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sure she’s evil but look at those tits

Nøkken (1904)

Theodor Kittelsen (1857-1914)

The nøkken is a dangerous water-dwelling creature that lures its prey into leaky boats or thin ice by playing sweet melodies on the violin. They can also be shapeshifters that change into human or horse form to lure their victims.

Matching icons 4 u and your beloved one

I truly wish I could get cis people and non-butches to understand how inherent transness/butchness/gender-nonconformity is for so many of us, specifically related to how visible it can be even when we do our damndest to hide it.

My parents suggested I detransition/try to appear “womanly” because it’s getting really dangerous where I live, and I’m just like…there is no world in which I can make that work. I was getting called a lesbian and a dyke as a teen before I even figured out I was gay. I was shoved up against a wall in college and sexually assaulted in public when I was in the process of coming out and presenting very femininely, specifically because I was a lesbian. Even when I spent hours playing with makeup because it was kind of fun (because I did wacky styles that make me think I was using it as a drag thing more than anything) I still stuck out next to cishet girls.

I’m not saying I can’t do things to improve my safety, but I have been butch/trans/gender-nonconforming my entire life. I cannot undo that from the fabric of who I am; even if I cover it up, the people who want to do harm can typically still pick up on it.

Voo Doo, a German trans woman cabaret owner and performer with her beloved boa. (Date unclear: likely 1912-1928.) [source]

Hannibal decided Will’s fate like:

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this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.

it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?

it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.

as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.

on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.

and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.

and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.

as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.

Promise me you won’t leave me. Promise you won’t leave when times are bad. Promise me. Promise.

Kiki’s Delivery Service - Jiji & Lily 

Via Snjezana Madzar / George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard from, “Memory I.”