the howlies got in a lot of bar fights. you might think that the last thing a bunch of soldiers would want to do with their free time is fight people, but actually bar fights were a great stress relief. nobody really got seriously injured, and we tried to keep property damage to a minimum. (and we also almost never started bar fights, for the record. most of the time it was guys from another unit who wanted to prove how badass they were by taking on the infamous howling commandos.) so bar fights themselves weren’t that unusual.
but peggy’s bar fights…oh, they were glorious.
see, peggy never got in a fight for no reason; she was smarter than that. but when she did fight, it was truly beautiful. ive never seen a better right cross, before or since.
so one time we were on leave, sipping drinks in this english pub. the howlies were at the back table, enjoying a couple pitchers, while peggy was up at the bar, chatting with the barmaid. many of the bars and pubs back then had female bartenders–filling the gaps with the men off at war. and generally barmaids (which was what a female bartender was called back then) were the sort of girl pegs got along with–sensible, dependable, and not willing to take shit from any man. so she often enjoyed commiserating with the barmaids while we drank. she used to say she had to be free of us ‘charming gentlemen’ before she wound up blowing things up as erratically as we did. which was hurtful. our explosions were very intentional. mostly.
so peggy got to chat about the best ways to hurl drunken idiots out doors and we got to ply steve with alcohol to see how much booze it would take to make him drunk. (tragically, we never found out.)
on this particular occasion, peggy was sitting at the bar when this mountain of a man came in. and i mean huge. thor-sized. like the hulk’s pinker younger brother. and with him came a dozen or so of his closest friends, all locals. (they may also have been poorly disguised orcs. im not sure, but i wouldn’t discount it as a possibility after seeing all the nonsense ive seen) the group of them made their way up to the bar, wedged their way in, and started harassing the barmaid.
now, i don’t know what they said. peggy refused to repeat it. all i know is that one of the larger idiots said something stupid, laughed, and reached out to grope the barmaid. his hand made it about six inches from her chest when peggy’s fist broke his nose. he hit the floor like a tree falling, and the bar went quiet for a split second before one exceptionally suicidal idiot lunged at peggy.
everything went crazy. there were a good few dozen of us 107th guys in the bar, and all of us knew and adored pegs, so when the mountain-men went after her, every fine man of the 107th went after them. but it turned out that the locals defended their own, and we were pretty evenly matched for numbers. within seconds, everyone was throwing punches. bottles were thrown. dernier used a tablecloth to blind a man and threw him out a window. dumdum used one guy’s fists to hit another guy. i hurled bottlecaps at people’s eyeballs, because it’s fun.(im a sniper. we like distance) steve tried to wade through the chaos to get to peggy, but people kept punching him and then clutching their hands in agony, so he got kind of bogged down.
at the bar, peggy was demonstrating exactly why she was the 107th’s darling–because she could put a grown man twice her size on the ground in two seconds flat. she knocked out six men; seven more promptly fell in love with her.
as the chaos began to wind down, most of the locals had either been beaten down or fled, and only the mini-hulk and a couple others were left, brawling like berserkers. we were just about ready to turn steve loose on them when the barmaid handed peggy a stool. peggy took it, walked up behind where most of us howlies were still duking it out, and broke the stool over the big guy’s head.
he went down hard. the rest of them surrendered out of terror.
(and, possibly, they had also fallen prey to abruptly-in-love-with-peggy-carter syndrome. but really, who wasn’t?)
In spite of everything I love
Harley Quinn but, damn, writers treat her so badly. I swear, the temptation to
make her actually stupid must be terrible because it’s so often implied, or
explicitly stated, that she slept her way through school. First of all, it
does not work like that. Second, she’s
not a therapist or a psychologist, she’s a psychiatrist, she’s a fricking MD
and a damn young one too. Managing pre-med and collegiate gymnastics that she
relied on to keep her scholarship? Harley is fucked up, but she’s not the dumb
blonde she plays. (also stop making her stacked, she’s a gymnast. she is 4’11”
of pure muscle and is not top heavy)
If you want a good Harley
backstory it’s simple. She’s ADHD but medicated and slightly robotic because of
it. I want to take special care not to demonize meds but, rather, people’s
disapproval of neurodivergence and a lack of focus on what is best for a
patient rather than what is most convenient for others. So, maybe, around ten
years old Harley is a hyperactive space cadet who’s brilliant at tests but
sloppy at coursework, who would be a gymnastics prodigy if she could actually
focus on technique and put in practice time instead of fooling around. Then the
meds come and it’s actually really cool because she can do the things she needs
to do instead of just wanting to do them, doing something else entirely, and
getting in trouble. People are proud of her, she’s proud of herself. But now
there are expectations. Family and teachers and coaches overschedule her, find
worth only in her success and don’t care about her mental health at all as long
as she’s performing and castigate her when she does fail. Fuck if you don’t
internalize that. But she doesn’t look unhealthy and she’s doing amazing. She
actually has to choose between the Olympic trials and continuing her grad
studies. She probably has some issues with self-harm but it either doesn’t look
like self-harm or is well covered up.
When Arkham accepts her, fresh
from her residency, it’s not a mistake. The woman is amazing. All they can see
is a mountain of achievements rather than the seething ball of nerves,
self-loathing, and imposter syndrome boiling just under the surface. That’s
when Joker comes in. He’s got the Hannibal Lecter shtick down. Where everyone
else sees an intelligent driven young woman he sees a frightened overwhelmed
girl who is working her hardest to convince the world she’s anyone other than
herself. Sending her into a nervous breakdown would be too easy so he doesn’t even
bother. Instead he’s open with her, almost friendly. The other doctors are
amazed, Harley is amazed, she’s not done anything particularly revolutionary
but, for the first time in forever, it looks like the clown prince of crime is
showing progress. He unravels her and it’s a challenge, she flinches back and
gets very serious when he comes too close to the real Harley under the
professional. Still, soon she’s questioning everything. She doesn’t even really
like her co-workers. She hasn’t had a real friend in years. She’s forgotten how
to have fun. Did she ever want this to be her life or did she just do it for
other people? It starts so slowly that it looks, at first, like she’s getting
better at self-care. Maybe something totally silly one weekend, a trampoline
park where she can enjoy the way her toned body moves without stressing out
over landings, a face painting booth at a street fair, some garishly colored
downright tacky decoration that clashes with her sensible apartment. Suddenly
she realizes how much she hates knowing the difference between cream and ecru.
The beigeness of her life is repulsive. She hates the person she’s pretending
to be even more that she hates herself which is really saying something.
After her weekend of freedom she
would have called in sick if it wasn’t so suddenly important to see him. The
relief she feels at talking to one of Gotham’s most infamous supercriminals is
disturbing but it is relief and she’s been swallowing a slow-motion panic
attack for hours. She admits, though she shouldn’t, that she took his advice
about doing something fun and he teases her, what would straight-laced Doctor
Quinzel do for fun? Did she realphabetize her sock drawer or buy a new
clipboard? It’s not important to impress him, it’s really not. He’s dangerous,
cruel, and he looks so proud when she admits that she bought a lamp shaped like
a lawn flamingo. The only mistake, he says, is that she should have stolen it.
She hopes the wicked thrill it gives her doesn’t show on her face. It does. She
almost even laughs. He likes it when he can make her laugh and she likes it
when he likes things.
It’s wrong and unprofessional,
the relationship she develops, and she knows it but her whole life she’s been
so high strung. Nothing she’s done has been for her, she’s not sure she knows
how to really do selfish things anymore, but he knows the selfish things she
needs to do. It feels good when she follows his advice even when it’s small
things like the rainbow striped socks she wears concealed under her very bland
slacks and sensible shoes. She’s so happy, almost giddy, and he loves her
happiness, he loves her, he loves the real her that she’s had to beat down and
hide for so long, the her that even she isn’t able to love. She is able to love
him, though, and since he loves her she’s able to love herself for him, to
protect and nurture something so important to him.
When the choice comes between
her old self, the tedious endless labor of making the world proud, and Him, the
spectacular man that brought color into her life, it’s not even a question.
She kills Doctor Harleen Quinzel, she throws away the version of her that let
herself burn just for medals and hollow accolades. She embraces Harley Quinn
and it’s so much a part of her nature she can’t even see that she’s still
living her life for someone else’s approval, except this time that person is a murderous
clown. She hasn’t let her hair down, she’s just put it in pigtails instead of a
I find it reeeeaaal cute that all of these aphobic exclusionists (especially the ones that aren’t actually ace themselves, pfsshh) like to spout that, “If you are Ace and are ‘Actually Lgbt+’
then we’re not talking about you, hon. You are Lgbt+ but only for your
same gender attraction/non assigned by birth gender identity.
The lack of sexual attraction isn’t a true orientation worth protecting.
It’s a TMI modifier, you’ll see in time, you experience no real discrimination for being ace. Only for your real Lgbt+ identity! ”, thinking it’s a flawless, righteous thing to say to the “actual Lgbt+” people who are Asexual that they claim to care about and want to protect.
Honestly, not only does that type of answer sound condescending and doesn’t make any of their aphobia hurt less but do you know what it sounds like to me?DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT SOUND LIKE TO ME, A DEMI-PANROMANTIC ASEXUAL WOC?!
IT SOUNDS LIKE WHEN WHITE FEMINISTS WHO IGNORE INTERSECTIONALITY SAY, “WE’RE ALL
WOMEN AT THE END OF THE DAY AND OPPRESSED HARDER FOR BEING WOMAN SO TO
TRULY FIGHT FOR FEMINISM YOU HAVE TO PUT YOUR WOMANHOOD BEFORE YOUR
ETHNICITY AND LEAVE RACE OUT OF IT”, AND JUST LIKE WHEN BLACK MEN WHO CONTRIBUTE TO MISOGYNOIR SAY, “
WE’RE ALL BLACK AT THE END OF THE DAY AND OPPRESSED HARDER FOR BEING BLACK SO TO TRULY
FIGHT FOR BLACK EQUALITY, YOU HAVE TO LEAVE YOUR GENDER AND YOUR FEMINISM AT THE DOOR.”
THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK THE WHOLE, “YOUR LBGT+ IDENTITY AND
ASEXUAL IDENTITY ARE/HAVE TO BE EXPRESSED SEPARATE(LY)” ARGUMENT SOUNDS
LIKE TO ME!
And I’m about to tell you why arguments like that are
ignorant and harmful and full of shit, if you’re one not smart enough to
put two and two together.
I AM A BLACK WOMAN, A WOMAN WHO IS
BLACK. IF I GO INTO A FEMINIST EQUALITY SPACE, MY BLACKNESS DOESN’T
DISAPPEAR. IF I GO INTO A BLACK EQUALITY SPACE, MY WOMAN-NESS DOESN’T
VANISH. I’M NEVER ONE AND THEN THE OTHER, I’M BOTH AT THE SAME TIME AND
THAT’S NEVER GONNA CHANGE OR NOT AFFECT HOW I’M TREATED BY SOCIETY!
AM PANROMANTIC AND ASEXUAL, AN ASEXUAL WHO IS PANROMANTIC. WHEN I’M
FIGHTING FOR LGBT+ ACCEPTANCE AND VISIBILITY, MY ASEXUALITY DOESN’T
DISAPPEAR. WHEN I’M FIGHTING FOR ASEXUAL ACCEPTANCE AND VISIBILITY, MY
PANROMANTIC-NESS DOESN’T VANISH. I’M NEVER ONE AND THEN THE OTHER, I’M
BOTH AT THE SAME TIME
AND THAT’S NEVER GONNA CHANGE OR NOT AFFECT HOW I’M TREATED BY SOCIETY!
Holy shit!!! Why is that so hard for so many people to get??? Oh wait, I know why. IT’S BECAUSE QUITE A FEW OF THESE APHOBES AND EXCLUSIONIST ARE NEITHER WOC NOR “REAL LGBT+”
ASEXUALS. THEY DON’T HAVE EXPERIENCES BEING TOLD SHIT THAT’S BASICALLY
EQUIVALENT TO, “NEGLECT AND LEAVE HALF OF YOUR IDENTITY AT HOME, YOUR
EXISTENCE COMPLICATES THINGS AND MAKES PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE”. THEY DON’T
KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO EXIST AS EITHER. HOWEVER, THEY STILL THINK THEY
HAVE THE RIGHT TO IGNORE INTERSECTIONALITY AND TO SPEAK DOWN TO PEOPLE
WHO ARE BOTH WOC AND ASEXUAL, LIKE ME, TO MAINTAIN AND ENFORCE THEIR
OWN VIEWS AND IDEAS OF WHAT THE LGBT+ COMMUNITY LOOKS LIKES AND INCLUDES.
ain’t that some shit, huh? In other news, I can’t wait for my point of
view to be ignored and to be dismissed as just another “Angry Black
for bringing to light of how aphobes and exclusionists treat Asexual
WOC like trash, regardless of their romantic orientation or gender
identity. (Seriously, don’t even get me started on the amount of
non-black exclusionists I’ve seen pull the, “Headcanonning Black female
characters as Asexual desexualizes/oversexualizes them!!1!” card. They
aren’t Black and they don’t know shit about the inner workings of Black
politics or how misogynoir affects how Black women are view in relation
to sexuality but they still act like they understand all and are
helping, get the fuck out of here). So yeah, sorry not sorry for this
long ass post but at first I was just tilted and now I’m hot about it.
Aphobes and exclusionists are so fucking ignorant and counterproductive.
“Promise me, Steve. Promise me you’ll give her a life we couldn’t have.”
GIFTED AUwhere Mary is Steve’s and Bucky’s daughter. And when S.H.I.E.L.D learns about the gifted child of the supersoldiers, they try all things possible to take her away from Steve, who’d given up on all to give Mary a normal life that he had promised Bucky he’d give her before Bucky had gone under.