been plotting, and writing, and editing behind the scenes. We’re back to posting once a week. Thank you to all the readers who’ve left comments, favorited, and waited patiently. Grab a drink, sit back, and get ready to become lost in the world we’ve created.

Mo Astor Chapter 36

Jax

It’s been a long time since it was just me and my baby sister. I’m looking forward to the one-on-one, though I’d never admit it out loud. She’s been my rock through some hard times.

I imagine she’d say the same for me. When life around you is constantly shifting, you look to each other to remain stable. That’s something most don’t understand. That bond you have with someone who holds you down through all the bullshit is lifelong. It doesn’t break when you do jail time, have a difference of opinions, or get busy with life. So yeah, I guess civilians right, we ain’t like them.

“Morning,” I call as I walk into the house and disarm and reset the alarm.

“You’re making me regret giving you a key.” I follow her voice into the kitchen.

“You love it when I visit,” I retort.

“Did you tell the incubator I’m coming with you?” She asks cutting straight to the point.

I snicker. “Believe it or not, she prefers you.”

Journee scowls.

“Proves how fucking stupid she is,” she mutters.

“Jesus, Baby J. hold a grudge much?”

“Pot meet kettle. Mr. Let’s measure our dicks with Kick.” She finishes rinsing off her dishes, and piles them into the dishwasher.

“That was setting boundaries.”

“Riiight. Whatever you need to help you sleep at night. At least I own my crazy ass tendencies.” She pouts.

“’Cause that’s better?” I lean against the counter beside her.

“Oh, yeah bro. Always best to know yourself.” She winks

“You’re full of shit.”

“Guess that’s why my eyes are brown, huh? Wait that can’t be true. Cause your eyes are sky blue, J.”

“You’re supposed to be coming along for moral support,” I reminder her wryly.

“I am.” She pats my cheek as we head out of her house towards my bike. “I’m breaking you down to build you up stronger.”

“That’s some fucked up Gemma logic.” I mutter.

“She did raise us to be like her.”

“You say that with a straight face and it becomes a scary story.” She laughs.

“I know.”

“Such a little shit.” I’m smiling as I say it. Like a true little sister, no one can get away with more bullshit than her, and she knows it. It reminds me of the year she and Tommy were as thick as thieves. He was a lot like her in many ways—more soft spoken and thoughtful. As an only kid she had a crazy patience for him, reading him books, and letting him trail along beside her.

Part of me wondered if they’d have ended up together if things were different and she’d be a Teller for another reason. Especially with how things ended up for me and Lee.

I push the thought out of my mind. What if’s did nothing but drive you crazy.

“So, what exactly did I agree to go to anyway?” she asks.

“Don’t you think you should’ve asked that beforehand?” I tease.

She shakes her head. “You know I’m your ride or die.”

“I do. Basic check-up, and then lunch. I get the feeling she’s got some new man.”

She whistles. “Damn that fast?”

“Hey. If it keeps her from dicking with me and Lee, and doesn’t affect my boy, let her be happy.”

“All kidding aside.” She shuts the door to the dishwasher and turns to me. “ I’m proud of you, big brother. You’ve come a long way.”

My neck grows hot. “We both know Lee had a lot to do with that.”

“Your, opening your eyes and seeing what was in front of you did that. You and Lee were always just a matter of when not if.” She starts the wash cycle.

“So sure.” I roll my eyes.

“I could see it. Over the years you got so close, but something always kept you from clicking.” “Deep down I knew in order to keep her I’d have to get my shit together, and I wasn’t ready to do that. So I stayed back ‘cause fucking things up between us wasn’t an option, you know?”

“Things came out the way they were meant to.”

“You really think that?” I glance into her soft brown eyes, and she gives me that Madonna smile that makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. I can always be real with my sister because I know she’s going to give me the truth. Wither I want it or not.

“I do.” She reaches over and places her hand on mine. “You both had some work to do before you could commit to forever.”

“You think I have it in me? Forever and kids and all that?” I ask cautiously. So far, I’m screwing up the baby thing with my first born. It’s scary thinking of another person depending on me, let alone a child. It changes everything, and our life is unpredictable.

“You are your father’s son. Is there even a doubt?”

“Naw.” I lie, trying to fake it till I make it like I always do.

“Didn’t think so. You’re paying for lunch right? ‘Cause I’m starving.”

I laugh.

“You about to try to put a hurting on my wallet?” I hand her my spare helmet before climbing on my bike.

“Better than putting a hurting on your ex.” She says with a shrug, clipping the helmet on.

I chuckle, pulling my helmet on.

“You have a valid point. Damn you are our mothers’ child.”

She blows a raspberry, before mounting my bike. Little sis knows since she’s doing me a favor, she has the upper hand—and she’s going to milk that shit for all it’s worth. It’s the Teller way.

~~~~~~~ I’m pleasantly surprised and slightly bewildered by the manicured lawn and uncluttered space by the garage. The large black garbage cans are lined up neatly by the curb on the street.

Pulling into the driveway, I remove my helmet and pause to take in the freakish cleanliness it’s lacked in prior visits. This is above and beyond the duties we assigned the prospect keeping tabs on Wendy’s house.

“Well. This is different,” Journee whispers.

“Yeah.” I frown and turn to look over my shoulder.

“Maybe Ma sent over multiple prospects to tidy up.”

“Nu-uh.” Journee shakes her head.

“She said this was your mess to handle.” I purse my lips. “Which means it’s up to me to help you out with the pile of shit you’ve landed in.” Journee sighs.

“I feel the love.”

Journee shrugs. “I’m only speaking the truth big bro. You choose poorly for your first baby Mama. I told you how I felt about her long before you decided to give her your crow.”

I scowl. “No need to rub it in.”

“I’m just reminding you to listen to me. Sometimes I know things.” She flicks my ear and climbs off the back of my bike gracefully.

“Let’s get this torture session over, please.”

“You think it’s bad for you? I got eighteen years of this bare minimum.”

Storing our helmets in my saddlebags, I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, be my buffer.”

“I should let you go up in flames,” She mutters.

“That’s not sisterly,” I say with a grin.

“Jaxass.” She mutters.

We climb the steps, and the door swings open to reveal Wendy before we can even knock. My jaw drops at her appearance. I glance over to find Journee equally shocked.

She looks like a fucking Stepford wife in a pale-yellow sundress complete with a flared skirt and heels. Last time she dressed like this a waffle iron came flying at my head.

“Jackson. Cat got your tongue?” Wendy smirks.

Journee growls. “Aaaah, the little cocoa sidekick.”

“You know it only takes nine months to bake a baby, and you’ve got what...” Journee taps a finger against her cheek. “Less than three months left?”

“Nice to know you can count,” Wendy sneers.

This is a new woman in front of me. I’m glad that she’s gotten the idea of us getting back together to be a family out of her head, but this one-eighty makes me uneasy.

I scan her body, and notice the thick strips of white medical tape over her entire right forearm.

They stand out against her nineteen-fifties get up.

“The fuck.” I grab her arm. “What are you hiding?”

“Your mark. Which meant nothing.” She spits, tugging her arm away.

“Let me see.”

“Fuck you, Jackson.”

Journee moves forward, blocking the doorframe with her body to keep me from dragging the smart-mouthed bitch out.

“I swear to God. If you’re using again.” My breath quickens, and my visions tints red as rage builds up inside me like an inferno about to blaze out of control.

“You can take it off on your own. Or I can make you,” Journee says softly.

“One of these days, someone is going to put you in your fucking place. You don’t even belong here,” Wendy growls.

Journee climbs up another step, getting in her face.

“I know exactly who I am, where I belong, and where I’m wanted. You could never say the same, could you? Poor little lost girl, with loose legs begging to belong.”

Wendy blinks and turns away. Her hands tremble as she unwraps the tape and thrusts her arm toward me. “Look your fill. You dick.”

I peer down at the unmarred skin, and my knees nearly go weak with relief. “It better stay this way.”

“I have someone to take care of me now, Jackson. I don’t need your bullshit concerns.”

“The minute you give birth to my baby you can do whatever the hell you want. Until that time, your business is mine.”

“It’s my baby too.” Her tone makes me stand up straight.

“What was that Wendy?” My voice drops an octave. “Is the junkie with no job trying to tell me she thinks she’s the better parent?”

“Inside.” Journee whispers.

Of course, We always have to keep up appearances here in town.” My mother’s voice plays in my head.

The fresh scent of cleanser and scented candles greets me. The house has never looked this good.

Who turned her into June Cleaver? I search the place for clues. The laundry basket resting on the couch has t-shirts that are far too big for Wendy, and the black boxers are a dead giveaway.

I don’t feel anything for her. I haven’t for far longer than I care to admit. But I do worry about the company she’s keeping with my boy still in her belly.

He’s not a junkie. Shit’s too put together for that.

“Going somewhere?” Journee asks, nodding toward the kitchen.

I spot the half-packed boxes and bare spaces on the counter.

“I don’t want to stay in this house of lies.” Her dark eyes burn into mine.

“And where do you plan on going?” I ask. She looks away.

“Do you really want us to have to find you?” Journee asks.

Wendy crosses her arms under her breasts, pulling the material tight around her waist.I take in the bulge that’s grown over the past month.

“I’m just preparing.”

“You’re not supposed to be lifting heavy things right now.”

“I have help,” She snaps.

“You aren’t the only person who’d ever want me.” Her hands ball into fists. “If you can move on, so can I.”

“No one is saying you can’t, you crazy bitch. Calm the fuck down before you distress my godson. There’s no reason for everyone to get all worked up. We get it. Wendy bagged herself a new man. Good for you. We’re here to get our report on the baby, and we’ll be gone. The quicker you update us, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair.” Journee holds her hands out like she’s wrangling two high school kids about to fight.

Huffing, she stalks over to the large chair and sits down crossing her ankles, like some kind of proper lady. I’m in the fucking twilight zone. I lean forward with my arms on my knees, drinking up her reports. My boy is growing properly and healthy. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for, considering how fast and hardcore we were living when she got knocked up.

We were both empty shells looking to fill up spaces neither of us could ever fit into.

It’d been fun for a while, but it had never been built to last. She wasn’t even a consolation prize post-Tara tear down— Wendy was a pretty thing to warm my bed and play by the club rules without question. Now I’m paying for my poor choices.

“You satisfied?” Wendy asks. Journee looks at me, and I nod.

“For now.” Journee nods her head, and we both rise.

“Same time next month, Case.” Journee drawls. Such a little shit. Makes a brother proud.

She scowls as we leave.

“What. the fuck, Jax?” Journee whispers.

I shake my head. “Not sure, but if he keeps her shit together for the next 2 and half months, I don’t much care.”

~~~~~~

Sitting down at the table in Hannah’s, I wait for J to finish most of her meal before bringing up the main reason I wanted to go out to lunch after.

“All right Baby J, so…I gotta admit there's another reason I brought you along today.” I begin, wiping my hands off with my napkin. She rolls her eyes playfully at me. “Of course there is. So, which of my skill sets will you need for this favor? I've got a few spots saved in the woods for disposal and Hap gave me an amazing cleaner kit for my birthday.” She says with an excited grin and a bloodlust in her eyes. She is so her father’s daughter. I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head in Disbelief. By looking at her you'd never guess what she was capable of. But with her dad the Sergeant at Arms of Grim Bastards, and her mentor Happy Lowman…there’s a side to her that I never want to get on the bad side of. “Well I do need your skills, just not those ones.” I say, taking a sip of my water. She raises a curious eyebrow at me before smirking.

“Sorry bro, my other skills are only allowed to be enjoyed by my husband and my wifey. As kinky as my old man is, I don't think we're ready to swing just yet.”

She teases with a wink and I damn near spit my sip out. “Jesus J, not that either! Shit little sister, I’ve only just begun playing in Lee's pussy myself. No other dick is going to be poking around in her till it’s been claimed to completion.” Her eyebrows shoot up.“Already planning on making her your second baby mama?” "Second and final. But not just yet. I just got her to say I love you to me. If I plant the seed too soon, I'm worried she'd rip out the roots.”

She rolls her eyes. “Naw Bro, Lee'd never terminate.”

“Oh I know, I wasn't talking about the baby. I was more concerned with her going Loreena Bobbitt on me.” I say honestly, shifting in my seat at the imaginary pain. She bursts out laughing, nodding her head in agreement. “Yea, that uh, that might be more likely.” She says between adorable little snorts.

I nod my head in agreement. “Exactly and seeing is how I ain't planning on changing my singing voice anytime soon, I'm real careful how I'm navigating this one.” Feels like the story of my life right now. It’s been a unique experience having the girl be hesitant with me.With Tara and Wendy, we went full steam ahead, and the crows afterwards all but jumped on my dick the minute I looked at them.

Lee is different. And being with her like this has shown me just how special she is.

She’s worth the time and the energy to make this work for both of us.

J offers me a soft, approving smile. “That's good to hear.” I nod. It’s a relief knowing how much baby sister supports us. None of this would’ve happened without her, and I know she’s got my back to help me navigate these new relationship waters. “Besides she's got that IED thing in her arm.” I add.

She bursts out laughing again and this time I'm a little confused.

“It's an IUD dumbass. Lee doesn't have a fucking bomb implanted in her arm.” She teases and I can't help but chuckle.

There's a joy in her eyes I haven't seen since before the whole Kyle debacle. I'm not the least bit surprised her old man helped put it there. I've known about his crush on her for years, but I knew better than to say shit. I figure if Chibs was taking his time there had to be a reason. Brother was one of the most strategic mother fuckers I knew. I was fifteen when he patched in, and after losing my old man, I saw him like the big brother I never had. There was no one I listened to and trusted more than Filip Telford.

I loved Ope and, there would always be a lifelong bond between us, but when he met Donna, we both felt something sever between us. He became a family man almost overnight, and I wasn’t done sewing my wild oats. Plus, the way the whole thing went down with him hurting J, it never sat right with me. Those two had been headed in a direction that would’ve been something real special. But then Mary got involved, dragged him away and he came back with Donna.

I can still feel my anger at the look of heartbreak he’d put on Journee’s face.

He’s been out a few months now and I rarely see him. The separation has been painful, but he’s trying to go the way of the straight and narrow for his family. Donna’s laid out the rules damn clearly. If he gets into trouble again, she’s out. Should’ve had brown babies Ope. This was the real danger of marrying and procreating with a Civi. They never fully understood our world, and few respected the price that sometimes must be paid to be apart of it. I don’t resent Ope for finding love, but I do resent his love for taking him away from his family.

“All right, Well then I'm lost Jay boy. If it ain’t cleaning and it ain’t playtime…what could you need from me?” She asks, taking a sip from her drink. My stomach flutters excitedly. I reach into the pocket of my cut. Producing the crinkled, early stages of a sketch I’ve been working on, I slide it over to her.

“Need the artiste in you little sister.” She glances at me and then opens the paper. My excitement turns to nerves as I watch her eyes studying the picture presented to her. "What am I looking at here J?" She asks and I scowl slightly. "I mean I know I'm not a great artist like you, but you can tell it's a crow.”

She chuckles. “I mean I know that, but I’m wondering why I'm looking at crow?”

"Right so, I need your help J. I want to design a new crow for Lee. After the shit with Kick, I need her inked. I want everyone to know she's claimed.” Her eyebrows shoot up again. “Wait what? A new crow, but your dad designed the first one. Why do you want to do new?” “I know dad designed the first one, but he designed it for my mom. And then ya know other old ladies got it and it just sort of became trademark.” I pause. “But there's nothing trademark about my old lady. I want her to have one just for her, cause she's damn special to me and she deserves something that represents not just me but us. Like you and Chibs did. Seeing the crow designed specifically for the two of you made me realize, I don't want her wearing the same generic shit that both Tara and Wendy got. Lee is never gonna be an ex, I know she's my forever and I want this crow to be more than just the generic SAMCRO trademark.”

I explain my thought process to her watching the smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

“So, that's what I need your help with. No one loves Lee as much as me and no one knows her better. I've got an idea and I can explain what I want, but I need your help executing my vision and making it something that represents us both and that she'd be proud to wear.”

I wait for her reaction. She studies the sketch and runs her fingers over the lines. “Where are you thinking she wears her brand?” I can’t help but remember before we were together, standing in my dorm room at Journee's engagement party. Journee running her slender fingers over Lee's chest saying how sexy a chest piece would look. I lick my lips and shift in my seat before clearing my throat. “Depends what we come up with. I know I’m definitely going to want her to get a chest piece so anyone who looks knows exactly who she belongs to, but I also know she's gotta be careful with size given her business dealings in the upper crust. So maybe just property off Jax across her chest so she can cover it up if need be. But this crow, HER crow...I don't want to worry about size. Maybe her shoulder or tricep for when she's in tank tops. After we design it and I give it to her, I'll let her decide where.”

Journee nods thoughtfully. “All right so explain to me what you're thinking.” She reaches into her oversized satchel she almost always has with her, and pulls out a small sketch book and pencil. I chuckle at her. She shrugs sheepishly. “Hey I'm an artist, never know when inspiration might strike.” She says flipping the book open to an empty page. “So I like what you have going here with the crow but what if you go with a two headed crow. Sort of like you and her becoming one.” She explains, masterfully sketching out what I'd already drawn and adding on to it. “Now, tell me what else you're thinking.”

By the time we’re finished, the idea is a fully formed tattoo. The two crows each have a wing.

A bleeding heart in the middle of the crows speaks to our passion and dedication for each other. One crow clutches an A.K. 47 for the club, and the other crow clutches an olive branch to represent the peace she brings me. With her, I’m completely balanced. Journee’s thrown in a few other hidden easter eggs to symbolize Lee. My name sits above the entire thing to let everyone know who my old lady belongs to. I love that in a way Journee is woven in there. There would be no me and Lee without her wonderfully “subtle” match making ways. We stand to leave, and I toss 20 extra bucks down on a 24-dollar bill. SamCro always makes sure to tip extra well in town. Keeps our business running and our business owners happy to have us. As we're walking out my phone rings and I can't help but grin when I see Lee's name on the caller ID.

“Hey beautiful, I was just thinking about you.” I say answering the phone. “How'd your meeting go?” I ask as we walk towards my bike. "Hey baby, went good. I think your mom and I were able to nail down the last of the details for the taste of Charming festival coming up.” I can hear the relief in her tone.

“Glad to hear it Darlin. J and I just finished up lunch. Headed back now.” I pause.“I mean, headed home.” I correct, winking at the smirk J gives me. “Glad to hear it darlin.” She mocks on the other end. J and I get to the bike and she grabs her helmet. “How’d your meeting go with Wendy?”

“Went good. I’ll tell you more about when I get there.”

“Okay baby.” I can hear her hesitation for a moment.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not at all. But umm Sack came by this morning with a few boxes of your stuff. And I hope you don't mind that I started unpacking some things. You know I hate boxes.” My heart damn near soars at her words. “Of course I don't mind Lee. You know how I hate unpacking, so unpack away. I can't wait to see it. My shit mixed in with yours. Bet it's gonna look amazing.” I say honestly. After our bathtub wall breaking session we both wanted as much of my stuff into her house as soon as possible.

Mostly cause I didn't want her changing her mind on me. “I think you'll like it. I’m headed back to the house now. You done for the day or you got Club stuff you gotta do?”

“I got some free time babe. I'll head over after I drop J off.”

I mount my bike so J can get on while I finish up my phone call. “Okay sounds good Jax.” She grows quiet for a second before a sweet "I love you Jackson," comes through the earpiece. I can't help the smile hearing her initiate the L word that been circling my head for months.

“I love you too Harley.” I say sincerely, picturing her bashful, smile on the other end.

“I'll see you soon babe.”

“Okay, bye baby.” She says before disconnecting the call. Journee is settled in her seat behind me and I can practically feel her smile. “How'd that feel?” She asks learning forward to wrap her arms around my waist. “Pretty Amazing, I’ll never get tired of hearing that from her.” I answer honestly, pulling my helmet on. I can always be honest and real around J. “I know the feeling.” She says giving me a squeeze. She leans forward to place an affectionate kiss on my check.“I'm so happy for you Jackson. For both of you.” She says.

I thread my fingers in her course curls and cup the back of her head. After Pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, I rest my head on top of hers for a moment. “Thank you, Journee. For everything.” I sincerely say.

There is no doubt in my mind if it hadn’t been for my baby sister I wouldn’t be in this amazing stage with Lee.

Knowing me I would’ve fucked us up by now. She gives me a squeeze before situating in her seat. “All right, enough with the chick flick moment. Take me home chauffer, time for me to go see my old man.” She says like a little kid getting ready to open presents as soon as she gets home. “Yes ma'am.” I tease starting my bike and heading out. ~~~~~ A/N: In case ya’ll were wondering this was what Tellerford was thinking Lee’s Crow Looks like. It’s based off a Design the show produced and was tweaked to fit our image lol. So we thought you might like a little glimpse into what’s in our head.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #Jax Teller #chibs telford #Mo Astor

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isolctions · 3 years

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...........so let’s finally talk abt what the actual fucking fuck is wrong with ai’rina rue castillo, huh gang? :-)

(everyone go thank @armsdealing & @durcgs beating the anxiety out of me in order to post this info-dump.)

...before we get into things, now’s the part where i establish a warning for triggers to be discussed in this lengthy headcanon post. there’s gonna be some talks of mental illness, slight alcohol abuse, & breaking down topics of familial abuse, mental abuse, religious abuse, emotional manipulation, and elements of non-con. be warned.

a’ight, so look. i’ve hinted in between threads & development that rue had a not-so-fantastic upbringing that impacted how she perceives herself, how she interacts with others, (in terms of her career, at least) and how she views personal relationships, but i didn’t realize how........severely her upbringing messed with her mental health until i started working through how i wanted to plot out rue’s behavior for her next album release. at first, i had the idea that she decided to take more time for herself & sort of distance herself from the public / media circus plaguing her life so that she can create much more authentic music. then i actually listened to the EP that i’m basing her album off of and thought “...oh.” THEN, i looked over old meme responses & old threads / mentions of her family and how she grew up and thought, not for the last time since piecing everything together: “....oh. oh fucking boy.”

so, that horrible realization dawning on me, let’s talk about rue’s childhood.

i wrote a thing like, two years ago almost (that upon looking for last night, i realized i didn’t actually share it w/ anyone but alex in our discord server & only mentioned a portion of it in rue’s moodboard that i made) that talked vaguely about how rue felt growing up. and it’s worth noting that...she’s the middle of ten fucking siblings. and that’s just the brothers & sisters she knew of that stayed with their mother. and on top of that, not all of those siblings are the product of rue’s father, or even rue’s mother for that matter. and it’s also worth noting that rue not only grew up in poverty, but she grew up never having any actual space that had solely been her own, or even an article of clothing that had belonged entirely to her. so naturally, as a young child, rue sort of became torn between starved for attention & wanting someone to pay attention to her (whether that be her older siblings including her in something, whatever teacher they had for the next six months to call on her for something, for her mother to miraculously show up with her unknown father in tow one day, & for literally anyone to be her friend, pls god Notice her!!!) and for people to simply leave her the hell alone. obviously, this carried into adulthood.

and branching off from the whole “lack of space” point i made, rue wound up growing up to become increasingly more private as time went on because she literally cannot remember a single moment where she wasn’t squished between a bunch of people. driving around in their minivan? rue’s packed in the middle of the second row. nowhere to sleep while on the road? rue’s smacked between gigantic older brothers & clingy little siblings. need to use to bathroom? lmao, she better off going outside!!! gotta change clothes? yeah, good luck with that. it was to the point where, when rue got her first period, she was humiliated by it — not because ‘omg, am i a woman now?? wtf is this???’, but because she ruined the one good sheet that she slept on with her sisters & they were super pissed at her and her mother withheld pay from her for weeks. >:/

already, rue grew up never having shit to herself until the record deal. but she also dealt with literally...so much abuse from her mother. rue thought this was the norm growing up, because all of her siblings faced their mother’s wrath at some point & all of them eventually learned to just deal with the shit and do what she says if they wanted to avoid it. they all compartmentalized and repressed to varying degrees. there’s a lot in which rue has repressed so deeply, she doesn’t even remember if it seriously happened or if she was just making it up bc it was so fucking bizarre for a parent to act that way towards their child, lol?? (and this behavior of “i’m just going to do what you say bc i don’t want to deal with whatever bullshit you’re up to if i say no” also carried into business / personal relationships, which is...very Yikes it’s amazing she didn’t get scammed or worse!)

so sure, people have complimented her for her exceptional manners & her cleanliness & how quiet / polite she is & how amazing her posture is, bc seriously, this girl will never experience back problems in her life bc her posture is so on par. but where rue typically smiles / responds bashfully, she can’t exactly just up and say: “oh, yeah, my mom used to slap the shit out of me ‘til i bruised if i spoke out of turn or talked back, and if i reached for anything in the store or put my elbows on the table she’d slap a ruler against my palms ‘til i got welts, and she’d make me read verses all night without sleep if i did anything wrong and make me straighten up and kneel on rice if i slouched or took a nap in church and humiliated me in public if i so much as looked at someone of the opposite sex on the street n oh, did i mention i also cleaned houses for rich millionaire snobs from ages twelve to sixteen and if they said or did literally anything to me i wasn’t allowed to defend myself?? ya i’m real proper :)”

(and normal ppl will go: “...................what the FUCK is WRONG with you????”)

but oh man, babe, we’re not done yet!!! rue, being the product of both a highly religious and a highly exploitative household...had difficulty when she started reaching puberty & noticing her classmates. plural, because it wasn’t just boys that she began to secretly have crushes on / fantasize abt, sexually or domestically. she also realized, oh shit, that she started looking at girls differently too. and that literally put the fear of god into her heart, bc if her mother ever found out that she was having non-platonic feelings for the girls in her classrooms, she wasn’t going to be pissed. her mom might have actually tried to kill her. or have her exorcised or something. she knew the shit would be severe, and she wanted no fucking parts of her mother or her siblings inserting the church into her personal life, thank u very much! so rue started suppressing her romantic feelings for people to the point where if adult rue receives intimacy, she’s like “...is this allowed? is this not illegal??????” while simultaneously being like “i will be a slut. just this once. as a Treat to teenage me. :>” regardless, rue learned to molotov cocktail literally any emotion or thought she had, bc she was paranoid that it would give her mother a vision.

now, onto the perils of exploitation...she should’ve been used to it really, what with her mother forcing herself & siblings to lure customers into their shop with promises of visions and palm readings and the wonders of the cards and overexerting their abilities. same with housekeeping, like being of service to people was normal! but when seventeen year old rue decided to sign a record deal and break from home, she wasn’t thinking critically about what the fuck all of this would entail. and as described in this headcanon post abt her discography, her early music was the product of allowing people much older & powerful than you to influence your work & manipulate your values. so rue was very much parading around as someone she wasn’t, someone much more confident and badass and self-assured than she really was, and she was so impressionable back then that it literally makes her sick to think back on it now. she calls it her puppy phase and phrases the eagerness to please execs as ‘tongue wagging’. homegirl hardly even knew her name anymore, bc all she was and all she would ever be was rue, the star, the vocal temptress. not ai’rina, the help or ai’rina, the seer, ai’rina, the weak little nobody. but later on, the subtle manipulation was less about decision making & how they wanted her to sound, and more about how they wanted to present the latest trophy star — because after all, she was pretty. people liked her. she sung really well. suitors weren’t too far off into the distant future. so why not kill two birds with one stone by having a high ranking label artist keep tabloids talking by being seen in public with a few heart throbs? surely, there’s no harm in manipulating an eighteen/nineteen year old’s love life! under the guise of improving her social skills & relations with fellow artists and the media and the like, rue gave into the pressures and let herself be taken out on dates & seen at awards shows with a few guys. no big deal. it was only for a night or so, she could handle the attention. then, one night appearances turned into week long appearances. pretending to date for only a month! completely innocent, positive exposure. :)

(adult rue, looking back @ younger rue: you stupid fucking BITCH-)

yeah, so once her label/management realized that she was turning into a hot commodity, they lost no sleep at allowing their nineteen year old artist to be seen ‘dating’ 20-24+ year old men occasionally. and whatever happened after their public appearances were none of their business. plus, she was good at pretending and being arm candy — so rue experienced her first kiss, her first dates, and her first times with people who she’s almost certain hardly remember their time with her, and really only got involved with her for a mutual career boost. very few of them does she actually remember in a positive light, and the ones that were positive, still depress her bc lmao all of it was fake, even if they were really nice & made it less like a chore and more like they actually wanted to be with her!! even fewer of them were actual relationships. meaning, said person asked her out of their own volition, not bc their managers thought it’d be a decent match on camera. it was evil, really, what her old label made of her. (like, she makes funny jokes that her first time having sex was awkward bc she had a vision halfway through that bummed her out but in reality it was just...really more of a transaction that made her feel icky n progressively worse abt herself until it happened more often and now she just doesn’t care anymore. sex is just sex, u know?? everything’s fake. why you gotta make it personal.) this whole fiasco took over the larger part of rue’s career from like, age nineteen to age twenty-two or so, and she suffered dramatically from this because what is even a genuine, authentic relationship at this point? what do u mean you want to get to know me? did ur manager tell you to ask so many damn questions & try to get to know me? obviously you want something from me bc that’s why everyone gets into a relationship or has sex with me, stop confessing feelings for me u fucking loser. >:/

like...rue doesn’t even have friends. outside of her relationship with marcelo / @armsdealing (which, AGAIN, i think was initially arranged to promote her song be honest, how fucking IRONIC), rue does not have any personal relationships with anyone. i mean, she likes her latest management team since switching labels...her hair stylist is rly cool & her make up artist is fun to vacation with...she met a few other celebrities at events that she occasionally texts & has dinner with...yeah, she’s basically a pretty hermit. her family is more or less out of the question — the few brothers & sisters she does still have a positive relationship with (like, four of them lol), they don’t see each other in person often / mainly communicate via groupchat and facetime calls when all of them have time. she tried visiting with her mother over the years, but the verbal & emotional abuse/curses placed on her/accusations of being an imp of satan for singing to the public/memories of being forced to perform psychic shows & clean for chump change keeps her from trying to mend that relationship. like, being gaslit by ur mother isn’t really the vibe, u know? and bottom line, rue simply is a very shy and socially stunted individual who does not know how to communicate like a normal human being anymore. hell, her life revolves around pretending for strangers at this point!

now, onto how...all of That ties into her behavior / state of mind during this next album. so, after riding the wave of success from her third album & the circus that came with that. rue sort of had a fucking existential crisis. came out of absolutely nowhere. (not nowhere — one of her brothers called her out of the blue and called her ai’rina and she literally went “who the fuck is that?”) told her label that she was taking some time in between albums bc she was creatively zapped or whatever bullshit excuse she came up with that somehow worked bc this new label was a little more understanding than the last. vacationed for a little, did some hot girl shit, bought a house, tried to see her mother again for whatever reason then got the shit slapped out of her and finally screamed at her to never touch her again unless she wanted to Throw Hands. cried and got drunk abt it. that took six months. bullshat to her label again, dropped like two songs to smooth things over, decided to focus on magic for a little to ground her, started partying with label mates then going home shitfaced & hungover every other morning. that took eight months. dropped one last song, promptly deleted her twitter, tried to write songs again, got a call from her mother and panicked and got drunk. that took a year. vacationed some more, got even drunker, was bed ridden for like three months because holy shit i’m having so many visions and if i see One More Thing my brain is going to explode, couldn’t separate the present from the future for weeks after that, told absolutely no one about that, cried every day & had an identity crisis, dyed her hair to appease the identity crisis goblins. that took a year and a half.

now, she just chilling. dyed her hair again. scaring her siblings halfway to death bc she keeps going on benders & sending cryptic texts abt the visions she’s getting but they’re so incomprehensible that they’re seriously considering moving in to get her fucking shit together. had a vision that she was married with kids and had a two week identity crisis appeased only by moving houses. (she was in a neighborhood with families...too much Drama and visions. turned into a really cool song tho.) started calling herself by her birth name of ai’rina in private. reactivated twitter to send cryptic tweets that her album is coming. working on said album. trying to drink less but kinda failing bc how is one simply supposed to make a highly personal dual album without alcohol??? prbly somewhere crying in marcelo’s lap or smthn. just vibes.

like...i feel like, in my head, the Theme of her project is wrapped up in identity. her relationship with fame and whatnot. trying to coax her childhood self out of its’ shell so that she can function like a normal goddamn person for once and re-establish her values. like, if someone went to any of rue’s residences right now, it’s just songbooks everywhere and wine glasses and her crystals and shit, bc she still has people’s futures to read for money. (yes, she never really got out of that portion of her childhood, but hey it pays.) it was all very confusing to experience at once while in bed at four in the morning & even though i tried organizing and debated on this, it’s still a Lot. which is why i am once again asking for plots that would allow her to dissect all these Things

so yeah. album four otw, with a side of confronting our childhood & facing our traumas!

#rue — facts #imagine me making a cohesive hc post #it wont happen but like imagine how sexy that would be #anyway this is long and me thinks stream of conscious hc posting is both therapeutic and Exhausting #but i had a lot of thots abt her that needed to be shared to...yeah #abuse tw #alcoholism tw #long post tw #i feel like that its always sunny meme??? yall know which one #but anyways this is somehow overwhelming n embarrassing that i typed so much so i am going to hiding!#UNLESS!...........u want to plot with this Disaster of a woman :eyes:

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hrbumga · 4 years

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Review: Deathless, Cathrynne M. Valente

Overall Rating: 2.5/5 stars.

This review contains heckin’ spoilers. I had about as mixed feelings as you could have about this book. On one hand, I can see where it gets it’s hype—a lot of the descriptions are beautiful, Valente manages to weave a rich tapestry of images and situations so that each page dazzles you anew. The thing is, I think I liked this book. Think. To be honest, I’m not totally sure. While rewritten fairytales for adults is a genre I’m drawn to, I think there were a lot of issues I had with this book, and furthermore some of the strangest things about Deathless actually didn’t take place within its pages at all. Let’s put a pin in that.

Structural Integrity

I can’t tell if the structure was the thing I took the most issue with, or if it was just the first thing I noticed. I’m mostly going to focus on the prologue and parts 1 and 2, since that’s where I have the issue.

The prologue opens with a boy (when I say boy I mean little kid, I think he was like 9 or 10) standing trial for not being available to fight in The War(TM). One of the people trying him is Marya Morevna, our protagonist. In a moment of kindness, she tells the boy to turn, run, and never look back, letting him escape punishment. Are we going to remember this? Of course, it’s the prologue, an introduction to the core of the story. Does it come up again? Kinda. In part 6, we loop back around to it, which makes me think part 6 should’ve been more of an epilogue to pair with the prologue.

So anyway, all we really derive from that is Marya is either a traitor to whatever war she’s a part of or is sympathetic to children. Or both. Which, okay, having a prologue mainly focused on the character we’ll be following makes sense. We either see who she is or who she was, and we get a sense that this Marya is/was a strong yet kind hearted character. Put a pin in that.

Part 1 is Marya’s upbringing, taking place either right before or during the Bolshevik Revolution. There’s a lovely, fairytale-esque portion in the beginning where as a little girl, she watches from her window as birds hop down from the tree outside, transform into handsome, wealthy men ask to marry the girl in the window and in turn, each of Marya’s three older sisters are married off. She waits for her turn and is teased by schoolmates for believing in magic. As time goes on, more families move into her cramped home for communal living and she visits the house elves that live between the walls, who tell her that Papa Koschei, the Tsar of Life (a kind of god/demigod figure in folklore from what I can gather), will come for her soon. She visits a creepy widow next door who turns out to be the Tsaritsa of the Hour who tells her pretty much the same.

Finally, on cue, a handsome young man named Koschei, who is in fact an ancient, old, old man comes to the door to take her away from this life of poverty and be his fiancée. Marya is roughly sixteen at this point. The part ends with him grooming her while spiriting her away to the magic land of Buyan. When I say grooming, I mean he’s literally taking her willpower away as though it’s an object, slowly, over time. Part 1 ends with Marya disobeying his order not to speak (literally all she says is she’s feeling a little better after being violently ill all journey) and he punishes her by biting her tongue til she bleeds.

Then part 2 kicks off! The beginning of part 2 begins with Zemlehyed the leshy and Naganya the vintovnik bickering. Classic them! Then Madame Lebedeva hops off her horse from a firebird hunt.

If you just said, “wait, back up, who are these people? What’s a leshy?” you are not alone! Oh, eventually Marya turns up too. Yeah, turns out there’s been a major time skip from the point where Marya was a starving, impoverished child to a magical being’s bride-to-be, who’s dressed in jewels and gold, has three whimsical pals that are framed as though we’ve already been endeared to them, and is super into her kinky BDSM lifestyle with her ancient groom. This transition has taken a year. Mind you, Marya isn’t just our protagonist, she’s the one the narration follows, so any internal monologue with her grappling with whateverthehell happened in that year is just something the reader doesn’t get.

Sure, her and her whimsical folktale fae friends have snappy dialogue and seem close, but we see literally nothing of how they get there. It’s a neck-snapping tonal whiplash from part 1 and frankly, had this not been a book club pick I would have DNF’d at the beginning of part 2 so quickly.

That’s a big issue I have with this. The parts don’t have much of a narrative through line, not really. The time jumps are janky and messy, we’re tossed in the deep end constantly. I think if the book had begun with part 2, I wouldn’t have minded the deep-endedness, that’s how books are at first. Have part 1 be a prologue or split up in flashbacks. But no, you read part 1, get accustomed to what the book is, and then quick as a whip you’re in a completely different novel altogether. It doesn’t read as cute or clever, but rather awkward and annoying.

While the beginning of part 2 has flimsy explanations of what leshy and vintovik are, as well as other Russian creatures and characters, it’s all missile launched at you so quickly you don’t have time to actually absorb any of it.

The Book Doesn’t Breathe

Boy howdy, for a story with Buyan, where the buildings literally have flesh and blood, it sure doesn’t leave space for air. Like I mentioned before, it often tosses unfamiliar terminology, stories, archetypes, and situations at you all at once without a moment’s notice. If the book is trying to cater to a new adult demographic in America, it doesn’t do an adequate job of hosting the reader in this new strange world. It’s a shame, really, because Valente describes things incredibly vividly and beautifully. Description in this book? Great. However, it feels as though character and plot development were sacrificed in the process. You’re yanked from one cast to the next, and Marya has very little impact on anything at all.

Okay, so, Naganya is this spunky steampunk-like troll creature. One of the main (thus, new) characters in part 2. She’s introduced as a close friend of Marya’s, which, okay. Moving on. They go on a wacky adventure! You see their relationship organically. While you’re still frustrated there was no build, you’re kinda on board. Okay, great. End of part 2? Naganya’s murdered. Slaughtered, in fact, pretty brutally. Gone, dead. Didn’t matter. Moving on to part 3’s cast!

While Naganya’s ghost is referenced and Marya’s like, “F in the chat, that was a bummer dude,” that’s about all we get. Again, there’s no insight into whether she gives a damn. She uses sentences like “I loved my friends, them being dead is a downer” but it’s extremely tell-don’t-show. The thing is, in part 3, it’s ten years later and Marya is a hardened war general in her late 20s who simply doesn’t have the time or emotional energy to deal with that stuff.

Marya, Paperdoll Protagonist

I was watching a video essay where the essayist mentioned that Disney princesses in the Disney Renaissance were passive protagonists. Even if they were the main character, the story wasn’t about their growth and development, but rather it was about them being a free spirited teen who eventually settles down with a man. The heroes get the emotional arcs, not the heroines. Nearly all princesses from this era were more just placed in a setting and waded through it as things happened around them. Flat, unchanging, stagnant, like dolls.

Marya is like that.

Our protagonist never has any agency in the book. She’s groomed as a child, pushed around by Baba Yaga in part 2, pushed around by her husbands in part 3, and so on. She literally is just rolling with the punches. At a couple points she mentions wanting to free a bunch of sweatshop workers, but the narrative doesn’t budge, but rather tells her “no,” and railroads her forward in the predestined plot line like a bad D&D Dungeon Master.

Now, real quick, I don’t necessarily think this is inherently a bad thing as a narrative. Highlighting Marya’s lack of agency could be interesting and lead to a story that’s satisfying to read. It might not be how I would want a heroine to be treated but hey, different strokes. Here’s the problem: some Russian readers and reviewers have pointed out that this is absolutely antithetical to who Marya was in original Russian folklore. She was a warrior queen. She didn’t have to beg and cajole her way to power, she had it all along. Subverting traditional fairytales is also not inherently bad, though it’s been pointed out that this subversion in particular does a disservice to the character. Not to mention that Valente isn’t Russian herself, didn’t grow up listening to these tales, but rather seems to have appropriated them for her own gain. I’m not Russian, I can’t speak to whether or not Valente mistreated original texts, but I encourage readers to look into reviews written by Russian people who’ve read and reacted to the book. (Note: in the interest of attempting to be balanced, there is a review from a Russian who really liked Valente’s treatment, so there’s also that.)

Here are some of the more critical reviews:

Nastassja’s Review

Kogiopsis’s Review (which links to a couple others as well)

Liz’s Review

Did I cherry-pick these reviews because they aligned with my feelings? Yeah, admittedly, I did, and I encourage anyone to read through all of the reviews at their leisure if they’re really interested in potentially reading, because most of the reviews are good ones.

The Diptych Conspiracy: A Space Opera

The strangest thing I found while reading Deathless actually has nothing to do with the text itself, but rather the metatextual… idk, nature? of the book. As of now, and seemingly since very early after Deathless was published in 2011, it’s been marketed as part of a series called the Leningrad Diptych.

Valente announced on her personal blog that there would be a companion book of sorts that didn’t follow the same storyline as Deathless, but was made to act as a spiritual parallel.

She announced that Deathless would have a twin, Matryoshka, which was picked up by Tor, the same publisher who published Deathless, to be released in 2015. That’s where things get sticky.

If you google “matryoshka valente,” you get a couple of hits. When you click those hits, they take you to webpages that allegedly are selling Matryoshka according to titles and headers on the page. However, the book listed was published in 2019, not 2015. And the book’s description has nothing about Russian folklore or historical fiction, but something about a metagalactic space empire. And also, the book cover says it’s called Space Opera.

???????????????????

I wasn’t alone in my confusion though, thanks to this gem of a comment on Goodreads:

Apparently, at some point, the twin in the Leningrad Diptych was listed as an entry on Goodreads at one point. It was unnamed at the time, perhaps the title wasn’t announced for publishing yet. Then, inexplicably, Valente (who is a Goodreads author and therefore is able to edit her profile and her book entries) overwrote the entry entirely. Apparently, Matryoshka has been “postponed indefinitely.” I can’t find official word on this, but nothing has been mentioned about this book since 2013, so I have to assume that’s correct.

Okay, then why overwrite the entry? Why transform Matryoshka into Space Opera, this confusing some auto-updated websites and more importantly confusing me, 7 years later, at 2am when I have COVID and can’t sleep?

I have absolutely no basis for this, but I have a theory. Valente announces Matryoshka and creates a listing on Goodreads for the upcoming book (was the book actually okayed for publishing? Could she have announced it before it was played so her following pushed the publisher into okaying it? Probably not likely and I don’t know, but that’s besides the point). Anyway, she gets all this hype up about this new book, and Goodreads users add it to their to-read lists.

Then, something happens. The book is trunked, writer’s block happens, 30-50 feral hogs destroy all the existing copies, the publisher cancels it, whatever. It’s a bummer (no, really, I know I dumped on Deathless earlier but I’d be interested in the companion novel). Life goes on, Valente writes a new novel, sci-fi this time. That’s a completely different genre though, and fans might be antsy if you announce Space Opera while Matryoshka is theoretically still on the table.

So you simply overwrite the entry. Wipe Matryoshka from Goodreads, swap it with Space Opera when no one is looking.

Now, a bunch of people have your new sci-fi book on their to-read list and are none the wiser. When the book is finally released in 2019, they all get notifications that the book they want is ready, hooray! Most don’t bat an eye, maybe reserve a copy. Some might go, “oh, I don’t remember saving this book, but here it is. And it’s an author I like, so I must’ve done it.” Plus, everyone on their friends list gets a lil nudge in their algorithms that’s like “hey, Sue marked Space Opera as want-to-read. I’ll bet you’d like it too.” Your unknown sci-fi novel is suddenly in front of a lot of eyeballs and on a lot of wishlists, while the previous book is quietly swept under the rug. Success. You never mention the other book again. Matryoshka, who?

But again, I’m looking waaaaay too far into this. As of first writing this It’s 2am, I’m on day three of COVID-aligned symptoms, still waiting for my test results which is scary, therefore I can’t sleep. Also I’m a little bored.

Anyway, Deathless was alright I guess.

#deathless #catherynne m valente #review

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john-taylor-daily · 4 years

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Want to feel really old? Oh, go on then. Duran Duran turn 40 this year: the band, that is, not the members. For them it’s worse: Simon Le Bon is 61, John and Roger Taylor, each 59, and Nick Rhodes, the baby, 57.

As you would expect of a pop group who always appeared happiest hanging off a yacht in ruffled Antony Price suits, accessorised with a supermodel and a cocktail, they intend to celebrate in style, coronavirus permitting. So the plan, announced this week, is that on July 12, exactly 40 years since their first gig at the Rum Runner in Birmingham, they will perform in Hyde Park, headlining a bill that includes Nile Rodgers & Chic and their pal Gwen Stefani. Four of the original five will be there: the guitarist Andy Taylor, 59, left the band in 1985 and, after rejoining in 2001, walked out again five years later. In the past, the guitarist Warren Cuccurullo has filled in; this time Graham Coxon from Blur will take his place.

Then in autumn Duran Duran are releasing a new album, their 15th, which they are halfway through making.

Growing up in the West Midlands, I was a Duranie; my first gig was theirs at the NEC in Birmingham. To give an idea of the level of devotion, I had house plants named after each of them. John, his initials “JT” written on the pot in nail varnish, was a begonia; Rhodes, a busy lizzie; Le Bon, a rubber plant; Roger and Andy Taylor were cacti. My memory, foggy on so much, still holds the name of Nick Rhodes’s cat at the time (Sebastian). The household appliance “JT” would choose to be? “A refrigerator, so I would stay cool.”

But despite previous opportunities, I’ve avoided them bar an awkward backstage handshake with Le Bon. In the meantime, they have notched up record sales of 100 million, had 21 Top 20 hits in the UK and, unlike many bands who came to fame in the 1980s, they produce different, exciting, if not always lauded albums, working with new producers and musicians. They’ve had top five albums in each of the four decades they’ve worked. Their last album, Paper Gods (2015), produced by Mark Ronson and Rodgers, was their most successful for 25 years.

Now 46 and with no desire to anthropomorphise greenery, I meet Rhodes, the keyboardist, and John Taylor, the bass player, once described as having the squarest jaw in rock. Rhodes suggests his “local”, Blakes hotel in Chelsea, near the home he shares with his Sicilian girlfriend, Nefer Suvio (he and Julie Anne Friedman divorced in 1992; they have one child together, Tatjana). Taylor, just in from Los Angeles, home to his second wife, Gela Nash, who runs the fashion label Juicy Couture, invites me to his flat in Pimlico. Le Bon, still happily married to the supermodel Yasmin Le Bon with three grown-up daughters, is busy in the studio and Roger Taylor, four children and with second wife Gisella Bernales, is otherwise occupied.

Rhodes, who joins me in the bar at Blakes, has the same peroxide mop and alabaster skin that were always his trademark. He wears black trousers by the English designer Neil Barrett and a Savile Row jacket dressed down with a rock T-shirt from the Los Angeles company Punk Masters.

Four days later, I arrive at Taylor’s flat in a garden square where he greets me at the door dressed in black jeans and T-shirt, with sculpted bed-hair. I’m reminded of the time my brother splashed Sun-In on his to emulate Taylor’s bleached New Romantic fringe.

It’s good to have them back. They started on the new album in September at Flood Studios in Willesden, northwest London, and, as well as Coxon, have been working with three producers: Giorgio Moroder, Ronson and the DJ Erol Alkan. “The whole place is filled with analogue synthesizers, so it’s just joy for me,” says Rhodes, who began life as Nicholas Bates but renamed himself after a make of electronic keyboard.

Rhodes met Moroder — the “godfather of electronica” and the man behind Donna Summer’s I Feel Love — through a mutual friend of his girlfriend. “We talked about music and what had happened to us,” Rhodes says. “He is as sharp as a razor, 79 going on 45.” They worked with Ronson, who has produced Amy Winehouse and Adele, in LA. “The first thing Mark always says is, ‘Let me hear the rest of it,’” Rhodes says with a laugh. “He is quite competitive.”

Taylor, who leads me into a room that’s more gentlemen’s club than rock-star pad with an open fire, armchairs, brown furniture and bad Victorian paintings, says the break of five years has refuelled them. “We have to starve ourselves of creativity long enough that when we do show up we have something to say,” he says. “[The studio sessions] are quite exhausting because we have been down this road. We can finish each other’s sentences and I guess, to some extent, we can do that musically as well. We are working with the same cast; it’s like a soap opera. That’s why collaborators become so important as you need to keep the spirit lively.”

Rhodes, who says the new album is more “handmade” and “guitary”, explains the working dynamics: “John and Roger’s rhythm section often drives a track. Simon, the lyricist, gives all the songs our identity; it’s his voice that tells you it’s Duran Duran. My part has more to do with sonic architecture.” That may be the most Nick Rhodes phrase yet.

We move on to Andy Taylor. “Forty years ago we had Andy in the band and he was a strong flavour and a northerner and brought a rigour,” says John Taylor. “Filling that vacuum has always been one of the major challenges of version two of the band; we did it with Warren Cuccurullo and with Graham on this record. But it’s not the same. Andy didn’t mind telling people what they were doing wrong.”

He pauses. “We had a reunion with Andy [in 2001] and that was enormously difficult, actually.” How so? “That’s a book really,” says Taylor, who has written about the saga, along with his struggle with drink and drugs, in his excellent 2012 memoir In the Pleasure Groove. “Or it’s a mini-series.”

“It was very uncomfortable for us,” Rhodes says of Andy leaving in 1985. “For sure, it had become stressful over the previous year — we were all burnt out from not having stopped for five years — but we didn’t see it coming at all.”

What are relations with Andy like now? “I don’t really have any,” says Rhodes. “I haven’t seen him for many years since he left the last time. I was not even slightly surprised when it did fall apart. I was relieved. As much as Andy is a great musician he is not an easy person to play with.”

I mention to Taylor that Andy has just announced his own UK dates in May, playing Duran songs. “Uh-ha,” he says. He didn’t know. Does he mind? “I don’t mind at all. All power to him,” says Taylor. “I would rather he be out playing.”

Taylor has the sanguine air of someone who has spent decades nuking his demons (he’s currently working on guilt; he had a Catholic mother). He has been sober for 26 years after an addiction which in part led to the break-up of his marriage to the TV presenter Amanda de Cadenet in 1997. Was it hard at first? “It was like turning round an ocean liner,” he says, his voice posh Brum with a California chaser. “I work a daily programme and that’s what keeps me sober. It’s not something that just happens; it takes a lot of attention.”

We move on to the themes of the new, as yet untitled, album. Le Bon lost his mother recently, so we can expect songs inspired by loss. Taylor says he took inspiration from “the challenges of long-term relationships . . . Take a song like Save a Prayer, which personally I think is one of the greatest ever songs in praise of the one-night stand,” he says. “It comes to the point where you can’t write something like that. It’s not age-appropriate; yet it is sexy. So how do you write from the perspective of someone who is trying to keep a long-term relationship together? That is the challenge of any late-age pop star. How do you make it chic, to use one of Nick’s favourite words.”

It is hard to forget how impossibly chic Duran were in the 1980s: from their beginnings in Birmingham (Nick and John, anyway), where they met when Rhodes was 10 and Taylor 12, to a world of famous friends, beautiful partners and exotic travel. Le Bon married Yasmin after seeing her in Vogue, Rhodes was with the shipping heiress Friedman and Taylor the teenage de Cadenet. Andy Warhol was a close friend of Rhodes.

While others were singing about the dark side of Thatcher’s Britain, they were . . . more opaque. “In the 1980s a lot of what we did was somewhat misunderstood because we were living in the same gloomy years with high unemployment and miners’ strikes and civil unrest as everybody else,” Rhodes says. “But our answer to it was we have to get away from this and make it a little brighter because it didn’t seem like a particularly promising future.” Don’t expect that coronavirus torch song any time soon.

Their association with Bond — they wrote the 1985 theme A View to a Kill — only added to the glamour. What do they make of the new one by Billie Eilish? Rhodes admits that he mostly listens to classical music these days but “was thrilled to hear Billie Eilish. I think it’s by far the best Bond song since ours.”

But not better than yours?

“I am very happy that she reached No 1.” Duran’s got to No 2.

Taylor is more critical. “I thought it was lacking in a bit of Billie Eilish to be honest. It could have been madder. It was a little bit too grown up,” he says.

Is it as good as A View to a Kill?

“No!” says Taylor, theatrically. “Although,” he admits, “it was the most difficult three mins that we have ever produced.”

It had a great video, in which the boys slunk around the Eiffel Tower. Taylor frowns. “I hate that video. So stupid. I can’t watch it.” One for the fans, then.

A secret of their longevity, Rhodes says, is not bowing to nostalgia. “I like to keep my blinkers on and look forward.” Having said that, he sounds ready to write his own memoir. “I would do a book yes,” he says. “I haven’t read John’s on purpose. I even wrote a foreword for it for the US version without reading it, but I did own up to it. I think mine would be very different from a lot of the rock biographies. The one that sticks with me is David Niven’s.”

Rhodes featured in Warhol’s diaries and Warhol, the subject of a show at Tate Modern in London that opened this week, would surely feature in his. He “invented the 20th century”, Rhodes says. “Andy was making reality TV in the Sixties. Can you imagine what he would have thought about the internet? It was all his dreams come true, but he would never have got any work done.” Rhodes says he stays off social media for that reason. “It’s not that I don’t like it; I fear it. I am going down a rabbit hole I may never get out of.

They’ve spent twice the time being famous as being unknown. Are they the same people they were in Birmingham 40 years ago?

Rhodes nods. “Yes, yes,” he says. “There have been big changes — marriages, divorces, kids, moving countries in John’s case — but when we are all together we have known each other for so long there is no room for anyone to behave in a way that would be unacceptable. There is no room for divas. We have lasted longer than most marriages; it is like being married to three people but we each get to go home on our own every night.”

Taylor tells me: “Without getting into recovery talk, a lot of that is about scrubbing away the masks that you tend to accrue to cope, so I think I am as close to that person as I was 40 years ago.”

Rhodes says tolerance is the key. “Sometimes when I arrive at the studio it is really bright, maybe someone is writing, and so everyone accepts I can’t cope, and so the lighting comes down.” I tell him I once read he always wears dark glasses before noon. He laughs. “Pretty much. That’s funny. I am hyper-sensitive to light. It’s not just pretentiousness. “

They appreciate they will have to prepare physically for the dates. For Rhodes, a terrible insomniac, that means “fruit and vegetables and grains” and lots of walking. But no workouts (“I am not a big fan of gymnasiums”). Taylor says he needs to start practising bass and the need to get back in shape is “keeping him awake at night”. “I like to run, I do Pilates, I do yoga and I think about everything that enters my mouth, everything. I am 90 per cent vegan. I don’t drink, take mind-altering chemicals. I am on and off sugar.”

Perhaps the greatest sign that they still have it is that their children want to see them play. Taylor just heard from his daughter, Atlanta, who lives in New York and is soon to be married to David Macklovitch from the Canadian band Chromeo.

“It’s a surprise when you get a text from a child and they say, ‘You’re playing Hyde Park — my boyfriend and I want to come.’”

#duran duran #DD40

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kitten1618x · 5 years

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GoT Afterthoughts ep. 08x01 ‘Winterfell’(Part 3)

Annnnd I’m back again! So where were we? Oh yes, back in Cersei’s boudoir...

The first thing I noticed is Cersei is drinking wine again. I’m still not 100% sure she was pregnant to begin with, guys. They were very secretive and ambiguous about the whole thing if you think back on it — and those leaks about her miscarrying turned out to be a wash.

Cersei is still salty about those damn elephants.

Same girl, saaaaame.

Euron wants to know how he compares to her past lovers. She strokes his massive ego a bit until he brings up Jaime—still a tender wound, she warns him to tread lightly, then simultaneously insults and compliments him as he lays a possessive hand on her stomach and declares he’s going to put a prince in her belly. She promptly dismisses him.

What’s striking here is that Cersei appears to be fighting off tears. Clearly, she didn’t want to sleep with Euron, but did so to keep him loyal to her. Love her or hate her, it’s sad to see her at such a desperate and low point where she’s basically whoring herself to keep an ally. Especially when Euron is such a wildcard, and now that he basically got exactly what he wanted—who’s to say he’ll stick around?

But, if you believe in political!jon, this is quite the parallel to Jon essentially doing the same to hold onto a wildcard ally in Dany.

I’m still not sold on a Cersei pregnancy/miscarriage guys...

While Euron is distracted, Theon and what remains of the Iron Born loyal to them, free Yara. She promptly headbutts him for leaving her ass, then helps him up. Now they’re even. 10/10 realistic sibling behavior. lol

Yara wants to head back to the Iron Islands, but senses Theon’s need to make amends to the Starks. She sends him to Winterfell with her blessing. I truly love these two as a strong family unit!! Gahhhhhh

We drop back into Winterfell where Lord Royce greets Alys Karstark and her people. And why this is necessary got me like 👀. Almost as much as why Alys was cast as a tall, red-headed girl... perhaps to fake a death scene of another important tall red-headed girl with the battle of Winterfell right around the corner?

Davos schools Tyrion and Varys on Northern stubbornness and loyalty. Then he proposes a marriage alliance between Jon and Dany if the world should survive. And fucken gag me, Dadvos... I expected better of you! lol I believe the words he uses are “a just woman and an honorable man.” And I’m sorry, it’s just hard for me to reconcile this statement with the same Davos who was extremely skeptical of the things Missandei was saying about Dany last season. Or the same Davos who looked extremely uncomfortable with Dany’s tantrum on the beach when she accused her hand Tyrion, of not wanting to murder his family... but, I digress.

We end this scene on Varys’ ominous words, sure to leave a bitter taste in your mouth: NOTHING LASTS. Drop those truth bombs, Varys.

A marriage alliance between a truly just woman and an honorable man is probably still in the cards... just sayin’.

We drop down from the battlements where Dany and Jon are strolling amongst the battle preparations. Of all the things they could be talking about: the wall falling, the issue of food shortages, etc. Dany brings up Sansa, of course. (no love triangle brewing here folks, none at all).

Dany licks her lips and looks around coyly, as if annoyed. “Your sister doesn’t like me.” — well neither did Bran really, or any of the northern lords, but it’s only Sansa’s name on Dany’s tongue—how curious. (Not really).

Jon’s eyes shift nervously before he turns to face her and sighs (because I’m telling you, he knew this was coming and it’s no coincidence that he’s kept his mouth shut and stayed out of the conflict). “She doesn’t know you.” Truth. He attempts a joke at how Sansa didn’t like him much either when they were growing up, but Dany isn’t amused.

“She doesn’t have to be my friend, but I am her queen. If she can’t respect me…” Dany leaves the threat and it’s implications hang in the air between them, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Dark!dany is here, y’all.

I’m sure Dany stans and the jonerii are twisting themselves into pretzels to explain this away.

I mean, it’s not like Emilia herself didn’t warn us all that her character would be doing some ‘weird shit’ and we’d know when we saw it...

But Jon’s face here is strikingly similar to these various scenes...

And...

Same. Ass. Energy. You do the math friends, but he’s certainly not looking upon her lovingly.

Luckily for Sansa and Jon, the Dothraki steal Dany’s attention to inform her of the livestock count of the dragons’ current dinner menu: 18 goats and 11 sheep. Dany looks alarmed—the dragons are barely eating. Barely. Do you have any idea how many people that amount of livestock could feed?

That’s why it’s really hard for me to not be critical of Dany’s character here. I realize she loves her dragons and they are her ‘children’, but in this moment she shows more empathy for the dragons lack of food (who truly can fly off and hunt) than that of the actual people who quite possibly could starve—and was irritated with Sansa for bringing it up.

And I will show this fucken gif as many times as I want because it’s so important!!

Food is so important. Don’t let the antis try and tell you otherwise.

Jon and Dany go to check on the dragons, and we have the scene we were treated to from the early released stills.

Jon asks what’s wrong with the dragons and Dany replies “they don’t like the North.” — and there is definitely a double meaning behind her words, as I don’t think Dany much likes the North, either. She climbs atop Drogon while Rhaegal expresses a curious interest in Jon.

“Go on.” Dany encourages Jon. Not the brightest move to give your bf of 10 minutes the keys to one of your WMD’s, and especially since there are surely much more important things to be done since being made aware that the wall is down and your other child is now a flying ice demon, but hey, joy ride time you crazy Targ kids!

So this must be the comedic scene the D’s talked about. I know everyone had mixed feelings about Jon riding a dragon, but I must say, I rather enjoyed this scene—except for the music, which for awhile seemed like a very jarring variation of the Truth theme. The music is very important in this show, so I’ll be curious to know when this pops up again, and where. Perhaps a dragon face off in another dance of dragons? Hmmm?

Drogon takes the lead, and Dany seems rather amused at scaring the pants off of Jon when she nose dives Drogon into a ravine and Rhaegal follows. Oh, but what’s this? Jon has realized he can control Rhaegal on his own, and brings the dragon in for a landing. Dany—a bit surprised at this—follows suit. Girl, you should be worried.

But she’s not, of course—at least not for long, because she’s busy being ‘twitterpated’ a’la a typical Disney flick, at the impressive place Jon chose to land—right beside an amazing waterfall. Props to loverboy, this is 10/10 primo scenery on the romance scale.

I would like to take a moment here to be petty af and point out that it is Daenerys that says the “we could stay here a thousand years” line—not Jon. And who could forget his super-romantic and witty come-back; complete in his Northern drawl: “we’d be pretty old.”

and Dany’s expression says everything! lol This from Mr. ‘I’d like to see you in a silk dress so I can tear it off you’. Pretty weak, Jon. You’re losing romance points for that!

Okay, but all joking aside, because I know a lot of my fellow Jonsas were probably a little put off by this scene; let’s break it down. After Jon’s crappy comeback, Dany moves closer to him, and he says something kind of flirtatious and sweet: “It’s cold up here for a southern girl.”

This is actually a very Jon-like thing to say, and I could even see this kind of banter between him and Ygritte. It’s also a very ‘equal’ thing to say—here, where no one is around, and formalities aren’t necessary. After all, had he said, “it’s cold up here for a southern queen,” it wouldn’t have had the same punch, now would it?

However, Dany has no interest in being Jon’s equal — even here, alone, her first instinct is to remind Jon she’s the queen: “then keep your queen warm” — not, “then this northern boy better keep her warm”, or “then keep your southern girl warm.” Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but that’s what hopped out at me.

Now the kiss. Sigh. Yes, I’m not gonna lie, it definitely looks like Jon’s into it. But my darling Jonsas, before you’re ready to throw Jon under the bus (as I imagine quite a few of you did while I took an entire week to write up my recap) the parent reveal hasn’t happened yet! Simmer down and find your zen, Jon is not a northern fool!

And for you antis lurking around: NO. This doesn’t negate political!jon. Not even a little bit. If political!jon is true, then he’s doing exactly what he committed to do—keeping Dany happy and keeping her North. The unfortunate trade-off is, she’s now their queen.

But what do we have here? Drogon seems a little restless, and Jon immediately breaks the kiss, and casts nervous eyes in the dragons direction. (Gods yes, this is so romantic). Dany laughs it off and tells Jon not to be afraid, pulling him back into the kiss. But while she’s all oblivious and lost in the kiss, Jon leans her body sideways and opens his eyes to eyeball Drogon, who’s giving him a look like ‘bitch, I know who you are, and I know what you’re doing. Watch your back.’

Is it a wonder why every single Jonerys love scene has been interrupted by weirdness? Bloody birth flashbacks, creepy brother voice-overs, no first kiss, growling stink-eyed Drogon... it’s almost like they’re trying to tell us that this isn’t really a romance.

And this is where I leave you, for now. The last part will follow shortly, and NO, I won’t break my future recaps into parts. I only did it this way because myself and half my house are sick.

#got afterthoughts #part 3 #got recap #jonsa #political!jon #dark!dany #anti jonerys #anti targaryen restoration #anti daenerys #(not really but just being safe)#melissa rants #long post

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mafiabosstsuna · 6 years

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Prompt 4/4

Prompt: Squalo, Reborn and Mukuro with a sister

Word Count: Squalo: 432 / Reborn: 332 / Mukuro: 487 / Full: 1,251

Notes: Although there isn’t much interaction between the characters and their sisters, I think this will still be a satisfying read.

I wanted to toy with the concept of how the very beginning would play out- how do they discover their new siblings? How does their first meeting define the nature of the rest of the relationship as siblings?

I apologize if the formatting is lost after submitting any of these.

——————–

Part 1/3: Squalo:

——

The swordsman’s sister was discovered completely by accident. Intel on a target had revealed unexpected family ties the very man meant to kill him. Filled with disbelief, Squalo had demanded more information..

She was a young little thing, tutoring in fencing and living as the ward of a wealthy family allied to an enemy. The family was growing too influential too quickly, and their head of finance was on the short list. Days of observation had shown that despite the care and love with which she was being raised, she was keeping secrets.

The young teenager was frequenting chatrooms and message boards for tracing bloodlines. She was searching for her lineage. For her family. Her custodian’s ties to the mafia gave her resources that she was gladly abusing behind his back.

Truly surprising, was how close she was to uncovering Squalo.

The plan was carried out, but with one major hitch.

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

She had fencing lessons. They had checked. Then double-checked, and arranged the timing accordingly. By the time she would’ve gotten home, the blood would be gone and there would be someone new waiting to see to her needs.

“Daddy!” The anguished shriek startled the swordmaster, his blade twisting in the chest of his gurgling target. His arm withdrew with a sickening squelch.

“Voi! What the fuck are you doing here?! Don’t you have lessons?”

“Why are you doing this! Daddy, oh my god– !” She threw herself onto her adoptive father’s still form, frantically putting pressure on the fatal wound. “Daddy, daddy no. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me!”

Crimson blood stained her pristine school shirt, blooming across her chest and sleeves like grotesque flowers. The man’s eyes were glassy and still, and she sobbed and babbled nonsensically as she fought to stop the bleeding.

“Stop,” Squalo snapped, pulling her back by the waist. She screamed and clawed at his wrist, fighting to reach the body. “He’s dead. He’s dead.”

She stilled, hands slick with hot blood as they rested on his arms. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. “No. No, he can’t be. He can’t be dead. I don’t wanna be alone!”

A ribbon of guilt fluttered through him.

“You’re not gonna be alone, voi.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft. She twisted her head to look up at him, face wet and smeared with the blood of her dead guardian. He shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m the only family you’ve got, now.” Her eyes widened with clouded confusion, and her mouth fell open. A heavy sigh pulled itself from his chest.

“So you’re…. not gonna be alone.”

Part 2/3: Reborn:

——

A sister, huh?

Despite the mess of conflicted feelings in him, Reborn smirked.

They were only blood by half, but the connection was there. She was a civilian, only a year from graduating school. The school uniform she wore was that of a poorer area, and she was a little too thin for his liking, but she was a scrappy thing that had gotten herself into trouble more than once.

But she’d also gotten herself out, throwing punches and clawing faces with little grace, but a ferocity that had a soft sense of pride glowing in his chest.

At first, he’d been determined to let her lead a quiet life as a civilian. She could look out for herself well enough, but Reborn couldn’t seem to let her go. He found himself quietly watching as she walked home from school, smartly avoiding the wrong streets and keeping out of arm’s reach from passing cars. There was a clever air to her that gave her just enough common sense to skate on, but no street smarts to steer clear of danger.

Watching her was torture. It was killing him, seeing her throw a punch that would break her fingers, or getting a little too brave with the streets she took to get home. Seeing her hand splinted was the last straw. Reborn made his decision.

The minute she graduated, he would pull her out of her ridiculous civilian life and train her. As much as he wished it, Reborn couldn’t walk away from the only family he had. One day, she’d get mouthy with the wrong person and be in over her head. He’d make sure she was prepared.

But for now…..

For now he’d let her finish school, let her have the normal friends and normal life that Tsuna had fought against him so hard to keep. For now, he’d keep watching, keep making sure none of the wrong people took an… interest in her.

For now, she could be a kid.

Part 3/3: Mukuro:

——

She was found in a police raid. The news broke on television, a blonde reporter standing in front of the smoking shell of a building as she earnestly recited the horrors found inside. Words of illegal experiments and mafia conspiracies flashed over the screen in bold headlines.

“Three children were found inside, starved and shackled,” Her somber voice belied their gruesome conditions. “The first died late last night, and the remaining two are in critical condition.”

The shaky footage of a phone camera was played, three small forms being rushed past police barriers to a trio of waiting ambulances. The camera zoomed in on a small lump buckled to a stretcher, limp and tucked under a shock blanket. A closeup shot flashed over her face, blurred as an EMS worker wheeled her past with grim urgency.

Heterochromatic eyes stared straight into the camera, a flash of red and blue.

Mukuro was going to kill her. Personal motivation aside, it was the humane thing to do. The footage had shown horrible scar tissue stretching over her face in a terrible web of thick, banded skin. Even if she survived, the girl would never lead a normal life.

Barely a day later, he found himself slipping into her hospital room. White gauze wound over great portions of her body, disappearing under thin sheets. Sickly green light painted her face, eyes closed. Blue hair clung to her damp temples. He stood over her silently, noting their similarities with distaste. She couldn’t be allowed to exist.

Her eyes opened.

Mukuro stared down, unflinching, and she stared back. And then he noticed–

Something the shaky camera footage couldn’t show. The red and blue of her irises was muted. Cloudy and pale. A milky tint in her corneas faded them over.

She was blind.

Still, she stared up like she could see him just as well as he could her. It was unnerving. Deep, uneven grooves of scars wove across her skin, covering her eyes and stretching down the bridge of her nose. They were the same raw, pink that came from severe burns.

“Are you going to kill me?” Her voice was soft, but it didn’t waver. She wasn’t afraid of him. He quirked a brow, amused.

“Yes.”

“Then do it.”

“Will she be able to wake up?” Chrome traced the outline of the girl’s scars, her face peaceful in sleep. The disfigurement seemed to draw the Nagi to her, and she sat at the child’s bedside.

“Eventually,” Mukuro feigned disinterest, glancing at the pair. He wasn’t sure what he would do with her, but at least Chrome didn’t feel her presence as a threat. “When I have a plan ready.”

“Will you keep her?”

He paused, then turned to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Yes.”

The girl’s eyelids fluttered, and she made a soft sound but didn’t wake. Chrome withdrew her hand.

“She’s going to be powerful, someday.”

“Good.”

#admin giotto #submission #sister #squalo #reborn #mukuro #siblings #family

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elliotbathory · 6 years

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The End of the War

Part I: Introduction (An essay relating song lyrics to my mental health issues and addiction, written late 2017) Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab) Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

Part I: A Bigger Paper Bag

From Father John Misty’s album Pure Comedy. The album has had a deep impact on my life and I have an emotional connection with each individual song. Some view the artist as a contrived, self-absorbed, false prophet. I think he knows exactly who is and what he is trying to do. Pure Comedy touches me in a way that no other album since The Who’s Quadrophenia has. I identified with the protagonist, Jimmy, for many years. His depression, his recklessness, his desperate desire to ‘get out [his] head’. Father John Misty has created a sonic place in which I can rest with my deep despair about the state of the world. Dark, clever, occasionally very witty, and of course, real. What follows is an exploration into the many ways in which I, including my inner Jimmy, relate to 'A Bigger Paper Bag’.

“Dance like a butterfly and drink like a fish

If you’re bent on taking demons down with only your fist

And I’ve never known anyone who could lose himself in a bigger paper bag”

I am an Aries. I have a fighting spirit. Demons have plagued me for almost my whole life. The first, that of isolation and inability to communicate. The blockage in my head between thought and expression. The second, the very real and intolerably cruel voice of my mother, which informed the third: the person I became after I left the suffocating suburban reality that Jimmy and I both tried so hard to escape.

He said “My mother got drunk on stout, my dad couldn’t stand on two feet.” And yet when they found out he was using uppers, they kicked him out of the house. Desperate to escape himself, he turned to drugs and wild partying. At the age of fifteen I was so desperate to take speed I used to take 8 pseudoephedrine pills at a time and lay in bed for hours shaking with my forehead pressed to the wall. I was nowhere near cool enough to know anyone who could get drugs.

My mother also drank too much. But then, that was not the trigger for the abuse. It only amplified it. So, to “taking demons down with only your fists.” I’ve used almost every other drug over the years, some quite a lot. But my main crutch has always been alcohol, because as I discovered when I was sixteen, it made me feel normal. It taught me to communicate verbally rather than through writing. I am still not convinced that I can socialise without it.

Naturally, it does not end there. Demons have no courtesy. I’ve been drunk for a very large portion of the last four years. It makes things better, until it makes things worse. It in and of itself becomes a demon. You go from longnecks in the park, to two cheap bottles of red, to finding yourself inside a paper bag, the enormity of which you cannot know. There is endless supply in there.

And as for dancing, well, after a (a lot more than), a few gin and tonics, blue under the light, I used to be quite enchanting on stage.

“The weaker the signal, the sweeter the noise

Hunching over an instrument that you now employ

Like the Starvation Army needs a marching piano in the band”

You can tune those demons out, to an extent. The riot of blood rushing through your head after you huff amyl, their complete, albeit temporary erasure when I used to get lost inside 77 on pills, drunkenness and dancing and revelry and other sounds. Britpop, for example. I no longer know if I identify as a hedonist. What I truly was was an escapist. Not an escape artist, however. My attempts to scale the barbed wire fence of my mind and never look back were always cut short.

You come down. Then you wait until you know you can go back up again. Then you do. My partner gets cranky when I try to go out these days and can’t get into it. I am no longer starving for the things I have in life now, like love, understanding, and happiness. Those situations usually now just remind me of how I tried and failed to find happiness in shallow overcompensations. I always wanted to be fun and cool. I’m not.

“Are you feeling used?

I do”

Yes but let’s not get into that. I used myself and I am ashamed.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?”

For a few years the diagnoisis that suited me best was bipolar II. Soaring highs, or more commonly, crushing lows. There were times when I was on acid or mushrooms in huge crowds and genuinely felt that the entire situation had been constructed specifically for my friends’ and my enjoyment. Eventually, of course, I fell from that specific hallucinogenic throne in a spectacularly violent fashion and developed actue psychosis.

“What a fraud

What a con”

My specific breed of psychosis was as narcissistic as it was unbearable. I was convinced that everyone in the world knew who I was, and everyone hated me. Because how dare I pretend so long to be happy, to be fun, to be a legitimate person worthy of enjoying life. Jimmy also felt as though he was not truly cool enough to be a mod, and was eventually rejected and ridiculed, confirming his self belief. The film adaptation ends with a long shot of him riding his vespa along the sea cliffs.

I believed there was a global conspiracy against me and its end goal was my suicide. I heard passers by spitting insults at me for months on end. I wonder where I got the idea that anyone would do that?

“You’re the only

One I love”

I didn’t used to believe it was enough to love one person romantically. Or rather, I didn’t feel validated enough by the love of one person. I was suffering a massive defecit of love. I don’t hate myself so much anymore. So now self love has been added, it’s notso much a matter of begging others to throw endless amounts of love into the chasm of my starving soul, but rather being able to participate in the life long work of love.

“It’s easy to assume that you’ve built some rapport

With a someone who only likes you for what you like yourself for

Okay, you be my mirror but remember that there are only a few angles I tend to prefer

I’m only here to serve”

Those first two lines fucking floored me when I first really listened to what they are saying. I learned from quite an early age that all I was good for was my looks. And then sex. So I combined the two to forge an identity that I hoped people would like. An A grade slut, both in my personal life, and professionally. Sexy, easy, available, yours if you want me (please take me I cannot stand myself). Took me a long fucking time to grow out of that. I have never fought as hard against anything and I have come a long way.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?

Oh, I was dancing 'round the flame

Like a high-wire act with a "who, me?” face

I was living on nothing but water and cake"

Perilously close to oblivion at all times and dangerously self destructive but gosh, wasn’t I good at it? Wasn’t I cute? Didn’t you used to wank to me? I have no idea what kept me together, let alone alive. Natural talent, I suppose. That Aries fight. Against the bored, lonely, suffering person I used to be. Against death, to the death. And death hasn’t won me over yet, seductive bastard that he is.

“What a fraud

What a con

You’re the only

One I love

One I love”

This isn’t about you, baby. It’s about me, Jimmy, and Father John Misty. But then, we are kindred souls. So I suppose it is. A bit.

Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab)

17.4.18

I haven’t been remembering my dreams. They’ve been fading so fast. I got 10 hours of sleep after deciding not to attend the NA meeting and having to walk past it anyway to get to the smoking area. I didn’t want to encroach on an experience I don’t share but what’s the difference? Why would I care for legality? It’s strange being here in a ‘good’ patch. No withdrawals, only craving nicotine. Am I here not to get ‘better’, but ‘even better’? I’m not sure how I feel. A little alien. Just letting myself think and waiting for anything significant. Being here is symbolically significant. I’m here to learn coping skills and relapse prevention, that’s it. It doesn’t have to provide anything deeper or provoke feelings of profundity. It’s basic shit. I’m an alcoholic and I don’t want to go back to problem drinking.

Where is the fear and pain I felt yesterday? What was the purpose of it? Knock out a rehab stay while I don’t have work/uni commitments and hope I fucking learn for when I do. The best I can do is be present. I am scared that I still don’t know exactly what I’m studying towards. I’m probably not as smart as I presume. What is my lot in life going to be? A job I like and a husband I adore? God, spare me. I’m having a crisis of personality. Intensity and extremity are not useful defining characteristics. Yet being a good, switched on, and fairly interesting person doesn’t feel like enough. How can I relate person to person when I see my own character as lacking? If we are all fundamentally valid and complex as individuals this negative self-assessment automatically carries across to others. I am ashamed not by how boring I feel I am, but why this baseless critical judgement feels so important. My amorphous, superficially high standard insults everyone.

Why is suffering interesting? Why is ‘different’ interesting? Why can’t I conceive of the mid-ranges of reality as interesting, am I that lacking in curiosity and imagination? I’m used to being overstimulated. Or pissed. I am not attuned to subtlety. It is harder work to find wonder in the mundane. Such a vain conquest, so incredibly shallow to attempt to make my life interesting using self hatred as a form of performance art. No one is interested in the creative flair with which you can wield that. Being alive and burning despite things is not impressive if you’re purposefully making life hard for yourself. I don’t really know where I sit with that, though. My mental torment created the life I had. It’s not that I didn’t want to get better. I just took too much pride in how much I could relish in how fucked up I was.

The hereness and newness of myself is queer because it is complete but also completely lacking in drama. I don’t know what foot to start on if not shock value. I’m a recovering alcoholic, a reformed self loathing attention seeker. What am I inviting people to see if not a hot mess? A tepid, anxious 27 year old boy. My social stance is defensive. Find my projected self interesting but do not attempt to actually know me. I am too fragile, too sad, too boring. I don’t want these human frailties to be levelled with so I cast them up high, make an overexaggerated display of them. I’m not doing that anymore. Take me as I am, whatever that is, but also don’t because I don’t know what that is and I won’t make any efforts to help you find out either. So it seems like I want to be left alone but I have been alone on my plinth celebrating my vain, personal self loathing for so long I am starved for human connection. I was lying the whole time. I am one of you. It is still embarrassing to admit.

Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

30.4.18

So you arrive on your own doorstep one day, right? You would never come to yourself at a time like this, the you that suffers knows he’s not exactly wanted, but he is desperate. There is nowhere else to go, every safe haven is closed or gone. You’re tired, cold, and soaking wet. It’s pouring because of course it is. A few hours pass and your ego, comfortable inside, decides to take a chance and let you in. You’ve been screaming and pleading for hours. “Let me in, LET ME IN!” You collapse fully clothed in a hot shower while your various self conceptions tut and fuss, bitching about the decision. “Family,” some of them say uncertainly, “That’s what we’re for, right? People say that kind of stuff when they love irredeemable fuckstains, yeah?” They don’t actually know this, and the other parts of your ego are by turns confused and furious. “What the fuck, guys? He’ll be fine, he’s always fine, get him out of here!” “You fucking IDIOTS! WEAK! This is NOT what’s supposed to happen, this is not what we do!”

They’re all running around swearing, aggressively and resentfully caring. Like the first time you ever got drunk by yourself to make yourself feel better before your year 10 half-yearlies. How you remember sitting naked in the shower with your head lolling, parents freaking out. Meanwhile, you are there again. Bewildered. Overwhelmed, barely responsive. But you’re wide awake. Layers and layers of clothes, costumes, identities weighing your body down as the warm water soaks through. Something clicks and you realise it makes no sense to be fully dressed in the shower. As a token act to bring normalcy to the situation, you start to take the layers off. The process of removing them all takes a while, but once it is done you feel as though it happened in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” You say, looking down at your own body. “Is this what I look like?” It’s a significant action in the symbolic world, taking off your clothes. It never felt like it was before. You didn’t understand the meaning of exposing yourself, of vulnerability. You just did it cos you had a malformed concept of fear. Scary things are good for you, they make you stronger. A seemingly contradictory belief that laying your flaws out on the table prevents people from abusing you for them. Nothing can hurt you when you are made of hurt. It is different completely, however, to reveal yourself to yourself. You’re there naked in the bathroom, looking at yourself as though you’ve never seen yourself before.

Your ego, anxieties, notions of your self that you’ve constructed are all pacing around frantically, fighting with each other about who’s right and what’s the best course of action. None of them ever had a contingency plan for acknowledging the hurt. Confronting the core of who you are. Their very existences are reliant upon dividing the self into these fragments. The elephant in the room of your life is in the fucking bathroom doing god knows what. He’s been in there for hours.

Back to you there. With all the layers removed, you turn on the light. It’s a lot like tripping. What you see in the mirror you know to be yourself, but the image feels so foreign. Stranger still is how separate the amalgamated pile of faces you used to wear looks there in the corner, apart from you. Not, as you believed so deeply, parts of you. They grow irrelevant as you trace your finger over your reflection. “Fuck. Is this who I am?” After a little while you start to think your time in there might be worrying all of the other selves, and they really didn’t want to let you in, so it would only be right to go and let them know you’re okay. You’re not going to cause any trouble. You’re grateful. None of the clothes on the floor are suitable to wear, so “Fuck it,” You think, and walk out. The exhibitionist, the slut, and the hippie were all naked anyway.

The place is empty, dead quiet. For some reason it feels like it has been for a while. You’re confused, are they playing a trick? After wandering around for a while you decide to make a cup of tea and have a cigarette. Make yourself at home, as it were. It’s nice to be out of the storm, relaxing and enjoying your own company. You don’t need the assistance of your ego selves to do that anyway. You are allowing yourself residency in your own mind, this overexposed, brutally hurt self. The hurt doesn’t feel very present though, strangely. You thought yourself to be the suffering person. That’s why they didn’t want you here. The situation leaves you bizarrely unphased. Things that should be scary tend not to be, right? You’re just rolling with it, acting like the place is all yours while the selves are elsewhere.

You can’t quite believe it, both that they actually relented when you were banging the door down, and that you got into a situation so fucked you needed to seek the help of the conscious collective. You usually just communicate via proxies. “I’m here, how weird.” You think. Perfume Genius is playing and the sound quality is fantastic. Walking back into the bathroom to pee, you notice the pile of clothes has vanished. The trippy feeling you had before settles on you again and you look to the mirror. Your eyes widen as you see all your selves, the shades of ego and anxiety, floating behind you, faint as ghosts. You see the Party Girl, the Masochistic Martyr, the Stubborn Whore. Their faces are passive and kind. Something you’d attribute to the relief of death.

You lived through them, they lived as you so you could survive. They panicked when you got here, begging to be let in. Because your arrival signified their exit. With your presence, in your self and reality, false constructs fall away. You are the spirit that persisted, the soul that endured. Their service was for one end, and that was getting you here. Everything they protected you through, all of the lessons they helped you learn are intact, part of you as a whole. You’re left staring at the naked truth of who you are. None of the people you’ve been fought in vain. The end game was always unity.

From the other room you hear the piano player playing “This Must Be The Place” and you think: it’s a miracle to be alive. You exit the bathroom into the rest of your life, hearing someone say “Pleasure to meet you!” It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. You are the resurrection, and you are the light you needed to let in. You could only bring yourself to hate yourself for so long. A spark, a flame, a bang, a phoenix. You see yourself rising in the vast and limitless universe. Within and without, at peace, as one.

#essay #journal #short story #alcoholism #ego death #survival #mental illness #self actualisation #sobriety

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heathergoffrier · 4 years

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Want To Make New Friends? Here’s The Good And Bad News

It's hard to make new friends these days-- you might wonder if it's even possible. Don't miss Heather's good and bad news about finding your new tribe.

I sat down at the round table and glanced around at the room full of ladies I didn't know. I needed some new friends and wanted to join a Bible study, so there I sat alone, excited but a bit nervous since the person who'd invited me had bailed at the last second. Everyone was very welcoming, but I started to feel unsure as I noticed people catching up and could tell who seemed to be besties with each other. How can I break into the group and get to know anyone? Will I be able to become friends with even one of them? Making new friends is incredibly hard. It’s awkward to be the one on the outside, or to have to start over with all the pleasantries of “where are you from?” and “what do you like to do?” I’ve found myself in that position many times as a military wife. We’ve moved 8+ times in 10 years, and I constantly am back at the spot where, again, I have no friends living nearby. Is making new friends even possible these days? What hope do we have if we don’t have any friends? Or what if all your friends are self-centered or too busy or majorly toxic, so you need to start over and make new friends? I have good news and bad news. I’ll start with the bad stuff, so we can get it out of the way. Like when, as a child, I would eat my peas first at dinner, because I hated peas (still do). But after that horrible taste, I was on to the ham and scalloped potatoes and homemade canned peaches.

So You Want to Make New friends: The Bad News

I like to end on a good note, so here's the bad news. Making friends now is harder than when we were younger. Back (way back) when I was in college, you could walk around and actually interact with people. Like, they would look you in the eye when you passed them, and maybe even say hi. I got a cell phone when phones were making the transition from being “car phones” that people kept in their cars for emergencies, to smaller hand-held devices you could carry around. One day I was on the phone while walking to class, and my friend saw me and called me a “Cali girl.” (No offense if you're from California. I guess Oregon always got our trends second-hand from the Sunshine state.)

Back in the days of school and sports teams it was so much easier to find friends! What It's Like Now Fast forward to today, and does anyone even look at you when you walk by? Most pedestrians have headphones or are looking down at their phones at all times. Good luck trying to make a connection with someone in passing! Not to mention, now that we’re past college age, we don’t have those automatic school friends we met in classes, on teams, and in the dorms. Where do we meet people now? Everyone is so busy, it’s hard to get together with people you do meet I’ve got a meeting. My kid has basketball. Your husband just got back from a work trip so you'd like to spend time with him. The list of reasons are endless that we often can’t make a friend date happen. And it’s not just me. The New York Times posted that “As people approach midlife, the days of youthful exploration, when life felt like one big blind date, are fading. Schedules compress, priorities change and people often become pickier in what they want in their friends.” Friendship doesn’t seem like as much of a priority anymore. Or is it that everyone already has their friends? You might be in a situation where you have to stay home It’s definitely easier to make friends when you can have a flexible schedule to meet up whenever and wherever. But that’s not a reality for us moms with young kids. And it’s certainly not happening during the season of quarantine i.e. stuck within the four walls with crazy children. This season of life is challenging and can severely limit our social lives. DON'T MISS MY INCREDIBLE RESOURCE LIBRARY OF FREE PRINTABLES! GET ACCESS BELOW:

YES- GIVE ME ACCESS!

You Want To Make New Friends: The Good News

So, after all that, what's the good news? Making and having friends is still important Maybe now more than ever, we need relationships-- specifically friendships. It’s easy to get into a routine and never stop to invest in relationships. You can get by fine until a certain point when disaster strikes, or you just need to vent, or you’ve been so cooped up in your home that you see your postal worker as your soon-to-be best friend. Where do you turn for support at that point? We need friends and family for that basis of support. But that doesn’t just happen by accident. We have to make a little effort to get out there and interact with people, because relationships matter. In fact, one bit of research says that “70% of your happiness comes from relationships.” That’s a lot, but that's also a good thing. We don't have to rely on money, our status, or even our immediate circumstances to determine our happiness. God created us for community, and to rely on Him for our complete satisfaction in life. He created us to be relational beings (70% of our happiness from our connectedness, remember?) who thrive on interactions with others. If relationships matter that much, it’s time we make it a priority to make new friends and foster the ones we have.

People are lonely (here’s why that’s good) NPR posted that according to a recent study, “More than three in five Americans are lonely, with more and more people reporting feeling like they are left out, poorly understood and lacking companionship.” And, the study “found a nearly 13% rise in loneliness since 2018.” It’s easy to believe that everyone else has their tribe of gal pals, but the reality is that most people are feeling as lonely as you are. And if you're wondering how to make friends when you have none, you can know that you're not the only one who feels that way. Which is actually good news, because it means that the majority of people you see would love the chance to make a new friend-- could it be you? Even when you can’t leave your house, it’s still possible to make new friends. The other day, when I’d been stuck in my house going on three weeks, I saw a mom and two kids in the street in front of our house. I had to restrain myself from going out and treating them like my long lost friends and asking them a million questions. I didn’t know I was that starved of human interaction. I didn’t actually go out and talk to them because (besides restraining myself) I had to wrangle the kids, but it’s a great idea to pop outside when you see a potential friend on a walk with the kids. Friendships are built on commonality, so if you see a fellow mom strolling nearby, there’s nothing wrong with stepping out on your porch and saying hi. If you ask a question, they might stick around for a conversation, and you’re off! Wondering how to make close friends while stuck at home? Here are a few ways: Join Facebook groups that have people with common interests (moms, artists, sports nuts, whatever your jam)Become more active in commenting and interacting on Facebook or Instagram friends' feeds.Develop your acquaintances into friends by starting conversations either online, via text, or on an app like Marco Polo.Ask family or current friends to connect you to others with like interests. When you meet someone, be sure you have a copy of my free cheat sheet, “21 Conversation Starters,” plus it includes the secret sauce “8 Skills for making friends as an adult.” Then you’ll know exactly what to say to keep the conversation going! You can get them here:

SEND ME THE CHEAT SHEET Recognize that you have many qualities people would like in a friend Do you ever get down about yourself and think that no one would like you, or no one could ever relate to you? Guess what-- it’s not true. You may have weaknesses that aren’t desirable, but so does everyone else. Maybe you’re into something that’s not mainstream. Oh well. That’s part of what makes you unique. When you focus on being your true self, you’ll be drawn to some and not to others. Others will feel the same about you. You don’t need everyone to like you to have amazing close friends. You just have to find the people with whom you have things in common. To prove it, try this: Think of something unique you like, that you think not many people like. Go to Google and type “who likes __(that thing)____.” For example, "who likes turtlenecks?" Surprised? Many people like you are out there. Now you just have to find them. RELATED: 8 SKILLS THAT WILL HELP YOU MAKE FRIENDS AS AN ADULT

You can gain confidence to make friends What if you’re paralyzed with fear? What if you just can’t put yourself out there? You can grow. It takes baby steps. You’ll never get friends if you don’t try. It might take a while, but if you keep trying, deep, strong friendships can happen for you. I used to worry a lot about what people thought of me. When someone criticized me, their comments crushed me but I either hid it, or I snapped back angrily. My confidence was shaky and I would obsess for days over any rude comment toward me. But I learned that my identity is not in what other people think, say, or believe about me. My identity comes from what God says about me and who He’s made me to be. When I live in that truth, I have more confidence to make friends because I know that I have something to offer to the relationship. And I believe that I’m valuable enough to get to know. And you are too.

You can find your tribe.

Where do I go from here?

I’m glad you asked. As far as I can tell, the good news outweighs the bad when it comes to making friends. You can have so much hope when it comes to meeting people and building relationships. And just in case you doubt me, I’m going to give you all the resources that I can to help make it happen for you. This post is the first post in a series of articles about making new friends. I’m calling it the “Make New Friends” blog series. My goal in these posts is to help you gain confidence and take steps to actually make new, better, deeper friendships. Stay tuned for future posts such as: How to make new friends when you’re stuck at homeHow to build an acquaintance into a friendHow I made new friends quickly after our last move (and how you can too) And more! I can’t wait to share these tips and tricks with you. While you wait, be sure to grab your free cheat sheet with 21 Conversation Starters and the secret sauce of 8 Skills for making friends as an adult. You can get them here:

SEND ME THE CHEAT SHEET Read the full article

#friendship #truth

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dfroza · 4 years

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Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for Sunday, September 13 of 2020 with Proverbs 13 and Psalm 13 accompanied by Psalm 86 for the 86th day of Summer and Psalm 107 for day 257 of the year

[Proverbs 13]

A wise son or daughter desires a father’s discipline,

but the know-it-all never listens to correction.

The words of the wise are kind and easy to swallow,

but the unbeliever just wants to pick a fight and argue.

Guard your words and you’ll guard your life,

but if you don’t control your tongue,

it will ruin everything.

The slacker wants it all and ends up with nothing,

but the hard worker ends up with all that he longed for.

Lovers of God hate what is phony and false,

but the wicked are full of shame and behave shamefully.

Righteousness is like a shield of protection,

guarding those who keep their integrity,

but sin is the downfall of the wicked.

One pretends to be rich but is poor.

Another pretends to be poor but is quite rich.

The self-assurance of the rich is their money,

but people don’t kidnap and extort the poor!

The virtues of God’s lovers shine brightly in the darkness,

but the flickering lamp of the ungodly will be extinguished.

Wisdom opens your heart to receive wise counsel,

but pride closes your ears to advice

and gives birth to only quarrels and strife.

Wealth quickly gained is quickly wasted—

easy come, easy go!

But if you gradually gain wealth,

you will watch it grow.

When hope’s dream seems to drag on and on,

the delay can be depressing.

But when at last your dream comes true,

life’s sweetness will satisfy your soul.

Despise the word, will you?

Then you’ll pay the price and it won’t be pretty!

But the one who honors the Father’s holy instructions

will be rewarded.

When the lovers of God teach you truth,

a fountain of life opens up within you,

and their wise instruction will deliver you from the ways of death.

Everyone admires a wise, sensible person,

but the treacherous walk on the path of ruin.

Everything a wise and shrewd man does

comes from a source of revelation-knowledge,

but the behavior of a fool puts foolishness on parade!

An undependable messenger causes a lot of trouble,

but the trustworthy and wise messengers

release healing wherever they go.

Poverty and disgrace come to the one

who refuses to hear criticism.

But the one who is easy to correct is on the path of honor.

When God fulfills your longings,

sweetness fills your soul.

But the wicked refuse to turn from darkness

to see their desires come to pass.

If you want to grow in wisdom,

spend time with the wise.

Walk with the wicked

and you’ll eventually become just like them.

Calamity chases the sin-chaser,

but prosperity pursues the God-lover.

The benevolent man leaves an inheritance

that endures to his children’s children,

but the wealth of the wicked is treasured up for the righteous.

The lovers of God will live a long life and get to enjoy their wealth,

but the ungodly will suddenly perish.

If you withhold correction and punishment from your children,

you demonstrate a lack of true love.

So prove your love and be prompt to punish them.

The lovers of God will have more than enough,

but the wicked will always lack what they crave.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 13 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 13]

Prayer Turns Depression into Delight

For the Pure and Shining One, by King David

I’m hurting, Lord—will you forget me forever?

How much longer, Lord?

Will you look the other way when I’m in need?

How much longer must I cling to this constant grief?

I’ve endured this shaking of my soul.

So how much longer will my enemy have the upper hand?

It’s been long enough!

Take a good look at me, God, and answer me!

Breathe your life into my spirit.

Bring light to my eyes in this pitch-black darkness

or I will sleep the sleep of death.

Don’t let my enemy proclaim, “I’ve prevailed over him.”

For all my adversaries will celebrate when I fall.

Lord, I have always trusted in your kindness, so answer me.

I will yet celebrate with passion and joy

when your salvation lifts me up.

I will sing my song of joy to you, the Most High,

for in all of this you have strengthened my soul.

My enemies say that I have no Savior,

but I know that I have one in you!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 13 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 86]

A prayer of David.

O Eternal One, lend an ear to my prayer and answer me,

for I am weak and wanting.

Safeguard my soul, for I remain loyal to You.

Save me, Your servant, who trusts in You, my God.

O Lord, please be merciful to me,

as all day long I cry out to You.

Bring joy into the life of Your servant,

for it’s only to You, O Lord, that I offer my soul.

O Lord, You are good and ready to forgive;

Your loyal love flows generously over all who cry out to You.

O Eternal One, lend an ear and hear my prayer;

listen to my pleading voice.

When times of trouble come, I will call to You

because I know You will respond to me.

O Lord, You stand alone among the other gods;

nothing they have done compares to Your wonderful works.

O Lord, all the peoples of earth—every nation You established—

will come to You, bowing low to worship,

and rightly honor Your great name.

For You are great, and Your works are wondrous;

You are the one True God.

O Eternal One, guide me along Your path

so that I will live in Your truth.

Unite my divided heart so that I will fear Your great name.

O Lord, my God! I praise You with all that I am.

I will rightly honor Your great name forever.

For Your loyal love for me is so great it is beyond comparison.

You have rescued my soul from the depths of the grave.

O True God, arrogant people are after me.

A violent gang wants to kill me;

they have no interest in You or Your ways.

But Lord, You are a God full of compassion, generous in grace,

slow to anger, and boundless in loyal love and truth.

Look at me, and grant me Your favor.

Invest Your strength in me, Your servant,

and rescue me, Your handmaiden’s child.

Give me a sign so I may know Your goodness rests on me

and so those who hate me will be red with shame at the sight of it.

For You, O Eternal One, have come to my aid and offered me relief.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 86 (The Passion Voice)

[Psalm 107]

Oh, thank God—he’s so good!

His love never runs out.

All of you set free by God, tell the world!

Tell how he freed you from oppression,

Then rounded you up from all over the place,

from the four winds, from the seven seas.

Some of you wandered for years in the desert,

looking but not finding a good place to live,

Half-starved and parched with thirst,

staggering and stumbling, on the brink of exhaustion.

Then, in your desperate condition, you called out to God.

He got you out in the nick of time;

He put your feet on a wonderful road

that took you straight to a good place to live.

So thank God for his marvelous love,

for his miracle mercy to the children he loves.

He poured great draughts of water down parched throats;

the starved and hungry got plenty to eat.

Some of you were locked in a dark cell,

cruelly confined behind bars,

Punished for defying God’s Word,

for turning your back on the High God’s counsel—

A hard sentence, and your hearts so heavy,

and not a soul in sight to help.

Then you called out to God in your desperate condition;

he got you out in the nick of time.

He led you out of your dark, dark cell,

broke open the jail and led you out.

So thank God for his marvelous love,

for his miracle mercy to the children he loves;

He shattered the heavy jailhouse doors,

he snapped the prison bars like matchsticks!

Some of you were sick because you’d lived a bad life,

your bodies feeling the effects of your sin;

You couldn’t stand the sight of food,

so miserable you thought you’d be better off dead.

Then you called out to God in your desperate condition;

he got you out in the nick of time.

He spoke the word that healed you,

that pulled you back from the brink of death.

So thank God for his marvelous love,

for his miracle mercy to the children he loves;

Offer thanksgiving sacrifices,

tell the world what he’s done—sing it out!

Some of you set sail in big ships;

you put to sea to do business in faraway ports.

Out at sea you saw God in action,

saw his breathtaking ways with the ocean:

With a word he called up the wind—

an ocean storm, towering waves!

You shot high in the sky, then the bottom dropped out;

your hearts were stuck in your throats.

You were spun like a top, you reeled like a drunk,

you didn’t know which end was up.

Then you called out to God in your desperate condition;

he got you out in the nick of time.

He quieted the wind down to a whisper,

put a muzzle on all the big waves.

And you were so glad when the storm died down,

and he led you safely back to harbor.

So thank God for his marvelous love,

for his miracle mercy to the children he loves.

Lift high your praises when the people assemble,

shout Hallelujah when the elders meet!

God turned rivers into wasteland,

springs of water into sunbaked mud;

Luscious orchards became alkali flats

because of the evil of the people who lived there.

Then he changed wasteland into fresh pools of water,

arid earth into springs of water,

Brought in the hungry and settled them there;

they moved in—what a great place to live!

They sowed the fields, they planted vineyards,

they reaped a bountiful harvest.

He blessed them and they prospered greatly;

their herds of cattle never decreased.

But abuse and evil and trouble declined

as he heaped scorn on princes and sent them away.

He gave the poor a safe place to live,

treated their clans like well-cared-for sheep.

Good people see this and are glad;

bad people are speechless, stopped in their tracks.

If you are really wise, you’ll think this over—

it’s time you appreciated God’s deep love.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 107 (The Message)

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russellthornton · 7 years

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Women with Curves: 20 Ways You Changed All Women for the Better

Skinny used to be in, but thanks to women with curves, women can again be beautiful in all shapes and sizes without anxiety or starving themselves.

I love that Meghan Trainor song when she says “I’m just teasing, I know you think you’re fat,” when talking about skinny bitches. I love the newer girl generation. I want to let y’all know that I admire the way that you don’t give a shit about your curves. You know why? Because women with curves rock!

I wasn’t born thin or fat, but what I certainly know was that I not endowed with any curves at all. I believe that growing up, the boys used to refer to me as “flat and easy to screw” *yes, they said it and I didn’t sue for bullying*. But, at the time, teasing was socially acceptable.

I grew up in the Kate Moss era. Kate Moss was the hottest model during my formative years. I was brought up with supermodels who made bulimia and anorexia not only acceptable, it was something to aspire to. The whole “you can never be too rich or too thin” – that was from my generation too. Yep, it was pretty miserable if you were one of the women with curves in my day.

20 reasons why women with curves rule

God bless your generation. You are who you are. You don’t apologize for anything. You don’t play the same games we did, or pretend that you don’t ever sleep around while sleeping around. You also, and this is the most critical component to you, don’t starve yourself to try to obtain something that isn’t only unobtainable, it isn’t healthy or real.

So, to all of you girls out there who eat dessert again, don’t stress about calorie counts, walk around like a zombie because your brain isn’t getting enough oxygen, kudos babe. You have freed us all, and my hat is off to you.

Here’s why women with curves rule.

#1 You aren’t bitchy all the time because you are starving. Have you ever starved yourself? If you watch the walking dead, you totally get it. Like wanting to ravage someone, your anger is quick and fast; you’re constantly ready to pounce and not much fun to be around! [Read: Why men love women and their oh so hot bodies]

#2 You care more about what is on the inside than the size of your jeans. It’s so great, because women with curves aren’t concerned with the size of their jeans… they are worried about better, less shallow things in life.

#3 You don’t look like you could pass out at any minute. Skinny girls have that look about them, like everything is a hassle and merely breathing can make them pass out at any second. But women with curves are full of energy and spirit and aren’t afraid to hop to it!

#4 You aren’t stupid because your brain isn’t getting enough energy to operate. Yes, it is true, depriving yourself of food to be skinny actually makes you stupid. Your brain doesn’t get enough oxygen or energy to run. That is why some skinny girls can seem so spaced out at times. [Read: Should a girl ever dumb it down to impress a guy?]

#5 You aren’t buying into what the media is selling. Another great thing is that women with curves aren’t slaves to anyone else’s ideal of beauty. You are happy with what nature gave you and aren’t about to let any media campaign change that. Wear it loud and wear it proud.

#6 Your selfies aren’t about being in a skinny bathing suit. I HATE girls in bikinis sporting their skinny asses. I’m sorry, if I had wanted to see you in a bikini, I would have invited you to the beach. Which BTW, if you are one of those girls doing it and you look really hot in a bikini, no one is going to be inviting your ass anyway… too much work!

#7 You aren’t a hater, skinny, fat, who cares where anyone else is at. What’s also awesome is that women with curves are accepting of everyone. Not envious that someone can fit into a smaller size than you, you find beauty in all women, big, tall, short, small… it’s all good. [Read: 14 insights into what men want and need in a woman]

#8 You have freed us all to wear skinny jeans, skinny or not. I wouldn’t have been caught dead in leggings in the 90s, so thanks to you for wearing your skinny jeans to show off your assets. You have freed us all.

#9 You are comfortable in your own skin. There is nothing better than being around someone who is happy, confident and feels good in their own skin. They don’t need to talk badly about other girls out of jealousy or put anyone else down to make themselves feel good. You are just okay with letting you be you and letting skinny be skinny.

#10 You aren’t ashamed of the way that God made you, or trying to continually fit a scale. If you haven’t stepped on a scale in years, you are my idol. No woman should define her beauty by what the scale measures. You are just beautiful you. [Read: Well endowed women – The ups and downs of jiggly jugs]

#11 You aren’t chained to a gym. You aren’t that girl who gets out of bed at 9 a.m. on girl’s weekend to take a run by the ocean, or wastes countless hours at the gym sporting your spandex.

It isn’t that women with curves don’t work out and take care of themselves, it is just that they don’t look like they’re training for the Olympics or missing out on so much of life because they are stuck on a treadmill.

#12 You can hit the beach and not worry about sucking it in. You can hit the beach and not suck it in like you haven’t eaten in weeks… it must be so freeing!

#13 You saved my girls from yo-yo dieting. Yo-yo dieting not only makes you dumb mentally, but it also makes it much harder to maintain and lose weight later on in life. Like setting yourself up for a lifetime of misery, thank you for changing things, so my girls aren’t beholden. [Read: How to look better naked – 15 real life tips for instant effect]

#14 You don’t pretend that you have an excellent metabolism in front of the guys and starve yourself around the rest of us. If you want dessert, you have it, and you damn straight aren’t going to just order a salad. God bless you!

#15 If a guy doesn’t like what you look like they can go “f” off. Women with curves have a f*ck-you attitude that just rocks. I wish I had that confidence all the way around.

#16 You brought child-bearing hips back into fashion. Women were supposed to have hips and curves, that is what nature invented us for. Men are attracted to hips and thank goodness you brought them back into fashion. [Read: What men like in women more than anything else]

#17 You don’t define yourself by looking around a room and gauging who’s skinniest *yes, we used to do that*. You don’t think you are superior because you have the major self-control to starve yourself, nor do you admire someone else who does.

#18 Designers can go f*ck themselves because you aren’t going to buy into the “catwalk,” – those girls look ridiculous. I think we can all agree, those models look ridiculous, don’t they?

#19 You are what the female species is supposed to look like – healthy. Having a full figure and curves is what the female body is made for. They signal the male species that you are just ripe for procreation. Your curves are your biggest assets; it is about time that women learned the truth. [Read: 13 physical attraction tips to look way hotter]

#20 An hourglass figure means you have no time to wait for someone. You aren’t into games or letting someone play games with your head. That’s because women with curves just own it, what more can I say?

I have four little girls at home, and I have to admit that I am so happy that they don’t have to grow up in a skinny-obsessed world. Girls today have so much more moxie, aren’t going to spend a lifetime trying to be someone they aren’t, and when they die, aren’t going to think… shit, I should have had that scoop of ice cream.

Most of all, women with curves don’t waste all their time and energy restricting themselves, missing out on meals, and vacations and all the other indulgent things that life has to offer. Most of all, they don’t judge people by their pants size or care about their own. If you own them, you own them; it is as simple as that.

[Read: How to flaunt your plus size curves and rock it with confidence!]

One more time, thanks for saving my girls from eating disorders, buying the media hype, and letting some fashion designer tell them their worth. Let’s face it – women with curves are not only in, they are awesome, and I am forever grateful for you taking your stand and being your own damn self with pride!

The post Women with Curves: 20 Ways You Changed All Women for the Better is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

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