I’m to bed. I’m through the second season of Borgias, on the second rewatch of this in a month. (Last time was just because. This time I’m doing screen caps and random notes for Feathers of Red.) I’m highly entertained by Cardinal Sforza, there are bits of scene I’m cackling about for tweaking for the AU, and also, his haircut in the second season remains horrible. Cesare’s isn’t too much better, but at least it’s not the monstrosity they foisted off on Ascanio.
Also, this show has so much red in it, and such a fantastic, glorious crimson color at that.
Hugs for everyone, and I hope y’all sleep well when you get there!
(There’s a cut here for other things.)
And in other things from today – today felt like a day when I was missing at least two sets of limbs (wings, and a tail, and possibly a second set of legs), flight capability and the ability to burn everything in my path to the ground just by breathing. *grumbles lots and builds a nest of pillows and blankets and plushies* Stupid human body, wanna be a dragon.
Even my face feels wrong on days like this. It’s too short, my teeth are dull, my tongue is awkward and stupid. Everything is sore because it feels like it’s trying to compensate for missing bone structure and musclature. My skin is too soft, too smooth, my fingers too short, my nails are blunt and wrong. My feet are shaped wrong and my back is too short, and my balance is off because there’s supposed to be a tail as long as the rest of my spine.
And boobs. What the fucking hell am I supposed to do with useless lumps of flesh that don’t do anything but get in the way? They don’t belong. It’s not even a matter of gender on days like this, boobs belong to an entirely different species. And just. Most of it is things missing. Those things are extras and I do. not. want.
It won’t last. It never does. Tomorrow or the next day, and being human won’t feel quite so incredibly wrong. I won’t feel like things are missing and things are extra and that I want to curl up on a large warm rock in the sun and bask before going flying and finding all my people and making sure they’re in as good health and safety as can be. Hunt my dinner, tear it into chunks of meat I can swallow whole.
Taste the air, dig claws into the earth, set a nice bonfire somewhere to play in. Find a storm and laugh at the rain in my face, on my scales, and dance in the wind. Soar higher and higher until the air runs thin, and spread my wings against a backdrop of stars. Burrow so deep the very rocks are fire against my hide, and cocoon myself in the heat.
Just. Dragon. And dragon is cranky and wants out. Wants blood and fire and flight and life and death. Not a tiny, useless, fleshy prison of the wrong fucking species and no way to be free.
There's a Mirror on the Wall 