#but i had made a declaration and so i stuck to my guns

[danderria]

And that's it for my Dungeons and Daddies in The Sims 4 project! This was a blast. I hope you had fun, I know I did

You can find all the families on the Sims 4 gallery with my Gallery ID danderria or #dndadssims4!

If anyone's wondering about the Season 3 characters... They also exist, just not in The Sims 4... Stay tuned for the next six days! I think Matt would enjoy them 👀

Thank you again to the DNDADS fan creators out there. I truly would not have been able to complete this project without your works for inspiration

Check out all characters in this project here

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

WHIPPED

Pairing - Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary - You strain from your husband who will not give you attention. He doesn't like that.

Warnings - NONCON, domestic violence, dub con, manipulative, belt whipping, spanking, tommy is mean, degrading words, breeding kink.

Word count - 3k+

Notes - You voted, you received.

Something in Tommy’s intellect changed overnight. Every once in a while, his mind would travel back in time to the war. But now, when he awoke from his nightmares, he still felt like he was crawling through the tunnels. The hairs on the back of his neck stuck up more frequently, his hand rested on his gun a lot. Feeling too skeptical that he’d need to fire it at any second. 

It had impacted your newly wedded marriage, but you didn’t dare to say anything to him. You showed you cared by holding him a little tighter at night. Whilst he laid on the bed like a stone figure, staring up into the ceiling as he refused to fall asleep. 

The sex had turned emotionless like flowers dying without water. The intimacy was dead. It made you down in the mouth and filled your heart with despair. You only wanted to kiss him, talk to him, be held by him. But he had forgotten who you were. 

Over the weeks, your sadness turned into anger. You refused to be upset by his neglect any longer. So, you found other ways to find pleasure in your life and quickly realized that the only way to get your husband’s attention was jealousy. It frustrated Tommy when you started to ignore his presence, venture out without informing him and associating with his family more than him. Tommy would lecture you, wagging his finger at you. You’d only simply nod your head, awaiting for it to be over. Then it would repeat all over again. But Tommy’s mind was too caught up in his business to find the time to truly teach you a lesson. 

Until now, the surprisingly last straw was Arthur whispering something into your ear, resulting in you playfully slapping his shoulder and giggling like a teenager. Tommy’s head snapped to you two, everyone in the reading room still watching Tommy as he awaited for you to acknowledge him. 

After a pause, you finally looked up to Tommy and the stare off commenced. Your eyebrows were furrowed as Tommy’s eyes twitched, he knew you had never been unfaithful. But his mind was now racing with thoughts of the possibility occurring if he didn’t put a stop to his behavior.  

“Well, we will have a break. It seems that my wife has forgotten her manners and I must reteach them…” Tommy declared confidently as he lit another cigarette between his cold lips. 

All heads snapped towards you and Arthur’s face turned beet red. 

“Thomas” you sighed as you pressed your hand to your forehead, cheeks turning a shade darker from embarrassment. 

Any other time, Tommy adored it when you called him by his full name. But this time, he felt as if you were challenging him, trying to humiliate him in front of his family. Tommy took three large strides towards the door and motioned for you to exit in an exaggerated manner. When you merely continued to stare back at him dully he snapped. 

“Get the fuck up!” Tommy raised his voice, causing everyone in the room to flinch. 

Tommy’s eyes were strained, a vein popped out of his forehead as his hands formed to fists. 

“Tommy” Arthur protested, leaning forward in his seat. 

Arthur was always so loyal to Tommy, but grew to be highly protective of you. He was prepared to cop the fire instead, take a beating if he had to. It was his doings anyways, not yours. 

“It’s alright Arthur” you soothed his guilty look, looking confident even though your heart was pounding in shock at your husband’s outburst. 

Tommy saw red when you reassuringly pressed your hand to his chest. Without waiting any longer he marched towards you. You jumped up from your seat before he could yank you up. But he still latched onto your bicep and pulled you out of the room with no care as you winced from his hold. 

“Tommy… You’re hurting me!” You cried as he pulled you up the stairs. 

There was no answer from him. Only the sounds of grunts through his hard expression as he led you to the bedroom. Shoving you into the room, Tommy slammed the door shut and stomped around in circles, his hand tugging at his roots as he heard the shouts and cries of his fallen fellow soldiers. Your arms crossed over your chest, a frustrated expression set on your face by glue. 

“Thomas you’re being dramatic” you pointed out, shaking your head at his behavior. The embarrassment had drenched you completely, he was too furious to notice how awful he had made the situation. 

Tommy’s head shot towards you and he glared at you. 

“Pardon? You parading yourself around my brother in front of my entire family is nothing more than me being dramatic!” Tommy roared as he marched towards you. “Why don’t you fucking respect me!” Tommy yelled, his pale skin now red as he grabbed onto your shoulders in a warning touch. 

His anger spattered onto you as you felt your chest tighten, you scoffed at his words, not intimidated by his hold on you. “Oh calm down Thomas!” You hissed at your husband. 

You fell to the fall before the pain even shot from your cheek. Before the redness even grew on your timid skin. You choked out in shock as you raised your hand to the burning sensation on your cheek. The back of Tommy's hand was still positioned in the air from where he hit you. Tommy had never hit you before, he had vowed to never do it. 

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down” Tommy growled.

Swiftly, he bent down to yank you back up to your feet. When you struggled against his hold and tried to smack him away he hit you again with the front of his hand this time. Then he hit the other cheek just as hard. You screamed out in fear but his hand was swift to smack over your mouth. 

“Who do you fucking think you are? Huh! You wear my name! You’re in my house!” Tommy lectured, shaking you around like a ragdoll before he shoved you back to the ground. 

Tommy went back to walking around in circles, his hand roughly massaged his chin as he wondered what to do with you. His disobedient wife. You laid on the floor, frozen in fear as you stared at his polished shoes twirling around the room. With your hands pressed against your stinging cheeks, tears shedded from your aching eyes. Your sobs were silent and rough. 

A heavy sigh left his lips as he looked down to you. Slowly, he undid his belt and slipped it out of the loops of his pants and folded it in half. Tommy fell back onto the brown leather armchair in the corner of the room and lightly slapped his belt against his knee. 

“Come here, lay over my knee my darling…” Tommy spoke in a soothing voice, but had a wicked grin on his lips. 

You looked up at him with fearful eyes, then your stare was stuck on his belt slapping against his pants. Knowing his intentions, you whimpered out pathetically and shook your head against the floor. 

“N-no” you objected weakly. 

“It wasn’t an offer” Tommy grunted, he leaned towards you, the grip on the leather tightened. “Do it before I show you how strong my foot is” Tommy warned, tapping his foot impatiently.

It took you a moment to get up, you were too busy having a little silent breakdown as you whined at his response. The smirk on his lips grew larger as he watched you gradually crawl towards him, wincing to yourself as you climbed up onto his lap and laid stiff on top of him. 

Tommy sighed as he pulled up your dress, his hand rubbed your ass briefly before he yanked down your panties to your knees. The leather brushed over your backside and you gripped onto his leg in fear as you sobbed quietly. 

“You seemed to have mistaken my kindness for weakness, my darling. I have no problem with showing you my ruthlessness, the many tales you heard of me before we had even met” Tommy explained as he dragged the belt all over your skin. 

“You’re scaring me Tommy” you sniffled out. 

The inside of your throat felt swollen and your chest ached. A harsh slap with the belt landed on your rear. It caused your panicky yelp to echo throughout the room. When you tried to impulsively wiggle yourself off of him he smacked you again with the leather. 

“You’ve lost your privileges to address me by my first name, correct yourself right now!” Tommy ordered, his hold on his belt tight as his free hand went around your back to keep you trapped. 

“Tom-uh Mr Shelby?” You answered unsurely, your expression wincing as your shoulders raised. 

“Good girl!” Tommy praised as the belt smacked against your rear again. 

You chortled out as he continued on with your punishment. Quickly, you lost count with how many times he hit you as he flicked his wrist in a haphazardly manner. Sometimes he’d focus purely on one cheek. Or do slow and heavy smacks across every inch of your skin. Then he’d do quick stings across your rear. 

“Please stop!” you begged, your voice dry and weak, your mouth pressed against his knee as you tried to muffle out your cries. 

“Aw, my darling can’t take it anymore eh?” Tommy chuckled. 

He dropped the belt onto your back and rubbed your tender backside with his bare hand roughly. 

“Please I love you Tommy!” you exhorted, desperately hoping this would ease his suspicions. 

The screech was piercing when he smacked your bruised skin wickedly with his palm. 

“Correct yourself, whore” Tommy spat. 

‘Ah! I love you Mr Shelby” you sobbed out. 

Your head fell back down to his knee, your teeth bit into his leg to silence yourself but he didn't mind. Surprisingly, the pain felt nice to him. 

“That’s a good girl…” Tommy grinned, rubbing your ass again roughly as if he was praising you. “I’m going to beat your ass beyond breaking point. Then I’ll know you’ve learnt your lesson” Tommy addressed. 

“No Mr Shelby please! I understand!” You protested as you squirmed over him. Tommy was quick to hold you on top of him as you tried to swing your body onto the floor. “Please forgive me! I won’t do it again!” You pleaded as you tried to blink back your tears.   

“Stay still before I hit you with the buckle!” Tommy threatened, his words hissing like a viper. 

You mewled out, but listened to his demand. Tommy picked up his belt again and proceeded to whip you with it. 

When your cries had died down and you laid still on him, Tommy dropped the belt to the ground and rubbed your black and blue rear. When his fingers rubbed against your slit, he grinned to himself as he brought them into his sight. They glistered in your fluid and he sucked his fingers clean, moaning to himself at your sweet taste. 

“Seems like I wasn’t the only one that enjoyed this”' Tommy commented as his fingers returned to your cunt, fondling with your folds and teasing your nerves by randomly pushing in a digit. “Have you learnt your lesson?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow to you. 

As you tried to turn your head back towards him, you nodded to him. “Yes Mr Shelby” you spoke out breathlessly. 

“Which is?” He questioned. 

You choked on your words as you blinked back your tears. “To be a good wife to you!”

“Such a good wife…” Tommy soothed as he caressed your bruised ass. “Stand up and strip for your husband” he instructed as he leaned back into his seat. 

Through gritted teeth, you stood on your two feet and slowly stripped till you were completely nude in front of him. Your body shook like a leaf in the wind as you resisted not to cover yourself with your arms. Tommy sighed to himself as he looked your heated figure up and down, and then he pulled out his length and gradually stroked himself a couple of times. Not failing to express how aroused he was through his groans. 

“Come here and sit on my cock eh?” 

“Mr Shelby please” you begged weakly, eyes stinging with discomfort. 

Tommy leaned forward and pointed his finger to you. “Shut up before I change my mind, bend you over and fuck your ass” he warned, his pointed finger completely still. 

You nodded your head like a begging dog and practically ran over to Tommy despite the pain that shot through your rear. You straddled your husband, his hands were on your hips as he grinned up to you, his cock pressed against your inner thigh. 

“Who do you belong to?” Tommy asked as his length pushed into your throbbing, soaked entrance. 

“You Mr Shelby!” You answered through a groan as you slid down his shaft. 

“Good… No more talking to anyone, at all, without my permission eh?” Tommy commanded with a resolute nod. All you could do was nod back as he rocked his hips against yours, his fingernails dug into your flesh as your walls squeezed his size. 

“Mr Shelby” you whined out. 

“You’re mine” Tommy growled animalistically as he leant in to bite your neck. “Only fucking mine. You wanted my attention? You fucking got it” he grunted as he rutted himself deep inside of you. 

Your eyes rolled back as you held onto your husband tightly as he drew blood from your neck. The pain dissolved as the pleasure quickly built up inside of your core. Your mouth had fallen open as you were moaning out shamelessly, Tommy slapped your ass and you squealed. 

“You’re clenching around me so tightly darling, you want to milk me empty eh? Get yourself pregnant?” Tommy asked, his own breathing heavy as he pounded himself into you. 

“Yes Mr Shelby!”

“Keep on squeezing me then, just like that” Tommy coached as his hips thrusted at an immaculate speed. “Maybe another baby in this house would keep you tamed. Let’s give Charlie a little brother or sister eh?” He suggested, a proud smirk on his lips.

All you could do was hum in compliance as you clenched around him. It was so slippery you had to hold your body in place. His balls were slapping against you as you felt your climax climbing as high as it could. The scream from your hot lips echoed throughout the room as you held onto Tommy for dear life. He grunted in response, and shortly followed through with his own climax. 

Your body fell dead on top of him as you tried to catch your breath back. Through deep breaths, your chest rose and fell as your eyes remained shut. Tommy breathed out, his hands caressed your lower back as he inhaled your scent. He was still buried inside of you, he could feel your fluids drip out slowly. 

“Fuck, that was something else, wasn’t it my love?” Tommy asked teasingly as he patted your rear. 

You whimpered, tear stained eyes as you looked up to your husband, he smiled softly to you, you smiled softly back. He guided your hips up, his coated cock slipped out of your swollen entrance with a pop and he helped you onto your feet. 

After he slipped his member back into his pants, Tommy guided you to bend over the bed, you winced as you followed through and he examined you. Down on his knees, Tommy pulled your lips apparent with two fingers as he watched your mixed fluids drip out of you. His hands caressed over your abused skin as he stood back up again.

“If only you could see how beautiful you look my dear” Tommy sighed, his voice dark and husky. 

He pulled you back up and held you in his arms, your flustered body caved against him. Your knees buckled as Tommy held your weak stance up, he murmured to you, his face rubbed against yours like a needy cat.  

“You wanna come down for the rest of the meeting?” Tommy hummed in the crook of your neck. 

The thought of you going back down there frightened you, the humiliation of this sudden occurrence felt too overwhelming. Having all eyes on you would cause you to have a breakdown without a doubt, you knew they heard you, your cries had echoed to the fields. 

“No Mr Shelby” you answered timidly, sniffling to yourself as you tried to cry silently. 

“That’s alright, you rest up, you look exhausted. I’ll come check on you later, I have some business to attend to after this, okay?” Tommy spoke innocently as he led you to the bed. 

Tommy helped you in, you winced at the friction of your rear to the sheets but made no comment to your husband’s kindness. The covers were tucked in around you, Tommy petted your hair to the side and smiled at you. 

“Thank you Mr Shelby” your smile shaked, cheeks still a dark shade of red. 

“Sleep well my love” Tommy whispered before he planted a tender kiss on your lips. 

It’s what you missed so badly, instinctively, your arms reached up from under the sheets and tried to snake around his back. But your body felt so weak, you couldn’t bring yourself up. Tommy hummed and pulled your body up, his hold on your lower back as the sheets slipped down your body already, his tongue slipped straight down your throat as your tongue massaged him. As you moaned directly into his mouth, Tommy pressed your faces together as he gently laid you back onto the bed. 

“I love you” you whispered once more as your head fell deep into the pillow, your tired eyes remained shut. A low hum echoed out of Tommy as you quickly fell asleep. 

Tommy walked back down into the reading room. He knew everyone had heard everything, his eyes locked with Arthur’s. As he shot him a glare, Arthur lowered his head submissively as Tommy continued on with his discussions and concerns to his family.

[oldphanny]

HOW. WAS. THE. SHOW. ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

AAAAHHH Sorry, I did see your asks earlier, but today has been such a blur cause I only went to sleep at 3am, so I've been napping on and off all day and kept forgetting!!

(I'm an old soul that requires 23 hours of sleep a day)

THE SHOW WAS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE!!! Thank you for asking :)

However, the more I read and the more I'm answering questions, the more I'm realising that we were missing a lot of props. And obviously, the entire set!

So I like to lovingly refer to my version of tit as 'Bogan Tit' (thanks australian customs!!)

We were missing:

(Starting off with the ones I noticed from seeing spoilers on here prior to the show)

The set - we got a projection like Brisbane did. I don't know whether the same happened in Brisbane, but a bunch of the videos lagged or didn't play properly at all. Honestly, it just led to funnier moments, like Dan weirdly stomping over to the screen and yelling, "WELL THAT WAS A GREAT VIDEO!!!" When the clips for the tour bus conspiracy didn't play lol

The Golden Pig - I'm guessing the golden pig was supposed to be there but Phil managed to find a Golden Koala piggy bank at Woolies as a replacement (who he declared was named Clint, which Dan side eyed lol)

The Dioramas and Dolls - We had bunnings boxes cut up and with a background printed onto them while the dan and phil dolls were replaced with Obi-wan (Dan) and Goku (Phil). I would have loved to have seen PJ and Sophie's work but, again, it honestly made it funnier to have Obi-wan and Goku 'wrestle'?

Phils Silicone Abs - This was the biggest disappointment for me personally 🥲 I don't know when the Abs were supposed to come out through the whole boxing bit but phil just wore a blue singlet. Sucks but obviously shit happens and that's out of their control. I did have the aisle seat because someone wanted to trade seats so I had both dan and phil fly by me (and Dan collapse on the ground in view of my seat) so I really can't complain too much! I'm pretty sure Phil and I made eye contact for a split second before he sped off at a speed I didnt know was possible for him, so heeeyy I'll take it over the Silicone titties

The screen that gets smashed over dans head at the end of the boxing match/ Confetti- it was an officeworks box cut to look like a screen with like paper as the screen. I don't know whether that was supposed to be a better prop? Everyone around me laughed when the officeworks logo was visible on the side. Also, I'm assuming Confetti was supposed to fall out of it? But nothing really came out besides a bunch that got stuck to dans shoulder when he stood back up, which Phil came over and preened off of him 🥲🥲 Dan later on in the bit shook the boxes aggressively so the confetti did fly out over the stage but I'm assuming that wasn't supposed to happen? I'm not sure if this is the confetti you were referring to or whether there was supposed to be more? I didn't notice any other confetti, so perhaps no?

Phan bucks - I was not close enough to the stage to say whether they were the authentic phan bucks or some form of replacement, but something was sprayed out into the front row with one of those money guns.

Foam Fingers - No, I honestly don't know what you were referring too... which I guess means we missed out 🥲

BUT DESPITE ALL THIS, I LOVED THE SHOW! Clearly, they put a lot of work into making the show still feel seamless, and had I not been a chronic tumblr user, I wouldn't have noticed anything was wrong! They really carried themselves well and I loved Bogan Tit, I wouldn't have had it any other way <3 It kind of makes it more special since our show was slightly different :)

I would be interested to see the full show some day if they do post a recording to know how different it really was, but I'm so happy with my experience!! The audience was fantastic and cheering the entire time, so I hope that easied they're anxiety on not having everything to plan <3

[solarmorrigan]

69 + 27 for steddie :)

I got really stuck on this one for a bit, but it ended up being one of my favorites. Thank you for the prompt!

From the Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up list: 69. Flirting Under Fire + 27. Sick/Injured Fic

cw: canon-typical violence, mentions of injury

-

It’s a little bit like date night, really.

Like, in a twisted sort of way.

They get some time away from everyone else, they’re doing something together, they get to appreciate each other’s skills and competency – so what if the activity in question is patrolling Hawkins’ cracked and monster-infested streets? Times are tough, they take what they can get.

In any case, Steve has found he very much appreciates the chance to watch Eddie snipe demobats out of the sky, or take demodogs out with a well-aimed shot to what could dubiously be called the head (curly-haired brunets with guns; apparently Steve has a very specific type. Go figure). Eddie, in turn, has made no secret of how he enjoys seeing the power and strength in Steve’s swings when he takes on all manner of beasts with his trusty nailbat (Mark 2. Nailbat Mark 1 had unfortunately splintered some time ago, may it rest in peace).

And if they decide to go to bed immediately after showering off the muck and ash once they’ve gotten home, it’s because they’re tired from patrol. Obviously.

It’s possible, though, that they’ve gotten a little too complacent. They’ve had a string of easy patrols, picking off single demobeasts or taking out small groups with the ease that comes with practice. There haven’t been any surprises or mishaps, almost like the monsters have fallen into an easy pattern of their own.

Or maybe thinking like that is where Steve slips up.

Eddie whistles as Steve follows through on a swing that crushes the ribcage of the final demodog in the small pack, effectively taking it out of commission.

“Nice form, Harrington.”

“Right,” Steve drawls, turning a warm smile on Eddie that takes any of the sting out of his teasing, “because you know so much about baseball.”

Eddie’s smile turns wolfish. “Who’s talking about baseball?”

Steve snorts, shaking his head, still smiling. He’s never had someone lay it on so thick with him – he’s never had the blatant flirting and the silly nicknames and the entirely unsubtle once-over glances, and he kind of loves it. He loves Eddie, really, but even in the midst of a mini apocalypse, it’s probably too soon to go around declaring that.

Instead, he glances around at the monsters strewn on the ground, and then at his watch. It’s nearly midnight; they’ve been out for hours, and this is the only encounter they’ve had.

“Think we’re done for the night?” he asks

To his credit, Eddie does a quick check of the area before stepping in close to Steve. “I’m nowhere near done with you for the night, sweetheart,” he purrs, and a shiver runs down Steve’s spine.

“No?” he asks, gaze flicking down to see the way Eddie’s lips curl into a smirk.

“Nope. Let’s go home and I can show you what else I have in mind.”

Steve is so distracted by the idea, by the thoughts Eddie’s words conjure up, by Eddie himself, that he almost misses it – the movement right in the periphery of his vision.

Almost, but not quite.

As it is, he barely has time to bark out, “MOVE,” at Eddie and give him a hard shove, getting him out of harm’s way. He doesn’t have time to follow.

The pain of the demodog’s claws raking across his side is so sharp that it burns cold, and the force behind the blow winds Steve and knocks his bat from his hands. He can see it drawing back for another swing—it’s the one he thought he’d killed first with a solid blow to its gaping maw—but he can’t move, can’t force his body to cooperate, and he’s about to die–

The sharp report of Eddie’s shotgun rings out, and the demodog jerks. Its head is gone, black ooze splattered all over everything (probably up to and including Steve’s wound, Steve realizes with a shivery sort of distaste), and then Eddie is at Steve’s side.

“Shit, shit, baby, sit down, you look like you’re about to–” Even as Eddie’s saying it, Steve’s legs start to shake hard enough that they practically go out from under him, and Eddie just manages to catch him before his knees hit the pavement.

Looking back on it later, Steve really only remembers snatches of what happens next: using Steve’s jacket as a compress (it’s ruined anyway), Eddie speaking frantically into the walkie to call for a pickup, Eddie talking to him low and soothing until Hopper’s truck pulls up, Hopper’s many varied and colorful swears as he helps bundle Steve into the back. Steve definitely remembers that he passes out sometime around when they dump the heavy-duty, Upside Down-grade disinfectant over the slashes in his side, and he’s grateful he does.

Eddie is there, sitting by the bed when Steve wakes up, looking like he’s aged about ten years in the grey light of what could either be dawn or dusk.

“Hey,” Steve rasps, aiming a tiny smile at Eddie.

“Steve, what the fuck,” Eddie demands, and it only makes Steve’s smile grow.

It isn’t exactly the first thing he’d wanted to hear, but it’s a very Eddie thing to say all the same.

“Wasn’t gonna–” Steve breaks off with a hiss as he tries to sit up a little further against the headboard, and Eddie darts forward to help support him, to rearrange the pillows and get him a little more upright. “Wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”

“Steve–”

Actually, fuck ‘too soon.’ Fuck waiting.

“I love you,” Steve says, and Eddie falls silent.

Steve doesn’t regret saying it—he could never, he’s pretty sure—but Eddie is quiet just long enough for Steve to get nervous before he’s pressing forward and kissing Steve, hard and full and insistent.

“I love you, too,” Eddie murmurs, the words almost lost inside Steve’s mouth, like he can’t even wait long enough to get them out before taking another kiss. “Never do that again.”

Steve kisses back, matching the passion as well as he can with what little energy he has, and makes no such promise.

He loves Eddie, after all. He could never lie to him.

[bombasticsalt]

Arcane and systemic issues aka why Jinx isn't the biggest problem for Arcane's characters

So this post is mainly based on this comment I saw on some random reaction video that said Jinx was the biggest problem in Arcane's universe and why they are wrong. Did we watch the same show? Of course you can root for whoever you want to but I don't feel like you can say people of the undercity revolting are the main problem.

See the thing is Jinx wouldn't have been created as she is if it weren't for her being born on the wrong side of town. I've seen people say Mylo created Jinx or Vi created Jinx but the thing is that arcanes society as it is created Jinx. Often when people talk about powder I see people say that she's only a kid and of course she's bad at stuff, but I think the bigger issue isn't that Powder is bad at stuff it's that she shouldn't have to be good at making bombs, or fighting, or parkour. Powder was a child, a sensitive child at that she's not less talented than any other normal child but, she's surrounded by other kids who have had to have thick skin and have been forced to survive on their wits. Of course, compared to Mylo, Claggor, and Vi she's the weak link because she's the only one in that group who doesn't have something she excells in. Powder has the talent of a child because she is a child who shouldn't have been forced to be at anything other than a childs level. Vi has always been a fighter from what we've seen and that's something that helps her but not every kid is like that, not every kid is a natural leader and they shouldn't have to be they're children it's their job to learn. But for kids like Mylo they don't see it that way all they can see is that everybody else is good at something except for Powder. Mylo makes Powder feel bad for not being good at anything, for jinxing every job because in his eyes she should be up to Zaun's standards. Even though the kids in Zaun shouldn't have to be tough, by normal standards Powder is a smart child but by the undercity's standards she's a weak link. It's not that Powder is bad at everything or a Jinx she's just a child who wasn't born equipped for the world she was brought in.

One of the things I love about arcane is how much content they give us outside of the canon show especially, the enemy music video. Scene's that stick with me are when Powder see's these two people fighting and she has this sad little face it's so heartbreaking, and when she does her little finger gun thing with enforcers. Which brings me to my next point, the undercity is ultimately stuck in a cycle of violence. Doesn't it say something that Silco's best idea of how to control the undercity is to introduce a highly addictive and dangerous drug that grants ordinary people the chance to be strong and retaliate. Most of the enforcers don't care about justice and are more focused on keeping people in the undercity than keeping peace. When you're raised around violence for that long it becomes all you know, hell what made Powder get into wanting to make bombs in the first place. As long as Jinx has been alive the enforcers and topside has been the enemy who has repeatedly said let them eat cake to the undercity's struggles. In fact the entire undercity is full of Jinx's, people who crave violence and chaos who begin to have an unstoppable rage against topside. Jinx is the person who had the guts to look topside in the face and declare war, a revolution to cut off Marie Antoinette's head. Of course in that moment for Jinx it probably was not a statement it was an act of hate, an act of passion, an act of rebirth.

Jinx is a symbol because of her defiance (killing the counselors) but somebody was going to have to do it eventually. Jinx is every top-siders worst stereotype about people from the undercity personified, but of course she is she's a mentally unstable person raised in a society that would rather pretend she does not exist rather than stopping this cycle of poverty and insanity. Of course she's a stereotype in a government that's done barely anything to support her or her sister. And the thing is it was never about Jinx, well it is but not really. Jinx is a name for the monster, a face to make the people raise their pitchforks and burn the entire coven. Jinx is the image not the movement. The biggest issue with the undercity isn't that the people are naturally disturbed it's that they're trapped in an endless cycle of suffering that ultimately leads to mentally unwell people.

Classism is such a big subject when it comes to arcane that I feel as if some fans refuse to acknowledge in a way that says something other than "oh yeah the under city is poor how sad". So many people talk about how you shouldn't compare trauma but it's objectively clear how class effects how people handle trauma. One of the biggest examples is Powder and Vi's parents death vs Caitlyn's mom dying. A line that sticks with me is during the first episode of season two when Vi says she watched the enforcers kill her parents and that Caitlyn has no idea how that feels then Caitlyn says she does because she's sounds so genuine when she says this but she doesn't at all. When Jinx killed Caitlyn's mom she was allowed to hate Jinx, allowed to hate the people of the undercity and nobody ever tries to justify her mother's death. Vi doesn't have that luxury she can't afford to not like the enforcers, she's not allowed to not like them because "they're a symbol of justice" sure they killed her parents but these are the supposed good guys! Vi isn't allowed to express her grief for her parents because the same people who killed them are the same people supposed to protect them, she can't afford to not like people from top side because "they're the good guys the civilized one's among a sea of beasts" sure they made mistakes and sure those mistakes get people from the undercity killed but still "We're the good guys"

Caitlyn claims that Vi can show people that not all of Zaun supports Jinx which feels wrong especially since Jinx shot that rocket with absolutely nobody supporting her. People supported Silco and that they should fight but in that moment that killed Cait's mom it was only Jinx. Yet for Caitlyn it's not Us vs Jinx, it's Us vs The undercity, she even tells Vi that she thought Vi was on their side. Not the side of justice the side of piltover because all it took for Caitlyn to hate the undercity was one bad person. That's what it took to make her see these people as inhumane and lesser than the people of piltover. Caitlyn and Jinx are parallels and I think the only difference between them that isn't just class is that; somebody gave a name to Powder's monster.

[gothgleek]

Spiderman!Spencer x Seamstress!Fem!Reader

Spencer finds out he’s got super powers and he’s got the brain, powers, and abilities to become a superhero. Now all he needs is a costume. That’s where you come in.

Outline for a Spiderman!Spencer fic I’m writing based this post by @reidcoffeemoon. Let me know if anyone would actually be interested in reading a full version of it. Also please like and reblog, it’s my birthday today💕💕💕

•The two of you met at a Halloween party thrown by Penelope. You are a seamstress and whenever someone complimented your costume, you would proudly ramble about of the type of fabric you used.

•Spencer was the only one who actually listened and responded with his own facts about the fabric’s history.

•You gasped and smiled, raising your left hand to your chest. “You are my new favorite person.” You declared.

•While talking, you both found out you’re from Vegas. You worked as a seamstress for a burlesque show off the strip and did cosplay part time while he was off at learning Caltech. The two of you bond over a restaurant that shut down five years ago.

•Now in DC, you worked as a seamstress for the local theater and managed a thrift store by the university he works at. Cosplay makes up most of your income but you dream of creating a lingerie line.

•The two of you agree to meet up for coffee but before that happens, Spencer gets bitten by a spider.

• Was he was bitten by a spider while investigating an unsub who killed his victims spider venoms or did he wander into the wrong room while touring a science facility?

•Derek convinces him to try out being a superhero. Derek is part of a secret superhero group (The Avengers) and would like his friend to join (once he knows Spencer can handle superhero work).

•Spencer calls you a few weeks later. “Hey, um, I wanted your opinion on something. What kind of materials do you recommend for a sort of… workout costume?”

•Thankfully, you’ve been asked weirder questions throughout your career so it didn’t even phase you.

•You respond in a rambling style that would’ve confused other people, but not Spencer.

•”They’ve actually done some test work on using spider webs for body armor but the tests didn’t yield the best results but I think…”

•He listened to you talk while he designed a web slinging contraption for his wrists, occasionally throwing in a comment or two.

•He visits your thrift store a few days later to discuss his little project a little more.

•When it becomes apparent his skills aren’t as advanced as yours, you offer your services and schedule him to come to your place over the weekend.

•It’s purely friendly… but you can’t help but if some less than platonic thoughts come up while looking at certain measurements.

•Those less than platonic feelings did make you blind to some of his questions.

But if anyone asked you would say you’ve had weirder requests.

•“Would it be possible to make it bullet proof? And um… do you know how to make the fingers more um… thin but not thin?”

•The two of you kept meeting up to discuss his costume and sometimes even other things.

You never met anyone who made Russian lit or etymology sound so exciting before.

•But all things come to an end and once his costume is done you don’t see him for another few weeks. It sucks but life goes on.

You ignore the hurt in your stomach when he doesn’t respond to your text about asking about the foreign film fest at the local theater.

•Then, one night after work, you find yourself being on the wrong end of a gun by a mugger.

•Before you can handover your wallet however, a dark figure jumps down and when you open your eyes, the mugger is stuck to the wall with a sort of strange white substance.

•The figure pulls you to the top of the roof and you can finally get a good look at him.

•Spandex that shined in the same weaving pattern as the combination of rayon and viscose? Hands that were 7.49 inches long and 3.60 inches wide? The mask you spent the last two weeks creating?

•You squinted at him.

•“Spencer?!?”

•One long conversation in Spencer’s apartment later, and you’re telling him to come back so you can modify his suit to actually be made for crime fighting.

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hey pookie, could you do a Cody and Ezekiel x coquette (thicc) reader please. That would so make my dad since it's been very off. I hope you have a nice day

-Lover Anon

Heyaa my love, sorry I couldn’t post this sooner, I hope you’ve been doing much better since you requested and hopefully you enjoy this.

For future reference, please don’t call me pookie. The term makes me feel very uncomfortable. Thank you! ^^

CODY X COQUETTE! “THICC”! READER X EZEKIEL ONE SHOT

You and the other contestants from the show decided to go on a nice shopping spree since Chris was too much of a dick to allow it back in New York City.

Alas you stood in front of a huge store, too nice to go in solo.

Looking around for any nearby assistance, you found two of your fellow contestants, standing around, not doing anything other than ogling mannequins.

So a grin curves on your glossy lips as you sweetly call,"Cody! Ezekiel! Can you come here please?"

They hurry to you, Cody being more enthusiastic,"Yes milady?"

“I need your help! I want something new to wear!” you chirped your dilemma.

"Did you hear that, Ezekiel? A hot girl wants our help!" the geek excitedly reiterates to his companion.

Said man flashes a smile of his own and finger guns,"Leave it to the Zeeke Master."

“Just so you know, I only called you both because you two were the nearest. Don’t let this get to your head.” you hummed, making a head start into the girls’ aisle. The cutesy style of the store finally got to the two as they furiously blush for different reasons.

“Girls...” Ezekiel scoffed as he follow you,“Why do they care so much about clothes? I’ve worn this thing for the last five years!”

Cody takes a sniff and grimaces,“Yeah... I believe that.”

An hour passes and you guys were still stuck at square one.

“How about this, eh?” the homeschooled contestant suggested at some point, holding up a salmon pink cardigan.

You take one look at it, and your face tightens at the thought of putting it on your body,“What size is that?”

He checks the label,“Uhh... It says M yo.”

You cock your head sceptically,“Medium? Is there no L? Or XL?”

Cody looks through the hangers of that particular cardigan, nervously beaming,“Uh... Looks like this was the only size.”

“Seriously? And you guys thought that would fit me?” you hmphed unimpressed,“I need you to have your best owl eyes for me, okay? Thanks!”

Before Ezekiel threw the cardigan back over his shoulder, Cody pulled him in for a secret,“Hey... I saw somewhere online that when girls wear something that’s a size too small for them, they look as hot as if they’re just in a bra!”

“Aw man! Why’d you not say that before? We coulda seen something great!” Ezekiel groaned, yellow stuck between his teeth.

“Guys!” the familiar voice of femininity yelled for them.

“Coming!” they both yelled back in response.

Seven hours now. And you’re still going. Not once pausing for a break or food.

Whether it was intentional on your part or not, it seemed like you were gonna stay in here after closing hours.

Until suddenly, you declared,“I found it! I found what I was missing!”

The boys immediately raced to your side, buzzing with curiosity,"What was it? What was it?"

“This!” You squealed, holding up-

A necklace.

That small thing they could have made in the time they massacred rummaging in this girl shop.

The two had to take a break from reality when they saw that small thing in your hands.

“Are you serious? We spent hours just for you to pick something that’s barely noticeable?” Cody asked in disbelief.

“For real? You made me touch all that pink stuff for you to pick that puny thing? Not cool, man.” Ezekiel scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Lady! And this is just what I needed! It's so dainty!" you squealed, admiring yourself in the mirror,"This will go so well with my outfits!”

The boys sigh exasperated at the same time. You couldn't have just gone to a jewellery store when none of the clothes matched your liking?

Witnessing their reactions in the reflection, you decide to reward them with a kiss on their heads.

“Thanks guys! Your help's like, really appreciated. Maybe you both can help me find a wedding dress when the day comes!”

Their exhaustion melted when they felt your lips against their temples, successfully able to glance back at each other with optimism for their future errand.

“Well, that’ll be easier, right?" Cody fixes a shaky smile.

Ezekiel snorts,"I mean. It’s a white dress. They’re all similar anyway.”

“Oh no! I’m not going traditional, boys!” you merrily announce, arms high in the air,“I’m gonna have a pink sunset themed wedding!”

The optimism of both boys cut off as they could only glance back at each other with the alarm of the new knowledge circulating in each of their widened eyes.

“NOOOOOOOOO!”

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 40: Taken

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

If I didn’t know better I’d say the entire Shelby family is in their Sunday best. No guns, no peaky caps. They look… oddly normal.

I watch from the side as they stand in front of the Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children. More pictures are snapped, more people applaud. Charlie looks confused and Karl looks bored out of his mind. Strange as it seems, not a single soul smiles for the pictures. As if this family is supposed to resemble anything but happiness.

The crowd starts filing inside so I take my que to squeeze in as well. I need to speak to Thomas but it has to wait. This morning Ada gave me some very important proof. Proof that this whole robbery riff-raff is deeper than I thought. A single photograph of a large armored vehicle.

I sit next to Ada and Karl, who keeps toying with my purse string. One look over my shoulder shows me Charlie nearly falling asleep on Thomas’ lap. As usual the display of flowers against the elegant curtains is gorgeous; adding another touch of the Shelby charm. Anyone who’s anyone is here. Rich aristocrats and modest servants all alike. In the back rows sit dozens of small children, much like Karl, with wide eyes and shy smiles. It warms my heart to see this charity in a murky place like Birmingham.

Polly, wearing a beautiful blue dress, stands at the podium while she waits for everyone to quiet down.

“I would especially like to thank the man who made this all possible. Ladies and gentlemen, Thomas Shelby.”

Applause echoes through the room. Behind me I watch Thomas stand up with Charlie in his arms and look out at the roaring crowd. Part of me thinks he doesn’t like all this praise. All the attention. There’s no doubt Thomas’ ego is sky-high but right now he does not look to be in a flaunting mood.

“Speech! Speech!” Arthur cheers over the noise.

Thomas locks eyes with me and I nod. He hands Charlie to me and goes to take his place at the front of the room next to Polly. As I bounce the babbling child on my knee I try to measure my attention to both him and Thomas.

“I didn’t come here to make a speech but I will say this: These children are now safe. And in our care they will be safe. Because we are from the same cold streets as they are. And in our car, they won’t be shipped away to the colonies, or separated from kin, or made to work for men in their various ways.”

You can hear a pin drop. Every eye is centered on Thomas, every ear listening to his words of care and compassion.

“They will grow up here. At home. Loved. In Birmingham. Because this is our city,” he declares.

“By order of the Peaky Blinders,” Arthur announces.

More applause breaks out as everyone stands to honor the new foundation. If I had known Grace was working towards this I might not have judged so harshly. This is a beautiful thing. Something I wish I could have helped with. Maybe now I can do something to contribute. Seeing Charlie staring up at me makes me want to protect every single child in the world.

Polly takes the stage again. “Now let us sing Immortal Invisible.”

Thomas walks off without a word. He needs a moment alone after that. This is Grace’s legacy.

Ada pokes my shoulder. “Tommy said mingle and smile. You do that, I’m going to discuss some shipping arrangements for America.”

“Shouldn’t I do that-? Oh.” She walks off before I can finish. “Okay. What do you think, Charlie? All these people, eh?”

He pulls at my braids. “Daddy?”

“Daddy will be back later, oké? Right now you’re stuck with me!” I tickle his chin and he giggles.

We stand in the corner away from all the social engagements. Honestly this seems like loads of hard work. How can people like talking so much? And not just talking, they’re talking about nothing of interest at all! Just gossip and small news like the weather. 

At the end of the room Thomas strides in. He sees us hiding and starts to come over but keeps getting stopped by chatty guests. He shoots me a glance and we both know he doesn’t want to be here. Time for a little intervention.

“Charlie, look! There’s daddy.” I point.

His face breaks into a bright smile. “Daddy!”

I carry him over and use the excuse to interrupt Thomas’ conversation with some older ladies.

“Someone missed you,” I say sweetly and hand Charlie over, who keeps reaching for Thomas’ coat.

“Oh, there’s Charlie!” Thomas fusses and bounces him up and down. “Little boy.”

The ladies cheer with delight and pother over the adorable son. They call a man over and the camera flashes again. More publicity. But what’s more important is the spirit of giving seen today. No newspaper can print that.

The ladies wander off and I take the moment to lean in to have a quiet word with Thomas. Do not mention the whores. Do not mention the whores.

“I’ve been told you’re planning a robbery.”

Thomas keeps looking at the crowd with an even face. “Finn needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“Do not blame Finn. He’s actually keeping me informed.” I pull out the photograph. “And you're been working on this as well? A tank? Are you out of your mind?! You are a gangster who sells cars. Not a general fighting a war.”

“Not a tank. An armored car,” Thomas replies simply.

My brow creases. “What difference is there? It all ends in more violence.”

Thomas sighs and looks to see no one’s looking before leaning closer. “I’m a gangster, not a pacifist. This is why we didn’t tell you about the robbery.”

And to think I wanted to confess my feelings for this stubborn-! Wait. Maybe there’s more. Does he believe I’ll think less of him because of his stealing? Who is he stealing from anyway?

I take a breath and make my anger melt away. “Am I right to guess that the Russians are involved?”

“Yeah.”

I smirk. “Give ‘em Hell. Compliments of the Colons.”

Thomas gets his own grin. “With pleasure. No objections?”

“You won’t stop even if I did.”

“You know me so well.” he smiles and walks off to talk with someone else. 

I don’t know what his plan is. I don’t care what his plan is. He’s come this far and if it’s against the Russians then I see no reason to intervene. If Mr. Solomons is right and he knows Uncle Colon then I know I can trust Thomas’ plan. In the end, love is about having faith in someone, right?

“Verena, have you seen Charlie?” Thomas’ voice alerts me to look up. He’s darting around the room looking much more tense than a few minutes ago. “Where’s Charlie? Ada, where’s Charlie?! Where’s Charlie?!”

“Someone said they saw a nurse take him through the back door,” Ada says.

The look on Thomas’ face is one of pure horror. He takes off for the hallway and my stomach drops. No. No. No one would dare… No decent human being would involve a child in this. If Charlie really has been kidnapped… Oh Christ! I should have been watching him! We need to find him now!

I throw down my glass and push through the confused guests. I burst out the door to see Thomas hunched over spilling out the whiskey he just consumed. 

“Tommy!” John calls from down the road. “We need Moss to block all the roads south.”

Arthur jogs up and holds Thomas to keep him upright. 

“Tell me,” Thomas gasps.

“They took him,” Arthur says. “They put him in a car and they took him!” Thomas’ legs buckle and I grab his arm to help Arthur hold him up. “We’ve got spotters. I’ll set up shop. You gotta go to the office.”

“Yeah,” Thomas murmurs with blank eyes.

“You gotta sit by the phone. Whoever took him is going to call.” Arthur jerks his head to look at me. “Verena, get him home. Now. Polly!” 

The startled woman opens a car door and we both help Thomas sit down. Lord, he’s shaking! If he gets any paler one could mistake him for a spector. Polly starts the engine and we start driving back to Watery Lane. 

I try to soothe Thomas by rubbing his back but suddenly he grips my hand so tightly I swear he’s about to crush my wrist.

“He’s gone,” he croaks.

I swallow my own terror and adapt to a brave voice. “We will find him. Thomas, we will find him. Even if I have to break into every house in England with a gun in my hand. I swear on my Aunt Eleanor’s grave that he will live.” God, hear my prayer! “Who’s the bastard who would do such a despicable thing?”

Thomas tense up again and stares ahead with dead eyes. “There’s a priest named Father John Hughes from St. Mary’s Boys Reformatory. He’s the one who’s been fucking with me. He’s the one who has Charlie!”

The priest. The one I saw before Grace was shot.

“The priest, he…? To kids…?” Thomas catches on to my question and nods, proving my suspicions and sends my stomach churning. “May he be damned by God and burn in Hell.”

The car comes to a halt and Thomas bolts inside the house straight to the telephone. Polly and I hurry after him to find he’s already talking.

“Give me Moss.” A few seconds go by. “Gone where?”

Thomas hangs the phone up. Then picks it up again to throw it against the wall.

“It’s them!” He rages and paces off to squat down, head in his hands.

The priest. He was right.

“Did you break the phone?” Polly asks as she inspects the busted instrument. “You broke the phone.”

Ada pokes her head in. “Tommy, there’s a man outside. A priest.”

Thomas jumps up as if he got struck by lightning, pointing to each of us as he goes for the door. “Stay inside!”

That damned bastard! If he lays a pinkie on Charlie I’ll skin him alive and cut him to pieces! I peek through the curtains and watch Thomas disappear into the dreary night. It’s raining hard outside now. The weather is mocking us too.

“Verena, come away from there,” Polly orders and I hear more footsteps approaching. “Are we all here?”

I turn around from the fogged up window. Linda and Esme have joined us, and just in time. From the look on Esme’s face I’d say her time has come.

“Oh!” She gasps. “Me water’s broken! Ah!”

Linda slings an arm around her and I race over to open the bathroom door. “Here, in here! We’ll get you settled.”

Polly grabs some pillows and points to the kitchen. It all feels like the same routine from when I assisted with Ada’s birthing. I fill some hot water bottles and fetch more towels. While Linda and Polly guide her through the process I stand guard outside, waiting for any word about Charlie. An hour inches by and soon Esme's screams are replaced by the sounds of a cooing child. 

Thud!

The front door opens. Thomas, Arthur, and John walk straight past me. Not a word. Instead Thomas reaches for the bathroom doorknob and opens it without any consideration for the occupants’ privacy.

“Polly! Get out here.”

They file into the back office. Before I can start to follow, Thomas holds a hand up to stop me in my tracks. The door shuts and I’m left in the dark. Did I do something wrong?

“Verena?” Finn walks in from the kitchen door, gasping as if he just ran a mile.

“Finn! Did you find anything?”

He kicks a chair. “Nothing! I’ve got to report to Thomas. Where-?”

I point to where the others just disappeared to. “That way.”

He hurries to the door and shuts it again. God, what can I do? I don’t know Birmingham like the Shelbys do. Even if I go out searching on my own I’ll be wandering around like a drunk in the dark. But I can’t just stay here waiting! The thought of Charlie being alone with that monster chills my blood.

Bam!

The office door flies open. Polly staggers off sobbing. Thomas, Arthur, and John stomp to the front door and slam it shut. Linda and Esme are still caring for the newborn. All that’s left is Finn, who slowly walks down the hall and takes a seat on the staircase.

“Any news?” I ask weakly. He shakes his head. “This whole family is falling apart, Finn. What can I do?”

He takes a deep breath. “Tommy must trust you because he hasn’t yelled at you yet. He would have interrogated you too.”

I wander to the window. “Where’s he going?”

“Didn’t say. Only told me to bring the car around,” he mutters and slowly gets up from the steps.

My nerves catch up with me. My heart feels like it’s about to choke me and my hands are shaking. I try to speak but tears threaten to spill. Instead I stay quiet and sit down to stare out at the blurry rain. Murder and robbery are terrible sins but they pale in comparison to when a child is involved. So much madness…

@meadows5

[00venator]

What are the Ssca? And how would your characters react to my XCOM commander MEC helping the battle? My commander would probably just randomly be fighting aliens as he loves using weapons and hates aliens,so he just goes on hunts (Do remember my commander MEC is a combination of the gun love and manic love of using weapons i have combined with the combot programming of a MEC in the 8ft tall MEC frame with a chaingun and a powerfist)

There’s quite a bit of lore to Ssca. So here, text slab:

Ssca are one of many nations from planet Ruka. There xenophobic, fascist, and theocratic. There ethnic group (Scaa) looks very different from the other rikeuninerd, because they’ve been practicing eugenics for 30’000 odd years. Basically, they suck.

They wear this “we’ll fix everything for you” mask and they truely think what there doing is for greater good. “Adopt our religion and everything will be fine!” “Put this person in charge of everything because they live in a desert and have an opal pendant!” “We’ll fix your politics!!” “Your economics!!” “Make it better!!” “But first we have to kill the degenerates!!” “Build a wall!” “Send em to the oil rigs if they decent!”

Ssca is responsible for the Ssca dispute, a period of fluctuating unrest, characterised by racially motivated terrorism, political upheaval, and wars instigated by Ssca. It began around 27,000 BCE.

Throughout the Ssca dispute, The Ssca empire was reformed three times, with Sscaaa followers existing as insurgents when a government wasn’t present.

1st Ssca empire

For a long time people had been shunning individuals who did wrong. Lots of these individuals were violent pirates and religious extremists from a particular fishing union, Dy. At 27’000 BCE under Zyroo (means leader person) Scrsysysa, Ssca was formed as a separate nation from Dy as even Dy hated Scrsysysa.

Scrsysysa became a self proclaimed god cause Scrsysysa found some opals while surviving in the desert. This layed down the foundations for Ssca’s religious sect and politics. After 50 years of isolation in Scayikra’s far east, shunned individuals lead by Scrsysysa declared war on the entire Scayikra continent. This was the 1st Ssca dispute, where Ssca launched terrorists attacks on other quasi-states. Ssca invented guns and built a border wall, and for 11'237 years had control over all the high desert and east Scayikra, being the Kuka’s (planet) first military superpower.

That was until corruption and rebellion got to em. Ssca fell, re-forming a ton of the nomadic groups that had been oppressed, as well as some new ones, collectively known as Sluea by Ssca (basically means “anarchist”). Ssca still existed, but as one of the many groups, and they didn’t cause as many issues… until.

2nd Ssca empire

Founded by Scyzyzy at at 16’302 BCE the 2nd Ssca empire was a complete failure. Scyzyzy declared war on Screea, marking the 2nd Ssca war, to get revenge on them being “responsible for the downfall of Ssca.”

This guy was basically bird Mussolini. Scyzyzy ordered a bunch of naval ships to bombard Screea, wich all got stuck in a canal and were destroyed in a matter of hours. The war lasted 1.5 years (that’s by the Georgian calendar, this is like a month to them). There where lots of useless air raids from Ssca during this war.

The 2nd Ssca empire fell when they capitulated at the end of the war.

3rd Ssca empire

Arguably the worst literation of Ssca, the 3rd Ssca empire was founded by Scykykyky in 1923 after Ruka’s currant superpower Ra Reik drew up Scayikra borders, and gave Ssca borders.

At this time Ssca also made FTL (faster than light) travel. They’d never get the opportunity to develop spaceships tho. For now they just jump drones n people threw time and space.

Ssca set out on a mission to reclaim not only their former territory, but where also secretly locating other planets. Earth was one of those. They started spying on humanity and planning a genocide invasion, and also kidnapped people.

From 1974 there was the beginning of an ever worsening Cold War. The unease that occurred beforehand is considered a part of the larger dispute: it’s argued when this Cold War actually started.

In 2024 the 3rd Ssca war started when a reconnaissance unit proved that Ssca was braking international laws, prompting Ssca to declare wars early, as to keep people from discovering there atrocities. Humanity, mostly unknowing to what Ssca had been doing, got involved in this war.

For your second question, I’ll reblog this post cause it’s *long* already.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Half(a) Fool Too Much

For: @lexiepiper @murphy-kitt @a-closet-emo @amabsis @lexosaurus @deathcomes4u @ventisettestars @dennyz-backroom @paenling @echoghost1 @ssprout @silverwing013 @mossy-covered-bones​

April Fools in Amity Park equals absolute Chaos. Especially when Danny Fenton, aka the weird pun-loving half ghost kid, is involved.

“So, whatcha in for, Fenturd?”.

Danny snorts, rolling his eyes at the jock, “you know me well enough, what am I not in for”, leaning back in his seat, “what really sealed the deal was me inconveniencing Lancer, you see….”.

—1 hour prior—

Okay. So Danny might have fucked up. To be fair it was totally one hundred percent Vlad’s fault. Definitely. (That was a lie)

Vlad had been complaining Danny’s ears off about the towns ‘weird fetishisation’ of his two halfs, so Danny did something. A very something something.

Bribed a few Neko cat ghosts to run around confessing their undying love for Plasmius all around town. Then tricked a very drunken Plasmius to chase a laser pointer across the rooftops; that way everyone would think Plasmius was a weird cat ghost, and thus living regular humans definitely wouldn’t be interested in that right? Wrong.

Then today Vlad tried to hold a press conference to ‘dispel the rumours about one of the local ghosts’, said rumours had spun wildly into half the town thinking Plasmius was a ancient cat god taking a humanoid form to woo ‘a mate’. So Danny tried to be helpful and possessed the podium mic to voice over Vlad so it sounded like this was a press conference to declare his undying love of cheese and only cheese.

The town would definitely not still be interested in someone who proclaimed to have a passionate love for literal cheese baths.

Except that had been followed up by someone shouting, “cats love cheese so is this your attempt to woo Plasmius?”, followed by the crowd whispering about the ‘town hotties’ trying to get together.

That all isn't the why or how of Danny getting detention though. Rather it was the fact that Vlad’s response to that question had been to promptly swear in Russian.

All it took was one “Пиздец” (Damn it) and Danny burst out laughing in shock so hard that… he got stuck in the microphone.

Stuck in a microphone during school hours… when he was supposed to be in Mr. Lancer’s class… a Mr. Lancer that was already fed up with everyone’s April fools shit, especially Danny’s.

—Present—

Danny shrugs, “so yeah, Lance had to fetch me out of a microphone while Vladdie snapped about how he-”, making mocking air quotes, “‘didn't know whether to be touched or pissed, Daniel’. I for one was very impressed with myself; both of my mild swear-related Russian skills and my messing with people skills”, and nods curtly to himself.

Wes chuckles a little, “you’re a little jack ass, but even I’m impressed you got mayor Bastard to actually swear”.

Danny finger guns at the wannabe sleuth, “and he did it in front of a mic”, then grumbling, “granted he could just blame me for that and say I was manipulating the sounds”.

Dash raises an eyebrow, “you were doing that though”.

“Shush you”.

Dash chuckles, leaning back himself, “least all I did was set the bathrooms on fire”.

Wes pointing at him, “on fire by making them spew literal magma. I’m surprised the schools still standing”.

Danny just looks impressed, “that was you? Damn. That shit out shone my whole ghost bees in the water lines”.

“… Didn't three people have to go home because of that?”.

Danny glares at the jock, “oh like you care, Mr. Got Kwan To Replace The Footballs With Explosives. That wasn't even original”.

Wes scowls at him, “well unlike your half ghost ass, we can’t just phase things through peoples locker doors or turn peoples pants invisible”.

Dash nodding, “or stab ourselves in the heart with a pencil to scare a sub”.

“Or swallow enough forks to violently vomit up forks in the middle of gym class”.

“I’d bet ten bucks you were also the one who made the stop signs start ominously walking towards parked cars”.

Wes rolls his eyes, “and that whole every pot in town simultaneously falling over and exploding had to have been you”.

Danny gives them a mean smug smirk, “hey if the towns going to decide that vampire looking ass is a cat god, then I have to out cat him”.

Dash tilts his head, “but didn't everyone drop that after, like, almost our entire class got both Phantom and The Box Ghost to also chase a laser pointer?”.

“That means nothing”, Danny puts his hands behind his head, “honestly? I’m more surprised that me parading Pariah around as my new dad wasnt the thing that finally broke Lancer”.

Wes actually slaps the back of Danny’s head, “I thought that was Vlad pranking you! The entire town blamed me for that shit!”.

“Why the fuck would you get me ghost adopted!”.

“I don’t know! That’s what I said!”.

Dash gives Wes a dull look, “dont you dare tell us that you're in here for something you didn't even do”. Of course weird Wes would be the one to get in trouble without causing trouble even on fucking April fools.

Wes huffs, grumbling, “well I did steal the G.I.W.’s new recruit tour bus in an attempt to make them follow a certain someone”.

Dash groans, “even on April fools you cant drop that ‘Fenturd is Phantom’ crap? Sure, he might be some freak ghost hybrid thing but come on already”.

Wes throws up his hands, “OH MY GOD YOU ARE ALL FUCKING DUMBASSES”.

Danny chuckles at his expense, “says the dumbass that apparently crashed a government bus into the cafeteria soup pot”.

Dash blinks, “yeah i still don’t get why the lunch ladies make the soup in a five foot by five foot vat”.

Danny shrugs, was it gross? Yeah. Was he complaining? Not really. “At least the G.I.W. contaminating it with cleaners got us out of eating it”. All three nodding readily.

Wes huffs, eyeing Danny, “what I don't get is why you even did that thing with Pariah? How was having a tyrannical genocidal mad man following you around shouting about forged adoption papers and trying to stab you with a sword, a good prank?”.

“Fishing for fresh gossip, are we?”.

“Oh fuck you”.

Danny chuckles and shrugs, “it pissed Vlad off”, shrugging, “plus, Pariah is kinda pretty badass. Have you seen his biceps? He has black-clad knight even”.

Dash quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head, “you could have just stolen the mayors bed, not went through freaking adoption, you weirdo. Point on the rest though”, and eyes his own bicep, flexing.

“Hey, I already did the whole fill up water bed with wet cement thing; the last thing I am is an unimaginative repeater”.

“I’d say you're lucky that didn't kill him, but if Vlad couldn’t survive deadly situations, someone would have assassinated him by now”.

“Wait, would that make you, like, ghost royalty now? You should totally boss Phantom around now”.

Danny gives the jock a blank look, “Dash, I’m not bossing a ghost around in their own lair, you dick”. Dash just rolls his eyes at that, while Wes mutters, “you can't boss yourself around anyways”, which goes ignored.

All three jerk at the door getting yanked open… by Pariah Dark, “I’VE FOUND YO-”, followed by a red blast shooting him away, the door swinging back shut, a bunch of thumping, a not so small explosion, and the door opening back up. It’s the FrightKnight, “I blame you for this”, he appears to be ‘dragging off’ Pariah -who glares dangerously at Danny- by the cape to do royal duties.

Danny grins meanly as the door reshuts, “I guess I should also mention some ghosts who really don’t like me are trying to make my ‘new dad’ take responsibility for me”.

Dash blinks before putting his head down on his desk and wheezing, “you really went and pranked a ghost king, you fucking weirdo”.

A couple more thumps make them eye the door, then the wall as the sounds seem to be coming from the room over now. They all glance at each other, shrug, and get up to investigate. At this point, how much more trouble could they even get in anyways?

---

Valerie was having a day, alright? April fools was one of the worst days in her opinion, and not just because of the ghosts being ghostly pains in the ass; no it was mostly Danny’s half ghostly ass. What kind of (lovable) psycho convinces everyone who sells salad to sell exclusively screaming ghost salad. And that’s not even touching him being responsible for her having to chase goddamn Pariah around and actually play nice with The FrightKnight.

It was like Danny’s goal every April was to turn the entire town into a hostage situation and blow shit up. At least he was also pestering that lying asshole Vlad, but still.

So now, just like every April First since she started being a hunter, she gotten shit-kicked. Normally she’d be cool with Phantom maybe coming and patching her up, but knowing that ghost, he’d clap her in the face with a ghost-shaped pie first.

And as if she could see the future, the classroom door opens and whoever gets to see her injured bullshit. Fucking lovely.

…

Annnnnnd of course it’s Dash, resident bully and ex-friend. Danny, the reason for all her problems today and ex-boyfriend. And Wes, the wack job conspiracy nut. Fun. Fuck the entire universe and Phantom too.

At least she’s still in her suit. That was something.

Dash, the ass, whistles, “damn, you got your ass kicked”.

She groans and half slurs, “oh fuck you”.

Danny finger guns while the three boys walk closer, “swearing at civilians, I like it”.

She wants to punch him.

Wes throws up his hands, “oh great the other teenage superhero that no one believes me about”.

Earning a round of, “shut up, Wes”, from everyone.

Danny shrugs, leaning down, “but hey, from one Wes victim to another, let’s get you to not be a blood fountain”.

No one says or does anything for a second before Valerie cautious speaks up, “are you trying to fix things for once? On April fools?”.

“Hey it’s not that weird”.

Everyone shouting, “Yes it is!”, isn’t surprising.

Danny pouts, “fine, I’m doing this weirdly then. Give me your scanner”.

Valerie sighs, “this might as well happen”.

Dash sounds more cautious than she had, “what are you going to do with it”.

“Possess it and jump start healing”.

Dash quirks an eyebrow, “after you got detention for getting stuck in a microphone?”.

“Oh it’ll be fine”.

… it was not fine.

Danny’s voice comes out through the scanner. “Uh. I’m stuck again. Oops?”.

Everyone facepalms.

Valerie sighs, granted Danny had jumpstarted her suits healing to a weird degree but for fucks sake. At least she could fix this easily, a couple taps and boom! one half ghost ex gets ejected.

Danny just blinks from where he landed on his ass on the floor, “huh. Well that was convenient”.

Valerie grumbles from the floor, “convenient my ass. One of the most pain in the ass ghosts in this town has a thing for overshadowing, protecting myself against that is common sense”.

“Hey at least you don’t have cat ears-”.

She mildly shoots him as she stands up, “you can shut the fuck up, oh my Zone you are a dick”, and aggressively waves away the ectoplasm the boy had made form little cat ears on her helmet. She also decides to take the building shaking slightly as her cue to book it outta there; Zone knows what ghostly brawl is awaiting her now; the three boys not far behind.

The last thing they expected was for there to be a couple of men in suits flashing badges and asking them if they can help them find a certain boy; Valerie just chuckling awkwardly and flying off quickly on her board, the boys can deal with this shit.

Danny looking to Wes while gesturing grandly, arms still smoking slightly, “Wes! I thought you just stole a G.I.W. vehicle not a standard government vehicle!”.

“I did!”.

One of the men clears their throat, “actually, we’re looking for Daniel Fenton”.

Danny drops his arms, “ah”, blinking, “Fuck”, and turns to book it down the hallway.

Dash crouches on his heels, wheeze laughing, “the Hell else did you do, Fentwink!”, wheezing some more, “you did some crazy shit, some stupid shit, and some hilarious shit; but what did you do to get arrested by the government”. Wes rubs his eyes, “why do I even try to get him in trouble? He’s doing it all on his own”.

Danny, for whatever reason, doesn’t try to phase or fly off -likely not wanting to flaunt his ghostliness too much to outsiders- and thus gets tackled to the ground. One of the agents snapping, “Daniel Fenton, you’re under arrest for hacking your way into presidency”.

Danny blinks, “… TUCKER! YOU DICK!”.

Said geeks voice comes through the -hacked- speaker system, “how was I supposed to know hacking the federal government was a bad idea? Don't you want to be able to say you took over the country before the fruitloop could?”.

The government agents look like they’re trying to not be swayed by this, though it was an… interesting attempt out of being arrested. All their proof led back to Daniel not this Tucker though. Eh they’ll let their boss figure it all out.

-

Tucker winces, watching Danny glare bloody murder at the school cameras while being carted off by government agents. He looks to Sam from their spot up in the school ceiling, “do you think I should just bite the bullet and show him Phantom’s fursona that I got on the evening newspapers front page?”.

Sam glares, “what did you ask the artist to make him”.

“…”, Tucker looks down and sighs in defeat, “a badger”.

“You’re fucking Dead”.

(Danny -as Phantom- did, in fact, kick his ass later while throwing newspapers at him and chasing him around town)

---

William Lancer sighs, taking a seat with his tea, unfolding the evening news. Figured that on April fools the paper would choose to run a, freakishly well done, anthropomorphic version of the local town hero ghost. “Hopefully there’s something in here I can use as a creative writing punishment”.

Lance Thunder chuckles hollowly, “those teens giving you trouble? I saw what that Daniel boy did with the mayors mic”.

William grimaces, “that wasn't even the worst of it. When I finally gave him a detention he ate my tie. He vomited forks on the gym teacher earlier”.

Mr. Thunder grimaces, “that boy is a menace. They give you a pay raise yet?”.

“Ha. As if”.

“Same”, Mr. Thunder puts a hand to his chest, “and I have to report on all this mess tomorrow. Someone glued a bunch of hair to hotdogs and hung them from trees; the smell was nauseating. And that magma river from Casperhigh? Who even did that?”.

William sighs, “Dash, the quarter back. He got detention, for once, too. I can’t exactly make him clean up magma, so I think I’m going to make him sweep up all the whisp ghost spit up”, shaking his head, “if I made Daniel do that, he’d roll around in it”.

“My hair could never”.

William nods slowly, though pausing with his tea cup to his lips as the two Lance’s stare at a government vehicle going by with a seemingly arrested Daniel sitting in it and kicking the window bars while growling like a feral animal.

Both Lance’s blink, “what did he do now”.

Sam running by glances over, huffing, “Tucker made him the president of the United States”.

Lance Thunder pulling out his note pad, sounding defeated, “guess I know tomorrows main story: ‘Underage, Under-Alive, and Undervoted: Half Dead Local Becomes President, Voting Rights Hacked’”.

William Lancer nodding, “and I know his most recent excuse for ditching detention: ‘sorry I was busy getting arrested for being the president of the United States’”.

They eye each other and sigh, continuing non with their respective drinks and trying to have a little bit of peace for a bit.

End.

Prompts: - Danny learns how to possess inanimate objects. It’s all fun and games until he gets stuck… and People know Danny Fenton is half ghost but don’t know he’s Phantom. and When Valerie found herself stumbling into the first empty classroom she could find, bleeding and woozy, she did not expect to see a pair of shoes waltz up to her spot on the floor calmly. She was grateful they hadn’t started screaming, and looked up at her possible ally. When she saw who they were, she cursed her luck (and Phantom, too, for good measure). and People and ghosts in Amity (for whatever reason) find both Vlad and Plasmius to be attractive, so Vlad goes to Danny to help and help he does! (He makes everything worse, for Vlad that is) and Tucker fucked up. Hard. But it’s like, how the hell was he supposed to know that hacking the federal government was a bad idea? and Tucker commissions a very good artist to design Danny Phantom a fursona. and Danny decides Pariah is adopting him. Maybe Danny fell into the keep, and open the coffin out of curiosity. Upon seeing Pariah, Danny makes him ghost dad. Maybe to get Vlad off his case by having a scarier dad, but maybe cause pariah looks cool in the eyes of a teenager? Doesn't need to be Pariah redemption. and It’s annual Casper High April Fools Prank War. It’s a day friendships are broken and not even the teachers are safe. Dash, Wes and Danny talk about what did they do to get detention in a day that has no laws. and Danny commits harmless poltergeist mischief (read: cat behavior) around the town, or is otherwise an absolute Creature. and Danny finds out Vlad knows Russian. How? Well, Vlad swore in his native langue not realizing that Danny has been slowly teaching himself Russian (so he’s that much more ready to be on the ISS) and he started with the swears because he’s a teenager. and Everyone knows that cats go crazy for laser-pointers- but what do ya know, they work on ghosts too! and For two men who share similar names, that wasn't what Mr. Lancer and Lance Thunder connected over. There is Amity and there are ghosts and *they do not get paid enough for this shit*. (Share a rapport, friendship, relationship, whatever, go for it) and “Oops”

[desperatecheesecubes]

As much as Bruce still professes to ‘work alone’ it is true that the bat cave is rarely empty, these days. His children, and the children that are not his but are his responsibility, gather in clusters throughout the cave at all hours. And yet, Bruce finds himself nearly alone this early morning, post patrol. Nearly alone, Bruce thinks over a cup of tea (Alfred has been a tremendous influence on him) because just stepping out of the showers is Jason. And his hair is dripping wet.

He never did take the time to dry it, Bruce muses. It is almost comforting to see that this habit has stuck with him.

When Dick first came to live in Wayne manor Bruce had, semi regularly, helped him towel off after washing. Not because a 9 year old child needed help but because Dick was a very tactile child and because Bruce, largely, was a very non tactile adult. And so it became a habit where Bruce would dry Dick’s hair by playfully attacking his head with a towel until Dick would inevitably and full of laughter beg him to stop. But Bruce would simply kiss his forehead and keep right on doing it because he could, and it was fun, and also because Bruce loved to hear Dick’s joyful laugh.

Jason had come to the manner at an older age than Dick had. Although there were only three years between 9 and 12, developmentally there was a canyon between the two. On top of this Jason was initially very distrustful of Bruce, and by the end their relationship had been strained. But there had been, briefly, a time in between where Bruce would dry his hair after patrol and kiss his second son’s forehead as well.

Hmmmm. Putting the tea cup down Bruce made his way down from the raised platform of the bat computer to where Jason sat taping his knuckles. Jason was using his guns less, it was true, but he seemingly could not be persuaded to stop punching criminals in the face (angrily). And also the cops (delightedly). And also his siblings (usually playfully, Bruce will admit). And also Bruce (definitely not playfully). His hands, Bruce noted, were actually dry.

Grabbing a towel from the shelf stealthily Bruce walked up to Jason. ‘You look like you missed a spot.’ He said, aiming for a conversational tone.

‘Wuh? With my knuckles?’ Jason began in confusion. He half turned towards Bruce, face scrunched up in irritation.

So Bruce threw the towel right over it and cheerfully began attacking his hair from both directions. ‘Your hair isn’t dry.’ He declared, aiming for that slightly higher pitched voice he used when the kids were younger, making sure to smoosh Jason’s face as well as his hair.

‘Bruce what the fuck! Get off of me!’ Jason barked, trying bat Bruce’s hands away. Bruce of course just twisted out of the way and rubbed harder.

‘You can’t be walking around with wet hair Jason, you’ll catch a cold!’ He practically sang. Jason finally got wise and yanked the towel from Bruce’s hands, glaring up at him angrily. Bruce just grinned, expecting this, and tilted Jason’s face up to kiss his forehead.

‘Gah!’ Jason eloquently responded.

Taking advantage of his momentary confusion Bruce grabbed the towel back and resumed his ministrations on Jason’s hair.

‘Oh my god!’ Jason cried. ‘You’ve lost your mind. Stop that!’ He tried to yank the towel away again but Bruce brought the towel up over his face roughly, preventing him. When Jason made to grab Bruce around the hips to knock him over, Bruce whipped the towel off and kissed Jason’s forehead again.

By now Jason was laughing inspite of himself, and Bruce was grinning, feeling more comforted and relaxed than he had in a very long time. The two continued their antics for a while more before Jason finally managed to hook a leg around Bruce’s ankle, tipping him forward.

‘Oof’ Bruce grunted, as Jason’s shoulder caught him in the stomach, but Jason just twisted slightly so that he could bring his arms around Bruce’s waist and lean his head against his chest. ‘I love you, Jason.’ Bruce said, hugging him tightly back.

‘Yeah yeah, you old lug. I can dry my own hair you know!’

‘Clearly not, considering how wet it was.’

‘Oh my god, dad, it’s fine.’

‘Hmmm’

‘Was that jasmine tea you were drinking? Can I have some?’

‘There should be enough for another cup in the pot.’

[storyunrelated]

War of Dakka (Dat's a working title)

Continue to chip away at my nascent 'Orks and Tau' idea (with obvious title) and I've done this first bit.

Curious if it is hitting the right notes. Suppose we'll see.

-

Lugnut, self-proclaimed best mek on the planet, was putting the finishing touches onto a personal project. He did this regularly, to the frustration of those who had actually given him money to do specific things.

Today’s project was a new type of gun, much like yesterday’s project and, indeed, tomorrow’s project, too. These aliens might have been weedy cowards who hid behind  things and shot you from far too far away and never stuck around for a proper scrap, but they certainly had a lot of very exciting guns - exactly the sort of thing that endlessly sparked a mek’s fertile imagination (and provided material with which to see this fertility bear fruit).

This particular gun was an improvement on an existing model. It had hitherto been attached to the arm of one of those weird jumpy kans the aliens had, at least until it had been liberated in a notably impressive explosion. The gun - a lovely, chunky, boxy one that Lugnut knew for a fact melted stuff right good - had then been salvaged, somehow made its way back, and even more somehow wound up in Lugnut’s hands, where it was now all set to enjoy a new lease on life.

“Get dat target over dere!” Lugnut barked, impatient. He’d finally finished hammering out the kinks on the gun (literally hammering them out) minutes earlier and the fact he hadn’t yet had a chance to shoot at something was starting to agitate. If the grot didn’t get the target in place soon Lugnut felt he’d just pick whichever part of his workshop he was least attached to and shoot in that direction. 

Firing at an actual target was mostly a formality, anyway. Made you look more professional.

But if you were on your own did that really matter? Lugnut was starting to think no.

With a final heave and an obvious level of putting its tiny back into it, the grot succeeded in shoving the vaguely fire warrior-shaped collection of junk into position. Lugnut did not wait until the grot cleared the range before opening fire. He was far too excited to waste that kind of time. Grinning, he whipped it up and pointed more-or-less the right way and squeezed the trigger. There was a crack and a flash and a clap and the target was gone, along with a good chunk of the wall behind it and the hut on the other side. Something was on fire, too, but it wasn’t anything of his so it didn’t matter.

“Dat’s dead good, dat is,” Lugnut said to himself with pride, grinning broadly.

“Psst,” said a voice by his ear.

Lugnut stopped grinning abruptly and whirled, raising his wrench and swiping it through what turned out to be empty air. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he whirled again, finding himself face-to-face with Ripslik.

The kommando was smiling at him. Never a pleasant sight.

“Zog me, Ripslik! Why you gotta be sneakin’ in here for anyway?” Lugnut growled, wrench lowering again. Ripslik chuckled. Never a pleasant sound.

“Hur. Sorry, Lugnut - force ’abit, ain’t it?”

This was why no-one liked kommandos. That this particular kommando was also a proper Blood Axe as well only made it worse. No-one liked Blood Axes, either.

Especially Blood Axes who showed up with sacks.

“Yeah yeah. Wot’s all dis den?” Lugnut asked, eyeing both Ripslik and the sack with (frankly, warranted) suspicion. Ripslik was used to getting looks like this so it didn’t bother him all that much. He gestured emphatically at the sack, complete with all the obvious tau equipment it had already had poking out the top.

“Wot’s it look like? Bitz! I got a projekt for ya!” Ripslik declared, grinning. Lugnut’s interest was piqued immediately. That word tended to have that effect on meks.

“Bitz, eh? Bluey bitz?” he asked, his interest piqued. Ripslik grinned wider, which even for another ork was a disquieting experience.

“Course.”

A ‘bluey’ in this instance being a tau, for clarity. The orks had a variety of names on offer for them, mostly because very few of the orks on the planet had actually discovered - or bothered to try and discover - the name of the tau. It didn’t seem especially important. They were enemies foremost and aliens second - everything else after that was just unnecessary detail.

Lugnut reached into the sack, rummaged, and produced a dark helmet. It was a little beyond dark, actually. Light seemed to somehow just fall into whatever it was the armour had been coated in, making it darker than dark and, frankly, kind of difficult to look at.

A head then fell out of the helmet and bounced off of Lugnut’s boot.

“Eurgh! Dere’s still alien in dis one!” He said with distaste, turning the helmet over and grimacing at the mess he could now see was on the inside. Blood and guts was one thing, that was fine, but blood and guts on the bitz? That was uncalled for. Ripslik was unmoved.

“It’ll ‘ose off! Stop bein’ a grot ‘bout a bit a blood!”

“S’more dan blood! It’s leakin’ all ova ma floor! Look!” Lugnut said, glowering and pointing to the sack which was indeed leaking all over the floor. Still glowering, Lugnut turned to one side of his workshop where lounged about half a dozen grots, half of whom appeared to be napping. “Oi! You lot! Stop lazin’ about and clean this up! Now!”

To punctuate this order - and to emphasise its urgency - Lugnut threw one of the several weighty spanners he just-so happened to have hanging about his person. His aim was very good (this wasn’t the first time he’d done this) and one of the grots did not get up to join the rest as they hurried over, grabbing mops and buckets as they went.

Ignoring all of this and especially ignoring the grots, the two orks continued.

“Wot you talkin’ ‘bout ‘projekt’ anyway? Wot you want?”

Ripslik pulled another piece of armour - what looked to be a chunk of the torso plating of a stealthsuit, just as painfully dark as the helmet - from the sack and waved it about demonstratively.

“Da bluey’s got dese sneaky suits, yeah?”

“The one’s wot turn invisible?” Lugnut asked, digging a finger absent-mindedly into his ear.

“Yeah, ‘dose ones,” Ripslik said with just the hint of a growl.

Ripslik had a complicated relationship with tau stealth teams.

On the one hand he had a profound professional distaste for anyone else attempting to intrude on his covert realm, particularly if they did so by cheating with fancy wotsits. Turning invisible? That wasn’t fair, and it meant you weren’t proper sneaky, either. On the other, he did have to admit they were at least reasonably good at what they did. For cheating alien scum.

Then again, so he’d come to consider, if he could turn invisible he could probably do it even better than they could, him not being an alien and all, and him being dead sneaky to start with. With him it wouldn’t even really be like cheating, not like how they did it. He’d just be getting up to some new level of sneaky no kommando had ever reached before. That was just sensible! 

It was this line of thought that had inspired the project.

So he’d started making a point of hunting the stealth teams down specifically, something which had cost him a fair few boys and (perhaps more importantly) a good amount of teef, too, when he’d splashed out on a scanny-wotsit made by another mek who had assured him it would flawlessly reveal anything invisible. When it worked. Smacking the thing against the head of the mek in question had done much to improve its performance, so Ripslik felt.

Still, despite the setbacks and the outlays, he had met with success. Partly on account of his natural talents, partly on account of the tau stealth teams not considering that something might be hunting them.

They knew now, obviously, but that was a bit late for some of them.

“Wot ‘bout ‘em?” Lugnut asked.

“I wanna get one of ‘dere suits, but proper orky - better! So I got the bits. Dat’s da project.”

“You want an alien invisisuit ‘fing?”

“Yeah!”

The idea of specifically building something that was for hiding sat distastefully with Lugnut, who grimaced, trying and failing to think of a way to make it more palatable to his sensibilities.

“I dunno…”

“Well, if you don’t fink yer up ta it I guess I can take dis here scrap to Snakrot…” Ripslik said, leaning in to pick up the sack again. Snakrot being another mek. The one who’d made the flawless (when working) scanny-wotsit. He probably wouldn’t have been especially seeing Ripslik again, given how their last meeting had went, but Lugnut didn’t know that.

“You wot,” said Lugnut with flat dangerousness.

“E’s dead ‘andy wiv dis bluey tek, I ‘eard. Could prob’ly knock it up right quick, yeah,” Ripslik said breezily. Lugnut scowled and jabbed a calloused, oil-stained finger.

“You better wotch it wiv’ ‘dat talk. You tryin’ ‘ta, uh, si-col-a-gee me wiv’ some grotty kommando trick, get me to do wot you want!”

“Nevah! Just sayin’, if yer not mek enough den I know anuvver one who’ll do it.”

“I’m mek enough! I can do it easy! No problem at all! Squig-fer-brains zoggin’ kommando scum…” Lugnut grumbled, quickly adding: “S’gonna cost you ‘tho! S’not cheap fiddlin’ with this stuff!”

“I come prepared!” Ripslik said, reaching back to unhook from his sneakin’ sack a smaller sack that was not for sneaking, but was in fact full of teef (some his, most not). He dropped it on the floor next to the sack of bits and it landed with a satisfyingly rattly crunch, the sound that all orks so enjoyed. Lugnut prodded the sack with a boot.

“Dis it?”

Ripslik’s turn to scowl.

“Wot you mean ‘Dist it?’?! Dis is more teef dan most Orks’ see in a life!”

Patently untrue. Lugnut shrugged.

“Yeah, well, s’not enuff, issit? Big job, dis!” He said.

Ripslik briefly considered the odds on getting what it was he wanted if he killed Lugnut on the spot. Long, he decided, and he really did want some of those suits. He quickly cooked up a workable alternative. Initiative like this was a hallmark of kommandos, doubly so for proper Blood Axe kommandos.

“Well, how ‘bout dis? How ‘bout I get you one’a dem big stompa fings o’ theirs?” He said.

Ripslik did not know what a Riptide was actually called, neither did he care. Lugnut did not know what they were called either, but he knew exactly what it was Ripslik was talking about, and his ears pricked up.

“You wot?”

“I know where ‘dey got one - ‘an lots of uvver dakka, too. They fink they got a secret hidey-hole, but I know ‘about it, I ‘found it. Howsabouts I get you one’a ‘dem, eh?” Ripslik asked. Lugnut’s mind was already starting to run away with the possibilities.

“One’a ‘dem with the, ah, you know, the-” he mimed the arm cannon of a Riptide and acted out hosing down something with a withering torrent of fearsome energy, complete with sound-effects. Ripslik nodded. He knew what the mek was referring to. The spinny ones.

“Yeah, yeah, one’a ‘dose ones.”

“I could do with one’a dose…” Lugnut said, dreamily, mind wandering off briefly to somewhere wonderful with a lot of screaming and explosions and gunfire before snapping back to the moment and the practical problems involved. “How you gonna get it back? They fry boyz wot try to get in ‘em.”

This Lugnut knew from experience. Not personal experience or else he wouldn’t have been around to say anything about it, but he’d shoved enough grots into enough battlesuits to know the sneaky aliens had made arrangements to stop you just stealing the things. He was working on a way of getting around that, but it wasn’t ready yet. He’d get through a lot of grots before it was ready, he knew, but that was the price of progress.

(On the plus side, the suits crisped the grots up super-nice, so for every failure you at least got a snack out of it. Every cloud.)

“You leave dat to me. We got a deal?” Ripslik asked.

Lugnut knew better than to trust a Kommando. Indeed, he knew better than to trust any Ork attempting to cut a deal with him, or any Ork he passed outside his workshop, or just any Ork at all, really. But still, the mental picture of one of those really, really big shiny battlesuits kept popping into his head, stomping all over his good sense. He might even have drooled a bit.

“Alright. You bring me one’a dem fings - in one piece! - and I’ll do yer armour. For yer lads, too!” He said. That was called motivation, that was. Dead cunning idea he’d picked up from somewhere - or come up with on his own? Probably on his own, on reflection. Another good idea! He was full of them!

Ripslik hadn’t expected this bonus.

“I’ll ‘old you to dat!” 

“Yeah yeah. Just leave da bitz.”

“Yer ‘avin a laugh - leavin’ bitz ‘round fer a mek…safe keepin’! Har! Nah, I know a safe spot for dese - you’ll get ‘em later!”

It had been worth a shot.

“Fair play,” Lugnut said.

Sweeping up the sack of teef and the sack of bits and slinging both over his shoulders Ripslik made his exit, as quiet as his entrance had been and just as impressive given he was carrying a whacking great leaking, clanking sack. Lugnut was all set to get back to work when the grot who had pushed the target into position and who had, in defiance of reason and in a burst of unbelievable luck, actually survived, perhaps unwisely chose this moment to stick his head up again and appeared at Lugnut’s elbow.

“Gun works good, boss!”

Whack.

Lugnut had better luck with his wrench this time. The grot’s luck, however, couldn’t stretch quite as far as they might have wanted it to, and certainly not so far as to allow it cheat death twice in one day.

“Gotta clean ma wrench now…” Lugnut muttered, scratching himself and wandering off to find something to fix.

[skylarstark4826]

Customs were part of any being, Quaritch had to agree on that. After leaving Earth for Pandora, he could notice this in both humans and Na'vi. And even more so now, that he had become the consort of the Ash Clan, he could notice customs very different from what he knew of the Omatikaya.

Even so, he maintained some customs from his own culture, for example, what he would like to keep intact at that time. After some time, his impeccably cut hair was starting to grow back and it bothered him.

After briefly washing the short hair he had grown out of, Miles prepared the blade of the knife and was about to use it when someone quickly and stealthily snatched it from his hands.

Somewhat surprised by the sudden act, he turned back, finding the figure of his wife, with a disapproving look divided between him and the knife.

-What do you think you are doing? - she asked, with all possible authority in her voice.

-I could say the same to you - he tried to take the knife from her, but in vain, Varang quickly dodged it.

-I'm cutting my hair, I've never worn it this long - he explained, without much patience.

-Long? No, your hair still isn't long enough for a decent Na'vi - she made sure to point out.

-I'm not Na'vi, have you forgotten? I look like one of you, but I'm... something else, a recombinant - he reinforced this idea - and that's why I'm going to cut my hair.

He tried to take the knife from her, momentarily distracting her, reaching to grab her wrist, but Varang kept it trapped between her fingers.

Quickly, she spun around, freeing herself from her husband, placing herself at least three steps away from him.

Quaritch tried to take the knife from her, but she was quick again, switching from one hand to the other, turning her back to him and kicking his knee. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed her waist tightly, which made her turn to face him. In a direct attack, Varang touched his abdomen with the knife, which left him paralyzed. He knew of her reputation as a warrior and had seen her ferocity in combat up close, he didn't want to test her, not while she was armed.

-You don't want me hurt - he ventured to say, surrendering, with his hands raised.

-Oh no, my dear Miles... - she whispered, playing with the knife very close to his face, returning it to his abdomen shortly afterwards - I would never hurt you, trust me...

After finishing her sentence, she drew a short line across his chest, from bottom to top, which made Miles tense even more.

Feeling his tense muscles touching the tip of the blade, Varang just let out a guttural laugh, a celebration of victory that only made her husband remember how dangerous she could be.

-See? - she showed him the tip of the knife - not a single drop of blood... You're right, my dear Miles... - she dropped the weapon, which stuck perfectly on the ground, with her now empty hand, she touched his face - I want you safe and sound, intact, preferably, very much alive, and with long hair.

-I know your men have long hair, but that doesn't mean I have to have it - he tried to argue carefully.

-On the contrary, you adhering to the custom of ashes would only show your commitment more - she explained.

-But if this is an alliance between two different peoples, you would have to accept the differences on my side too - he tried another option.

-I understand, but you could at least try it - she suggested.

-What if I still refuse? - He leaned his shoulders forward, defiantly.

-I'm not going to give up that easily - she declared, running her fingers over his ears, watching them move to the touch.

Completely surrendered, Varang held him by the wrists and made him sit on the floor.

-What do you want me to do? - he replied, already waiting for an order.

-Undo my braids, one by one - she ordered, in a low voice.

Now a little more relaxed about not having a gun pointed directly at his exposed chest, Quaritch happily complied, finding some unexpected pleasure in the task.

When Varang wore her hair braided, the locks reached her shoulders, but now, the strands were freeing themselves and revealing long, silky hair that was very pleasant to the touch.

After his work was completed, she turned to her husband, smiling innocently. He had to whistle, she knew exactly what she was doing.

-What does that mean? - she asked genuinely - that sound?

-That you can look even more beautiful without using any adornment - he praised openly, bringing her closer - is that what you want from me? - he kissed her ear, taking advantage of the situation - do you want me to have long hair so that I look more beautiful to you? Or because you like to braid hair? I can do this...

-I knew that in the end, we would agree - she smiled at her, in a convinced and winning way, but at that point, Quaritch considered every dispute a draw.

He kissed his cunning, yet truly stunning, wild-haired wife.

[brandilovevip]

Looking Forward: 2023

Most of my fans are aware that as a result of the "Woke" turbulence & outright Marxist attacks on our Constitution & Unalienable rights, I took a hard stand over the past two plus years. I swore off my beloved College Football & Basketball. I refused to watch the NFL, Major League Baseball and NHL. I dropped the NBA long ago. I even stopped watching shows that I love because of the actors or actresses insane positions on vaccinations, lockdowns, masks and issues like gun control, Trump etc. Anyone who has followed me on social media or on my Onlyfans knows I was diligent and stuck to my "guns" so to speak. I cut it all out. As 2022 came to a close, Chris & I took some time between Christmas & New Years to reflect on everything from work, to politics to our personal lives. One thing became clear, the only people missing out on the things that once brought us so much joy was us! The woke mob is still the woke mob. The establishment is still intact. There have been small victories and defeats. But in general, the world around us has gotten "progressively" worse. The question we had to answer for ourselves is:  What can and should we do about it? The thing that will never change is my love for our Country as Founded. The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution and the Bill of Rights are a divine inheritance that I will gladly lay down my life for if need be. Let's hope it never comes to that! I will continue to write and speak as an Independent Constitutional Conservative. I'm not a Republican, I'm not a Libertarian and I'm absolutely not a Progressive or Democrat.  I'm a woman without a party to represent me. I call myself a Constitutional Conservative or Kid Rock Conservative all the time because I believe it’s an easily recognizable moniker. I like my drink and occasionally my smoke. I'm obviously pro sex and I could care less who marries who. But as everyone by now knows, I'm 100% America First. I'm the Anti-Globalist. The Anti-Communist. The Anti-Socialist.   And because I'm 100% America First, I hold these words in Our Declaration of Independence dear to my heart: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." Truth is, I let them trick me into giving up my unalienable Rights. For almost three years now,  and honestly going back to the Global Elite's attacks on Trump beginning in 2016 I have been making decisions that lessen my happiness. I made decisions that cut out those things that bring me so much joy. And while THEY stole my Liberty, I willingly gave up the things that season my life and make it delicious. I reject the notion of a "new normal"  I'm taking my old normal back. And yes, along the way, I'll give the governing bodies of sports, media , news and politics an earful about their woke nonsense. But I'm going to re-engage in 2023 in the activities that have brought me so much joy over the years.   

Love you all, 

Brandi 

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Camp Wanamaker (Ch. 1/10)

June 17, 2023

Notes - You have no idea how excited I am about finally being able to share this story! Now that I have everything prepared for this and a solid plot line, I feel like I’ll have everything under control for once haha!

Chapter 1 - Send Me On My Way

It wasn’t often that Miles Murphy would willingly rise from his mattress early; typically, when it happened, his brothers would claim it was a sign of the end times. However, as he sipped tentatively at the hastily-made coffee within the styrofoam coffee cup he held, he found nobody harassing him about his early rising. In fact, the other two people who had piled into the bed of Butchy’s pickup truck were in a similar state; yawning as the sun rose higher over the land or, in Bentley’s case, sleeping against the tailgate - lucky little shit.

The only reason Miles was awake at all was because a storm had come through the house and Carrie had to pry him from the blankets. Well, technically, it wasn’t a storm so much as it was a person. A brown-haired, circle-framed glasses-wearing, professional figure skater with a smug smile who came bursting into the house like a man on a mission and basically ordered them to get out of bed at quarter after six in the morning. She had come in through Royce’s bedroom window, woken everyone in the house with a poorly-played bugle rendition of Reveille, and declared that they needed to get in the car and follow her if they wanted to live. Of course, at that hour, Miles didn’t care whether he lived or died as long as he could go back to sleep, but the excited teenager was determined and, while Carrie yanked his blankets away, Vivien had taken it upon herself to aim the bell of her bugle at his face like she was wielding a gun and blew hard into it, jolting him awake with a quick blast.

Fighting the urge to pick up the child and throw her out of the second-story window, Miles allowed Vivien to scamper off down the hall with a devious smirk and got himself dressed while Carrie buzzed around the room seemingly as at the speed of sound, hoping the girl would have a pot of coffee ready for him by the time he got downstairs. Although Miles had gotten a coffee into him before leaving the house, it wasn’t until Vivien decided to stop at the only coffee shop in her small hometown that he felt any sort of rousing as he ended up with two large coffees and a mild headache from how excessively chipper the barista had been.

Once they were done at the coffee shop and Vivien had stolen Carrie, Miles climbed into the back of Butchy’s truck along with his brothers and pounded back one of his coffees, hoping the espresso shots he’d asked for would kick in before they got wherever Vivien was leading them. Mick slid open the window leading from the cab to the truck bed and hollered over the wind for the people in the back to hold on as Butchy turned onto a dirt road. Although it was perfectly legal for them to ride in the bed of the truck, they had no seatbelts or anything to keep them inside the truck, so Miles wrapped an arm around Bentley’s slumbering form and made sure Royce had a firm grip on a ratchet strap Butchy had secured around his toolbox before grabbing onto the outside of the truck as Butchy’s truck rumbled over unpaved potholes and rocks that stuck out of the ground.

As Miles let out another yawn and took a long sip of his coffee, he leveled his gaze on his younger brother, the teenager’s curly hair blown even further out of control as they sped through the backroads. Royce had always been an earlier riser, waking with the sun more often than not, but even he let out a yawn as he watched the trees blow by. As though sensing his brother’s gaze on him, Royce met Miles’ eyes with a confused raise of his brow. Instead of answering his brother’s silent question, Miles grumbled, “I’m going to kill your girlfriend.”

Obviously not taking Miles’ threat seriously, Royce chuckled, “Oh yeah?”

Nodding, Miles confirmed, “After that wake-up call she gave me, I’ve been plotting her demise.”

Unfazed, Royce replied, “You do realize that means you’ll have to make your own shitty bean juice in the morning, right?”

Miles tipped his head back with a groan before meeting Royce’s amused, caramel eyes, “Why do you have to make sense this early in the morning?”

“To keep my girlfriend alive, apparently,” Royce smirked as he turned his gaze back to the road.

“Sadly, you’re doing a great job,” Miles sighed. 

“You love Vivien,” Royce stated factually.

“I do.” Miles wasn’t about to argue Royce’s point. He did care for Vivien as though she was his own blood, but that didn’t stop him from plotting her demise when she roused him at ungodly hours. As the truck turned onto a dirk path and bounced over a partially exposed section of tree roots, Miles tacked on, “Sometimes I wonder why.”

“Me too,” Bentley grumbled, rubbing his eye with a hand as he slowly shifted away from the tailgate and leaned against Miles.

Attempting to contain his snort of laughter at the solid lines that had formed against his younger brother’s cheek, Royce smirked yet stayed silent. He knew just as well as his brothers did that they loved Vivien and just how mutual the feeling was. Bentley made his affection for the brunette obvious through the way he always tried to spend as much time as possible with her. Miles, on the other hand, was more reserved and Royce suspected that was partially due to the attachment issues he’d gained over time. Their joint love of coffee was one thing, but Royce was observant and easily noticed the way his older brother would pay more attention to things Vivien said or did. Time went on and their bonds grew stronger, making Vivien’s transition from “family friend” to Royce’s girlfriend an easy one. She balanced them out well and fit right in with them, almost like a puzzle piece they hadn’t realized was missing from the box.

As the truck pulled to a stop in a pine-needle-laden parking lot, Miles nudged Bentley until he moved away groggily and Royce turned to look at their surroundings. A large wooden building stood before them and, in the distance, Royce could just barely make out some log structures with illegible signs above the doors. Above the main building was a large sign that welcomed them to a camp Royce remembered hearing the name of in passing - Camp Wanamaker. The sound of his girlfriend’s car doors slamming made Royce turn, locking gazes with a certain blonde as she sauntered up to the truck bed with a smile that nearly burned Royce’s retinas. 

“Welcome to summer camp, gentlemen,” Carrie spoke as she and Vivien leaned against the truck.

“Summer camp?” Bentley repeated as he gazed up at the building.

Turning an exhausted glare toward the beaming brunette on the other side of the metal tailgate, Miles questioned, “You woke us all up at six in the morning for summer camp?”

With a knowing smile, Vivien rested her arms against the truck and stated, “I made sure to ask them to brew us a fresh pot of coffee.”

Searching the girl’s eyes, Miles took in a breath and sighed, “You’re forgiven.”

As though she had read the man’s mind, Vivien said, in unison with Miles, “For now.”

Vivien thumped the truck with a fist and pulled down the tailgate with ease before chirping, “Yeah, yeah. Now, let’s get a move on. I want to claim Lakeside Lodge before anyone else gets ahold of it.”

Before saying anything more, Vivien hauled a duffel bag onto her shoulder and walked away, taking Carrie with her as Royce jumped over the side of the truck and hurried to grab the bag of clothes and essentials he’d thrown together before leaving the house. As he followed Vivien and Carrie toward the large building, a loud bark echoed from inside, giving him pause. “What was that?” he questioned.

“Ding,” Carrie replied as she and Vivien hurried up the front steps.

Sending the blonde a bewildered look, Royce hesitantly followed them and asked, “Is that supposed to make sense?”

No answer came from either girl as Vivien opened the front door and a flash of black and golden brown burst through the crack in the screen door, tackling the beaming brunette to the wooden floorboards of the porch. Royce jumped, watching with wide eyes as his girlfriend cooed at the large dog, allowing the slobbering mountain to clean her face while she and Carrie petted him. Eventually working through the shock at the sight of the huge dog, Royce inched closer to the porch just in time for Vivien to sit up and tell the dog to sit.

Finally meeting her boyfriend’s gaze with a smile, Vivien rubbed a hand between the dog’s pointed ears and spoke, “Royce, this is the camp mascot and reigning hot-dog-eating champion, Dopey Ding.”

“Dopey Ding?” Royce echoed as the others approached the porch behind him.

In response, the dog’s tongue flopped to the side of his mouth, resulting in a goofy smile Royce couldn’t help chuckling at. “He’s an idiot, but we love him,” Vivien claimed with a smile. Turning her gaze toward Royce, she held out a hand and instructed, “Give me your hand.”

Taking Vivien’s hand in his with a smile, Royce watched as Vivien rolled her eyes at him, flipping his hand palm up and positioning it in front of the dog. “What now?” Royce asked as his girlfriend released him.

Vivien gestured for him to stay where he was before turning to the pup beside her and asking, “Are you gonna say hi, Ding?”

The dog looked at Royce and examined the hand before him before placing his paw in Royce's palm and letting out a soft growl that almost sounded like, “Hello.” Royce didn’t bother fighting the smile that breached his features as he shook the dog’s paw. Bentley stepped up beside Royce and offered a hand to the colorful dog, both brothers laughing as Ding tipped his head back and howled another greeting, moving his paw from Royce’s hand to Bentley’s.

The door to the porch opened and, with a smile on her face, a woman with long, dark hair braided over her shoulder stepped onto the wooden deck. Chuckling, she knelt on the wooden floor and handed two small treats to the brothers before turning toward her granddaughter, “If you teach that dog to shake hands with everyone who comes to this camp, I’m sending him home with you at the end of the summer.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind eating the vegetables Olly refuses to touch,” Vivien smirked. 

With a snort and a shake of her head, Dawn sighed, “Don’t you think your grandfather already tried that?”

As Vivien let out a laugh, Bentley asked, “You know Vivien’s grandfather?”

“I would hope so,” Dawn chuckled. “Considering we’ve been together for the last fifty years.”

With a proud smile, Vivien gestured to the woman as she spoke, “Guys, this is my Nonna, Dawn Mays. She and my Grandpa George own the camp. Nonna, these are my friends. I know you already know Mick and Carrie.”

“I do.” Looking around at the group before her, Dawn smiled, “However, there are a few familiar faces here.”

“I should hope so,” Vivien chuckled. “I send you guys enough pictures of our escapades.”

Dawn nodded, glancing at the people her granddaughter had dragged to the camp before settling her gaze on the curly-haired boy who stood on the ground in front of Vivien. “This one must be Royce.”

As Vivien nodded, Royce stretched out a hand and introduced himself, eager to make a good first impression on his girlfriend’s family, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Clasping the boy’s hand firmly, Dawn observed him for a moment before claiming, “Likewise, little opossum. I trust you’ve been keeping our eaglet out of trouble.”

Confusion filled Royce’s face as he was released from the older woman’s hold, but he tried desperately to mask it as he chuckled awkwardly, “I try, but trouble always seems to find us somehow.”

“With Vivien, I’m not surprised,” Dawn grinned, a knowing, borderline mischievous glimmer in her deep brown eyes. “She always has been a bit of a wild child. I remember, one time, when she was about eight or nine-”

“Okay, moving on!” Vivien interrupted quickly, clapping her hands together as she pushed herself to her feet. “Nonna, is Grandpa at the desk? I want to snag Lakeside before anyone else does.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” Dawn apologized as she stood. “Someone already claimed Lakeside.”

“What?” Vivien breathed. “But I put in for it back in April! Who has it?”

Instead of answering, Dawn’s gaze drifted toward the parking lot. Vivien followed her eyes and found herself staring at where a red, 1989 Miata sat, its roof rolled back into the trunk and both of its headlights popped up, taunting Vivien with their cutesy look. She knew that car anywhere. She had ridden shotgun in it on the way to band practice ever since Riven’s moped had ended up in the scrapyard a few years prior. 

“He got here about an hour ago,” Dawn stated.

Settling a glare on the old Mazda, Vivien let out a hiss, “I’m going to kill him.”

As her granddaughter breezed by, Dawn chuckled, “At least wait until after the season ends. We need as many counselors as we can get.”

“I make no promises,” Vivien said as she pushed her way into the building. 

Glancing around the main office, Vivien continued forward, scanning each area until she reached the mess hall. The familiar head of auburn hair she had been searching for stood by the back window that overlooked most of the camp. Storming across the expanse of the mess hall, Vivien made her way toward the older boy with a fiery rage in her eyes. Once she was close enough, she stepped onto the bench of a nearby table and launched herself at Riven’s back, an arm around his neck and her legs closing around his hips as Riven caught his balance on a nearby wall.

Peering over his shoulder at the enraged brunette, he exclaimed, “What the hell, Pip!”

Meeting his hazel eyes, Vivien snarled, “I’m going to dismember you and throw you in the lake.”

“What for?” 

“You stole Lakeside!” Instead of being intimidated by the younger brunette, Riven chuckled, adjusting his grasp on Vivien’s thighs as he began walking out of the room. Disappointed by his amusement, Vivien tried, “This is no laughing matter! You knew I wanted Lakeside and you took it, so I have every right to kill you. Right here, right now.”

Riven snorted as the others entered the building, “You’ve got witnesses now, so no killing.”

“Wrong,” Vivien stated, pointing toward the group. “I have Nonna who would definitely bail me out and six alibis who would stand trial because they love me. None of them are preventing your untimely demise.”

Releasing one of Vivien’s legs, Riven reached over the office desk and pulled a sign-in book over the counter, flipping it open to the first page and pointing to where he had signed in already, “Maybe not, but that does.”

Peeking curiously over Riven’s shoulder at the book, Vivien scanned the list of names that had been hastily scrawled in Riven’s chicken-scratch handwriting, finding not only his name, but also hers and the other six people she had brought with her to camp. Smiling as she let out a nervous chuckle, Vivien released Riven with a pat on his chest and sighed, “I suppose you’ll live for now.”

“Good,” came a voice from beyond the counter. “We need all of the help we can get this summer.” As per usual, Vivien’s grandfather was dressed as though he had walked out of a Woodstock photograph - unnaturally bright, tie-dye shirt and all - but the cell phone in his hand was evidence that he had somewhat upgraded to the twenty-first century. With a bright smile, he examined the group that had gathered as his wife let herself behind the desk. “I just got off the phone with Hayley.”

Vivien perked up at the mention of her birth mother, leaning on the counter as she asked, “Are they going to be here this summer?”

“From the first of July to our closing ceremony,” George nodded.

With an excited, high-pitched giggle, Vivien bounced in place before turning to Royce and Bentley with a beaming smile. “Do you know what that means?”

Bentley glanced at Royce with a raised eyebrow before offering, “Someone named Hayley is coming to camp?”

Royce allowed a soft chuckle to pass his lips, “Hayley is Viv’s birth mom, remember? She showed us the pictures from the wedding.”

“Oh yeah,” Bentley breathed. A yawn took over the fifteen-year-old and, once it had ended, he muttered, “It’s too early for me to think about anything other than my bed.”

“Speaking of beds,” Dawn began, shifting her gaze from Bentley to Riven, “did you get the beds ready down at the lodge?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Riven replied, leaning on the counter with a lopsided grin. “Fresh sheets and pillowcases all around.”

Dawn nodded appreciatively before turning toward her husband, a question on the tip of her tongue as he raised a hand with a smile and said, “I already started brewing the coffee, the cabin assignments are already set up, and the rest of the counselors aren’t set to arrive for another hour or so, at the least.”

Slowly releasing the deep breath she had taken, Dawn grinned and turned to look over the group of eight before her. Clapping her hands together, she declared, “In that case, I’ll let Vivien and Riven show you all around and give you the chance to settle into your rooms. Once you’ve put your things away, meet me up at the counselors' lodge and I’ll give you the basic rules of the camp.”

Vivien turned to Riven with a smirk and the auburn-haired male stepped to the side, gesturing for Vivien to lead the way. As the others grabbed their things and followed Vivien toward the door, Carrie stopped at the doorway to give the camp’s faithful guard dog a quick scratch under the jaw, making Ding’s foot thump lazily against the wood floors. Carrie let out a soft chuckle, “Good boy.”

Before she could follow Miles out of the room, Carrie was stopped by a voice, “Oh, Carrie?”

Turning toward the voice, Carrie found Dawn watching her from her spot behind the desk, the woman’s husband already busying himself with paperwork. Smiling at the older woman, Carrie asked, “Yeah?”

With a twinkle in her eyes that Carrie wanted to attribute to the lights shining on the woman, Dawn smiled, “I’m glad you decided to come back for the summer.”

“Vivien didn’t exactly give me a choice,” Carrie laughed, “but I have to say, I missed this place.”

Dawn nodded, glancing toward the doorway where Miles was waiting for Carrie to join him. “That girl can be quite persuasive when she wants to be,” she claimed thoughtfully. Shaking her head slightly, Dawn turned her gaze back to Carrie and smiled, “Anyway, it’s good to have you back at camp, Carrie.”

“It’s nice to be back, Mrs Mays,” Carrie beamed.

“Oh, please,” the older woman began, waving Carrie’s words away with a shake of her head. “Call me Nonna. All of the campers and counselors do.”

Nodding, Carrie relented, “I’ll try to remember that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Dawn said with a smile. “Now, hop along, little fox; you don’t want to miss your tour of the camp.”

Dawn watched as the blonde joined her boyfriend and the pair scampered off to join the others as her husband spun his chair around to face her. As the door in the next room slammed shut and George lowered his glasses with a knowing smirk, Dawn perched herself on the desk and asked, “What’s that look for?”

Chuckling, George set his glasses on the table beside him and grinned up at his wife as he said, “I was just thinking about how interesting this summer should be.”

“How so?”

“Look at the motley crew we’ve got this year,” George said, gesturing toward the door. When his wife tipped her head in confusion, he stated, “We have Makana and her new husband, Vivien and her band of lunatics, her boyfriend and his brothers who look as though they could sleep until noon, and Carrie.”

“We’ve had some of them as counselors before.”

“Makana somehow handled twelve kids shooting arrows at haybales like she’d been doing it her whole life, Riven worked magic to make that little demon spawn from the Oakridge Cabin sound like an angel during their cabin’s performance of Shrek, Jade handled the singing around the campfire like a champ when the kids gave Sweet Caroline four standing ovations, and Erica managed to not allow the campers to explode pottery in the art barn kiln,” George recalled. “They’re great at what they do and, to be fair, I’m not worried about most of them.”

“Why do I feel as though I don’t want to know who you are worried about?” Dawn sighed.

George took in a long, deep breath, slowly shaking his head before meeting his wife’s eyes, “While I’m sure Vivien will be a great leader this year, are you sure that putting her in charge of the dance studio is a wise choice?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

With a deadpan stare, George asked, “Need I remind you that she couldn’t even do the macarena properly at Hayley and Charlie’s wedding?”

“She wasn’t expecting to be singled out and put on the spot like that.”

“And putting her in a room full of children will make that any better?”

“Well, who would you suggest?” Dawn questioned. “We don’t exactly have the pick of the litter. Until next month, Vivien just might be our only option.”

George sat quietly, thoughtfully, for a moment before asking, “How about we give them until next week when the campers start arriving? It would give the newcomers time to learn the area and the different positions available and it gives us the chance to learn their strengths and weaknesses.”

Impressed by the decision, Dawn smiled as her husband rose from his seat, “That could actually work.”

With a mockingly wounded tone, George leaned his forehead to his wife’s and breathed, “Don’t sound so surprised.”

A teasing glimmer shone in Dawn’s eyes as she stared into her husband’s hazel eyes, “Is there a blue moon outside? That’s the only reason you’d be able to come up with a good idea.”

“Was it a blue moon when I asked you to marry me?” George shot back with a grin.

“Actually,” Dawn drawled as she leaned away, “I distinctly remember telling you that you had no choice but to marry me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” George relented, waving off Dawn’s statement with the ease of a man who had done it for years. “I still asked.”

Dawn smiled, “And I still said yes.”

With a nod, George glanced to the doorway before returning his gaze to his wife, extending a single finger as he asked, “We reconvene at the end of the week?”

Wrapping her pinky finger around her husband’s and leaning in for a quick kiss, Dawn nodded, “The end of the week.”

“This is our fitness center,” Vivien stated, gesturing to the building on her left. The tour group hadn’t gotten very far, turning left from the backside of the main office and heading up the path to some of the activity halls. “There isn’t much to see in there, but we have everything a normal gym has.”

“And these,” Riven began, motioning to four small cabins on their right, “are bunk cabins numbers ten through thirteen. They’re the typical bunks you’ve probably seen in movies - six bunk beds and a pair of single beds for the counselor and cabin lead.”

“What’s a cabin lead?” Royce asked.

“It’s a step down from a counselor,” Riven explained. “Counselors have to be over sixteen at the start of the summer, but cabin leads are usually just the oldest camper in the cabin.”

Turning to walk backward so that she could see the people behind her, Vivien smiled as she proudly declared, “I was the cabin lead for Kittery Cabin last year, so I was responsible for making sure everyone got where they needed to be every day.”

Though most everyone nodded in understanding, Miles asked, “How come some cabins have names and others don’t?”

Mick decided to answer as she ran a hand along the railing of Cabin 12, “The cabins and lodges that were built back when the camp first opened are the ones with names. The newer cabins just haven’t been named yet.”

Vivien nodded, “There are seven original cabins - Kittery, Oakridge, Lakeside Lodge, Havenwood Hall, Ondawa Cottage, Backlog Bungalow, and Wayonda Tower - but they’re mostly used by groups of siblings or small families now as they house fewer people than the new bunk cabins.”

“We’re staying in Lakeside, right?” Carrie asked.

Riven was quick to nod as Vivien led the group toward the structure at the end of the path, “Right. It’s one of the most sought-after cabins on the property.”

Stepping onto the veranda of the large wooden building before them, Vivien proclaimed, “This is the dance studio where Nonna said I might be stationed this year. Since it’s only open on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I’ll have plenty of time to do other activities and hang out with you guys.”

With a sigh, Riven leaned against the railing, “And I’ll probably be stationed in the playhouse again, making the little demon campers sound good for the end-of-year showcase.”

“They put on a play here?” Carrie asked, her eyes glimmering at the idea.

Vivien smiled as she nodded, “Every year, we do some kind of performance. Last year, we did Shrek the Musical and every cabin was involved. Most years, we have either a musical that everyone has to work together on and each cabin has a song to themselves or we do a concert for the parents. Either way, we use the playhouse for the end program.”

“That could be a lot of fun,” Bentley commented.

Not bothering to disguise the cringe that flooded his features, Riven let out a dry chuckle, “Just wait until you hear them sing; you’ll quickly change your mind.”

Following Riven away from the dance studio, Vivien pointed out the basketball courts and tennis court in the distance as they followed a different path out to the amphitheatre. The area had been cleared out years ago and built to meet the camp’s growing needs over the years. As more campers chose to stay, the seating around the fire pit grew and, at its current size, had four rows of long, wooden benches, each positioned slightly further back on the hill to accommodate everyone. The circle in the center was lined with rocks that had probably been left there since the last campfire of the summer before and the thought of roasting marshmallows for smores over the crackling fire gave many in the group a sense of serenity, but what caught their attention was the large wall set far back from the fire pit area.

“What is that?” Butchy wondered as he found himself inching closer. “A climbing wall?”

“Exactly,” Vivien chirped, sliding up beside the taller man. Nudging him with her elbow, she grinned up at Butchy as she asked, “Feel like trying it out?”

“Not particularly,” Butchy smirked.

Vivien let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes, “Killjoy.”

“I bet I’m not the first to want to keep my feet on the ground,” Butchy claimed. 

“No,” Vivien agreed, “but even Mickie’s done it before.”

Although she felt all eyes on her, Mick only smiled, nodding in confirmation that she had, in fact, climbed the skyscraper of a rock wall. Bentley was quick to step forward, asking Mick, “I thought you hated heights?”

“I do,” Mick replied. “But I promised that, if everyone in the cabin got their lines memorized for the show and kept the cabin clean for two weeks without me saying anything, I would climb the wall, so I had to keep my promise.”

“What was it like?” Royce asked.

Letting out a long breath, Mick shook her head, “I don’t remember.”

With a snicker, Vivien said, “She passed out after ringing the bell at the top.”

With wide, concerned eyes, Carrie pressed, “Were you okay?”

“My pride was mortally wounded,” Mick chuckled, “but I was alright once I was on the ground again.”

Leading the way from the amphitheatre, Vivien guided the group through the sparse treeline, under an archway of neatly-trimmed hedges to a cul-de-sac-style path that looped in a circle at the far end. With nine cabins surrounding the pathway and a grassy expanse in the center, one could imagine spending their free time with their friends, having a picnic on a hot day, watching the star-filled sky at night, or simply relaxing on the grass, listening to music. However, as they were led down the path toward the main strip of dirt that looped throughout the main areas of the camp, they were shown more of the active areas of the campground. Between the soccer field with haphazardly drawn, barely visible lines, the swimming pool with cartoon characters painted on the bottom, and the sand-filled volleyball court, they would be kept active all summer long. 

Riven brought the group through the grass just past the swimming pool to show them some more buildings, guiding them onto the back half of the path. The cooking studio, where one could go to learn how to cook some of the meals served at the camp, was a big hit with Bentley, who looked eager to get his hands on some of the cookbooks that had been collecting dust in one of the pantries. Miles took a mental note of where the medical center was as he knew just how accident-prone his younger brothers and Vivien could be. Then, the playhouse drew Carrie in like a magnet; the stage, though worn with age, was large, and the curtains that draped over it had clearly been hand-sewn in the art barn just a few minutes down the path. Royce, of course, took an interest in the library - the scent of parchment permeating the room filled with books that had been very well-loved over the years.

Then, as they turned right past the looming Havenwood Hall, a sandy beach came into view. A set of long piers stretched out over the water, a large set of buildings marked as changing rooms sat off to the left, and, to the far right, near the tree line, was a fairly new cabin overlooking the lake. The crystalline water glistened with the rising sun overhead, a sight many of the group were sure they would find very welcoming over the heat of the summer months. Before they could get too enraptured by the sight of the shimmering lake, Riven mentioned getting settled in and making their way to the counselors' lodge before Dawn came looking for them.

The Lakeside Lodge was warm and welcoming with a large living area and a staircase that split in two directions at the landing greeting them as soon as they entered. Tugging the chain to turn the ceiling fan in the living area on, Vivien said, “There are eight individual bedrooms - four downstairs and four upstairs - so pick a room to stay in for the summer. You won’t get another pick unless someone wants to swap.”

As Vivien disappeared up the staircase with her duffel bag of belongings, the others dispersed - Royce and Bentley rushing after Vivien to find a room upstairs while the others decided where they would be rooming. None of the beds downstairs would be big enough for two people unless they felt like sleeping atop the other person, so the thought of Miles and Carrie or Mick and Butchy simply sharing a bed was quickly dismissed. While the two couples decided which rooms they wanted downstairs, Riven made his way upstairs and found the bedroom he had chosen upon his arrival an hour or so prior. The larger beds upstairs were usually taken by married couples when the camp allowed people to rent the lodges, but Riven was simply pleased to have a larger bed and a bathroom to himself.

As he began tossing some of his clothes into the dresser that rested against the wall opposite his bed, Riven was surprised to hear a quick knock on his bedroom door. “Come in,” he called.

Slowly, the door pushed open to reveal Bentley who looked around the room before meeting Riven’s gaze with a small, almost hesitant grin, “Hey.”

“Hey, half-pint,” Riven greeted as he tossed a hoodie onto his mattress. “What’s up?”

“Half-pint?” Bentley muttered to himself. Grinning, he shook his head and leaned against the doorframe as he asked, “I had a couple of questions about camp.”

With a smirk, Riven slid the bottom drawer of his dresser shut and turned to Bentley, “Before you ask anything, I’m going to tell you the same thing Chief says to all the staff before the year begins.”

Bentley’s head lilted to the side as he wondered, “What’s that?”

“Don’t add to the population, don’t subtract from the population,” Riven began, counting each remark on his fingers. “Don’t end up in the hospital, newspaper, or jail.”

Before he could finish, Vivien passed the room, finishing the statement by adding, “But, if you end up in jail, establish dominance quickly and call for someone to bail you out.”

With an amused grin, Bentley watched as Vivien headed for the stairs, Royce following quickly behind. Blinking in disbelief at the phrase, Bentley turned his attention back to Riven, chuckling softly, “That sounds like something Miles would tell me and Royce if he ever went on a trip without us.”

“If that’s the case, I bet Chief will get a run for his money this year.” Smiling, Riven perched himself on the edge of his bed and said, “Now, what did you want to ask?”

Stepping further into the room, Bentley ran a hand through his hair. Though he had more than one question, he filed through a few of them before eventually choosing to ask, “What time do we have to be up every morning?”

Lifting an eyebrow as he observed the younger teen, Riven shrugged, “They play a song for us to wake up to at seven-fifty every morning apart from the weekend and holidays. We have to be down at the mess hall for eight, but we don’t technically have to get dressed or anything until around ten when we go to our first activity of the day.”

Bentley nodded understandingly, taking in a breath before asking, “Is it hard to adjust to living here?”

“Nah,” Riven said with a shake of his head and a small smile. “After a few days, you’ll know your way around and be so used to it that you’ll forget what home feels like.”

Once again, Bentley gave a nod, this one more sure than the last. “How about…” Bentley drifted off. After taking a moment to think about how he wanted to phrase his question, he took in a tentative breath and tried again, “What about-”

“Relax, Bentley,” Riven ordered gently, gaining the blond’s attention. “I’m not going to chew your head off for asking a question. Just let it out and I’ll answer as best as I can.”

Nodding more to himself than anything, Bentley kept Riven’s gaze as he asked, “Is there a reason we can’t share bedrooms?”

With a snort of laughter, Riven nodded, “Think about it, half-pint. If we let everyone bunk up with their boyfriends and girlfriends, we’d have a bus-load of pregnant teenagers by the end of the summer.”

Making a face of disgust at the concept, Bentley shook his head, “That’s not what I meant.”

Allowing his laughter to die out, Riven asked, “Well, what did you mean?”

As though he wanted nobody else to hear, Bentley glanced nervously at the door before turning back to Riven, his voice lowered as he said, “Royce and I have always shared a room.”

Slowly nodding in understanding, Riven surmised, “And you wanted to see if it’s possible for you two to share a room?”

“I know it’s weird,” Bentley sighed, looking away. “I’m more than old enough to have my own room and he’s probably sick of me clinging to him like a leech, but-”

“But you still want your brother around.” When Bentley silently nodded, Riven sent him a smile, “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Mhm,” Riven hummed, pushing himself from the mattress. Placing a hand on Bentley’s shoulder, he said, “You two aren’t the first pair of siblings to be worried about spending time in separate places, and, to be honest, I highly doubt you’ll be the last.”

“Really?” When Riven nodded, Bentley asked, “So what do I do?”

“Why don’t you give it a shot for tonight and see how well you handle it,” Riven suggested, patting Bentley on the shoulder. “If you find it easier than you thought it would be, you can stay in your own room.”

Bentley nodded slowly, taking in the idea before slowly asking, “What if it isn’t easy?”

Riven smiled and, as he headed toward the door, turned back toward the younger blond as he claimed, “You know, I don’t think there’s anything in the rules against two siblings having a sleepover.”

Bentley’s confusion swelled as Riven left the room, leaving him to decipher the older teen’s statement. He was sure Riven had seen many other families have issues with separation over his time at the camp, but what did them having a sleepover have anything to do with it? Was it some kind of secret message he was supposed to decode? As Bentley slowly left the room and headed for the stairs, the implication in Riven’s statement came to him. Smiling to himself, Bentley took in a breath of relief and made his way downstairs to join the others.

Once everyone was ready to begin the trek to the counselors' lodge, they headed out, making their way back toward the main office. At the fork in the road, they turned right and headed to a large cabin that sat far back amongst the trees. The only way to tell the building was for counselors was the small sign on the wall beside the front door and it was barely visible from the main path, but as Riven and Vivien trekked up the stairs to the door, the rest of the group followed. As the doors opened, music filled the air. A soft voice sang along to Mickey and Sylvia’s Love Is Strange and, as they ventured further into the lodge, they soon found the culprit to be none other than Vivien’s Nonna who sat by the large window on the far wall, singing along to the crackling radio beside her as she brought a blue-tipped paintbrush to the canvas before her.

Without a care in the world, Dawn sang along to the music as she allowed the scenery before her to come to life. The floorboards creaked as the group of eight entered the lodge and Dawn turned toward them with a smile, setting aside her paint and brush as she rose from her stool and danced across the room, taking her granddaughter by the hands and twirling her. Vivien giggled at the interaction as her grandmother pulled her into a dance. As the two danced and sang along to the song, Miles found himself reminded of how he and his brothers used to dance with their mother while she painted. Summer vacations were filled with music, paint, and boundless laughter as their mom would pull them into bouncing dances around the living room before settling back down at her easel to work on another masterpiece. Glancing at his brothers from the corner of his eye, Miles wondered if they even remembered those days.

As the music came to an end and Dawn released Vivien from her hold with a proud smile, their faithful audience gave them a round of applause. “Why, thank you,” Dawn said as she gave a bow. In just a few strides, Dawn crossed the room and turned the volume down on her radio before turning back to the group as they filed further into the room. “Now, as a few of you already know, this is the part where I give you camp-branded shirts for the summer. You don’t always have to wear them as we have nametags for all of our counselors to wear when they feel like dressing casual, but for the first day, last day, and any activity days where we bring kids into town, you’ll need to wear camp gear.”

Reaching into a large box on a nearby table, Dawn pulled out a white shirt with the camp’s name and logo on the front - a simplistic scene of the lake with the sun shining over it and some pine trees. Raising a hand, Mick asked, “Are we tie-dyeing them like we did last year?”

“That’s up to you, my dear turtle,” Dawn claimed. “We have all the supplies if you feel like doing some this afternoon, but we do have some new styles that you may be interested in.”

“Awesome,” Mick breathed with a smile.

Smiling at the group before her, Dawn took a step to the side and picked up a clipboard, reading off the first name on the list, “Bentley, you’re up first.”

Bentley took a hesitant step forward before pausing. With a disheartened tone in his voice, he muttered, “I’m not old enough to be a counselor or a cabin lead, yet. I can’t-”

“Who says you can’t?” Dawn pressed, placing a hand on her hip as she smiled mischievously at the young blond. “Vivien got her first camp shirt long before she was close to being a counselor or a cabin lead; as did Makana and Riven. You have just as much a right to a shirt as they did.”

Glancing at his friends, Bentley received nods of confirmation as Vivien waved him on with an encouraging smile. Turning back toward Dawn, Bentley beamed as he strode across the wood floor to the box Dawn had left on the table. Peering into the box, Bentley looked around at the colorful array that had been tossed into the box - plain white with colorful bands on the sleeves, already tie-dyed shirts, hoodies, and shirts of every color strewn about. After much scrutiny, Bentley pulled out a colorful hoodie with the camp’s emblem on the front and the name around the rim of the hood followed by a white shirt he hoped to dye later with the others before finally pulling a yellow shirt from the box.

“Yellow, hm?” Dawn spoke softly, gaining Bentley’s attention.

Nodding shyly, Bentley said, “It’s my favorite. Is that alright?”

Reaching up a hand, Dawn ran a hand over Bentley’s hair with a smile, “Of course, baby otter. Are those in your size? If not, we have a rack in the other room if you need to find one.”

Bentley quickly looked over the shirts he’d pulled from the box before nodding, “I’m all set.”

“Good,” Dawn said. Pointing to the artwork she’d been doing, she asked, “Now, why don’t you put those aside for a minute and go see what you think I should add to my painting?”

“Are you sure?” Bentley asked, his oceanic eyes illuminated at the very thought.

“Go right ahead,” she assured. “I’m always looking for another set of eyes.” Once Miles nodded to make sure it was alright, Bentley placed his new shirts on the end of a nearby bench and gravitated toward the easel as though a magnet had pulled him to it. Dawn smiled at the boy before glancing at the paper on her clipboard and saying, “Butchy, you’re next.”

Butchy was quick to choose from the available options, pulling out some red and blue T-shirts he could easily add to his wardrobe once they returned home after the summer ended. Turning to the woman, he extended a hand and said, “Thank you.”

Dawn eyed the hand before her, scanning Butchy more than once before latching onto his hand and shaking it. “A ram and a turtle,” she mused, a non sequitur that confused the man before her. “What an interesting pair.”

Butchy’s confusion grew, but as he raised an eyebrow, all he asked was, “How did you know that I’m an Aries?”

The older woman shook her head as she chuckled, “I’m not talking about zodiac signs.”

“Then what-”

“I’ll explain later,” Vivien interrupted. “Just go with it.”

Utterly confused, Butchy met Vivien’s gaze before turning back to the woman before him and slowly nodding. Gathering his shirts in one arm, Butchy made his way to the table Bentley had left his things on and sat beside the boy’s pile of shirts as Dawn called the next person to the table, “My dear fox, I believe you’re up next.”

Without hesitation, Carrie stepped forward, crossing the room with a smile and searching through the box on the table before pulling out an aqua hoodie, a dyeable T-shirt, and a shirt with a smaller version of the camp’s logo on the left side of the chest and ‘STAFF’ written across the back in glittering gold. Before Carrie took off to find a seat, she gave the older woman a quick embrace, thanking her for the shirts before allowing Mick to step forward and pull items from the box.

After making sure she took a shirt to dye later on, a T-shirt with the camp’s original emblem, and a green shirt with the camp’s logo on the back, Mick stepped aside, sitting at the table with Butchy as Miles stepped up to the plate. Miles’ choices closely resembled Bentley’s - a blue hoodie, a shirt to dye, and a tri-colored shirt he supposed was supposed to resemble the colors of the sun, sand, and water although that wasn’t the reason he had chosen it. 

Dawn looked over his selection with a small smile, nodding approvingly as she spoke, “Wise choice. I look forward to learning more about you, young gorilla.”

Though confusion was evident in Miles’ gaze, his smile never faltered as he quickly thanked the woman and joined his girlfriend at the table. Next up was Riven who made his choice quick and concise, leaning in to hug Dawn as he muttered, “Thanks, Nonna.”

“Of course, little wolf,” was the woman’s reply as Riven stalked off to join the others. Without glancing at her papers this time, Dawn raised a hand and beckoned Royce to her, “Your turn, opossum.”

Glancing at his girlfriend, Royce watched as Vivien held her hands up and shook her head. “Not me,” she declared. “I’m a proud eagle.”

“Eaglet,” Dawn corrected with a smile. 

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Vivien wondered with a grin.

“Nice try,” Dawn chuckled. “You are still growing and discovering who you truly are. Until the day you decide you’re done, you will remain an eaglet.” 

Sighing dramatically at the sentiment, Vivien raised a hand to her forehead in a mock salute, “Sir, yes, sir.”

Turning her gaze onto Royce once more, Dawn grinned as she spoke, “She’s right, though; it’s your turn, Royce.”

Finally stepping up to the box, Royce peered at its contents, examining each item as he rifled through the pile. A pale orange shirt wound up draped over his arm alongside a mostly plain, white shirt, but as he searched through the box for something to pique his interest, he found nothing. Just as Royce was about to give up and pick one of the shirts at random, he found an orange and purple hoodie near the bottom of the box, the colors swirling together in a spiral of tie-dye. Smiling to himself, Royce pulled the sweatshirt from the box and draped it over the other two shirts he had pulled before thanking Dawn and stepping away to allow his girlfriend a chance to look through the box of shirts. With practiced ease, Vivien sauntered up to the table and dug through the contents of the box, quickly pulling her desired shirts from the box and stepping aside to join the others as she wrapped the sleeves of her chosen sweatshirt around her waist.

As her granddaughter sat at the table and Bentley hurried to join the group, Dawn folded her hands together and smiled, “Now that that’s settled, I have a few quick things to go over and, no, Riven, that does not include what to do if you end up behind bars.” The auburn-haired male’s mouth snapped shut at the comment, a swift smile taking its place as Dawn eyed him knowingly. “Mhm,” she hummed. “I saw that look.”

“Sorry, Nonna,” Riven apologized despite the glimmer in his eyes showing how very not sorry he was.

“You will be,” Dawn snipped with a grin. Clearing her throat, the woman took on a more serious expression as she began, “Now, I just want to go over a few things for the new counselors. This first week of pre-camp preparations will be more of an exploratory course than anything. It will give you all time to adjust to living here and get you prepared for the chaos that will occur the moment the first bus of campers arrives.”

“Where will we all be?” Mick asked.

Taking in a breath, Dawn sighed, “As of right now, we aren’t sure. Chief and I figured that this week would give all of us a chance to see what positions or buildings we thrive in most. If I know him well, Chief will most likely end up in the kitchen and I’ll end up dragging him away kicking and screaming.”

Tentatively raising a hand, Vivien asked, “So you don’t know where any of us will be?”

As truthful as she always tried to be, Dawn shook her head. “As of right now, no. Hopefully, by the end of the week, we’ll have things figured out a bit. Of course, there are a select few who I can imagine would like to keep their positions from previous years. “

Mick was quick to nod, “I want to keep teaching archery.”

Chuckling, Dawn nodded, “I understand. However, I do advise that you at least try to enjoy the other opportunities that will be available.” Agreeing, Mick relaxed in her seat, leaning against Butchy’s chest as he brought an arm around her shoulders. Returning her attention to the group as she scanned over them, Dawn started, “Another thing I should get out of the way is that, even without campers on the grounds, we ask that you begin to follow the basic outline of the schedule we’ve left in each of the cabins.”

“Wake-up call, each of the meals, and lights-out?” Riven wondered.

Giving the nineteen-year-old a nod of confirmation, Dawn agreed, “Exactly. Throughout the day, feel free to roam around and explore the camp as long as you show up to meals with everyone else and try to be on time in the mornings. With lights-out, we’re a bit more lenient toward the counselors as you’re all used to being up later than most campers, so don’t worry too much.”

Before she could continue, Dawn’s walkie-talkie crackled to life and her husband’s voice came through, “The first shuttle of staff members just pulled in. Are you on your way back or should I send them your way?”

Unclipping the device, the older woman brought the walkie-talkie toward her mouth and pressed the button on the side as she replied, “Send them on over. I just finished with the kids.” Once her husband replied, Dawn clipped the walkie-talkie back onto her belt loop and turned her attention back to the group before her with a smile. “Alright, well, you should probably get going before this place gets claustrophobic. I hope you all enjoy your summer here as much as we’ll enjoy having you all here. It will be very exciting to see how time treats you all.”

After thanking the woman and gathering their new shirts, the group made their way down from the counselors’ lodge and followed Vivien as she guided them toward the arts and crafts barn. As they walked, Vivien opened the notes app on her phone and began explaining what each of their new, given nicknames meant. “An otter is typically associated with playfulness, youth, creativity, and - as Nonna puts it - ‘sensibility without suspicion’,” Vivien claimed, using her fingers to make air quotes as she spoke with Bentley. “Basically, you’re able to understand things going on around you even when others think you don’t.”

Bentley hummed, “Is that why she let me look at her painting?”

“I don’t know,” Vivien shrugged, “maybe. Either that or it could just be that I talked about you guys so much that she assumed you’d like to talk art as much as she does.”

After thinking it over for a while, Bentley nodded and asked, “What about Royce? What does his mean?”

Sparing a glance at her boyfriend as she found the animal he had been given, Vivien smiled, “An opossum represents cleverness, sensibility, and someone who believes themselves to be fairly grounded. They’re also known to be strategic and typically adapt easily to new surroundings.”

Royce took in the information, allowing Vivien’s statement to sink in before asking, “How could she possibly know all of that just by looking at us?”

“Well, to be fair, I did tell her a lot about you guys,” Vivien chuckled. “But that’s just the way Nonna is.”

“I remember the first time I came here,” Riven piped up. “She took one look at me and instantly connected me with a wolf.”

“A wolf?” Miles questioned.

“‘A loyal and intuitive free spirit who can gain great success through the bonds he holds most dear,’” Riven recalled. Letting out a laugh, he claimed, “At first, I thought she had lost a few screws, but now I know that’s just her way of bonding with people.”

“What does mine mean?” Butchy asked Vivien as he helped her push open the doors to the art barn. “A ram?”

“Other than the fact that you’re hardheaded?” Carrie quipped with a smirk as she passed him.

Leveling a sharp stare on the blonde, Butchy looked ready to fight back, but as Mick sent him a firm, no-nonsense glare, he sucked in a slow breath and swallowed the snarky comeback on the tip of his tongue. Instead, it was Mick who spoke, “I think rams are actually known to be a symbol of sensitivity.”

“They are,” Vivien confirmed as she followed the group inside the barn. “‘Stoic, but sensitive, persevering, and imaginative,’” she added as she read. “Rams are also known to represent change and new beginnings.”

Stepping closer to Vivien with a curiously raised brow, Miles asked, “What on earth does a gorilla mean? It sounds as though I should be offended, but she said it with a smile, so I think it could be a good thing.”

Quickly scrolling up through her notes, Vivien nodded, “It’s a good thing. Look; ‘gorillas are immensely family-oriented, strong, and protective. Typically intelligent creatures, gorillas are known to be peace-keepers in times of aggression, using logic in an attempt to work others out of arguments.”

Miles hummed thoughtfully, peering down at Vivien with a smirk, “They all sound pretty accurate.”

Nudging the taller man with an elbow, Vivien grinned knowingly as she muttered, “Just wait until you hear what Carrie’s means. Hers is perfect.”

Glancing over Vivien to where his girlfriend was helping Royce and Bentley search for a specific color of dye for their shirts, Miles smiled, relieved to see them finally working together on something. It wasn’t long before the group had gathered all of the supplies they needed on a large tarp and made their way back to the lakeside cabin they would be staying in. After spending lunch in the mess hall and changing into clothing they didn’t mind getting messy, the group of eight laid the tarp out on the sand and got to work on dying their shirts in different patterns and vibrant colors. Rubber bands and bottles of dye were passed around as music played softly from the speaker Vivien had hooked her phone up to.

The warm summer air swelled as the sun hit its peak in the sky, forcing some to roll up their sleeves as they worked. Once they had deemed their shirts done, they placed them inside clear baggies and left them to dry on the tarp in the sun. By the time they were done setting everything aside, the announcement for dinner came over the camp’s speaker system, calling all workers to the mess hall. Upon their arrival, Riven and Vivien were brought into a tackle of a hug and bounced around as their fellow bandmates swarmed them. With matching smiles, Jade and Erica ushered the group to the long dinner table they’d been waiting at, the table having just enough room for the ten of them.

“I can’t believe you got the walking Barbie doll to come to camp,” Erica whispered to Vivien. “I didn’t think this would be her scene.”

Vivien shrugged, swallowing the bite she had taken of her taco before saying, “So far, she seems to be enjoying herself. I think she’s just eager to try new things.”

“Maybe she wants to take notes for a future show,” Jade offered. “You said she’s an actress, right?”

Vivien nodded, but it was Royce who responded from his seat beside her, “I doubt she’ll last long once the campers arrive and she has to do actual work.”

Lightly kicking Royce’s shin under the table, Vivien sent him a disbelieving stare as she said, “I thought Miles asked you to try to get along this summer.”

“He did,” Royce sighed, glancing over at the blonde as she talked animatedly with his brothers and Mick at the other end of the table, “but she’s not exactly making it easy.” 

“It hasn’t even been a full day yet,” Erica snickered.

“Give her a chance,” Jade agreed. “She might just surprise you.”

As Royce gave a noncommittal hum and returned to his food, Vivien looked across the table at her bandmates and mouthed a quick, “Thank you,” before taking another bite of her taco. The couple nodded in understanding, sending the brunette a hopeful smile as they returned to their food. Once the meal was over, they walked Erica and Jade back to Oakridge, the cabin they were residing in for the time being, and headed back toward the lake to watch the sunset over the water. Before venturing out onto the wooden piers that stretched over the water, Vivien took a handful of rocks from the shoreline, hoping to perfect her stone-skipping skills.

At the end of the piers where the two connected into one, Vivien handed Carrie some of the rocks she’d taken and attempted to show the blonde how to skim the rocks across the lake’s surface. Despite her best efforts, Vivien could only manage one or two skips whereas Carrie had somehow managed to achieve four or five before her stone sank to the bottom of the river. Carrie and Vivien shared a laugh as Vivien’s stone hit hers, the two bouncing off of each other before sinking. However, as their laughter distracted them from their surroundings, neither the brunette nor the blonde noticed the tall shadow that passed behind them until it was too late. With a swift, calculated shove to Carrie’s back, Butchy nudged her over the edge of the wooden pier. What he didn’t account for, however, was Vivien’s instinct to pull Carrie back, resulting in both girls falling off the pier with matching shrieks. 

Even Butchy appeared taken aback as the pair plunged into the lake with a stupendous splash, but Royce and Miles were quick to weave their way to where their girlfriends had fallen in, waiting for them to come up for air. Carrie was the first to surface, swiping her hair out of her face with a look of rage-filled disbelief as Butchy stared down at her with a smirk. Vivien bobbed up a moment after, her soaked braids clinging to her skin as she wiped the water from her eyes.

“Are you two okay?” Miles asked, reaching a hand out for Carrie to take if she wanted help

“Peachy,” Carrie grumbled. 

“I can’t see,” Vivien claimed, looking around blindly. “My glasses are gone.”

“Shit,” Butchy mumbled, kneeling on the edge of the pier beside Royce and stretching out a hand to the brunette. “I’m sorry, piccola. Let’s get you out of there and start looking.”

Leaning over the water, Royce followed Butchy’s lead, reaching out for his girlfriend as he offered, “Here.”

Stretching out a hand, Vivien gripped the first hand she was offered before finding another. Instead of allowing them to pull her from the water, however, she found one of the pier’s underwater anchor poles with her shoe and pressed against it, using what leverage she had to push off from the pole, yanking the two men into the water with her and Carrie. Watching with wide eyes and a shocked smile as Butchy and Royce were catapulted into the water as she latched onto Miles’ awaiting hand, Carrie let out a bark of laughter before slowly turning her mischievously glimmering azure gaze onto Miles.

Catching on a moment too late, Miles let out a soft, “No,” before the blonde followed her friend’s lead and yanked Miles into the water, shoving off from the underside of the pier as he tumbled into the lake. Soon, the others who had gathered on the pier joined in, jumping off the edge of the pier to join those already swimming around. Bentley joined Royce and Butchy in the search for Vivien’s glasses as Vivien hovered close to the pier. Not long after the search began, Royce surfaced with a smile and placed the round-framed glasses on the bridge of Vivien’s nose. After giving her boyfriend a grateful kiss on the cheek, Vivien swam away just enough to send a wave of water his way, resulting in a returning splash from the curly-haired boy.

After a few hours of swimming and splashing around, the group headed for the shore, ready to wash the lake water from their clothes and prepare for a no-doubt restful night. Sodden clothes were hung on a rope they secured on the deck outside and, by the time everyone had showered and changed for the night, it was almost time for lights-out. While most everyone had returned to their rooms for the night, Vivien sat on the living room floor in front of Miles as he wove her hair into a loose French braid, the pair softly conversing about the day they’d had. An exhausted Bentley piped in here and there from his spot on the far end of the couch, relaxing against Royce as the middle Murphy brother ran a hand through his younger brother’s hair. After watching the group interact as she worked on cleaning Vivien’s glasses in the light of the downstairs bathroom, Carrie entered the room as quietly as possible, lowering herself to the floor before handing Vivien her glasses with a smile.

“Tired?” she asked as Vivien let out a lengthy yawn.

“Mhm,” Vivien hummed. “Swimming always puts me to sleep.”

“Me too,” Bentley muttered, looking as though he could fall asleep at any moment.

“Well,” Miles began as he tied off Vivien’s braid and draped it over her shoulder, “I guess it’s a good thing it’s time for you three to go to bed.”

Peering over at his older brother, Royce smirked, “I’m not tired yet.”

Flinging Vivien’s soaked scrunchie at Royce with a grin, Miles chuckled, “Get tired, then. You guys need sleep.”

“Says the one who’s going to need four people to drag him out of bed tomorrow,” Carrie snickered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Miles sighed, pushing himself from the couch as Vivien stood and stretched. “The sooner they get to sleep, the sooner I get to sleep and the sooner I wake up.”

“Bullshit,” Vivien pretended to cough.

“He could do it,” Bentley claimed, earning him a few incredulous stares. Then, he added, “If someone throws a bucket of ice water at him when the alarm goes off.”

As the rest of the group dissolved into giggles, Miles put his hands on his hips and scoffed, “I can wake up whenever I want to.”

Royce chuckled as he and Bentley rose from the couch, “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Miles asked as Bentley gave him a hug goodnight.

“He’s definitely not calling you a truther,” Vivien quipped as she headed up the stairs to her room.

With a shake of his head, Miles smiled as Royce stepped forward, giving him a hug before following his girlfriend and younger brother upstairs. Turning to Carrie once the kids had left the room, he asked, “What about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Carrie acknowledged. “I enjoyed getting to spend the day away from the norm, you know. I’m looking forward to spending the summer here.”

“I am too,” Miles claimed, looping an arm around her shoulders as he guided her toward her room. “It could be a chance for all of us to really get to know each other.”

Nodding, Carrie hummed, “That would be nice. Maybe, by the end of the summer, I won’t be getting pushed into the lake anymore.”

The two locked gazes, amused smiles gracing their faces as they both said, “Wishful thinking.”

Cupping Carrie’s cheek in his hand, Miles leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before whispering, “Good night, mon renard.”

Blinking up at him in confusion, Carrie muttered, “That’s a new one.”

“My fox,” Miles explained with a chuckle.

“Hm,” Carrie hummed with a grin. “I like it.”

“Good.”

After saying goodnight, the pair split for the night, retiring to their own rooms to get some sleep for the night. The moon outside shone softly through the lodge’s windows, casting faint shadows on the walls and on some of the slumbering figures that had bundled themselves under the covers of their temporary beds. Although most of the other residents of the house were either drifting off or fast asleep, Bentley was wide awake, staring out the window next to his bed at the darkened campground. He had tried everything in his power to get some sleep - music, those sleep videos Vivien always watched, even going as far as trying to slow his breathing to get some semblance of exhaustion to seep through his muscles, but nothing seemed to work. Taking in a deep breath and sighing it out, Bentley pushed himself to sit up, giving up on the idea of sleep for the time being. Scanning his room for something to do, Bentley stilled as he watched a shadowy figure poke its head around the frame of his door. Slowly, the person leaned further into view and Bentley caught the faintest glimpse of curls under the person’s hood, making a small grin appear on the blond’s face.

“Hey, Ben,” Royce spoke softly. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bentley replied.

Watching his brother step further into the room, Bentley took notice of the pillow tucked under Royce’s arm as his older brother sighed, “I couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Same,” Bentley nodded. After a pause of silence, Bentley scooted closer to the wall and offered, “Care to join me?”

“Are you sure?”

“If we both can’t sleep, we might as well stay awake together, right?” Bentley chuckled in a breath.

Letting out a soft laugh, Royce nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

Crossing the room in a few short strides, Royce tossed his pillow into place next to Bentley’s and slid under the cover beside him, sending his younger brother a smile and Bentley relaxed on his side. Taking in a deep breath, Bentley confessed, “It felt weird not having you in the room.”

Nodding against his pillow, Royce softly claimed, “I didn’t like that I couldn’t just look over and make sure you were alright.” After taking another breath, Royce thoughtfully added, “I think that’s one of the reasons why I came to check on you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bentley smiled and shifted closer to Royce as Royce slid an arm around his shoulders, bringing his right arm around Royce’s middle in return. The two brothers talked for a while about the day before attempting to find a comfortable spot under the covers. However, as they both tried to relax into the mattress, a soft tapping on the doorframe caught their attention. Peering over at the doorway, Bentley smirked as Vivien crept into the room, perching herself on the side of the bed. 

Royce took Vivien’s hand in his as he and Bentley sat up, asking her, “Are you alright?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted with a yawn. “I always find it hard to sleep the first couple of nights, so I was going to see if we could read or something if you were up, but you weren’t in your room, so I came here.”

“You found me,” Royce stated.

“I did,” Vivien agreed. “I found both of you.”

“You did,” Bentley concurred. “Care to join us?”

Vivien chuckled, “I don’t think that’s allowed, Beemer.”

Before Royce could think of something to get Vivien to stay, Bentley spoke again, “There’s nothing in the rules against us having a sleepover.”

“I think that only applies to family members, Ben,” Royce said. “Where Viv and I are dating…”

“We can still have a sleepover,” Bentley claimed. When Vivien sent him a raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “Royce, you and I are brothers, and, Viv, you’re practically my sister. Technically, we’re all family.”

With a soft chuckle, Vivien nodded, “I guess, in a roundabout sort of way, you’re right.”

“It’s settled then,” Bentley stated, sliding closer to the wall in order to make more room on the bed, “you’re staying with us tonight.”

As Royce and Vivien shared a smile, Bentley laid back against his pillows, waiting for Royce to shift closer and make room for Vivien to join them. Once they all had made themselves comfortable and Royce had become a human pillow for both Vivien and Bentley, they relaxed into the mattress, staring up at the wooden ceiling with tired eyes and serene smiles. Then, as Royce allowed himself to unwind, a thought came to mind that had his eyes peeling open once again as he stared up at the ceiling in confusion.

“Wait, a second,” he began slowly. “If Bentley and I are brothers and Vivien is Bentley’s sister, does that mean I’m dating my sister?”

As Bentley muffled his bark of laughter in Royce’s hoodie, Vivien reached up and placed a hand over Royce’s face with a tired grin, “Shut your brain off and go to sleep before I knock you out myself.”

[fumblingmusings]

How'd Eva view the Puritans and the general chaos of the 1600s in England? How would she react if America was found/raised in the New England Puritan colonies or in the interim absorbed their more radical teachings?

I would say read Chapters 1-3 of my fic hoho (silly plug). She was suspicious at first, and by the 1660, she held nothing but contempt for them. She likes to have fun at this point in her life. She likes to dance, to drink, to go horse-riding and shooting (arrows or guns), to play cards, to eat lots of rich and fancy foods and sweets, to grow her weird herb garden and cook with them in her weird bubbling cauldron (not suspicious...) and she doesn't see anything morally wrong with any of it. Nothing gets her hackles up then people getting in her private sphere and telling her what to do.

Alfred was found and brought to England before Jamestown and got very sick, so when Jamestown was properly settled, he was sent back with Evelyn intermittently spending time out there with him, or bringing him back to England for small periods too. She keeps him in Virginia for as long as she can.

When her Civil War begins, she gets her brother to go over and move Alfred to Maryland, which was experimenting with religious toleration for Catholics. After the wars end and Charles II has his bum on the throne, Evelyn is with Alfred always. No more weeks where she is in England and he in the colonies. She is glued to his side until the 1690s. They go to Providence (a tolerant colony for Protestants this time) or Philadelphia (Quaker haven), with the occasional stint in Williamsburg back in Virginia after Jamestown is abandoned.

As she was pretty much indisposed for the entirety of the Civil War and a good chunk of the Interregnum, she loses control over his wellbeing. Because the vast majority of the American colonies had declared for Charles II over Parliament save New England, and because she was locked up for a few years, Cromwell moved Alfred up to Boston. Alfred went willingly because the men who came to him said his mum had sent them, and at this time Alfred's only like five or six. He misses his mum, he'll and will do pretty much anything if he thinks it will make her happy or come home. He was away from her between 1639 and 1655. Over fifteen years without his mother. That's not good for a little one to not have a steady caretaker with them. I think it really messed him up, even more so cause he's stuck with puritans (worse - American puritans, the ones who thought Cromwell was being too tolerant).

Moving from St. Mary's to Boston would have been a shock to his system, but Alfred thought it was what his mum wanted, so he listened and tried to learn. It's why he's so confused by the end of the century because he thought she was the one who had ordered him to Massachusetts. Meanwhile, the thing that actually made her get up and fight her way out of gaol was being told Alfred had been moved.

Like, imagine being a parent and thinking, even though you miss your child, you know they're safe, maybe even with a family you trust, only to be told, no, actually, they're with the very people who you were trying to shield them from. Like she really did not give two shits that she had been whipped to death the previous week, she did care of the thought of Alfred being stripped of everything that made him warm and sweet and loving and made to carry a guilt of just being alive and sins that were not his.

She took that rusted nail, stabbed her guard, jumped in the moat and through to the river, stole a horse and rode down to Cornwall before the day was out. She books it to Falmouth, has a rough ride over the Atlantic, maybe falls overboard because docking is taking too long, and washes up on shore to get to Alfred. He runs right into her sopping wet arms and does not let go for days. She probably immediately keels over and dies for five minutes from exhaustion but shh don't tell Alfred that she's just napping.

Eva immediately punts them down to Providence and then it's let's never talk about that again. I think it takes a long time for Alfred to properly digest those years.

Evelyn does not like Puritans. She does not like Calvinism or her brother's Presbyterianism. She will not be hauled up in front of a congregation and lectured for playing cards and walking unaccompanied through town unmarried, nor will she listen to anything which states that her people are damned regardless of their actions and that any form of redemption is a fool's errand (projecting). She's too vain, and is a big believer in being left the fuck alone. What she does is between her and God. No middle man - Saint or Elder - required. So, she's certainly not Catholic anymore either.

She likes Quakers, does not mind Lutherans or Methodists, and is indifferent to Catholicism so long as she isn't made to be one, enough to let Matthew practice how he wants in private, and she herself is - rather reluctantly and mainly out of habit rather than genuine belief - High Church Anglican. She'd never admit it, but she likes the idolatry and superstition that reformers railed over. Makes it rather fun. From my understanding, I think most American churches, the dozens of splinter baptist/reformed/evangelical churches etc. tend to be low church? Or is that an oversimplification maybe. Probably. But I can see how, even to the modern day where maybe Alfred and Evelyn themselves aren't like particularly religious in their day to day lives, the impact of that split is still felt.

Nations and religiosity is an interesting topic, but I really only know so much about Anglo-Scottish religious development to comment on nationhood as a whole, and the world is so much bigger than two thirds of a damp island 🫡😅

The 'problem' with the English Reformation compared to many German states or across the border in Scotland is that it was so deeply led from the top down by a 'secular' monarch and nobility and not particularly by the actual clergy. Thomas Cranmer was put in place by those in power because he promised to get a task done for Henry (marriage annulment) and used the opportunity for his own ends. Meanwhile John Knox across the border was running around converting the Scottish nobility onside with one notable exception (the monarch, but to be fair she was like 14 and in France and we all know how well it went when she came back), if that distinction makes sense.

And I think, because the English Reformation was done for such selfish reasons primarily, then ecclesiastical ones second, things like the dissolution of the monasteries, the suppression of Cornish as a language, the taking over of the Common Land all spiral out from it. From Cornwall to Oxfordshire to Yorkshire to Norfolk to the Lake District, the people on the ground were protesting this hard only to be slaughtered by the thousands.

I think Evelyn would have exited her reformation incredibly jaded. Like of course the Catholic Church was (is) broken. What spilled out of it in England was equally so. I think Evelyn wanted to protect Alfred from that, but in many ways he was impacted by those splinters just as much as she was. It's just another one of her poisons which leaked out its container. English conflicts never have the courtesy to stay in England, it always has to be someone else's problem too. So guilt, mostly, to answer your question. She would blame others, of course, but also blame herself a lot. If she was just a better person, Alfred wouldn't have suffered needlessly.